Creature (35 page)

That’s when she’d tried to explain what had happened, tried to explain that from the moment Mark had come home that day, there was something different about him, something more than the changes that had been taking place over the last few weeks. “There was a look in his eye,” she said. “And when I told him I don’t want him going back to Martin Ames, he just went crazy.”

Blake had stared at her then. “You told him
what?”
he echoed.

“You heard me,” she’d said, her voice dropping, unwilling to have Kelly—who’d gone up to her own room after announcing she didn’t want any dinner—overhear what would probably develop into an argument.

She’d been right. It had gone back and forth as she’d prepared dinner, and when finally she and Blake had sat alone at the table in the kitchen, it had continued. Finally Blake pushed his plate aside and tossed his napkin onto the table.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “You don’t have any idea of what Ames is doing, but you’re convinced that it’s some kind of terrible experimental program that’s turning our kids into monsters. And you won’t let me discipline my own son, even
after what he did this afternoon.” He’d stared at her for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was uneven. “What the hell do you want me to do, Sharon?”

She had looked up at him pleadingly. “I want you to agree that he won’t go back to Ames until we know what’s going on out there. And I don’t want you to start punishing him for something I’m absolutely certain he didn’t intend to do.”

Blake had regarded her speculatively for a moment. “And how are we going to do that?” he asked, his voice cool. “Am I supposed to go out there and confront Ames? Tell him you think he’s some kind of modern Mengele and demand to see all his medical data? Hell, I wouldn’t even understand whatever he might tell me!”

“But you understood enough to let him start medicating Mark, didn’t you?” Sharon demanded, her voice bitter.

That’s what had set Blake off. “Yes, I did, damn it!” he exploded. “And it hasn’t hurt Mark at all. He’s in better shape than he’s ever been in. I should think you’d be pleased about it.”

She’d almost told Blake about the mice then, but had quickly changed her mind. It wasn’t so much that she’d stolen them from his own company, but that in his present mood he only would have mocked her further, then demanded to know what she’d done with the mice. And if she told him she’d given them to MacCallum …

She shuddered inwardly, remembering his rage a year ago when he discovered a program he’d been about to market had been leaked to a competitor, who’d cloned it—with a few improvements—and then beaten TarrenTech to the marketplace.

Since dinner they’d barely spoken to each other, but the tension of the argument, heightened by Mark’s failure to emerge from his room at all, still hung over them.

“All right,” she sighed. “We won’t talk about it, then. Good night.” She stood up and started out of the room, Blake’s eyes following her. But it wasn’t until she was at the door that he spoke.

“You want me to come with you?” he asked uncertainly.

Sharon turned back to face him. “I never thought I’d hear myself saying this, but if I can’t talk to you, I certainly have no desire to sleep with you. Maybe you’d better stay down here tonight.”

Blake made no reply at all as she left the den and started up the stairs.

She paused outside Mark’s door, as she’d done twice before that evening. As before, she could hear no sounds from within, yet she was certain he wasn’t asleep. Indeed, she could almost picture him lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his hands folded behind his head. Should she leave him alone, or go in and try to talk to him?

After hesitating, she tapped softly at the door. For several seconds there was no answer. Then she heard Mark’s voice. “It’s not locked.”.

She twisted the knob and pushed the door open, gasping at the sight of the wreckage. Clothes, bedding, feathers—the chaos was everywhere. The dresser drawers were scattered around the room, and the lamp still lay in the corner where Mark had flung it. She bit her lip, forcing herself to ignore the damage. “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice gentle. She moved to the bed, where Mark was sprawled facedown on the bare mattress. As she touched his shoulder, he rolled away and lay on his back, looking bleakly up at her.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said. “It—It was like there was someone else inside me. I didn’t want to hit you, Mom. I—I just couldn’t help myself.”

Sharon’s eyes closed for a moment and she felt them sting with hot tears. “It’s all right, darling,” she said, her voice quavering.

Mark sat up straight and shook off the hand she had once more extended toward him. “It is not!” he said. “It’s not all right at all. I killed Chivas, Mom! I killed my own dog!” His own eyes filled with tears then, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “What’s wrong with me?” he demanded.

