by Ray Garton
Before she could hit the wall again, her phone rang….
After parking his bike on Whitley, Kevin hurried through the rain down a narrow alley, his boots splashing through puddles. Several yards down the alley, he removed the manhole cover and climbed down, pulling the cover back over him; it made a chilling scraping sound as it slid back into place. He descended the metal rungs that stuck out of the dirty, moist cement wall.
The air was damp and thick with the smell of urine and feces. His boots made wet slopping sounds on the grimy puddled walkway that ran along the wall of the sewer. It was wide enough for two people to walk side by side if they were careful; then it dropped off into a swirling, gurgling stream of sewage that flowed in a three-foot-wide gutter. Dirty brown foam licked at the edge of the walkway, pushed to the sides by the stream of black lumpy matter.
Light seeped down through grates and small holes in the manhole covers above, playing deceptively on the pipes and ducts that writhed from the walls like snakes, giving them a sort of peripheral life.
Kevin removed a pocket-sized flashlight from his coat and flicked it on, shining the beam before him. With his back to the wall, he turned right and started along the walkway, sliding his hand over the coarse, wet wall as he walked, carefully ducking pipes.
Kevin was not quite used to going through the sewer yet. While it was not as unpleasant as it had been at first, neither was it any safer. Mace had warned them of the homeless people who lived beneath the streets. They considered the sewer their home, and anyone who went down there was, as far as they were concerned, trespassing; sometimes they became violent.
"Be nice to them," Mace had said. "I want them to know we're their friends."
Once again Kevin had tried to get Mallory to come with him, and once again she'd refused. He was beginning to think that perhaps he was being too nice about it.
He turned right at a corner and came face-to-face with a wet-furred rat perched on a fat pipe. It held something dark and tattered in its mouth, something that glistened in the beam of his flashlight. The rat waddled backward and pressed itself against the wall when it saw him. He stood there a moment, watching, and heard someone laughing somewhere in the sewer; it was a phlegmy cackle that sounded ghostly as it echoed through the tunnels. Gulping back his fear, Kevin tried to ignore the disgust he felt at the sight of the rat's filthy, matted fur and its wet, twitching nose as he ducked down low to pass beneath it. He imagined the rat hunched on the pipe above him, ready to pounce on his back as he moved under it, dropping the dark morsel in its mouth so it could sink its tiny, needlelike teeth into the back of his neck.
The distant laughter of one of the hidden sewer dwellers faded, died.
The hole in the wall that led to Mace's sub-basement was about two feet above the walkway. When he got to it, Kevin climbed up and through, scraping the top of his head on the upper edge. As he entered he could hear footsteps on the metal stairs.
"Kevin," Mace said pleasantly.
Kevin stood up, rubbing his head. He put the flashlight back in his pocket.
Mace was coming down the stairs holding a lantern, his small pipe clamped between his teeth. Two of his pets were following at his heels, and a dark, cross-shaped object hung on a cord around his neck. In his other hand he held a paper bag. He took the pipe from his smiling mouth and handed it to Kevin.
As Kevin inhaled some of the sweet smoke Mace walked around him and crouched in front of the hole in the wall, setting the lantern on a crate. He reached into the bag, pulled out two boxes of Twinkies and a gallon of milk, and set them outside the hole.
"What's that?" Kevin asked.
"A little treat for our less fortunate friends." He stood, took his lantern, and crossed the room to a stack of boxes against the wall. He opened the top box as he asked, "Did you go to school?" He removed something wrapped in delicately thin cream-colored tissue.
"Mm-hm." Kevin slowly exhaled, and tendrils of smoke curled around his face like long, bony fingers.
"That's good." The paper crinkled softly as he unwrapped it. "You're alone. Mallory wouldn't come?"
"No." Kevin took another drag and felt the drug's effect spreading through him, warm and soothing, like liquid sunshine flowing through his veins.
"Too bad." Mace let the paper drop to the floor and turned to Kevin. "The others are upstairs waiting to rehearse. But before we go up, I want to give you something. Come here."
