by Ray Garton
Mace stood to his full height and smiled, purring, "Look familiar, Reverend?" Chuckles rolled like ice cubes up from his chest as he ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip. Mace opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue as a child might at a playground rival. But it kept coming, like a snake easing its way out of a hole.
Jeff heard a strange dry clicking and realized it was the sound of shock in his own throat.
Lily tightened her grip on his sides and whimpered softly as the tongue slid out farther and farther.
Bainbridge frantically muttered prayers under his breath.
The tip of Mace's tongue touched Nikki's left nipple, rolling around it around and around.
The reverend raised his voice: "… though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death—"
The tongue, extended a good three feet from Mace's mouth now, moved to the right nipple, lantern light glistening in diamondlike reflections along its moist length.
"—I will fear no evil, for thou art with me—"
It rose to her mouth, and she wrapped her lips around it, sucking it as if it was a rigid penis.
"—thy rod and thy staff they comfort me—"
Lily's nails dug into Jeff's flanks like small knives, but he hardly felt them because he was numb with horror as he watched Mace's tongue return to Nikki's breasts; they swayed as she wriggled with groggy delight.
"Feels… so… good…" she breathed.
"—thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies—"
The tongue slid down over her belly, leaving a sparkling trail like an oversized slug.
"—thou anointest my head with oil—"
It eased lower still, over her navel, toward the triangle of hair between her legs….
"—my cup runneth over, surely g-goodness and m-mercy—"
Jeff's guts chilled as Mace's tongue continued its descent….
"Holy Jesus," he whispered, turning to Lily and pulling her away from the hole, somehow certain of what was about to happen. Open-mouthed and breathless, Lily resisted at first, but he jerked her hard into his trembling arms and pressed her face to his shoulder, whispering into her ear, "Don't watch, Lily, d-don't look at this…."
Jeff heard a deep moan of pleasure catch in Nikki's throat and turn into a cough.
Soft wet sounds—moist sliding sounds—were buried by the reverend's gibbering voice: "Oh, God, don't do this, dear Jesus, merciful Father in heaven, don't do this!"
Jeff felt lightheaded as he closed his eyes and held Lily tight; he felt as if he had somehow tripped and fallen into someone else's nightmare as Nikki began to make dry, pained retching sounds.
"Nikki?" Lily whispered.
Jeff pressed her face harder to his shoulder. His jaws ached from clenching his teeth.
Nikki screamed. It was unlike any scream Jeff had ever heard; it tore from her lungs like skin from bone.
"Nikki?" Lily's coarse voice was louder, trembling with fear. Jeff pushed her away from him, turned her around, and clapped a hand over her mouth.
Nikki vomited then; the sound was loud and distinct, as if she were emptying her body of everything it contained.
The reverend let out a crumbling, defeated "Ooohhh," and Jeff heard his body collapse against the wall and slide to the floor. He had fainted.
Lily pulled away from Jeff suddenly and screamed, "Nikkiii!"
There was a startled murmur of voices and sudden movement beyond the wall.
Jeff pulled away from their hiding place so suddenly he nearly fell. He spun around and pushed Lily, rasping, "Run!" as he heard the chitter and scrape of small claws on the cement floor coming around the wall. "Run, run!"
"But N-Nikki's—"
"Just go, goddammit!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her along, stumbling on a chunk of plaster.
As they clambered down the stairs into the sub-basement Jeff heard the sound of snapping teeth behind them and turned on the flashlight. He missed a step and, for an instant, was airborne, limbs sprawled. When he hit the floor, a needlelike pain shot through his shoulder.
He heard shouting from upstairs, hurried footsteps, and another loud cry from Nikki, sounding different now, empty, resigned.
"Get up!" Lily cried, grabbing his arm. "Get up—Jesus Christ, get up!"
Jeff rolled onto his back, and the flashlight beam swept upward, reflected in a dozen golden eyes skittering down the stairs.
Lily pulled, gasping, "Now, now, NOW!" and Jeff struggled onto his hands and knees, half crawling to the hole in the wall, gripping the edge, pulling himself to his feet as Lily crawled through.
