“They strip the skin from these poor women and stretch it over their bodies. It absorbs the flesh and becomes their own, for a while. Naturally, being dead flesh, it decays in time and they have to get more.”
At first Karen had needed to move, to keep her blood pumping. But now her legs felt wrecked. She had to sit down. Returning to the bed, she dropped back down. Karen had no trouble processing what he was telling her. It shouldn’t have made sense, but it did. She grasped it all. “So they turn men into…imps?”
“Not all of them, but the majority, yes. Some they use as slaves, trading sexual pleasures for anything they might need. Others they feed on gradually, syphoning a bit of them at a time. Others they turn right away.”
“God…is there no end?”
“Not so funny now, is it?”
“Hey. I said I was sorry.”
“Are you ready to listen, again? I mean really listen.”
Karen nodded.
“All nymphs are devious, deceivers of men and women, tricking them into doing what they want and taking from them what they desire. And this has been going on under our noses for centuries. In this technological society we live in, this sort of thing has become ridiculed and chocked off as fairy tales. We shut our eyes to such foolishness. But the reality is, it’s happening, always happening. Nymphs love sex, and the Skin Nymphs are the vilest of them all. That’s why there’re Skin Shows, to conceal the true intentions of the nymphs, but to also act as a bathhouse of sexual depravity. They’ll copulate with both sexes, but it’s the woman’s skin they use and the man’s soul they feast on.”
“Feast on? While they’re having sex, they…?”
Hoffman nodded. “Exactly. They savor the feast, delighting in it with the man’s seed. As his soul is syphoned out, it mixes with his seed in the womb of the nymph and once the flesh is drained of its resources the new life incubates inside the nymph for a very short cycle of only a few days. Then the nymphs give birth to the imps.”
“No fucking way,” she growled. “You mean to tell me that those glowing things used to be people?”
“They used to be souls, but once they come in contact with the nymph, the soul becomes contaminated and altered into…that. Even just one sexual encounter will begin the change. Just like my son.”
An image of Andy on stage with Victoria fluttered in her mind.
Just one encounter…
And he’d definitely had an encounter.
Before she could ask Hoffman if the progression could be reversed, he was talking again. “Then the creature goes to the immediate family and slaughters them. I’m not sure why they do this, but I think it’s their way of completely slaying the original soul.”
“Because the soul will still live in their hearts?”
“Very good. That’s exactly what I think, too. Remember how I told you I compare them to ants?”
“Yes.”
“I managed to swipe some primordial texts from a Skin Show in Virginia before I burnt it down. It was written in blood on pages of skin in a language I couldn’t translate, but the illustrations depicted a higher power of nymph and all the other nymphs were scattered throughout many areas, worshipping this one. It was arranged as a sort of family tree, showing the birth cycles of the imps and this one nymph, the queen, birthed all the other nymphs. In the image…the queen is lying with a man while her younglings participated in a demonic sort of orgy.”
“My god, yes, they were. When I woke up…they were sort of melting together into this mass…”
“Yes. That’s how the illustration depicts them, too. The queen selects a particular mate, once a cycle—meaning once a month—and he impregnates her. She keeps him until he can’t perform any longer. But, he has to come to her willingly. That’s how it works with all the nymphs. They can deceive you into it, but it has to be your choice.”
“Holy shit.”
It all clicked, realization pounding her. There was such a simple arrangement to it, really. They’d used Danny to get to Andy, used Rosco to get to Danny. Nicole must have been murdered by Danny…not the real Danny…and Rosco’s closest family was Lou Manchu and his houseful of druggy thugs—they were dead, too. All these people died just to get Andy to come to The Skin Show willingly.
And she’d encouraged him to pursue it, even when he hadn’t wanted to.
It’s my fault…
“She picked Andy tonight…brought him up on stage and…”
Hoffman nodded. “Then it’s already too late for him.”
“No! I won’t accept that!”
“It is what it is.”
“What if the queen is killed…would the hold she has on him go away?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never managed to kill a queen before. From what I can gather, they’re the main source of nourishment, like a charger and the nymphs and imps are the batteries that need to syphon their energy from. Each Skin Show I’ve destroyed, the queen has managed to escape. The one you called Victoria? I believe she came from Virginia and is the same one who took my son.”
“You have to find out what happens if she’s killed...”
“The imps will die without the queen, I’ve learned that. But what you want to know, I don’t have the answer. If your friend has mated with the queen, then he’s still alive for now, but weakened and sick. And they will come for you, no matter where you go. They have your scent.”
“My scent?”
“Yes. You’re stuck in this, unless we kill the queen. They’ll want you since you know about them, and especially since you’ve killed one of their own. Miles and I will back you up. We’re going to allow them to take you, and while they’re distracted with you, Miles and I will take care of them.”
“But…”
“And, I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.” He made sure the jacket swayed open enough to remind her of the gun he had there.
She felt squirmy inside, seeing the gleaming chrome of its handle. Though Karen had planned all along to help them in any way possible, she hadn’t expected Hoffman to volunteer her without her approval. She’d figured she would have to beg for permission.
I can help. I’m the only who’s seen the inside!
