Flesh

by Richard Laymon

  “I had a kitty named Celia. Celia had beautiful green eyes. What color are Clew’s eyes?”

  “Blue.”

  “Would you let me pet her?”

  “Well…”

  “I’m feeling awfully sad, ‘cause my kitty, Celia, got run over yesterday.”

  The girl’s face clouded. “Did she get killed?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Was she all mooshed?”

  “Yeah. It was awful.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d let me pet Clew. Just for a second, okay?”

  “Well…”

  “Please? Pretty please with sugar?”

  She shrugged her small shoulders.

  Oh, beautiful and young and tender.

  Roland pulsed with need.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jake, driving his patrol car along the streets of Clinton, felt helpless. This was getting him nowhere.

  Earlier, he had taken the vodka bottle to headquarters, dusted it for prints, lifted some good latents with cellophane tape and fixed them onto a labeled card. He had then spent a while comparing the prints with those of juveniles and the few college students in the department’s files. He had expected no match, and he had found none.

  Nothing to do, then, except spin his wheels and wait. Either the creature and its human host had gone off seeking greener pastures in a different jurisdiction, or they were still in the area and would strike again. So it came down to waiting for a missing person report, or for a body to be found.

  By then, it would be too late for someone.

  But we might get lucky.

  Jake hated the waiting. He wanted to do something. But what?

  Where do you start when you’ve got nothing to go on?

  The Oakwood Inn.

  In spite of the warmth inside his patrol car, Jake felt a chill on the back of his neck.

  No reason to go back out there, he told himself once again. You searched the place thoroughly yesterday.

  The thing left its eggs.

  Yeah, but…

  Yeah, but…yeah, but. Face it, Corey, you know you ought to be out there, should’ve probably been there all last night staking the place out, you just let Barney talk you out of it because you’re scared shitless of going back.

  There’s nothing to find out there.

  Sure, keep telling yourself that. You’re doing nothing now but wasting time. The thing left its eggs in that place. Maybe it’ll go back to them.

  I don’t want to. Besides, I’m not dressed for it and I haven’t got the machete.

  That’s no excuse, he told himself. The thing isn’t slithering around, it’s in someone. Probably.

  There’s no point. It won’t be there.

  If it won’t be there, what’re you scared of?

  Even as Jake argued with himself, he was circling the block. He returned to Central Avenue, turned left, and headed in the direction of Latham Road.

  Okay, he thought, I’ll check the place. Won’t accomplish anything, but at least I’ll have done it and I can stop condemning myself.

  He started to drive past the campus. A lot of students were out: some strolled the walkways; others sat on benches beneath the trees, reading or talking; a couple of guys were tossing a Frisbee around; quite a few coeds were sprawled on blankets or towels, sunbathing in bikinis and other skimpy outfits.

  Jake pulled to the curb and stopped.

  Hardly a back among the whole bunch, males and females alike, that wasn’t bare.

  Through the broad gap between Bennet Hall and Langley Hall, he could see into the campus quad area. Even more students were gathered there—most of the men shirtless, nearly all of the women in swimming outfits or halter tops.

  Jake considered leaving his car and wandering among the students. Sure thing, he thought. In uniform.

  Go home and change into your swimming trunks. Then you could blend in, check them out, ask a few questions.

  It didn’t seem like a bad idea.

  Anything to avoid going out to the Oakwood?

  Whoever has the telltale bulge up his (or her) spine won’t be showing it off. Maybe not, but that narrows the field. He’ll be one of the few wearing a shirt.

  If he’s out here at all.

  You’d have nothing to lose by conducting a little field investigation.

  You’re procrastinating. Move it.

  Jake sighed, checked his side mirror, then swung away from the curb.

  I’ll come back in my trunks, he decided, as soon as I’ve checked out the damn restaurant. Nothing better to do, and who knows? I might learn something.

  When he turned onto Latham Road, he began to tremble. His heart quickened. The steering wheel became slick in his sweaty grip.

