City Infernal (12 page)
Authors: Edward Lee
Dressing for the rural south in the summer was a challenge (the environment simply wasn’t
her).
Back in D.C., at this point, she’d scarcely look Goth at all, not with the evident sunburn that was slowly peeling to a tan. And wearing black only amplified the heat. Today she settled for a black bikini top and black denim skirt. Flipflops, she supposed, would remain the exclusive footwear of the season. At least the sun seemed to bleach her already bleached hair, which softened the lime-green highlights.
I’ll get used to all of this eventually,
she assured herself.
her).
Back in D.C., at this point, she’d scarcely look Goth at all, not with the evident sunburn that was slowly peeling to a tan. And wearing black only amplified the heat. Today she settled for a black bikini top and black denim skirt. Flipflops, she supposed, would remain the exclusive footwear of the season. At least the sun seemed to bleach her already bleached hair, which softened the lime-green highlights.
I’ll get used to all of this eventually,
she assured herself.
But now, as she descended past the somber statues that lined the stairwell, she considered her immediate assignment.
Bones.
This request baffled her even more than the request for birthstones—but she oddly refused to question it. Once downstairs, she began to sneak around without fully realizing it, as if she didn’t want to be seen. A glance out into the back court showed her father attempting to teach Mrs. Conner how to hit golf balls.
Cozy,
she thought with some sarcasm.
Cozy,
she thought with some sarcasm.
My father doesn’t really have the hots for her, does he?
Another glance out the front bow windows showed her Jervis edging around the flowerbeds.
Another glance out the front bow windows showed her Jervis edging around the flowerbeds.
Perfect.
She rushed to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, then the freezer.
Great,
she thought dully. No bones. Not even a steak or a pack of frozen chicken. She really didn’t want to walk all the way into town just to root through the dumpster at the local greasy spoon.
Great,
she thought dully. No bones. Not even a steak or a pack of frozen chicken. She really didn’t want to walk all the way into town just to root through the dumpster at the local greasy spoon.
Wait....
Via had said
any
kind of bones, hadn’t she?
any
kind of bones, hadn’t she?
“Well,” Cassie talked to herself. “Here goes.”
Next, she was on her knees without forethought, rummaging through the bag-lined kitchen waste-basket.
Boy, wouldn’t this look great if someone
walked
in right now? Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just looking for some bones. Why? Because the dead kids living upstairs told me to.
But in another moment—her nose scrinched up against the smett—she found her bones.
Boy, wouldn’t this look great if someone
walked
in right now? Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just looking for some bones. Why? Because the dead kids living upstairs told me to.
But in another moment—her nose scrinched up against the smett—she found her bones.
The bones from the catfish her father had caught yesterday. He’d fileted them, and here were the bones, heads still attached.
She washed the long spines off in the sink as best she could, then wrapped them in foil and put them in a bag. When she went out into the garage, to hide the bag until nightfall, she made another discovery. On a rear shelf, beside weed-killers and bottles of Ortho-Gro, she spotted a sack of bonemeal that Jervis used to fertilize the flowerbeds.
Bones are bones,
she reasoned.
Bones are bones,
she reasoned.
She emptied several cupfuls into her bag.
That should do it.
She hid the bag behind some unpacked moving boxes, then went outside.
All she had to do now was wait until—
Chapter Five
(I)The tall, chain-driven grandfather clock in the foyer struck midnight, its twelve crisp peals ringing musically throughout the depths of Blackwell Hall. But as unobtrusive as the sound may have been, it surely startled Jervis Conner—to the point that he’d nearly shouted. He bit down on his lip, cursing to himself. If he’d made even the slightest sound, that would be it for this cush job, and he’d probably even get a chance to check back in to the slam for another month or two.
Of course, this bitch wasn’t
a minor, not like those little sweeties he’d been peeping back when he’d been a janitor at Luntville Middle School. Talk about a great gig for a Short Eyes. Jervis had simply cut a hole in the air duct on the other side of the shower wall. Stuck his head right up there and got himself an eyeful of all those little white stringbeans frolicking around in the showers after gym class. Jervis was inventive: he’d rigged some sheet metal with magnets to cover up the hole when he was done, a perfect fit. Too bad the vice-principal had caught him, literally, with his pants down.
a minor, not like those little sweeties he’d been peeping back when he’d been a janitor at Luntville Middle School. Talk about a great gig for a Short Eyes. Jervis had simply cut a hole in the air duct on the other side of the shower wall. Stuck his head right up there and got himself an eyeful of all those little white stringbeans frolicking around in the showers after gym class. Jervis was inventive: he’d rigged some sheet metal with magnets to cover up the hole when he was done, a perfect fit. Too bad the vice-principal had caught him, literally, with his pants down.
