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Lesser Creatures

Page 12

by Peter Giglio


  A few minutes after four o’clock, Lingk knocked on Monika’s door. Glory would soon be gone, and he had to swallow his contempt for Monika’s recent actions and resubscribe to his initial verdict of her innocence.

  The door swung open faster than expected, and a gorgeous, naked girl stood before him. Long blonde hair, pert breasts. His mouth hung open as he stared at her. Who was this porcelain goddess?

  Then recognition dawned. Her high cheek bones, the structure of her mouth, her eyes, though now they were the most beautiful blue he’d ever seen, no longer pallid.

  Monika.

  As she started to speak, he jerked a finger to his lips, the age-old gesture of silence, then mouthed the words, they’re listening.

  Confusion washed her face for the briefest of moments, then belief registered. She took a step back and motioned him in. Taking her arm with a gentle hand, he whispered in her ear, “Trust me.”

  She pulled back from him and shook her head, leaving him little choice in the matter. He didn’t have time to draw a picture, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to speak when he knew the place was bugged. Video cameras were another possibility, but there was nothing he could do about that. They had to move.

  He drew the Smith & Wesson 1911 from his jacket and aimed it at her. Her eyes widened, and he hated himself for doing things this way. But it had to be done.

  Using the gun, he led her into the bedroom; jerked open the closet, snatched a business suit from a hanger and tossed it on the bed. Nodded the barrel at the clothes and watched her dress.

  She winced in pain, and he tried to show concern with his body language. But it was hard, he realized, to demonstrate compassion for one he was controlling with a weapon, particularly someone he was afraid of. His heart raced.

  But that didn’t minimize her importance. There was no doubt she was special. More than special. And he had to get her to Glory before it was too late.

  When she was dressed, he led her out of the apartment. In the hallway, he slipped the handgun back into his jacket and whispered, “Your Blue Card?”

  “I left it inside,” she said, starting to turn.

  He tightened his grip on her arm. “Leave it,” he said.

  She nodded, fear dancing in her eyes.

  “We have to move fast,” he said, “I’ll explain in the car.”

  * * *

  Although almost certain Lingk wouldn’t shoot her, Monika didn’t want to take any chances. It was now clear how unpredictable and mentally unstable he was, but she didn’t think he had the capacity for physical violence. She also knew he wasn’t lying about surveillance. She vaguely remembered Frank Allen telling Lingk as much the night before.

  She slid into the passenger seat of the pastor’s compact car.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, merging them into light traffic. “The gun is for my protection, not to hurt anyone, but—”

  “You said you would explain,” she said. “So explain.”

  “But there’s so much I don’t understand,” he said. “What…what happened to you?”

  He couldn’t seem to stop ogling her, and that made her uncomfortable. She pointed through the windshield. “Watch the road, Lingk. I’m not in any hurry to die in a car again.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I…I…came to your apartment hoping you could help me…with Glory…but—”

  “The way you looked at me in there was like you’d never seen a naked woman before.”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t. Not a living woman.”

  “You mean to tell me you’re a virgin?”

  “I’ve stayed pure for her. For the day we’d be reunited.” His voice was proud.

  “For Christ’s sake.”

  There was a moment of silence while she processed that bit of knowledge. It explained a lot; let her know how utterly, foolishly devoted this man was to Glory. And it made her fearful that the fate of the world rested in the hands of an arrested adolescent who was love-starved to the point of obsession.

  “I still can’t get over this,” he said. “Can’t get over you, the change, it’s…did you know this would happen? I mean, when we talked about you changing, did you know?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “But how, then? How is this possible?”

  “You tell me, magic man.”

  “You believe me?” He grinned. “You know the truth, don’t you?”

  “Some of it, yes. A lot of it, not really.”

  “My God,” he said, reaching out to touch her.

  She recoiled from him, slapped his hand away. “The road,” she chided, “and slow down.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You say that a lot. Do you ever mean it?”

  He seemed to consider the question for a moment, then: “No. It’s something people like me get used to saying.”

  “People like you?”

  “That’s right. We who are doubted, vilified as liars, but who speak the truth despite all that. Apologies become a reflex. A habit, I guess.”

  She almost felt sorry for him. Fact was, he was misunderstood. But that didn’t make him right or sane or trustworthy. If anything, it made him more dangerous. Here was a nut who’d built a large congregation against all odds, had earned not only the trust of garden-variety idiots but of people with influence. Elected officials, Hollywood stars, talk show hosts…the list was endless.

  “The truth is coming to me in bits and pieces,” she said. “I watched your interview with that girl, Julie Stewart. Looked like you had clear motive to harm her.”

  He shook his head rapidly. “No,” he pleaded. “No, I’ve never hurt anyone. Not physically. And I would never—”

  “Settle down, I believe you. That’s how I knew you wouldn’t shoot me.”

  “Good,” he said. “I was worried about that.”

  “Have the police talked to you yet?”

  “This morning. They said she was missing, asked if I knew anything.”