Claws scratched over the cement behind him, teeth snapped, and the guttural squalls the creatures made sent slivers of ice through his veins as he fell through the hole, nearly tumbling over the edge of the walkway and into the rushing stream of blackness below.
Lily was before him, pulling on his sleeves, babbling, "Get up, c'mon, please, Jeff—get up now, get—"
Her eyes turned to the hole behind him, widening, and she screamed as she backed away. Above her scream, above the wet sounds of the sewer, Jeff heard them coming through the hole and began to crawl, the flashlight beam cutting wildly through the darkness as he felt them at his feet.
Kicking his feet, hoping to hit them, Jeff managed to stand, his hand sliding over the wet wall in search of something to grasp. As he rushed toward Lily he saw her face twist into a mask of horror as she waved her arms, screaming, "Jesus, oh, God—they're—they're right be-be-behind—"
Jeff spun around and swept a foot over the cement, knocking three of them off the walkway, then swept it back again to kick the others rushing toward him.
One stood on its hind legs, hissed, and dived through the air toward him while his leg was still raised. He tried to hop backward, but he lost his balance, flailed his arms, and fell, splashing into the stream of sewage.
Lily screamed shrilly.
Jeff thrashed in the waste, gulping air, anchoring his feet on the bottom and gripping the edge of the walkway, trying to keep the flashlight safely above his head.
"Get out of here, Lily!" he shouted. "Find a manhole and get out!"
"No, dammit, give me—"
"Go! I'm right behind you!" He put his arms on the walkway and started to pull himself up as Lily's footsteps faded.
The sewage was waist-deep; dark lumps washed around him, clung to his jacket, and the rancid odor filled his nostrils and throat.
Something grabbed his jacket, and he looked down to see one of the creatures hanging by its teeth, flat nostrils flaring, its teeth tearing into his jacket, and Jeff could not hold back the scream. He brought the butt of the flashlight down hard, striking the creature between the eyes as he swayed precariously in the strong current.
The animal fell away.
Jeff tried once again to pull himself out and saw two black-booted feet suddenly standing before him.
"Help me!" he blurted without looking up. "Help me, please!"
A big hand took his arm and effortlessly lifted him out of the gutter and onto his feet.
"You're welcome to stay," Mace said pleasantly.
Jeff flinched, backing away from him. Mace's chin was still dark and dripping; meaty specks were stuck between his teeth. Jeff aimed the flashlight at him as if it were a gun.
"Is she dead?" Jeff croaked. "Did you kill her?"
"Nikki? No, no, course not. She's fine. I just did what she wanted."
Three of the creatures were sniffing around behind Mace; one of them rubbed itself against his ankle like a house cat.
"If you stick around," Mace went on, "maybe there's something you want, something I can—"
Jeff took several steps away from him. "What are you?"
Mace's smile was filled with such warmth that Jeff felt confused for a moment. He thought that perhaps hurrying away was not the right thing to do, that maybe Mace wasn't so bad after all, because he seemed genuine, sincere. But there were still dark, bloody flecks on his teeth, on
his lips, and Jeff quickly remembered what he'd heard inside, what Mace had done. Jeff did not yet understand it, but he remembered….
"What am I?" Mace repeated thoughtfully, wiping his chin with the heel of his hand. "I'm… a friend. That's all. Just a friend."
Jeff turned and followed in Lily's direction.
"You remember that," Mace called as Jeff found the open manhole, saw Lily's face peering down from the rainy street above. He grabbed the rungs and began to climb.
"You remember that, because you'll need a friend soon. You'll need a friend." With a hollow, echoing chuckle, Mace added, "Big brother…"
Nineteen
J.R. was enjoying the sound of the rain against his windows as he thumbed through the Rolling Stone he'd bought that day. A Kate Bush album was on the stereo, he had a beer in hand, and he was slumped on the sofa with his feet up, comfortable and content. The rain reminded him of home, although it was pretty early in the year for such harsh weather, even for Northern California.
