"Christensen, Jan - Why I Quit Jogging" - читать интересную книгу автора (Christensen Jan)

WHY I QUIT JOGGING
By Jan Christensen


I heard the car approaching but didn't pay much attention. I'd been jogging almost every day for six years and heard lots of cars behind me, so I'd learned to gauge their distance.

But then this one sounded awfully close. I turned to look and saw the woman behind the wheel, her eyes widening in surprise. I started running flat out, my heart feeling like it was going to explode in my chest.

I don't remember getting hit.

* * * * *

It was totally dark when I opened my eyes. My body seemed to be folded somehow. My head hurt. Strange odors surrounded me--metal, carpet. And aftershave, not my brand. But worst of all, the smell of blood, I thought. I reached out and felt around. My hand touched a face, and I snatched my fingers away. When the car went over a bump, I realized where I was.

But it couldn't be.

I was in the trunk. With another guy.

"Hello?" I said. No answer. My mind must be playing tricks. Why would I be in a car trunk? We went over another bump, and something brushed my bare leg. I wanted to scream, but managed to hold back, grunting instead.

Gingerly, I felt around some more. I touched the face again, and hands and shoes. "Hello? Hello?" I babbled.

Silence.

My fingers groped in the darkness until I felt the cold metal of the lug wrench. I grabbed it and held on until the car came to a halt. Then I realized I wouldn't be able to use it coming out of the trunk. The position would be awkward-- impossible. Reluctantly, I loosened my grip. The engine quit. I heard a door slam. Only one. That was a good sign. Footsteps on gravel. It was maddening to have my eyes wide open and not be able to see a thing.

The latch popped, and the lid was raised. I tried not to blink in the late afternoon sunlight. The woman I had seen driving the car peered inside. I recognized her now as our neighbor, somebody Burlson. I stayed perfectly still, waiting. My hands twitched involuntarily, but she didn't seem to notice.

She sighed and muttered, "Now, how am I going to get rid of two bodies?"

My stomach did a nose-dive when I realized that she thought I was dead. As dead as the other guy in the trunk with me. She started yanking on me, and I stayed as limp as possible. She was really strong. I remembered she taught aerobics at the local recreation center. She must have done a lot of weight-lifting, too, because with just a bit of tugging, she managed to reach under my arms and drag me out. I grimaced and tried not to moan when my calf scraped the latch. But I couldn't prevent a whoosh of air escaping my lips when she dropped me on the ground.

My eyes blinked. She bent over, staring at me. She must have been over six feet tall, all muscle. And beautiful. Long red hair cascaded down her back, and her green eyes were hypnotic.

"You're not dead!" she exclaimed.

"No kidding," I said as I sat up, rubbing my calf.

She looked around frantically, saw the lug wrench in the trunk right where I'd so conveniently left it, and ran for it.

I jumped up and tackled her. She twisted sideways and landed on her back, with me on top. The problem was that I'm only five feet six (in shoes) and weigh in at one-thirty. Sinewy muscle, of course, from all that jogging, but still, she had me outweighed and was much longer than I am.

She struggled. I got her hands pinned up over her head. She scissored her legs to little effect, but soon she'd be able to throw me off.

"Why'd you kill him?" I asked. It was not a difficult assumption. Why else would he be in the trunk? Usually people called 911 when someone died.

"He was messing around." Her breath came in quick gasps and her head turned back and forth rapidly as she grappled with me.

Suddenly, she threw me off. We wrestled some more, and finally both of us stood up. Then I tackled her knees, and she fell backwards, hitting her head on a stone with a horrible thunk. She stopped moving. I felt for a pulse but couldn't find it.