The Cellar Read Online Free PDF Page A

tickets, Axel. And for driving us here.”
    “Will you come?” “We’ll try to see it,” Donna said, though she had no intention of touring such a place.
    “Are you the tour guide?” asked Sandy.
    “I clean. Scrub-a-dub-dub.” Waving at them, he climbed into his truck. Donna and Sandy watched it roll out of the parking lot. It disappeared down the road toward Malcasa Point.
    “Well.” Donna took a deep breath, relishing the relief she felt at Axel’s departure. “Let’s get registered, and then we’ll grab a bite to eat.”
    “A bite won’t be enough.”
    “We’ll buy the joint out.”
    They picked up their suitcases and walked toward the motel office.
    “Can we take the tour tomorrow?” Sandy asked.
    “We’ll see.”
    “Does that mean no?”
    “If you want to go on the tour, we’ll do it.”
    “All right!”

C HAPTER T WO
    Roy rang the doorbell of Apartment 10 and waited. He heard nothing from inside. He jammed the button five times, quickly.
    Goddamn bitch, why wouldn’t she open up?
    Maybe she’s not home.
    She has to be home. Nobody’s out on a Sunday night, not at eleven-thirty.
    Maybe she’s asleep.
    He pounded the door with his knuckles. Waited. Pounded again.
    Down the hallway, a door opened. A man in pajamas looked out. “Knock it off, would you?”
    “Go fuck yourself.”
    “Look, buddy…”
    “You want me to kick the shit out of you, just say one more word.”
    “Get out of here, or I’ll call the cops.”
    Roy started toward him. The man slammed his door. Roy heard the rattle of a guard chain.
    Okay, the guy’s probably dialing right now.
    It’d take the cops a few minutes to get here. He decided to use those minutes.
    Bracing himself against the wall opposite Apartment 10, he threw himself forward. The heel of his upraised shoe caught the door close to the knob. With a crash, the door shot open. Roy ducked, slid up his right pants leg, and unsheathed the Buck knife he’d bought that day at a sporting goods store. Knife out, he entered the dark apartment.
    He turned on a lamp. Crossed the living room. Rushed down a short hallway. The bedroom on the left, probably Sandy’s room, was deserted. Same with the one on the right. He opened its closets. Most of the hangers were bare.
    Shit!
    He ran out of the apartment, down the stairs, and out the back way to the alley. Across the alley was a row of garages. He ran past the end garage and found a gate. He pushed it open. A walkway led down the side of an apartment building. He followed it to the street.
    No cars coming.
    He dashed across.
    This block had houses instead of apartment buildings. Much better. He crouched behind a tree and waited for a car to pass. When it was gone, he started along the sidewalk, inspecting each house, looking for the one that seemed most promising.
    He chose a small stucco house that was dark atthe windows. He didn’t choose it because of the darkness, he chose it because of the girl’s-style bicycle he saw in the front yard.
    Careless, leaving it there.
    It could’ve been stolen. Maybe they thought the little fence would protect it.
    The fence wouldn’t protect anything.
    Roy reached over the gate and carefully lifted the latch. The gate squeaked as he pushed it open. He shut it gently and hurried up the walkway to the front stoop. The door had no peephole. That would make things easier.
    He knocked hard and fast. He waited a few seconds, then hit the door three more times.
    Light appeared in the living room window.
    “Who’s there?” a man asked.
    “Police.” Roy backed away and crouched slightly, right shoulder toward the door.
    “What do you want?”
    “We’re evacuating the neighborhood.”
    “What?”
    “We’re evacuating the area. A gas main broke.”
    The door opened.
    Roy lunged. The guard chain snapped taut. Its mounting shot from the doorjamb. The door slammed into the man, knocking him backward. Roy dived into him, covered his mouth, and jabbed the knife into his