The Midnight Tour (52 page)

Before he had a chance to respond, she kissed him. Her hands glided up his bare back. She wanted to touch his scars, caress them, let him know they didn’t repel her.

Holding her by the sides, he pushed her gently away. He shook his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

“So you’ve got a few scars. I don’t...”

“These aren’t the worst of them.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

“Show me?”

He stared into her eyes. His head jerked very slightly from side to side. “Nobody’s ever...I’ve never shown them to anyone. Just Janice. She...bandaged me afterward.”

“Can I see?”

He studied her eyes, but didn’t answer.

“I’ll have to see, sooner or later.”

“Why’s that?”

“Why do you think?”

“You tell me.”

“It’s customary to remove one’s clothes before making love.”

As she spoke those words, her face burned.

“We don’t have to,” Warren said.

“Which? Make love or remove our clothes?”

“Either. Both.”

“Don’t you
wanta?”

“Of course I want to. Are you kidding? I haven’t...you know...I haven’t let anyone get
near
me, much less... I want you so badly...You’re all I’ve been able to think about since we met yesterday. But I just can’t...”

Reaching down with both hands, Dana started to unfasten his belt.

He clutched her wrists.

“No,” he said.

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. If you knew...”

“I want to know. I want to know everything.”

“You just
think
you do.”

“Warren...”

“Trust me.”

“I never trust
anyone
who says ‘trust me.’”

“Okay. Okay.” He shoved Dana’s hands away, then turned around.

“Don’t be angry,” she said.

“I’m not. It’s just...” He shook his head. His arms moved, and Dana heard the jingle of his belt buckle.

“If you don’t want to do this...”

“I don’t,” he said. He bent over, pulling down his white trousers and his shorts in the same quick movement.

Dana gritted her teeth, but didn’t make a sound.

Warren straightened up and stood there.

His buttocks and the backs of his thighs looked as if they’d once been shredded by claws, gnawed on.

The sight made Dana feel squirmy.

“That isn’t so bad,” she said.

“It’s hideous.”

“What
did
it to you?”

“The thing that jumped me in the cellar.”

“But
what?
”

“What do you think?

“I don’t know.”

Warren pulled up his pants, fastened them, and turned around. His face looked grim.

“Do you think it was a bear?” he asked. “Maybe a bobcat? An escaped gorilla?”

“I don’t know. Tell me.”

“I’m not going to say it,” he told her.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you thinking I’m crazy. Or a liar.”

“A
beast
did it?”

“Is that your best guess?”

“I guess so.”

“You don’t really believe in the beasts, do you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Yeah. Maybe. There’ve been eyewitnesses.”

“Maybe they were nuts or drunk or lying about what they saw.”

“There were beast bodies.”

“I’ve never seen one, have you?”

“No, but...”

“Anyway, who’s to say they weren’t fakes?”

“I don’t think they were,” Dana said, staring into Warren’s eyes. “I think the beasts might’ve really existed. Lynn certainly believes in them. So does her father. And if they aren’t real, Janice is a liar.”

“Or crazy.”

“I don’t think she is. I don’t think you are, either. But the beasts...they’re all supposed to be dead.”

“I know.”

“They were all killed off in ‘79.”

A corner of Warren’s mouth tilted upward. “Were they?” he asked.

“It
was
a beast?”

“Maybe it was someone wearing a beast
costume
.”

“
Was
it?”

“Why do you think I haven’t stepped foot inside Beast House since the night it happened?”

“Oh, my God.”

“And there’s one other thing,” Warren said. “Whatever it was that ripped me up that night...it...it molested me.” He met Dana’s eyes. “It pinned me down on the floor of the cellar and...”

Dana hurried over to him and took him into her arms.

He hugged her tightly.

He began to cry.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, stroking his back. “It’s all right, honey. It’s all right. Everything’s fine.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

SANDY’S STORY
July, 1992

Sandy knew something was wrong.

She hurt everywhere. She was lying on her back, but not on a bed. The hardness underneath her felt like a floor. A floor with a rug.

She felt as if someone had worked her over, inside and out. With a club. With teeth. With knives, maybe.

Then she remembered.

She opened her eyes and turned her head.

On the floor beside her were remains.

Terry. Oh, my God!

Grimacing and groaning as pains swarmed her from everywhere, Sandy sat up.

Parts of Terry were scattered around the room.

She started to sob.

It hurt very badly to cry.

Later, she forced herself to stand up.

Trying not to step on broken glass or pieces of Terry, she walked out of the room. She searched the cottage.

Eric seemed to be gone.

Of course he’s gone, Sandy thought. After what he did...

He must’ve run away.

She needed to go after him.

Find him fast.

Take him home.

Or kill him.

Look what be did to my Terry!

Look what be did to me!

Fucking monster!

But she couldn’t go searching for Eric like this.

She hurried into Terry’s bathroom and started the shower and stood under it. The hot spray burnt her wounds. Blood streamed down her body.

She realized this was her second shower of the day. The earlier one, she’d taken with Eric. He’d been so sweet, so gentle...

How could be do this!

Maybe be thought he was saving me. The same as he saved me from Slade. Thought he was doing a good thing.

She did have a vague memory of crying out “No!” once or twice. Listening from out on the deck, maybe he’d misunderstood and charged in to rescue her.

