Sometimes, he barely recognized himself as human anymore.
So was he going to tell this woman he loved that no, he wasn’t going to try to save her daughter?
“I’ll come,” he said and he heard Connie inhale sharply. “I’ll be there as soon as I can—a couple of days, tops. There are a few things I need to do before I leave.”
Connie was crying now, no longer able to hold the tears back, and the hope he heard in her voice twisted in his gut like a rusty knife. “Thank you so much, John. So, so much.”
“As long as you understand that—”
“I know,” she said, and he could hear her trying to get herself under control again. “I won’t get my hopes up. Not too much anyway. What I said in that letter, John…it’s the truth. I really do believe you saved my sister’s life, and the same part of me knows you can do that for Katie, too. I don’t know if it will work, but I feel that it could work. That’s—well, that’s everything to us right now.”
“We’ll see,” John said quietly. “Either way, I’ll see you soon. Will you do me a favor and tell my mom and dad I’m coming home?” As an afterthought, he added, “And can you tell my mom I’m not upset with her? For not telling me you were staying there? I know she was just trying to do…the right thing.”
“Of course,” she said. Then, “Thank you, John.”
And then she was gone.
Chapter 9
Rose needed to shop.
She found a mall not too far away by looking in a tattered phone book in a phone booth at a gas station; she called for their hours then hitched a ride with a couple of college kids. They let her off at the main entrance of the mall and powered off in their pickup, music blaring.
The night before had been unlike any experience in Rose’s life. From the park, she and Mike had walked the three blocks to his spacious loft apartment. The building was a mixed-use structure, and from below there was the sound of late-night drinkers reveling at a hip wine bar.
Standing at the window, Rose had shivered gently as Mike approached her from behind and stroked her, then wrapped his arms around her, his hands warm and strong on her stomach, her hips, her breasts. He kissed the back of her neck and then she was helpless. She turned and found his mouth with her own, driving her body against his with an urgency she hadn’t felt in her life.
The lovemaking was gentle and when it ended, Rose lay on her back, breathing deeply, the skin of Mike’s arm warm—nearly hot—on her belly. The second time had been more urgent, exhausting, and hours later, Rose had found herself wanting to wake Mike for another go. Instead, reclaiming herself to some measure, she crept quietly from his bed, showered and dressed.
As she sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on her shoes, Mike stirred and then woke. They made plans to meet for dinner the next night, and then Rose left, hurrying to beat the rapidly approaching dawn. She’d spent the morning and afternoon sleeping in her makeshift den from the day before, and when she’d woken up to the evening, she set off looking for somewhere to shop.
There was an information kiosk just inside the doors of the day-glow shopping mall, and Rose stood there for a minute, looking at an absurdly colorful map of the two-story structure.
She had a pretty good idea of what she wanted, but she didn’t want to spend any more time in the mall than she absolutely needed to. Being around this many people in a confined space made her nervous. Too much opportunity for something to go wrong, especially considering her reason for being here.
Her first stop was The Gap, where she purchased a pair of black cotton panties and a matching bra using the cash she’d stolen from Big Bob Bartok’s wallet. When the clerk started to put her buys into a small bag, Rose stopped her and said that she had a lot of shopping to do, could she have a big bag? The clerk smiled and dropped the undergarments into a larger blue bag with GAP printed in white on the sides. Rose thanked the girl and left.
Next, she visited the Saks Fifth Avenue on the second level and walked around for a while, checking out the security situation. Not very tight.
There was a crimson silk dress she liked on a mannequin, and after covertly slipping one in her size into the Gap bag, she took another of the dresses, this one several sizes too big, and asked a pimply-faced female clerk where the dressing rooms were.
When she was done trying the dress on, she gave it back to the clerk, shaking her head disappointedly.
“Must have dropped a size or two,” she said to the teenage girl, who smiled and then tried to push the sale.
“Do you want me to get you a smaller one?”
“That’s okay,” Rose answered. “It looked funny anyway. My boobs were on display.” The young girl laughed.
There was a brief moment of anxiety as she was leaving the store when she realized there might be a security mechanism attached to the dress somewhere. But no alarms went off.
Ten minutes later she walked out of Rack Room Shoes wearing a pair of comfortable black leather medium-heeled sandals, her old ones stashed beneath the dress in the bag.
On her way out the mall door, she looked at the black marble clock mounted over the entrance. 8:06 PM.
Plenty of time, she thought.
* * *
She walked to another gas station near the mall and went into the ladies room and locked the door.
Alone, she shucked off her clothes and put on the new underwear and the dress, which fit, but not as well as she had hoped. The spaghetti straps were too long, and even when she adjusted them, the dress hung low, exposing the top of the black bra. She’d been kidding when she told the young clerk in Saks that the dress made a show of her tits, but shit, she thought. Chalk it up to karma.
“Hell,” she said. “Just hell.”
Reluctantly, she reached behind herself and unhooked the bra, slipped the straps down one arm, then the other, then looked at herself in the mirror.
