Panic! (21 page)

“Here in the substation.”

“I might be pretty late.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” Gottlieb said. “Listen, Brackeen, you did a hell of a job putting all this together. We’d have got it eventually, but probably not in time; there may still be a chance, now, for Lennox and the Hennessey girl.”

Brackeen said, “There are some things you can’t forget.”

“How’s that?”

“Never mind. You going to want to take charge of things when you get here?”

“Officially, yes,” Gottlieb said. “Unofficially, it’s your district and you’ve got a free wheel.”

“Thanks, Gottlieb.”

“Sure. Later, huh?”

“Later.”

Brackeen put down the phone and stared at it. He should have felt relieved now, or pleased, or satisfied, but he was more keyed up than he had been before the long-distance call from the girl’s New York agent, Klein. He had proven something to the world, which did not matter—and something to himself, which did matter—but that was somehow not enough; this thing wasn’t done with yet, none of it was done with yet, and he knew that the tenseness would not leave him until it was, if it was.

He picked up the phone and called Marge for the second time in the past several hours and told her he would not be home, that he was spending the night in the substation. She didn’t protest; that was one thing about Marge, she never complained, never sat heavy on his back. Talking to her, he felt a trace of guilt—an emotion new to him—for all the times he had cheated on her with the plump young whores in Kehoe City. She was a good woman, she was too goddamn good a woman to have to put up with that kind of thing. Well, she wouldn’t have to put up with it any more, he told himself. Not any more.

There was a lot of time between now and the arrival of Gottlieb and Sanchez—between now and dawn—and Brackeen felt nervous and edgy with inactivity. He left the cubicle, told Demeter that he was going out for a while, and picked up his cruiser. He drove east through the bright moonlight and stopped at the junction of the county road and the abandoned dead end; the special deputy he had stationed there several hours earlier was alert and eager, but he had seen nothing. Brackeen sat with him for a time, debating the idea of patrolling the abandoned road, and then decided against it; wherever they were on the desert, they would not be moving in the darkness—even with the drenching light from the moon. If Lennox and Jana Hennessey were still alive, they would be hiding now, waiting for dawn. Half dead from hunger and thirst, from the burning sun, from fear and from running.

If they were still alive.

Brackeen drove back to the substation to await the arrival of Gottlieb and Sanchez.

Jana saw shock and disbelief register on Lennox’s face, and she thought: No, no, I didn’t want to say it, why did you make me say it? She pulled away from him again, rolling her body into a tight cocoon, withdrawing from the sick pain that the almost involuntary revelation had unleashed inside her. But the shell she had so carefully constructed these past ten days was cracked and broken now, irreparably, and she had no defenses. It was in the open now, the word—the fear—had been spoken, he knew, somebody knew. God, oh God, why had she pried into his soul and he into hers, they were like leeches sucking at one another, and for what reason? Strength? Succor? Or was it just that each of them sought to lessen his own misery by exposing that of the other?

She felt his hands touching her again and shrank from them, making a sound that was almost a whimper in her throat; but she was boneless, she was plastic, and he lifted her and held her upright. She would not look at him, she could not. I want to die now, she thought. I can’t face it, I just can’t face it, I was trying to run away from myself, just like Jack, and you can’t escape from yourself—

“Jana,” he said, “Jana, it’s not true, I don’t believe it.”

“Oh yes,” she said woodenly. “Oh yes. Don’t you hate me now? Don’t I disgust you?”

“Why? Because of some mistake you might have made? Jana, I don’t hate you, I could never hate you.”

“I’m a lesbian, don’t you understand?”

“You’re a normal woman, you couldn’t be anything else.”

“A lesbian! I am, I know I am.”

“You know you are? Why do you say it like that?”

Don’t tell him any more, don’t talk about it, don’t, Jana, don’t—but what difference does it make now? He knows, you told him and he knows and what difference does the rest of it make?

“Jana?”

