Midnight Voices (15 page)

CHAPTER 18

Tony Fleming knew the time was near—he could feel the cravings in every cell of his body now. It was a strange kind of hunger, not centered in his belly, but raging through every part of his body, gnawing at his mind, devouring his very soul.

The soul he was certain he didn’t possess.

He shut his mind to that thought, concentrating his attention on Caroline, who lay next to him in the bed. They’d made love an hour ago, and even though his body felt weak and his mind had been distracted with the craving, he’d hidden it all from Caroline, satisfying her as perfectly as he had on that first night, when they’d slipped out of the main house and made their way down the path and through the palm trees to the beach. The tide was low, and they’d lain on the sand beneath the full moon. Caroline had worried about the children at first, begging him to go into the little cabana by the beach, but under the spell of his caresses she’d quickly forgotten her worries, surrendering herself to the ecstasy he offered. Tonight, he’d offered her that ecstasy again, and she’d writhed and moaned under his touch, arching her body toward him, gasping and pleading until finally he’d satisfied her. Then, as the craving welled up in him once again, she’d drifted into sleep, her panting breaths slowing to a steady gentle rhythm that should have lulled him into slumber, too.

But sleep would not come to him—not yet at least. So he lay in the darkness, waiting for the clock on his bedside table to strike the hour of midnight. It was a beautiful clock—an ancient crystal regulator so perfectly maintained that its brass glowed like gold and its movement needed resetting only twice a year, in spring and fall. Its ticking was so quiet as to be all but inaudible, and when its hammer fell on its chime, the sound crept through the night with the stealth of a thief.

Only if you were listening for it could you hear it at all.

Then at last it happened: the clock struck once, twice, then ten times more, and Anthony Fleming rose from the bed, bent close enough to his wife to feel her breath on his lips, then moved through the familiar darkness of the bedroom into the privacy of his bathroom. Closing the door carefully enough that the click of the latch was barely louder than the ticking of his clock, Tony turned the light on and gazed at himself in the full-length mirror that was mounted on the inside of the bathroom door.

His body still looked strong—his shoulders broad, his torso narrowing to his hips without the slightest trace of bulge or flab. His chest was covered with a thick mat of curling black hair, just beginning to be shot through with the same gray that was starting to show on his head, but except for those first strands of gray, he looked far younger than his years. Under the bright light of his bathroom, though, he could see far more clearly that time was taking its toll.

The tan he’d gotten on Mustique didn’t quite cover up the liver spots on his hands and arms. His skin was beginning to lose its elasticity: the faintest beginnings of wattles were starting to show on his neck, and the veins in his legs were starting to look varicose. Soon his hair would begin to thin, his muscles would lose their tone, and his eyes would sink deep into their sockets. He would start to look like his neighbors, his youth ebbing away, leaving behind nothing but a living carcass rotting from within. Would his eyes go first, leaving him blind like Helena Kensington? Or would his muscles atrophy to the point where he could no longer walk, like Lavinia Delamond?

As all the images of youth destroyed by devouring age flickered through his mind, the cravings that had stolen his sleep that night grew stronger and stronger, calling out to him.

Tempting him.

Beseeching him.

He stared into the mirror at the image of his aging body.

And knew the cravings inside him must be satisfied before it was too late, and he could satisfy them no more.

Flicking the light switch, he plunged the room—and himself—into darkness.

There were people in Laurie’s room.

But that wasn’t right. It was her room, and nobody was supposed to come in unless she told them it was all right.

And the light was on.

Except there was something about the light that was different. It wasn’t the bright light the chandelier cast, or the even brighter beam of her new halogen lamp that stood on the nightstand.

Or even the glow from the streetlights outside.

No, this light was different, filling her room with a strange misty glow like nothing she’d ever seen before. It was as if it were foggy, but the sun was out.

And from out of the mist the voices came.

The same voices from last night?

She couldn’t be sure.

They seemed to be much closer than they were last night, but she couldn’t quite make out the words. Then, right next to her bed, a figure appeared.

A figure she recognized.

Helena Kensington!

The old woman was bending toward her, reaching out with her gnarled fingers, and a moment later she could feel their touch playing over her face. Closing her eyes, Laurie tried to pull away, but couldn’t.

