by Ray Garton
"Dammit, George!" Karen snapped, getting out of bed.
"I've told you, that cat does not belong in here at night."
"Well, you don't have to do that!"
"Maybe it'll teach him to stay out of here altogether."
"God." She put on her robe and went after Monroe as George got back into bed.
He knew he was not going to sleep, though. Awful as it sounded, knocking Monroe around a little had actually felt good and he was pumped with adrenaline. There was even a slight stirring between his legs.
Karen returned a moment later and grabbed her pillows.
"What're you doing?" George asked.
"I don't like the idea of sleeping with someone who abuses animals."
"Then don't bother leaving." He got out of bed. "I will." He slipped on a pair of pants, a T-shirt, got a blanket from the closet, and took his pillow with him.
In the living room, he tossed the pillow and blanket onto the sofa and turned on the television. Saturday Night Live was just getting over and it occurred to George that Jen and Robby usually stayed up for it, but they'd gone to bed a couple of hours ago.
Everyone seemed to be behaving oddly.
Not at all tired, George went to the kitchen to make himself a rum and Coke, but decided to hold the Coke. Back in the living room, he peered idly out the front window and was surprised to see Dylan Garry across the street, shuffling down the sidewalk toward his house. He was walking strangely, almost dragging his feet, hands in his coat pockets, head hung low. Was he… limping? Swaying? Maybe he was drunk. Probably. George wondered if he'd get into trouble when he got home. As far as George was concerned, a teenager drinking was no big deal, not when he could be out snorting coke or crack or -
Beyond Dylan, there was a soft light in Lorelle's bedroom window where she stood holding the curtains open. The light shimmered through the flowing sleeves of the sheer robe she wore. She was watching Dylan as he swaggered down the sidewalk, then she disappeared a moment, returning with a lighted candle which she set on the window sill.
The candlelight illuminated the black and red teddy she wore and flickered on her face as she smiled across the street at George. She reached down and lifted something… a telephone. She punched in a number.
She's calling here! George thought, hurrying to the telephone in the kitchen, ready to pick up, so the ring wouldn't wake anyone.
Barely half a ring sounded before he snapped the receiver to his ear.
"Hel-hello?"
"George," she purred. "You're still up."
"Yeah, I-yuh, I couldn't sleep."
"I can't sleep either. Why don't we not sleep together."
"Look, Lorelle, last night… what happened… I don't know how you got in here, but I'm not sure I appreciated it. I mean, I'm married."
"Seems to me a married man should be able to get from his wife what you got from me last night. But I don't think that's the case with you. Is it?"
He sighed, rubbed his eyes hard with his fingers. "I'm sorry, Lorelle. I just… it was nice, but I just can't – “
"I have a vibrator, George. I'd like you to fuck me in the ass while I stick the vibrator in my cunt." She sounded as if she were telling him what color she'd like to repaint her house. "Won't that feel good, George?"
His mouth moved, but he didn't speak.
"You think about it, George. But I don't like to be kept waiting. I'll leave the candle in the window. When it burns out, you've missed your chance. It's a short candle, George."
She hung up.
George paced the kitchen, poured some more rum, and finished it off. It burned in his belly and spread over him like a hot flash as he rubbed his temples, thinking… thinking…
George turned and Monroe hissed at him from the kitchen doorway. When he stepped forward, growling an obscenity as he pulled his leg back to kick the cat, anticipating the pleasure of his foot's impact with the animal's small head, Monroe spun around and disappeared.
Taking one more quick drink, he went to the hall closet to find his jacket.
* * * *
Too many souls to eat… too many souls to eat… too many souls -
– Robby was ripped from his sleep for the third time that night, his sheets soggy with perspiration. It was a few minutes after four in the morning.
He'd sneaked a Thermos of vodka into his room earlier that evening, hoping to drink himself numb, but it hadn't worked as well as he'd hoped.
