He grabbed the door frame as fire spouted from his groin, smoking into the cavity of his chest. He tried to shout, but his head filled with the throb of water, with the drum of giant wings. Dimming, the room revolved. Pain flared through his legs, and he crumpled. As he plummeted into swirling nausea, it seemed his head circled away from his body. Terror spurted the blood through him in a wave of misery, and he whimpered as a fountain of flame sprayed up within him. He kicked once, and a thin shriek spiraled through.
Something cracked loudly.
He floated on thickening murk. It receded, draining away down his legs, gurgling behind his ears.
He opened his eyes. A tiny, hopeless cry fluttered. For an instant, his hand had looked like...like something else.
When he saw what he'd done to the woodwork of the door, he gritted his teeth on a moan. Unable to stop shuddering, he threw his arms around his face and tried to muffle the sobs.
In time, the horror passed, as it always did. Standing straight again, he struggled with his jacket, but the buttons resisted his fingers.
got to get
He decided not to risk waking her by strapping her down, settled for just locking the bedroom door. Just this once. He wouldn't be long. He fumbled with the window, then stumbled over the sill, but the chill seemed to wake only the outer parts of him, only the surface of his flesh.
we need
Feeling thick and stuporous, he made his way down the fire escape, grasping at the paint-blistered rail and trying to recall the purpose of his errand. At the bottom, he dropped as usual, but the fall seemed endless, as though he'd plunged into a well. Am I flying? His heart hammered. Cement drummed against the soles of his sneakers, and pain erupted in his ankle.
He put one foot ahead of the other. Got to be careful. Tonight, the alley offered scant shelter from the wind, seemed instead to funnel the blast directly into his face. Can't make a sound. Even in the darkest places, he imagined he could feel them watching him. Too many of them lurked about for him to venture out during the day now, so he moved only in the dubious shelter of nighttime, and then only when they needed supplies...or when the madness came, and he needed to do other things. Not my fault. His thoughts reeled away from bloody memories. I can't stop it. He emerged from the alley with his collar turned up and his shoulders hunched.
And I know they don't feel it when I do it. He hurried around the corner. Besides, I got to. The wind moaned past him, and a DEAD END sign beat against a pole with a hollow, repetitive clatter.
I got to.
"If memory serves, it's that very quality about goodlooking men that gets to one, I suspect--that type anyway. Sad and earnest." Charlotte broke off for a moment and seemed to brood. "They're quite like boys, so full of impossible longings, like my husband. For my part, I always wanted to help them somehow, to satisfy that terrible innocence. But truly such people are deadly."
"You sound like such an expert," Kit observed, smiling.
"I? Hardly. Only old and observant."
"As though you were so ancient."
Charlotte shook her head very slightly. "I've known only one love. And what has it done to me? He's been dead longer than you, my dear, have been alive...and I still am hostage to our marriage. How many years since I've seen even the upper floors of my prison?"
"Charlotte."
"Above our heads, the rooms stand shut, the furniture covered. Jade. Ivory. All those beautiful old things, screens and carvings, the framed scrolls. Alone with the dust." She contemplated the fireplace. "Forgive me if I try my memoirs out on you. Truly, it's just as well I can't get upstairs now. All those years, I never grew accustomed to sleeping in that big bed alone...though I'd had ample experience of it even while he lived."
"He was at sea that often?" Her friend didn't answer, only listened to the crackle of the fire, and finally, Kit spoke softly. "Sometimes, just at dawn, it's like I wake up in a different life or something. For just a second, anything seems possible. Then I remember who I am."
"Katherine..."
"You're always telling me what a romantic I am. But you're the one. The way you go on about my old boyfriend. If you could have met him, you'd know how silly that is. He'd have bored you into a coma in five minutes flat."
"I can't recall whether I've asked you this before, my dear, but was this young man also a police officer?"
"Hell, no. Sorry. All day long, I hung out with rookies and hoods who spent all their free time pressing weights. All of them on the make all the time. All of them convinced they were God's gift. Maybe the contrast had something to do with it. I mean, he did nothing all day but work on his philosophy dissertation. Or pretend to. And he hated himself, so of course he had nothing but contempt for anyone who loved him, which is where it gets funny, because I'm pretty sure I never did really. Not really. Besides, you can't make somebody happy against their will."
"I'm glad you see that at least."
"It's just his killing himself that makes it seem like such a big deal." Resolutely, she kept her back turned.
"And who am I to lecture you on love, dear?" Her laugh sounded like fluttering cloth. "I'm the original widow on the beach, waiting for her dead husband. After a lifetime spent studying our local folktales, I've turned into one."
"You still have the best view of the lighthouse from here." Shadows drifted like rent silk across the dunes. "Waiting for her dead husband." At last, Kit let the curtains fall. "Do you say things like that just to give me goose bumps?"
Brooding, he slid down lower in the front seat, and the shoulders of his coat bunched around his ears. For hours, he'd cruised, searching, parking on one dead street after another, waiting, watching. Pointless. He switched on the radio, spattering through choppy static to a news broadcast. Never find him again.
Something darted beyond his windshield.
For just an instant, he froze. Then his trembling hand shifted the car into drive.
From the end of the block, someone approached, hurrying along the sidewalk. The face remained a pale blur, getting closer, like a corpse drifting toward the surface. Wait. Now he saw the slim figure clearly, and his chest tightened. Slouching behind the dashboard, he eased up on the brake. Don't spook him. Peering back over his shoulder, the boy never seemed to glance toward the car. Did he limp slightly? Just keep coming, kid.
The Volkswagen rolled forward. Don't even look this way. Gunning the engine, he jerked the wheel, and the car lurched up onto the sidewalk.
The boy spun away.
Rear tires lodged, skidding along the curb, and a cloud of exhaust flooded the street. The Volks bucked forward.
The boy dodged, circling across the street behind the car. As the car surged backward, he ducked behind the trunk of a maple tree.
The man leapt from the still-rolling car. "Damn!" Behind the tree, an alleyway sliced between houses, he now saw. Arms outstretched to feel the walls on either side of him, the man plunged in. No sound drifted back to him. He might have been chasing a cat. The passage twisted once and abruptly emptied onto a back street.
No! Naked trees twitched around a single street lamp, their shadows struggling on the ground. You won't get away again! As he raced for the end of the block, wind swept away the noise of his footsteps.