He couldn't see where Mike had disappeared, way up in the hills. The water was still pouring into the swimming pool; he could hear the gurgling and splashing noises.
The pool would do, for what he wanted. He had the plastic bottle that he'd brought with him the first time. It was empty now. All he had to do was scoot out to the side of the pool, stick the bottle under the stream of water gushing from the hole, fill it up, and stick the cap on.
Doot hesitated before stepping away from the side of the building. There was no telling where Mike was right now, not the way he'd been bouncing around. And even if he were still up in the hills, he might be keeping an eye on whatever was going on down here. One way or the other, Doot didn't want the guy catching him sneaking around. He didn't trust people with glittering speed-freak eyes like that. They tended to get bent out of shape over all kinds of small shit.
He drew back from the corner of the building and sighted toward the other side. The burned-out wing: he could get back in there-and that way Mike's girlfriend wouldn't see what he was up to-and hit the little room with the spigots and basins in there. That struck him as being the safest way to go. He took a quick glance around, then headed for the blackened end of the building.
***
They walked higher in the hills, the dry weeds scrabbling at their legs. The sun lengthened their shadows. At the crest of the next ridge, Nelder stopped and looked back. Far below them, the clinic building looked like a doll house.
Mike stood beside him. waiting. There might be more the old man knew; he needed to hear it. To know everything.
A hot breeze kicked up around them, carrying away dust and Nelder's quiet, uninflected voice.
"You'd be smart," said the old man, "if you left now." The sunglasses gazed out over the brown landscape. "You've tasted it."
Mike laughed. "Are you kidding?" He shook his head, grinning.
Nelder glanced over at him, then looked away again. "It's not a good thing." His voice had gone softer. "I've been here a long time. I know what the water can do. It affects people… different ways. The weak and the strong." He fell silent for a moment. Then, in a whisper: "It wants things."
The silence spread, wrapping around the earth. Mike lifted his gaze, hearing nothing. Except his own hushed voice: "What is it?"
Nelder shook his head. "It's old. Older than men. Perhaps…" The black lenses turned toward Mike. "Perhaps it made men… made them different from what they were. In the oceans, or where the forests were always dark…" A slow rapture had entered the old man's voice. "Perhaps it found us there, and taught us…"
The spell broke, like the stem of a wineglass snapping.
This old fucker
… Mike kept his thoughts to himself.
Senile old bastard
.
"Maybe you've been out here a little too long, if you ask me."
The old man remained silent. He'd delivered his warning.
Mike rubbed the corner of his eye. "Maybe I've been out here too long. Shit, starting to see things…"
That brought Nelder's gaze around. "Like what?"
He shrugged. "Things… strange things. At night. Like I'm dreaming-but it's not dreaming. It's like they're real. Things that happened here. Like a long time ago." He looked back at Nelder, studying him. "But you were there, too. So it must've been just dreaming." He shook his head. "I don't know…"
"That's bad." The black glasses regarded him, two dark mirrors. "It likes you."
"What're you talking about?"
The mirrors of the black lenses held unmoving. "The water. That's what it does when it finds somebody… it likes. That it can do things for. That it can do things
with
.
Then it shows them… things/' Nelder looked back toward the distant building. "That's what it did to me."
Mike barked a quick, scornful laugh. "Yeah, right. If you say so."
Crazy old fuck
. His own voice slowed, brooding. "All I know is there's things
I
want. And now I can get them. Those fucking punks…" An edge rasped below the words. "Those shits dumped me out there to die. Those sonsabitches…"
His face had darkened, the fury building underneath. Suddenly, he squinted and blinked, as though the bright sunlight had become too much for him. He reached up and rubbed his eyes. When he took his hand away, he stared at it.
The tips of his fingers were smeared with blood.
He rubbed his eyes again. Now he could feel it, the warm wetness leaking out like tears. The blood on his fingertips glistened red in the sun.
Nelder looked over at him, at the mask of blood streaked down from the corners of Mike's eyes and across his cheeks. Nelder's thin, weary nonsmile rose again.
"Just a little side effect." The old man tilted his head. "You're going to have to watch your temper from now on."
Mike gazed at his own hands, the smeared blood already drying. For a moment, he felt his stomach growing queasy; then it passed.
Blood was no big thing. He'd seen plenty of it.
Something moved in the hills above, a lean canine shape. The memory of the eyes glinting red in the night troubled him; he scooped up a rock and threw it.
"Get out of here, you fucker! Get out-"
Nelder reached up and restrained his arm before he could pick up another stone.
"You shouldn't do that." The old man gazed into the hills. The animal had disappeared. "They've been around here a long time, too. A
long
time. You could learn from them."
His anger, prodded by the remembrance of fear, simmered lower.
"Yeah," Mike nodded. "Okay. Watch my temper…"
***
Everything looked clear. Doot flattened himself against the corridor wall, checking it out. He couldn't see or hear anybody around, all the way down to the doors that led off to the lobby. He pushed himself away from the bricks and plaster, and slipped into the room on the other side.
The floor was still wet, with inky patches on the tiles, but most of the standing water had drained away. The room still smelled like sulfur, and worse.
He crossed over to the stone basin, the one in which they'd found Mike passed out. The spigot at the end dripped slowly, a couple of seconds between each fall and tiny splatter. He glanced over his shoulder at the door, then reached and turned the spigot's handle. It creaked through its stiffening layers of rust, then gave way. A thin stream poured out.
Catching a bit in his palm, he held it under his nose and sniffed. It smelled even more rotten up close. He rubbed his hand dry on his shirt, then picked up the plastic water bottle from where he'd set it on the floor. The water splashed inside the bottle, darkening the white plastic, as he held it under the spigot. As the bottle filled, the water gurgled, slowly changing pitch. It almost sounded like laughing.
