As I Die Lying (35 page)

“
Listen to your heart,
Richard,” Bookworm said.

“
My heart says stick the
knife in.”

“
Don’t give up. We can beat
it. Together.”

The Insider’s laughter ripped through my guts
like shrapnel, pulsed through my veins like broken glass, rattled
in my headbone like a blunt hatchet blade.

That’s when I realized I didn’t want to die.
At least not alone.

Not when I could take somebody with me. Or
something.

“
Yo, Squidbait,” said
Loverboy. He was as jaunty as a sailor on shore leave with
cockswain to spare and furlough to burn. “What would Mother say if
she saw Richard down on his knees with a knife in his
hand?”

“
Hey, Loverboy, you
tart-popping sonofabitch. Why don’t you ask her?”

I turned. Mother was leaning against the
kitchen entrance, wiping at the crust in her watery eyes. I put the
knife behind my back.

She spoke, and her throat was so dry her
voice cracked. “Richard...”

Had she seen the knife? I pretended to be
looking for a spill. That was the only reason I could think of why
I would be on my knees in the kitchen. I sure couldn’t pretend to
be praying.

“
Richard…”

“
Yes, Mother?”

“
In this light, you look
just like your father.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I led Mother upstairs to the spare room. She
sat on the bed, her glass in her hand. If she ever died, the
undertaker would have to break her fingers to get them out of that
hawkish grip.

“
You can sleep here,” I
said. “I’ve got to go to work. Make...”

She brightened, snapped her eyes wide like a
frog going after a waterbug. “...make yourself at home.”

Home is where the heart is. So Mister
Milktoast likes to say. But sometimes, home is where the head is,
especially if you are behind on rent and you claim squatter’s
rights.

Mother grabbed my shirt as I tried to leave.
“Just like old times, Richard. The good old days.”

Loverboy wanted, yes, he shivered and reached
out to touch her cheek, but, yes, Mister Milktoast was right, good
things were worth waiting for. Yes, Little Hitler cheered them both
on and Bookworm kept the scorecard.

“
It’ll be late when I get
back. I’ll try not to wake you.”

I’ll try very, very hard.

I was sweating again by the time I got out
the front door. The November air slapped like a frozen glove, but
still the juice trickled from my pores. I got in my Subaru and
started the engine and sat watching my breath make crystals on the
windshield.

Yes, Richard. Things are moving right along.
Everything unfolding according to the synopsis.

“
You fucking inhuman
monster.”

Sticks and stones, Richard. Except, of
course, I don’t have any bones to break. That’s why I have to
borrow yours.

I gave the steering wheel an open-palmed
punch.

Hahaha. This is delightful, I must say. I’ve
seen the ashes rising from the crematoriums at Dachau and
Auschwitz, the sky gray and thick with flies. I’ve ridden over the
bloody snow at Wounded Knee while mothers tried to cover their
papooses. I’ve breathed the mustard gas and gangrene of Flanders.
I’ve lain awake at night in the jungles of Cambodia and the deserts
of Darfur, counting myself to sleep with screaming children as
sheep. But nothing, NOTHING, has been as sweet as this latest
joyride. I want to thank you, from the bottom of your heart.

“
I’ll get you, you
bastard.”

Richard, you’ve made me really appreciate
what it means to be human. You’ve proven a perfect specimen of your
kind. And just because your species has exterminated mine is not
the reason this is so enjoyable. What makes this the crown jewel
among a thousand possessions is that no one has ever DESERVED me as
much as you have.

“
You’ll never get
Mother.”

The night is young.

At work, I was busy with the Christmas orders
that were coming in. Brittany was out of town for the weekend and
Miss Billingsly had worked the day shift, so Bookworm had his hands
full running the register and stocking the shelves. I was glad to
be occupied. It kept their minds from Mother.

Arlie was sitting in the poet’s corner,
watching the highway and sipping at whatever he had in his cup. He
rubbed his face.

