by Ninie Hammon
Any one of the incidents that had happened in the little girl's life, taken as an isolated occurrence, was strange. Taking them all together, was somewhere on the other side of strange. It was stretching the bounds of reason to believe that all the things that had happened to that child were just coincidences.
They had too much in common. The child, though, unable to defend herself, had been in some kind of danger each time. And every time, someone had come to her defense. Who?
Well, actually, not every time. The gang attack on her and her new husband was unlike the others. In that instance, it wasn't just Caitlyn who'd been in danger. Still, somehow she had escaped with her life even though her husband had not.
Why? How?
Was it possible she had some kind of … guardian angel? Not some mystical, mythical beast in a fairy-godmother suit, arriving in a pumpkin pulled through the sky by white mice. But a person. Someone in her world who …
That made no sense, though. How could somebody, anybody, have been with the kid 24/7 to rescue her when she was in need — yet nobody noticed?
There was something wrong with all of this. Something more than weird. There was something that connected all these dots, some information the private investigator hadn't been able to dig up.
Clearly, T.J. and Bailey needed to know what was going on.
He picked up the phone he had set down after the call from the private investigator and punched the favorites number for T.J. The call went immediately to voicemail. He called Bailey's number then. The phone rang and rang and then went to voicemail. Obviously, T.J. had his phone turned off. Not surprising. The man hated cellphones in general and his in particular. Said it didn't ring when he had an incoming call even when the ringer was turned on but he was so totally technophobic he resisted every urging by Dobbs that he stop complaining about it and take the danged thing to the phone store — either get it fixed or get a new one.
Bailey was another thing altogether. He punched her number again. She seldom had the thing more than three feet from her side, like maybe she was always expecting an important phone call and didn't want to miss it. He suspected the behavior might have something to do with the past she refused to discuss, but — duh — since she wouldn't discuss it, he didn't know.
Bailey's phone rang and rang. No answer.
Dobbs needed to talk to both of them with a sense of urgency not completely explainable by the circumstances, but certainly exacerbated by the fact that neither one of them was reachable.
He knew where they were, though. The Cedars. Melody McCallum's house. He got up and started for the door, only stopped long enough to forward Zankoski's report to Brice.
Chapter Forty-Two
Bailey's screams sounded like bedsheets rippin', filled up T.J.'s head — where his whole being was in rebellion, flat out refusing to translate what he was seein' into reality.
His mind flashed to that shrink, the one he hadn't really believed, tellin' him about the diabetic who had one personality that wasn't diabetic. T.J. believed now! Grasped with growing horror the implications of voluntary control of body chemistry.
If you could think your pancreas into secreting insulin, what if you could make your adrenal glands produce adrenaline?
His first drill instructor in the Marine Corps had called adrenaline "human jet fuel." The body's response to fight-or-flight situations, adrenaline redistributed blood to the muscles, altered the body's metabolism. The hormone could grant superhuman strength — a mother who was suddenly able to lift a car off her injured child. But an "adrenaline dump" was involuntary and the adrenal gland measured out how much … unless …
What kind of mind was capable of controlling the timing and amount of adrenaline released into the bloodstream? Maybe the mind of an insane child who'd turned off her senses by "flipping a switch."
That little girl was above them now in the ship's rigging that'd become a red spiderweb. No, not little girl — an eight-legged … thing. A human spider. It was Melody McCallum, of course — though he could only tell that for sure 'cause of the hair, that mane of shiny curls that was the color of a piece of caramel. The woman was clinging to the rigging head-down, in a position no human being could have executed.
She'd put on somethin' on the outside of the black turtleneck and tights she'd been wearin', some kinda bodysuit covered in sticky bristles with a bloated, bulbous belly. Hairy legs hung from the bodysuit. Two legs was up near the top. The next set was her own arms ending in black-gloved hands holdin' onto the spiderweb of rope. Another set of legs dangled from the middle of her back and the final set was her own legs, her feet in black ballet slippers … no, probably rock-climbing shoes.
Her face was a horror, her delicate features so distorted she didn't look even vaguely human. Somehow Melody'd pulled her mouth back 'til it wasn't nothing but a slice across the bottom of her face. Spit dripped in a cascade of drool over what'd been a human bottom lip stretched beyond credibility.
The eyes was … impossible.
Impossible!
'Cept there they was, the eyeballs bugged out beyond the sockets, lidless below faint streaks of eyebrows — operating independently. One looking up or to the left while the other looked down. Seeing all around at once. That couldn't be. How could a human being pop out her eyeballs like that? That was crazy!
Wasn't nothing on the face at all you could call a nose, just a ridge of cartilage stretching down it toward the slash where drool dripped out. The rest of the nose had somehow flattened out, leaving only two small black holes.
And somehow that not-a-face managed to communicate emotion — arachnid rage and hatred.
The hissing that came from the Melody creature … from Shannuck the spider … was a sound that could not possibly have come outta her but it did. Then came a grating sound. If she'd been a real spider, she'd have created the noise by rubbin' her legs together like a cricket. But she somehow managed to make the sound with human vocal chords, the ones she'd used to produce the sick laughter that was not laughter at all.