This bitch Cassie was twenty or twenty-one, but Jervis doubted that that fact, at this point, would urge a judge to be very lenient. He knew he’d have to be very careful from here on.
First couple weeks working at the house, he’d gotten some great peeps on her. If you stood at the end of the hall and hid around the corner, you could look right into the back end of her room if she left her door open (and she almost
always
left her door open). Better still was that the angle let his glance shoot straight into the bathroom (and she almost always left that door open too). He’d seen her buck naked in the shower at least ten times now. Problem was it was a tad too far for Jervis’ liking, and if someone came up the stairs while he was peeping, he could get caught.
always
left her door open). Better still was that the angle let his glance shoot straight into the bathroom (and she almost always left that door open too). He’d seen her buck naked in the shower at least ten times now. Problem was it was a tad too far for Jervis’ liking, and if someone came up the stairs while he was peeping, he could get caught.
And, well, there was a third problem too, but Jervis guessed it was just paranoia. The comer he’d always hide behind was right next to the stairwell that led up to that funny room with the round window. Jervis had used that room a bunch of times, to take care of his need after a peep, but to tell the truth, he always had the weird feeling that someone was watching him. The house creeped him out bad enough during the day. But now, at night—at
midnight
—it was ten times worse. Not that Jervis was squeamish, mind you.
midnight
—it was ten times worse. Not that Jervis was squeamish, mind you.
He just couldn’t lick the idea that someone was there, someone in the shadows, looking at him.
Forget that crap,
he ordered himself. It would ruin the peep, and peepers had it tough enough to begin with.
he ordered himself. It would ruin the peep, and peepers had it tough enough to begin with.
He didn’t feel the least bit guilty, by the way—peep—ing on chicks and such. Figured he deserved it, figured that life owed him a little spark now and then. Growing up in this hot sinkhole of a town, busting his ass in one pissant low-pay shit job after another for his whole life? It wasn’t like he was knocking over banks or selling crack to nine-year-olds like they did in the city. It wasn’t like he was killing folks. He was just taking a peek at pretty things and fetchin’ some pleasure out of it. The way he saw it, it was God who made gals good-lookin’, so what harm could there be in taking a gander and appreciating the fine-looking things that God made? Seemed a right fucked up, it did, that looking at God’s creations could be a blammed
crime
that could land Jervis’ fat can right back in jail with the winos and punks and crooks, with the
real
criminals. It just didn’t seem fair, not one dang bit.
crime
that could land Jervis’ fat can right back in jail with the winos and punks and crooks, with the
real
criminals. It just didn’t seem fair, not one dang bit.
To hail with the law,
he resigned.
I’ll take my chances.
he resigned.
I’ll take my chances.
Today Cassie had kept her door closed whenever she was in her room, and that rightly pissed Jervis off because after seeing her this morning—in the practically see-through little nightie—he’d about gone nuts.
But he’d already been working on a fix.
Most of the walls in the house weren’t fashioned from sheetrock; they were wood slats with plaster, and wallpaper, while Cassie’s walls were paneled. The smaller room next to Cassie’s had a big closet with one end broken out. For days Jervis had been slipping into that opening for a little handiwork with his hand-drill and a tiny eighth-of-an-inch bit. He’d gingerly located a slat-seam in the closet that directly adjoined to a seam on Cassie’s wood paneling. Just a few tiny holes per day had eventually formed an inch-long line indiscernible to the eye.
But
Jervis’
eye struck Peeping Tom pay dirt.
Jervis’
eye struck Peeping Tom pay dirt.
Kneeling at the gap, he could see right over her big four-poster bed and into the bathroom.
He’d snuck back into the house after dropping his mother off when the work day was done, and now here he was again, hunkered down and waiting in the dark. No one knew he was here, and that secret titillated him; it made him feel charged by some weird hidden kind of power over others: that he could peep on them as he pleased, and they never knew it. Usually Cassie went to bed about ten, and Jervis wanted to be ready when she undressed and slipped into one of those tight foxy nighties. Or maybe she’d do him a
real
favor and sleep nude. In this heat?
Come on, baby! Get nek-it!
real
favor and sleep nude. In this heat?
Come on, baby! Get nek-it!
The gig was great. Good money for not a whole lot of work, plus the eye-candy on the side. The kid and her old man didn’t fit in out here at all—rich cityfolk, with their weird city ways—but what did Jervis care?
If they want to live in this big creepy place, that’s their business.
Most of the furniture had stayed in the place for the whole time it was closed up; the ghost stories kept the thieves away. Jervis didn’t believe in ghosts, but he loved the stories. (On the other hand, he’d never quite summoned the balls to come up here and steal himself.) The old man was cool, Jervis supposed—a bit stiff sometimes, but he generally paid twice what the work was worth. And his kid?