“
What you doing for
Thanksgiving?” he asked while I was rearranging the postcard
display on the counter.

“
My mother’s in
town.”

“
Hey. That’s
nice.”

“
Yeah”

“
Saw one of them last
night.” He wiped at his buzzard’s beak of a nose.

“
One of what?”

“
Them. Flying saucers. Came
out the top of Widow’s Peak and swooped down over my fields as dead
quiet as a bat.”

“
Same kind?”

“
Yep. Kind of greenish and
flat like one of those Frisbees the hippie boys throw. Had a row of
red lights around the outside edge.”

I nodded and rang the register. A lady with a
pixie haircut bought Stephen King’s new novel. It was the sixth one
I’d sold that night. That was one squirrel-eyed bastard who knew
how to plot. If only Bookworm were as gifted.

After she left, Arlie said, “Swooped down
Tater Knob Road and then back up where there’s nothing but old
logging trails, where nobody ever goes anymore. Them things are
smart, I tell you. That’s why they call them ‘alien
intelligence.’”

“
So you think they have a
base up there or something?”

“
They’s a nest of ‘em up
there. You better believe it. And nobody’s doing a damn thing to
stop them.”

“
People don’t like
mysteries. They’d rather not know about things they can’t
understand.”

“
Well, how many more have to
get killed first?”

“
So you still think it’s the
aliens that got the girls?”

“
Fuck a blue hen, I do. Why
else ain’t they come up with any clues?” He waved his arms like a
frantic bird and looked at me with his dark eyes. “‘Cause they
don’t want to be found out yet. They’re chargin’ up for a takeover,
sure as the world.”

“
And you’ll be the first to
know.”

“
Damn straight. I’m the only
human around in those parts, at least the furthest up the road.
It’s a wonder I ain’t been got yet.”

“
They probably know you’re
onto them.”

“
Keep a double-dose of
Number Eight buckshot handy, just in case.”

“
Well, why do you think they
need to kill the girls?”

“
Rechargin’. Getting energy.
Suck ‘em down like draining a battery.” He lowered his head and his
eyes ping-ponged back and forth. He said in a conspiratorial
whisper, “They eat the light.”

“
The light?”

“
Their souls.”

The Insider was quite a trickster.
Multitasking. Stepping out on me. Sleeping around.

“
Sounds like you’ve got them
figured out, Arlie.”

He finished whatever was in his coffee cup
and stood up, swaying slightly. “Yep. Better get on out and keep
watch. This is their favorite time of night.”

Then he was out the door, looking up at the
dark sky.

Could the Insider throw visions up on the big
screen of the heavens? Lucas and Speilberg in a galaxy not so far
away?

Now, Richard. Would I do a thing like that?
I prefer a private viewing.

I wondered what Arlie would
think of predators who didn’t have to invade Earth. Because they
were already here. Had been since the beginning. A race that
thought
we
were
the aliens.

Beth called just before eleven, as I was
getting ready to close up. “Hi, loverboy,” she said, in her sexy
kitten voice that even hundreds of miles of cable couldn’t
quell.

“
Loverboy? What about
him?”

“
Hey, relax. I’m just being
silly.”

“
Why did you call me at
work?”

She sighed. “To hear your voice, Richard.
People do that sort of thing, when they’re in love.”

I wondered if the word “love” always sounded
like an accusation to other people. The way it did to me.

“
Sorry, hon. I’ve been out
of sorts lately. Got things on my mind.” Five of them, to be
exact.

“
You okay?”

“
Yeah. I just miss you,
that’s all.”

“
Well, here’s something that
might cheer you up.”

“
What’s that?”

“
I ran into an old
girlfriend of mine. She’s heading to Florida on Friday, and she’s
going to drop me off there on her way. I’m going to be home early,
you stud muffin. So I only have to go two nights without that hunk
of burning love of yours.”

“
Th-that’s
great.”

