The Hollower (32 page)

Sometimes, after sex, though, Cheryl would snuggle close to Dave, and with the window open and the cool breeze blowing over their bodies, it would come up then, but only in vague terms, and only murmured in passing. Once, Cheryl asked if he thought it would come back. She meant the third Hollower. He was fairly sure about that.

“No,” he told her. It didn’t matter whether he believed it or not, or whether she believed him. It was the only answer to give her.

Dave figured it was a mistake to waste time worrying about something he couldn’t fix. They’d cross that bridge if—God forbid—they ever came to it. In the meantime, things were good. Much better than they’d ever been, in fact. And he was proud of that.

As they walked back toward the Oak Hill Assisted Living parking lot, Dave noticed a sixty-something woman sitting on a wooden bench that was painted a kind of sea-foam green and set next to the concrete path. The woman looked up at them. She wore a pink blouse and white linen slacks, with sandals. Her curly ash-blond hair was pulled up in a short ponytail tight to her head.

She made him think of how Sally would be years from then—content, well dressed, well fed, well cared for. It wasn’t often, he’d noticed in his thirties, that he looked forward to approaching old age with satisfaction and even a kind of anticipated relief, but seeing the woman there, he caught a glimpse of the future, of comfortable benches and warm sun and he wanted that. With Cheryl, he wanted that. For Sally, he wanted it.

Dave waved at the woman on the bench. Then, with a mischievous grin, he took off at a half jog toward the car. Cheryl laughed to keep up with him, and the sound buoyed him. Dave had an amazing feeling of being free.

The woman on the bench waved back a few seconds after they had already passed, and the wave closed into a fist. A slight, soft breeze picked up, teasing her hair, blowing away her eyes, nose, and mouth like dust right off her face. When the crude conveyances of human sense were gone, the smooth expanse of white followed the retreating forms with interest.

They got into a transportation object—a car; it knew the word now—and it waited until they were gone, far along the road and into their lives, before settling back onto the bench.

The ones in this dimension had never appealed to it. Their horrible physicality disgusted it. But these few were different. They did not have much meat, but the empty, stretching, pulling voids inside it and the fathomless anger drove its hunger for them anyway.

It would find them, when it needed to. Now was not the time, but soon.

“Remember you,” its voice said, trying out words. It imitated their laughter.

Soon.

It frosted the air around it with its hate.