The New Neighbor (30 page)

 
– he growled through clenched teeth, "No, I
won't
. Not
again
. I
won't
!" He swept the staple gun off the floor, slammed the loose section of the tarpaulin against the wall, and began stapling hard and fast as –
 

 
– Lorelle, just outside, continued to say softly, "Lick it, George, taste it again, come out and taste it, George –"
 

" –
No
, dammit," George rasped as he stapled.
 

“Come out and put your tongue in it, George ... put your tongue in it and roll it around ... put your cock in it, George, just slide it in ... “
 

He thought of Karen ... of Robby and Jen ... of Christmases and Thanksgivings ... school plays and recitals ... of Robby’s birth ... he even thought of Laura.
 

Lorelle giggled as she dragged her fingernails slowly down the other side of the plastic.
 

* * * *

Karen lay on the bed in the guest room with the door closed and locked, stroking Monroe gently. The cat was curled up on her stomach, purring like an idling engine, as if he hadn't been less than an inch from bloody injury and most likely death only a short time ago.
 

"What am I going to do, Monroe?" Karen whispered.
 

The cat didn't even stir.
 

"What ... am I going ... to –"
 

There were three short taps on the window pane.
 

Karen's head jerked to the right and looked up at the rectangular window. The white shade was down and the light-blue curtains were half drawn.
 

Three more staccato taps.
 

She felt her heartbeat in her fingertips.
 

Monroe protested with a half-hearted meow when Karen sat up and lifted him off her. She swung her legs off the bed, stood and stared at the window.
 

More gentle tapping.
 

Karen could see a hazy, dark shape through the white shade. She stepped forward, reached out a trembling hand and almost jerked it back and hurried out of the room. Instead, she tugged on the shade. It snapped up with a clatter and –
 

 
– Karen stumbled backward with a gasp and whispered, "Lorelle!"
 

She was naked beneath a sheer black cloak that fluttered around her gracefully in the breeze. Her hands rested between her breasts where she held the cloak together. Lorelle's voice was dulled by the pane of glass, but Karen still heard her.
 

"I thought you were coming over, Karen," she said.
 

"Well, I ... I-I ... "
 

"I've been waiting for you."
 

Karen inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, then said in a trembling voice, "I'm suh-sorry, but I had to stay with ... I, um, I
need
to stay with my family."
 

"Why?"
 

Karen's eyes snapped open. "What?"
 

"What's holding you to your family, Karen? The children are old enough to take care of themselves. Robby's not even yours. And your husband ... well, things will never be the same with him, will they? He’ll never do for you what a woman can do ... what
I
can do."
 

“Please stop," Karen said, turning her back to the window and crossing the room.
 

"He'll never make you feel the way you felt with me."
 

"Don't." Karen put her face in her hands, fighting the urge to turn and look at Lorelle, to drink her in with her eyes. "Please don't do this to me," Karen whispered.
 

"I'm not doing anything to you. But I want to. Look."
 

Karen didn't move.
 

"Please, Karen. Look."
 

She turned cautiously.
 

Lorelle had pulled the cloak away from her left breast and was fingering the small silver earring that hung from her pierced nipple.
 

"I wore it for you," she said as she placed a hand on the glass and moved closer, closer, until the earring chattered against the pane, until her breasts were pressed flat to the glass.
 

"Please ... go away," Karen breathed.
 

"You don't want me to go away. You want me to touch you ... "
 

"No, please ... "
 

" ... and lick you ... "
 

" ... go away ... "
 

" ... but I can't do any of those things until you come to me, Karen. Do you hear me?"
 

Karen closed her eyes.
 

"Come to me, Karen ... come to me ... "
 

Karen covered her face with her hands again and cried.
 

* * * *

Robby had not left the dining room table. He sat with his back to the sliding glass door, unaware of the mist blanketing the back lawn. He'd eaten nothing for breakfast or lunch and was beginning to feel a few pangs of hunger, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. Not yet. Somehow, the idea of food was not appealing, no matter how hungry he felt.
 

He didn't know how long it had been since Pastor Quillerman had left, but he wished the man would get back soon. How long would it be before Lorelle began trying to lure them over to her house again? To what lengths would she go? And what would she do to
him
?
 

Robby had seen her with her guard down, as she really was. He knew the truth about her and, unlike Ronald Prosky, he was still alive to share it with others.
 

What would she –
 

"Robby?"
 

He jumped to his feet so suddenly, he knocked the chair over. When he spun around, he saw Lorelle outside the glass door. She stood naked in a mist that surrounded her ankles and curled up the back of her body, its tendrils caressing her calves, hips and back.
 

She smiled and said, "Are you glad to see me?" Her eyes moved slowly down his body, then: "Or is that a gerbil in you pants?"
 

He looked down at himself and was surprised to see that he did, indeed, have an erection. He'd been too frightened to feel it growing. When he looked at her again, her fingers were snaking through the hair between her legs.
 

"Come on over, Robby," she said. "We'll have some fun."
 

He tried to speak but couldn't, so he just shook his head.
 

"Why not?"
 

"You know why not."
 

"Aaww, c'mon." She rattled four fingernails against the glass.
 

Her skin looked so smooth. The very sight of her stirred vivid memories – more like actual
sensations
– of the things they'd done together.
 

