Creepers (36 page)

"She said she wanted to wait and surprise you," Louise purred. "I promised I wouldn't tell...but she has a new dress to show her daddy."

"Aha," Corelli said understandingly. "Well, I hope she doesn't wait too long. I'm starved."

"I'll bring out the hors d'oeuvres if you promise not to eat them all and spoil your dinner."

"I promise," he lied.

While Louise was out in the kitchen, Frank made a few final adjustments to the Christmas tree. It was perfect, and it had cost him only fifty bucks! Jesus, what a ripoff. But Louise liked it, and, more important, Lisa had fallen in love with the lofty Norwegian pine. He reset a string of lights and thought about Lisa, shaking his head in wonder that she--all of them--had made it through that nightmare alive and unscarred.

Lisa had almost died at New York Mercy Hospital that night. The doctors had said a few more hours and they'd have lost her. The concussion that kept her unconscious for nearly a week was bad enough, but nothing compared to the malnutrition and dehydration from not eating or drinking anything. Malnutrition. Corelli shuddered. If Lisa had been conscious, what would she have eaten? It was a thought he was sure had plagued Louise, too, but they never discussed it; never would. In a way, Lisa's perilous condition saved her, and the whole family, from a greater danger--the crippling psychological effects of being held captive by the creepers. Lisa remembered nothing of what had happened to her after waiting for the subway to SoHo that hot, hot Labor Day.

Frank straightened the star on the treetop and stepped off the ladder to admire his work. Yessir, this was some tree. They'd told Lisa she'd contracted a mysterious virus that had put her in a coma for a week. She'd hear the truth much later, when she was old enough to handle it In the meantime, Louise enrolled her in a private school where she was just another student. Lisa had already been through enough. There was no point subjecting her to an onslaught of publicity or the prying questions of well-meaning friends. Lisa Hill deserved better than to be made a freak to satisfy the curious.

Frank and Louise never talked of the creepers anymore. Never talked of the horror that had brought them together. There was nothing more to say. It was over. The creepers were dead. The subways were safe again. Lisa was safe. They could end that chapter of their lives once and forever.

Now they were just another New York family: Frank, Louise . . . Lisa. Never in his life had Corelli known a child so loving and so giving. But then, Lisa was the perfect reflection of her mother. He loved to watch the two of them together--laughing, bickering happily, or working on some school project. For the first time in his life Frank Corelli felt really a part of something outside himself. .He felt loved and wanted . . . and needed. And that meant a great deal to him, particularly when it came from the child.

Becoming Lisa's second father wasn't an easy step. Lisa was used to monopolizing her mother; now she had to share her. It could have been a problem. The chances of resentment seemed better than fifty-fifty. But at the wedding, Lisa slipped Frank a small package containing a handmade clay picture frame containing a seventy-five-cent photo-booth portrait of herself. The little card with it said simply: "I love you, my new Daddy."

Louise returned, all smiles, and a moment later Lisa walked regally down the hall to the living room. Being a boisterous child, she usually ran and screamed and got into everything. This demure new persona was something entirely different.

"What's she up to?" Frank whispered to Louise.

"She's being grown-up. You'll see."

Lisa walked into the living room like a duchess at a tea party. She was decked out in a new party dress the color of grapefruit sherbet, pale yellow shoes to match. An amethyst ribbon caught up her black hair. Lisa's manner was definitely regal, but there was mischief in her eyes.

"And who, might I ask, is this lovely lady?" Frank asked Louise very loudly.

"I've never seen her before. Who could she be?"

When Frank shook his head, Lisa strolled casually over to him and stood solemnly in front of his chair. She batted her eyes seductively; then the faintest of smiles appeared on her lips. "Don't you recognize me? Really?"

"Can't say that I do, miss," Corelli said seriously. "You remind me of someone named Lisa Corelli I once knew, but she was a little girl...you're a young lady."

Lisa flew into a fit of laughter. "I am Lisa," she burst out, and as if to prove she was still a little girl, she leaped up into Corelli's lap and covered his cheek with kisses.

"So it is you, after all," he joked. "My, my."

"Oh, Daddy, you knew all along it was me," she complained.

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. But one thing I do know, Santa Claus brought Lisa Corelli lots of presents. Maybe we can convince your mother to let you open one now." He turned to Louise. "What say, Mom?"

"Of course," she agreed. "Well all open one now."

Half an hour later they sat down to dinner. And as Lisa recited grace, Corelli bowed his head and, too, thanked God for bringing him the love of Louise and Lisa. And he also prayed, as he did each night, that whatever had happened to Willie Hoyte had been swift and painless. For Frank, Willie's unexplained disappearance was the most painful thing about the creepers. He knew one day he'd get over the loss of his friend, but right now thinking about Willie still hurt.

And finally Frank prayed that God keep and protect his little family from all forms of danger. And that He keep His eye out that something as terrible as the creepers never, ever happened again.

Epilogue

Marvin Lord was drunk as a lord. He'd promised himself to have only two glasses of Christmas cheer, and look what he'd gone and done! Three glasses of rum punch, wine with dinner, and a rainbow of cordials after. He was shit-faced! Three sheets to the wind. Soused. But, after all, it was Christmas Eve. What better excuse to have a few drinks too many? Now all he had to do was get home and he'd be all right.

He waited on goddamned Lexington Avenue for a good half-hour, trying to flag down a cab in the bitter cold, to no avail. The cabs that were out--and they were damned few--were always occupied. Well, what else could he expect at two o'clock in the morning on...Christmas Day now. Finally, shaking with cold and beginning to sober up, Marvin Lord chose the subway.

He hated the underground, but it was a damn sight better then freezing to death on the street. He overpaid the token clerk, took only one of the four tokens offered him, then staggered downstairs onto the Sixty-eighth Street platform. It was the Hunter College stop and usually the station was hustling and bustling with students. Tonight he was alone.

"There's absolutely no one here," he mumbled to himself as he rested unsteadily against the wall. Next time he'd be more careful of his drinking. He lit a cigarette, knowing full well that it was forbidden, but also remembering that no cop cared enough to enforce the law. He'd have to stop smoking, too. Maybe tomorrow.

Marvin walked unsteadily to the edge of the platform and looked up and down the tracks. Nothing. No one on the platform. Nothing on the tracks. Nothing at all. He'd started back toward the steadfast security of the wall when he heard something. At least he thought he heard something. It sounded like a train far off down the tracks in the tunnel. The sound was a whooshing actually, as if something were blowing down the tracks or rubbing up against the tunnel wall.

He looked up and down the platform again. Nothing. Yet, there was still that sound. Lord had grown accustomed to the noise, when it suddenly stopped directly in front of him. Right under his feet. He looked down, and quickly, without warning, two gnarled hands shot over the edge of the platform and grabbed him by the ankles. With one quick pull he was toppled. He fell backward and cracked his skull against the hard floor; the impact knocked him out momentarily. When he came to, his legs were already over the edge of the platform--he was being dragged down onto the tracks!

"My God! Someone help me!" he shouted, but his voice was empty and lonely in the cavernous station.

The thing that held him down on the roadbed leaped onto his chest and slid one hand behind his neck. With the other it pushed Lord's forehead back to expose the soft vulnerability of his throat. He stared up as the thing's eyes widened and its lips curled back over gleaming canine teeth. Its mouth opened, and the last thing Marvin Lord saw before his throat was ripped out was the small gold cross that hung suspended from a chain around the creature's neck.

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