  He wished Chuck was with him. Some company would be nice, and his partner’s banter always had a way of keeping the mood from getting too heavy. Barney shouldn’t have reassigned Chuck. What difference would it make, anyway, if one more person knew what was going down?

  Why the hell can’t Barney be riding with me? Who does he think I am, the Lone-fucking-Ranger?

  Calm down.

  Try to think about something pleasant. Like what? Like Kimmy. And how you were cheated out of being with her yesterday? Great. Pleasant thoughts. You had to work yesterday, anyway.

  After today, you only have to go four days and then it’ll be Friday and she’ll be with you. Four days. Seemed like forever. And what if all this crap is still going on?

  We’re letting it all out of the bag on Tuesday. After that, it won’t be on my shoulders anymore. Anything still going on by Friday, someone else can handle it.

  Jake glanced to the right as he drove past Cardiff Lane. On the way back, maybe he would make a detour past the house. Not much chance of seeing her, though. If she was outside, she’d be in the backyard behind the redwood fence.

  Maybe I could drop in. Barbara hates surprise visits, but she shouldn’t begrudge me this one. After all, I gave up my rightful time yesterday so Kimmy could be there for her birthday.

  Maybe give Kimmy a ride. Not much traffic along here. Let her turn on the siren and lights. She’d love that. Tell her, “Don’t turn on that siren.” She’d get that look on her face and reach for the switch.

  Jake’s smile and good feelings faded as he spotted the sign for the Oakwood Inn. He turned onto the narrow road. Kimmy, he thought, would like this road with its rises and dips. If he took it fast, the car would drop out from under them after each crest and she’d get “fluffies.” This was one road, however, that he would never take her on. Not a chance.

  At the top of a rise, Jake saw the restaurant and felt something similar to a fluffy himself—a sinking sensation in his stomach. But there was nothing fun about this one. This one made him feel sick and didn’t go away. It got worse as he drove closer to the restaurant.

  The parking area was deserted.

  What did you expect, he wondered, a frat party?

  Something like that. He had hoped, he realized, to find at least one car on the lot; the car belonging to the guy (or maybe girl) who had the thing up his back. Go in and maybe find him down in the cellar kneeling over the smear of demolished eggs.

  Just a faint hope. He hadn’t actually expected that kind of luck.

  He stopped his car close to the porch stairs. He wiped his sweaty hands on the legs of his trousers. He stared at the door.

  Nobody’s here, he thought. What’s the point of going in?

  To see if anything has changed since yesterday. Maybe someone was inside after you left.

  Jake rubbed a sleeve across his lips.

  You made it this far, he told himself. Don’t chicken out now.

  Just take a quick look around and get out.

  He tried to swallow. His throat seemed to stick shut.

  At least go in and get a drink. You can use the kitchen faucet.

  He saw Peggy Smeltzer sprawled headless on the kitc
hen floor, Ronald tearing the flesh from her belly. He saw the way the skin seemed to stretch as Ronald raised his head.

  Just do it, he thought.

  He levered open the driver’s door and swung his left leg out. As he started to rise from the seat, the car radio hissed and crackled.

  Sharon, the dispatcher, said in her flat voice, “Unit two, unit two.”

  He picked up his mike and thumbed the speaker button. “Unit two.”

  “Call in.”

  “Ten-four.” Jake jammed the mike onto its hook.

  The Oakwood has a phone, he remembered. But he’d tried to use it Thursday night and it hadn’t been connected. It wouldn’t be working now.

  “Too bad,” he muttered.

  He shifted to reverse and shot his car backward away from the restaurant.

  He had passed a gas station about two miles back on Latham. It had a pay phone.

  He swung his car around and sped out of the lot, feeling as if he’d been reprieved but tense, now, with a new concern. The message from headquarters could mean only one thing: a new development in the case. Any other matter was to be handled by Danny in unit one.

  He floored the accelerator. The car surged over the road, flying off the rises (some real fluffies for you, honey) and hitting the pavement hard on the down slopes.

  You’re flying, he thought. Flying away from that damned place. But toward what? Maybe toward something worse.

