by Bryan Smith
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sending another shudder through him, then she slipped free of his embrace and stepped away from him.
God, how beautiful she was!
He swallowed hard. “I need you, Dream.”
So the dream girl was named Dream. This was amusing to him even behind the wall of sleep. Her smile became a seductive pout as she began to disrobe. “Worship me, Eddie.” She turned her head to the sky as the wind stiffened, buffeting her hair like a boat’s sail on the open sea. She raised her hands above her head as the shift fell away. “Worship me.”
No problem there.
Eddie fell to his knees in front of her. “Oh, Dream-“
But something was wrong.
The blue of her eyes was displaced by a yellow gleam, and there was something about the tone of her bare flesh that suggested elasticity. He shuddered with fear as she began to morph into one of those awful things. Her face elongated and there were several audible pops as new bone matter and cords of muscle formed in her body. Her formerly lovely head swelled to the size of a Halloween pumpkin, and thousands of strands of fur sprouted from her flesh like a fast-spreading fungus.
The transition from human to beast was complete.
Droplets of saliva spilled from the corners of her mouth, which had become, let’s face it, a snout. She was drooling, watching him the way a fat man at a burger joint watches the arrival of his burger and fries.
Eddie thought now would be an excellent time to wake up.
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Because this didn’t seem at all like a dream. He was not only awake, he was face-to-face with, well, a werewolf, and it was going to scarf him down like a Happy Meal. The beast loomed over him, opened its enormous mouth wide to display rows of killing teeth, growled at him, then swooped in for the kill.
Eddie woke up with a gasp.
And then he was screaming, because the monster had somehow slipped through a dream matrix. It was here with him-in the closet-teeth clamped to his throat, poised to rip his life out. He clutched at his throat, seized the presence there, and realized he’d been frightened nearly to death by a ball of fur no bigger than one of his hands.
He ceased screaming immediately.
Still, why had the creature attached itself to his throat that way? He looked now into its strange yellow eyes and was struck by how strongly they resembled the eyes of the she-wolf thing in his dream, which were so like those of the shapeshifters that prowled the tunnels Below. The usual subliminal dream alchemy.
Yeah.
But—
He held it well away from his body, waiting for it to change into something else. A werecat, maybe. The kitten felt too substantial in his grip, stronger than something its size should be. His hands tightened instinctively around it, and he had a nearly overpowering urge to snap its little neck.
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The animal seemed to sense his intent.
It hissed and thrashed in his grip.
There was an instant when it almost slipped free, but he caught it about the neck and began to choke it. The hell with it. He had to kill the goddamn thing.
Then, just as he began to feel cartilage give way beneath his strong hands, the closet was flooded with light. Eddie blinked. He sensed a physical presence rushing into the room. Panic gripped him, instilled a renewed urge to flee, but there was nowhere to go this time. The row of dresses he was hiding behind was swept back. The beautiful mute girl glared down at him, her eyes gleaming with a fury that made Eddie gulp, and she ripped the cat free of his grip.
There goes my insurance policy, Eddie thought.
The girl glared at him another time, then shifted her attention to the kitten, whose demeanor had undergone a radical change. A loud purring emanated from its throat. The girl held it close and made strange cooing noises at it.
A dark thought occurred to Eddie-he might have to kill the girl. He tried to picture himself doing it. Perhaps with some blunt instrument in the room. The idea repulsed him. Maybe he would do it-if given no other choice-but a very large part of him doubted his ability to kill her. Bashing in a woman’s skull, especially that of a very young woman, would put him in league with the sleazy likes of Ted Bundy.
And Eddie had already lost quite enough of his humanity and self-respect, thank you.
He realized the girl was staring at him, an expression of cold calculation evident in the set of her features. Then
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she wheeled about on her heels, the train of the long dress swishing about as she moved, and was gone from the closet. The part of his mind that valued survival above all else went into a state of high alert. He should get to his feet, charge after the little bitch, and take her down.
Eddie thought about it a moment longer.
Saw himself doing the Bundy thing.
And stayed right where he was.
Shit, he was tired of running. Tired of fighting. The crazy flight to freedom that had begun at one of the several checkpoints Below had taken too much out of him. Just getting this far had required a nearly superhuman effort. He was drained. Out of gas. Which was why he’d fallen asleep in such short order. He yawned, rubbed his bleary eyes, and slumped back against the wall.
How long had he been out?
Ten minutes?
Fifteen.
Just long enough to slip into dream mode.
Hell, he thought, I could sleep again right now.
Let the little goth girl bring the reinforcements.
Maybe they’d do him the favor of killing him while he slept. He felt ready for that ultimate acquiescence. He’d prefer an eternal sleep to another six months-or longer-Below. He was beginning to think he might even prefer it to a renewed effort to get out of this place, mostly because escape didn’t seem possible. He suspected he was a rat in a glass-covered maze, and The Master was watching his every move, laughing softly to himself at each of Eddie’s hopeless attempts to extricate himself from this nightmare.
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The hell with fighting this impossible battle.
Better just to sit here and await the inevitable.