“I liked it, you see,” she said, and her eyes were glazed, shining like bright wet stones. “I liked being with Kelly, I liked it the first time and I liked it the last time, I liked being in her arms, I liked her touching me, I liked—”

“Stop it!” Lennox shook her and it was like shaking Raggedy Ann. She did not hear him; she was listening to bitter memories now, and putting voice to them without conscious realization of it, lost and wandering in her own private hell.

“The first time I was drunk and I didn’t know what Kelly was, she was just a casual friend who lived down the hall and I thought she was being sympathetic because I had just broken up with Don and I was angry and soured at the rejection and we were sitting there, in my apartment, sitting there and talking and drinking and I started to cry and she held my head and whispered to me and I put my arms around her, it was all so natural, and then I went to sleep or passed out and when I woke up we were in bed together, my bed, and she was holding me and kissing me and telling me that she loved me and I ... I couldn’t stop her, it seemed so good to be loved after what Don had done to me ...”

Lennox touched her hair, gently, almost delicately, the way you touch a sleeping child. Jana did not take notice. She no longer knew he was there; the words she was speaking were for herself, a volume-open replaying of a memory tape that had already been played a hundred, a thousand times before.

“The morning after that first night with Kelly, I was sick at what I had done and I thought for a while about taking sleeping pills or cutting my wrists, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I thought about a psychiatrist but I couldn’t call one, I couldn’t tell anyone what I’d done, and then Kelly came and I didn’t want to let her in but something made me let her in and she was contrite, she said she was sorry, she said she had been a lesbian for a long time and she hadn’t been able to control herself and then she told me that she loved me, she said it just like that, ‘I love you, Jana,’ she said, and suddenly I couldn’t hate her any more, I didn’t want her to go away, I wanted her to stay with me, and we made love that night and a lot of nights afterward and I woke up one morning and looked at myself in the mirror and I thought: You’re a lesbian now, too, you’re turning into a lesbian just like Kelly. Then I went and vomited in the toilet, because I don’t want to be a lesbian, I want to be normal, but I liked it with Kelly, I liked it every time, I liked it as much as I liked making love with Don. I knew I had to do something, I knew I had to stop myself before it was too late, divorce myself from Kelly and from New York, from everything that was turning me into what I didn’t want to be turned into. I had to be alone, I had to have time to think, I had to plan for the future—just me, just Jana, keeping her mind occupied with things, and maybe if enough time goes by I’ll be all right again, maybe if I don’t let myself get involved with anyone, not with
anyone,
because I think I’m a lesbian now and if I am I’ll reject any man, I’ll be frigid with any man who tries to make love to me and if I have anything to do with a woman no matter how casual maybe I’ll try to seduce her or maybe I’ll let her seduce me, and then I’ll know for sure, I’ll know, and I can’t face it yet, maybe not ever. I’ve got to be alone, I’ve got to be alone ...”

The tape had run out now, and Jana’s eyes lost some of their glassy quality. Lennox shook her again, less sharply this time, and when he was sure his words would penetrate, he said, “Jana, listen to me, you’re all right now, don’t you see that? You’re free now. You broke away, and that proves—”

“It proves nothing. It’s not Kelly and it’s not New York any more. It’s me I’m afraid of, it’s me I can’t face.” She began to tremble, violently, and the cold wind was only a small part of the cause; her teeth chattered with little hollow clicking sounds. “It’s me, it’s me, it’s me ...”

Lennox put his arms all the way around her, drawing her close. “Jana,” he said, “Jana.”

She could feel the warmth of him, the solidity of him, she could feel his breath against her hair, the way his hands moved on her arms and her back, she could hear his soft, gentle voice. The tremoring began to subside, slowly, but there was something else now, a sensation, a curious inner quivering. “No,” she said. “Oh no.”

“It’s all right,” Lennox whispered. “Jana, it’s all right.”

“Oh my God, no, no.”