“
Hmmph. Why don’t you just
yawn, you’re so happy about it?”

“
No. That’s really great. I
mean it. I...” I look forward to killing you.

“
Richard?”

“
It’s just been real busy
here tonight, with the start of the Christmas season and all. But
Friday’s great, I’m off on Friday.”

“
Are you sure you’re okay?
You sound a little...odd.”

“
No, everything’s fine here.
Really.”

“
We’re going to be heading
out early, so I should be there around eleven o’clock. Do you want
to meet me at my apartment so we can bring over some of my
things?”

“
That would be fine. So, did
you tell your parents? About us living together?”

“
You kidding? I told you
Mom’s a hardcore Catholic and Dad derived his moral philosophy from
‘The Andy Griffith Show.’”

“
Parents. Gotta love
‘em.”

“
Yeah. I think I’ll tell
them at Christmas, when everybody’s always in a good mood, no
matter what kind of shit is raining down.”

“
Mmmm. I love you, Angel
Baby.” The L word was easier to say, now that I had no
choice.

“
I love you, too. And guess
what?”

“
Two guesses in one night?
I’m really lucky.”

“
I have another surprise. A
secret.”

“
I’ve been told that I’m no
good with secrets. Every time I cross my heart, somebody
dies.”

“
Funny. Well, it’s such a
good secret that I’m not going to tell you on the
phone.”

Warning flares erupted in my crowded head.
“That big, huh? It sounds like a happy secret.”

“
Well, I wasn’t sure at
first. But now that I’ve had time to think about it...yes, it’s
good.”

“
Come on, tell
me.”

“
Good things are worth
waiting for, guy.”

“
I’m waiting,
then.”

“
Good. And don’t let any
wild women into your bed until I get there.”

“
I’ll try my best.” Did
Mother count as “wild”? And did my half-hearted promise free
Loverboy to sleep with women preceded by other adjectives? What
about tame women or lavender women or deep-fried, sugar-glazed
women?

“
Hope you won’t get lonely
on Thanksgiving.”

“
Me? I’m never lonely.”
Misery loves company but sleeps alone. Except in the Bone
House.

“
Funny again. See you on
Friday. Love you.”

“
Love you.”

She smooched into the phone and hung up.

Secrets. I hated secrets. Sally Bakken had
secrets. Secrets always carried a price and never got you the
dollar’s worth of candy.

Mother was asleep when I got home. I locked
my bedroom door and huddled under the blankets. I was afraid of
hearing her feet scruff the carpet, afraid of hearing her knock on
my door. Because I knew I’d have to answer.

But I was equally scared of sleeping. Because
when I slept, the Insider worked. What were to me only dreams,
wisps of nightmare, were the Insider’s bricks and mortar as it
walled me off from my feelings and hung up a cute knitted sampler
that said, “Home Sweet Home.”

I woke up sweating, the sheets in a tangle.
Alone. I went into the hall. Mother’s door was closed. Was
she...

I yanked open the door. Red sheets and
deviled ham.

I screamed and the Insider shook me
awake.

Bad dream, Richard. Do you think I’d let you
miss out on something you’ve looked forward to for so long? What
kind of monster do you think I am?

“
I’m afraid to think what
kind. Because that’s what kind you’ll become.”

You’ve been talking to
Bookworm. He thinks he has it all figured out
.

“
We’re all getting tired of
you.”

You’ll be rid of me soon. But, believe it or
not, you’ll be begging me to stay. It happens every time. I move
in, set up camp, dig up a decent wicked streak that most people
don’t even know is inside, and then they find that they like it.
They LIKE the freedom to do whatever I make them. They LIKE the
misery. It’s all so...human.

Look at your religions. All violence and
guilt. You demand martyrs. Every single pathetic one of you would
love to lay it all on the doorstep of a higher power. But in the
end, I am your fondest wish and deepest fantasy. I am everything
you want to be. Because I AM you.