The man was a lunatic, that was all. Had to be. He wasn't talking about Lorelle, he was just… babbling. But that didn't make him – or his words – any less disturbing. The whole encounter had been so surreal, so much like something out of a bad horror movie, that Robby couldn't bring himself to tell anyone about it, although he knew he probably should. But who? Dad was in no mood to listen to him, and Mom had looked even worse that evening when she got back from Lorelle's. When Robby asked her if she felt all right, she'd dismissed it as the flu and said she'd take some aspirin and go to bed early.
Robby had gone to bed early, too, hoping to drink himself to sleep. But he kept waking suddenly, covered with sweat, from one nightmare after another. He'd opened the window earlier, hoping to cool himself off, but it hadn't worked because now the top sheet clung to him like a second skin and his chest heaved as he stared wide-eyed into the darkness of his bedroom. Groaning, he reached over and flicked on his lamp and -
– Lorelle leaned over him and whispered, "Hello, Robby."
"Jesus Chrrr – where did you – how did you get in – “
She placed her fingertips over his mouth and hissed, "Ssshhh," as she slid one knee onto the bed. She was naked and her breasts swayed above him as she ran her hand over his sweaty chest. Leaning forward, she licked his belly and chest, murmuring, "Mmmm, I love sssweat.” She took his cock into her mouth and silenced all of Robby's questions.
It made no sense. She couldn't just walk into their locked house at four in the morning, not without someone hearing her… unless -
– I'm dreaming, Robby thought, that's all… dreaming…
He forgot about the man with the cane and the strange things he'd said. In a few minutes, he even forgot that Lorelle shouldn't be there. He knew he wasn't dreaming because dreams just weren't this vivid, didn't feel this good. He lost himself in what she was doing.
Robby came three times. He even cried out once or twice, certain someone had heard him, but no one came to his door. The fourth time, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, and didn't wake until just before noon.
Chapter 10
The Flu
It was the cold and flu season, as the television commercials continued to remind their sniffling viewers, so it was not odd that the flu was going around on Deerfield. But this year it seemed to be hitting everyone at once, and this particular flu was a more frustrating strain than usual. It was not accompanied by typical flu symptoms. It came, instead, as a simple but overwhelming feeling of fatigue. Jen was the only one in the house with any energy. Robby and George spent most of Sunday dozing in chairs, on the sofa, or in bed, while Karen, like most mothers with sick families, tried to go about her normal activities, but with little success. They moved around the house sluggishly, with long pale faces, looking exhausted and annoyed.
George came to life only once all day, when Monroe, curled up on the sofa, hissed at him, then tried to dart out of the room. He kicked the cat against the wall and growled a few curses, sending Monroe screeching into the kitchen, where Karen, angered by George's treatment of her pet, shattered her coffee mug in the sink, splashing coffee on the wall and counter.
Robby was not so far under the weather that he could not feel the tension in the house and, by mid-afternoon, decided to get out, no matter how bad he felt. He called Dylan to see if he wanted to go for a walk, or something. Anything.
"Sorry, Robby," Mrs. Garry said, "But Dylan's in bed." Her voice was tight, as if it were holding back anger. "I think he caught your flu. He doesn't have a fever and he
's not really sick, but he's very pale and shaky and can't seem to get out of his tracks."
"Oh?" Robby said. "Yeah, we've got it here, too. Guess it's going around."
"I guess so. I'll tell him you called." She hung up without saying goodbye.
Not interested in going out alone, Robby stretched out on the sofa and fell asleep watching television.
Karen, too began to feel a bit claustrophobic, and trudged down the street through the rain to visit Lynda, but things were not much better in the Crane household. The twins were in the living room watching television, but they stared at the screen with cold, angry faces and didn't look up when Karen came in. The atmosphere in the house was thick with tension. Lynda was chain-smoking as she sorted through a stack of old magazines in the dining room.
"I kept all of these for one reason or another," she said, puffing smoke, "but now I can't remember why."
