Flesh

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The ringing of a bell woke Alison up. She raised her face off the pillow and turned her head. After a moment of confusion, she realized that she was lying on the sofa in Jake’s living room. The lamps were on. No light came through the curtains, so it wasn’t yet morning.

The bell rang again.

She threw back the sheet and sat up. A strap of her negligee hung off her shoulder. She brushed it back into place.

The front door was open a few inches, the guard pulled taut.

Jake, she remembered, had warned her to barricade herself in the bedroom. Not wanting to take his bed from him, she had chosen to sleep on the sofa. She had heeded his warning enough, however, to fasten the door chain to prevent him from entering while she slept.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Jake.” A belt with a holstered revolver swung through the opening and dropped to the floor. “I’ll step away. Bring the shotgun, unchain the door, then back off and keep me covered.”

“Just a minute.” She lifted the sweater off the coffee table and slipped into it. She fastened the middle button to keep it shut across her breasts. The shotgun was propped against the table. She picked it up and went to the door.

She pushed the door shut. She glanced down at herself.

The negligee was awfully short.

Her face heated.

He’s seen me in it before, she told herself. Hell, he’s seen me in nothing else.

She slid the guard chain to the end of its runner, let it drop, and opened the door.

Jake was standing on the lawn. He shook his head. “That’s no way to cover me.”

Shrugging, Alison lifted the butt of the shotgun off the floor. She clutched the weapon in both hands. But she didn’t aim at him. She backed away.

Jake entered the house and shut the door. A miasma of unpleasant odors came in with him. Though more than two yards in front of him, Alison smelled gasoline, cigar smoke, sweat, and a disgusting, sweetish stench that she couldn’t recognize.

Jake’s face and clothes were smeared with soot. One leg of his tan trousers was torn at the thigh and matted with dry blood.

“What happened to your leg?”

“Flying glass. No big deal.” He untucked his shirt, opened the buttons, and took it off. Then he turned around.

Alison stepped closer. The odors got worse, but his back looked fine. She reached out with her left hand and ran fingers down his spine. She felt no bulges. His skin was cool and damp. “Except for the stink,” she told him, “you’re fine. What happened?”

Jake turned to face her. “I found Roland. He’s dead. He was already dead by the time I found him.”

Alison nodded. She suddenly felt sick, and didn’t know whether it was the godawful odors from Jake or learning that Roland had died. I killed him, she thought.

It’s good that he’s dead.

I killed him.

It was self-defense. He deserved to die after what he did to Helen…what he did, maybe, to Celia.

“Gouging his eye?” she muttered.

“He had a bad stomach wound when we found him. I suspect that was the finishing touch.”

“A stomach wound? So it wasn’t me who killed him?”

“Wasn’t you.”

“Thank God.”

“I’d better take a shower before you pass out on me. You’re looking a little green around the gills.”

She nodded. “What is that odor?”

“I found Roland in his car parked on a side street near the campus. I didn’t want to take a chance of the…remember that snake-thing I told you about?”

“I don’t think I’m likely to forget that.”

“Well, I doused Roland’s car with gasoline and torched it. With him in it.”

“Christ.”

“The idea was to burn the snake-thing. Afterward, I had the coroner cut Roland open to see if we could find it.” Jake shook his head. “Wasn’t in him. We think it left from his stomach. That’s what made the wound that probably polished him off. It knew that Roland was on his last legs, wouldn’t be any more use.”

“It broke out of him…like that monster in Alien?”

“Something like that. We’re hoping Roland was inside the car when it happened. All the windows were rolled up. So if the thing was trapped in the car, it almost has to be dead. I searched the rubble afterward. Couldn’t find any trace of the thing, but that doesn’t mean much. Might’ve been nothing left but a heap of ashes.”

“It might be dead, then, or it might not?”

“We’re going to assume it’s alive until we know otherwise.”

“And if it is alive?”

“Then it’ll try to find someone else to get in, and we’re pretty much back where we started. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you the whole mess is over.”