Her nails rattled, her tongue peeked out the corner of her mouth, her hand continued to move as she lifted one leg slightly. "Come over, Robby. Come over and play ... “
 

Robby spun around, eyes wide, placed both palms flat on the tabletop and breathed, "It won’t work. I know what you are ... what you
really
are.”
 

The glare from the clouded sky outside was swallowed up suddenly by a shadow that rose up from behind Robby.
 

The sound of Lorelle's nails tapping against the glass lost its delicacy and became loud and sharp, sounding dangerously close to breaking the glass.
 

A familiar voice – wet, thick and inhuman – said "Raaaawww-beee." The nails scratched over the glass with a horrible, shrill sound ... a grinding sound ...
 

“Go away!” he shouted, eyes tightly shut. “You’re not here! We know what you are!”
 

"I'll suck your
cock
, Raaww-beee."
 

“Go
away
!”
 

“I'll suck your cock out by the
roots
, Raaww-beee."
 

The glare from outside returned. The shadow was gone. So was the horrible scratching against the glass. Robby opened his eyes and spun around. Lorelle had disappeared.
 

Walking unsteadily and taking deep, tremulous breaths, Robby went down the hall to help his dad cover the hole in the bedroom wall...
 

Chapter 19

A Voice Crying in the Neighborhood

In the dreary light of the afternoon, a battered white pickup truck with an old silver camper shell on the back moved down Deerfield at a crawl. On the driver's door was  written CHRISTIAN FELLOWSHIP NON-DENOMINATIONAL CHURCH, and attached to the top of the pickup was a large, gray, bell-shaped speaker.
 

In spite of the fact that the pickup was moving suspiciously slowly, no one paid it any attention, not even George and Robby, who were cleaning up the chunks of wood and glass scattered over the front lawn. The mist had grown patchy but still hovered and drifted over the ground in places. Both George and Robby thought it odd, having never seen such a mist in their neighborhood, but both had other things on their mind.
 

They'd agreed to ignore the reporters as if they weren’t there, and they did. Questions were called, but George and Robby did not respond or even look at the reporters. They’d said little to each other since coming out to put another tarpaulin over the hole on the outside of the house, but they exchanged an occasional smile and moved around one another with much more ease than either of them had felt in the last few days.
 

Jen came outside wearing jeans and a sweater, hugging herself against the chill. "If you guys're hungry," she said timidly, never quite meeting their eyes, "Mom’s got some stew on the stove. She’s asleep in the guest room now, but if you want some, I’ll get it for you. I know I'm hungry."
 

"Sure," George said. "That sounds good."
 

After Jen went back inside, a deep, resonant voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once suddenly called out, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am Pastor Jeremy Quillerman, and I'd like you to listen to me for a moment if you would."
 

George and Robby noticed the truck then. So did the reporters. They turned to the pickup, watched it a moment, then headed in that direction.
 

"What I have to say is in your best interest,” Quillerman said.
 

After exchanging a couple of confused glances, George and Robby removed their heavy work gloves as they headed across the yard toward the pickup.
 

"You are all in great danger." Quillerman’s voice resonated through the neighborhood. He stopped the pickup and rolled down his window when George and Robby approached.
 

"What are you doing?" George asked with a mixture of bewilderment and annoyance.
 

"I'm talking to your neighbors," he said with a smile. "I don't think it would be wise to go door-to-door because, for one thing, it would take too long and, for another, it wouldn't be safe. Think about the emotional climate in your own house, and about what happened just a couple of houses down. These people are on edge. But they need to hear what we know. That's the only way they're going to be able to resist her."
 

George winced, uncomfortable with the idea, then asked "In front of the reporters?"
 

He closed his eyes and nodded. "In front of the reporters."
 

"But ... what if somebody calls the police? I mean, you'd be disturbing the peace and –"
 

"I realize that, and it's a possibility, but the police aren't here now, and this needs to be done."
 

"Where did you get that?" Robby asked, nodding toward the horn on top of the pickup.
 

"It belongs to the church. We used to use it at Christmas time. We'd drive around the neighborhoods playing carols while church members went door to door gathering food for the needy. Then the city passed a law prohibiting the horn, so we put it away. Till now."
 

"Shit, it
is
illegal," George said.
 

"Let me worry about that. You worry about your family."
 

Pastor Quillerman rolled up his window and the pickup began to move again.
 

"Well," George said softly as he watched the truck, his face long and pale, "that ought to wake your mother.”
 

* * * *

The afternoon began its dreary descent into evening as the pickup crept up and down Deerfield. Pastor Quillerman spoke to the neighborhood about Lorelle Dupree without actually mentioning her name.
 

"You are all in great danger," he said, "and I think you know it. Many of you have recently become involved with a woman who lives on your street.”
 

The reporters rushed toward the truck with their cameramen behind them, cameras hefted on their shoulders, but Quillerman only increased his speed a bit and drove by them, giving in to a small smirk as he watched them in his side view mirror, staring after him and frowning with frustration. Then he lifted the microphone and continued, his eyes darting all around him as he drove.
 

He'd noticed the mist when he arrived and he didn't like it. It didn't act like any mist he'd seen in the Redding area before – it moved around in an odd way and, unless he was mistaken, he'd seen it move independent of the breeze. He'd just driven across town and back and had seen no fog or mist anywhere – it did not stretch beyond Deerfield.