Chapter #15Sex now; eat later. by: Seuzz   You knock off at five o'clock and drive Clark's car home fast. Trina's already in her workout clothes, waiting for him so they can go jogging. You change out of his uniform and into his shorts and t-shirt, and do warm-up stretches on the floor with Trina, admiring her thighs and hips the whole time and working your host into a fever of desire. When you've got him almost volcanically worked up, you pull off his shirt and shorts, then grab her and bite her lips between your teeth.
She's surprised, but instantly receptive; quickly she helps you pull off her clothes, and then you shove her against a wall and jam your cock into her and start thrusting. She groans and bites you on the neck and rakes her nails across your back, and then you lift her up in your arms and hold her up while thrusting harder. She screams and screams again, throatily, which drives you into further frenzies—and then there's a long, hanging moment of engorged suspense and anticipation—and you're pounding her hard against the wall. She arcs her back and neck as agonized yells tear from her throat. When you're done, you hold her pinned against the wall. There's a wild light in her eye, and she suddenly rakes her nails down your cheek, and you feel blood; you bite her lips so hard she bleeds and screams into your mouth. You hold each other like that for what seems an eternity, then you drop her onto the ground and go to work on her again. She wraps her legs around your hips and grips you tightly.
The doorbell rings.
Cursing, you pull out of her and pull on his shorts while she hurries into the bathroom. The doorbell rings again and you open the door and look into the surprised face of Colonel Lord. "Mr. Clark," he says. "You're bleeding."
You wipe your cheek, murmur inaudibly, and step out onto the porch. "What can I do for you, colonel?"
"Is there a reason you can't invite us in?"
You look around in surprise: he's brought six other soldiers with him. Reluctantly, you open the door and show them in. The colonel quickly takes in the discarded clothes, gives his nose a quick rub with the tip of his thumb, but says nothing. Instead he turns politely toward you. You gesture him to sit, which he does, uneasily, on Clark's futon.
"I'm sorry to disturb you at home, but on the way back to the base I had the most unaccountable urge to ask you a few more questions."
"Unaccountable?"
"I don't know why the questions didn't occur to me before, or why they should suddenly seem so urgent. But I beg you to humor me."
"I told you, we haven't seen any animals behaving strangely."
"What about—"
"We haven't seen any blue goo around, either."
It's subtle, but you can see he has suddenly become even more interested in Clark. "I asked earlier about animals. But have you seen any people around behaving strangely?"
"No."
"You're quite certain?"
"Yes."
"Do you get many visitors at the park?"
"Just the normal daytrippers."
"Were there many visitors last Saturday?"
"You mean a week ago? No more than usual. No less."
"You don't interact with them much?"
"No."
"Doubtless the average daytripper is not to your taste." You ignore the gibe. "What about the other staff members, the other rangers? Have they been acting normally?"
Despite your close control of Clark's body, you feel a tickle of sweat on the back of his head. "Are you suggesting they might have been affected by this stuff?"
He smiles. "You see why I'm so puzzled. Why didn't it occur to me to ask that question earlier this afternoon?"
"To answer it: No, no one has been acting strangely or out of character, that I know of."
"Have you?"
"Have I been acting out of character?"
"Yes," he says so softly you can barely hear him.
"I don't think so."
Amused, he again looks at the clothes on the floor and at your cheek, but says nothing.
"And you haven't seen any of the blue stuff?" He looks at you with the same speculative look he'd turned on you earlier in the day.
"I told you, no."
"Look at it again." He takes out the vial and holds it up. "Are you sure?"
"It's very distinctive, isn't it? I think I'd remember it."
"This blue ... goo?"
"Yeah."
"Why do you call it 'goo'?"
You open your mouth, then look again at the vial. It is full and closely stoppered, and there is nothing to suggest that it isn't a liquid or a solid rather than the semi-solid stuff you know so well.
"It looks like goo," you say, bluffing.
His eyes are shining brightly. "It does, actually. 'Goo' a very apt description. It's the kind of description that someone who has ... seen it ... would use."