  He braked, slowed nearly to a stop at the junction with Latham, made sure no cars were approaching, then lunged out.

  A car ahead. He gained on it quickly and he raced past it.

  Seconds later, Jake spotted the service station. He slapped a front pocket of his uniform trousers to make sure he had change. Coins jangled. Of course he had change. He’d made sure before leaving home, knowing that he would need to phone Barney if he got a “call in” message. The procedure seemed excessive to Jake, but Barney had insisted that, for the sake of keeping a tight lid on the matter, the car radio was not to be used.

  For some reason, Jake had expected to get through the day without needing the coins.

  I was wrong, he thought.

  At least the timing was good.

  Shit. Someone probably turned up dead, and all you care about is getting saved from the Oakwood.

  He whipped across the road, cut sharply onto the station’s raised pavement, and mashed the brake pedal to the floor. The car lurched to a stop beside the pair of public phones. He killed the siren, rammed the shift lever to Park, left the engine running, and threw open the door. He fished a quarter from his pocket as he ran to the phones.

  The phone on the right had a scribbled “Out of Order” note taped to its box.

  He muttered, “Shit.” He grabbed the handset of the other phone and listened to the earpiece. A tone came out, indicating that this instrument was operational. Because of the tremor in his hand, he knew he would have trouble poking the quarter into its slot. So he jammed the coin to the metal plate, as close as he could come to the slot on the first try, and skidded it sideways, pressing its edge hard against flat surface until it dropped in. The sound of a ding came through the earpiece.

  He dialed as fast as he could.

  The phone didn’t finish its first ring before Barney answered. “Jake, it might be nothing. I don’t want you jumping to conclusions.”

  Barney didn’t sound right. His voice seemed stiff and tightly under control, and he wasn’t pronouncing his words like a thug.

  This is bad, Jake thought. Very bad.

  I don’t want to hear this!

  “Barbara phoned in. She’s concerned about Kimmy. Apparently, Kimmy has been missing since about thirteen hundred hours.”

  Jake looked at his wristwatch. For a moment, he had no idea why he was looking at it. Then he realized that he wanted to know what time it was. Two thirty-five. Kimmy had been missing for…

  “Jake?”

  He didn’t answer. Kimmy had been gone for…thirteen hundred was one o’clock, right?

  “She probably just wandered off,” Barney said. “You know kids. There’s no reason to think this has anything to do with…the other matter. Jake?”

  “Yeah, I’m on my way.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  Jake hung up. In a numb haze, he returned to the patrol car. He started to drive.

  Kimmy.

  She’s all right, he thought. She has to be all right. Just wandered off. Maybe got lost.

  He saw Ronald Smeltzer in the kitchen, down on his knees, teeth ripping flesh from the belly, but it wasn’t Smeltzer’s wife being eaten, it was Kimmy. Shrieking “No!” he blasted the man dead.

  She’s all right. Nobody got her. She just took a walk or something.

  Gone more than an hour and a half.

  He saw Harold Standish open the door, playfully stick up his hands and say, “Don’t shoot.” Jake shoved his piece against Harold’s forehead and blew out the fucker’s brains. Barbara came running. She wore the blue silk kimono. She cried, out, “It’s not our fault!” Three bullets crashed through her chest. Then Jake stuck the barrel into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  That’s how it’s gonna play, assholes, he thought. That’s just exactly how it’s gonna play if anything happened to Kimmy.

  Better calm down.

  Fuck that.

  You bastards, why weren’t you watching her!

  He swung onto the driveway behind BB’s Toy, resisting an urge to slam into it. Then he was out of the car, striding toward the front door.

  His right hand was tight on the walnut grip of his Smith & Wesson .38. He flicked off the holster’s safety strap.

  What am I doing?

  He pulled his hand away and clenched it in a fist.

  The door of the house opened before he could ring the bell. Barbara, pale and red-eyed, threw herself against him and wrapped her arms around him. He pushed her away. She looked surprised, hurt, accusing.

