She closed her eyes as he entered her. Joan didn't cry… didn't utter a sound. Sex was the only currency she possessed and, so far, it had kept her and her daughter alive.
From Sunday school teacher to whore in five years. She wondered what the Lord thought of her now.
It didn't take long. Stivers tensed and Joan felt his seed release, sticky and hot. He remained over her a moment longer, his rubber-clad hand gently tracing the bulge of her belly. "Mine?"
"Get off me, you freak!" she snapped.
"Hopefully, he'll resemble his father," whispered Stivers. And, for the first time, the pusher removed his hood and revealed himself to her.
Joan had suspected what he was, but to see it in the open was almost too much for her to bear. Apparently, the man named Stivers had been bitten by a rat. His head was narrow and cone-like, ending in a sharp point at his nose. Stivers skull was covered with fine gray hair and his ears – fleshy and misshapen – lay flat against the side of his head. Coarse whiskers sprouted from his nose and from his mouth ugly, yellow incisors protruded. A musky stench – like the sort common at a zoo – emanated from the creature, along with the acrid odor of piss.
"Handsome, aren't I?" he asked. The only thing human about him was his eyes. They twinkled at her, bloodshot and watery, just before he pulled the hood back into place.
"Just give me my pills and let me go," Joan said.
Stivers laughed and tossed the bag of Paradise onto her naked belly. "Get the hell out of here. I have work to do."
Joan slipped off the table, her inner thighs wet and slimy. She quickly pulled her clothing on and, sticking the pills in her pocket, started for the stairs.
"When Junior arrives, tell him that Daddy loves him," said Stivers.
Joan ran down the staircase, her heart pounding in her chest, leaving the mutant's squealing laughter behind.
Minutes later, she was outside again. She breathed in deeply, trying to rid her nostrils of the pusher's stink. The musky odor remained on her clothes, though. She wondered if Grace would notice it when she got back to the restaurant.
As she made her way down the street, spasms gripped her. She doubled over with the force of the cramping and had to steady herself with a streetlamp for a moment until it subsided. She thought of the abomination that grew inside her. Sometimes at night it felt as though it was kicking, clawing, attempting to escape her womb. With dread she wondered if there was more than one. Rats did have litters, didn't they?
She stumbled onward in the ceaseless rain, tears of frustration forming in her eyes. What was she going to do? About the horrid life within her… about Mike, if he were to find out… and, most of all, Bristol?
The downpour seemed to increase in fury. It pounded upon her head and shoulders, like a fist beating her down. She considered what Stivers had said. A scripture from Genesis came to mind. And I will establish my covenant with you; neither shall there any more be a flood to destroy the earth. I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth.
Joan hadn't seen a rainbow since before the Burn.
She wondered if God, in his rage against the unrighteous, had finally gone back on His promise.
The next trip was unlike any Joan had experienced before.
She found herself standing in a garden a thousand times more elaborate and beautiful that her mother's simple patch. Lush plants and flowers of all colors and varieties covered the ground and, from tall marble trellis, dangled huge baskets of fruit, succulent and ripe. She recalled what she had read about the fabled Hanging Gardens of Babylon and wondered if this was how it had been.
Joan stood upon a pathway cobbled with golden stones, marveling at the spectacular garden around her. Further on, past an alabaster gateway, stood a tall mansion constructed of pure white marble, surrounded by blooming magnolia trees. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The air was incredibly clean and invigorating. Joan felt herself let go of all her worries and wants. Of all the places the Paradise Pill had taken her, this was the place where she belonged the most.
"It's good to see you, Joan," came a voice from behind her.
She turned to see a man standing on the pathway. He was dressed in a flannel shirt, faded jeans, and scuffed work boots. Joan knew who He was at once, but He didn't resemble the hundreds of religious paintings and images she had been exposed to since her childhood. No, strangely enough, His clean-shaven face almost seemed to be an odd, but comforting, combination of features she was familiar with; a mixture of everyone she had ever loved in her lifetime. He possessed her mother's smiling eyes, her father's strong nose, and her husband's mouth. His hair was dark brown and styled in a way similar to her son, Daniel.
Joan was speechless at first. Then she muttered what had been foremost in her mind since arriving in this beautiful place. "Is this Heaven?"