"Then it's a lucky guess," you say.
His smile is hungry. "I do wish you'd come with us back to the base, Mr. Clark. I've no doubt you're telling us the truth, so far as you know. But the behavioral manifestations of this stuff are something we really don't understand, and it would be so much better for all of us, yourself included, if we took a look at you."
You shrug. "Sure. Shall I get dressed?"
"You can come as you are. You look very ... comfortable. I want you to be comfortable."
Outside, he murmurs something to one of the soldiers, then leads you to a military SUV and gestures you to get in the back. You are squeezed on either side by two other soldiers; the colonel takes the passenger seat, and a third soldier gets behind the wheel. The other three men in uniform have disappeared.
No one says anything on the drive out. But you're not idle. You've got the pack hurrying silently toward the compound gates.
They are prowling the shadows when the SUV pulls up to the entrance. As soon as the vehicle is stopped, you throw Clark across one of the soldiers and push open a door. He grapples at you, but Clark's bare skin gives him no hold, and you're quickly out. The colonel is also quickly out, directing the guards to pursue, but then you throw the wolves, silently, at them. There are a few pistol cracks, but the men are soon busy with the teeth and heavy lupine bodies. You don't give them a chance to harm any of your brothers or sisters, though, and once Clark is off in the shadows you run the pack away too.
The rocks hurt Clark's feet, but you don't care. You just get him up in some low foothills and into the scrub. When the sound of pursuit is gone, you stop and drop him to the ground and put the pack around him. Then you drop down into his subconscious mind.
His thoughts come to the fore: confused, fearful, then wondering. He looks at the pack with terror and then gratitude. He's always loved and admired wolves. And these ... this pack saved him from the colonel and his military goons. He doesn't know how or why, or what has happened to him. But the wolves have saved him.
You allow him the short illusion for only a few seconds, though. Then you tear out his throat and lap up the glob of goo you had gathered there. Your pack is soon back up in the hills.
* * * * *
You're exhausted and ravenous and more than a little anxious about what is going to happen to you now that the military is definitely interested. You are especially worried since you had to use your wolves to get Clark away from the soldiers, which would make even the stupidest person think of your attack on Llewellyn.
Back home you scarf down some of the food you bought with your dad's money. You send the pack deeper into the woods—it may be a very long time before you sleep with them again, to your great regret. Your mom looks like she's on the edge of nervous prostration—her mind is near the breaking point, which you really can't afford. You try soothing her with comforting thoughts, the first, maybe, you have ever sent her way. You sit on the couch and lay her head in your lap and stroke her head while telling her that everything will be alright, that the bad times are over and that it's time to start putting your lives on a proper track—you will help her and make her strong and support her. It doesn't really seem to take, but it does calm her down, and she sleeps, and you keep her dreams untroubled. But you yourself are beginning to feel a strain, and don't enjoy looking at the dreams that crowd into your own head during the night.
The next morning you fix both of you a nice breakfast and talk cheerfully and comfortingly, without any of the acid you have recently pumped into your comments. You ask her about her job prospects, and suggest you might be able to get her a position with the Carlsons. She's still weak, but you smooth and stroke her mind and give her some more of your dad's money and encourage her to go buy some new clothes, which will make her feel better. You're pretending with her again, which is a sign of how worried you are, and how bad you think your situation is.
At school you look for opportunities to get close to Diana Lord, but none avail themselves before the intercom sounds during fourth period, summoning you to the office. "There's an insurance investigator to see you, Karter," says the principal.
"Insurance?" you say in surprise.
"Something about that death outside your house," he says. "You were quoted in the papers, so I guess he's interested in talking to you as a witness." Bennett sounds very curious himself, and trods on your heel to the inner office where the man is waiting, and seems reluctant to leave. You're glad Bennett is so curious, because he has put you on your guard. You're pretty sure you don't show a trace of reaction when the waiting investigator turns around at your entrance.