"Where's Al?"
"In bed. He's… not feeling well." Bitterness shaded her voice when she spoke of Al. "Neither are the twins. I think they've all got a flu bug, or something. And I'm… well, I'm just… not in a good mood."
"What's wrong?"
She shook her head and, for a moment, seemed near tears. "Al and I've been fighting. I think."
"What? Why didn't you call me? What's going on? What do you mean, you think you're fighting?"
“I don't know. Things were fine until Friday night and… then he just seemed to be somewhere else. He wouldn't talk to me, he was grumpy. I woke up late that night and he wasn't in bed. I found him sleeping in the spare room. When I got up yesterday morning, he was in the front yard talking to that woman who moved into the Huitt place. She was out walking her dogs. He seemed friendly enough, talking and laughing, so I figured whatever was bothering him was gone. Then he came inside and it was… more of the same. He wouldn't speak to me.
“Well, you know we've never been that way, we always talk if something's wrong, so I sat him down and suggested we do something that day, just the two of us. I figured I'd leave the twins with you and we'd go out to the flea market like we used to, or have a lunch together and I'd talk to him, find out what was wrong. He wasn't feeling well – I mean, he looked bad, too – but he went along with it, sort of like he really didn't want to, but just to shut me up, you know? And about that time, the twins saw that woman walking back down the road, and they were fascinated by her dogs and Al took them out to introduce them. I went out and met her, too, and she seemed nice enough. When Al told her we were going out, she suggested we leave the kids with her, so they could play with the dogs, and Al said sure, fine, and the kids were crazy about the idea.
“We went out, had lunch, and he wouldn't talk to me. And when I tried to find out what was wrong, he snapped at me, told me it was none of my fucking business, if he wanted to tell me, he'd tell me, and we came back home. When we got here, the twins didn't look so good either. They've felt bad ever since. I guess the flu's going around, but… it's like I'm alone in the house and I'm sick of it. He still won't talk to me and I don't know why." She winced, on the verge of crying again, then coughed and tried to perk up. "Oh, well. We've been married all these years, and this is the first time we've ever had one of those long silent fights for no apparent reason. They happen to everybody, I suppose. Guess it was just our turn."
Karen didn't tell her that she was going through something similar with George. Instead, she tried to reassure her by blaming it on the flu.
"It's a bad one this year," she said. "Makes you… I don't know, just sort of pissy, you know? He'll get better and things'll be fine."
But, although she tried to hide them, Lynda's worries did not go away and she was not the company Karen had hoped for. So she made an excuse and left. She went across the street to see Betty LaBianco.
Ed LaBianco kept their yard in impeccable condition and Karen sometimes thought he cared more for his lawn and garden equipment than for Betty. But as she went up their front walk, she noticed he'd left his Snapper mower in the middle of the front lawn. In the rain. She frowned as she passed the machine, knowing that wasn't like Ed at all.
Ed answered the door, looking as if he'd just woke up. He was a small, cheerful, balding man with a beak-like nose and pleasant smile. But he wasn't smiling now. He looked like he'd been crying; his round face was red and puffy.
"Betty's in bed," he said wearily. "She's not feeling well. And neither am I, really."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Well, tell her I stopped by, okay?"
"Yeah, fine."
"Oh, and Ed, your lawn mower's – “
He shut the door.
Karen stood on the step a moment, surprised by his abruptness, then started back home.
She'd left the house hoping to make herself feel better, but had only darkened her mood. Thinking that perhaps everyone else in the neighborhood had the right idea, Karen decided to go home and go to bed.
One house seemed untouched by the flu.
Lorelle Dupree was the picture of health as she walked her dogs down the drive and out onto the street.
* * * *
On her way out of the house, Jen met her mom coming back in.
"Where are you going?" Mom asked.
"I'm gonna go see Tara and Dana."
"Uh-uh. They're sick."
"Is everybody sick around here?"
"Looks that way." She went inside.
