Captive of Gor Read Online Free PDF Page A

was four forty-five. I replaced the watch in the handbag.
    I reached to pull the tiny chain on the lamp.
    I then saw it. On the mirror across the room. At the base of the mirror lay an
    opened lipstick tube, mine, which had been taken from my handbag, while I had
    showered. On the mirror itself, drawn in lipstick, was again the mark, the same
    mark, cursive and graceful, which I wore on my thigh.
    I tore at the phone. It was dead.
    The door to the bungalow was unlatched. I had locked it. But the lock had been
    opened, and even the bolt withdrawn. I ran to the door and relocked it, holding
    myself against it. I began to sob.
    Hysterically I ran to my clothes and dressed.
    I might have time. They might have gone away. They might be waiting just
    outside. I did not know.
    I fumbled in the handbag for car keys.
    I ran to the door.
    Then, terrified, I feared to touch it. They might be waiting just outside.
    I moved to the back of the bungalow. I switched off the light, and stood,
    terrified, in the darkness. I pulled back the curtains on the rear window of the
    bungalow. The window was locked. I unlocked it. Noiselessly, to my relief, the
    window slid upward. I looked outward. No one was in sight. I had time. But they
    might be in front. Or perhaps they had gone, not expecting me to see the mark on
    the mirror until morning. No, no, they must be in front.
    I crawled out the window.
    The small suitcase I left in the bungalow. I had the handbag, that was
    important. In it were fifteen thousand dollars and jewelry. Most important, I
    had the car keys.
    Quietly I climbed into the car. I must turn on the ignition, (pg. 24) put the
    car in gear and accelerate before anyone could stop me. The engine was still
    warm. It would start immediately.
    Snarling and spurting the Maserati leaped into life, spitting stones and dust
    from its rear wheels, whipping about the corner of the bungalow.
    I slammed on the brakes at the entrance to the highway and skidded onto the
    cement turning, and then with a scream of rubber, and the burning smell of it,
    roared down the highway. I had seen nothing. I switched on the car lights. Some
    traffic passed me, approaching me.
    Nothing seemed to be behind me.
    I could not believe that I was safe. But there was no pursuit.
    With one hand I fumbled with the buttons on my black, bare-midriff blouse,
    fastening them. I then found the wrist watch in the handbag and slipped it on my
    wrist. It was four fifty-one. It was still dark, but it was August and it would
    be light early.
    Abruptly, on an impulse, I turned down a small side road, one of dozens that led
    from the highway.
    There would be no way of knowing which one I had taken.
    I had seen no pursuit.
    I began to breathe easier.
    My foot eased up on the accelerator.
    I glanced into the rear-view mirror. I turned to look. It did not seem to be a
    car, but there was something, unmistakably, on the road behind me.
    For an instant I could not swallow. My mouth felt dry. With difficulty I
    swallowed.
    It was several hundred yards behind me, moving rather slowly. It seemed to have
    a single light. But the light seemed to light the road beneath it, in a yellow,
    moving pool of illumination that coursed ahead of it. As it neared, I cried out.
    It was moving silently. There was no sound of a motor drive. It was round,
    black, circular, small, perhaps seven or eight feet in diameter, perhaps five
    feet in thickness. It was not moving on the road. It was moving above the road.
    I switched off the lights on the Maserati and whipped (pg. 25) off the road,
    moving toward some patches of trees in the distance.
    The object came to where I had turned off the road, seemed to pause, and then,
    to my horror, turned gently in my direction, unhurried. In the yellow circle of
    light I could see the grass of the field, bearing the marks of my tires.
    Always the object, smoothly, not seeming to hurry, with the yellow light beneath
    it, approached more closely.
    The Maserati struck a