by John Coyne
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
THE FRONT DOOR OF her apartment had been replaced and the locks changed. Jennifer took the set of keys given to her by the superintendent and unlocked the door, but she didn’t step across the threshold. The apartment was dark.
“What’s next?” Kirk asked. He was standing beside her, still holding their luggage.
“I’m not sure. I thought perhaps Tom would be here. I called his apartment while I was waiting for your plane and just got his machine.”
“Is he at work?”
Jennifer shook her head. “No, I called his office, too.” She stepped into the room then and realized at once that something was wrong. She flipped on the entrance light and peered into the living room. Her furniture was in order, and what she could see of her small kitchen looked untouched. In the three days that she had been gone, the super had cleaned the entrance and the living room. There was no trace of the dog’s blood.
“Do you want me to look around?” Kirk asked, edging past her to set down their bags.
“No,” she said. She moved a few steps farther into the apartment and glanced to her right. “Do you smell anything?” she asked Kirk.
He sniffed the air and shook his head. “The place could use a little fresh air, though. Shall I open a window?” He stood with his legs apart and his hands deep in the pockets of his red jacket.
“No, don’t do anything. Please.” Jennifer was apprehensive, but she tried to keep her voice steady. She slipped off her coat and dropped it on the living room sofa, then turned toward her bedroom.
“Hey, Jen!”
“It’s okay, Kirk. Everything is all right.” She didn’t look at him.
The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Jennifer stepped over and pushed it with one finger. Light from the street filtered through the closed blinds and left dim streaks on the opposite wall. She could see the clutter on top of her dresser. Everything was just as she had left it. She moved farther into the room and looked at the bed. It hadn’t been touched.
“Hey, Jen, what’s going on?” Kirk’s voice trembled slightly.
Jennifer didn’t answer him, just held her hand up in a gesture for silence. There was someone here, she knew. She felt someone’s presence. But who? And where?
All at once, a breeze blew the heavy window curtains out, scattering the loose papers on her desk. Tom was here, Jennifer realized. She could feel his presence. But why would he hide from her? Was he waiting for her? Did he want to kill her?
“Tom?” she asked, turning and scanning the room.
Kirk remained standing in the bedroom doorway. He was afraid to enter, she guessed.
Jennifer opened the door to the bathroom. It was empty. Her towels were as she had left them the morning after the pit bull attack, crumpled on the floor.
“Is he there?” Kirk asked.
Jennifer shook her head, then reached over and turned on the lamp beside the bed.
“Are you okay, Jen?” Kirk asked, stepping into the room.
She nodded. “I think so. I feel him, that’s all.”
“Tom?”
“Yes.” She sat down in a chair and pulled off her boots. “It was so strong, I thought he was here.”
“Maybe he’s under the bed or something,” Kirk joked, pulling off his jacket.
Jennifer sat back in the wing chair. “Would you look?” she asked.
“Under the bed?”
“Yes.”
“Hey, Jen, quit kidding.”
“I’m serious.” She was smiling in spite of herself. “I get myself scared sometimes
Please, I know he isn’t, but I can’t look.”
Kirk grinned. “Sure!” He dropped to his knees and lifted the bed skirt, peeping underneath. “He’d have to be a goddamn midget.”
“Kirk
“
“Okay! Okay! No, he’s not there.” He stood up.
“I’m going to call his apartment again.” She reached over to her bedside phone and quickly dialed his number.
“How about a drink?”
“Good!” Jennifer said, smiling up at him as she listened to Tom’s phone ring. At the third ring, his machine clicked on, and she heard his message. He wasn’t home, but he’d call back as soon as possible. She waited for the beep, then left another message, asking him to telephone her. “It doesn’t matter when,” she said, “just call.”
Jennifer hung up and went back to the kitchen, where Kirk had found the liquor.
“Hold me,” she told him, and wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling her face into his shoulder.
Kirk turned around and lifted her up, grabbed her bottom with both of his hands, and pressed her against him. She felt his erection at once.
“Let’s go to bed,” she said.
“No drink?”
“I want you, not a drink.”
He kissed her and began to unbutton her blouse.
“We’d better lock the door,” she told him, a little breathlessly..
When Kirk left her, Jennifer unzipped her jeans, pulled them off, and tossed them onto the back of a living room chair as she walked back into her bedroom. There she dipped her head to one side and took off first one earring, then the other, and set them both in a tray on her dresser. As she pulled her blouse up over her head, she thought she saw something move in the far corner of the room. With her blouse still tangled in her arms, Jennifer stepped to the wall and flipped on the light switch. There was nothing in the corner but a bookshelf, filled with her familiar night-time reading and a few framed photographs.
She could hear Kirk’s sneakers squeaking on the hall floor as he returned to the bedroom. Jennifer turned off the light, unsnapped her bra, and slipped into the bed.
“The barn door is bolted,” he announced, and paused at the doorway, surprised that Jennifer was already in bed.
“Come here,” she told him. She longed for the warmth of his body, ached to make love with him, and when he smiled lazily at her and unbuttoned his jeans, the sweetness of anticipation excited her more. She lifted her arms toward him, and he slipped into bed, under the down coverlet, and pulled her into his strong arms.
