Live Girls

by Ray Garton

  Now, she'd thought, wishing her tears would stop, I don't even have that!

  She'd spent too many years depending upon others to support her, too many years hoping the Right Man would come along. Beth realized that Davey was the closest she had ever come to the Right Man, probably the closest she would ever come. That thought had only made her feel worse, and she had grabbed her purse and gone inside the theater for her coat.

  “Hey!” Stevie had called as she slipped the coat on, heading for the door. “Where ya goin'?"

  "Home."

  “But it's only—hey, hey! — I didn't mean ya hadda quit tonight!"

  Without a reply, she'd gone outside.

  “Hey!” Stevie had called, following her. “We gotta have somebody runnin’ the box tonight!"

  “Run it yourself."

  Beth stood outside Vince's door steeling herself to go inside. With a tentative knock—Vince insisted that she always knock before entering—Beth slipped her key in the lock, turned it, and went inside.

  The air in the apartment was stale; she'd forgotten to open a window before she left. She tried to be quiet, hoping Vince was asleep or, better yet, gone. When she heard the muffled gurgle of the toilet being flushed, she thought, No such luck.

  Beth went into the bedroom and put the bag on the bed as she took off her coat.

  She froze.

  A gun lay on the sheet of the unmade bed. Vince's .357 magnum. The only time the gun came out of its drawer was when Vince was in trouble, or when he was making trouble.

  “The fuck're you doing home so early?” Vince asked as he came into the bedroom. He swept the gun off the bed and stuffed it into the bottom drawer of the nightstand on his side of the bed. He spun around and looked at her with wide eyes, his lips pulled into a rictus grin.

  Beth recognized his birdlike motions, the expression on his face, and knew immediately why the gun had been out.

  Over nine months ago, Vince had held up a pharmacy with that gun. Two pharmacies, actually; the first time he'd been unable to find what he'd wanted. Cocaine hydrochloride.

  Judging from his behavior now, he'd gotten some more of the pharmaceutical cocaine. And Beth was willing to bet good money that he'd used his gun to get it.

  “Whassis?” he barked, grabbing the paper bag from the bed. He stuck his hand in and pulled out the mirror. “What the hell is this? You buy this?"

  “No, Vince,” she said, hanging her coat in the closet. She went to the window and opened it. “I've had it since I was a little girl. I left it at Davey's, so I went to get it today."

  “You went to his place?"

  She turned to him and tried to smile. “Just to get that and some shoes I left. My grandma gave me that mirror. It's ugly, but”—she shrugged—“I want to keep it."

  His grin remained, but one brow rose over his eye. “So you went over to his place to get it. Look, babe, you wanna come back here, fine. Just don't go fuckin’ around with old friends if you're gonna be stayin’ under my roof, you unnerstan’ me?"

  “Yeah, Vince,” she whispered, nodding, turning her eyes from him. “I won't anymore."

  “You're fuckin’ right you won't!” he bellowed, throwing the mirror against the bedroom wall. The glass shattered and fell to the floor in pieces around the gold-colored frame.

  Beth bit the inside of her lower lip. I won't cry, she thought firmly, I will not cry!

  “You bring anything to eat?” he asked, tossing the bag with the shoes in it back on the bed.

  She picked up the bag and took the shoes to the closet. “Uh-uh."

  “Jesus Christ, there's no food in this place, it smells like a garbage can, all the windows're always shut, and what the fuck're you doing off work so early?"

  She knew what was coming. She couldn't even leave at this point. He would stop her.

  She found it difficult to speak; her throat burned with tears even though nothing had happened yet.

  “I lost my job,” she whispered.

  Vince was silent. Sometimes she thought his silence was the worst part. It always came just before his outbursts. And it was always a deafeningly loud silence.

  Vince cackled. It sounded like half a dozen dry twigs being snapped in rapid succession.

  “Y'got fired?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He came closer to her.

  “That's too bad, babe. I'm sorry.” His voice was soft. He crooked a finger beneath her chin and gently lifted her head, looking into her eyes. “Hope you don't think I'm gonna take care of you,” he whispered with a smile.

