"Laymon Richard - No Sanctuary" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laymon Richard)

He's checking the bed, she thought.

See, nobody's here. So get on with it. Rob the place. Take
whatever you want, you bastard, just don't look under the bed.

With the snap of a switch, the lights came on.

Rhonda's fingernails dug into her thighs.

Her one eye saw a pair of old jogging shoes in the doorway. The
ragged cuffs of blue jeans draped their tops and swayed slightly as
the man walked forward.

The shoes stopped, turned, moved toward the closet. Rhonda
watched the closet door swing open. She heard some empty hangers
clink together. A loop of threads hung from the back of the jeans'
frayed left cuff, dangling almost to the floor.

The shoes turned again. They came toward her, veered away, and
passed out of sight as the man walked toward the end of the bed.
She heard quiet steps crossing the r.oom.

A sudden clatter and skid of metal made Rhonda flinch.

He must've yanked the curtains shut.

What for? The backyard is fenced. Nobody can see in. Maybe he
doesn't know that. Or he knows it, but isn't taking any chances. Not
with the light on.

The bed shuddered. It kept shaking above Rhonda. The edge of
the bedspread trembled. She turned her face up. There was orily
darkness above her, but she pictured the man crawling over the
mattress.

What's he doing]

He's right on top of me!

The bed squawked as if he'd suddenly flopped down hard.
Something wispy - the fabric under the boxsprings? - fluttered
briefly against Rhonda's nose.

She heard a click.

What was that?

Rhonda suddenly knew. The stem on the back of the alarm clock.
She'd pulled it after getting into bed, wanting to wake up early for
Jurassic Park Marathon on a cable channel.