It’s too dangerous, Karen. We can’t risk it.
Andy’s in there!
She’d pictured Hoffman’s face furrowing with frustration before he finally nodded and said: Okay. We’ll let you go with us.
Now she understood that all along, he had planned on dragging her back there, regardless. He was going to use her for bait.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Care if I step outside?” asked Karen.
“For what?”
“Does it matter?”
A deep breath hissed through Hoffman’s nose. “I suppose not. Can I trust you won’t try to run away?”
“Would you knock that off?” said Karen. “Andy is still in that hellhole, do you really think I’d take off without him?”
Hoffman shrugged. “With his low odds for survival, some would.”
“I’m not in that category, so fuck off.”
Hoffman held up his hands. “I apologize.”
“Accepted. Now give me a dollar.”
“Pardon?”
“I want a soda. I saw a Pepsi machine at the end of the breezeway, and a Dr. Pepper sounds great right now. Since I don’t have any money, I need yours.”
“A Dr. Pepper does sound good. Will you get three? One for all of us?”
“If you’re buying.”
Hoffman reached behind him and came back with a folded stack of bills, clasped together by a clip. Removing two singles, he gave them to Karen. “I’m sorry for being so blunt, but you have to understand where I’m coming from.”
“I do understand. What’s your big plan when they get here?”
“To let them take us.”
“Ah. And what if they just kill us right here?”
“They won’t. Might bring attention to them.”
“I hope yo
u’re right.” She turned away from Hoffman and headed to the door. “Not that I mind you hanging out, after all, you paid for my room. But how long are you planning on staying? I’d like to get a nap before the action begins, if I have time.”
“You should have time.”
“Great.”
She opened the door and hurried out. Standing in the breezeway, she turned left, heading towards the front office. Her feet throbbed inside Hoffman’s slippers. The footwear slipped down her heels, nearly falling off with every step. Her legs hurt, hips, all over. This short distance to the drink machine was going to take forever. If she didn’t hurry, though, Hoffman might think she’d made a break for it.
The nerve of Hoffman, just assuming she would run away!
I could.
“So what,” she muttered. “Andy needs my help.”
Right. Hoffman’s already written him off. If I don’t help him, no one will.
Karen saw a plank suspended by thin chains with Office faded across the front. Another course cut to the right to a small cubicle. Inside was the ice machine and a soda machine that dispensed cans for seventy-five cents. She saw the dollar track above the coin slot. As she approached the machine she unfolded the bills.
“Walking a little limpy there, huh?”
The voice startled her, making her gasp. She spun around. A short, plump man stood in the doorway, smiling. His curled mouth pushed his chubby cheeks high on his face. His eyes were squinted slits behind the thick black glasses. Something about him was vaguely familiar. And it wasn’t just that he looked like Drew Carey.
Karen faked a smile. “Yes. Had a bit of an accident.”
The man nodded. Karen noticed the name badge pinned to his shirt: Vern—Manager.
“Looks more than a little accident.”
Karen shrugged, held out her hands, the bills slightly wagging. “Well…” She realized she didn’t need to explain herself to this guy.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
Karen made a face. “Very doubtful. I’m not from around here.”
“I can tell that much. But, I swear…I’ve seen you somewhere.”
Again, Karen shrugged. “Don’t think so.” The work of keeping up her false smile was starting to hurt her face.
“Do I look familiar to you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Karen studied him closer. He wore a white buttoned shirt that had apparently been bleached, yet dark stains still remained, and a black tie hanging down his torso. His face was damp with perspiration. Oily reddish hair was plastered flat on his skull, large gut sagging over plump thighs. He was familiar, but she couldn’t place where she should know him from.
Maybe he is Drew Carey.
“Sorry, pal,” she said. “Not ringing any bells.”
“Hmm. Maybe you just have one of those faces.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I’ll let you get your soda.”
“Thank you.”
He started to leave, but stopped. Karen smirked, knowing his retreat was too good not to be a scam.
“Just thought of something,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you take a close look at this face and tell me if it rings a bell.”
Karen started to say something when Alexia stepped through the doorway. Though she was now fully dressed in tight plaid pants, a dark T-shirt that was cut even shorter to expose her midriff, Karen recognized her right away.
“Can I rub your thigh a little?” Alexia asked.
“My…God…”
“Surprised to see me?”
Karen suddenly felt too weak to even hold the dollar bills. They slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the concrete floor. “A little…”
“You might not recognize Vern here, but he surely recognized you earlier. He owns the motel here, comes in early in the morning after finishing up with his part-time third shift job. He was just settling in for a hard day’s work when our phantom wandered in and paid for a room for a friend. Vern watched them help you inside. Lucky for us, he’s also an open pervert, with cameras in all the rooms. He watched you. And, when he saw the old man begin telling you about us…” She shook her head. “Like a good little boy, he contacted us. And, here we are.”
Karen felt dirty, as if she’d skipped having that shower. Then she realized Vern had been watching her while she’d bathed.
When she looked at him, he started nodding. “Yep. I saw it all.”
“Son of a bitch,” gasped Karen. Who Vern was crashed down on her so fiercely, she nearly dropped to the floor. “You’re the cleanup guy from the club!”
