House Of Blood Part 9

Maybe.

The f.u.c.ker.

But then it was reaching for him, extending one of the unnaturally long, distended arms. ...

Chad slumped to the pavement unconscious.

And the creature scooped him up in its arms.

75.

Eddie dreamed of white-water rapids, the heat of the summer sun, and a spray of water against his face as his raft slapped the roiling river. He was with friends he hadn't seen in what seemed like a span of lifetimes. He dreamed of rum and sweet, slow s.e.x with an island girl on a beach in the Caribbean. He experienced the rea.s.suring solidity of rock beneath his hands as he scaled a mountain in some other exotic place. And now he was with another woman, a stunning blonde like something ripped from the pages of a fashion magazine. She was wearing a flimsy blue shift; it billowed around her and her long hair swirled gently about her head as a breeze redolent with the scent of the sea brushed over him. She stepped into his embrace, held him close, and he shuddered as her soft lips met his own. The wet tip of her tongue probed his mouth,

76.

sending another shudder through him, then she slipped free of his embrace and stepped away from him.

G.o.d, how beautiful she was!

He swallowed hard. "I need you, Dream."

So the dream girl was named Dream. This was amusing to him even behind the wall of sleep. Her smile became a seductive pout as she began to disrobe. "Worship me, Eddie." She turned her head to the sky as the wind stiffened, buffeting her hair like a boat's sail on the open sea. She raised her hands above her head as the shift fell away. "Worship me."

No problem there.

Eddie fell to his knees in front of her. "Oh, Dream-"

But something was wrong.

The blue of her eyes was displaced by a yellow gleam, and there was something about the tone of her bare flesh that suggested elasticity. He shuddered with fear as she began to morph into one of those awful things. Her face elongated and there were several audible pops as new bone matter and cords of muscle formed in her body. Her formerly lovely head swelled to the size of a Halloween pumpkin, and thousands of strands of fur sprouted from her flesh like a fast-spreading fungus.

The transition from human to beast was complete.

Droplets of saliva spilled from the corners of her mouth, which had become, let's face it, a snout. She was drooling, watching him the way a fat man at a burger joint watches the arrival of his burger and fries.

Eddie thought now would be an excellent time to wake up.

77.

Because this didn't seem at all like a dream. He was not only awake, he was face-to-face with, well, a werewolf, and it was going to scarf him down like a Happy Meal. The beast loomed over him, opened its enormous mouth wide to display rows of killing teeth, growled at him, then swooped in for the kill.

Eddie woke up with a gasp.

And then he was screaming, because the monster had somehow slipped through a dream matrix. It was here with him-in the closet-teeth clamped to his throat, poised to rip his life out. He clutched at his throat, seized the presence there, and realized he'd been frightened nearly to death by a ball of fur no bigger than one of his hands.

He ceased screaming immediately.

Still, why had the creature attached itself to his throat that way? He looked now into its strange yellow eyes and was struck by how strongly they resembled the eyes of the she-wolf thing in his dream, which were so like those of the shapeshifters that prowled the tunnels Below. The usual subliminal dream alchemy.

Yeah.

But- He held it well away from his body, waiting for it to change into something else. A werecat, maybe. The kitten felt too substantial in his grip, stronger than something its size should be. His hands tightened instinctively around it, and he had a nearly overpowering urge to snap its little neck.

78.

The animal seemed to sense his intent.

It hissed and thrashed in his grip.

There was an instant when it almost slipped free, but he caught it about the neck and began to choke it. The h.e.l.l with it. He had to kill the G.o.dd.a.m.n thing.

Then, just as he began to feel cartilage give way beneath his strong hands, the closet was flooded with light. Eddie blinked. He sensed a physical presence rushing into the room. Panic gripped him, instilled a renewed urge to flee, but there was nowhere to go this time. The row of dresses he was hiding behind was swept back. The beautiful mute girl glared down at him, her eyes gleaming with a fury that made Eddie gulp, and she ripped the cat free of his grip.

There goes my insurance policy, Eddie thought.

The girl glared at him another time, then shifted her attention to the kitten, whose demeanor had undergone a radical change. A loud purring emanated from its throat. The girl held it close and made strange cooing noises at it.

