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CHAPTER 5
The women stirred, moaning out from endless dreams. Their lair was a labyrinth; they lay deep in it. The labyrinth was silent and black, like death.
They lay together naked, their big eyes suddenly, inexplicably open. Something had waked them. Something—a word.
—Who are we? they wondered in unison.
But then they remembered. The labyrinth’s buried blackness began to move. They remembered who they were. They remembered the word, the holy, loving word.
Supremate.
—WAKE!
—Hello! one said.
—Hello! cried several more.
—We love you! We remember now!
They giggled together in their box. In joy, they kissed.
Then, like love, the voice caressed them.
—MY DAUGHTERS, MY LOVE.
The labyrinth was coming alive. Their lair grew warm. The dark and holy light felt beautiful on their white skin.
Memory crept closer. All things to serve their god! But first came an impulse. Sustenance. Hunger. Filling themselves up. The women remembered. They were hungry.
—Eat!
Yes, to eat. To make their bellies swell. Warm meat. Blood.
—We want to eat, please!
The Supremate’s voice was like a promise in the wind. —SOON, DAUGHTERS. SOON YOU’LL EAT. YOU’LL FEAST ON THE NEW PIGS.
Their loins tingled. Their red mouths drooled.
—Blood!
—Meat!
—New pigs!
They fidgeted in their box, reveling in the promises, like kisses. New blood to bathe in, and meat. They giggled and grinned.
—PRECIOUS DAUGHTERS…ARISE.
««—»»
The Old Exham Inn was an antediluvian brick and mortar catacomb full of dully clashing decor. Upstairs was the pub, downstairs the stage. The inn served pretentious “light fare” only and imported beer. The town, after all, knew who it was catering to—spoiled, rich college kids—which was how they got away with astronomical prices. Only “diverse” bands were billed, to keep out the local riffraff.
They filed down the stone steps to one of the small dining coves far off from the stage.
“Feeling any better?” Tom asked.
Jervis nodded like a wooden puppet. They hadn’t let him shave—his current hand and mentality could not yet be trusted to hold a razor to his throat. But they’d gotten him cleaned up and walking.
“I’ll have a beer,” he eventually said.
“You’ll have coffee, you dumb schmuck,” Wade corrected.
“And food,” Tom said.
Jervis groaned.
Wade ordered from a waitress whose frilled bräuhaus dress exposed enough cleavage to dry dock a runabout. Tom and Wade glanced warily at each other, contemplating a strategy to open Jervis up. Tom recognized the fragility of the situation. Wade, however, preferred a slightly more direct approach.
“So she dumped you, huh?”
Jervis wailed. Tom shook his head.
“Look, Jerv,” Wade said, “you can’t hide from this thing forever. You’re gonna have to face it, grab it by the balls.”
“Life’s got its ups and downs,” Tom said. “This is one of the downs.”
Jerv’s forehead was on the table. “But I still love her!”
Some can of worms, Wade thought. “Take my word for it, buddy. You’ll get over it. You got your whole life to look forward to.”
“Not without her,” Jervis told the top of the table. “We were gonna get married. I even bought a ring. It was going to be perfect.”
“Jervis, no girl is worth getting this bent out of shape over,” Tom offered. “When things don’t work out, you find someone else.”
“But I don’t want someone else. I want Sarah. I want my Sarah back!”
Wade tried to reason. “She’s not your Sarah anymore. That may sound cold but it’s the truth. Women can be treacherous, cunning monsters. One minute they’re telling you they love you forever; the next minute they’re in the sack with someone else, balling like there’s no tomorrow.”
Jervis jerked upright, pop eyed. He began to make croaking noises. Then he jumped up from the table and staggered away.
“Good going, Wade,” Tom smirked. “You really have a way with words. Why not just buy him a bus ticket to Lover’s Leap?”
Perhaps the direct approach had been a bit harsh in this instance. Wade had blown it.
The waitress with the St. Pauli Girl cleavage brought their orders, a Spaten Oktoberfest for Tom, a Samuel Adams for Wade, and coffee and gumbo for Jervis. “I knew he was serious about her,” Wade said. “But I had no idea it was this bad.”
“Bad isn’t the word. Jerv’s a sensitive guy. He keeps a lot of things to himself.”
“Too many things,” Wade concluded. “I warned him not to go falling silly in love with that girl. I never liked her anyway.”
“You just never liked her ’cause she’s the only girl on campus who never made a play for you.”
Wade rolled his eyes. “Just because I’m the sharpest looking dude in the state doesn’t mean I’m conceited.”
Tom laughed out loud.
After some time, Jervis returned, holding two bottles of Kirin Dry, one of which was already close to empty.
“Jervis, I didn’t mean to shake you up,” Wade apologized.
“Don’t worry about it.” Jervis sat down. “You guys are right. I’ve got to put this whole thing behind me.”
“Now you’re talking,” Tom said.
Wade pointed to the bowl. “Eat your gumbo. It’s good for you.”
Jervis dumped the gumbo into a potted plant. Then he began: “She dumped me by letter, during the break. She told me about the German guy, about how they’d been friends for a while, about how caring and ‘sweet’ he was, and all of a sudden she didn’t love me anymore. She’d stopped loving me months ago, she said, but hadn’t realized it till then. That was it, that simple. She said she didn’t want to see me anymore. And the last line”—Jervis gulped—“the last line of the letter was ‘Have a nice life.’”
“Serious bummer,” Tom commented.
“Oh, man,” Wade said. “That really sucks.”
Jervis continued, as if speaking from the grave. “I made mistakes, sure. I’m not perfect. But true love is supposed to make up for man’s imperfections. Love, real love, is supposed to be enough.”
Ordinarily Wade wouldn’t have been too concerned; this was just more of Jervis’ rhetoric. But although the words were the same, the spirit in which they’d been spoken was entirely different. The spirit was finality—total loss. This was not just another girl dumps boy story. This was dissolution of self.
But Jervis slapped his hands down as if to prove he’d roused himself. “Anyway, enough of my moaning and groaning,” he asserted. “There’s nothing worse than a sad sack feeling sorry for himself. Things just got out of hand for a few weeks. But I’m okay now, really.”
“You sure about that?” Wade questioned.
“Positive. Time to get back to my life.”
“That’s the spirit!” Tom said.
But Wade felt sad; he could see through this. Jervis’ smile was as false as one carved in clay. Despite the smile, there was nothing left for him but his loss. Wade could see it in an instant: Jervis was never going to get over this, no matter how happy he tried to act.