Creepers (30 page)

"Goddammit, I'll get you, you bastards, for this," he cried out into the empty tunnel. "If it's the last thing I do, I'll find you and kill each one of you by hand."

He brushed aside the tears and quickly headed back to the station. There was only one place to start looking for Louise. One place where death had already visited: the abandoned station between the Ninety-sixth and Eighty-sixth Street stations, the place where Ted Slade had been mutilated and murdered.

Louise kept her eyes closed tightly, still pretending to be unconscious. But she was actually listening to the scurrying sounds around her. Her body ached, and when she stretched slightly to ease her stiff muscles, the pain expanded, blossoming fully at her wrists and ankles; she'd been bound and gagged with a foul-tasting rag. But none of this worried her as much as the scampering, scurrying sounds around her.

She wanted desperately to open her eyes, if only to vanish the horrible images those sounds evoked, but she was too afraid of what was actually making the noises. She wanted desperately to confront her captors, but she didn't. When Louise was grabbed as the express train rushed by, she hadn't seen the thing that held her. There'd only been something clutching at her, and a foul smell--the smell of death and decay--swirling up around her. She'd screamed for Corelli, but the sound of the train drowned her out. And when her captor pulled her down dangerously close to the clattering train wheels, she'd fainted.

She rolled slightly to ease the pain in her ankles, but the movement brought on a fresh bout of agony from the backs of her legs this time. In fact, as she became more and more aware of how she felt, Louise realized that she hurt everywhere--from her toes to the top of her head. She must have been dragged here--her body abused and mistreated along the way. And she was convinced that it was only the beginning.

She counted to ten as slowly as she'd ever done anything in her life. Then she opened her eyes. Louise lay on a filthy floor in a cluttered area the size of her dining room. Except for flickering light shed from a candle stub on a stack of cardboard boxes and wooden crates stacked against the wall, the room was dark. The candle cast a dirty halo of light into the room, the edge of which just touched Louise. She raised her head slightly to look around, unable to discern where she was until she heard the rumble of a subway train as it passed her jail on the same level. She was still in the subway!

Louise peered into the darkness, and the features of the room became clearer--two stairways led off and up at each corner of the room, and in the center was a darkened cubicle...that had once been a token booth. This was one of the abandoned stations Corelli had talked about. Oh, thank God, she thought. Frank will figure it out and come save me. It's only a matter of time. But her optimism sank as quickly as it had risen. There were hundreds of miles of track in the subway, hundreds of places to hide . . . and how many empty stations? How could Frank ever find his way to this particular station?

A flicker of movement behind the stack of crates in the corner caught Louise's attention. She lifted her head as a shape, a figure, shuffled out from the corner's darkness into the muddy candlelight. It could have been a man stooping low, but it was unlike any man she'd ever seen before. It was low and hulking, head bent so far down that it seemed tucked into its belly. It rolled on the backs of its hands as it walked, pushing from behind with short legs and naked feet. It was dressed in the tattered remains of clothing long since gone gray from grease and dirt. Its shaggy hair hung low over a foreshortened forehead, and even in the dark, Louise sensed it was coming her way.

The creeper paused no more than five feet from her and lifted its head, facing her for the first time. Louise's mouth quivered with the beginnings of a scream, but she couldn't make any sound. She sucked in her breath and clamped down on the rag in her mouth, praying Corelli would find her. The creeper now rocked back on its heels and stared at Louise. At first it seemed there were no eyes whatsoever, but gradually its eyelids oozed open, exposing bloodshot eyeballs. Louise watched, so fascinated by the monstrosity that even her fear drained away. Its lips pulled back, exposing two rows of stained teeth, which in the half-light seemed more a smile than a snarl.

Louise made two fists and ground her fingernails into her palms. She reduced her breathing, as if it might make her smaller, less vulnerable, less apparent. The creeper stood before her, leering, watching, waiting. But now something else caught Louise's attention; another creeper appeared from behind the crates, then another and another. Within a minute seven creepers stood before her, rocking back and forth on their downturned hands.