When the water was up within an inch of the bottle's neck, he screwed the cap on and turned off the spigot. He tucked the bottle under his arm and hurried toward the steps leading up to the door.
He was strapping the bottle onto the motorbike's rack when he felt somebody behind him. He'd left his denim jacket on the seat, and now he pulled that over the bottle to hide it.
"Taking off?" It was Mike's voice.
He turned around and saw Mike come walking from the side of the building. Mike's face was damp, as well as that green hospital-type shirt he'd put on; he looked as if he'd scrubbed himself, maybe at the edge of the swimming pool, and then used the shirt to wipe off the inky water.
Doot nodded. "Yeah. I got some stuff to take care of."
"I meant what I said." Mike squinted against the sun, his eyes red-rimmed. "You do a few things for me, and I'll make it worth your while." He dug into his pocket and pulled out some money, bills folded over. "We're going to need a few things around here-food, something to drink. You know, like you've already been bringing out."
He took the money from Mike's hand. The guy hadn't had it before, he was pretty sure; it must've been some that Lindy had brought with her. He tucked it into his own pocket.
Mike peered at him. "Nobody knows I'm out here, do they? I mean, you haven't told anybody."
Doot shook his head.
"We likely to see anyone?"
Another shake. "Nobody ever comes around here."
Satisfied, Mike nodded. "Good-let's keep it that way." He turned and walked back toward the clinic building.
Doot waited until the guy had gone inside before he snugged the jacket under the bungee cord. Then he climbed on the motorbike and fired it up. The empty landscape swallowed the bike's rasp and the clattering echo from the front of the building. In a couple of seconds a dust cloud was rolling up behind as he headed down the lane to the road.
***
She was waiting for him. She had cleaned herself up, put on a change of clothes from the suitcase. Making herself nice for him. That was one of her major job skills.
Mike stood at the edge of the blankets, looking down at Lindy. She had also helped herself to the stash, what was left in the case. Lying on her back, one hand flopped to the side, palm upward-she was out cold. Or as close to it as didn't matter. Mouth open, breathing slow.
Her eyelids trembled but didn't open when he touched her. He pushed her top across her stomach and higher, exposing her breasts. His hand curved around one, the ball of his thumb stroking the nipple. She made a small sound as she drew her breath deeper, her back arching up from the blanket beneath her. He watched, noting her reactions with clinical detachment.
He took his hand from her breast and laid the point of his forefinger in the middle of her sternum, just underneath the rucked-up edge of her top. Then he drew a slow line down, dragging his finger between her breasts, all the way to her navel; just hard enough to leave a white trace on her skin, which slowly turned pink again.
For a few minutes longer, he sat beside her, watching. She shifted uncomfortably, as though the sharp point of his gaze had penetrated her fog.
The dreaming… The memory of it came back to him. Of that other woman, who had smiled and touched herself. Deeper inside. Offering herself to him, where the red flesh trembled and grew warm from the blood flowing beneath…
Just like being back in med school. He smiled, thinking about it. Like being in anatomy class, only instead of the cold cadaver of some street creep with a cirrhotic liver, something warm and soft, that moved and breathed. That yielded to the soft probing of the knife, welcoming it, drawing it inside her, the red moisture touching his hand…
He let his smile fade. Sitting back from her, he folded his arms on his knees.
Nice and easy
… The old man's voice, whispering inside his head.
There were some other things he had to take care of first. And then he was going to think about this some more. About red, soft things that moved and breathed.
He promised himself. Resting his chin on his forearm and gazing at the sleeping woman-
real soon.
He nodded, his chin rubbing against his arm. There was a lot he was going to think about.
SEVENTEEN
The screen door slammed behind Doot as he stepped into the house, out of the baking afternoon sun and into the relative cool. At least it was quiet in here now.
Back when Lindy had shown up and asked for him-that golden moment-he'd managed to clear off Garza and the rest of his buddies. They'd been too dazzled by the sight in the flesh of a total number like her, as though she'd stepped out of the TV screen, to have put up any argument. Not just dazzled, but even a little scared-Doot still got a kick out of that, just thinking about it. What'd they think she was going to do, eat 'em up with her little white teeth? Christ, you would've thought they'd
volunteer
for that.
Maybe it was the fear of the unknown. There were a couple of girls in the high school who tried to pull it off, but you knew that underneath the hard-edged makeup and the drop-dead expressions, they were the same ones you'd gone through grade school with, back when they'd been scheming on getting their first training bras.
There were still bits of party debris around, though.
An empty beer can clattered away when his foot hit it. He'd have to finish getting this place cleared up and aired out-it still smelled like stale cigarette smoke and spilled beer-before his dad got back. Though if his dad showed up and the place still smelled like the Lysol atom bomb had gone off, he'd know that something had gone on here. Not to mention the dead giveaway of the missing cases of beer.
Shit
-he'd have to think about it later. Right now he had something else on his mind. He carried the plastic water bottle, its contents sloshing back and forth, back to his bedroom.
A big utility table, the kind with the metal legs that folded up if anybody wanted to move it, served as a desk. It practically stretched from one side of the bedroom to the other; its whole six-foot length was covered with books and magazines, paper and all the other crap he accumulated. The good stuff, like all those library discards that Anne had paid a nickel apiece for and given to him-stacks of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, a beat-up Kafka collection-had all sunk with their own weight through the levels, leaving a bunch of
Playboys
and silly-ass comic books floating on the surface. People around here thought that if you read
The Dark Knight
,
it made you an intellectual.