Succubi Part 18

"Mother, the moon is pink," she said groggily.

"I know, honey," her mother was saying, urging her over to the bed. "It's a special equinox or something. It's nothing."

Melanie sat down on the bed. "G.o.d, I feel-"

"You're soaked!" her mother exclaimed.

She was. Sweat dampened her nightgown to the skin.

"Are you sure you're all right? You're not sick?"

"I'm...fine. It was just a nightmare."

Ann sat down next to her, pushed her damp hair off her brow. "Join the club. I had a nightmare too, as usual," she said. "Why don't you tell me about yours. Sometimes when you tell someone else your nightmare, it's not scary anymore."

G.o.d! Melanie thought. Melanie thought. Sure, Sure, Mom, I dreamed I made out with two girls. And I liked it. Mom, I dreamed I made out with two girls. And I liked it. "It was stupid," she dismissed. "It was stupid," she dismissed.

"You look pale. Do you want me to get you something?"

"No thanks. I'm fine, Mom, really."

"Okay." Ann kissed her on the cheek. "Get some sleep."

"Good night, Mom."

"Good night."

Her mother left.

Melanie lay atop the covers, still perplexed by the dream. The pink moon beamed in on her. A special equinox or something. A special equinox or something. That's right, it was almost spring. The moonlight looked pretty, but she s.h.i.+vered. It reminded her of the dream. That s.h.i.+mmering, faint pinkness. That's right, it was almost spring. The moonlight looked pretty, but she s.h.i.+vered. It reminded her of the dream. That s.h.i.+mmering, faint pinkness. You're very special, You're very special, Wendlyn had said in the dream. They'd said that, too, for real, hadn't they? That she was Wendlyn had said in the dream. They'd said that, too, for real, hadn't they? That she was special? special? The more she tried to forget the dream, the more vividly she remembered it. It seemed enticingly forbidden, not repulsive. She closed her eyes and saw it more lewdly. They were pretty girls, with pretty faces. She saw their b.r.e.a.s.t.s again, from the dream, and those odd pendants. Then she gasped. The more she tried to forget the dream, the more vividly she remembered it. It seemed enticingly forbidden, not repulsive. She closed her eyes and saw it more lewdly. They were pretty girls, with pretty faces. She saw their b.r.e.a.s.t.s again, from the dream, and those odd pendants. Then she gasped.

She lay still for a moment, until she realized what must've happened. It was that stuff they'd smoked, that was it. It clouded her memory, mixed some of the dream with reality. The pendants-the little gray stones on white strings. Her hand lay between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She was awake now-the dream was over.

Yet an identical pendant hung about her own neck this very moment.

Chapter 15.

Sergeant Tom Byron loaded his left cheek with Skoal, then spat into a paper cup.

Chief Bard, fat behind his desk, wasn't sure about how to make the revelation. "Tharp and Belluxi shot up another QwikStop last night. Killed the clerk and three stoners."

"Where?" Byron asked.

"North of Waynesville."

Byron's lips puckered. "But that's-"

"I know, it's thirty miles away from us. And those two guys burned up in their pickup were found right on our town line."

Sergeant Byron was no mental giant, but he didn't need to be told of this particular inexplicability. "That don't make no sense, Chief. The bodies we caught Tharp buryin' were burned up just like the two Crick City guys yesterday."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, and their brains were missing, and some of their organs, just like five years ago. So why would Tharp risk driving all the way back here just to go thirty miles backward backward last night to do the QwikStop?" last night to do the QwikStop?"

Byron chewed and spat again. "Maybe Tharp didn't do the QwikStop. Maybe it was a fluke, someone else done it."

"No way. The state just called me with the ballistics. They pulled Webley .455 slugs out of those kids last night. And that's what they ripped off of old Farley at the first QwikStop."

"Ain't never heard of a Webley."

"It's a big piece, a big old British thing. Used 'em in the Boer War or some f.u.c.kedup war like that. Got more stopping power than a .44 Mag, .45, l0mm, you name it. Slug's so big, you hit a guy in the face with one, his whole head'll explode."

"And they also got the 870 from the Luntville car."

"Yeah. Ain't that grand?"

Byron sucked his wad of Skoal reflectively. "Maybe this means they're headin' away now."

No, Bard thought. Bard thought. They're coming back here. That's what Tharp wants. He's just driving back and forth to keep us off his tail. They're coming back here. That's what Tharp wants. He's just driving back and forth to keep us off his tail. "Maybe," was all he said. "And worst thing is we got no idea what they're driving. They kill everyone who sees 'em, cops included." "Maybe," was all he said. "And worst thing is we got no idea what they're driving. They kill everyone who sees 'em, cops included."

Byron continued to venture. "Maybe Tharp didn't do the two guys in the pickup. Sounds crazy, sh.o.r.e, but maybe it was someone else."

"Don't be a moron," Bard said. "Who else would do something like that? Burn up two kids, take their brains?" brains?"

But that's not what Bard was thinking at all. As preposterous as the suggestion sounded, he knew too well that Byron was right.

"Any change?" Ann asked.

She stood in the kitchen, morning sunlight pouring in. It s.h.i.+ned like glare off Dr. Heyd's bald head. "No, he's still the same. He hasn't gotten any better, but at least he hasn't gotten any worse."

That was about as hopeful a prognosis as she could ask. Milly was putting little IV bottles into the refrigerator, medication and intravenous sustenance. "He didn't stir at all last night."

