“Do you want me to help you?” she asked.
“Am I acting like a baby?”
“Not at all.”
“Good,” he said. “Can I kiss you again?”
Yes. But first let's—”
He shut her up by leaning over and planting his lips on hers. He couldn't have been in that much pain. Once more he kissed her long and hard. Again she felt his hands on her body, tugging at the buttons on the front of her blouse. She tried to stop him, but he persisted, and she didn’t really want him to stop anyway. Actually, she wanted him to strip her naked and make passionate love to her right on spot. He leaned her head back on the grass and pulled her blouse open. She had a bra on, but that wouldn't be an obstacle to him for long. Not this guy.
This is a hell of a way to get to know each other.
Then she felt a warm, sticky liquid being smeared across her belly as he squeezed her closer. It was totally silly of her, but for a moment she had forgotten he was bleeding. She sat up with a start, knocking him back.
“You're bleeding all over me!” she cried.
“It's OK.”
“No, It's not OK.” Her blouse was lying completely open; he had snapped free a couple of buttons in his eagerness to get to her breasts. The blouse was badly stained with blood, as was much of her belly and chest. She couldn't believe he had managed to bleed on her that much during just one kiss. She wondered how long it had lasted. “You've made a mess of both of us,” she complained.
He laughed. “It'll wash off.”
“I don't think so.” She paused. “How's your arm?”
He held it up to the moonlight – seemingly without a care in the world – and she could see that it was soaked with blood, more even than a few minutes ago. “It doesn't look like it's going to fall off in the next minute,” he said.
“Jim! You're really bleeding. You might have sliced a vein.”
“That's why I wanted to tear up my shirt,” he said.
“You just wanted to tear off my clothes.”
He grabbed at her again. “Yeah.”
She pushed him back. 'We have to stop this bleeding.”
He grinned wolfishly. “Why don't you kiss it and make it better?” He held it up to her face for her to do so. “Just a little peck.”
She turned her head. “You're making me sick. Where's your shirt? I'm going to tie it on your arm – the whole thing. Let's not wash the wound in the water. It'll only encourage the bleeding.”
“All right, Angie.”
She knotted his shirt directly over the spot where she believed the cut to be. Jim gave a grunt but said nothing. She sat for a minute to see if the bleeding decreased. It appeared to do so. Her hands, all her clothes, were by this time covered with blood.
“It’s getting better,” she said, moving to get up. “Let's get back.”
“In a minute.”
“Jim.”
He grabbed her and started kissing her again. Somebody had eaten his Wheaties that morning. But they were both so smeared with gook that the passion had lost all charm for Angela. Well, most of the charm. It still felt good to have his mouth on hers. He tasted great, like the steak he'd eaten for dinner. That rare steak.
Angie, dear, that might be the taste of his blood.
The thought was enough to cool her down. She finally managed to push him back and jump to her feet before he could kiss her again.
“We're going back,” she said.
He glanced up at her and flashed a little-boy smile. “So soon?”
“Yes.” She offered him her hand. “Before the sun comes up.”
He kissed her once more as she said goodbye to him at his car. He wouldn't let her take him to a doctor because he said his arm was fine. He touched her right breast, under the bra, while he gave her the last kiss. She couldn't believe she let him. Mary said he was a monster, all right.
But a dreamy thought swam in Angela's mind as she let him touch her.
Maybe he's my kind of monster.
Angela eventually found herself in bed, alone under her covers. Supposedly alone, yet remarkably, she was with strange company in an alien world.
The World was alive. It had been for billions of years, ever since it could remember. Of course, nothing, no matter how alien, could remember death. For that reason the World believed it was immortal. Life would come to its surface, and it would kill it in that special way, and eat it, and give it everlasting life as it became part of itself. The World would go on and on, and nothing, it believed, could stop it.
The World was always hungry.
Especially for those who visited.
They were such easy prey.
Angela felt like a visitor as she walked through the flowered meadow. The sun was bright, yet somehow smaller than she remembered it should be. But that didn't matter. She had entered paradise and was happy. It had been a long journey, and now she could rest, free and unwatched.
Sweet aromas saturated the air. At a stream she knelt to refresh herself with a drink. But before she could sample the water she sat up with a start. For the sun had suddenly gone behind a dark cloud that had not been there a minute before. As it disappeared the meadow grew dark, but not in a normal way. The light changed to a sober red as the rays of the sun filtered through the strange cloud, floating in the sky above her head like some diseased heart.
“God,” Angela whispered, peering up at the sky.
But God was not there. Not in this place, surely not.
Angela began to feel hot. A smell pushed its way into her nostrils. Not sweet or pleasant – but familiar. Yes, she knew what it was.
“No,” Angela whispered. “No, God.”
A bolt of lightning cracked the sky. It could have split it open, the underbelly of a massive airborne demon. But it was just a cloud that had burst, although it was no ordinary cloud. Now drops of blood fell as rain to earth.