At first Louise thought they were all predatory males; they were all dressed the same, had the same physical conformation, the same manner. But on closer inspection she saw three of them were women. The ragged tops of their clothing exposed thick breasts that swung forward as they moved closer to Louise for a better look. One of the males edged forward and ran the back of his hand over Louise's cheek. She winced as the scabrous skin raked against hers. As the smell that surrounded the creatures filled her nostrils with its bittersweet rottenness, she screamed against the gag in mute rage.

The aggressive male creeper circled her, touching every part of her body with his foul hands. If she moved, she'd die. If she protested, she'd be killed and eaten. If she gave in to her disgust, she was as good as dead. But, dear God, if she had to endure this defilement one more minute, she'd lose her mind!

Suddenly a terrifying howl shattered the deadly silence of the deserted station. The gathered creepers instantly cowered and crawled off to the sidelines like crabs on a moonlit beach. And from behind the packing cases came another male. He strode into the center of the floor and howled once again, filling the room with anger. The creepers pushed farther back against the wall in fright.

This male stood taller than any of the others, and as he walked, he was more erect than his semi-simian counterparts. This creeper--the leader?--slithered up to Louise's side and stared unblinkingly into her eyes. He reached out with his right hand and rubbed her cheek, like the other male had done. But unlike the other male, his skin was smooth, almost soothing. For an instant Louise thought of Corelli's touch, and she whimpered. God, the anguish he must be going through, she thought, her attention drifting away from her own plight. The creature, mistaking her moan as one of pleasure, quickly proceeded to repeat his feathery touch on her face, her neck and arms, then on her legs, until his long hands danced lightly over her thighs far up under her skirt.

When Louise couldn't stand it any longer, she let out a scream that was more a howl, a sound that caught in the gag, then broke through it by its sheer animal power. The male who was fondling her leaped back in fear. Then, as fear turned to anger, he raced toward her and with one quick, deft movement slapped her across the side of the head. The force of the blow twisted Louise's face away from him, and she began to cry uncontrollably.

The creature scurried back away from the sounds of her sobs. He listened intently for a moment, then signaled the others to take Louise away. The subservient males crept up to her and dragged her by the feet to the packing cases on the opposite side of the room. By the time she was left alone in the eerie darkness, Louise hovered somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, sanity and insanity. But for the moment, at least, she was safe. And alone. For now.

She knew they'd be back for her. She saw in the dominant male's eyes lust that looked all too human. He could caress her for as long as he wished, and she could do nothing; her screams were meaningless. She could pray for death to release her from her torment, but she suspected that such a mercy would not be soon coming. In her mind now she felt the creeper's caresses and knew that should they continue, she certainly would go mad. She was totally, helplessly at their mercy.

Later, when Louise's initial panic had diminished, she relaxed somewhat and allowed herself to think. Time was important now. Time to be patient and not incite these things against her. Time to wait to be rescued by Frank. At the thought of Corelli's warm smile, Louise leaned her head back against the wall and took in a deep breath, but the nauseating smell of the room gagged her. The outside area of the station reeked of putrefaction; here the smell was tenfold. It was as if something were rotting nearby.

Louise squinted into the corner, where darkness was gathered like black velvet, and saw exactly what caused the stench: propped up against the wall were three rotting corpses, mute witnesses to the creepers' evil. She closed her eyes and turned away in disgust, wondering why the bodies were there. And as she asked herself the question, the answer came to her: they were being stored for future use...as a hedge against bad hunting . . . against starvation. She was being held in their larder!

Before hysteria had a chance to take hold, something attracted Louise's attention--a movement near the floor to her immediate left. She thought she was the only one alive here, but as she peered into the darkness she discerned the rustling of a small shape near her. It was wrapped in the long gray remnants of a blanket. Louise edged closer and, with her shoulder, nudged at it. It moved again. A frail voice whimpered as if in a deep sleep. Louise pushed again. This time the little figure turned, reaching out unconsciously. A small hand brushed Louise's cheek. It was the hand of a child, a child who had been left for dead.