  She started to speak, to tell him of course she didn't think that, she'd get another job, that's all, but she didn't have the chance.

  “'Cause if you think that, you are wrong!" His palm connected with her face hard.

  Beth's head jerked with the impact and she stumbled backward. The cut on her lip burned and began to bleed again.

  “I'm not your fuckin’ papa!" he shouted, swinging the back of his hand across her face.

  Beth fell against the wall.

  “Okay!” she said, trying not to raise her voice too much, hoping she could hold her tears until he was through.

  “You can't keep a job, that's your problem!” Another slap, even harder. He reached around her neck, grabbed a handful of hair, and pulled her head back. “You unnerstan’ me?"

  Her mouth had fallen open and she made a long, quiet creaking sound in her throat. It felt like her hair was going to rip from her scalp if he didn't let go.

  “Y-yeah, V-Vince, I under-understand."

  “You gotta place to sleep, you get the best shit in town for free, but I ain't gonna be your fuckin’ meal ticket!"

  “I-I n-never th-thought—"

  “And how many times I gotta tell ya not to think!" He plunged a fist into her stomach.

  Beth's knees buckled and she collapsed with a pained grunt; Vince bent down over her, not letting go of her hair.

  “So what happened?” he hissed, moving his face close to hers. His moist breath smelled of stale nicotine and beer. “You takin’ long breaks? Blowin’ the rest-room attendant in the back stall?” He cackled again.

  She couldn't speak because she could not take in a breath. Her insides felt as if they had been shattered by Vince's fist.

  “I. Asked you. A question!" Vince stood upright and pulled her with him, throwing her onto the bed. “You lose your fuckin’ hearing along with your job?"

  She landed on her back, bouncing on the mattress. Vince got on the bed and straddled her, buried his fingers deeper in her hair, and clenched his fist.

  “I asked y'why y'lost y'job,” he breathed.

  “B-because th-they n-needed t-to...” She couldn't finish the sentence. Her face burned, her lip was bleeding into her mouth, and her stomach felt as if it had been split open. She turned her face away from him and her eyes fell on the open window.

  Something was on the sill.

  Something dark.

  With teeth.

  “V-V-V...” She couldn't even say his name. It was moving, crawling over the sill, pulling itself along with tiny hooked claws that grew from the top of its wings just like a bat, dear God, it was a bat, but it was so big, its dark red eyes were so Goddamned big! “V-V—"

  Vince roared, "Look at me—"

  He curled his free hand into a fist —

  “—when I'm—"

  — and raised it above his head.

  ”—talking to you!"

  Vince started to bring his fist down like a hammer and the thing in the window screamed and dove from the sill, wings spread, fanged mouth open. Its wings embraced Vince's forearm and its teeth cut into the underside of his wrist.

  Vince wailed like a child and pulled himself off her, rolling over the bed and off the edge to the floor.

  Beth heard his fist pounding the floor, trying to knock the animal off his arm. With a crisp flapping sound, the thing flew toward the ceiling and circled above the bed. It moved so fast, it was hardly
more than a blur.

  On his feet, Vince staggered around the bed holding his bloodied arm, keeping his eyes on the creature flying around above him.

  "Goddammit," he screamed, “you left the fuckin’ window open for Christ's sake, get me the broom, something, Jesus, where's my gun?"

  The thing shot downward and, with a loud slap, latched on to Vince's chest and tore its teeth into his throat. Vince fell against the dresser; he slapped at the creature as he fell to his knees. Vince said something, but it was lost in a horrible gurgle and blood sprayed from his mouth as he fell to the floor at the foot of the bed.

  Beth made a quiet whimpering sound as she rolled over and got to her hands and knees on the bed. She could no longer see Vince, but she heard his struggle, heard the wet rattling sound of his breath being sucked through blood. She crawled over the bed to the night-stand, grabbed the handle of the bottom drawer, and pulled it out so far it clumped to the floor. Her hands were numb with fear and she clumsily wrapped her fingers around the butt of the gun, lifting it from the drawer.

