The Best New Horror 3

by Stephen Jones

  Talk like that dazed Snake. “God, you make me hot,” he told her. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “First.”

  Business first, was what she meant. Snake expected that and had prepared for it. In his pockets he had two packets of pills, a larger quantity in case Toni met either or both of his demands, and a smaller number if she turned him down. It was time to yank the leash. Snake slipped her the packet containing half a dozen Demerols. Without looking at it, her eyes widened in alarm.

  “That’s all?”

  “’Fraid so, babe.”

  “Why?”

  “Recession. Supply and demand. Things are tight. Remember when I told you it’d be a lot easier if we worked together?”

  Toni was trying to look stern, but it didn’t suit her. “You know I can find other sources,” she said.

  “It isn’t wise to take business away from the Legion,” Snake countered, falling back on his last serious threat. Not that the Legion gave a damn about him. However, Toni didn’t know that, so the threat was as good as real. “It makes ’em want to go out and kick somebody’s face in, that kind of thing.”

  “All I want is a little time,” Toni said pleadingly.

  “What I just gave you is a little time.”

  Toni sighed unhappily. “All right.”

  “Now, let’s go out to the car.”

  V

  Tony couldn’t stand it anymore. The pain was too much for him to bear. Three days ago he had finally gone to a dentist and had his teeth filled with some kind of plastic. It was a hideous session, lasting hours. The dentist obviously thought that Tony was crazy because of what he had done to his teeth, and for not removing his sunglasses. It cost a lot, and since Tony was not a regular patient and had no dental coverage he was obliged to fork over the money in advance. That was smart on the dentist’s part, as Tony never would have bothered if he knew the fillings weren’t going to work. They didn’t.

  At first he thought it was just a matter of time before the pain wore off for good, but after three days it was clearly there to stay. Perhaps he should have had new metal fillings installed to interfere with the Pied Piper’s broadcasts, but the originals hadn’t really done the job, and it now seemed likely that Tony’s teeth had little if anything to do with the strength or weakness of the torment he experienced.

  He hadn’t actually seen the Pied Piper in some time now, but the messages still came through several times a day. They meant little to Tony, aside from the sheer pain and terror they caused him. It had reached the point where he spent most of his time in bed or on the couch, weak from the last onslaught, trembling with dread in anticipation of the next one.

  The pain usually subsided at night, and Tony would go out to eat and then hustle up some work. He tried to do what the demon voice wanted. He brought several customers back to his place and performed magnificently. They were cheap bums who didn’t deserve such royal treatment but Tony would do whatever it took to please the Pied Piper. When the voice returned, however, it was always dissatisfied, and the agony continued.

  Worse, Tony hadn’t seen Snake since the night before he went to the dentist. He needed more Demerol, huge amounts, to get him through each day and make life somewhat bearable. Tony stabbed a glossy fingernail at the ice in his drink. It looked as if Snake would not appear at the El Greco tonight. That was bad, because Tony was completely out of Demerol. It had occurred to him that unless he got some he might kill himself tomorrow—assuming the Pied Piper would let him. Tony didn’t know what to do. He left the bar, planning to return later. In the meantime, he would hit a few other places and see if he could find Snake.

  The bastard was jerking his chain, that’s what it was. Tony wouldn’t work for him, wouldn’t take him home for a long night of sex. Well, there was a problem. Somehow, Snake had yet to grasp the fact that Tony was at least nominally male. Tony could work the straight side of the street, but that was nerve-wracking, and he had no appetite for it. Nor could he bring Snake home, as it wouldn’t be long before the Lost Legionnaire noticed some little something taped flat between Tony’s legs.

  Tony pulled a couple of quick tricks in his wanderings, but he didn’t find Snake. He eventually found himself crossing the bridge into Riverside. It was a poor working-class neighbourhood, virtually identical to the south end but for the fact that there were very few blacks or Hispanics in Riverside. It was for the most part unknown territory to Tony, but for some reason he felt he was heading in the right direction.