Caressing, warm, solid, male, touching her, holding her, no, no, the thought there in her mind, growing, spreading, beginning to command, no no no, and the embers stirring and the fires sparking, a tightness in her chest, a catch to her breathing, a flowing warmth in her loins, oh no oh no, and she wants to pull free of his arms, she doesn’t want this to happen, she can’t let it happen, but he is so warm, his touch is so gentle, she is safe but no, no! she can’t let it happen, she can’t know, but it is happening, does that in itself mean something and is that enough, it is happening inside her, she is letting it happen, she wants it, she wants him, she wants him, him, him, him

and Lennox holds her, rocking, whispering, and he has never known a tenderness like the one which he feels for this girl, this victim, this kin, her body is soft against his and she is still trembling but it is a different kind of trembling now, somehow he senses that and he holds her tighter and she says, “No, oh please,” and her arms go around him and she is holding onto him now, too, she is pressing against him and moving against him and they fall sideways into the dust and fit their bodies tightly to one another, clinging, clinging

and Jana presses her face to the side of his neck, not wanting to press her face there, his pulse beat is soft and irregular against her ear, and she moves her hands along his back, not wanting to move them, and moves her hips against him, not wanting to move them, I don’t want this, she thinks,
I don’t want this,
and her loins are hungry and eager for the first sign of his arousal

and Lennox becomes aware of her body now, moving, the rippling of her muscles under his fingers, and he understands, he understands what must be happening inside her, the confusion, he doesn’t want to hurt her but he doesn’t know what will hurt her the most—capitulation or rejection, he wants to help, he wants to reassure her, he knows she is normal, he
feels
it, he has to communicate it to her and there is really only one way now, but he is so tired, the toll of the past two days has been too great, he can’t, and he focuses on her movements, on her body, and his hand slips down and touches her buttocks and then he is lengthening, growing, impossibly and wondrously coming alive

and Jana feels him erect against her, oh no, no, and her hips move faster under his hand now, under his hand,
I don’t want this,
“No, please no,” and she is burning, she is burning,
Love me, no, love me love me love me

and Lennox says her name, “Jana,” and hears her moaning and wants her desperately and his fingers on her clothing are deft, quick, gentle

and Jana helps him, helps them both, the wind blowing cold over naked flesh, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her lips saying “No” and her mind saying
Yes, yes!
and she is afraid, she is terrified, but he is whispering to her now, calming her, stroking her, and the fire, the need, the need

and they are one, murmuring, clinging, moving, and it is savage, it is tender—together, reaching upward, reaching the zenith, together, together, it happens together, incredibly, perfectly, the way it had to be ...

They lie silent, holding tightly to one another, and there is no need for words. Jana knows, and inside she weeps—but the tears are clean and good, purging. Lennox knows, and inside there is a peace, unstable but rich and promising. They are one now, in many ways.

In many ways.

Vollyer came awake just before dawn—and he was blind.

A soft, strangled cry bubbled in his throat; he sat up, pawing at his eyes. Darkness, darkness, with light shimmering faintly at the edges, with light flickering a long way off like candles at the end of a long, dark tunnel; but there were no images, no colors, there was only the light and pain, pain hammering behind the swollen lids, pain pulsating at the core of each eyeball. He shook his head and kept on shaking it, scratching wildly at the mucus-crusted sockets with the tips of his fingers.

Di Parma had been sitting on a rock nearby, watching the eastern horizon turn a dusty gray with the approach of dawn, eating the last of the tinned meat with chilled fingers. He came running over to Vollyer and knelt beside him. “Harry, what’s the matter? Jesus, Harry, what is it?”

“Get away from me!” Vollyer snapped at him. Control, control, get control of yourself, don’t panic, only the losers panic. Hands away from your eyes, only makes it worse rubbing at them, that’s it, blink now, blink, blink, light growing brighter, yes, taking away the darkness, force those lids up all the way, blink, blink, the sky, you can see the sky now and Di Parma, fuzzy but it’s Di Parma, concentrate, blink, his features, eyes, nose, mouth, blink, concentrate, blink, fuzziness fading, focus coming back, you’re all right, you’re not really blind, only temporary, bad strain that’s all, you can see now, you can see as well as before ...