It's Colonel Lord, in a suit and tie rather a uniform.
He smiles and holds out his hand. "Mr. Karter," he says. "I'm Earl Reynolds, from Continental Insurance. I'm putting together a report on the death of one of our clients, Edgar Llewellyn. He was your rental manager?"
"Yeah," you chirp, as he gestures you to take a seat, and himself sits behind a desk.
"Now, you witnessed this attack, I understand."
"Well, not directly. I just heard noises and looked out and found him."
"What kind of noises did you hear?"
"Just ... bumps and stuff. Not even yelling. I thought the dogs had gotten in the trash again."
"You have dog problems at the park?"
"Well, not problems. You know, they run loose, get in stuff."
"Did you see any dogs that morning?"
"I thought I saw some running away, yeah."
"You told the newspaper you thought it was wolves."
You're pleased by the slightly skeptical tone in his voice—maybe you can leverage that into walking back the "wolf" connection.
"Well ... I saw what looked like dogs. Like German shepherds or huskies? And then I saw what they'd done to Mr. Llewellyn. And that didn't seem like dogs would do that. So ... um ..." You turn a little pink and look at him awkwardly. "Maybe I exaggerated? Said it was wolves? Because dogs wouldn't do something like that?"
"Well, some dogs would. Do you have much experience with them?"
"Not a lot, no. You mean like pit bulls?"
"Yes. Rottweilers. German shepherds. There are some real junkyard type dogs that would do that to a man."
"Oh. So I guess it wasn't wolves." You look abashed.
He smiles. "It would be very peculiar, Mr. Karter."
"Yeah, I know."
"Did anyone hate Mr. Llewellyn?"
You look up in surprise—not entirely feigned, but mostly. If someone used wolves to kill Clark, he must be thinking, then ...
"Hate him? You mean anyone who didn't rent from him?"
Lord raises his eyebrows. "You're saying he wasn't popular with the tenants?"
"I don't think so. We all bitched about him."
"Why?"
"Because he was a prick."
"How so?"
You rub your forehead. "Well ... In our case ... Our place is right next to his office. He was always looking for stuff to complain about."
"Like what?"
"Noise."
"Do you play your stereo too loud?"
"No. My mom and I. He'd hear us."
"Doing what?"
"We don't always keep our voices down."
He's silent for a moment, and you notice that his eyes have begun to look over you speculatively: not just your face, but your neck and shoulders and arms. You're not happy to see that look on his face again. "Does your mother beat you, Adam?" he asks quietly.
"No. Why do you ask?"
"You have a fading black eye. And you're covered in cuts."
"I got in a fight with some guys."
"Those aren't the kind of cuts you get from a fight."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Then I guess my mom didn't give them to me either." You tilt your chin dangerously and hold his eye. The cuts are from your running with the wolves; let him think you're covering for fights with your mom.
"How do you account for them, Mr. Karter?"
"I went running and fell in some bushes." You tilt your chin farther.
"Where?"
"Around."
He continues to look at you with the same faintly hungry look. "So Llewellyn would hear your mom and you."
"Yeah."
"And?"
"And what?"
"What would he do?"
"He'd come over and yell."
"What would he say?"
You shrug. "Shut up, you whore, or I'll call the cops."
"Did he?"
"No. He was nasty but he was gutless."
"It doesn't take much guts to call the police."
You shrug and look off in the corner. "He was all bluff and no follow through."
"Was he afraid of you?"
"What?" That is a surprising question.
"Mr. Llewellyn was an old man and in very bad health. You could have hurt him very badly."
"And gotten in a lot of trouble."
"Yes, and gotten in a lot of trouble. Not much comfort for a man in the hospital with the health problems he had, though."
This had never occurred to you. "Well ... Maybe I yelled back at him. I don't know."
"Huh."
"Anything else?"
"Where does your mother work?"
"She's ... uh ... between opportunities."
"She wasn't home when I stopped by earlier."
"She must be out."
"Must be. What time would she be back?"