  He tried a few bars along the way, looking in, then turning to leave immediately. Tony had long ago developed an ability to recognize places where he was sure to get beaten up.

  He had to work out something with Snake. He could tell him the truth, and probably get beaten up for that, but at least it would clear the air. The charade couldn’t go on much longer, and it might be better to get it over with sooner than later. But he had to have something to appease Snake. A share of Tony’s income from gays—that might do it. Why not? It was the same kind of deal Snake wanted, except that Tony would be working his regular beat, not the cashladen yuppie straights at the Green Door. The money might be less but it was still money for nothing. And Tony would have his steady supply of coke and Demerol. Yeah, it might just work out.

  Nonetheless, Tony shuddered at the prospect of confronting Snake with the truth. Was it really necessary? Tony had enough cash on him now to buy a few days’ worth of pills. Do that, just pay for the medicine, take it and go. No sex, no promises. Keep it strictly on a business footing. And if Snake insists on more? Tell him it’s that time of the month. No, Tony remembered he had done that only a week or two ago. Vaginal fungus? Snake might want to eat it. Tell him you’ve got the clap, and you’re out of action for a while. Head, yes; anything else, no.

  The rattletrap Dodge Colt—there it was. Tony was amazed. He had found Snake. Almost. The car was parked in front of an aged triple-decker. On one side of the house there was a vacant lot, then a bakery and some more shops. On the other side, there was a diner, now closed, and a bar that Tony had already checked. Across the street, nothing likely. It had to be this apartment house. But which of the three apartments?

  Tony started on the ground floor. He pushed the doorbell, but it didn’t ring. He was about to knock when, through the side window, he caught sight of an elderly man sitting in an armchair in the front room. Doubtful. Tony went up the battered stairs. The light was mercifully dim, a single hanging bulb nearly burned out, and the air was permeated with the compressed smell of stale cooking—decades of it. The apartment on the second floor was dark and the screen door was locked. Tony caught his breath, and then continued on to the top floor. Lights, a dull noise inside. Tony knocked. Nothing. He knocked again, louder. Still no sign of a response. He knocked hard enough to hurt his knuckles.

  “Yeah.”

  The voice was faint and distant, but Tony was certain he had heard it. He tried the door, and it opened. He entered a narrow hallway. It was dark, but light came through an archway ahead on the right. Tony took a few steps and stood, looking into a drab living room. There was a girl on the couch.

  “You must be the little woman.”

  “Who’re you?”

  “I’m looking for Snake.”

  “He’s out.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “His car is out front,” Tony said. “Would he be somewhere in the neighbourhood?”

  “He went with Crabs.”

  “What?”

  “Crabs. His friend.”

  “Oh.” Tony felt uncomfortable talking across the room. He moved closer to the pathetic girl, who made no effort to get up. She was squeezing her fingers strangely. “Are you okay?”

  “No. I’m out of medicine and I’m all fucked up.”

  “So am I.”

  Without thinking about it, Tony went to the couch and sat on the edge of it beside the girl. She looked awful.

  “That’s a pretty dr
ess.”

  “Thank you.” Tony glanced at the girl’s hands again and was shocked to see that she was digging her nails into the palms, and blood was oozing between her fingers. She was gouging out a hole in the center of each hand. “What’re you doing?” Tony cried in a voice strangled with alarm.

  “It’s Jesus,” the girl said. “Jesus is in me.”

  “Jesus?”

  “These are His wounds.” The girl’s eyes were brighter now, lit with enthusiasm. “Look at my feet.”

  Tony turned his head and glanced back. “Oh my God.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Honey, let me— ”

  “And look here.”

  Before Tony could do or say anything, the girl yanked up her T-shirt, revealing a pancake breast. That’s not much bigger than mine, Tony thought. Then he noticed the running sore in the side of the girl’s body, about the size of a silver dollar. The skin around it was streaked with dried blood. She must have picked at it for hours, days. It was terrible to see, but also fascinating and even exciting. Tony felt as if he’d walked into this girl’s dream.