Better, she thought, but kind of trashy. Her nipples pushed against the silk and were entirely too noticeable. This was not the impression she’d wanted to make, not after last night. Mike probably already thought she was a slut…
Goddamnit.
* * *
Mike Clover was waiting for her at the bar when she arrived at the restaurant.
He looked fantastic, dressed in crisp tan slacks and a dark blue shirt open at the throat. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and a day’s worth of growth darkened his cheeks. He was looking at the door when she walked in, and his unselfconscious smile when he caught sight of her made Rose flush.
She was in uncharted territory with all of this. Never in her life had she felt attracted to a man the way she felt drawn to Mike. All day, the strangest thoughts had been going through her head, not only sexual—though there were certainly some of those—but other things, too. Things she’d seen in magazines and on television, things that she’d read about in books, but that she had never been confronted with herself. Suddenly she was thinking about how she looked, not because she was worried about her effectiveness as a predator, but because she wanted…wanted what? His approval? Maybe. His acceptance? That this new ground was not only unfamiliar but inherently dangerous occurred to her, but as she’d been doing for the past two days, she pushed the thought from her mind.
Be careful, said the part of her that regulated her survival-drive. Just be careful, Rose.
Shut the fuck up, the new part of her countered. I’m tired of being careful.
“Wow, is it nice to see you again,” he said, standing to greet her. Then he stood back and looked at her again, slowly, feet-to-face, and said, “On second thought, I’d like to amend my prior remark: it’s very nice to see you again. You look perfect.”
“Thanks,” Rose said, proud of herself just for getting the word out. What was wrong with her? She wanted to feel angry with herself for being so irrational about Mike, but another part of her, this new and increasingly more powerful part, demanded that she go with it. Her thoughts felt fuzzy, unfocused, a feeling she recogniz
ed, but that seemed out of place here for some reason.
The hostess sat them at a seat near the floor-to-roof window that was the outer wall of the dining room. The restaurant sat atop a low bluff over the slow-moving Chattahoochee; below, lights twinkled. Rose felt a powerful stab of longing for the streets. But it passed almost before it had begun.
“What did you do today?” Mike asked.
Oh, you know, Rose thought, shoplifted this dress and some underwear, the usual. “Some sightseeing,” she said. “You?”
“Boring stuff. Work. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” He leaned toward her. “You are impossible not to think about, Rose.”
She blushed again and said something witty back, and it went on that way throughout dinner. Only as the server was clearing away the dishes did Rose realize her gaze had returned to the lights below.
She felt anxious and penned-in. No, she thought, not now. Not now.
She forced herself to look away and found Mike staring at her.
“Got another date?” he joked, smiling.
“Sorry,” Rose said. “Got lost there for a minute.”
“I could do a dance, maybe on the table, spice things up.”
“You’re perfect,” she said, and found herself putting her hand over his. But it was a token gesture. More and more she felt her gaze, her entire self, drawn outside. And then she understood why, what that fuzzy feeling was that she’d been feeling since she’d arrived. She didn’t feel weak yet, not yet, but it wouldn’t be long now. How long? An hour, maybe two, and then she’d be in trouble.
The last time she’d killed had been almost three days ago, Big Bob in the hotel. She’d gone longer in the past, but she always started to feel it at about this stage.
God, why hadn’t she taken someone last night after leaving Mike’s loft? Or tonight at that mall, some kid in the parking lot, or maybe in the bathroom? She could have killed one or both of the college kids who’d given her a ride to the mall. She’d have been doing the world a favor. What had she been thinking, letting it get away from her like this? Rose was furious with herself, and it must have shown in her face.
“Are you alright?” Mike asked.
“Fine,” Rose said, standing. “I just need the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
In the bathroom, Rose stood at the mirror, looking hard at her reflection. It’s happening, she thought. Already, she could see the veins in her chest and arms were a shade darker. Mike may not have noticed yet, but that wouldn’t last.
“Fuck,” she muttered, and then a laughing woman burst through the door and Rose left the bathroom. As she approached the table where Mike sat, he saw her and stood.
“Everything okay?” he said, extending a hand toward her.
She stopped short of him. “I have to go,” she said. The need, the hunger was growing. Now that she’d recognized it, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from fixating on it. She needed to get out of the restaurant. Away from all of these people. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself rushing to the next table over, ripping some old woman’s throat open with her bare hands. Something bad was going to happen, and soon.
She needed to get away, now, before something happened that she couldn’t control.
“Rose?” Mike reached out for her.
“Don’t,” she said, then turned to leave and walked directly into a server carrying a tray loaded with drinks. Somehow, the man managed to keep all of the glasses on the platter, but liquid sloshed off the side and onto the front of Rose’s dress.
“I’m so sorry,” the server said, “are you—”
But Rose was already headed for the door, and was outside before the flustered man could finish his apology.
Mike burst out the door a step behind her.
“Hey,” he said, “what’s going on, Rose?”
Rose kept walking, out into the parking lot. Mike followed.
“Rose!”