"Sometimes he convulses," Dr. Heyd added.

"Why?" Ann asked.

"Really, Ann, the details would only upset you."

"Tell me," she said.

Dr. Heyd sighed. "A ma.s.sive stroke causes a ma.s.sive blockage, a clot. Every so often his blood pressure will break up some of the clot and he'll revive for a short time."

"But that's good, isn't it?"

"No, I'm afraid not. All it does is disperse more particles of the clot deeper into the brain, which will cause further clots and microscopic arterial ruptures. I have to be honest with you, Ann. The stroke has occluded the blood supply to a large portion of his brain. Therefore, when he is conscious, he's completely insensible."

"But he came to for a moment yesterday when I was in the room," Ann said. "He seemed to recognize me."

"Perhaps, but probably not."

Wishful thinking, she concluded. she concluded.

Milly put her arm around her. "It's best not to think about the details, Ann."

"I know. I'm just worried about Melanie. I haven't taken her in to see him yet. I don't know how much of this she'll understand."

"She's almost an adult now. You'd be surprised."

"I guess I should do it soon," Ann said more softly.

"Yes," Dr. Heyd agreed. "I think that's a good idea."

Ann thanked them and left the room. It was awkward, thanking people for attending a loved one's death. Upstairs, she found Melanie's bedroom empty. She mustn't have slept well at all, and Ann could easily sympathize. Maybe nightmares are hereditary, Maybe nightmares are hereditary, she tried to joke to herself. She'd had her own nightmare again too. She knew what it was like to not be able to sleep because of a dream. she tried to joke to herself. She'd had her own nightmare again too. She knew what it was like to not be able to sleep because of a dream.

Back down the other end of the house, she heard voices. She walked up to her father's door and stopped.

"...sometimes things seem bad to us, but they're not really bad," a voice was saying. The voice was unmistakably her mother's.

"You mean, like G.o.d?" queried Melanie's voice.

"You can think of it that way, dear. But it's more than that. Somewhere, yes, there is an overseer, that watches over us and our lives. But everything is part of something else. We are all pieces of a great plan, Melanie."

"What kind of plan?"

"Well, it's not an easy thing to define. It's in the heart. It overrides what we are, or what we may think we are, as individuals, because there really are no individuals. We're all part part of something that is greater than what we can ever be by ourselves. Do you understand, honey?" of something that is greater than what we can ever be by ourselves. Do you understand, honey?"

"I think so."

"Everything happens for a reason."

"Is that the same as saying that G.o.d works in strange ways?"

"It's more than that, much more. It's the same as saying we're all here for a reason that's so complex, we can't possibly see it all at once. And everything that happens, happens as part part of that reason." of that reason."

Ann stood outside the door, infuriated. She did not make herself known, she only listened.

Melanie's silence reflected her confusion.

"Let me put it this way, dear," Ann's mother continued. "It's like what we were talking about yesterday. We think of death as bad. Your grandfather is dying, and we see that as bad because we love him. But it's not really bad, we only think it is because we're not capable of understanding the plan completely." Her mother's voice lowered. "People die for a reason. It's more than just a part of nature. Death isn't the end, it's a steppingstone to a better place."

"Heaven, you mean."

"Yes, Melanie, heaven."

Ann stepped back into another room so as not to be seen. She was seething. Her anger pulsed like a headache.

"I hear you've met some new friends." Now they were out in the hall. "You go and see them now. We'll talk later."

"Okay, Grandma."

Melanie went down the stairs.

"What the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l are you doing?" Ann demanded when she stepped out of the room. are you doing?" Ann demanded when she stepped out of the room.

"Oh, good morning, Ann," her mother said. "I'm glad to see you're in your usual cheery mood."

"Where do you get off saying things like that to my daughter?"

"The poor thing is confused. Someone has to talk to her about reality, about death."

"I'm her mother," Ann reminded. "That's my job."

"Indeed it is, and just one of countless aspects of motherhood that you've conveniently neglected. Were you ever going to take her in to see him?"

"I wanted to give her some time, for G.o.d's sake!"

"Time, yes." Her mother chuckled. "You've given her seventeen years to wallow in confusion. Isn't it time you started explaining some things to her?"

"What? About plans? plans? About About heaven? heaven? Since when do you have the right to influence her spiritually?" Since when do you have the right to influence her spiritually?"

"I have more right than you. What do you know about spirituality? You're a lawyer, remember? You're more concerned about litigation and lawsuits than your own daughter's upbringing."

Ann stormed off. She fled down the stairs and out into the backyard. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run away.

Yes, it would be nice to run, to run away from everything.

It took her hours to cool off. How could her mother have said such things?

But when the anger wore away, a grayness set in. It always did after a deliberation. Here, or in court-it didn't matter where. At the end of the confrontation, she was always left to wonder if the opposition was right.

"You'll always be at odds with her, Ann," Martin said a little later. They were going for a drive. "I don't know why, that's between you and her. The best way to deal with it is to try to understand the reason."

"She's a contemptuous b.i.t.c.h! That's the reason!" Ann yelled.

"Listen to yourself," Martin said. "You're going to have to be more reasonable about this than that. You have to come to terms with your mother's bitterness, and your own."

"My own!" she objected.

"Ann, you just referred to your mother as a contemptuous b.i.t.c.h. That sounds pretty bitter to me. I don't understand how you can be so cool and objective about everything, but the minute your mother's involved, you fly off the handle."

Ann seethed in the car seat.