Looking at Sugar, she had her answer.
Karen staggered over to Andy’s car. She folded her arms on the roof and rested her chin on top. She wondered if she might be able to hotwire it. Having no real clue how, she’d seen it done plenty of times in movies. How different could it really be? Tear out the panel below the steering wheel, yank the wires and peel back the plastic to expose the charges. Then it was a simple matter of striking them together, and once the engine fired, she needed to twist the wires into a knot.
Easy peasey, one-two-threesy.
Smirking, Karen heaved herself off the Camaro. There was no way she was going to try that. Even if by some chance she could convince herself to go for it, she didn’t want to risk damaging his car and causing it to not be drivable when Andy got back in.
Where is Andy?
She looked at the large house. In there, some place. Had to be. She hoped he was all right. But, there was nothing she could do for him on her own. Not anymore with the gun out of bullets.
Karen started walking, heading for the graveled road that brought them here. Her feet dragged across the sand and rocks of the parking lot, making her feet feel itchy and hot. She’d left her purse inside, lost both her shoes, torn her skirt up, and was bleeding all over.
“A wreck,” she mumbled to herself.
She reached the road. Still clutching her gun, the metal frame knocked slightly against her lower thigh as she walked. She stepped on sharp rocks, jagged bits of acorn shells. The one that made her wince was probably a triangle of glass stabbing the heel of her foot. By now, she was almost numb to any fresh bursts of pain, but not entirely.
What was her plan? Did she really have one?
Kind of.
She knew a phone call to the police was in order; add a call to Detective Kaufman to that. A visit to a hospital wouldn’t hurt, either.
As she walked, she noticed the numbing silence of the nightlife. There were no chortles of crickets or frogs or owls. Just an unnatural silence that made Karen feel as if she’d pressed her hands flat against her ears.
A sudden flash of light in front of Karen blinded her. She threw her arms in front of her face to shield its dazzling illumination.
She heard the thumps of car doors, the soft groans of them opening.
Of course…
She should have known. After all that fighting, the adversity, surviving madness, she would get so close to escaping, only to be stopped on the way out. She would have laughed had it not felt so sad.
“Ma’am? Are you…okay?”
A kid’s voice. Raspy. Slightly breaking at the end of the question. The tone was that of an adolescent on the verge of puberty.
“Ma’am?”
“Stand back, Miles, she might be one of them.” Adult, male, the tone suggested intelligence and age.
“Doesn’t look like one of them…”
“No, she doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean…”
“I’m not,” said Karen. She let her arms drop by her sides. Keeping her eyes shut against the glare, she repeated, “I’m not.”
There was a moment of silence, then came the crisp tread of feet moving on the dirt road.
“Did you come here alone?” asked the adult voice.
Karen couldn’t make herself answer, and started to sob. She felt her legs give out, unable to support her body any longer. Hands gripped her arms and kept her from falling. She felt her gun being taken from her hand without any resistance. The sets of arms guided her own around their necks. Her right was much higher than the left, most likely due to the contrasting sizes of those helping her.
She let them escort her closer to the bright light. Her mind tried to tell her this wasn’t a good idea. She was allowing strangers to take her, but she was suddenly too exhausted to care.
The light dimmed greatly. She realized she’d been led around to the side of a dark sedan. The brightness had been coming from its high beams.
“Get the seat, Miles.”
The support under her left arm went away, dropping her arm. She saw a shorter, skinny smudge moving ahead of her. He stepped around the opened door, and reached inside. The driver’s seat shot forward.
“Help me get her in,” said the man.
Miles came and delicately took her by the hand. His hold was so soft and gentle, caring. She knew these people meant her no harm just by the slightest touch of this kid.
They helped her lay down in the backseat. Once they had her feet tucked behind her, the seat was folded back in place. Her saviors quickly got in their seats: the man behind the wheel and the kid riding shotgun.
Doors bumped shut.
The engine roared when it came to life, softly vibrating her. She felt the car swerving sharply as it turned around. Then it was speeding away, hardly bouncing when it struck one of the many rents in the road.
“Where are we going?” said the kid.
“Back to regroup.”
“But…our plans…”
“Forget them. We need new plans.”
The kid was saying something back when Karen drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-three
After a shower, Karen stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror. The glass was smeared and drippy where she’d wiped a spot in the fog to see herself. She gazed at the scuffs and scratches and slits on her shoulders, chest, hips, and thighs. She held up her hands so she could see the pricks in her palms. They looked like little dots made by a red pen. Turning her hands around, she examined the scores on her knuckles: pulpy mounds that were already starting to scab. There were lumps on her head that had hurt under the hammering water from the shower head. A bruised bar across her breasts from her escape, and on her stomach, and wherever there weren’t any scrapes, she was bruised.
Bottom line: she’d been damn lucky she hadn’t finished her drinks. If she had, she’d look even worse right now.
Probably be skinned by now.
She wondered if that was where the creatures were carting those other women off to.
Most likely.
