House of Skin Read Online Free PDF

time, other than parking garages, he’d had the Civic indoors. He patted its roof fondly and went out.
    Paul stared up at the house. He’d never imagined he would live in such a place. In fact, he never thought he’d own a house period. His father always told him how silly it was to waste money on rent, but Paul feared ownership, as though purchasing a home in the city would somehow bind him to it for the rest of his life. It was admitting defeat to buy a home near his family, he reasoned, so he kept his crackerbox apartment. Now he understood the pride his father had talked about.
    He trotted toward the porch and mounted it in three strides. It winded him. He stood there panting, his belly drooping over his waistband.
    He resolved to get into better shape.
    Cupping his temples, he pushed his face close to the beveled door window and discerned a foyer made of checkered tile.
    A manila envelope lay at his feet. He picked it up and ripped the top open. Bypassing the papers crammed inside, his groping fingers found the key, pulled it out. Taking one more deep breath, he sighed and slid the key into the lock. A dull click sounded. He thumbed the steel button.
    Paul went in.
     
     
    Ted waited, his head pounding like a gong, for her to come down the stairs. He tried to call to her in a reasonable voice.
    It was difficult to muster.
    First of all, he was in a goddamn basement. He had to bellow just to be heard. Secondly, she’d positioned him on his stomach so every word he spoke seemed to peter out and die on the dirty cement floor. It was getting hard to breathe. His chest flat on the ground, his lungs pressed flat, he felt like a goddamned turtle. He’d waited long enough for her to come down here and loosen his bonds. Now he was through with the nice-guy approach.
    “If you don’t get your skinny ass down here right now to untie these ropes, I’m going to swear to the police that you tortured me. You’ll do a life sentence. Mark my words. ” He continued that way, hurling every vile insult he could muster.
    The clanging in his brain was like black death. He couldn’t stand this much longer. He glanced again at his right hand, his left, tugged with both feet, but they wouldn’t budge. The ropes around his limbs were firm, unyielding. Their scabrous threads chafed like barbed wire. The iced tea coating his skin wasn’t painful but the cloying scent and clammy feel of it were terribly annoying. Like when his kids ate too much cotton candy and their goddamn faces became grime collectors, dirty human Band-Aids that insisted on following him around and soiling the legs of his pants.
    Brand’s fury grew.
    He knew he’d pissed her off but that didn’t give her the right to tie him to the floor. What the fuck kind of a freakshow was she?
    Light washed through the basement. He blinked to adjust his eyes. As he whipped his head around to take in his bearings he heard her feet padding down the stairs.
    She was barefoot. Resting his cheek on the dirty cement, he strained to make out the rest of her. A white sports bra and tiny black shorts. Where were the rest of her clothes? he wondered. Did she think she was going to play some weird S & M game with him? The time for all that was gone. All he wanted now was to get to the nearest police station. Now that the light was on, he could see the blood on his wrists where he’d cut himself pulling on the ropes. The scent of his own blood, like sheet metal slicked with rain, deepened his outrage. His Rolex was gone, he noted without surprise. She hadn’t commented on it when he showed it to her in the car, but the bitch had probably been eyeing it all evening.
    “Let me go,” he said.
    She gave no answer but her toes rubbed against one another. He watched them and felt his anger wax.
    “Why did you tie me up?”
    There was a feral edge to his voice he couldn’t disguise. Just as well , he thought. She needs to know how pissed you are. It’s fair warning for what’s going to