He'd driven a very inebriated Faye Beddoe home from The Depot, offering her a ride to her car tomorrow if she couldn't find one and promising to tell no one of her condition.
As if sensing his worry, she'd said, "I don't do this often, Junior. I just… just needed to tonight. I'll be better Monday." "You're sure you don't want to talk about it?" "But… I did. Perhaps you didn't hear…." He wasn't sure what she was referring to but left it at that, hoping to talk with her later when she was sober.
It had done him good to get out. He hadn't made any friends since his move, with the exception, now, of Faye. He had a lot of students in his charge, making for a tight schedule, and at the end of the day he had too little energy left to pursue a social life just yet. It would have to wait awhile.
He found counseling to be a bit more taxing than he'd expected. As a teacher, he'd dealt with groups of students; while it was hard work, it had given him a little more space than counseling, had been a bit more relaxed.
As a counselor, he dealt with one student at a time. They came into his office to talk about their classes and grades, but, more often than not, the conversation turned to other things:
Julio, the chubby Hispanic boy whose grades had plummeted: "I don't wanna live with my dad 'cause he drinks, but my mom's boyfriend, he don't want me in their house."
The black girl named Myra, whose nails had been chewed to the quick, bursting into tears during a discussion about her poor attendance record: "I'm sorry, Mr. Haskell, I'm s-sorry, but my d-dad w-wouldn't let me c-come back to school until… until the… b-bruises were gone and… and the c-cuts h-healed…"
The painfully thin girl who wore expensive clothes and drove a brand new sports car: "I just did it to lose a little weight at first—sticking a finger down my throat after meals, y'know?—'cause my mother said I was getting fat, and I hate that, being fat, I hate it. But now… well, I can't stop now. Throwing up, I mean. And I thought maybe I should, well, like… see a doctor?"
The boy named Garth who wore lots of leather, had shaved his head, and had been busted several times for carrying knives on campus: "Fuck you, and this fuckin' school, up your ass."
Sometimes as he sat at his desk listening to a student— perhaps it was the student's tone of voice, a glint of desperation in the eyes, or something much less perceptible —Sheila flashed in his mind, her voice echoed in his ears—
Do you think I'm sick and evil?
—and he was overcome with the desperate urge to help the boy or girl in his office, to do something, anything, that would make things better before it was too late….
All he could do, however, was counsel, refer, and listen.
The tape in the stereo came to its end, and J.R. got up to turn it over. Before he got there, the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Collect call for J.R. Haskell from a Jeff Carr, will you accept charges?"
"Collect?"
"Yes, will you accept—"
"Yes, yes, of course."
"Mr. Has—uh, J.R.?" Jeff said. He was out of breath, his voice hoarse; from the sounds of rain and traffic in the background, he was in a phone booth.
"Jeff, what's wrong? Where are you?"
"Sorry about calling collect, but we didn't have any change, and—"
"Who're you with? What's happened?" J.R. instinctively groped for a pad and pen in the narrow drawer of the phone table.
"I'm with Lily Jaskett. We're at Ventura and Coldwater, in front of Hughes Market."
"Are you all right?"
"Not… really." He laughed then, and J.R. thought he detected a chilling shadow of hysteria in Jeff's voice.
"Should I bring help? Police or an—"
"No! No police. Everything's okay, really, just… well, if you could come get us—"
"I'll be right there." He slammed the phone down and dashed for his coat…
Things calmed down quickly in the pool room after Reverend Bainbridge ran, babbling hysterically, up the spiral stairs and out of the building.
Curious heads that had risen from the pool's darkness in reaction to the unfamiliar and terrified scream lowered again, returning to their beers, joints, sex….
Mallory remained cuddled next to Kevin beneath the blanket, not much caring about what was going on, deciding, as Kevin did, that Mace would take care of it.
Mace disappeared for a few minutes but returned to assure them that everything was just fine. He asked Kevin to go out for food, and Kevin climbed out of the pool, took his crumpled jeans from the floor, and put them on.