Still, Karen hated she’d left them, hated even more that she’d left Andy. She wanted to send someone out there to get them, but Hoffman had said no cops. And, she’d promised him she wouldn’t call anyone.
How could she, even if she wanted to? He’d taken the phone out of her room, giving her an apologetic glance before leaving. Plus, there weren’t any payphones around this motel, none that she’d noticed anyway.
At least he got me my own room.
He’d said she would feel more comfortable having her own space, and he was right. She was thankful he’d done this. She’d tried talking him out of it, told him he shouldn’t feel obligated to, but he didn’t listen. Now, she was glad he hadn’t. It wasn’t much of a motel: The Pearl Palace. She and Andy had passed it on their way.
Her throat clucked. Andy. God, she hoped he was all right.
“We’ll get your friend,” Miles had said after she was checked into the room.
The kid was wonderful, letting her use his shampoo. It was Pert Plus, a brand she never used, but it cleaned the dirt and dried blood out of her hair, so it got the job done. She’d used the hotel’s soap and a rag on her body. Cleaning her wounds had stung like a bitch. Now they felt like they were breathing with all the gunk washed out of the gashes.
She wasn’t sure how long the drive back to the hotel was, but she’d awakened in the backseat after they’d arrived, Hoffman leaning over her with that hideously scarred-up face of his. She felt lousy for her initial reaction: hysterical shrieks while slapping madly at the nightmare of a face. Later, he’d promised her he wasn’t insulted, but she knew he was lying, which made her feel even worse.
The scars were remnants of an encounter with one of the glowing creatures a few years ago in Virginia; he’d told her about it while administering antibiotic ointment to her slashes. He didn’t know what they actually were, but he called them Neon Imps. Karen supposed the moniker fit, but she’d have opted for
Neon Assholes.
“Are they like their bodyguards, or something?” she’d asked. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, her legs crossed so Hoffman could reach her calf without her having to lie on her stomach or him squat between her legs.
Hoffman had sat beside her, a knee up on the mattress. Pausing a moment on the tiny procedure, he’d frowned. “Maybe in a sense they are, but they’re much more than just protectors.”
Karen had wanted to ask so many questions, clueless where to start.
He’d added: “You’re lucky you’re alive, Karen,”
It had been an unnecessary reminder. She’d already known that. “Tell me about them.”
“The Imps?”
She’d shaken her head. “Everything.”
Hoffman screwed the cap back onto the tube of cream, handing it to Miles. The kid then hurried over to the black medical bag opened on the other bed. He rushed back, sitting on his knees on the floor.
Like a kid ready to hear one of Grandpa’s stories from the past.
Karen couldn’t help but smile.
“I suppose I could to tell you,” Hoffman had said. He looked at Miles, smiling slightly. “But the boy is still too young to hear all I’ve learned.”
“Aw, come on!” Miles slapped both hands down on his thighs. “I’m old enough!”
Hoffman reached out, ruffling the boy’s hair. It was still very much styled in a way that suggested he wasn’t as old as he wanted people to think he was: bangs reaching the tops of his eyebrows, slightly shabby around the ears, and a little scruffy in the back.
Karen had wondered if Hoffman cut it for him and supposed that he probably did.
Having enough of the ruffling, Miles pulled out of Hoffman’s reach. “It’s not fair…they killed my family too.”
Karen’s skin tightened. She should have known something like that had happened to Miles. Why else would he be with Hoffman? Maybe she’d thought he was a relative or something, or she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that a kid like Miles had somehow become entangled in this Skin Show mess.
What Miles had said had replayed in her mind during her shower as the hot water sapped out the rest of her energy.
Now, in the bathroom, her skin tight and hard with soreness, she was still thinking about it.
Faintly, a knock came from her door.
That would probably be Hoffman.
She quickly threw on the jogging suit he’d loaned her, then headed for the door. The sleeves hung over her hands like elephant trunks. The pants made whispering sounds across the carpet as she walked. Even with the elastic band pulled as taut as she could get it, they still sagged around her hips. She had to hold the front to keep them from falling.
Her guest was Hoffman. Morning light spilled in through the door when she opened it.
“I’m sorry for my unannounced visit,” he said. “But, the boy’s still asleep and you’d asked me to explain what I know. I thought now would be a good time if you’re up for it.”
“Oh, yes, please come in.” She opened the door wide, standing behind it.
“Thank you,” he said, coming inside.
Once he was away from the door, she shut it. “I was just getting out of the shower.”
She regretted having told him that. She was sure he could already tell from her wet, tangled hair, but now that she’d brought it to his attention, he might try to envision it.
Don’t flatter yourself. This man saved your life. If he hadn’t shown up…
Still, she couldn’t stop wondering if he was trying to picture her standing under the spray of the shower, water streaming down her skin, long brownish hair matted down her back, slightly moaning as the hot wetness tickled and caressed her.
Damn, you should write romance novels with thoughts like that.
She looked at Hoffman and saw he was eyeing her strangely. Realizing he’d said something that she hadn’t responded to, she laughed. “Sorry, I zoned out there for a moment.”