How did be get here in the first place?

In the bed of the pickup, she thought. No other way seemed possible. She was certain he hadn’t been there when she’d left the cabin or when she’d opened the gate. But maybe after she’d shut it. Maybe he’d been hiding in the trees, waiting for her to climb back into the driver’s seat and get the truck moving. Then he’d rushed over and leaped into the back. That section of road was so bumpy that she wouldn’t have felt anything unusual.

He wanted a ride into town.

Or maybe he just bad to find out what I was doing. How come I was leaving him two days in a row? I’d never done it before. What was so special that I couldn’t wait?

Terry was so special.

DAMN IT!

If only she’d stayed home.

Or never met Terry at all, so he would still be alive.

Or never given birth to Eric.

No, don’t wish that.

I do! I do! I wish he’d never been born!

He was just trying to...

It had nothing to do with rescuing me, she suddenly realized. It was spite. It was jealousy.

He needs me all to himself.

After the shower, Sandy got blood on the towel.

She had so many wounds from the broken glass and Eric’s claws and teeth that it seemed pointless to worry about bandages.

None seemed to be bleeding seriously, anyway. Just leaking a little.

Besides, some of the injuries were where she wouldn’t be able reach them. On her back. Or inside.

In Terry’s bedroom, she put on a pair of his briefs and a T-shirt. They clung to the moisture of her skin and the seepage from her injuries.

In the living room, she picked up the skirt and blouse that she’d worn from home. No blood showed on them, so she put them on over the T-shirt and briefs. Then she stepped into her sneakers. She found her purse near the door and slipped its strap over her shoulder.

It was heavy with the weight of her pistol.

Turning around, she gazed at the ruin of Terry’s living room. And the dismembered remains of his body.

She had already made up her mind to leave everything in place.

No point in trying to clean the mess or destroy evidence.

Sure, the cops would realize Terry had been with a woman.

But there was no crime in that.

No woman had done this to him.

No man had done this to him, either.

Terry hadn’t been murdered, he’d been tom to shreds and partly devoured by a wild animal. You could tell that just by looking.

And if you did more than look—if you ran laboratory tests—the teeth and claw marks and saliva and semen would confirm what you already knew: Terry Goodwin had suffered his fatal injuries as the result of a vicious animal attack.

They couldn’t tell you what
sort
of animal, though.

Over the years, whenever the remains of Eric’s human victims had been found, the blame had always been placed on mountain lions, bears or coyotes.

Such an animal would probably catch the blame for this, too. Not that there’d be many facts to support such a theory. Just that the evidence pointed to
some
sort of wild carnivore with sharp teeth and claws. Something
like
a mountain lion, a bear or a coyote.

Some folks, of course, were bound to suspect that Terry had fallen victim to one of those
beasts.
After all, Malcasa Point was only about a hundred miles to the south.
Everybody
knew about the beasts. Most of the people in Fort Platt had probably gone on the Beast House tour at one time or another. Most had certainly seen the movies, too, and some had undoubtedly read the books.

People would
wonder.

But nobody was likely to believe—or suggest—that a beast had killed Terry.

The beasts were like U.F.O.s. Only kids, drunks, and morons believed in them.

And me, Sandy thought. And me.

She opened Terry’s front door and stepped out onto the porch. Without even glancing around to see if there might be a witness, she turned to the doorway and raised a hand in farewell.

“See you later, Terry,” she said in a cheerful voice. “And thanks again. I really had a great time.”

When she said that, she had a sudden urge to scream.

But she kept smiling.

Nodding and smiling, she said, “Okay. Sure. Tomorrow would be great. See you then.”

Leaning inside, she pulled the door shut. Still smiling, she trotted down the porch stairs and walked toward her pickup truck.

She glimpsed a few neighbors here and there. But nobody was nearby. And nobody seemed to be watching her.

On her way to the pickup truck, she took the keys out of her purse.

Instead of walking around the front of the truck, she went behind it. Along the way, she glanced over the side panel. Her beach blanket was spread out on top of something lumpy the size of a man.

None of Eric stuck out.

From the contours, though, he seemed to be curled on his side in a fetal position.

I’ll take care of you when we get home, Sandy thought.

But she kept her mouth shut, kept walking, opened the driver’s door and climbed in behind the wheel.

On the long drive home, she couldn’t force her mind away from what had happened back at Terry’s place.

She had never felt so sick and horrible before.

Never.

So wracked by guilt and shame and loss.

I didn’t just lose Terry, I lost Eric. He’s not my son anymore. Not after this.

How could he do that to Terry?

How could he do that to ME?

Oh, my God! What if I get pregnant?

It could happen.

She heard herself let out a moan of despair.

I’d rather die...
,

Driving south on Pacific Coast Highway, she often had a cliff just a few feet to her right. There was sometimes a low barrier, but frequently nothing...

Just a strip of gravel, then a few feet of dirt or rocks or weeds, then an edge.

And air.

A slight jerk of her arms, and she could put an end to it all.

A long fall.

A hard landing on boulders or beach.

An end for herself and Eric and the baby that might soon begin to grow inside her.

Eric’s brother, Eric’s son.

Another monster.

Another killer.

I’ve done enough damage, she thought. The
beasts
have done enough damage, too.