Strange Seed (25 page)

They.
 
It was that reality which set aside much of her uneasiness about his new lovemaking.
 
Because she had quickly reciprocated.
 
Looked forward to it.
 
Needed it.

She glanced at the old tub and thought how ugly it was, that the water smelled bad, like a sewer (“It’s well water, Rachel.
 
Well water always smells like that.”), that the room had always been so dismal and unappealing.
 
And she thought, also, how logically, how objectively, she was looking at it, as if she were a visitor or an interior designer and didn’t really have to live here.

She slipped out of her nightgown and faced the mirror above the sink.
 
For a few seconds, she found herself preoccupied by a web of thin brown lines near the lower right hand corner of the mirror.
 
Then she saw her breasts reflected and she smiled.
 
It was a satisfied smile.
 
These breasts pleased Paul, and they pleased her, too.
 
She cupped them gently in her hands; her smile vanished.
 
She studied her face, enjoyed the quiet pleasure registered on it, the quiet power.

She let her hands fall slowly, turned, bent over the tub, put her fingers in the water.

She heard a door being opened somewhere in the house and she cocked her head slowly; had she locked all the doors? she wondered.

She got into the tub.

Jesus, the water smelled bad. “
It’s well water, Rachel.
 
It’s got sulfur in it.”

Had she locked all the doors, yet? she wondered distractedly, as if locked doors didn’t really matter.

She heard something moving slowly and quietly across the living room.

“Higgins?” she called.
 
“Higgins,” she whispered.

Highly sulfurous.
 
It smelled bad.
 
And it caressed her so lovingly, as if it actually could caress her, and wanted to.

She let her body relax, let her eyes close, felt her eyelids fluttering, the sides of her lips draw upward.

Her hands moved freely over her body, paused momentarily at her breasts, pressed lightly, lovingly, powerfully, as if they were extensions of the water, as she was.

And then her hands fell to her belly (a child would be there, eventually), to her thighs, between them, and then inside, and loved the water moving in a little, wanting to move in.

Highly sulfurous.
 
“It smells bad, Paul.”

“Just full of minerals, like I said.”

She felt her arms relax; they moved slowly to the water’s surface.
 
Floated.
 
She let her eyes relax.
 
They opened halfway.

She felt the water being moved.
 
Felt the small warm hands on her, the thin fingers probing gently, wonderingly, powerfully.

*****

Mike Raspberry muttered a quick, squeaking obscenity.
 
He was a big man—“Moose” in his high school days—and the obscenity, made high-pitched by fear, did not please him.
 
He tried again, forcing his voice down.
 
The result was a guttural, rumbling, “Fuckin’ shit!” which pleased him a lot, and even eased his fear a little.

They’re gonna laugh,
he thought.
 
They
were the other members of his hunting party—Bill Quirk, Jim Shoddy, John Rex and Jack Hope.
 
Sure they’d laugh, they were probably laughing right now.
 
“Don’t go wandering off unless you want to become a permanent resident,” Bill had told him.
 
Jack had agreed, and Jim too, and John, who’d known Mike for a number of years, had laughed and said, “Let me tell ya—if anyone’s gonna get lost, it’ll be someone named ‘Raspberry,’ for Christ’s sake!”
 
And then they’d all laughed.

Mike had to admit that this was a good joke.
 
They knew this country, had hunted here a dozen times.
 
And in a little while they’d come and get him and lead him back to the car, and there would be no mention at all of Bill’s suggestion that he—Mike—“go over the way”—to the north—“into those woods; I got an eight-pointer in there once.”

For sure they were laughing, now.
 
Laughing and coming after him because no one leaves a buddy stranded like this, and a joke can go too far, can’t it!

If it had been a joke.
 
If they really did know their way around these goddamned woods.
 
If Bill really did bag an eight-point buck here once.

No.
 
Too man ifs.
 
It had been a joke.
 
There were no ifs or maybes about it.

He slid open the bolt on his Winchester 30.06, slipped a cartridge in, closed the bolt, took the safety off.
 
Just a precaution.
 
After all, there were bobcats and foxes and coyotes around here, and maybe a black bear or two, and, sure, they’d probably be more fucking afraid of him than he would be of them, but maybe one would be rabid and not care, or maybe he’d disturb some kittens and their mother, or a vixen and her cubs.
 
And it was always better to play it safe.

Like he should have done an hour ago (two hours ago?) when he’d started losing himself, and all because of some little bit of movement off in the distance, in these very woods.
 
(Hell, it could have been anything—it didn’t necessarily have to be a deer just because it was a quick movement.)
 
He should have called to the other guys, then.
 
That’s what he should have done.
 
Instead of running off half-cocked.
 
He chuckled.
 
Half-cocked.
 
That was a hoot.
 
He laughed loud and hard.

He stopped laughing abruptly and stood very still.
 
Was he seeing right?
 
For Jesus Hopping Christ, was he seeing right?

What in the name of God in heaven was a naked woman doing in these woods?
 
And in November?

He thought of calling to her, but knew the distance was too great, that the brisk, fitful wind pushing through the trees would carry his voice away.

He aimed the Winchester at the naked woman, peered through the scope.
 