  “Nobody believes me,” she said sadly.

  “I do,” Tony found himself saying.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  The girl smiled. “You’re so pretty.”

  “When is Snake coming home?”

  “I never know.”

  Tony’s eyes drifted helplessly back to the bloody wound near the girl’s breast. The skin had not been allowed to form a scab. The wound has the wet, puckered look of a vagina, Tony thought in a fog of wonder. You have two of them and I don’t even have one. He couldn’t keep from smiling.

  “Put your hand in,” the girl said. “Just like they did with the Lord Jesus. Go on. Please.”

  “My hand won’t fit.”

  “Your finger then.”

  Tony hesitated, but then was astonished to see his hand move toward the girl’s body. His middle finger slid effortlessly into the moist wound. It terrified him to picture the long artificial nail, hard and sharp, pushing deeper into the girl’s body, but he didn’t stop until the finger was in all the way.

  “Tell me your name.”

  “Shelly.” Then, “No. Jesus.”

  Tony felt as if he had plugged into a chaos of heat, turmoil and liquid. Shelly’s body quaked violently, her eyes shining, an unfathomable expression on her face. Pain and peace, maybe. Her hands clutched Tony’s arm, pressing it harder to her body.

  The next thing he knew, he was in a squalid kitchen, washing his hands in a stream of tepid tap-water. Roaches huddled in the gap between the backsplash and the crumbling plaster wall, but he ignored them. Tony’s mind couldn’t seem to focus on anything for more than a second or two, and now the pain was starting to seep back in at the edges.

  Where was Snake? But that didn’t matter. Go away. Get out of here. Now. You can always kill yourself tomorrow, but if you stay here they’ll come, and they’ll think you’re crazy. And then they’ll lock you up, and it’ll be too late to do anything.

  In the living room, Shelly was still. Her eyes followed him as he approached. He imagined the faintest smile on her face, or maybe it was actually there. At the edge of his vision, where he could not quite look, he knew that Shelly had inserted her finger into the wound. Her hand twisted and poked. There was a lot of bright red, and it was spreading, but Tony looked away. Then he left as quickly as he could.

  ENTR’ACTE

  Doctor Ladybank chatted with Jack and his wife, Gloria, for a few minutes, and then took his drink out onto the terrace. The party was in full swing, and it was a little too hot and crowded inside for him. The evening air was pleasantly cool, sweet with a mix of fragrances from Gloria’s flower garden. Nice woman, was Gloria. A bit too nice for a rogue like Jack, but they seemed to get along and had been together for years.

  Doctor Ladybank normally didn’t care for social gatherings, mingling with a lot of strangers, making forced conversation, but every now and then Jack threw a good old-fashioned cocktail party that simply couldn’t be missed. This one came at a particularly good time. Doctor Ladybank needed a break. He’d been giving too much of himself to his experiment lately.

  It didn’t tire him, it wasn’t stressful, there were no nasty side effects at all as far as he could tell. But it was utterly irresistible! In just a few short weeks he had become thoroughly caught up in the lives of his two subjects. He resented any time spent away from them. Work, eating, sleeping—the bulk of his normal activities had faded into dullness.

  There were many problems yet to be resolved. First, was the lack of quality time with Tony and Snake. It was often difficult to get through to them, especially at night. When Tony went out, Doctor Ladybank almost always lost contact. The same applied to Snake. It was not an absolute rule, however. There were several times when he did reach them at night, including a few important moments. Doctor Ladybank had no idea whether that was because of the intensity of his concentration or merely the configuration of their surroundings.

  By now he had a rough idea of the range of his effect on the two young men. It went from basically annoying them to generally influencing their behavior, and peaked at substantial control of their thoughts and emotions. It was dazzling, but also somewhat perplexing. He could hurt them, to the point of unconsciousness, but he had not yet learned how to make them laugh or feel sudden moments of spontaneous pleasure. Doctor Ladybank regretted that, as both Tony and Snake were doing so much for him, and they lived such unrewarding lives. But he didn’t regret it very much; there was no place for sentiment in science.