  There was a new sound coming from the floor at the foot of the bed, a horrible sound.

  Sucking.

  The gun was so heavy, she couldn't believe how heavy it was, she'd never used one before, never even held one, and it felt alien as she hefted it between both hands, sat up, and waddled to the foot of the bed on her knees.

  Vince's arms were splayed outward limply; his eyes were wide and glassy; his throat was a ragged, bloody hole. The creature was hunched on his chest, its wings spread over his shoulders, its head bowed in the wound.

  Beth's chest began to hitch with uncontrollable sobs and she tried to raise the gun but couldn't because her arms were so weak and she was going to throw up, she felt her gorge rising into her throat and her arms collapsed, the gun dropped to the floor, and she screamed because she needed that gun and now it was down there and if she reached for it, her hand would be only inches from that thing.

  It suddenly lifted its head from Vince's throat, pushed itself up from his body, and made an odd spitting sound. Its ears twitched and it jerked its head from side to side as it crawled backward down Vince's body. At his feet, it flopped onto its side and screeched, its mouth yawning open to its limit, its red eyes squeezing shut. One wing swung upward then slapped onto the floor as the creature cried out again. Falling flat on its belly, it flapped both its wings.

  Jesus God it's trying to fly, she thought, moving backward on the bed, wanting to be as far from the creature as possible. It's trying to fly and it can't something's wrong with it it can't fly.

  Its bloody mouth opened again and it spit, gasped for breath, then rose from the floor, its wings flapping, heading for the window, but it veered to the left and fell to the bed thrashing. Beth began screaming, pressing herself against the headboard.

  The creature's body began to tremble and its head jerked back and forth until its features seemed to be melting together until it had no face, no discernible head, just a mouth and two glistening eyes and its wings pulled together and...

  No no no can't be it just can't no Jesus please no!

  ...it actually began to swell, like a balloon filling with air and a wing pulled away from the shifting mass of leathery flesh and bristling fur, except it wasn't a wing, it was an elongating stump that suddenly sprouted five trembling fingers...

  Jesus Christ make it stop make it go away make me wake up Christ oh Jesus please!

  ...and the fingers bunched into a wet, shifting fist and the mouth widened and screamed a frighteningly human scream...

  Make it stop stop stop!

  ...familiar somehow familiar but that couldn't be it just couldn't be and the fist swung down and thumped onto the mattress as the scream dissolved into a long deep retch that sprayed blood from the yawning mouth all over the bed and on Beth's shoes and ankles and she instinctively pulled her feet in and curled her legs beneath her as she screamed and as the thing before her continued to vomit blood onto the bed.

  Then it stopped.

  It lay motionless for several moments, the vaguely human arm still outstretched before it, the mouth open and wheezing for air, the eyes tightly closed.

  They opened.

  And looked at her.

  Beth's scream crumbled to breathy sobs as she looked into the eyes.

  They were no longer red. They were brown. Big and brown and hurting. Sad eyes. Davey's eyes.

  “D-D-Davey?” Her voice was thick with tears.

  The eyes blinked.

  “Jesus Christ, Davey?"

  The mouth closed and the mass began to shift again. The arm pulled in, the creature rolled itself off the side of the bed and fell heavily to the floor.

  She couldn't bring herself to look over the edge, didn't want to see whatever was there.

  It wasn't Davey couldn't be couldn't possibly be dear God I'm losing my mind I'm fucking losing my miiiind!

  She curled into an even tighter ball and huddled against the headboard, her arms crossed protectively over her breasts. She trembled uncontrollably.

  Beth heard shuffling on the floor beside the bed and a moment later saw the creature pulling itself across the floor with its wings toward the window. With a quick flutter, it hopped onto the sill and slowly turned its head toward her.