But as Eddie sat there considering surrender, he was troubled by thoughts of how far he had come, how tantalizingly close those visions of freedom regained had seemed to becoming reality. The prospect of just giving up ignited an ache in his heart, pangs of regret that taunted him like the remarks of crude schoolyard bullies.
Yeah, Eddie, take the easy way out.
You wouldn’t want to put yourself out.
You fucking wimp.
What’s the big deal, anyway?
It’s only your life we’re talking about.
He thought about being free again. A free man in a free land. He thought again about how things would change if he ever accomplished that goal. He knew one thing-his days with the company were over, regardless of whether they would take him back after an extended and unexplainable absence. The idea of surviving this insane place only to plunge back into the corporate realm was laughable. He would liquidate whatever property and holdings remained, sell all his personal possessions, and venture forth into the world. He would savor every sunrise and every sunset. He would visit other lands all over the globe. He would find that island girl or one very much like her. Most of all, he would never take anything for granted ever again.
The closet door swung open again, admitting a sliver of light.
Something pointed and hard struck his shin.
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It felt like the tip of a high-heeled shoe.
“Ouch.”
He looked up and saw the face of the mute girl.
She was alone.
Well, that was curious. Where were the reinforcements? Where was lisa the housekeeper?
Why am I not dead? he thought.
The mystery deepened as she beckoned him forward with a bent forefinger.
Eddie cleared his throat. “Um … you want me to get up?”
She nodded.
Eddie sighed. “Sure, whatever.”
>
Something vaguely like a smile touched the corners of her mouth, and he didn’t even detect a spark of malice in it. Then she swirled out of the room again, leaving Eddie to ponder the bewildering turn of events.
Enigmatic, Eddie thought.
God, I hate that in a woman.
Eddie walked out of the closet and entered the bedroom. The girl was sitting at a small round table in a corner of the room. She looked up as he stepped into the room. There was an unoccupied chair next to her. Eddie steeled himself for any weirdness that was about to ensue, and sat down next to her.
There was a pad of paper on the table, pink teenage girl’s stationery. The girl’s gaze shifted to the empty page before her, dipped a pen in an ink quill, shook it, and began to write.
Eddie grunted. “Huh … a quill pen. How … retro.”
Eddie wanted to slap himself-the weirdness of the
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situation had apparently rendered him incapable of intelligent discourse.
She turned the pad toward him, fixed him with a serious gaze, and tapped the top page with the pen.
Eddie looked at what she had written.
YOU ARE PROBABLY WONDERING WHY I HAVEN’T SUMMONED THE MASTER.
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Well, now that you mention it, yeah.”
She repositioned the pad and wrote some more. Eddie’s eyes followed the words as she penned them with finely turned strokes.
BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT HERE BY CHANCE.
Eddie was suddenly apprehensive again, recalling the passing thought he’d had at the last checkpoint-that he was being herded instead of chased. Well, here was the first inkling that bit of intuition wasn’t so far off track.
He tried to keep the fear out of his voice as he said, “So … why am I here?”
She dipped the quill in ink and wrote some more.
I SUMMONED YOU.
Eddie gaped at her. “But… why?”
I AM NOT READY TO TELL YOU THAT, she wrote.
Eddie squinted at the infuriating words. “Not… ready… to … tell… me.” He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s just great. You let me know when you can spare a minute to clue me in to whatever sadistic game you and The Master are playing.”
He started to get up.
“Meanwhile, I’ll catch some shut-eye.”
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She hissed at him, displaying rows of perfect teeth as white as oysters-movie-star teeth. Eddie’s upward motion ceased, and his eyes widened at the incongruous sight. She was one of the loveliest women he’d ever seen, possessed of a delicate beauty that made his little soldier want to stand up and salute, and yet she looked so vicious.
So deadly.
He sat back down.
The feral quality vanished from her face, and her attention returned to the page of pink stationery, where one slim, pale hand was again spinning beautifully rendered handwriting from margin to margin at a startling speed. She filled half the page, then turned the pad toward him.
Eddie read with mild interest some dry biographical information about the girl, but boredom gave way to shock and terror as his gaze moved down the page.
Her name was Giselle Burkhardt, and she’d first come to this place in 1973, when she’d been seventeen years old and a senior in high school.
Eddie’s brow wrinkled at that bit of impossible information-Christ, the girl looked seventeen right now, thirty years after the claimed date of her arrival in The Master’s world.
But that was easy to swallow compared to what came next.
She’d been on what was to be her last vacation with her family before embarking on a new phase of her life-college in New England. The car carrying her parents and
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younger brother experienced engine trouble east of Chattanooga, and her father had been forced to pull off the highway. Thus began a long night of terror that culminated with the mutilation deaths of her parents. Her brother was taken to another room, and she was chained and stuffed in a crawl space, where she remained until The Master was ready to initiate the second phase of her indoctrination. She was removed from the crawl space and tortured by Ms. Wickman until she was screaming her willingness to do anything to end her agony.
Her brother was brought before her.
She remembered how heartbreakingly brave he’d looked as he stood there trembling.
It hadn’t been easy.
She wanted Eddie to know that.
