And she also knew something else now.
The Stiffer had not lied to her. She was like the Light Clouds. The Clouds had come to her. Though she could not do so at the moment, she felt as if she should join the lights in their perpetual quest toward the furthest parts of the void. For deep at the end of the void, Walter felt, lay something divine. Something right. An answer to all her questions. A peace.
Maybe, even Jack, eventually.
An answer to a prayer, a dream come true.
Another answer had been given to her. She would not discover a means for killing the Stiffer. Not here. Not in this place of blessed pacifism, this place free of hate and malice. For all their power, Walter deduced, (a power far exceeding that which the Stiffer possessed), the Light Clouds would not wield it for purposes of destruction. The clouds had more important matters to attend to, Walter perceived; the business of the universe, eternity and forever.
Perhaps what lay at the end of the void – that Divine Something, for lack of anything better to call it – could help her. Walter hoped so. She spread her wings and dived ahead – only to find herself in blue sky again, with the blazing sun that had not seen the ground for five years, glaring above.
The Light Clouds, the brilliant spectacle within, the void that stretched into infinity – were gone. Yet even this realization failed to surprise Walter. She circled several more times, luxuriating in the cleanness of this upper atmosphere, then descended into the murky interior of smoke; there to return to the earthly business of tackling the Stiffer once more – without the blessing of divine intervention.
Walter was not disappointed. In a matter of seconds, the Clouds had somehow explained their purpose to her. She had been afforded a glimpse of Creation; somehow, she knew she would see more of it. Later.
Perhaps much later.
After she was finished in hell.
* * *
The Stiffer's eyes blazed.
Even from this appreciable distance, here in Jack's laboratory, he could easily control the stupid, maimed body of the Growler with little effort. The Stiffer had been dreading his dealings with the animalistic Maddogs; in some ways, he thought coldly, they were as pathetic as the kind of creature whose body he had recently taken hostage – and was presently residing in.
Thanks to the discovery of the intelligent Maddog Mathias, a more effective coordination of resources could now be achieved – and without him having to supervise every detail personally. He knew, of course, that he could liberate himself from this revolting body anytime he wished, but the Stiffer – or more accurately, what occupied the Stiffer's body – had its reasons for remaining in Jack's none-too-humble captivity. Mathias could be his eyes, arms and legs. As the Growler already was, by proxy. The entity within the Stiffer had a few things to do yet here in Eden.
Formless, ancient, powerful, the entity within the Stiffer plotted and waited. And it watched. The bird-human who had tried to destroy it the night before had returned. The Stiffer had rather admired the attempted murder, though it was vaguely irritating to be challenged by such a creature; a creature that was admittedly a complete mystery to him. For all its cleverness and insight, the Stiffer had not a clue as to what Walter really was – and for this, in the name of curiosity, it had allowed her presence in the lab once again. It was not yet time to move against Calisto; and timing, the Stiffer knew, was everything.
It wouldn't be fun, otherwise.
You came back.
Angela, now transformed from Walter, stared at the Stiffer coldly.
She failed to notice the video camera Jack had placed in a corner to monitor the Stiffer’s nocturnal activities.
"Yes," she replied to the Stiffer’s rhetorical statement. ‘I’ve come back.”
You are not afraid of me.
"I hate you. But I'm not afraid of you."
The Stiffer broke into a horrible smile and relaxed. Angela knew it was laughing at her.
Then kill me, little bird.
If I could, I would, Walter answered to herself.
"I may not be able to do that," she replied coldly, reaching for a jar on Jack's desk. "But I can make you wish you were dead."
The Stiffer stopped smiling. Bemused, it did not immediately respond to Angela, who was now unscrewing a large jar filled with clear liquid.
What are you doing? the Stiffer demanded.
Walter ignored the horrible voice in her brain and devoted herself to the task at hand. The jar cap was off and she winced as a small wisp of vapor rushed past her eyes. The acid was concentrated, and undiluted. Perfect, she thought cruelly, for wasting one prick of a monster. Without hesitation, she threw the contents at the Stiffer.