She made the sound now. The spider Shannuck made the corruption of sound. Laughed.
"You die. Shannuck kill," said the creature that wasn't a person anymore, wasn't nothin' like a human being either in intent or consciousness. Then the spider ran down the web, head first, scuttled across it toward them at an impossible speed. Nothing human coulda moved that fast across ships' rigging.
Bailey's screaming had become somethin' more like a whine or a whimper. She cowered against him now. T.J. had absolutely no idea what he would do to protect her from that thing when it got here.
It wasn't "packin'," armed with a rifle complete with laser scope. The creature itself was the weapon.
"Die, die, die. All bugs die." The hoary voice erupted like vomit from the not-human woman racing toward them.
Bailey screamed again, but the sound stopped abruptly and her face went blank. She had connected again — to the spider, Shannuck.
The world is black and white and divided into segments. She sees the webbing above and below and on both sides at the same time. Out front are the big bug things, the creatures in the theatre box, crawly, nasty creatures, ugly, their forms repulsive. Shannuck must kill them, will kill them. He kills any bug that threatens Katydid, the little girl who cowers in the dark, the child he protects.
Shannuck laughs. He is in charge now, has cast aside the Caitlyn creature he hated, the one who'd appeared when Katydid crawled out too close to listen to the stories the nurse read. Edged out farther and farther and then one day she saw the spider dangling from that black hat and Caitlyn stepped out into the world. Shannuck stayed down in the dark with Katydid, right beside her, ready to come to her defense and keep her safe.
But all that was before the car accident when the Caitlyn creature, the Melody creature, was trapped in a car just like Katydid had been trapped in the camper. The Melody creature was as frightened as Katydid had been, cried out for help and so Shannuck appeared and saved her! Sh
annuck ripped the car apart to get her and Katydid to safety and then he killed the bugs in the pickup truck. Shannuck had been a mighty force that day, powerful and fearless, stronger than the sniveling, injured Melody creature — and he'd shoved her aside. Shannuck took control then and ever since, he has ruled supreme. He comes and goes as he likes. He does what spiders do!
The stupid Melody creature doesn't even know he exists and he uses her to make his way in the world, a world where she is one of the bugs. Mindless, she wonders why there are periods of time she doesn't remember, why things happen she can't explain. She purchased the rope and the rigging and all the other things he used to create his lair, but she didn't know she had done it, found one of the receipts and looked at it in wonder, not understanding where it had come from.
The Melody creature sees the world the way she believes it to be.
Shannuck sees the world the way it is.
The world is a place filled with small bugs for him to kill and store away. Every day he hunts, looks for more little bugs to kill because that is his nature, to kill, to wrap up what he has killed, and store it away.
He runs down the web at the bugs below him, the ugly bugs he will kill — but not wrap around and around in shiny white. He will kill them because they are the enemies of Shannuck, they want to keep him from hunting and killing his prey. They must die the death of all those who oppose Shannuck and endanger Katydid — ripped into little pieces, torn apart in rage.
He laughs at the thought of it, laughs as he runs to kill the wretched bugs.
Bailey gasped. The world spun. She saw the spider coming at them when seconds ago she had been the spider coming at them.
She had been inside looking out, now she was outside, looking in.
Bailey was losing herself.
She felt the sliding, the diminished awareness, but she was unable to do anything about it. She could only stare at the monster spider that was really a woman, but really a spider, running down the web at them and she knew Shannuck would kill them both, rip them apart.
Katydid had seen the real spider she'd named Shannuck race across the web he'd built to kill whatever was entangled in it. She'd studied how he wrapped up the smaller bugs — little wasps, bees and fat green flies. She didn't know what he did with them and didn't care. Just watched him rolling them over and over until they were small white packages he carried away with him.
Once Shannuck, the human distorted into a spider, was set free, he began to do the same — killed little "bugs" and stored them away. Because that's what spiders did. Shannuck would never stop killing. It was his nature and he would continue to hunt and murder small children as long as he drew breath on the earth.
The spider racing down the web toward them suddenly paused. Hesitated. It looked around, looked back up the web. It had become aware of something, heard or smelled or saw or sensed something she and T.J. couldn't.
Then it turned, an impossible move for a human. Facing down on the net, it turned and raced back up the net, scuttled so quickly it was gone in an instant, vanished up there in the gloom.
Bailey felt her legs going out from under her, felt herself starting to fall. She was afraid she was going to faint and didn't know what that might mean. Would the person who was Bailey fall into one of the other consciousnesses — live in the significant moments that were pulsing now in the mind of the little girl hiding down in the darkness? The spider? Or maybe Melody? Or would she fall down into her own darkness, into the depths of herself, down into the abyss — and stay there?
"Bailey."
She heard her name called from a great distance.
Then she felt a stinging on her cheek, and her head rocked to the side.
The slap pulled her back, and the darkness converging on her from all sides began to recede.
"Bailey!"
T.J. slapped her again, hard. Tears welled in her eyes and she tasted blood in her mouth.
"Stop it!"
"Come back!"
Back was the nightmare world of spiders and bugs and crawling things.
