Nocturnal (7 page)

T
he musty dampness of rotting cloth.

The stench of rancid garbage.

The pulsing heat of the hunt.

Two conflicting emotions fighting for dominance — the overpowering, electric taste of hatred juxtaposed against the pinching, tingling sensation of creeping evil.

Even as he hunted, something hunted him.

Bryan stood motionless, using only his eyes to track the prey.

One womb
.

They hurt him. Just like the other one had.

We have waited so long
.

Even through the blurry, nonsensical images, he recognized the street: Van Ness. Shifty streaks of people with indiscernible, blurred faces; moving swaths of fuzzy color that were cars; headlights and streetlights that made the fog glow.

Bryan watched his target, a target made up of abstract impressions of hazy crimson and dull gold, of wide shoulders and floppy blond hair, of scowling eyes made of evil.

Not a man … a
boy
. Big, but still young. The boy had a certain walk, a certain … 
scent
.

Bryan wanted this boy dead.

He wanted them
all
dead.

One womb
.

Hunting, but also … hunted. Bryan searched the skyline, looking for movement. Even as he did, he felt a deep, cold knowledge that he probably wouldn’t see death coming. He needed to make the mark, the mark that kept the monster at bay.

Bryan felt a tap on his shoulder. He sighed in frustration, knowing he could take the prey if only there weren’t so many people around. But he had another job to do — this target would have to wait.

Turning now. Moving. Everything a blur. Fade in, fade out. Refocused. Looking down at an alley. Must be high up. Looking down at a beat-up blue dumpster. Something behind the dumpster, mostly hidden from view, but not hidden from
smell
.

Bryan recognized this scent as well. Not as good as the boy, not as healthy. More … 
worn-out
, but still good enough to make his stomach
rumble. Bryan looked closer — a bit of red and yellow behind the dumpster. A blanket. A red blanket. The yellow looked like something familiar … a little bird …

Fade out, fade in, fade out again. The dream slipped away.

In his bed, Bryan turned once, opened his eyes and wondered where he was. The room’s darkness seemed a living thing, ready to sting him with blackened barbs. Sweat dripped from his face, soaked into his sheets.

His
sheets.
His
bed. He was in his own apartment.

He’d left the dream, but the fear of the monster that hunted him came along for the ride. His chest hurt, far worse than it had on the stairs. Was that ache from dream-terror, or from the flu that made him burn and sweat?

Bryan reached out and turned on his nightstand lamp. He winced at the sudden light, but not for long.

He had to find some paper, find a pen.

He had to draw.

R
ex Deprovdechuk woke up hot and sweating.

Excited.
Terrified
.

For a brief moment he remained lost in the dream’s power, his heart hammering, his breath short and fast. Then the aches faded back in like a vise slowly squeezing every part of his body. The pain, the fever … he’d never been this sick before.

His pants felt funny. He reached down and touched, felt something
stiff
. He pulled his hand back — what was that down there? Embarrassment swept over him, making his skin feel even hotter.

He had a
boner
.

He knew what boners were, of course. Kids at school talked about them all the time. People talked about them on TV. He’d even seen them in Internet porn. Seen them, sure, but he’d never
had
one. Watching porn hadn’t given him one. Neither had the girls at school. Rex had always known he was
supposed
to have them, yet they had never come. Nothing had ever turned him on before.

But the dream had.

He had been stalking Alex Panos, the biggest of the bullies who made Rex’s life hell. Stalking him, like a lion would stalk a zebra. The dream-smells still filled Rex’s nose — rotting cloth, garbage — and those conflicting feelings: burning rage against the bully, and mind-numbing fear of the thing lurking in the shadows.

One womb
.

What a great dream. He’d almost jumped down from some building to attack that asshole Alex. Wouldn’t that have been great?

There had been other people in the dream, people who were hunting side by side with him. Two people … two people with strange faces. Dreams were crazy like that.