Outside, Jen saw Miss Dupree taking her dogs for a walk, across the street. She stopped, smiled at Jen and called, "Hi, there."
"Hello." Jen stayed on her side of the street. She didn't want to be rude, but she couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that there was something different about Miss Dupree, something unpleasant.
As if sensing that Jen would not come to her, Miss Dupree led her dogs across the street. No, that wasn’t right – the dogs led her across the street.
"Would you like to walk with us, Jen?" Miss Dupree said.
One of the dogs pressed its nose into Jen's hand and licked her palm while the other lifted its paw and patted her arm to get her attention. Jen laughed and petted them.
"Why don't you come with us. Just to the end of the road and back."
"Okay."
As they walked slowly and Jen patted the dog closest to her, Miss Dupree asked her about school, her hobbies and friends, what she did during her summer vacations.
As they reached the intersection of Deerfield and Mistletoe, the dogs slowed to a stop, ears perked with interest. Suddenly each one bounded forward, pulling the leashes taut, barking viciously toward the left corner of the intersection.
"Calm!" Miss Dupree snapped, and the dogs became still, emitting low, throaty growls. Miss Dupree looked in the direction in which the dogs were growling and Jen did the same.
A tan car was parked at the intersection's corner, pointing west on Mistletoe. Someone sat behind the wheel, but the glare from the steel grey sky shined on the windshield, hiding the driver. The engine started and the car pulled away. Miss Dupree watched it go, her face stern. The dogs whined and looked up at her, as if asking what to do next.
"It's okay now," she whispered to them, turning to walk back down Deerfield. After a silent pause she asked, "By the way, where's Robby? I haven't seen him today."
"He's not feeling well."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
Watching Miss Dupree's face closely, although for what she wasn't sure, Jen said, "He's been kinda sick ever since he helped you move your stuff."
"Really? That's too bad."
"So's Mom. Since Friday."
"Oh?"
"Dad doesn't feel too good either the last couple of days."
"Then you must be very lonely with no one to keep you company. Why didn't you come over?"
Jen shrugged.
"You must get lonesome, anyway, with only a brother at home with you. Do you two get along well?"
Another shrug. "Okay, I guess."
"Really? I know some girls who don't even like their brothers."
"Oh, I like him okay. He's smart." She smiled. "He always gets good grades. Better than me. School's hard for me sometimes, but it always seems so easy for Robby."
"Does he help you with your homework?"
"Dad usually does. I wish Robby would, sometimes, but… you know, he doesn't have time to do that."
"He has a busy schedule, does he? Does he pay any attention to you at all?"
Jen frowned, thinking it over. "Sometimes. Well… once in a while. We fight over the TV. That kinda thing."
“But in a nice way. Does he ever pay attention to you in a nice way?"
"Oh, yeah, sure, some… times." But not that much, she thought.
They stopped in front of Jen's house and Miss Dupree smiled slowly. "Would you like him to?"
Jen felt suddenly suspicious. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I think I know how you feel. You admire your brother. Look up to him. You'd like him to… well, treat you with a little more respect, pay more attention to you, am I right?"
Jen relaxed her frown slowly as she nodded, but she didn't lose the frown inside where she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Miss Dupree looked like a perfectly nice person with pretty eyes and the straightest, whitest teeth Jen had ever seen. But in spite of that, Jen had a gnawing feeling of suspicion. She studied Miss Dupree's face, then -
"Yes," Jen finally answered.
"Well, if you'd like, I think we can get him to do that."
"How?"
Miss Dupree gave her a big smile and touched her cheek with a gentle stroke. "I'll think of something."
Chapter 11
A New Toy
“Look, Miss Weiss, I've gotta go to my next class," Robby said, standing before her desk.
"I really don't care, Robby. We have to talk."
Robby put a hand on her desk and hoped it didn't look obvious that he was leaning so he wouldn't sway. He felt so weak and shaky, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stand up much longer.
