««—»»
The Supremate hummed, as if to set a score to its intricate web of thoughts. Soulless behind the shocking countenance, it knew everything. It watched and listened. And hummed.
—WHO AM I? The Supremate thought.
In a manner, it did know everything, and enjoyed the luxury of being in many places at once. Some would define God by these criteria. —AM I GOD? it wondered. —I AM OMNISCIENT. I AM OMNIPRESENT. I AM WORSHIPED. MAYBE I’M GOD.
Deep in the labyrinth, the daughters were at work, happy in mindlessness. They were pawns, but the Supremate loved them.
—I LOVE.
More God. Wasn’t love, too, a necessary criteria?
—WORK HARD. MY PRECIOUS DAUGHTERS. FOR I LOVE YOU.
—We know! came their reply. —We love you too!
But the Supremate idled. Surely there must be more to God than this. There had to be. —GOD? it thought.
Their holy—yes, holy—burdens here would soon be ended. Then they would move on to new fertile gardens, new pastures from which to reap. But how many more times? And how much longer?
The Supremate didn’t know.
—I’M NOT GOD, it realized. —I’M JUST… ME.
The Supremate’s head roared with ancient laughter. It laughed and laughed. And hummed.
««—»»
Stella Erbling arched forward, painting her toenails. She was painting them black. Her sister, Liddy, lounged back on the couch with her feet up, bored as she scrutinized the TV guide.
“What’s on cable?” Stella asked, painting daintily.
“Just horror movies on cable,” Liddy replied, bored.
“What ones?”
Liddy was a year older but a year behind. Their father had arranged for them to room together, believing that a familial proximity might encourage academic motivation. This, in truth, effected the opposite. Stella was proud that her 1.2 grade point average was one tenth of a percent higher than Liddy’s.
“Let’s see,” Liddy said, scanning the TV cable guide. “I Eat Your Skin, Bloodsucking Freaks, Three on a Meat Hook, and Citizen Kane.”
Stella laughed. “Citizen Kane isn’t a horror movie, you mushhead. It’s porno.”
“Oh,” Liddy peeped. Stella knew everything, damn her.
Stella capped the polish bottle. “Forget TV. I got a better idea.”
Liddy’s face shined in glee, “Do Horse?”
“Do Horse,” Stella authorized. “Call that human pile-driver right now. We’ll raise his Kane, all right.”
The sheer delight of this conspiracy merged into their laughter. Liddy’s denim mini slipped up and showed her pantyless bottom as she bent for the phone. They couldn’t wait for Do Horse to come calling. So what if he had less charisma than a package of lunch meat? He was like the flag at the White House—always up.
And they would do well to have their fun quickly, for sometimes the night brings many callers, not all of whom are welcome.
««—»»
Such callers, in this case, would be Tom, in a clean T shirt, and one of the middle sisters. Several hours had passed since David “Do Horse” Willet had arrived at the Erblings’ for what would be his last so called roll in the hay. Tom and the sister took the fire stairs up, to avoid notice by the lobby guard. Up, up they went, for another small straw of destiny.
Lois Hartley had acclimated well and was now brewing nicely in the gestation catalyzer. The Supremate was pleased. Vaguely Tom wondered what manner of grossness would emerge from Lois’ radiophaseshifttriionized womb. Too vividly he remembered the stillborn sack of flesh that the stasisfield defected Penelope had birthed. Ugh, he thought. No cigars from that daddy.
The cloaked sister stood behind him, grinning stupidly. They advanced with discretion, and passed room 202, Sarah’s room. Tom wondered if Jervis was still ravaged by the destruction of the romance. He also wondered if he’d ever see his Kirin guzzling friend again, before the promised all expense paid trip to eternity. Despite what Tom had become, he missed his friends.
Next came room 206, Penelope’s room, or at least it had been until her address was changed to underground. The poor airhead was probably still blubbering away down there.
Next came room 208, the Erblings’.
—Remember, said the sister. —Don’t make a mess this time.
Tom twisted the doorknob and pushed. Metal crunched as the bolt ground out. The door opened to a brightly lit room: three astonished faces jerked up from a rather elaborate ménage à trois. Suddenly naked bodies blurred, dashing madly. Stella yelled, “Who—”
“—the fuck are they!” Liddy finished, gleaming breasts abob. But the dude, David “Do Horse” Willet, stepped forward, confident in spite of total nakedness, and totally unafraid.
“Who the fuck are you?” Do Horse asked.
“Ted Kennedy,” Tom said. “Wanna buy a Delta 88 cheap?”
Do Horse, who was at no loss for muscle, rammed his big, knuckly fist at Tom’s face. The guy must be a Democrat, Tom surmised. He held up a palm, into which Do Horse’s fist collided. Tom’s palm didn’t budge. The bones in Do Horse’s hand shattered.
—Get them! the sister ordered. —They’re getting away!
The Erblings, screaming, flew by on either side. Tom snatched each by the hair, and that was the end of the great escape. By fistfuls of scalp he held the two girls off their feet, as a fisherman might hold up two trout. The sister’s grinning face beamed within the recess of the black hood. Her sunglassed eyes drank up the sight of the girls’ nude bodies as they lurched screaming beneath Tom’s fists. Next the sister was touching them, feeling their breasts, cupping their pubes as if in awe.
Hurry up, Tom thought like a groan.
The sister’s fanged mouth stretched wide. The pink needled tether shot out too quickly to be seen and rammed its stinger into one throat, then the other. The Erblings fell limp.
Tom dropped them on the carpet. Meanwhile, Do Horse had sprung back up, bringing a Mitsubishi VCR down on Tom’s head with a heavy metallic bang.
Tom turned. “Don’t waste your time, pal.”
Do Horse grabbed a large wall mirror and broke that, too, over Tom’s head. Tom winced slightly as the mirror burst. Do Horse stared, incredulous that Tom was still standing.
“Here’s an old one,” Tom offered. “You know what a Chernobyl hooker’s specialty is? Glow jobs.”
“That’s terrible,” Do Horse couldn’t help but comment.
“Yeah, I know.”
Tom grabbed Do Horse’s throat and crushed it.
He calmly dragged the slowly strangling young man into the bathroom and dropped him in the tub. The body slapped like raw meat hitting slate. Tom ripped open the boy’s rib cage and abdominal wall, exposing the warm delicacies within.
“Soup’s on,” he said.
—Oh, good! The sister scurried in, knelt, and began to eat.
Tom rolled the two paralyzed girls up in the oval carpet, then carried them out to the car. The sister was still eating when he returned to the dorm room.