As he crossed the room to stand before Mace Kevin felt as if he were hovering a few inches above the floor, holding perfectly still while the room moved around him. The sensation made him smile. He handed the pipe to Mace, its ember dead and dark, and Mace tucked it away in one of his deep, baggy coat pockets.
"Everyone will get one of these," Mace said softly, lifting his right hand. Something dangled from his fingers, suspended by a cord of leather. "But you are the first. Because you're important to me, Kevin."
The whisper of the flowing sewage behind Kevin diminished until all he could hear was Mace's voice, all he could see were Mace's eyes framed by the leather cord that he now held up before him with both hands. A shiny, heavy-looking object dangled from the cord, but Kevin saw it only peripherally. His attention was intensely focused on Mace's eyes and gentle, lulling voice.
As Mace continued speaking he lifted the cord above Kevin's head, then slowly lowered it until it was hanging around his neck. The object on the cord rested heavily on Kevin's chest. It felt cool through the material of his black T-shirt.
"Don't take this off," Mace said. "Someday very soon, people will know who you are when they see this around your neck. They'll know that you're a friend of mine, a very good, valued friend of mine. That you're important. And powerful." He fingered the object on the cord, lifting it from Kevin's chest for a moment. "And someday," he went on, his voice a mere breath, "this will be your escape from all that you hate, from all the people who don't understand you, who refuse to accept you as you are, as I do. There's a big storm coming, Kevin, and someday this—" he tapped it with his finger—"will be all you have. So don't ever… take it… off."
Mace smiled as he placed his hand on Kevin's cheek, and his touch had a relaxing, massaging effect on Kevin's entire body, made him feel peaceful, as if all was finally well in his life.
"You're very talented, Kevin," Mace said. "I'm impressed with the progress we've made in the last two weeks. It won't be long now, I promise." He held Kevin's face between his hands. "I have plans for you. For all of you, really, but especially for you. And for Mallory."
Then the long moment ended as if it had never been; Mace's hands dropped, and he turned away, starting for the stairs.
Kevin lifted the object before his face and squinted at it in the darkness. It was identical to the object around Mace's neck.
It was a cross. At first glance it looked black, but a moment later he realized it was a deep, dark red, the color of dried, crusty blood. It was hard and smooth and felt like obsidian. With the exception of the bottom end, each end of the cross flared like the head of an axe, filed to a fine, thin edge. Kevin ran a fingertip along the top edge and immediately jerked his hand away.
His skin had been neatly sliced open, and a tiny bead of blood rose to the surface. He slipped his finger between his lips and sucked on the small cut.
Mace's feet clanked up the first three steps, then he stopped and turned to Kevin.
"Coming?"
"Yeah," Kevin said, frowning at the cross. "But what… is this thing?"
"That," Mace said with a smile, "is a Crucifax."
Kevin stared at it a moment longer, said, "Oh," then dropped it to his chest and followed Mace.
Halfway up the stairs, Mace bent down and lifted one of the creatures to his chest. It crawled up on his shoulder.
"Why didn't Mallory come?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"Is she afraid of me?" Mace asked, his whisper sounding metallic in the darkness.
A few yards away from them, so
ft light glowed from the swimming pool; Kevin heard laughter coming from there, too, and music. And frantic sucking.
"Not you. Those." Kevin pointed to the creature on Mace's shoulder. The lantern below it cast shadows over its triangular face, glinting in its almond-shaped eyes.
"Ah," Mace said, reaching up to scratch the creature's head. "She's afraid of my pets."
Whispers, stifled giggles, and soft moans came from the pool; a haze of marijuana smoke hovered over it like a ghost. They began walking around the pool toward the band instruments; behind them, Mace's generator hunkered like a sleeping beast.
"She's never seen anything like them before," Kevin said. "Neither have I, really. I told her they were rats."
"Rats," he muttered thoughtfully. "Well, they're not too different from rats. Rats have gotten a bad rep, you know. Because they're scavengers. There's nothing wrong with that. They're resourceful, that's all. They feed off what others don't want. That's not so bad, is it? But they're not really rats."
"So… what are they?"