It was as if she was bound to the bed, neither her arms nor her legs obeying her mind. But neither could she feel anything tying her down.

She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out and her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton.

She tried to twist away from Helena’s touch, but there was no escape from the twisted fingers.

Now more fingers were touching her, and suddenly Laurie could see more faces gazing at her through the glowing mist. Dr. Humphries was there, and Tildie Parnova, and George Burton, and some other people she recognized, but whose names she couldn’t remember. They were all talking, but Laurie couldn’t tell if they were talking to her, or to each other.

She felt someone pulling the blanket and sheet back, and now she was lying on her bed, covered only with her nightgown.

Suddenly she felt cold, even though the room had been warm a minute ago, and her skin went all clammy.

She felt something on her leg now, underneath her nightgown.

A hand?

She couldn’t quite tell.

Now she felt a pain in her body, as if someone was inside her, and trying to cut their way out with a knife.

She wanted to cry out against the pain, but the terrible cottony stuff in her mouth still choked her words, and suddenly she couldn’t breath, either.

What was happening?

The voices were louder, but still she couldn’t understand what they were saying. More hands were touching her, exploring her body, reaching under her nightgown, pinching her flesh. And every instant, the pain in her body grew worse, until she didn’t think she could stand it anymore.

Then, as the pain finally exploded inside her, she felt a terrible gushing sensation between her legs.

Blood!

It was pouring out of her, soaking her nightgown, spreading across the bed. The babble of voices grew, and now she could see fingers being dipped into the blood—her blood—then raised to drooling lips, licked off.

Her blood! They were drinking her blood!

She tried to twist away, but the bonds that held her to the bed were too strong.

She was dying, bleeding to death, and even though she was surrounded by people—people she knew—no one would help her. The pain wracking her body grew along with the panic that was quickly invading her mind.

Then, out of the morass of babbling voices, a single voice emerged, a voice she recognized speaking words that she could understand: “Her eyes. Let me have her eyes. I need her eyes!”

It was Helena Kensington, and suddenly she was reaching toward Laurie’s face again, her fingernails cracked and yellowed, coming closer and closer to Laurie’s eyes.

As the old woman’s fingers sank into her face, pain and terror finally overwhelmed her, and a howling scream burst from her throat.

Laurie woke up.

The dream—all of it—vanished in a flash, and all Laurie could remember was the terror, and the pain.

She reached out and switched on the lamp by her bed, and the beam of light washed away the terror.

But not the pain. That was still there, twisting in her abdomen, as if someone had plunged a knife into her.

A knife!

Blood? Had there been blood?

Then she felt it—a warm stickiness between her legs. Her heart pounding, Laurie pushed the covers back, and looked down.

Her nightgown was stained with crimson.

Caroline’s consciousness emerged almost reluctantly from a dense fog of sleep. At first she felt oddly disoriented, as if her mind had somehow been separated from her body, and was now drifting in some featureless morass of not-quite-time, not-quite-space, not-quite-reality. But slowly the gray veil began to melt away, and she remembered: she had been in bed, her head resting on Tony’s broad chest, his strong arms wrapped protectively around her, the deep rhythm of his breathing imbuing her with a peace that had made her sleep utterly dreamless. But now—how much later?—she was awake, sitting up in bed, the covers clutched in her hands.

Her heart was pounding, as if she’d just emerged from some terrible nightmare. But there had been no nightmare—no dream of any kind at all.

So what had awakened her?

A scream?

Could she have heard a scream?

But from where? Outside on the street? Or inside the apartment?

The last of the mist in her mind cleared away, and she listened, concentrating, but all she could hear was the faint sound of a car passing on the street below.

Then what had happened? She’d been sound asleep, safe in Tony’s arms—

Instinctively, she reached out to his side of the bed.

Empty!

“Tony?” she called. She reached out and fumbled with the light switch by her bedside, and a second later the chandelier hanging in the center of the ceiling came on, its brilliance blinding her. “Tony?” she called out again, a little louder. She was just getting out of bed when the door to the bedroom opened, and a moment later he was back in bed and pulling her back into his arms. “Sorry,” he whispered, his lips nuzzling her ear as he reached for the light switch. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“You didn’t,” Caroline told him. “I thought—I don’t know. Something woke me up. I . . .” Her voice trailed away as she tried to identify whatever it was that had awakened her.