“But maybe it is.”

“I’d bet a month’s salary that the damned thing is dead. But I won’t bet your life on it.” He rubbed the shirt across his face, smearing sweat and soot. “I’d better take that shower, now.” He stepped past Alison and headed for the hallway.

When she noticed the sound of the water running, she realized that she hadn’t moved since Jake left. She dragged the shotgun over to the door and propped it against the wall. She attached the guard chain.

The disgusting odors still filled the room. In the kitchen, she searched until she found candles in a drawer. She lighted three of them, dripped wax onto paper plates, and stuck them upright. She brought the candles into the living room and placed them on the coffee table.

Sitting on the sofa, she leaned back and propped her feet on the table between two of the candle plates.

She wondered if Jake would come back into the room after his shower. Maybe they could have a drink together.

He’d been through a nightmare of his own, tonight: burning Roland, watching while the coroner cut him open. That one odor, the really bad one…

And he apologized to me for not having better news.

Maybe he won’t like seeing the candles. They might remind him of what happened earlier.

Alison sniffed. The nasty odors seemed faint. She puffed out the candles and carried them back into the kitchen. Then she went to the front door. She opened it enough to peer out, then shut it again, removed the guard chain, and swung the door wide.

The breeze smelled wonderful. It blew her hair. It felt cool and good on her body. She opened the sweater. The breeze caressed her through the negligee, moved up her bare legs. It felt just as fine as before, when she was standing naked at her bedroom window, and then it stopped feeling fine as the memory surged in of waking to find Roland above her. Moaning, she swung the door shut. She leaned against it, head against her crossed arms.

“Alison?”

She turned around. Jake was standing in the hallway entrance, wearing a robe.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Not very. How about you?”

“Better.”

“I was just letting in some fresh air.”

She saw his gaze stray downward, then back to her face. Just in time to catch my blush, she thought.

“I guess I’d better hit the sack,” Jake said. “Don’t you want to trade places? I’m sure my bed would be a lot more comfortable for you.”

“The sofa’s fine. Really.”

“It’s up to you.” He rubbed his chin. “Well, see you in the morning, Alison. Sleep tight, huh?”

“Yeah. You, too.”

He turned away. Alison looked down at herself. You sure gave him an eyeful, she thought. He noticed, too, but he didn’t get funny. That’s good. Would’ve been awkward if he’d decided it was some kind of an invitation.

Was it some kind of an invitation? she wondered. How come I didn’t bother pulling the sweater shut before I turned around? He probably thinks I did it on purpose.

I bet that’s why he ran off so fast. He came in, maybe to spend a while talking, saw me like this, and decided he’d better beat a quick retreat.

Scared him away.

Don’t flatter yourself, she thought. He left because he’s had a long, rough day and he’s tired. Probably didn’t care, one way or the other, about me and my nightie.

She took off the sweater. Standing there, she folded it slowly and watched the hallway.

Jake was probably in bed already.

Alison moved quietly through the room, turning off lights. There was no need for the lights now that Jake was here.

It felt good, knowing that he was in the house, only a few seconds away.

Alison lay down on the sofa and pulled the sheet up.

He didn’t have to rush off like that, she thought. We should’ve talked for a while.

She imagined herself walking down the dark hallway to his room. Asking if he was asleep. Telling him that she didn’t want to be alone, not just yet.

Why not crawl into his bed while you’re at it? Sure. You just dumped Evan because he wasn’t interested in anything but making it and you’re hot to jump in bed with a guy you hardly know.

I am not. I wouldn’t do that. Why am I even thinking about it, after all that’s happened tonight?

What do you want to think about—Helen?

She saw Helen on the bed, glasses crooked…

The image clenched her with cold, tight fists. She lurched up and gazed through the darkness, gasping.

When Jake woke up, his room was bright. He squinted at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Almost ten o’clock. But what day was this? Monday.

He rolled onto his belly and pushed his face into the soft warmth of the pillow.