But wasn't that the fatal joke? She wasn't on Earth, couldn't be. She had travelled far to enter paradise and had accidentally stumbled into hell.
The blood soaked her. Soon it was all she could smell, all she could see. A river ran red at her feet. But the blood didn't just fall from the sky on to the World. First it was sucked up from the ground.
Something mingled with the blood at her feet. This something was the brain cells of the World. The cells that gave the World thought, desire, cravings. The World had huge appetites that would never be filled. Such bittersweetness, this hunger, especially when it swam in the juices of previous harvests, around the raw flesh of the next unsuspecting victim.
A horrible pain started in Angela's feet. She screamed, hopping from foot to foot, trying to get away from the million invisible teeth that were trying to devour her. The pain, though, was much too great. She couldn't maintain her balance. She tripped, and in an instant the monster in the blood was over her body, on her face, even in her mouth, where it began to dine on the choicest of meats…
Angela sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding, nightgown soaked. Before she could catch her breath her guts lurched, and she had to run to the bathroom. She was barely in time to lose the contents of her stomach into the toilet. For a minute she sat dazed on the floor of the bathroom, drawing in deep, burning breaths that did little to warm the awful coldness in her limbs.
I'm getting the flu. It must be a killer.
Eventually she made her way back to bed. But she didn’t go back to sleep right away. She didn't want to have that dream again. Never.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kevin woke her next morning by banging on her bedroom door. She moaned and rolled over. Her mouth was dry, and she could hear her heart pounding in her head. She knew it had to be Kevin. Her grandfather never disturbed her slumber. He was a great believer in sleeping late. Especially after a romantic evening.
“Go away,” she called.
Kevin cracked open the door. “Are you decent?” he asked.
“I'm stark naked.”
“Excellent.” He o
pened the door all the way and peered in at her. “Are you OK?”
She closed her eyes. “I don't know. I might have the flu.”
Kevin sniffed. “It smells like vomit in here.”
“I threw up in the night.”
“You should have thrown up in the toilet.”
“It was dark. I might have missed.” She reopened her eye. “What time is it?”
“Eleven.”
“No way.”
“Way, José.”
“Christ,” she said.
He sat on the bed beside her. “Where were you last night?”
“I was here and I was there.” She sat up, keeping the sheet pulled up tight to her chin. He could have seen right through the nightgown she was wearing, and she didn’t have a bra on. She spotted her clothes from the night before balled up in the corner. Kevin might have smelled the dried blood as well as her vomit. “Is it really eleven?” she asked.
“Yes.” He put his hand to her forehead. “You don't a fever.”
“Good.” She didn't have a headache either – not exactly, although her head felt strangely full, as if her brain had tried to expand during the night without her permission.-She remembered her nightmare right then and shuddered. Where the hell had that come from?
“Do you have the chills?” he asked.
“No. I probably just ate something that didn't agree with me.”
“What did you eat?”
“Two hot dogs.” She hesitated. “I went to the game last night.”
“By yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn't you ask me?”
“You hate football.”
“But I like cheerleaders,” he said.
“You wouldn't have gone. We won.”
He was surprised. “Against Balton?”
“We killed them. Forty-two to nine.”
“Amazing. How did Jim Kline play?” he asked.
“What?”
“Jim. The quarterback, the one Mary thinks is the monster.”
“He was awesome.”
Kevin whistled. “He stank up the field last year. Maybe he has changed into something new.”
Angela glanced out at the lake. Plastic was lying on the balcony staring at the water, as usual. The glare of the sun on the lake made Angela's eyes ache. “I better take a shower,” she said. “And get dressed.”
“Can I watch?” Kevin asked hopefully.
She smiled wearily. “When you're older.”
Kevin left the room and Angela showered. She joined him at the breakfast table not long after. She felt a bit better. Her appetite had definitely returned; in fact, she was starving. Her grandfather's door was closed, but he was already gone. He had left her a typed note on the kitchen table.
Angel,
Went to Chicago to watch the horses run off with my money. Take care of yourself. Try to do something your parents wouldn't approve of.
Your Old Man
“I hope when I'm seventy I'm still getting laid as often as he is,” Kevin said when she had set the note aside. He had fetched the paper – it was spread over the kitchen table – and had helped himself to their bread and peanut butter.
“I hope when I'm seventy you'll still be interested in me,” Angela said.
“By older did you mean that old?”
Angela chuckled. “Time will tell.” She nodded to the paper. “What's new in the world?”
Kevin lost his easy-going expression. “You should know. You said you were there last night.”
“What are you talking about?”
He turned the paper her way. There was a picture of a player from Balton High's football team on the front page. A handsome young man – his name was Fred Keith. The article was entitled MATADOR PLAYER CRIPPLED FROM THE NECK DOWN.
Angela cringed. “What? They had to help the guy off the field, but he didn't look bad. I can't believe this.”
