Fiends. Part 30

She had no face. Allan's heart slammed.

What's wrong with her!

She walked briskly toward him.

No face!

He glanced at the street, tempted to race across and escape. But when he looked at the stranger again, she was closer. Close enough for him to see the shimmer of fabric that draped her face. Silver, glossy. It hung from her forehead, slotted with holes for her eyes and mouth, and fluttered below her chin.

A mask!

Allan heard himself moan. Chills chased up his back. His scalp p.r.i.c.kled.

He leaped off the sidewalk and sprinted for the other side of the street.

What if she comes after me?

He sprang over the curb, dodged a parking meter, and looked back.

She had stopped. Her head was turned his way.

She's watching me. Oh G.o.d, she's watching me. But at least she's staying put.

Allan swung his eyes to the sidewalk and hurried for the corner. He didn't want to see her again, but in his mind she was crossing the street, pursuing him. He had to look again.

Checking over his shoulder, he saw her still standing motionless, still watching him.

At the corner, he rushed to the left. A few strides, and the wall of a Wells Fargo bank sheltered him from the stranger's view. He slowed and caught his breath.

Safe.

*Christ,' he muttered.

He'd walked the night streets countless times, seen his share of weird derelicts, watched hundreds of horror films, read scores of fright books.

But he'd never been spooked like this.

Spooked? Scared nearly widess.

By a piece of silver cloth no bigger than a hanky.

As he walked along, he began to feel ashamed of himself. What a coward, running like that. The woman had looked perfectly normal except for the mask. And the mask itself had been nothing hideous. A simple square of fabric. Possibly silk. Nothing to inspire panic.

She's gotta be a nut case, going around like that.

Nothing wrong with running away from a lunatic.

But what if she's sane? What if she only wears the mask because her face is disfigured? She walks at night when there's almost n.o.body around to see her, and wears her mask just in case. In case someone like me comes along. So her face won't gross me out.

And I ran away as if she were a monster.

What an awful life she must live. And I came along and made it worse.

Good going.

Allan considered turning around, going back and searching for her. But he didn't have the nerve.

He couldn't get the woman out of his mind. He thought about her constantly: that night as he lay in bed; Sunday as he corrected papers, labored on his vampire novel, read and watched television; all week long. At school, every slender, blonde student in his cla.s.ses reminded him of her. So did two of the teachers, Sh.e.l.ly and Maureen, even though Maureen was a redhead. They all forced him to remember the woman in the mask, and his shame.

The more he thought of her, the more certain he grew that she wasn't crazy. She was a sensitive young woman cursed with a hideous face. She led a solitary, lonely life, willing to venture from her home only in the dead of night, and then with her face concealed.

He could imagine the anguish she must've felt when he fled from her.

If only he had held his ground. Smiled as she approached. Said, *Good evening.' It was too late for that, however. The most he would ever be able to do was apologize for adding to her misery.

To do that, he would need to find her again.

But he'd spotted her some time after 1 a.m. That's when he would need to go looking. If he tried it on a school night, he'd be wasted the next day. He had to wait for the weekend.

At last, Friday arrived. Allan awoke feeling nervous and excited. Tonight, he would go out searching for her.

What would he say if he found her? How would she react? She might hate him for running away. How could you do that, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d! I'm a human being, not a freak!

Or she might indeed, after all, turn out to be utterly mad.

*Is something bothering you?' Sh.e.l.ly asked him during lunch. *Me? No.'

*Are you sure? You've been acting strange all week.'

*I have?'

Sh.e.l.ly glanced at Maureen. *You've noticed it, haven't you?' Maureen, who rarely spoke, studied her sandwich and shook her head. *He seems fine to me.'

*It might help to talk about it,' Sh.e.l.ly told him. *You aren't sick, are you?'

*I feel fine.'

*If it's too personala'

*Leave him alone,' Maureen said. *He doesn't want to talk about it.'

*You have noticed!'

Maureen shrugged. Her eyes met Allan's. *You don't have to say anything. It's none of our business.'

*Of course it's our business. We're his buddies. Right, Allan?'

He smiled. *My buds. Right. I do appreciate your concern, really. Thanks. But it's nothing. I'm just a little bit nervous about this gal I'll be seeing tonight.'

*Ah-ha!' Sh.e.l.ly's eyes gleamed. *A gal! Go for it, Romeo!'

*That's wonderful,' Maureen said.

*Anybody we know?' Sh.e.l.ly asked.

*I don't even know her. Not exactly. She's just somebody I met last weekend. At the movies. She sat across the aisle from me. We didn't even talk. But if she's there tonight..