Jennifer felt safe, protected by his broad shoulders, and dizzy with longing as he moved to touch her. His mouth and hands were everywhere, and his eagerness made her more excited. She had never been with such an ardent lover.
In the darkened bedroom, Kirk’s face glowed with pleasure. Jennifer held his face close to hers and worked her tongue into his mouth. She wanted to consume him. She wanted him inside her. She wanted their flesh to be glued together. For a moment she was afraid that her passion would frighten him off.
With trembling hands, she reached down to guide him into her body. She liked leading the way, making her lover respond to her needs. Jennifer pushed Kirk back onto the pillows as she straddled him. He rose high and tight up inside of her, and she twisted her hips to create more friction.
She leaned down and licked his chest, then tossed her loose mane of blond hair across his face like a wide, soft brush.
“Do you like this?” she whispered, smiling down at him.
Kirk nodded, then reached up and pulled her down on top of him, probing her mouth with his tongue. Jennifer felt his erection swell as he came inside her. She let herself ride with him, waiting for her own orgasm, shifting slightly so that her right nipple was exposed, and she arched her back so that he could reach her swollen breast with his tongue. With a sudden shudder, she came, driving her body onto his. Her heart pumped wildly, driving her blood to the center of her body, where her muscles exploded in passion. She found that she had detached a part of her mind and was watching her body rock in its own selfish ecstasy.
Suddenly Jennifer grew teary. She turned her face into the pillows, then kissed Kirk tenderly in the hazy afterglow of her orgasm. She nestled closer to him, longing to stay this way forever, to hold him captive for her delight, and she shifted her legs so that his erection was pinned inside her.
; Kirk was kissing her gently, nuzzling her ears, her closed eyes, the dampness on her throat. He was coming again; she marveled as his orgasm pulsed within her.
Jennifer wrapped her arms around him and kissed his hair. The only light in the room came from the street, filtered through the drawn curtains, but her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could clearly see the shadowy figure emerge from the dark corner of the bedroom. It watched them, watched her, and then stepped over to the doorway and paused there. There was no hatred in the figure’s eyes, nor anger, only an immense sorrow, as if he had lost everything, lost her, lost his whole world.
“Jenny, what’s the matter?” Kirk asked, pulling back from her breasts. Her body had turned cold in his arms. “What’s the matter?” he asked again, frightened by the look on her face. He turned to see what she was staring at. But there was only the open doorway, a dim slanting light beyond.
“What is it?” he demanded, grasping her by the shoulders.
“He’s here,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on the doorway.
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“Tom is here.”
“Jesus Christ, Jenny, what are you saying?” Kirk sat up on his knees.
“I just saw him. He’s dead. He was here, watching us make love.”
“Hey,” Kirk said gently. “No one is here, Jenny; you’re driving yourself crazy.” He moved to the doorway and turned on the overhead light. “No one is here, I promise.” When he looked at his hands, he realized he was trembling. “Christ, Jenny, you frightened the hell out of me.”
“He was here. I saw him. His spirit was here,” Jennifer said calmly. She was no longer afraid.
“Look for yourself! We’re all alone,” Kirk insisted.
“You don’t understand,” Jennifer whispered, slipping out of bed. She knew he was frightened, but she had lost all of her fear.
“Jenny, come on! Where are you going?” He watched her as she got out of bed and moved toward her closet. He swallowed hard, watching her tall, slender body. “Let’s go back to bed,” he cajoled.
Jennifer pulled open the door to her walk-in closet and reached in to where she always hung her flannel nightgown. Before her mind could react, before she could scream out in horror, the tips of her fingers touched the soft film of his still-open eyes. She saw him fully then, saw that her kitchen knife had been plunged into his heart, saw his bloated, grayish tongue and his swollen white face, and saw that her dresses and blouses had been shoved aside. Tom was hanging from the metal bar by his own black belt, the one she had bought at Brooks Brothers and given to him for his thirty-sixth birthday. He had been dead for several days and he smelled of death.
And then she screamed.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
JENNIFER LEFT KIRK ON the street, telling him only to wait for her, and entered the museum from West Eighty-first Street. It was after ten o’clock. They had spent most of the night and early morning with the police, at her apartment, and downtown at the office of the Justice Department, giving statements, explaining where she had been for three days.
They were due back at the Justice Department later that day for more questions, but Jennifer had told the police she had to meet someone at the museum, that it was important for her job. She didn’t tell Kirk that she had arranged for Phoebe Fisher and Kathy Dart to meet her when the museum opened.
She took the elevator to the third floor and followed the signs to the prehistoric exhibits. It was early, and the museum was virtually empty as she walked quickly through galleries, heading for the one where the prehistoric fossils were displayed. It wasn’t until she approached the special exhibit that she grew frightened. Stopping between two life-size models of reptiles, she tried to decide what to do next. She realized then that she had no plan for the confrontation. Phoebe Fisher had told her that she couldn’t trust her rational mind, but that was wrong. She had listened to Phoebe and to Kathy Dart; she had let her emotions dictate her response, and she hadn’t used her common sense. Well, she would figure it out as she went along.