Vern laughed. “Not the title I would pick, but yes. Among other things. I do whatever they need me to and in return—”
Karen held up a hand to silence him. “I know what they do for you. You’re one of their slaves…”
“You can’t even begin to imagine what they do for me.”
“Nor do I want to.”
Vern scowled. “Nice. Insult my obvious obesity and repulsiveness. It’s all right. I’m used to it. Before I had Alexia, there wasn’t a woman alive who’d fuck me willingly, unless I paid for it, and even then, I could tell they didn’t want to. But, Alexia, Monica, Sugar, all those girls at The Skin Show have treated me like John Holmes. They just can’t get enough of me.” With that bold statement, he tugged at his crotch.
Karen grimaced.
Alexia put her arm around Vern’s chubby neck. “We all adore you, Vernie-boy. But, I adore you the most.”
“I know you do, babe.”
Alexia and Vern started making out, tongues lashing at one another as if trying to stab their lips. The disgusting slurping sounds of their kisses nauseated Karen. Not soon enough, they pulled away from each other.
“That’s what I like,” said Alexia.
Karen was about to call for Hoffman, but Alexia waved her hand. “Don’t bother screaming for help. I’ll go get the old man myself.” She looked at Vern. “Keep an eye on our friend.”
“Gladly,” he said.
Alexia walked away, the clicking of her heels like hollow thwacks in the breezeway. Each one caused Karen to flinch. She looked at Vern, seeing the desire salivating down his chin. “You’re skin’s gonna look good plastered around Alexia. Especially those legs…can’t see them now from those stupid sweatpants, but I did earlier. And damn they’re sexy.”
“Oh…?” She said, taking a step closer. “These babies?” She patted her thigh. “Want me to drop my pants so you can see them?”
Vern licked his lips, glanced at the doorway, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Go ‘head.”
“Well…” She held her hands up, showing him the wounds. “I’m covered in owies. I might need your big hands to do it for me. Maybe you can even rub them.”
“Yeah?”
Karen nodded. “Mmhmm.”
“Okay.”
He hobbled his way to her, holding out his hands. Karen waited until he was close enough that she could smell the stench of old sweat radiating from his clothes. One more step closer, and she could kick him.
Vern’s fat fingers took her by the waist. As she was about to thrust her knee up, Vern shoved. She flew back, slamming into the drink machine. She heard the crumble of the plastic paneling as it gave under her back. Then she dropped on her rump, moaning.
Laughing, Vern wiped his mouth again. “You really think I’m that gullible. Get real.”
Karen started to cry.
“Stop that shit and get up.”
Karen balled harder, louder.
“Dammit,” he shouted. “I said get up!” He stomped to where she sat, bending over to grab her.
And Karen punched him in the testicles.
Vern’s eyes rolled back in his head as a puff of air dispelled from his thin lips. His body tilted to the side and dropped. When it fell out of her sight, Hoffman was there, his pistol brandished and ready to fire.
&n
bsp; “Good shot,” he said.
Vern groaned beside her.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“Came to check on you. I see you’re fine.”
“But, Alexia, she went to get you…”
“I’m not there.” He smiled. “I imagine right now she’s checking my room.”
“But, Miles…”
“He’s not there, either. He knows what to do if something goes wrong.”
“This asshole has cameras in the rooms…they know about your plan…”
“Shit.” Hoffman offered her his hand. “Come on.”
“O-okay…” She took his hand and was hoisted to her feet, surprised by his strength. “What are we going to do now?”
“We have to improvise.”
Karen started to step over Vern, and froze, foot in the air. Vern was gone. The section of floor he’d been on was vacant. She and Hoffman shared the same quizzical expression. She figured Hoffman was thinking the same as her: How could someone Vern’s size sneak out without them realizing it?
“Forget him,” said Hoffman. “Come on.”
Hoffman, pistol ready, led Karen to the doorway.
An imp appeared, blocking their way, roaring through its cavernous mouth.
Standing behind Hoffman and too scared to move, Karen felt the heat of its breath. Smelled the decaying stench gusting from its lungs. Hot sputum spattered her face in gooey clumps.
The beast flung its arm in an ascending swipe. There was a dense smacking sound, and Hoffman was off his feet and soaring backward, arms outstretched. He crashed into the drink machine, shattering the blue Pepsi emblem in a rupture of sparks and shards. As he fell to the floor, chunks of the machine’s door rained down with him.
Hands pawing both sides of her face, Karen stared in a wild panic as the creature entered the room. Its head knocked against the frame, tearing through it as effortlessly as a football team would a stretched banner at game time.
The creature roared again. Karen felt the deep vibrations in her chest, rattling her lungs, making it hard to breathe.
A series of explosions filled the room.
Karen ducked, arms slinging wildly as if trying to keep her balance. Dime-sized holes appeared in the creature’s head as blossoms of red burst out the back. Cupping her ears with her hands, hunched over, she staggered back. The ice machine bumped her back, stopping her retreat. She saw Hoffman had gotten to his knees. Leaning forward, he had both hands gripping his giant chrome pistol.
The Skin Show Page 21