A dark thought occurred to Eddie-he might have to kill the girl. He tried to picture himself doing it. Perhaps with some blunt instrument in the room. The idea repulsed him. Maybe he would do it-if given no other choice-but a very large part of him doubted his ability to kill her. Bashing in a woman's skull, especially that of a very young woman, would put him in league with the sleazy likes of Ted Bundy.

And Eddie had already lost quite enough of his humanity and self-respect, thank you.

He realized the girl was staring at him, an expression of cold calculation evident in the set of her features. Then

79.

she wheeled about on her heels, the train of the long dress swishing about as she moved, and was gone from the closet. The part of his mind that valued survival above all else went into a state of high alert. He should get to his feet, charge after the little b.i.t.c.h, and take her down.

Eddie thought about it a moment longer.

Saw himself doing the Bundy thing.

And stayed right where he was.

s.h.i.t, he was tired of running. Tired of fighting. The crazy flight to freedom that had begun at one of the several checkpoints Below had taken too much out of him. Just getting this far had required a nearly superhuman effort. He was drained. Out of gas. Which was why he'd fallen asleep in such short order. He yawned, rubbed his bleary eyes, and slumped back against the wall.

How long had he been out?

Ten minutes?

Fifteen.

Just long enough to slip into dream mode.

h.e.l.l, he thought, I could sleep again right now.

Let the little goth girl bring the reinforcements.

Maybe they'd do him the favor of killing him while he slept. He felt ready for that ultimate acquiescence. He'd prefer an eternal sleep to another six months-or longer-Below. He was beginning to think he might even prefer it to a renewed effort to get out of this place, mostly because escape didn't seem possible. He suspected he was a rat in a gla.s.s-covered maze, and The Master was watching his every move, laughing softly to himself at each of Eddie's hopeless attempts to extricate himself from this nightmare.

80.

The h.e.l.l with fighting this impossible battle.

Better just to sit here and await the inevitable.

But as Eddie sat there considering surrender, he was troubled by thoughts of how far he had come, how tantalizingly close those visions of freedom regained had seemed to becoming reality. The prospect of just giving up ignited an ache in his heart, pangs of regret that taunted him like the remarks of crude schoolyard bullies.

Yeah, Eddie, take the easy way out.

You wouldn't want to put yourself out.

You f.u.c.king wimp.

What's the big deal, anyway?

It's only your life we're talking about.

He thought about being free again. A free man in a free land. He thought again about how things would change if he ever accomplished that goal. He knew one thing-his days with the company were over, regardless of whether they would take him back after an extended and unexplainable absence. The idea of surviving this insane place only to plunge back into the corporate realm was laughable. He would liquidate whatever property and holdings remained, sell all his personal possessions, and venture forth into the world. He would savor every sunrise and every sunset. He would visit other lands all over the globe. He would find that island girl or one very much like her. Most of all, he would never take anything for granted ever again.

The closet door swung open again, admitting a sliver of light.

Something pointed and hard struck his shin.

81.

It felt like the tip of a high-heeled shoe.

"Ouch."

He looked up and saw the face of the mute girl.

She was alone.

Well, that was curious. Where were the reinforcements? Where was lisa the housekeeper?

Why am I not dead? he thought.

The mystery deepened as she beckoned him forward with a bent forefinger.

Eddie cleared his throat. "Um ... you want me to get up?"

She nodded.

Eddie sighed. "Sure, whatever."

Something vaguely like a smile touched the corners of her mouth, and he didn't even detect a spark of malice in it. Then she swirled out of the room again, leaving Eddie to ponder the bewildering turn of events.

Enigmatic, Eddie thought.

G.o.d, I hate that in a woman.

Eddie walked out of the closet and entered the bedroom. The girl was sitting at a small round table in a corner of the room. She looked up as he stepped into the room. There was an unoccupied chair next to her. Eddie steeled himself for any weirdness that was about to ensue, and sat down next to her.

There was a pad of paper on the table, pink teenage girl's stationery. The girl's gaze shifted to the empty page before her, dipped a pen in an ink quill, shook it, and began to write.

Eddie grunted. "Huh ... a quill pen. How ... retro."