Once again Sharon tried to reach out to him, but he
swung his feet off the bed and stood up. As he looked down at her, she saw again a strange light in his eyes—the same dark glow of fury she’d seen in the kitchen earlier. “M-Mark?” she asked. “Mark, what’s happening?”

Mark backed away from her. “I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “It—Mom, it’s starting to happen again.”

Sharon was on her feet now, too. “What, Mark? What’s happening?”

But Mark only shook his head and edged toward the door. “I’ve got to go, Mom. I’ve got to get out of here!”

“Mark, wait!” Sharon pleaded, but it was too late. He was already out of the room, then she heard him pounding down the stairs. By the time she got to the top of the stairs herself, he was at the hall closet, rummaging in it for a jacket. He stared up at her briefly, his eyes burning. Then he was gone, the front door slamming behind him.

A moment later Blake emerged from the den, peering up the stairs at his wife. “What the hell’s going on around here?” he demanded. “Was that Mark?”

Sharon nodded. “Something’s wrong with him, Blake,” she said. “When I went in, he was all right for a minute, but then he just went crazy again.”

Blake’s brow furrowed. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing!” Sharon exclaimed. “I just wanted to tell him that I wasn’t angry at him, to let him know I love him. And he was so unhappy. Blake, you should have seen him! And then all of a sudden …” She struggled for a moment, searching for the right words, then gave up. “I can’t even describe it,” she said. “He said it was like having someone else inside him.” She sank to the top stair and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, Blake. What’s happening to him? I’m so scared. So terribly, terribly scared.”

Blake climbed the stairs quickly and took Sharon in his arms. “It’s going to be all right, baby,” he crooned. “He’s just going through a rough period, that’s all. And he’ll grow out of it. You’ll see.”

Behind him there was the soft click of a doorknob, then
Kelly was standing in the hall, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She came over and put her arms around her father’s neck. “What’s wrong with Mark?” she asked. “Is he sick?”

“No,” Blake told her, circling her waist with his free arm and drawing her close. “Nothing’s wrong with Mark at all, and I don’t want you to worry about it.”

“B-But he killed Chivas,” the little girl whimpered.

This time it was Sharon who responded to their daughter.

“It wasn’t Mark, darling,” she said. “Whatever happens, I don’t want you to think Mark killed Chivas. He wouldn’t do that, honey. Not your brother. Not Mark.”

“Then who did?” Kelly asked, cocking her head as she tried to puzzle out her mother’s words.

“I don’t know,” Sharon admitted. “But it wasn’t Mark!”

   Mark hurried through the dark streets, uncertain of where he was going or why. His mind was whirling, trying to sort out what had happened.

Why had the rage swept over him again? He’d been okay when his mother came in. He’d finished crying and was lying there, trying to figure out what had happened.

And his mother had wanted to help him.

She hadn’t been mad at him, hadn’t yelled at him, hadn’t even mentioned the way he’d wrecked his room! All she’d wanted to do was help him.

And then the fury had come over him again. He’d rolled over and looked at her, and all of a sudden the flame inside him had ignited once more and he’d wanted to reach out, put his fingers around her throat, and squeeze and squeeze.…

Squeeze like he’d squeezed Chivas, until she stopped talking, stopped breathing, even stopped writhing in his grip.

And he’d have done it, if he’d stayed another minute.

He slowed down and looked around. Across the street was the Harrises’ house, and he suddenly knew what he had to do. He glanced up and down the street, then darted
across it, slipping between the houses into the Harrises’ backyard.

The house was dark, as was the house behind it, and the one next door.

He tapped softly at the window of Linda’s room, then a little harder. From inside he heard a sound, then the curtains parted a fraction of an inch and Linda peered out, squinting into the darkness.

“It’s me,” Mark whispered. “Come out.”

“Mark?” Linda asked. She opened the window. “What are you doing out there?”

“I have to talk to you,” Mark whispered. “Please?”