She stopped and wheeled. “I have to go.” It was impossible to keep the edge out of her voice, and he heard it, backed off.
“Can’t we—”
“No!” she said. No, hell with that, fuck that, she wasn’t saying anything. She was goddamned yelling, and why not yell? Why not scream? Because she might scare off some man? What did she need him for anyway? What could this man give her that any other couldn’t? If she wanted a cock, she could get one any night of the week. If she wanted dinner, clothes, money, she could have that, too. What had she been thinking? Weak girl, she thought, stupid girl.
“Don’t follow me,” she spat, hearing the crisp acidity of venom in her voice. “I need to go right now.” She turned again to leave and was halfway across the parking lot when she heard the car behind her.
Mike pulled beside her and the window of his black Mercedes buzzed down. He put one arm out the window, reaching out to her.
“Rose, come on, what’s happening here? Talk to me.”
She stopped, turned to him. Heard herself talking, knew that it was too late not to say what she knew she was going to.
“Okay,” she said and smiled, then went around to the other side of Mike’s car and got in. Still smiling sweetly, she said, “You want to see what’s going on here, Mike? Drive.”
“Where?”
“Just go,” she said, “into the city. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Five minutes later they were driving through crowded city streets.
Rose watched out the side window, waiting. There was something smug sitting in her head, something that blocked her brain, a blanket. I’ll show him, the thing said, I’ll fucking show him something he’s never seen before, never even suspected. And then it hit her, one of the flashes that sometimes accompanied the hunt, a nearly hallucinatory image of a darkened city street—but not the street of a modern city. This street was packed dirt, the buildings lining either side fashioned of rough-hewn stone. Here and there, the flickering flames of torches illuminated the scenery and cast deep and jumping shadows. Ahead, someone moved in the darkness and Rose—or whoever was seeing this ancient city scene—closed in for the kill.
And then as suddenly as the hallucination had come, it was gone and Rose was back in her own body, riding in the Mercedes with Mike Clover.
The car passed through an area dominated by stores and bars, then into an upscale residential neighborhood. A few blocks later, the neighborhood started deteriorating, and then they were driving through a slum.
Mike had been silent, but now he said, “Where are we going? This isn’t a great part of town, Rose.”
Rose didn’t answer, but a few seconds later she saw what she’d been looking for, felt a jolt of electricity in her chest. “Here,” she said. “Stop.” Mike pulled the car to the side of the road and Rose got out.
There was an old woman or man—it was impossible to tell because of the tattered trench coat—pushing a shopping cart along the uneven sidewalk.
Rose started across the street, saw Mike hadn’t gotten out of the car, and went back, knocked on the window. “Coming?” she said, and smiled.
Grudgingly, Mike climbed out of the car and followed her.
When they were about ten feet away, the homeless person heard them coming and turned around. It was a woman, Rose saw, but it didn’t matter—she didn’t care, not about this, not about anything.
“Whaddaya want?” the shopping cart lady said, and Rose grinned disarmingly. The woman relaxed, and then Rose was on her.
She grabbed the woman by the arm with one hand and tore her throat out with the other. It was an easy move, rehashed and rehearsed in her mind a thousand times, executed almost as many. There was a gush of liquid warmth over her hand, and the dirty woman teetered for a moment, her free hand going to her throat, probing almost delicately at the crater Rose’s fingers had created. Comprehension flared in her eyes, and she tried to scream, tried to plug the hole in her throat with her fingers, failed.
Rose watched all of this for a moment, then dipped her head and drank;
for a little while, she wasn’t there at all, was just…swimming, floating in her mind, at peace. Here, for the first few moments, there was nothing but a sense of pure wellbeing. She could feel life flowing into her, filling her with light, blue, brilliant light, almost too much for her body to contain. Once, in some book or other, she’d seen this feeling described in a different way. Loving kindness. That’s what she felt now. Free, centered, powerful.
Then she came back and remembered: Mike.
Rose dropped the old woman to the ground and turned around. She felt the warm blood dripping from her chin and tracing lines down her neck toward her breasts.
Mike was slowly retreating, back-pedaling toward the car. His face was ashen, and he looked like he was trying to say something, but nothing would come out of his mouth.
“Hm?” Rose said, cupping a hand to her ear. “What’s that, Mike? Still want to talk?” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and it came away streaked with gore. What had she been thinking? That this man was her savior? Ha! Savior from what? This was life, this was living. No man could give her anything that would compare. No man.
But the new part of herself wouldn’t go away so easily. Go to him, it said, explain that this is just the way you are. Maybe he’ll still take you, maybe he’ll understand.
Ha! Putting on this dress, these ridiculous shoes! Stupid.
A new swell of rage and Rose screamed, screamed at Mike, screamed at the world for making her into what she was, for making her what she couldn’t help but be.
Mike had reached the car and groped behind him for the door, got it, fell into the car, rapping the back of his head on the roof as he did.
Seconds later, his taillights were red dots down the road, then he turned and they were gone altogether.
Chapter 10