Mace tucked his forefinger beneath the creature's chin, and a long, thin, black tongue flicked out, licked his finger delicately, then disappeared.
"They're my eyes," Mace breathed. Smiling suddenly, he said, "Don't worry about Mallory. She'll come when she's ready."
Then his face stiffened, his head tilted back, eyes closed, and he remained still for a long while, as if watching something….
"What are you wearing, Lou?"
"Wearing? Um, I'm, uh, wearing an undershirt."
"Is that all?"
"Yuh… uh, yeah. That's all."
"Come on, now, Lou, no fibbing. I don't think that's all you're wearing, is it?" Standing in her bedroom, Erin held the receiver a bit closer to her lips and lowered her voice to a husky whisper. "Is it?"
"Well… no. Not all."
"What else?"
"Urn, well, I'm…" His lips smacked dryly. "I'm wearing a pair of my wife's, uh… pantyhose."
"Mmm…. pantyhose, Lou! Do you know how much that turns me on?"
"It does?" He sounded pleased.
"Oh, yeeaah. That nylon stretched over your legs, over your thighs… You know what I love the most?"
"Wha…?"
Erin smiled, held back a giggle. It was strictly forbidden to laugh at a client's fantasy, but she couldn't ignore the humor in this one; the image of a man talking on the phone while wearing an undershirt and his wife's pantyhose was extremely funny. She stifled her laughter and concentrated on sounding sexy.
"I love to slowly rub my hand over your crotch," she cooed, "and feel that bulge grow, feel that nylon stretch over your cock as it gets bigger… thicker. Are you touching it, Lou?"
"Yeah," he gulped.
"Is it getting bigger?"
"Yeah."
"Mmm, I can almost feel it now. Squeeze it for me, Lou."
"Yeah." He was panting.
"Feels like it's going to rip right through, doesn't it?"
"Yuh-huh…"
"Stroking it?"
"Mm-hmmm…"
"Wanna rub our nylons together, Lou? Grind our crotches?"
"Oh, God, yeah, yeah…"
"Press 'em together reeeaaal hard…"
"Yeah…"
"Make 'em feel like—"
"You slut."
Erin nearly dropped the receiver as she spun around, hitting her knee on the nightstand and sucking in a deep, ragged breath when she saw Mallory peering through the two-inch opening in her bedroom door.
Mallory's eyes were narrowed to ice-cold slits, her mouth curled into a hateful sneer.
"You… miserable… slut." She turned and stalked away from the door, her footsteps heavy in the hallway.
"Mallory," Erin called, her voice hoarse. The receiver slipped from her hand and clattered on the nightstand, then hit the floor.
Lou's antlike voice whined, "Hello? Hello? Bunny?"
Erin felt dizzy as she pulled her bedroom door open, tears filling her eyes. She wondered how long Mallory had been standing there. The torn photograph filled Erin's mind with unbearable clarity.
When she got to the living room, Mallory was putting on her coat.
"Mallory, wait."
She grabbed her bag and started for the door, but Erin stepped before her and put her hands on Mallory's shoulders.
"Don't touch me," she spat, pulling away.
"Wait, Mallory, please."
"For what? So you can explain, I suppose?" She dropped her arms at her sides, letting her bag dangle against her leg.
"I don't know what you're thinking right now, but I want you to know—"
"I'm thinking I know why Dad left."
"Now wait a minute, I didn't do this while your dad was here."
"Oh? What did you do?"
Erin stepped back, shocked by the hate in her daughter's face. She fought to steady her voice.
"Mallory, we've screamed and shouted about this enough. I think it's time we just talked, don't you?"
"Like you were talking to your friend in there?" she snapped, stabbing a thumb over her shoulder toward Erin's bedroom.
Clenching her teeth, Erin said, "That helps pay the rent and buy groceries and clothes, and if your father hadn't left in the first place, I wouldn't have to do it!"
"Maybe that's why he left, you ever think about that? Maybe he didn't like living with a whore!"