  “And?”

  “I…I think I’m all right. Detective gave me a card, said he’d be in touch.”

  “I don’t understand last night,” she said. “Let’s start there. Why the hell would I kill a complete stranger? I didn’t even know who she was.”

  “Eric Cooper. You went into a fit of rage because she was with him, and you loved him. Perhaps…perhaps you still do.”

  He had her there. She turned away from him, watched the city blur out her side window. “I still do,” she admitted.

  “I had nothing to do with anything last night, you have to believe me.”

  She glared at him over her shoulder. “What I want to know is how those two came together. Of all the cheap sluts he could have picked up at the bar downstairs from his apartment, how come it was her? You set that up, didn’t you? You knew how I would react! I don’t like being used!”

  “We’re all being used, Monika, but I promise you, it wasn’t like that.”

  “Don’t tell me it was a coincidence.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence,” he said. “I think what happened was supposed to happen. Part of the magic, yes. But the logic of the plan is unknown to me. I had nothing to do with last night.”

  “But you’re the architect of the magic.”

  “No,” he said. “I’ll admit that I’ve thought of myself in such a lofty manner. I’m only human. But I’m nothing more than a conduit. The expediter, perhaps, but it’s not something I can control, and it’s not something I understand. It happened to me only twice. I’ve tried to make it happen again, thousands of times. I can’t.”

  “The first time it happened, tell me about that?”

  “It’s not really connected. Trust me.”

  She gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Trust you?”

  “Please,” he said.

  Her mind floated back to her waking dream, her glimpse into the past. Glory in the mirror, reading the paper Lingk had written. “Who’s C
harity?” she asked.

  “Oh my God. You are touched by the magic. You are part of Glory’s plan.”

  “And what is Glory’s plan?”

  His smile dissolving, he shook his head.

  “You don’t know, do you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Why the fuck would a man center an entire religion around something he doesn’t understand? How the hell do you sleep at night?”

  “Faith is not a—”

  “Don’t lecture me about faith, Lingk. I’m not a reporter, and I don’t care about your justifications. You’ve just admitted that you don’t know what’s going on.”

  “But I do know it’s big.”

  “Of course it’s big, you moron. The dead have been walking around for the last fifteen years. I’d call that pretty fucking big. But have you ever stopped to consider that the reasons behind all this might be malevolent?”

  “No. I know that’s not the case.”

  “How?”

  “I knew Glory,” he said, almost in tears. “I love her very much. More than you could ever understand.”

  “No one understands love.” Suddenly struck by a stabbing pain in her gut, she doubled over.

  “There,” he said. “You did that earlier. What’s wrong?”

  “You already had your chance to interview me,” she snapped, rubbing her stomach as the hurt slowly ebbed. “Now I want answers from you, not concern for my well-being.”

  “You want to know about Charity,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “She was my sister…”

  * * *

  Talking about Charity wasn’t easy. He hadn’t done it in more than a decade. But as he unburdened himself of the painful past, he felt better. Monika had been somewhat right in her line of questioning. His sister, he realized, was in a way connected to all of this.

  Love was the constant that united Charity and Glory.

  And that’s how he knew there was nothing to fear in the grand design, because ultimately the magic was always ruled by love. Not by him, nor by a god.

  He continued talking as he parked the car outside the church, then he watched Monika’s reaction and kept sharing. Neither made a move to exit the car until he was done. In her eyes he saw understanding, but dread lit the corners. He had to find a way to curb her terror. Fear was dangerous. Led to doubt. And doubt was the enemy.

  And then it occurred to him.

  The Curse worked both ways.

  No second-lifer had ever intentionally taken the life of a living human being. At least no cases had ever been reported. It made perfect sense, but he wasn’t ready to share this revelation yet. She would make sense of it in time, he was sure—maybe she already had—but he also knew it would do nothing to align her with him.

  Perhaps, he thought, this was Monika’s only purpose in Glory’s plan, a demonstration to show him how things worked. Of course, it was all so simple; too simple, which is why he’d missed it before.

  “…and then the cat disappeared,” he said. “Just like my sister had said she would, she took Sebastian with her. I like to think she took him home.”

  “Do you love me?” Monika asked.

  He knew where she was heading with this question, but he humored her anyway. “Of course I do.”

  “Then put everything back the way you found it. Put me back in the ground where I belong. Put every second-lifer back. And never do this again.”

  He laughed. “Monika, I love all of Glory’s Children, but I don’t love you that way.”

  “That’s a shame,” she said.

  “I’m flattered.”

  “You shouldn’t be.”

  He’d liked Monika a lot better when she couldn’t talk. Although little doubt lingered that she’d served her purpose, he couldn’t be sure. It was better to keep her close for the time being. Upon deciding she wasn’t of any further use, he’d turn her over to Frank Allen.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Eric wasn’t ready to return home yet. Instead, he and his mother looked through old family photo albums, and he listened to stories about his father.