“It’s understandable. I was just asking if you’re sure you don’t want me to come back later. Maybe in an hour, to give you more time to finish getting ready?”
“No, now’s better than any other time, I promise.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Positive.”
Hoffman smiled. It was a pleasant expression, even with scars that made the right side of his face look hard and clumpy.
“Sit?” she offered.
Nodding, Hoffman walked over to the table. It looked like it was meant to be a writing desk, but was actually a TV tray with a rolling stool under it. He pulled out the stool and sat. The legs groaned under his weight. “Have you slept at all?”
“A little,” she said. When she’d come into the room after being cleaned up, she’d stripped out of her clothes and dropped on top of the covers. She’d drifted right off but was constantly being shocked out of sleep by horrible dreams. Thankfully, she couldn’t remember them. The fear she’d felt when her eyes opened had been powerful.
“I know I didn’t allow you to go into any great detail about your experience because of Miles being nearby. Please elaborate for me, and try not to leave out any detail.”
Karen plopped onto the edge of the mattress, shoulders slouching. She took a deep breath, and nodded. “Okay.”
And, she told him. She was surprised how much she remembered and how it felt as if she was still there as she narrated the events. By the time she was through, she was sweaty and winded.
“So…let me ask you this,” she said. “What is The Skin Show? What is it really?”
“A lair of evil.”
“Yes, but what kind of evil? What makes it…what it is?”
“I’ve spent the last several years trying to figure it out and I’ve only scratched the surface. There is much to learn, but no time to do it.”
“How do they keep it hidden?”
“If I told you that right now you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Don’t assume that. Right now, I’d believe about anything. I saw those things, too, remember?”
“Yes. You did.” He took a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it gust out, puffing his cheeks. “It’s a spell.”
“A…spell?”
“They seek out poverty stricken areas, dying towns—places where all hope is lost and slip in like a ghoul scouring a graveyard after hours. They plant their evil seeds and watch them grow. It starts off small, only influencing those nearest, but after some time, it spreads, reaches farther out. Soon it starts infecting more, and they spread it to others…and before too long, it’s unstoppable.”
“Moves like a virus…”
“Yes, very much so. But, I think an infestation is more accurate. Some might want to compare them to cockroaches, but I disagree. I think they’re more like ants. Every colony I’ve destroyed, another has been erected in its place. It might not be in the same exact location, but it’s a similar area. All lower class regions, always as secluded as possible. They’re so far under the radar it’s like they don’t exist. And, if you ask anyone, they won’t be able to tell you anything about them, even if a Skin Show is across the street.”
“How do you know so much about them?”
“Grant, my son, went to a Skin Show in Virginia. He was seduced by them and came home to kill us.”
“He did?” Karen leaned forward with a gasp.
“It wasn’t our Grant…it was their Grant. The reborn Grant. He’d become an imp.”
Hoffman triggered a cold drip deep inside Karen. “Jesus…”
“He attacked Kathy—my wife—and me. He pointed at the scars. “These happened, and he was about to finish me off but Kathy intervened. The imp overtook her, and while he raped her, he slashed her up…and she…died…” Hoffman took a deep, shaky breath. “I got to my gun.” He opened his jacket, showing her the weapon. “And I shot him, many times in the head. It killed him. But, there was nothing I could do for Kathy.”
“How did you know…it was your son?
“What did the police do? I mean, they had to have seen the body.”
“I never called them.”
“Why not?”
“I’d already decided what I had to do: Kill them all.”
“How’d you find it? How’d you know it even existed?”
“When the imp that came for us didn’t return, they came looking. I was already trying to put pieces together, but they made first contact. I allowed them to think I was under their control, and to take me with them. I saw the caves underneath.”
“Like the ones I saw?”
“Yes. That’s where they dwell. Underground. It’s also where they came from.”
“From the ground?” Karen looked down at the cheap carpeting.
“Yes. But, they’re not everywhere. So far, they keep to the south. I think they came from here.”
Karen didn’t feel any better. Antsy and needing to move around, she stood up, pacing a small trail in the carpet. “What are they?”
“The females are nymphs.”
Karen stopped. Although the door to the closed section of her mind had been blown off its hinges, she had trouble accepting that. “Nymphs? Little fairies? Like tinker bell?”
“Maybe some of them are. But, don’t look for magic pixie dust and expect to fly. There are myriad categories of nymphs: wood, water, grass, tree, sky. But these are Skin Nymphs. They are hideous creatures so appalled by their own looks that they steal the flesh of female humans to conceal their true appearances.”
“Wow, even nymphs believe in cosmetic surgery.”
“You’re joking? Being sarcastic now? What happened to ‘you would believe anything’? You have to believe what I’m telling you.”
“You’re right,” she groaned. She stopped walking, crossing her arms. “I’m sorry.” Though she’d apologized, she’d done so in a snappy manner that showed no hint of atonement.
The Skin Show Page 20