If they want to live in this big creepy place, that’s their business.
Most of the furniture had stayed in the place for the whole time it was closed up; the ghost stories kept the thieves away. Jervis didn’t believe in ghosts, but he loved the stories. (On the other hand, he’d never quite summoned the balls to come up here and steal himself.) The old man was cool, Jervis supposed—a bit stiff sometimes, but he generally paid twice what the work was worth. And his kid?
Pure fuckin’ angelfood cake.
Skin like hot white chocolate and big cherry bonbons for nipples. And all that skimpy black pinko weirdo shit she wore was just the ticket for any redneck voyeur. Jervis didn’t care for that whacked-out Goth crap she listened to; he’d snuck into her room a few times when she was out and looked at her CD covers. Mostly fellas dressing up like gals and wearing make-up and the like. He’d take Charlie Daniels any day. Didn’t matter to him, though, what kind of shit she listened to. Jervis just wanted to see the tits and the cookie, and that trim white stomach and little bellybutton that just made him want to haul back and do a rebel yell—with his hand in his pants of course.
The life of a voyeur was intricate and bizarre.
But after almost three hours up here, kneeling in the musty closet with his eye to his peephole, Jervis wasn’t getting much in the way of treats.
She sat around on her bed or at her desk in a jean skirt and fancified black bikini top, mostly listening to that hippie Goth crap or reading books. Jervis would’ve liked the short jeans—except the denim was black.
Black denim?
he thought.
Dumbest-ass thing I ever done seen. These freaky Goth kids, all they ever wear is fuckin’ BLACK!
Nor did he care for the diminutive rainbow tattoo over her cute little bellybutton. It seemed like vandalism, like spray paint on a gorgeous canvas. Why did gals these days insist on messin’ up their bods with all that hippie tattoo business?
Black denim?
he thought.
Dumbest-ass thing I ever done seen. These freaky Goth kids, all they ever wear is fuckin’ BLACK!
Nor did he care for the diminutive rainbow tattoo over her cute little bellybutton. It seemed like vandalism, like spray paint on a gorgeous canvas. Why did gals these days insist on messin’ up their bods with all that hippie tattoo business?
Time just kept ticking by. Would she ever get undressed and go to bed?
Aw, come on! Let’s get down to it!
At ten o’clock, she gave no indication of turning in. Jervis heard her saying goodnight to her father out in the hall, heard the old man go to bed himself, but after that she just came back to her room listening to more of that weirdo music. At least now she listened with headphones, so Jervis didn’t have to hear all the groaning and screaming lyrics about the anti-Christ superstar or some such shit, and kids killing themselves. But Jervis was pretty much trapped in the lightless closet, and wouldn’t be able to head back home until after she’d gone to sleep.
Which it didn’t look like she had any intention of doing.
Come on, you yellow-hairt little city bitch! I ain’t got all night! Get them clothes off and give Jervis some stroke time!
It seemed, then, he’d get his wish. She took off her headphones, looked at her watch, and stood up.
Get that shit RIGHT OFF! I want that dumbass-looking black skirt ON THE FLOOR! Get that bra and little panties the fuck OFF!
That’s when the clock downstairs struck midnight.
It almost seemed like a signal. When the clock struck, Cassie turned off the light and left the room.
Daaaaaaag-NABIT!
Jervis remained kneeling in the dark, knees aching—with nothing for his effort.
He could hear her going down the hall, her flipflops flopping. Then the flopping stopped at what he guessed must be the landing.
He didn’t hear her go down.
Very carefully. he rose, hoping his knees wouldn’t crack. He tiptoed to the door and knelt again, at the old-fashioned keyhole. He looked out.
There she was, standing at the landing, right next to the other stairwell that led up to the oculus room.
He knew it was his imagination—simply compounded by the dark and the late hour—but for a moment he actually thought he heard footsteps coming down from the oculus room.
Naw, that’s silly. There ain’t no one up there.
Naw, that’s silly. There ain’t no one up there.
How could there be?
Yet Cassie remained standing there, looking up now, as if waiting for someone to come down....
He heard her whisper: “My father’s asleep. We can go now.”
But no one else stood on the landing.
Now who in the HAIL is she talkin’ to?
Cassie turned on the barely-lit landing, began to descend the stairs to the first floor.
She was alone.
But she continued to whisper, and the last thing Jervis thought he heard her say was:
“Don’t worry, I got ’em. I got the bones....”
(II)Via, Xeke, and Hush arrived as they’d said, at midnight. Midnight was the best time for a “Pass,” Cassie was told, simply due to the human meaning it had accrued over the last millennia. “Where we live, Etherics are tangible,” Xeke had said aside. “What’s cosmic or spiritual in your world is hard science in ours.”
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