“He has a tube down his throat that's breathing for him.” Kevin shook his head sadly. “He must have taken a hell of a hit.”
Angela read the article.
Last night Fred Keith, a junior at Balton High, was rushed to the emergency ward of Balton Memorial after sustaining a neck injury in the fourth quarter of a football game between Balton High and Point High. Fred was playing right defensive guard and was injured on a play that scored Point's seventh touchdown of the night. Initially the injury was not thought to be serious. Fred was helped from the game by the team's trainer and an assistant coach. He wasn't even carried off the field on a stretcher – ordinary procedure when a cervical injury is suspected. The team's trainer, Steve Sperber, later said that he had seen the hit that had caused Fred's injury and hadn’t thought it was particularly hard. “The kid barely banged him,” Mr. Sperber was quoted as saying.
The kid was later identified as Larry Zurer, who said he hoped Fred felt better soon.
At the hospital it quickly became evident that Fred had sustained serious fractures to the third and fourth cervicals. Damage to that part of the neck often results in complete paralysis, and Fred has yet to regain feeling in any of his limbs. He tolerated the surgery on his neck well, however. But Fred is still having trouble breathing properly and has been hooked up to a respirator. The prognosis for complete recovery is considered poor, doctors say.
Fred's parents could not be reached for comment, although there’s already talk of a lawsuit over the handling of Fred immediately after the injury was sustained. But it was the opinion of one doctor, who had seen the X-rays of the boy and who asked not to be identified, that Fred would have been paralyzed from the neck down no matter how he had been taken from the playing field. “That boy's neck looked like it had been cracked by a sledge-hammer,” the doctor remarked.
“Jesus,” Angela mumbled as she set down the paper.
“Too bad he's not around to heal the guy,” Kevin said. “Did you read that last comment from that doctor?”
“I did.”
Kevin raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I wonder what Mary would have to say about that.”
Angela continued to stare at Fred Keith's picture. “I didn't tell you that Larry Zurer was another one of the people Mary suspected might be a monster.”
“That's an interesting coincidence.”
“What are you saying?” Angela asked.
“Nothing. What are you saying?”
“I want to talk to Mary again.”
“OK,” Kevin said. “What for?”
“I just do.” She scanned the kitchen. “But I want to stop and get something to eat first.”
“Why don't you just eat here?” Kevin asked.
Angela looked at the bread and the butler and the fruit bowl and found herself repulsed. “I need something more substantial,” she said.
On the way to Balton they stopped at a McDonald's. She ordered a Big Mac and fries. Kevin found her appetite fascinating, since she ordinarily ate like a bird. He would have been even more intrigued had he known that she felt like having another hamburger when she was through eating. What a flu, she thought. It worked in reverse.
Nguyen greeted her in his office. She had called to say she was coming in. The lieutenant asked Kevin to stay in the waiting room while he spoke to Angela. When his door was closed he asked her to have a seat.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I want to talk to Mary again.”
“About?”
Angela shrugged. “What we discussed last time. Why she did it.”
“I thought you said Mary refused to discuss anything about the shootings.”
Angela could feel Nguyen studying her. He was smart, and her lies probably didn't fool him at all. “I want to try again,” she said simply.
“Did you know that Mary might be getting out on bail soon?”
“No. I heard the opposite.”
“Her parents have hired the top lawyer in the state,” Nguyen said. “He's persistent. It's likely he'll be able to get her out on a technicali
ty – the only way she'd ever get out.”
“Will she go home?”
“I don't know. I’d advise against it, for her safety. I’d appreciate it if you could convince her to stay here.”
“I doubt if I can do that.”
“You can try.”
“I’ll try,” Angela promised.
Angela was brought to the same box-like room as before. Only now one of the overhead fluorescent lights had failed, making the place rather dark. Angela sat in the gloom wondering what she was going to say to Mary, about her date with Jim, about Fred Keith. She also thought about food. She was still starving. A steak for dinner sounded great, if she could last that long.
Nguyen brought Mary in this time. As before, she was handcuffed. When the lieutenant started to handcuff her to the chair on the other side of the grey table, Angela shook her head no. Nguyen was amiable. He nodded and left the room without a word.
Mary didn't look the better for her jail time. She had lost weight. The bandages she had on her head and hand looked like the same ones she'd had on the previous week. Her expression was guarded, and she appeared much more on edge than before.
“What have you found out?” Mary asked.
“About what?” Angela asked.
Mary snorted. “You wouldn't be back unless something out of the ordinary was bothering you.”
“You don't put much stock in our friendship, do you?”
Mary ignored the comment. “Have you seen Jim?”
“Yeah.”
Mary was instantly alert. She had radar like nobody's business. “When and where did you see him?”
“Around. At school.”
“Has he made a point of talking to you?” Mary asked.
“Yes. He told me you went crazy because he told you he didn't want to go out with you anymore.”
Mary showed a thin smile. “Anything else?”