But back was real. It was where the real Bailey really was. And in a strange, desperate way, she welcomed it.
"We gotta move now while she's gone. Cross there."
She looked where he pointed, her vision washing over a small footbridge that connected to the next theatre box, about fifty feet higher on the wall. The bridge looked unstable, as if it merely dangled between the two theatre boxes, like it would sway in the wind if there were one. But when she stepped out onto it, she realized it was solid, had just been designed to look flimsy and delicate — with lattice side rails that were as alive with creatures as was every other surface.
She slid her hand along the top of the railing to keep her balance as T.J. dragged her by the other hand and she staggered along behind him. Something hairy touched her hand, skittered across her wrist and up her arm toward her elbow. She shook it away. But it didn't fall off. It clung to her. She looked at it, focused her blurry attention on it.
A tarantula.
She yanked her other hand out of T.J.'s grip, slapped at the thing … and it bit her.
Bailey shrieked. T.J. turned to her.
"What—?"
She held out her arm, a burning, throbbing agony.
"It bit me. A tarantula bit me."
Just the words were so horrifying she thought she might jump out of her skin. It had crawled on her! Bit her! Now her whole arm was on fire, a pounding nightmare of pain.
"A tarantula, not one of the … smaller spiders? Or some kind you ain't never seen before? You sure?"
"Yes," — she shuddered — "a tarantula!"
"Ain't fatal, then. Come on."
He grabbed her other arm and began dragging her along the bridge to the next theatre box.
Bailey was suddenly sick, reflexive heaving clamped down on her diaphragm and she spewed out her breakfast onto the floor of the bridge. T.J. didn't even slow down, just kept dragging her along as she vomited. The world was swimming. Then the world was gone again.
Chapter Forty-Three
She is sitting up in a wheelchair in front of a window. The sun is shining on her face. From far back in the dark, safe place Katydid can see the sunlight shining in through the eyes. She can feel the sun on the skin.
The nice nurse the other nurses call Naomi, who is tall and has big hands and reads her stories every day will be here soon. Katydid likes Naomi. She has a kind face with a big nose, curly brown hair and bright brown eyes that look like the acorns that used to fall out of the tree in the back yard of the house where Katydid lived with the parents she used to have before she did the bad thing and they left her alone in the stinky place with the bugs that hurt her.
When the nurse comes in to read, Katydid moves carefully out of the dark place. Sneaks closer into the edge of the light, so she can listen to the stories.
The hospital room window is open today and the wind is blowing in and Katydid can smell good things. While she waits for Naomi to come and read her a story, she edges closer to the world and smells the good smells. There are flowers and the air is fresh, like it just got washed by rain. She can see through the eyes out into the light, can look over the tops of trees at the clouds and the wires where birds sometimes sit side by side but not today.
The wheelchair is angled so Katydid can see the woman in the bed next to hers, who never gets to look out the window because she is old and sick and can't sit up. Her name is Martha and she talks about her children who aren't there, only she thinks they are. She cries for them sometimes and she yells sometimes and then the nurses come and give her a shot.
She and Martha are alone in the room until the Blaine Thing comes through the door. He's an orderly, but he isn't a nice orderly like the big black man with huge hands who is so strong he just picks Katydid up and puts her in the chair like she doesn't weight anything at all.
The nurses don't like the Blaine Thing. They talk about him, that it's not his fault if sometimes
he doesn't understand what they want him to do. They don't really believe that — she's heard them whispering — but they can't say so because he is "mentally challenged" and you can't say bad things about mentally challenged people or you'll get in trouble. The Blaine Thing knows they can't talk about him, knows they can't make him do things if he pretends he doesn't understand what they want and he laughs at them for being stupid. Katydid knows because he talks to himself all the time when the nurses aren't around. He hates them, but he hates the old people more and any time he gets a chance to be mean to the old people he does. The nurses know, but they've never caught him so they can't prove it.
The Blaine Thing does things to Martha when the nurses aren't around. He pinches her hard sometimes and Martha cries out, but the nurses just give her a shot so she will go to sleep and not cry out anymore.
Today, the Blaine Thing has a bent hairpin and he sticks it in Martha's ear. It must hurt because she twists her head and tries to make him stop, but he looks over his shoulder to make sure no nurses are coming and he grabs a handful of Martha's hair and holds her head still and he jabs the thing in her ear and she cries and he keeps doing it.
Then he sees that he has made her ear bleed.
"You old hag! Don't you make a mess and get me in trouble."
He calls her terrible names and says bad words to her as he snatches a tissue from the box and jams it into her ear to stop the bleeding. But when he pulls out the tissue, she's still bleeding and that makes him even madder. "Stop it! Stop bleeding!"
He stuffs another tissue in, pushes it down hard and holds it, but when he pulls it out she's still bleeding. A lot. He jams more tissue into her ear and stuffs the bloody tissues into his pocket.
"You stop that bleeding or I'll fix you like I fixed Granny. I'll get that stuff out of the laundry room that makes the clothes white, and I'll hold your nose and pour it down your throat. Then you'll choke and cough and get sick. And your eyes will roll back in your head and you'll be dead!"