Need to get up, he thought. Need to—what? Go back to where you found Roland, check around, talk to people. What for? See if they saw anything. A snake in the grass.

Shit. It seemed pointless.

Need to do something, though. Need to make sure the thing’s dead, is what. Cause if it’s not dead, Alison…

She’s here. Sleeping on the sofa.

And me in my bed. What virtue. Congratulations, Corey.

Missed your big chance.

It would’ve been wrong. Taking advantage.

I know, he thought. Don’t I know. Fell asleep last night telling myself just how wrong it would be…and how nice. Even if we’d done no more than hold each other, it would’ve been fine.

He remembered how small and vulnerable she had looked sitting behind Barney’s desk, holding onto the coffee cup as if it were a talisman that would keep harm away. And sitting in the car, that nightie barely covering her legs. And when he came out after the shower and her sweater was open.

Jake’s penis was pushing uncomfortably against the mattress. He rolled onto his back to relieve the pressure.

Real nice, he thought. The knight in shiny armor has a hard-on.

Sorry about that, Alison.

Alison, a pretty name. Alison Sanders.

He wondered if she was still asleep. It would be nice to see her sleeping on the sofa, probably looking as peaceful as a little kid. He couldn’t go sneaking in and watch her, though. What would she think if she woke up?

Go in and make a pot of coffee. Take a cup to her.

We’ll sit for a while, talking. Alison will be all sleepy, her hair mussed. Maybe she’ll have the sheet wrapped around her so neither of us will have to be embarrassed about her nightgown.

Take your robe to her. That way, she’ll know your intentions are honorable.

Jake pulled the sheet aside. He rolled off the bed and stood up. He was shirtless and wearing his pajama pants. Though his erection had diminished, the front of the pants still bulged somewhat. He headed for the dresser, planning to put on his pajama shirt before venturing from the room, and stopped abruptly at the foot of his bed.

Alison was asleep on the floor.

She lay curled on her side, a pillow under her head, her bare feet protruding from the sheet that covered her to the shoulders.

Jake stared down at the girl, bewildered by her presence. Unless she had walked in her sleep, she had come here on purpose, needing the comfort of being close to him. She must’ve been suffering, alone in the other room. Needed a friend. So she’d snuck in here and made her bed on the floor to be near him.

I should’ve stayed up with her, he thought. I should’ve realized.

He crouched in front of Alison. Wisps of hair hung over the side of her face. Her mouth was open, its lower corner buried in the pillow. The peaceful way she looked reminded Jake of Kimmy.

But Kimmy had never had a swollen, discolored jaw and cheek like Alison.

A bruise on her arm, though. She’d shown it to him when they got to Jack-in-the-Box last night.

Should’ve given Barbara a bruise for her arm.

Ever hurts Kimmy again, it’ll be a court order. How could the bitch slug her own daughter like that? How could anybody slug a girl like Kimmy?

Or a girl like Alison?

The guy who did that is dead. A hunk of burnt meat.

Deserved it, the bastard. Pounded Alison, tried to rape and kill her.

Reaching out, Jake lightly brushed the hair upward from the puffed and purple side of her face. He slipped it behind her ear.

“Good morning,” Alison said, her voice quiet and husky. She turned her head, rolling back slightly until her rump touched the edge of the box springs. She smiled lazily up at Jake, but with only the right side of her face. The punished left side didn’t move much.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Jake said.

“You didn’t. I’ve been awake for a while.”

“Playing possum, huh?”

“A little bit. Mostly too ruined to move.”

“Hard floor,” Jake said.

“Least of my problems. I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck.”

“You look like you’ve been hit by a Mack truck.”

The right side of her lip curled up, baring some teeth. “That bad, is it?”

“Not that bad. You look pretty fine, all things considered. Did you sleep well down here?”

“Not bad, all things considered. You snore, you know.”

“Sorry.”

“It was nice. Kept me reminded you were there.”