  “Okay,” he said, “how’d it happen?”

  Barbara shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her voice was whiny. “She was sitting on the front step. We’d come back from brunch. At the Lobster Shanty? And she was pouting all the way home ‘cause I wouldn’t let her have ice cream. She’d already had chocolate cake, I didn’t want her to make herself sick. Don’t look at me that way!”

  “Sorry,” Jake muttered, glaring at her. He wasn’t sorry. He wanted to grab the front of her blouse and smash her against the doorjamb. Ice cream. Kimmy wanted ice cream and Barbara had to play Boss Mommy and tell her no and now she’s gone.

  Barbara sniffed. She backhanded a slick away from under her nose. “So Kimmy was pouting and she plonked herself down on the stoop and said she wouldn’t come in. So I left her there. I mean, you know how she gets. What was I supposed to do, drag her in by the ears? So I left her. I figured she’d come in in a couple of minutes. But then when she didn’t, I came out to get her and she was gone. I’m sorry, all right? God, she’s my daughter, too!”

  “We can put on her tombstone, ‘Mommy wouldn’t let me have ice cream.’”

  “You shit!” she cried out. She swung at Jake, fingers curled to claw his face.

  He caught her wrist and clamped it tightly. When he saw her other hand flashing toward him, he gave her wrist a quick twist and she dropped backward. Her rump hit the marble floor of the foyer. Clutching her face, she rolled onto her side and curled up.

  Jake stepped inside, kicked the door shut, and stood over her. “Where’s that dick-head you married?”

  “He’s…looking for Kimmyyyyy.”

  Jake stared down at her. She was sobbing so hard that her whole body shook. “Hope you’re happy. Wasn’t enough for you to run out on me, you had to…did you want her dead, is that it? I’m sure she was in the way a lot, always underfoot. Well now maybe you won’t have to put up with her anymore. You’ll like that.”

  Barbara curled up more tightly.

  Why don’t you just kick her a few times,
Jake thought.

  He suddenly felt sick.

  What am I doing? he thought. Kimmy’s out there and maybe she’ll be okay if I get to her in time, and I’m standing here tormenting this woman I used to love.

  He felt as if a terrible blackness had cleared away from his mind.

  Crouching, he put a hand on Barbara’s bare shoulder. She flinched. “Hey, come on,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  She kept on sobbing.

  “You couldn’t have known,” he told her, stroking her upper arm. “I know you love Kimmy. I know you’d never do anything to hurt her.”

  “I’ll…kill myself,” she gasped.

  “Kimmy’ll be all right. She was upset, she probably decided to run away from home. You know kids.” Jake realized he was echoing Barney’s empty platitude. “Maybe she went to a friend’s house.”

  Barbara shook her head. “We…no. Called everyone.”

  “She’ll be all right. I’ll find her. I promise.”

  “You think…someone took her.”

  That was exactly what he thought. Someone took Kimmy—someone with a beast up his back. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he said. “I’m sure Kimmy’s fine. Did you check everywhere in the house? She might’ve come in when you weren’t looking, and…”

  “Everywhere. Her room, closets…everywhere.” Barbara rolled onto her back. She wiped her wet cheeks with open hands, then let her arms flop to the floor. She stared at the ceiling. She was no longer sobbing, but she struggled to catch her breath. Her green blouse had come untucked in front. Her short skirt was twisted around her thighs. She looked as if she had been the victim of a recent assault, except that she wasn’t bruised and bloody. Not where you can see it, Jake thought.

  He took hold of her hand and gently squeezed it.

  She glanced at him, then quickly shifted her eyes away. “We looked all around for her,” she said. “I walked around to all the neighbors. Nobody saw her. Harold went out in his car.” She sniffed. She used her other hand to wipe her eyes again. “I kept thinking he’d come back any minute with Kimmy. I kept praying. But he came back without her. That’s when I called the police. Barney talked to me. He…he was very nice. I always thought he was such a jerk, but he was very nice.”

  “What was Kimmy wearing?”