*Whoa!' Sh.e.l.ly held up her hand. *Hold on. One second. She was at that midnight creepshow thing you go to on Sat.u.r.day nights? And you don't know her? So where do you think you'll find her tonight?' Allan felt heat wash over his face. This is what comes of lying, he thought. He shook his head and forced himself to laugh. *Geez, I don't know. Guess I won't be seeing her tonight. You're right.'

*Boy, you must have it bad. You don't even know what day it is.' She nudged Maureen with her elbow. *Looks like we've got a case of love at first sight.'

*I don't even know her,' Allan protested.

*She must be quite a fox.'

*Quit teasing him,' Maureen said. *Let him eat his lunch.'

Sh.e.l.ly laughed. *So what's she got that we ain't got?'

No face, Allan thought.

But he only shrugged. Then Jake Hanson came to their table and the conversation turned to obnoxious students, as it often did. When the bell rang and Allan got up from the table, Sh.e.l.ly said, *Hey, good luck with the fox. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.'

Allan headed for his fifth-period cla.s.s, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

Finally, the school day ended. On the way home, he stopped off at Blockbuster Video and picked up six tapes. Horror movies. Two of which he hadn't already seen. They would help pa.s.s the time.

He ran one during supper, but his mind was on the masked woman. He hardly noticed the movie. Then he tried to work on his vampire novel, but gave up after an hour. As he sat in his recliner to watch the next movie, he thought, What's the use? I might as well stare at the wall.

And then he had a very welcome thought.

It came in the form of Sh.e.l.ly's voice saying, *So where do you think you'll find her tonight?'

Sh.e.l.ly was right.

Why get all worked up when I probably won't find her tonight, anyway? We ran into each other on Sat.u.r.day night. Why not wait for then?

Yes!

I'll stay home tonight, enjoy my movies, go to bed at a reasonable houra The feeling of relief was immense.

Then Sat.u.r.day arrived. The hours crept by. He told himself that he didn't have to approach the masked woman. He could take a different route home from the theater, and avoid her. For that matter, he could stay home.

And miss the midnight showing of The Cabinet of Dr Cahgari? He'd already seen the film six or seven times. A shame not to watch it again, though. He could always drive his car.

No. I'll walk. I'll take my usual route. If I see her, I'll apologize. And that will be the end of it.

After supper that night, he sat in his recliner and watched The Texas Chainsaw Ma.s.sacre, then I Spit on Your Grave. For minutes at a time, he was able to forget about the masked woman. When the movies were over, he took a shower. He shaved. He combed his hair and splashed some Chaps on his cheeks. Instead of wearing his favorite outfit for the midnight show - old blue jeans and his Bates Motel T-shirt - he put on a good pair of Dockers and a plaid sports shirt.

In the bedroom mirror, he shook his head at himself.

What the h.e.l.l am I doing? You'd think I really did have a date.

Hey, maybe she won't recognize me dressed up like this. She couldn't have gotten a very good look at my face.

At a quarter past eleven, he left his apartment. He gave his parked car a long look as he walked by it.

So much easier if I just drive.

He couldn't.

He had to make an attempt to find her.

Tense and shaky, he walked to the Palace. He usually bought nachos and a Pepsi at the refreshment counter. But tonight he had no appet.i.te. He took his seat. He glanced about at the familiar crowd, fearing that she might've come to watch the movie. Then the lights dimmed. He rubbed his sweaty hands on the legs of his trousers, and faced the screen.

The Cabinet of Dr Caligari began.

He stared at it. But in his mind, he saw the masked woman. Saw himself approaching her. What if she's bonkers? What if she's dangerous? What if she lifts the mask to show me her face and it's horrible? Worse than anything ever created by Tom Savini or Stan Winston? Worse than the ugliest fantasies of Clive Barker?

He tried to calm himself.

Maybe she won't show up.

He had never run into her before. Last Sat.u.r.day night could have been a fluke. She might've been out on a special errand, or something.

Maybe I'll never see her again.

As much as he dreaded the encounter, however, he found himself troubled by the idea of never seeing her again. It was more than a need to set matters right. He'd known that all along, he supposed.

She frightened him, but he longed to learn her secrets.

All the mysteries of the night, so eerie and tantalizing, seemed ba.n.a.l compared to the woman in the mask. She was the ultimate mystery.

Mad or sane? What lurks beneath the mask? What possesses her to walk the empty streets? Does she have a tortured soul? What stories might she tell of children shrieking at the sight of her, of heartless abuse, of solitary years locked away from daylight? How does it feel to be shunned?

He could learn the answers.

Tonight.