For sure she was naked, and she was a goddamned beauty, real eye candy.
 
Jesus, if a guy was going to get lost, this was one hell of a place to do it.

He grinned, blinked, saw that she had turned away from him.
 
He lowered the gun slightly.
 
Now
that
was nice!

He felt pressure in the small of his back, through his thick hunting jacket, and whirled.
 
Nothing.
 
He felt pressure at his thighs—a sharp, stinging pain on his right calf.
 
He swung the rifle back, felt it connect with something soft.
 
The pressure and the stinging pain stopped.
 
He whirled again.
 
“God, God!
 
Bill, Jack—“

“God, God!” he heard. “Bill, Jack—“

He felt weight on his back.
 
And in the next instant he felt the flesh on the left side of his neck being ripped away.

“Bill!” he cried. “Oh Jesus…Jesus!”

“Bill!” he heard.
 
“Oh, Jesus…Jesus!”

LATE AFTERNOON

Rachel glanced out the front window for the fifth time in a half hour, hoping to see the car pull up.
 
She sighed.
 
How much longer could he be?
 
All he’d had to do was pick up some damned groceries, and maybe do a few errands he hadn’t told her about.
 
An hour, at most, for the groceries, another hour for the imagined errands, an hour to and from town.
 
Three hours.
 
If he left around seven, he should have been back by ten, or eleven (at the latest), and here it was four o’clock already.
 
She stepped away from the window, folded her arms, tapped her foot against the rug.
 
When the phone was put in, at last, he’d have no excuse—

It would be dark by six.

Her foot quieted.

Dark by six.
 
Shit!
 
She’d never experienced that here, before—darkness and solitude.
 
That
wasn’t something she looked forward to. She grimaced, turned again to the window.
 
Nothing.
 
It was true, after all, about the watched pot. It never boiled.
 
And the car you waited for never arrived while you watched for it.
 
If you kept on watching, you’d watch forever because the universe, the status quo, the empty place where the car should be, wouldn’t change.
 
Only by divine, and therefore uncontrollable, intervention could it change.
 
And that only happened if you looked away.

She looked away, stood quietly for a full minute, looked back.
 
Nothing.

“Dammit to hell!” she whispered.
 
She crossed the room to the back window, ran her finger up and down the curtain—“Oh, c’mon, Paul,” she said.

And she heard a car pull up.
 
Seconds later, she heard a car door close.

She ran to the front door, threw it open.

It wasn’t Paul’s car.

And the man walking down the lawn wasn’t Paul.

The man waved.
 
“Hello,” he called.
 
“Could I talk to you?”

Rachel looked confusedly at him.
 
She said nothing.

The man mounted the porch steps heavily, opened the porch door, hesitated.
 
“Could I talk to you, please, Ma’am?
 
It’s kind of important.”
 
He gave her a big, broad, false smile.

“Is it about Paul?” Rachel said.
 
“Has something…”

“Paul?” the man cut in.

“My husband.
 
Paul.
 
He’s later.”

“Oh,” the man said, and stepped onto the porch, held the door open for a second, then closed it slowly.
 
“No.”
 
He paused.
 
“May I come in?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”
 
She spoke in a monotone.
 
“Paul doesn’t like me to let strangers into the house.”

The man smiled again, quickly, as if to say he understood.
 
“Well, okay,” he said.
 
“My name’s Bill Quirk.”
 
He waited for Rachel to acknowledge him, to introduce herself.
 
She said nothing.
 
“Yes,” he went on.
 
“Quirk.
 
Odd name, I know.
 
I, uh, wanted to ask if maybe you’ve seen a hunter around here.
 
Big guy.
 
He’s wearing a dark blue hunting jacket.”

Rachel said nothing.
 
Quirk conti0nued, “The last time we saw him—“

“We?”

“Me and my friends.”
 
He nodded to indicate the car.
 
Rachel looked, saw that there were three other men in the car, that all of them were looking at her.

“Oh,” she said.
 
“Yes.
 
I see.”

“Sure,” Quirk said.
 
“We were hunting, and Mike—that’s his name, Mike Raspberry, another stupid name—and Mike…got lost.”
 
He grinned, embarrassed.
 
“The last time we saw him he was going into the back of the woods behind your house.”

“Did you look there?” Rachel asked.

“Yes, we did.”

“And you didn’t find him?”

“Would I be here if…
 
I’m sorry, no.
 
We didn’t find him.
 
We looked, but we didn’t find him, Mrs. Uh, Mrs.…”

“I haven’t seen him, Mr. Quirk.
 
I’ve been inside all day.”

“You’re sure?”

“That I’ve been inside all day?
 
Yes, I’m sure.
 
Now, you’ll have to excuse me.”
 
She began to close the door.
 
The man stepped forward quickly, held it open.
 
“Would you, uh, tell your husband, when he returns, that there’s a hunter missing and we’d really appreciate his help.
 
He can call me at—“

“We don’t have a phone, Mr. Quirk.
  
And besides, your friend should
not
have been hunting on our land.
 
If something happened to him…”
 
She stopped.

“Yes?”

“Nothing.
 
I’ll tell Paul what you said.
 
Now if you’ll please excuse me.”