"Want us to find that reverend guy?" Kevin asked.
"Oh, no. He won't be a problem, not now that he knows what he's dealing with," Mace said. He gave Kevin some money and told him to bring back pizza.
Kevin peered over the edge of the pool at Mallory. "Wanna come?"
She was about to say no when Mace answered for her: "She'll stay."
Kevin took Mark and Trevor with him, promising to be back soon.
Mallory closed her eyes, breathed deeply, relaxed, smiled at the mild euphoria she was feeling. She could hear Mace's whispers above her.
"Nikki? How do you feel?"
"Mm… sleepy."
"Any pain?"
Pain? Mallory thought. What happened? Was someone hurt?
"A little," Nikki murmured. "Not bad." A smile in her voice: "Thank you."
"Here. A blanket. Stay warm. Relax. Sleep. Smoke some more of this."
"Mmm…"
"And remember. Our deal… your promise?"
"I remember."
"Good girl."
Mallory shifted beneath her blanket. The sensation of her thighs rubbing together, her skin smooth and warm, was soothing, a bit titillating. There was a song playing on the radio… one Mallory thought she liked but wasn't quite sure… it was hard to focus on the lyrics… the melody … on anything. Everything around her, even with her eyes closed, seemed to run together like spilled paint.
Until a hand rested on her knee.
"Mallory?" It was Mace.
"Hm?" She half opened her eyes.
"You're all alone."
"You sent Kevin away."
"No reason for you to be alone." He sat down beside her, leaning his back against the pool wall. "Enjoying yourself?"
"Mm-hm."
"I'm glad."
Mace gently stroked her hair; it made her smile, reminding her of the way her father used to run his fingers through her bangs, playfully flip them up and down on her forehead, then caress them back into place.
"Are you going home soon?"
"I don't know. Why, do you want me to?"
"That's up to you." He delicately ran a fingertip over her eyelashes. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you want."
"Really?"
"Really. Here." He reached over her head to the edge of the pool and brought down his pipe and lighter. He slipped the pipe between his lips, lit it, and handed it to Mallory.
She inhaled and held the smoke in her lu
ngs.
"Won't your mother be upset?" he asked.
"Probably doesn't know I'm gone."
"What about your brother?"
She shrugged, exhaling, then took another drag.
"You know, Mallory, I think your brother cares about you very much."
"I know he does."
"Do you? Aren't you afraid he'll be upset? That he'll worry about you?"
"He always does."
He traced the line of her jaw with a finger, and Mallory closed her eyes, leaned back her head as he stroked her throat; her skin tingled.
"Would he worry," Mace whispered, "if he knew you were okay? That you want to be here?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe if he knew it wasn't so bad, he'd want to come, too. To be with you." He moved closer to her, easing an arm around her shoulders. "What if your brother came here and neither of you had to go home again?"
"Well, I'd have to go home sometime. Change my clothes, maybe get a few things. I haven't had a shower since I got here."
"We wouldn't be staying here. Not in this building. I'll be leaving here. I thought you might want to come with me, you and your brother."
"When are you leaving?"
"I'm not sure yet." He traced the edge of her ear with a fingertip. "Would you like to come?"
"I don't know. Where… are you going?"
He gently touched his lips to her forehead. "Away from here." He kissed her eyebrow, her eye, then pulled away, fingering the Crucifax hanging from her neck, lightly touching it to the skin of her throat as he gave her a smile that made her feel on top of the world. "To someplace better."
"Is… Kevin going?"
"I think he will if I invite him, and I will. I'm going to invite everyone. When I go"—he stroked her lower lip—"I want to take all of you with me…."
Mickey D.'s NY Pizza was crowded with loud, stylish, and pretty daddy-bought-its. That's what Kevin called them: daddy-bought-its. Even the ugly ones were pretty.
Kevin led Mark and Trevor to an out-of-the-way corner to wait for their order. He hated Mickey D.'s, but it was the closest pizza place, and, although he didn't like admitting it, their pizza was the best on the boulevard.