Acid splattered over the Stiffer's face and neck, oozing down its chest, arms and legs, taking in its currents the melting tissue of the Stiffer's upper torso.
The screams shook the walls around Angela, and again the eerie, unearthly wind hissed passed her. Even as the change occurred a moment later, she knew that Jack would enter the lab to witness the Stiffer's agony – and find her once again flapping mysteriously about.
But she had planned well. Though Jack would hardly have suspected his pigeon of trying to maim the Stiffer, Walter felt that her presence here would do no good. Having left the lab door ajar when she had first entered, she flew out the crack and down the opposite hall as Jack, still half asleep and buck naked, came running. Laura was behind him, equally nude and packing her trusty all-purpose flamethrower.
Jack had his gun up, well covered by Laura who clutched her weapon with white knuckled enthusiasm, waiting, almost wanting to burn something – not the least of which was the Stiffer itself. Together, they formed a bizarre anachronistic picture of readiness; in another place or time, a million years or so earlier, they might have arrived, battle ready in some open, windswept tundra, wielding clubs or bones; such primitive forms of offense a fitting complement to their nakedness. But the cold, bulky arms both Jack and Laura now clutched to their exposed bodies, the finished, consummate handiwork of two thousand years of progress, seemed alien and inappropriate, almost unnatural. If they died here and now, their bones and guns alone surviving the epochal passage of time, future archeologists from this world – or another – might speculate on the kind of society to which they might have once belonged. A society, it would seem, that had developed an appreciable technology, including rapid-discharge and automatic weaponry, but had discarded the need for modesty – or at the very least, practical accoutrements for defense like shields or armor.
It would appear, those future scientists might observe, that Jack and Laura's civilization had either been terribly enlightened or terribly stupid.
A closer look at the bomb-blasted cities, the poisoned rivers and oceans and the contaminated skies would ultimately leave no doubt whatsoever as to which assumption proved most accurate.
Jack turned the corner and looked at the Stiffer. It was no longer howling, but it wore an expression on its melted face that bespoke a general detestation for everything that lived and breathed. Most of its face was a pulpy, red mass of sizzling flesh. Parts of it were either peeling off or dripping off as Jack stared. The smell of the lab was horrendous, and Jack coughed back a wave of nausea. Laura indulged in the distinct pleasure of vomiting, though she did this quietly and in the hall, determined not to let Jack – or the Stiffer – witness her in this stupid moment of weakness.
The Stiffer suddenly thrashed against the cage, screaming with rage and pain. Jack watched it writhe clawing its disintegrating face, then caught sight of the scattered remains of the acid jar near the Stiffer's cage.
Jack almost felt sorry for the Stiffer, and he expected it to die within a few minutes. The acid was one of the strongest corrosives in the lab, easily capable of dissolving cast iron. Even the Stiffer would not prevail against its lethality.
So Jack had thought.
But the Stiffer did not die.
After a few minutes of histrionics, the Stiffer quieted, f
ixing its inhuman eyes on Jack while its flesh dripped from its bony frame like wet seaweed from sun dried rocks.
Laura watched behind Jack, quietly adjusting her flamethrower, hoping he would not hear the safety being released.
"We can always do that," Jack said sharply, not even turning to speak to her but continuing to stare at the Stiffer. "Killing is always our last resort."
"It's in pain. We should finish it now," Laura defended feebly, not really caring how the Stiffer was feeling at the moment, just wishing it dead.
Jack turned suddenly and stared beyond where Laura was standing.
"That's it!" he whispered, sounding strangely triumphant.
Before Laura could answer him either way, Jack was tearing at his racks, moving them aside to reveal the video camera he had set up the day before. He ejected the tape and stared at it as if it were a thing worthy of worship.
"The camera, Laura. It saw everything!"