"If that is what you wish to call it, yes," He answered.
"But… I shouldn't be here," Joan muttered. A great swell of shame and sadness filled her heart. "The things I did…"
"Out of necessity," the man told her. "That is all in the past, Joan. Don't you remember the pact you and I made when you were twelve? That will always stand."
Joan felt as though a great burden had been lifted from her. "Thank you." She looked past the alabaster gate, toward the huge manor house. "Who does that belong to?
The man laughed. "It's yours, Joan. I have prepared it for you." He walked toward her, his hand outstretched. "Come. Your family is waiting. They've prepared a feast in your honor."
An intense feeling of happiness and peace filled the woman and she reached out for him. It was then that she realized that her right hand was empty.
"My daughter!" she said, suddenly alarmed. "Where is she?"
"Grace is okay," He assured her. "Don't worry about her. She knows what to do."
The calm in His voice caused her to feel the same. Joan took His hand and, together, they left the garden and mounted a rise of golden steps to the white-columned mansion. On the porch, a dozen people stood anxiously, smiling and waving cheerfully. Her parents and grandparents, brothers and sisters, dear friends, her husband and son.
As she marveled at the beauty around her, a question came to mind. "Will everyone come here someday?" she asked.
For a moment, a great sadness crossed His face. "No," was all He said, before escorting her to the wondrous reunion that awaited her.
Grace had deceived her mother. She had only pretended to take the "piece of purple Heaven" Joan had offered her, afraid that their shared trip might end up like last time; like those last few horrible minutes with Bristol high atop the Ferris wheel.
The girl had dozed off on her own, but when she finally awakened, she found her mother's hand terribly cold in her grasp. "Mama?" she mumbled. Then the truth hit her. "Oh, Mama! No!"
A moment later, the closet door was wrenched open. Joan had forgotten to bolt the door from the inside, or perhaps had thought it unnecessary for this final trip. Mike and Bristol stood there, angry eyes glaring at her.
"What the hell's the matter?" growled Mike.
"It's Mama," cried Grace. "She won't wake up!"
Mike knelt down and laid a hand on the side of the woman's throat. He frowned and shook his head. "She's dead. Must've OD'd. I told her to stay away from that shit." He stood up and scowled. "Damn shame. She was good piece of ass."
"We'd better get moving," Bristol told him. "Word on the street is that the T&D's will be sweeping this area in a couple hours, and we don't wanna tangle with them." He stared at Grace and licked his lips. "Let's take the girl with us, Mike. She might come in handy."
"Yeah, I know what you want, you sick bastard," Mike said in disgust. "She's staying behind. I've got no time for babysitting." He regarded the girl coldly. "Sorry, kid, but you're on your own now."
"But that's such a damn waste…" protested Bristol.
The lanky man turned and glared at him. "I made her mother a promise… regar
ding you. All I can do for her now is keep it. Now move your ass!"
Bristol stared back at the man he had run with for years, a dark expression in his eyes. "Okay. No sweat. Let's split."
Mike closed the door behind him, leaving Grace to deal with her grief alone.
The child sat in the darkness and cried, holding her mother's hand tightly, refusing to let go. In the gloom, she studied Joan's face. There was a gentle smile upon her lips, as though she now possessed a peace that she had not known for a very long time.
Outside came the drumming of rain and the roar of water rushing through the city streets. Then, somewhere in the building, a staccato report of gunfire sounded. She recognized it as Bristol's M-16.
A moment later, his voice called out to her.
"Oh, Gracie! Uncle Bristol is ready to play."
She knew then what she must do. She released her mother's fingers and felt something drop into the cradle of her palm. Five tiny purple pills.
"I'm coming, Mama," whispered Grace.
Then, lifting her hand, she swallowed her fistful of Paradise.
OTHER CROSSROAD PRESS BOOKS BY RONALD KELLY
Novels:
Cumberland Furnace & Other Fear Forged Fables
Dark Dixie
Dark Dixie II : Tales of Southern Horror
Hell Hollow
The Sick Stuff
Timber Gray
Twilight Hankerings - Things That Go Bite in the Night
Unhinged - Tales of Darkness & Depravity
Novellas:
Flesh Welder
Audiobooks:
Flesh Welder
AFTER Page 21