Thinking the unthinkable, hoping for the impossible, Louise shimmied her way closer to the child and positioned herself by its head, barely able to keep down the frustration of not being able to use her hands to whisk aside the cloth that hid its face. Once again she nudged the captive, who now turned away from Louise. But a corner of the blanket caught itself under her body, and as the child moved once again, the covering was lifted from its head, revealing short black hair matted with dried blood. And the sweet, sweet face of the child Louise knew so well... It was Lisa!

Willie checked the clock in the living room three times before giving in to his anger. It was 11:45 and Corelli had promised to contact him no later than eleven. Shit, he'd been conned again by a no-good white prick. Willie's rage propelled him out of the chair into the center of the room. He stood there a moment wondering what to do next. He'd promised Frank he'd sit tight until they made contact by phone. And he had waited at Bimbo's until forty-five minutes ago. But Calhoun wanted to go out catting, so Willie came home. There was always the chance Corelli had called while Willie was on his way home. Bullshit! It was more likely he was just playing Willie for a fool.

"That Corelli's some sonofabitch. Big buddy-buddy with Willie Hoyte, shit! And I fell for it," Willie snarled out loud as he paced into the kitchen, then back into the living room.

He flopped back into the overstaffed chair, hoping the rage would dissipate, but it just lay there, under the surface, like the hard core of a boil. Corelli had pulled a fast one, getting Dogs of Hell into the subway while Willie sat home like some fucking clown. Hell, he'd wanted to be in on the kill with these creeper things, too. The publicity would be good for him and Dogs of Hell, and the personal satisfaction of confronting Slade's killers would make any danger worthwhile. But all that seemed now out of reach.

As suddenly and violently as the anger took over, the rational side of Willie Hoyte surfaced. He was taking this whole thing too personally, as if Corelli's absence were a personal slight. Maybe that wasn't it at all. He wasn't giving Frank the benefit of the doubt. Corelli was in one hell of a lot of trouble. Maybe whoever had been chasing him had caught him. Maybe Corelli was the one in big trouble now . . . and that's why he hadn't phoned. That wasn't personal; no way. The thought, unpleasant though it was, relieved Willie. He'd rather imagine his friend in the hands of a captor than believe he'd turned his back on him and a solemn promise to work together.

Deciding that this was exactly what had happened and that he owed Corelli the favor of taking over for him during his absence tonight in the subway, Willie grabbed his coat and bolted out into the hallway, knowing in his gut that he was doing the right thing by going off on his own.

Two minutes after he left, the telephone in the Hoyte apartment began to ring.

Corelli slammed down the phone and cursed Willie Hoyte for his stupidity and his insubordination. Frank had told him not to move until he called. And now the stupid bastard was gone; he wasn't at Calhoun's, he wasn't at home. Corelli shook his head in wonder. Why had he ever let himself believe that someone as self-centered and publicity-happy as Willie Hoyte would follow orders? Hoyte was probably sitting that very minute with the city editor of one of the newspapers, telling him not only about the creepers but also about Corelli and Louise, and, more important, about Willie Hoyte and how he and his Dogs of Hell had uncovered the whole creeper caper.

Corelli ducked under the ancient turnstile at Eighty-sixth Street onto the uptown platform of the Seventh Avenue IRT. He meandered toward the far end of the station, his eyes on the tunnel opening. A young woman in slacks and sandals and a loose-fitting sweater that showcased her nipples watched him cautiously, then stepped back against the wall as he passed. Corelli would have written off her abrupt reaction as healthy female "subway paranoia" had he not looked down at himself and discovered he was covered from toes to shoulders with a thick layer of grime and filth from his exploration of the subway with Louise. It was no wonder the woman backed away; he looked like one of the vagrants or freed mental patients who make the subway their home.