"I am not a whore!" Erin shouted, her voice cracking. "I was never unfaithful to your father. Not once. But whether you want to believe it or not, he was sleeping with every goddamned—" Her words were garbled by a sob as she turned from Mallory. She wanted to hit something, break something, to get rid of the rage that was ripping through her chest.
"Does Jeff know?" Mallory asked with a snide chuckle.
"Oh, God, Mallory, please don't tell him," she whispered.
" 'Don't blame Mom,' he says, 'She's doing her best,' he says. But does he know what Mom is best at?" She made a snorting sound and growled, "I think somebody's waiting for you on the phone."
Erin heard her sling the bag over her shoulder, heard the door open, then slam. She let out her pain in a hoarse, wordless cry, leaning her hip against the back of the sofa. Her face felt hot with shame, and she clutched her cheeks with her hands, thinking she would have to pull herself together before Jeff got home.
Something squeaked and scuttled inside the apartment wall….
Kevin watched Mace curiously until his eyes finally opened again. Smiling down at him, Mace put his hand on Kevin's shoulder and said, "She's ready now. Bring her tonight."
Sixteen
October 14
It was Friday, and the hall outside the counseling center was filled with loud and hurried students eager to start their weekend. In J.R.'s office, however, it was quiet as J.R. sat at his desk listening to Jeff Carr. For twenty minutes Jeff had been telling J.R. about his sister, about her unusual behavior lately.
"I wasn't going to bring it up," Jeff said, "but she didn't come home at all last night. When I got home, my mother was really upset, she'd been crying, but she wouldn't tell me what was wrong. I think something happened between them. And I don't think Mallory came to school today, either."
"Does your mother know?"
Jeff shook his head.
J.R. was fascinated by the changes in the boy's face as he spoke of his sister. He was obviously worried about Mallory, but there seemed to be more than that.
"Why weren't you going to tell me?"
"Because I didn't want you to think I was, you know, prying, being nosy about my sister's business."
"Well, there's nothing wrong with being concerned about your sister, Jeff."
"But she hates it."
"Doesn't mean she hates you."
"But she hardly talks to me anymore." Jeff's face was pensive, clouded; the patch of skin between his brows was creased.
"Do you think she's with Kevin?"
"Probably. I don't know."
"Has Mallory
had any other boyfriends before Kevin?"
"One last summer, but they never—" Jeff stopped himself, pressed his lips together as he blushed.
"Never what?"
"Well, I don't think they, um… were as serious." Jeff wouldn't meet his eyes; his face remained red for a moment.
Realization slowly began to dawn in J.R.'s mind. He saw more than guilt in Jeff's face; he saw shame.
This guy's jealous of his sister, he thought. He's got a crush on her.
That explained the way Jeff had been acting. Normally, he seemed quiet, but with a sharp wit that he used well. He was a good student, involved in school activities, and seemed to have a good number of friends. Today he seemed closed in on himself. The change was subtle; his posture was tense, his arms crossed in his lap. He'd even been rocking himself slightly in the chair, as if to comfort himself.
Perhaps there was just as much reason to worry about Jeff as there was to worry about Mallory.
Scribbling on a scrap of paper, J.R. said, "Here's my home phone number. If she doesn't show up this weekend and you think something's really wrong, give me a call. Otherwise, I'll try to talk to her on Monday."
"If she knew I'd told you about—"
"Don't worry. She won't. We'll just talk. In the meantime, Jeff, don't take all of your sister's problems on your shoulders. I'm speaking from experience here. She's going to do whatever she wants, no matter what you think."
Jeff nodded as J.R. handed him the phone number.
After they wished each other a good weekend, Jeff left. His concern for his sister stirred some unpleasant memories up from the bottom of J.R.'s mind. He tried to imagine how much more complicated his situation with Sheila would have been had he felt more than just a brotherly interest in her welfare. If that was really the case with Jeff, J.R. didn't envy him….
As the Calvary Youth House slowly filled with smiling, chattering teenagers, Reverend James Bainbridge closed his Bible and stood from his desk in the main room. A small bell hanging over the front door jingled each time someone came in, and Bainbridge looked up with a smile.