Laura knew what he was talking about. The elusive Angel was about to be unmasked, stripped of her invisible anonymity. A sudden chill crawled up and down her spine; she was not entirely sure that violating the Angel's secret identity would be such a marvelous breakthrough. Mere premonition overwhelmingly surrendered to grave uneasiness; she suddenly saw the future in terms of disaster.
"Jack," she said gently, imploringly.
Jack looked up at her, though he continued to rub the video cassette in his hand with excitement.
"Maybe we shouldn't do that."
"Do what?"
"Find out what the Angel really is!"
Laura fidgeted, feeling suddenly very small and vulnerable. She supposed that this could be discussed just as easily in the morning; when they had slept and were dressed and were otherwise feeling less jumpy. But that nagging immediacy within her wouldn't go away. Jack was staring at her blankly, probably not believing what he had just heard; probably, thinking she was nuts. Or both.
"I mean," she continued quickly, "that this Angel of yours probably was here tonight. You know it and I know it. And from the looks of things, she wanted to destroy that pet of yours pretty bad." Another wave of nausea coursed through her as the Stiffer stared her way (listening? she wondered) and continued dripping melted flesh. "Remember your letters, Jack? The angel explained that you could never know about her. I don't think she was being shy when she wrote that. I think it was for a reason."
"I've got to know," Jack said obdurately, not even taking a second to think about what she had said. Laura knew that it was hopeless to argue further; but the tickle wouldn't leave. She tried for the last time.
"Wait until morning, then. At least think about it."
"What are you afraid of?" Jack asked, his tone a little softer now as his hand reached out to her face, caressing it gently.
What, indeed? she wondered, not excited about listing several thousand things that terrified her at the moment.
"I'm not afraid. Not really. I just don't want to rush into something we know nothing about. Call it my female intuition acting up. I just think you should hold off from watching that tape."
No reason at all, she admitted to herself; it sounded dumb to her, too. She added defensively: "What good will it do for you to see what the Angel really is anyway? Does it matter. I mean, she's always been your friend. Why don't you respect her privacy?"
"You said she loved me. If that's true, why should it mind me looking at it?" Jack smiled.
Laura bit her lip.
"Besides," Jack went on, "she's never respected my privacy. For over two years, I've lived with her sneaking into my home. She knows everything about me. I know nothing about her. God knows, it may not be female or male; just another – thing."
"So what?" Laura persisted. "At least it's a friendly thing. Not like this reject from a freak show you've got caged!" Laura motioned her flamethrower in the watching Stiffer's direction with clear malice.
Jack counted to ten and breathed. "I don't want to hurt the Angel, honey; I just want to see what it looks like. What can be so bad about that?"
She was losing. And she was losing impetus for her argument. After all, he was just going to watch a video disk; not burn crosses or summon demons or poach babies. Maybe her female intuition was just a dandy good case of the jitters. Jitters over something like this, Laura had to snicker to herself; after what she'd gone through already. It was almost laughable.
"Come on," Jack said, upbeat and more awake than her. "I'll show you that there's no such thing as female intuition. And don't tell me that deep down you aren't just as curious as I am about this Angel of ours!"
She had to admit it; she was. She nodded agreeably, though that tickle of worry wouldn't go away. Like an itch that couldn't be scratched, it persisted. But before she could protest further, Jack was out of the lab and making his way into the living area.
Laura sighed, then turned, grabbing the heavy lab doors and pulling them shut. For a brief, giddy moment of impulse, she almost activated the release button on her flamethrower, the nozzle pointed directly at the Stiffer's mangled head. Maybe she should finish what the Angel had started. Here and now. Tempting, she thought unkindly; very tempting.
But she resisted the delicious act of turning the Stiffer into a living bonfire.
Her eye caught the Stiffer's, watching her with an expression of clear hate. She returned the look unwaveringly.
"Hope she gets you next time," she snarled, ramming the doors along the rails into the locks.
* * *
Disaster.
I can feel myself being pulled from this place; I cannot stay. Good-bye, Jack. Good-bye, Laura.