His dick throbbed so bad it hurt. It was a different kind of hurt than the sickness that overwhelmed his body.
Growing pains
, Roberta had told him. He still didn’t know about that. The pains had come out of nowhere just a couple of days ago. But maybe she was right — he’d just had his first boner ever, so maybe he was growing. Maybe he’d grow a
lot
and wouldn’t be the smallest freshman in the school anymore.

Maybe … maybe he’d get big enough to beat up the bullies.

The boner brought with it a huge wave of relief. In that way, at least, he was like the other boys.

Rex climbed out of bed, careful to move quietly lest the squeaky floorboards wake his mother. If Roberta woke up at this hour, it would be real bad.

He reached up and tenderly touched his nose. Still sore. That wasn’t from the body aches, it was from where Alex had punched him in the face yesterday. Just a little punch, and it had put Rex down. If Alex ever hit Rex as hard as he could …

Rex didn’t want to think about that. He walked to his desk and turned on his lamp. He had to draw a symbol he’d seen in the dream, something that he knew would make the fear fade away. He’d draw the symbol, and then something else — one of those strange faces he’d seen in the dream, a face that should have frightened him but did not.

Finally, Rex would draw Alex. Alex, and all the things Rex wished he could do to him.

The sketch pad waited.

Rex drew.

A
ggie James pulled the dirty sleeping bag tighter around his body. Even the two cardboard boxes underneath him couldn’t keep away the ground’s chill. He’d wedged himself behind a dumpster that blocked at least some of the light wind, but San Francisco’s night mist permeated his clothes, saturated every breath he drew into his lungs, even soaked into the sleeping bag he’d been so lucky to find. The sleeping bag was red, with duckies and bunnies on it. He’d found it draped over a trashcan not too far from here.

He felt the cold, the dampness, but those were distant, just faint echoes of something that might concern him. Weather didn’t matter, because he had scored. Scored
big
. And it was good shit, too — he’d felt the horse kick in before he’d even pulled the syringe out of his arm.

This was his favorite sleeping spot, in the back doorway of some old furniture store on Fern Street, just off Van Ness. They called it a
street
, but it was an
alley
. No one really bothered him here.

A numbing warmth spread all over his body, even down to his toenails, man, even down to his
toenails
. So it was cold out, so what? Aggie was warm in the way he
needed
to be warm.

He heard a light thump, then a heavier rattle, like something had landed on the dumpster.

“Pierre, you retard, try to be quiet.”

“You sthut up.”

The first voice sounded raspy, like sandpaper on rough wood. The second rang deep. Deep and
slow
. The sounds echoed through Aggie’s head. He hoped these guys would just pass on by. Sleep was coming whether he wanted it or not.
Damn
, but this was some good shit.

“This him?” The sandpaper voice.

“Uh-huh,” said a third voice. This one sounded high-pitched. “We gotta clean him up, but for sure he’s a won’t-be.”

The sound of someone sniffing, and that sound was close. When Aggie heard it, he felt a cool trickle of air across his cheek. Was someone
smelling
him?

Aggie tried to open his eyes. They cracked, just a little. He saw a blurry image of a kid’s head, maybe a teenager?

The teenager smiled.

Aggie’s eyes slid shut, returning him to the delicious darkness. Had he
dropped a tab? Maybe he had after he shot up, then forgot about it. Had to be something — horse had never made him hallucinate before. Well, maybe a little, but not like
that
. Had to be acid. Only acid could have made him see that teenager with big black eyes, skin as purple as grape juice, and a smiling mouth full of big fucking shark teeth.

Just say no to hallucinations
, thank you very much.

“I been watching him,” said the high-pitched voice.

“He looks sthick,” said the deep voice. Something about that voice, something wet and slurry. It reminded Aggie of Sylvester, the cat from Looney Toons, the way he’d spit and slobber while working out
suffering succotash
. The guy sounded like he had a tongue that just didn’t know its place.

“He’s not sick,” said high-pitch.

“He looks sthick. Thly, you think he’s sthick?”

“I dunno,” said the sandpaper voice.

High-pitch sounded offended. “He’s not sick. He’s just stoned. We can clean him up.”