  The eyes were red once again, but they were pulled into a sad, scared expression, a lonely look, a look she'd seen earlier that evening. They were puppy-dog eyes. Davey's eyes. They blinked once, and the creature pushed itself out the window with a long, lonesome screech that diminished quickly with the flapping of its wings.

  Her sobs began again, but they were filled with relief now. Her head fell back and her eyes closed and she knew that when she opened them again, it would all be gone, the blood, the mess, Vince would be in the next room shouting at her and everything would be as it had been.

  But when she opened her eyes, the bed was splashed with blood. Flecks of red speckled the wall by the dresser. The room reeked of sweat and excrement.

  Murmuring softly, comfortingly, to herself, Beth slowly lowered her feet over the edge of the bed. She went to the closet and got her coat. Below the clothes on the floor of the closet was a small overnight case in which Vince kept what he called his “desperate dollars,” spending money that he used only when absolutely necessary. She pulled the case out, lifted it, and put it on the edge of the bed. Opening it, she found some tens and twenties bound together with rubber bands. She didn't care how much there was; she simply stuffed the money into her coat pocket, then went to the closet and grabbed a few of her clothes and put them in the case. She closed it, latched it, and went into the bathroom. She put her toothbrush, some toothpaste, and a hairbrush into her pockets, gently placed the case on the back of the toilet, leaned forward, and vomited until her eyes stung.

  Beth slowly moved to the sink and rinsed out her mouth, trying not to think, trying to ignore the trembling of her hands. She took the case from the back of the toilet, left the bathroom, walked slowly and steadily through the living room and out the door. She didn't bother to lock it.

  On her way down the stairs, she was overwhelmed with dizziness. She sat on a step and held her head in her hands. When she saw the blood that had spattered onto her shoes, she closed her eyes and cried softly.

  She had no idea where she was going. She had no idea what had just happened.

  Nothing, she thought. A sudden calm fell over her like a chilly breeze. Nothing happened. I'm just leaving. Away. I'm going away.

  Beth stood carefully, went down the stairs, out onto the sidewalk. She began walking, still trying not to think about anything except getting a bus or a cab and taking it...

  Away. That was all. Away. Maybe to a motel. Maybe an airport. It didn't matter.

  Just away.

  Casey was huddled behind the window, exhausted, enjoying the fulfilling warmth that was passing through her body.

  The panel was closed, the man in the booth had pulled himself from the hole, and
she could hear his breathing on the other side, the rattling of his belt buckle as he fastened his pants, the hiss of his fly as he zipped up. The sounds came to her through the soft buzzing in her ears.

  Casey's eyes were closed and she was running her tongue back and forth slowly over her lips, savoring the coppery aftertaste.

  She'd done exactly as Shideh had told her. She'd moved slowly at the glass for a while, maintaining eye contact with the man in the booth. She couldn't remember what he'd looked like; all she remembered were his eyes. He'd given her some money and she'd begun touching him. When he eased his erection through the hole, Casey had taken it in her hand and, for a moment, had thought she would be unable to go through with it. Her mind changed, however, when she found the vein, felt the pulsing flow of blood beneath the skin.

  She'd fed to the sound of the man's grunts and moans.

  A hand touched Casey's face and she opened her eyes to see Shideh bending toward her.

  “Feel better?” the woman asked.

  Casey nodded her head, even smiled a little.

  Shideh took her hand and helped her to her feet, then gave her a thin gray robe. Casey put it on.

  “Come lie down,” Shideh said softly. “You can do it again later when you need to."

  Casey felt strong and sturdy, light on her feet as she went back to the room with Shideh and lowered herself smoothly onto the cushion.

  She lay silent for a long time, enjoying the darkness.

  Davey was slumped against the trunk of a tree in the park, retching, naked, and sweating. His arms were pulled together tightly over his stomach and he hugged himself protectively, his muscles tensing against the searing burn that swept through him again and again.

  There are things you have to look for...

  After several minutes of rocking forward and back against the tree trunk, the shaking began to subside. Davey began to relax.

  There are chemicals that can be very damaging...

  Something had gone wrong. He'd eaten something bad, something dangerous.