Tony’s hand fell away from the switch, and he propped himself up on one elbow, frowning. “Are you all right?”

“I—I’m not sure.”

Tony frowned uncertainly. “Did you hear something?”

“I don’t know.”

He got out of bed, went to the window and pulled the heavy roman shades up. “I don’t see anything down in the street.”

Now Caroline was out of bed, too. “I probably dreamed it, but I’m going to go check on the kids anyway.” Pulling on a robe, she went out into the hall. The night-light cast a glow just bright enough for her to see that there was nothing there. But then, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light in the hallway, she saw a glow coming from under Laurie’s door. Pulling her robe more snugly around her, she went down the corridor. “Laurie?” she called out softly.

There was no answer.

She put her hand on the doorknob, turned it, and pushed the door open just wide enough to peer in, almost certain she would see her daughter sound asleep, probably with a book lying facedown on her chest.

But Laurie was not asleep at all. Instead she was huddled against the headboard, her arms wrapped around a pillow, her face pale and stained with tears, looking utterly terrified.

“Laurie?” Caroline cried, pushing the door open and hurrying to the bedside. “What is it? What’s—” Her words died on her lips as she saw the bright red stains on Laurie’s sheets and nightgown.

Laurie peered up at her, her eyes wide, and when she finally spoke, her voice shook with terror. “There were people in my room,” she whispered. “They were all around me, and they were touching me, and it hurt, and—” her voice choked off in a broken sob, but then she went on. “It hurt so much Mom, and when I woke up, there was blood all over me, and—”

As she listened to her daughter’s frightened words, the memory of Tony coming through the bedroom door a few minutes ago rose in Caroline’s memory. Her hands closed on her daughter’s wrists, and her eyes locked onto those of the terrified girl. “Was it Tony?” she asked, her voice so low as to be almost inaudible. “Did Tony—” She hesitated, then forced herself to finish. “Did he do something to you?”

The fear in Laurie’s eyes slowly gave way to uncertainty, and as the last of her terror lost its grip, she began to understand that it must only have been a dream. “No, not Tony. It was like lots of people were in my room,” she said. “All the neighbors.” Now she looked beseechingly at her mother. “But it was just a dream, wasn’t it? I mean, they couldn’t have really been here, could they?”

Caroline said nothing as she tried to put the scraps of what had happened into some kind of cohesive whole. The pain—the blood—

And suddenly it all came together and she understood. “Your period,” she breathed, relief flooding through her as the pieces fell in place. She drew her sobbing daughter into her arms, and rocked her gently. “It’s all right,” she said. “Nothing’s wrong, honey. It’s your period and all the rest was just a bad dream.”

“But it wasn’t like a dream,” Laurie wailed. “They were sticking things into me, and I’m bleeding, and—”

“It’s all right, darling,” Caroline broke in. “You just had some cramps, and now you’re having your first period.”

Laurie gazed down at the bloody stain on the bedclothes. Suddenly, with her mother here, it didn’t look quite so bad.

And the pain in her belly—the pain that had seemed like it was going to tear her apart only a few minutes ago—was almost gone. Suddenly she felt so stupid, she wanted to cry all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. But I was so scared, and—”

“Of course you were scared,” Caroline said, putting a finger on her daughter’s lips to silence her apology. “Why wouldn’t you have been?”

“But I feel so stupid,” Laurie wailed.

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Caroline reassured her. “Actually, except for the scare it gave you, it could have been a lot worse. I got my first period in a swimming pool. I got to the girls’ room, but just barely, and my friend Emily Peterson had to go buy some pads while I hid.” Laurie stared up at her mother, uncertain whether to believe her or not, but Caroline was already disentangling herself from her daughter. “Tell you what. You just stay here. I’ll get you cleaned up and make sure Tony doesn’t come poking around trying to find out what’s going on.” She winked at Laurie. “There are some things men don’t handle all that well. Be back in a minute.”