Reminding herself to keep calm, she pushed open the glass doors and resolutely stepped into the darkened room, filled with artifacts of prehistoric man. She moved slowly past the glass displays of mammoth bones, the enlarged photographs of cave drawings and primitive sculptures. She kept herself from glancing to either side, afraid that seeing some ancient engraving would trigger a past life. She had to be alert. She had to be ready. She had to keep her attention focused.
She watched the few other museum visitors—couples, mothers with babies in strollers, school kids scribbling notes for a class assignment. She kept away from the center aisle and moved toward the rebuilt hut that dominated the exhibit.
It was here that she had first experienced the strange vibrations, here that she had told Tom the Ukraine model was built wrong. He had looked at her as if she was crazy. Well, she thought wryly, she wasn’t crazy. She was worse than crazy. She felt herself tense up, become more alert to her surroundings, to the other people in the gallery. She was an animal on the prowl. She kept walking, moving slowly toward the next gallery, the one built with the remains of man’s first family, the fossils of “Lucy” and the other early Australopithecus found on the banks of the Hadar River in the Afar Triangle of Ethiopia.
In the dark passageway between the two rooms, she caught a scent. She paused and sniffed the stale air of the closed rooms. Yes, she realized, someone was ahead of her, hiding perhaps in the next gallery, the large diorama that had been been built to resemble an African water hole. Through the thick leafy underbrush, she spotted several giraffes and the hunchback of a black rhinoceros, wallowing in the muddy African waters. And beyond them, reaching into the fig bushes, was a cluster of male and female hominid models, constructed by the museum to show how the first family of Australopithecus lived with the beasts of the African jungle.
Jennifer raised her head and snorted, then kept moving closer, keeping to the wall and out of sight as she approached the water hole. She was ready. Her blood was pumping through her body. Her neck muscles swelled; her nipples hardened. She kept moving.
Jennifer caught Kathy Dart’s distinct scent, then spotted her on the other side of the diorama, near a grassy plain that had been built into the horizon, as if one could step into the museum diorama and travel to the horizon. Kathy was looking away from her, searching the room. She was looking for her, Jennifer realized. She sniffed the air. She was downwind, and Kathy hadn’t caught her scent, hadn’t realized she had come into the exhibition from the rear exit.
Jennifer flattened herself against the wall. She watched Kathy Dart, waited for Habasha to stir, waited for Kathy to realize what she had finally understood at the Temple of Dendur, that all of them had lived together at the dawn of time.
Jennifer moved from the pocket of shadows and stepped closer. She was less than twenty yards from the jungle water hole when she spotted Phoebe. She was standing away from Kathy and also watching the main entrance of the gallery. They had expected her to come that way, she realized, and smiled, pleased that she had outsmarted them.
She knew she wanted to battle now, and this realization surprised her. She had been terrified before by her primitive strength; now, as she gazed around the strangely familiar diorama, she felt stirrings of recognition deep in the lymphatic system of her brain that stored and carried through time all of her emotional memories. Yes, she had been here before. Jennifer knew that now for certain. She had felt this earth beneath her webbed feet, she had once climbed down from those thick branches and reached with short and hairy fingers to pluck sweet figs from the low bushes. She snorted again and crouched low, creeping closer to her enemy, this tribe that shared with her family the muddy water hole, here by the edge of the great lake and in sight of the smoldering volcano.
She spotted a mother with a child in a stroller glance at her and scurry away, as the deer did in the forest, frightened by the mere sight of her and the others who slept together in trees
and lived off the fresh sweet fruit of the forest.
Jennifer took a deep breath, thinking: I will draw Kathy Dart away from Phoebe. She will attack if it is me that she has been stalking.
Jennifer left the hidden protection of the museum wall, stepped into the center of the gallery and closer to the African diorama. Then she shouted and waved her arms to attract Kathy Dart’s attention.
Kathy saw her, smiled, and mouthed a hello across the wide water-hole diorama. Kathy did not rush her. Jennifer stared back at Kathy; she waited, breathing harder now, her body coiled and ready to defend herself.
“Are you all right?” Kathy asked, mouthing the words across the silent gallery.
Jennifer cocked her head. She heard Kathy and understood what she had said, but Jennifer was remembering another morning in a distant time, when she had come out of the trees to find a mate among the males who had gathered to forage for fresh sweet fruit. She remembered now how she had been killed. And she screeched, recalling her anguish.
From the corner of her eye she saw the black museum guard looked alarmed and was coming at her. Jennifer knew that man. She had seen him once before on a paddleboat in the James River. Jennifer moved at once, she jumped over the low railing surrounding the water hole diorama.
“Be careful!” Kathy shouted at her.
Jennifer stood up straight. She saw that the guard was talking on a portable phone. More guards were running toward the gallery, coming at her from the other exhibits. But Jennifer was in the middle of the African jungle now, standing in the underbrush, surrounded by thick, hanging vines, enormous mahogany tree trunks, and the posed figures of short, hairy hominids, dull eyed and dumb, who stared at her.
She hooted for their attention, to get them away from Kathy Dart, to let her fight this woman who also had stepped forward and come into the re-created ancient water hole.