  He learned that Mike Cooper had been in a new wave band when his mother met him. She had been a high school senior. He had been a college freshman. The band’s staple track had been a cover of “Lesser Creature Love Song,” which had just been made popular by the Horizon City disc jockey who’d happened upon the old record.

  “That’s why I used to play that song so much after he died,” she said. “It always made me think about him.”

  “I love that song,” he said. He didn’t tell her that it had been playing when he’d almost died. Or that Monika had hated the song, maybe even tried to kill him because of it. To dwell on those things would be to miss the point. Here he was, making a connection with a man he’d never really known, and that took center stage. “Do you have a recording of his version?” he asked.

  She laughed. “It was terrible, Eric. Your dad’s band was named Fathom.”

  “Oh, Christ.”

  “Deep, huh? None of them could play worth a damn, and the lead singer sounded like a dying cat. I dug up one of those old cassette tapes in the attic a few years ago that was labeled Fathom One. But I didn’t have anything to play it on, and lord only knows if it would even work anymore.”

  “Do you still have it?”

  She nodded.

  “Hold on a second,” he said.

  He went into his old bedroom, which he’d always assumed was something of a shrine for his mother. Everything left exactly as it had been when he went away to college in 2003. But the layers of dust implied it was more of a tomb than anything. She didn’t come in here often. This was, more than likely, a place where she stored the past, unwilling to touch it lest she somehow tarnish sacred memories.

  He rummaged through the closet until he found what he was looking for. It didn’t take long. The JVC boom box his mother had given him on his fourteenth birthday. The top-loading CD player had stopped working the year before he’d moved out, but the tape player below that had never been used. He pulled the relic from a pile of old video game systems and paperback books, then carried it into the living room.

  “Oh no,” she said with a smile, “not that old thing.”

  “Get the tape.”

  “Oh, Eric, this isn’t going to work.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to try, does it?”

  She got up and left the room. He plugged the boom box in and powered it on. The display panel lit up. Then he pressed the eject button and looked inside the tape player. Though the machine itself was caked with filth, the cassette mechanism looked brand-new. He engaged the play button and watched the lead wheel spin and the metal head rise.

  From his mother’s bedroom came a clatter. He imagined boxes falling on her head. “You okay in there?” he called out.

  “Got it,” she replied, then scurried back into the room.

  She handed him the tape. It was already rewound to side A. He slid it into the player and smiled at her. “Moment of truth,” he said.

  “Do it already,” she said. “You have me excited.”

  He pressed play.

  A dense swooshing sound filled the speakers.

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” she said. “The tape is warped. Hell, it’s damn near fifty years—”

  “Wait a minute,” Eric said, holding up a finger.

  A few bangs and jangles sounded, then a voice: “This is Pete Spellman of Rolling Stone magazine…”

  “Pete was your dad’s best friend!” she said. “Shoot, he never worked for Rolling Stone. What a ham.”

  “…and I’m joined in Fathom’s amazing Los Angeles studio by their lead guitarist, Michael Cooper. Mike, can you say a little bit about yourself?”

  “Sure,” the reply came.

  Francine Cooper put her hands to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. Eric felt himself go flush, too.

  “Well?�
�� Pete said.

  “A little bit about myself.” A chorus of laughter sounded in the background, and Eric and his mother joined in.

  “Come on,” Pete urged, “for the fans, Mike.”

  “All right,” Mike Cooper said, “but anyone who knows me knows I’m not a man of many words. I’m just lucky I met the right girl. Franny, this song is dedicated to you.”

  There were clacks of drumsticks followed by an overpowering keyboard that filled in for the horns, but the song was recognizable. More than that, it was pretty good, Eric thought.

  When the tune ended, Eric pressed stop.

  “Wow,” his mother said.

  “Not bad,” he said.

  “Wow,” she repeated.

  “There’s probably more on here. You want to listen?”

  She threw her arms around him and held him close. She sobbed; he cried, too. Finally, she let go of him and smiled.

  “What are you waiting for?” she said. “Press play.”

  * * *

  Monika didn’t speak for more than an hour as she watched the pastor fiddle with the controls of the SSA, which was hooked up to Glory. She found it perverse that Lingk had dressed the second-lifer in a glittery dress—her prom dress, he’d explained. The old 45 record of “Lesser Creature Love Song” played and played again.

  She found it hectoring.

  So strange, she considered, that the song had sounded like salvation to her dead ears. Now it shredded her nerves like a dated, pretentious experiment that had long passed its expiration date.

  Music is like that, she told herself. All forms of art, really. What extended the value of a particular piece came down to personal significance. Now that she was certain she loved Eric, and that she didn’t want to, the song no longer brought dawning awareness. It represented tragic and clearly defined moments of pain.

  Her lungs filling with blood; agony eclipsing numbness as she faded into darkness. These things were what the song meant now.

  “Turn it off,” she blurted.

  Lingk turned away from Glory and glared at Monika. “What?”

 

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