  Feedback was bliss. That was perhaps the most exciting part of Doctor Ladybank’s discovery. How would he know if his efforts were really working? In practice, he found that he just knew, he sensed it somehow, without knowing quite how he knew. It was not as if he “heard” Delgado answering him, for instance. But Doctor Ladybank’s thoughts and directives flowed intuitively, as if they were in fact conversing on some new level, and thus, when he held either of them in the strongest contact he was aware of what they were doing, how they responded and what his own next words should be. To Doctor Ladybank it didn’t qualify as vicarious experience but there was certainly an intellectual thrill in it.

  It was a bitter disappointment to him that in the four weeks since he had happened on the technique, as he thought of it, he had not found anyone else receptive to it. That was definitely a puzzle, apparently defying the laws of chance and probability.

  The greatest mystery, though, was at the heart of the whole experiment. To what degree did he affect their behavior? Was it mostly his doing, or was he just providing an added mental shove, urging them along paths they would have taken anyway? So far, it was impossible to know for sure.

  A mosquito buzzed close to his eye. Doctor Ladybank went in and got another drink. He was buttonholed by Margaret Zuvella, a lawyer with the Public Defender’s office. She didn’t fit in with Jack’s corporate law crowd but she was young and very attractive, which made her an ideal party guest. Doctor Ladybank had met her on one of his court-appointed cases, and they’d encountered each other a few times since. What a subject she’d make, he couldn’t help thinking. But when he tried the technique, it had no effect whatsoever on her. Sad. They chatted about a nineteen-year-old pyromaniac they had both tried, and failed, to keep out of prison a few months ago.

  “He set a fire in the library,” Margaret said with obvious delight. “Then he got the prison laundry.”

  “Splendid. Troy’s a determined lad.”

  At that moment Jack horned in, looking loose and well-oiled, but not at all tipsy.

  “Maggie,” he said, smirking like someone about to explain an inside joke. “I have to warn you.”

  “About what?”

  “Ian here. You better watch out. He can make you take your clothes off right here, in a room full of people.”

  A tendril of dismay uncoiled in Doctor Ladybank’s mind.


  “Really,” Margaret said, smiling. “How can he do that?”

  Jack tapped his forehead. “Brain waves. He beams them over to your brain and makes you do whatever he wants.”

  “Jack.” Doctor Ladybank forced himself to chuckle and shake his head dismissively.

  “I’d love to see it,” Margaret said.

  “Honestly,” Jack continued. “Ian is conducting experiments on a couple of people, doing just that. How’s it going, by the way, Ian? Got them jumping through hoops yet?”

  “You’re not,” Margaret said.

  “Of course not,” Doctor Ladybank replied. “Jack and I were laying waste to a bottle of malt last month, and we were talking about clairvoyance, telepathy, that kind of thing. It was just a load of idle speculation, that’s all.”

  “Ah.” Margaret nodded.

  “Oh, Ian, come on now,” Jack protested. “You were damn well serious about it. I wasn’t, but you were.”

  The silly crock was pushing it. Doctor Ladybank was shaken, but he maintained an expression of placid indulgence.

  “It was the whiskey talking,” he told Margaret. “Then, and now, in Jack’s case, I’m afraid.”

  “I see.”

  Jack gave up, and the three of them laughed politely.

  “I still think it’s a good idea,” Jack said as he started to leave in search of others on whom he could shower bonhomie.

  “What is?” Margaret asked.

  “If Ian gets you to take your clothes off.”

  “Jack, go away,” she told him, trying to suppress a giggle. “Go away and behave yourself.”

  Yes, Doctor Ladybank thought. Go away, Jack.

  VI

  For once in his life something had gone right. If he hadn’t been in the right place at the right time the cops would have put the collar on him in a flash. They knew him, they’d busted him a couple of times in the last few years, though never for anything too serious. Yeah, they’d love to hang some hard time on his ass if they could, but Snake was covered.