But the pain was more than she could take. And she knew they could keep inflicting pain every bit the equal of what she’d already experienced-and perhaps worse-should she refuse to do their bidding.
She didn’t refuse.
Ms. Wickman gave Giselle a straight razor.
Giselle used it on her brother.
Over a long period of time.
Then finished him.
“Oh my God,” Eddie breathed as he read this. “Oh, sweet jumpin’ Jesus…”
I MURDERED MY BROTHER, the tale’s concluding paragraph began. THE MASTER ALTERED ELEMENTS OF MY BODY CHEMISTRY AND ARRESTED THE AGING PROCESS, ALLOWING ME TO SERVE HIM HERE AS HIS APPRENTICE INDEFINITELY I HAVE SERVED HIM WELL. WELL ENOUGH
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TO FOOL HIM. I HAVE WAITED THREE DECADES TO ATONE FOR MY SINS, AND THE TIME FOR ATONEMENT IS NEARLY AT HAND.
Eddie stared at the disturbing words a moment later, horrified by the cruelty they described, then he wrenched his gaze away. He didn’t want to look at Giselle, didn’t want to have to look into those dark eyes. He could feel them on him, studying him, taking the measure of him. He cast his gaze about the room, looking for something, anything, to divert his attention-and he realized the cat was missing.
He still wasn’t looking at her when he said, “What happened to furball?”
Giselle turned the pad to a fresh page and wrote, GONE.
Eddie frowned. “Gone?”
She elaborated: THE CAT IS A SHAPESHIFTER, ALBEIT A MORE HIGHLY EVOLVED EXAMPLE OF THAT SPECIES. IT FUNCTIONS AS MY PERSONAL MESSENGER AND SPY
A shapeshifter.
Well, sure.
Eddie had only seen the Lon Chaney wannabes Below, but he remembered his struggle with the creature in the closet and knew she was telling the truth.
Eddie was finally able to meet her gaze again. “What happened … have you always been mute?”
She scrawled a single angry word in big block letters: NO.
Eddie winced. “The Master? He …”
She wrote, I WAS A SHRILL TEENAGER. HE TOOK MY VOICE, A REMINDER THAT MY STATUS AS APPRENTICE DIDN’T MEAN HE WOULDN’T PUNISH ME HE REVELS IN SUCH PETTY CRUELTIES.
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Eddie shook his head, “That’s fucked up, Giselle.”
IT WAS A VALUABLE LESSON, she wrote. I LEARNED PATIENCE. I LEARNED TO THINK. I TURNED INWARD AND GREW STRONG IN MY MIND. I HAVE MANY THINGS TO TELL YOU, BUT FIRST YOU MUST LEARN A LESSON OF YOUR OWN.
Eddie tensed. “Whoa, wait-“
She was still writing: YOU MUST KNOW YOUR PLACE. I ALLOWED YOU THE ADVANTAGE LAST TIME, BUT YOU CANNOT OVERPOWER ME.
Eddie started to push the chair away from her.
“Giselle-“
She seized him about the wrist, gripping him hard with one slender hand. Eddie attempted to yank free, but she held him fast-and with little apparent effort. She steadily increased the pressure until he could feel bones grinding. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. Maintaining her grip on him, she stood up and pulled him away from the table. He stumbled along beside her as she led him to the bed. She spun him about at the foot of the bed, spread both her palms open over his chest, and pushed with all her considerable strength.
Eddie flew backward, then momentarily experienced a kind of drowning sensation as he sank into the plush comforter. The girl climbed onto the bed and stood over him. She prodded him with the tip of a high-heeled shoe, urging him toward the headboard. Eddie scooted backward, too intimidated now to do anything but her bidding. The display of strength had frightened him, all t
hat power in that small body.
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His gaze was riveted to her face-her beautiful, cruel face.
Then he felt the folds of her long dress brushing his bare torso as she planted a foot on either side of him. She neared the headboard and velvet darkness engulfed him.
A moment later he couldn’t breathe.
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Dream went to Karen’s side, knelt beside her, and draped an arm over her heaving shoulders. Karen turned into her friend’s embrace, clutched at the thin fabric of her top, and began to sob even harder. Dream cradled Karen’s head against her chest, felt the wetness of tears against her breasts, and felt moisture appear in her own eyes. She stroked Karen’s hair and made painfully useless cooing noises.
Alicia’s face was a mask of intent concentration as she held Shane’s limp right wrist. She dropped the wrist and leaned over Shane’s face. Dream wasn’t sure what Alicia was looking for, but something in her friend’s expression told her she wasn’t finding it. Alicia pressed two fingers against the man’s throat, waited a few moments, frowned, and sighed. She made eye contact with Dream, who asked the pertinent question with a lifted eyebrow.
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Is he…
Alicia answered with a tired nod.
Yes.
And now a tear did slide down Dream’s face.
All my fault, she thought.
She’d taken the stupid detour because she was a fucking flake. Memories of the escalating tensions in the car in the moments preceding the detour were temporarily banished from her conscious mind. All she knew was that a human being was dead due to her foolishness. She was such a worthless shit. If only… if only …