“He better not be sick,” said sandpaper voice. “The last one you picked must have had the flu. I shit chocolate milk for a week.”

“I said I was sorry about that,” said high-pitch.

Sandpaper voice sighed. “Whatever. Pierre, pick him up. We need to get back.”

Aggie felt strong arms slide under him, lift him effortlessly.

“I’m staying out tonight,” said high-pitch. “We have lots of time before dawn. I got to do my thing.”

The sandpaper voice again. “Chomper, you need to come back with us.”

“No. The visions. I … I can
sense
him.”

“Yeah, so can we,” said sandpaper. “I told you not to talk about it. You want Firstborn to beat you again?”

“No. I don’t want that again. But those assholes
hurt
him, I can feel it.”

Him
. Whoever it was, he sounded important.

“I have someone watching over him,” sandpaper said. “You stay away, or you could bring the monster down on him.”

A pause. Aggie felt like he weighed all of five pounds. Maybe even five
negative
pounds, because you don’t weigh anything if you float.

“I’ll stay away,” high-pitch said. “But I’m not going home. Not yet.”

“Just don’t draw attention,” said the sandpaper voice. “And
stay away
from the king. Hillary said he’s not ready yet. You get us caught, Firstborn will kill us. Pierre, let’s go, we’re due back.”

“Okay, Sthly.”

Aggie felt like he was falling, only for a second, then he went
up
. So fast, herky-jerky,
pop … pop … pop
 … like someone taking the stairs three at a time, yet the arms holding him felt gentle, like the guy carrying him was being careful — much like you would be careful carrying a dozen eggs you just bought from the store.

Aggie struggled to open his eyes again. He was on a rooftop. He could see Van Ness far below, his attention drawn to a green Starbucks sign. Not that a Starbucks sign was much of a landmark; those things were everywhere.

Then, the world lurched under him. Up, then down, then up, then down.

Despite the motion, the horse — that goddamn
fine
horse — finally caught up with him. Aggie James let himself slide into the warmth and the darkness, into the one place where the memories didn’t haunt him.

B
ut I feel sick.”

Roberta Deprovdechuk crossed her arms and stared. “Get up, boy. You go to school.”

The very word
school
did, in fact, make Rex feel sick. Sick inside, a cold sensation that made him want to crawl into a hole and hide forever.

“Honest, I really don’t feel good.”

She rolled her eyes. “You think I was born yesterday? You’re not sick. Those kids pick on you because you’re obnoxious. You leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone. Get up and get to school. And no skipping! You skip school like some good-for-nothing burnout, sit here and draw all day. I let you put your stupid pictures up on your walls, don’t I? Now
get up
.”

She grabbed the blankets and yanked them off. He had a horrid, frozen moment of exposure, of his boner pushing his underwear out in a little tent. Rex slammed his body into a fetal position, hands over his underwear-clad privates.

“You
filthy
boy! Did you touch it?”

Still curled up, he shook his head.

“Rex, did you
touch yourself
?”

“No!”

He heard the familiar hiss of leather sliding through denim belt loops. He closed his eyes tight in anticipation of the pain to come.

“Roberta, I didn’t touch it! Honest, I—”

The
crack
of leather on his back cut his words short.

“You little liar.”

A second
crack
, this time on his legs. Despite the stinging pain, he stayed curled up. Rex knew better than to cry out, or to try and get away.

“I told you
never
to be like the other dirty boys, didn’t I?”

Crack
, his shoulder lit up.

“I’m sorry! I won’t do it ever again!”

Crack
, on the thin underwear fabric covering his ass. That one made him lurch, twitch, his body screaming at him to
run
, but he fought himself back into a tight ball.

If he ran or resisted, it would only get worse.

“There,” Roberta said. “I’m helping you, Rex. You need to learn these
things. If you’re not ready for school in five minutes, you get more. You hear me talking to you?”

She walked out, slamming the door behind her.

The pain faded a little, but the cold feeling in his chest would not leave.

He still had to go to school.