Linda hesitated, but the urgency in his voice made up her mind. “Just a minute,” she said. “I have to get dressed.”

A couple of minutes later she slipped out the back door, holding a finger to her lips as she led him quickly back up the driveway to the street. “What’s wrong?” she asked when they were safely away from the house.

Mark tried to tell her what had happened, his voice choking as he recounted how he’d strangled Chivas.

She turned to stare at him. “You killed Chivas?”

Mark nodded mutely, his eyes flooding with tears. “I didn’t want to,” he sobbed. “And I didn’t want to hurt Mom, either. But I was going to! I know I was going to!”

At his words, an unbidden image of Jeff LaConner flashed into Linda’s mind, and she remembered the night he had put his hands on her arms, squeezing her so hard that it hurt. She’d slapped him, and then he looked surprised, almost as if he didn’t realize what he’d done.

And she was almost certain he’d begun crying as he turned away from her and ran off into the night.

“Wh-What are you going to do?” Linda asked.

Mark shook his head helplessly.

Linda reached out to take his hand, but Mark pulled away from her. “D-Don’t do that,” he said, his voice shaking. “That’s what my mom did. All she did was touch me, and I almost went crazy!”

Linda withdrew her hand, then met Mark’s eyes. “It’s like Jeff, isn’t it?” she asked. “Like the night he beat you up. You didn’t do anything to him, or say anything to him, or anything. He just came after you.”

Mark stared at Linda in the darkness.

“M-Maybe it’s Dr. Ames,” Linda said finally. “Maybe he did something to Jeff, and now he’s done something to you.”

“But he’s helping me,” Mark protested. “Hell, I even made the football team this afternoon.”

“You what?” Linda asked, staring at him blankly.

“I made the football team,” Mark repeated. “I was going to tell my folks tonight, before …”His voice trailed off.

“But you don’t even like football,” Linda protested.

Mark shook his head. “I—I guess maybe I’ve changed.”

A faint glow from a streetlamp down the block barely illuminated Mark’s face, but even in the dim light, Linda could now see that Mark had, indeed, changed.

His face looked heavier, and his gentle features seemed to have become harder. His eyes, sunken deep in his sockets, had a wild look to them, and his mouth—the full lips that had always looked so soft—had a harshness about it now.

Once again the image of Jeff LaConner came into her mind.

“I’m going to talk to my father,” she said suddenly. “Tomorrow morning I’m going to tell him everything that happened, and he’ll know what to do. Okay?”

Mark looked at Linda uncertainly for a moment, then nodded. “Okay,” he said.

They turned and began walking back toward the Harrises’. When they were in front of the house, Mark put his arms around Linda and held her close. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“And you won’t,” Linda told him. “You’re not like Jeff, and you won’t hurt anyone.”

She stepped back then, and for a moment thought she felt
Mark’s grip on her tighten. But he abruptly released her and turned away. She almost called out to him, but changed her mind as she remembered Jeff LaConner once more.

She waited until he’d turned the corner and disappeared, then hurried back into the house. Tomorrow, after she told her father what was happening to Mark, everything would be all right.

After all, her father ran TarrenTech, didn’t he?

If anyone could help Mark, surely he could.

22

When she woke up the next morning, Sharon thought for a moment that it had all been a bad dream. She would reach out to Blake, as she did every morning, and slip her arms around him for a moment, snuggling close to him before slipping out of bed to begin the day. Mark would already be up, and she would hear Chivas snuffling at his door as she passed it on her way down to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

But then she reached out to Blake, and he wasn’t there, and she realized that it hadn’t been a dream.

She was exhausted this morning, as if she hadn’t slept a wink, but when she finally forced herself to peer groggily at the clock on her nightstand, she saw that she’d not only slept—she’d overslept. It was almost eight o’clock. She started to haul herself out of bed, then flopped back on the pillow, a wave of despair washing over her.

For a few moments last night, after Mark had left, she thought the rift between her and Blake might heal, and for a little while it had, as the two of them waited in the den for their son to come home. Her first instinct had been to call the police, but Blake convinced her to wait, at least for an hour.