Take care of each other.
"Appear, appear, whatso thy shape or name,
O Mountain Bull, Snake of the Hundred Heads,
Lion of the Burning Flame!
O God, Beast, Mystery, come!"
Euripides, Bacchae
THIRTEEN – AND HE WHO INCREASETH KNOWLEDGE, INCREASETH HIS SORROW
Jack stared at the computer screen, his voice abandoning him, his rational mind now a blur of astonishment and disbelief.
He felt no need to replay Walter's metamorphosis into Angela; he would never forget that mind-boggling piece of miracle-making for the rest of his life.
Laura sniffed several feet away from him; she was shaking so badly, she clutched the back of the chair she was sitting in for fear of collapsing on the floor. After a few seconds, Jack stood up and walked to the window. The dawn had arrived half an hour ago, and for the first time in a long while, Jack thought he saw a ray of sunlight peeking through the heavy cloud-cover. A wisp, perhaps; a mote of gold, Jack imagined, that had drilled through the poisonous envelope of gas surrounding the Earth, now to shine - if ever so briefly - for one fleeting, glorious moment of remembrance; of a time when other rays, like itself, once ruled the world with light and warmth.
Not that it mattered, Jack thought from light years away; perhaps nothing would ever matter again.
Laura looked around the room. She wanted to cry some more, but she was too tired.
"She's somewhere in the house," she said dully.
Jack made an ugly sound in his throat.
"I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"The rules of the game, I guess," he said, then looked at her, his eyes distant and cool. Out to lunch, Laura thought with sudden horror. "Magic, like you said, honey. Like if you catch Santa Claus, he can't give you presents, or the Easter Bunny, the eggs, or the goddamn tooth fairy, the quarter. You
don't tamper with magic. If you do, you get burned. At the very least, the magic simply leaves. And that," Jack added in a whisper, "is probably the saddest thing of all."
The screen was frozen on Angela’s naked body, as she had just finished throwing acid at the Stiffer. Laura did not go toward Jack; she wanted him to hug her and kiss her, but somehow she knew that he wouldn't. Couldn't. Because of her.
Because of Angela.
His wife.
"I s
hould have listened to you," Jack whispered.
Laura suddenly felt like an intruder. She wanted to run, to hide, to face vampires if she had to, to kill, to fight for survival. These things she could do and had done for years. Such tasks were real and rational, almost easy, even if the world around her seemed otherwise, a place of shadows, of demons, of phantoms. Jack understood these things, too. He was a fighter, like her. And now, she knew, they must fight against madness – because, to Laura, madness was all that remained in this world of reincarnated wives and acid resistant corpses. Certainly not logic; that was, like civilization, gone with the wind.
"She came back," Jack whispered to himself in clear awe. "Sweet god, she came back to me!"
"Jack - " Laura began carefully, fighting back a terrific urge to run screaming through the house.
"Do you know what we saw – "
"Don't –" Laura protested, so softly that she knew only she had heard herself speak.
"Right here with me all along. Right under my nose the whole time," Jack muttered, his head shaking back and forth. "I couldn't even see it. But why didn't she tell me? Why?"
"Maybe she couldn't!" Laura found her voice, though it cracked and was filled with tears.
Jack turned to her, his eyes vacant orbs of dull misery.
"Like you said. The magic. Perhaps, it was part of the deal. She could come back – but never tell you about herself. If she did, then –"
"– then like Cinderella at midnight, she would have to leave the ball and disappear." Jack finished, not a happy man at all. "Yes. Yes," he said softly. And then: "What have I done? What have I done?"
They were both quiet for awhile. Laura cried a little more, to herself; Jack just stared at the floor, shaking his head and mumbling. Laura guessed, between the two of them, that she was more aware of the passage of time. Not that it mattered. It had been an hour since they had first played the tape.
"What are you going to do, Jack?"
Jack shrugged then laughed. The laugh sent another chill through Laura.
Desert Angels Page 17