"I dunno. I dunno where she is. She can't help you."
"Why not?"
"She was passed out the whole time."
"Passed out?"
"Yeah." You tilt your chin again. "Like I said, there wasn't much noise, and I only heard it because I was awake and right next to it."
He sits back and look at you, hard. "Right next to it?"
"Yeah."
"You mean, it was on the other side of the wall from you?"
"Yeah, I was inside."
His eyes gleam. "You were in the master bedroom in your trailer?"
"No, I was—"
"You were where?"
"I was in my bedroom."
"Near the back?"
"Yeah."
"Llewellyn was found toward the front, next to the master bedroom."
"How do you know ... How do you know the layout of our trailer?"
"You just said you were near the back, so the master bedroom must be near the front."
"Yeah."
"So how did you hear the noise 'right next to you' if you were on the other side of the trailer, at the back?"
"I guess they were making noise next to my bedroom, too."
"Are your trash cans next to your bedroom?"
"No, they're out front."
"You said you thought there were dogs getting into your trash."
"Yeah, that's ... That's what I thought."
"Why would you think there were dogs getting into your trash, when you heard them right next to your bedroom, and the trash wasn't anywhere near your bedroom?"
"I— I don't know! I was half asleep still, okay? I just heard noises, and I just thought 'Fucking dogs in the trash' and jumped up and went to the door and slammed it back, and there were, like, the backs of dogs, like their butts and tails, running off and then I looked down and I saw Llewellyn."
He holds your eye for the longest time; it feels as though he is devouring you. You look back as long as you can, and then break away when you sense that your defiance is becoming artificial. You are flushing hard, and it is not entirely an act.
"Thank you, Mr. Karter," he says finally. "You have been ... very helpful." His smile seems genuinely warm. You still feel a chill, though, but shrug and get up to go.
You've reached the door when he calls to you. "Oh, just one more question, please." You turn and look at him sullenly. "Where you Saturday last? Not two days ago, but the Saturday before that?"
You think a moment. Your schedule is so full and disjointed that you do have to concentrate to dredge it up. "In the morning I played basketball with one of the team players. Some one on one. Then I hung out with some of the soccer players over at someone's house. Then I saw a movie with a friend. Played some tennis. Rode my bike around."
"Were you up in the state park, or near it?"
"No."
"Do you ever go up there?"
"Sure."
"When was the last time you were up there?"
"Yesterday."
He starts. "Yesterday?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"Early in the morning."
"What were you doing up there?"
"Just hiking around. Goofing off before it got hot."
"Did you see anyone?"
You didn't wipe Gallegos of your meeting with him, which is why you are being exceptionally honest. Frighteningly honest.
"A couple of park rangers."
"You talk to them?"
"A little."
"What did they say?"
"To stay out. Because of wolves."
"Wolves? Again?"
"Yeah."
"That didn't seem odd?"
"Why would it?"
"You told people your park manager was killed by wolves."
"I know what I told them, but I thought we decided it was dogs."
"Still, it's a strange coincidence."
"I guess."
"Why'd they tell you to stay out?"
"Because of wolves. I told you."
"I mean ... The park is open for business, wolves or no wolves. Why would they tell you—"
"Because I told them I spent the night up there."
His eyes get very wide. "You what?"
"They were pissing me off, so I told them I'd been spending the night up there."
"Were you?"
"No! You think I'm an idiot?"
He sits back and stares at you like a second head has sprouted from your shoulders. "You're a fascinating fellow, Mr. Karter," he says.
"Thanks. Can I go be fascinating somewhere else now?"
"By all means. I suspect you're fascinating wherever you go."
* * * * *
You are now desperate to know what the colonel knows or thinks, and are kicking yourself hard for not paying more attention and earlier to what the scary guys at Fort Suffolk might have been up to. Taking Diana Lord would be the best way to get close to the colonel, but by this point you'd settle for Caleb. You don't know where to find Diana at this hour, but you're pretty sure that you can find Caleb out front.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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