“If you…I would’ve stayed on my own side of the bed, you know. Kept my hands to myself. Especially if I didn’t wake up.”

She smiled slightly with the working half of her face. Then the smile faded and she studied his eyes. “We’ll never know,” she said.

“We’ll never know. Could you use some breakfast?”

“Sure.”

“You can wear my robe. It’s on a chair by the door.”

“Thanks.”

Jake stood up and went to the dresser. He took out his pajama shirt. With his back to Alison, he put it on and fastened the buttons. Then he turned around.

She was sitting cross-legged, the sheet spread over her lap and knees. She hugged the pillow to her breasts. “If you’ve got something more elaborate in mind than Trix or Fruit Loops, I’d be glad to make it. I might as well do something useful.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a pretty fair cook. I haven’t burnt anything…”

Since last night, he thought.

“I trust you,” Alison said. “But I’ll help. What’s a woman for?” she asked, a gleam of something that might have been mischief in her eyes.

“I’ll pick you up a toothbrush. Do you need anything else?”

“I could use some clothes,” Alison said, and took a drink of coffee. “I feel like a convalescent, wandering around in my nightgown and your robe.”

“I could go over to your place and pick up some things,” Jake said.

“How long are you planning to keep me here?”

“As long as possible.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Tonight, anyway,” Jake told her.

“It was Roland who was after me,” she said. “Not that I have anything against sticking around—you’ve got a nice floor. But he’s dead, and he’s the one who wanted to get me. So even if that snake-thing is still alive, there’s no reason to think it would try to find me.”

“I hope you’re right. But it was in the driver of the van when he tried to run down Celia, then it was in Roland when she disappeared. Maybe that’s just a coincidence. On the other hand, maybe it’s the creature that chooses the targets no matter who it’s in.”

Alison curled up her lip. She could’ve done without that theory. “So I just have to lay low until you find the thing.”

“Until it’s accounted for, one way or another.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Did you know that you spend a lot of time apologizing for stuff that’s not your fault?”

“Sorry.” He grinned.

Alison liked his grin. She hadn’t seen much of it. “When you get back, am I supposed to keep you covered again and look at your back?”

“Yep.”

“At least it’s a good excuse to get your shirt off.”

Jake took a last drink of coffee, set down his cup, and rubbed his mouth with a napkin. “I’d better get going.”

They left the table. Alison walked ahead of him to the front door. “Don’t you wear a uniform?”

“Usually.”

“I’d like to see you in it, sometime. Bet you look dashing. The fuzz.”

“I crashed a patrol car yesterday,” he said.

“That was careless.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t look right, I think, driving around in uniform in my own car.”

“What time will you be back?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea. It’ll depend on how things go.”

“Well, should I make supper for you?”

“I don’t want you starving. Say if I’m not back by seven, why don’t you go ahead and eat without me.”

“Okay.”

He stepped past Alison and opened the door.

“Watch yourself,” she said.

“You, too. If there’s any kind of trouble—you see someone suspicious hanging around, anything like that—call the station and ask for Barney. He’ll be there, and he knows the whole story.”

“All right.”

“You know where everything is?”

“I’ll be fine, Jake. Don’t worry.”

Nodding, he hesitated in the doorway as if reluctant to leave. Then he started to turn away. Alison touched his arm. He looked into her eyes. She stepped against him, embracing him, tilting back her head. Jake put his arms around her. Holding her gently, he kissed her mouth. When his lips went away, he cupped the back of her head with one hand. She pressed her face to the side of his neck.

“I’d better get going,” he whispered as he stroked her hair.

“I know.” Alison squeezed him hard, then stepped back. “See you later,” she said.

He stared at her. He kissed her once more, then turned away.

Alison stood in the doorway, watching him until the car moved off down the road. Then she shut the door and locked it. She slid the guard chain into place.

She leaned against the door, closed her eyes, and let herself go back to linger a while with the feel of his body against her, the feel of his lips on her mouth.