I felt the first premonition of danger, a warning signal in the back of my mind echoing the phone's buzz of a moment earlier. Peering narrowly at the screen I tried to shake off the fuzziness of drugged sleep.
"Tell me what's wrong," I said sharply.
"I—I can't. Please, Paul!" She began to cry silently, bending over, hugging her stomach as if she were in pain. "Please!"
I strained to see into the room behind her but her image filled most of the screen. I stared closely at her. She was in her nightgown. It had fallen off one bare shoulder and was tied loosely around her waist. Her long red hair spilled free around her shoulders. She looked as if she had been in bed. Something had aroused her—something frightening. There was no mistaking the haggard aspect of fear. She seemed to be holding herself together with an anguished effort of control.
"Is there anyone with you?" I asked quietly.
She shook her head—too quickly, I thought. Something moved in my abdomen. Fear coiling.
"Paul, help me!" she moaned. "You've got to help me. There's nobody else who can."
"You're at the beach house?" I asked, stalling, angry at the cowardice that made me delay.
"Yes, yes! Alone! I'm all alone. You'll come? You'll come right away?" Her voice grew shrill with eager hope. "I'll do anything, darling, anything you ever want me to do. I love you! You know that, don't you? You believe that? I didn't mean the things I said last night. Paul, I'll do anything!"
You don't have to keep saying it, I thought. You don't have to bribe me. I wondered with dull anger how long it had taken to affect the careless arrangement of her nightgown.