Kiss of Life (33 page)

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are ...killing pets and ...wrecking graves ... is a bunch of bullshit, man! Straight up ...bullshit!"

The response was thunderous, and the stage lights returned as Dom hit a random chord.

"This one is for ...Tommy Williams," DeCayce said, pacing along the lip of the stage. "It's called ...'Headshot.'" Skeleton Crew kicked in with a brutal wave of noise that sent the club dwellers into another frenzy of motion and screaming. Phoebe started dancing in place, her skirt and long hair whirling as she thrashed. It was some moments before she realized that Adam was standing still beside her, watching.

"You really ...like this ...stuff?" he said, something like a wry grin on his face.

She slapped his unyielding bicep. "Don't be a lump, Adam. Move that body."

His response was to start headbanging. Adam headbanging was funny enough, but because his body couldn't quite master the motion, he looked more like a chicken pecking for loose grain in the barnyard than a metalhead. Phoebe thought it was absolutely hilarious.

"Here," she said, taking his hands in hers. "Move with me."

Skeleton Crew wasn't exactly playing dance music, but there was enough energy in their playing to get her hips swaying and her shoulders rocking. She held Adam's hands and swung his arms from side to side, but beyond that he didn't move--he just watched her moving in front of him.

Phoebe thought that was just fine.

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They found the girls by the stage after the show. Colette was deep in conversation with DeCayce off in a corner, and Margi was with a few people Phoebe remembered from their last trip to Aftermath.

"Hi, Trent." The boy looked thrilled that Phoebe had remembered him. "How's it going with the library card?"

His grin was charming, if lopsided.

"No ... go. I haven't left...the building."

"We need to get going soon," Margi said, pushing herself up from her perch at the lip of the stage. "There aren't a lot of trains later in the day, and my mom will kill me if we're not home by midnight."

"Ready when you are." Phoebe had laced her fingers with Adam's, which were pleasantly cool. The air in the club had grown warm and humid, which meant that there had to have been quite a few trads jumping around on the dance floor during the show. "What did you think, Adam? Did you have fun?"

"Had ...fun. Could watch you ...all ...night." Phoebe thought his smile had become more natural, his face more boyish as the night went on--but maybe it was just the heady club atmosphere playing tricks on her.

Phoebe, blushing, was glad for the dim lighting of the club. She was also thankful that Margi didn't comment beyond a loud "Awwww."

Colette and DeCayce walked over, also holding hands.

"Ready to go, C.B.?"

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Colette looked at DeCayce, who tightened his grip on her hand. She looked like she was about to cry, if she could still cry.

"I'm not...I'm ...not...going back ...Margi."

"What? What do you mean?" Margi said, but Phoebe could tell from the quaver in her voice that she knew exactly what their friend meant.

"I'm not...going back," Colette repeated. "I'm going with ...Skeleton Crew ... on their ...tour. With ...DeCayce."

Margi looked like she was going to cry too. She lifted her hand to her mouth like she was trying to hold her words in, and Phoebe, as happy as she was for Colette, suddenly felt terrible for Margi. She looked so forlorn standing there, with her hair matted and her shirt clinging to her skin with sweat. She looked like a puppy that had been abandoned in the rain.

Colette felt the same way, Phoebe could tell. She was crying in every way except producing tears when she spoke again.

"We might ... try ... to find ...my brother ... or my parents. Or ...or ...I'll just...travel, I don't...know."

The silence grew awkward, and the zombies Margi had been partying with started to drift away to give them their moment.

"Wish me ...luck ...Margi ....please."

Margi nodded, but she didn't remove her hand from her mouth. Adam was the first to speak.

"Good ...luck." The low rumble of his voice seemed to kick Margi into action, because she ran to Colette and wrapped her in a forceful hug, finally releasing the emotion she was trying

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to hold in. Colette hugged her back, making strange hiccupping sounds as Margi poured out her grief.

"I will take care ...of her," DeCayce said, turning to Adam and Phoebe like they were Colette's parents on prom night. "I'll make sure ...she's safe. We don't take chances when we are ... on the road."

"We know you will," Phoebe said, watching her friends. She looked at Adam, who released her so she could join their embrace. When they got control of themselves, Margi dried her tears and forced herself to speak, her voice choked with emotion.

"I'm happy for you, C.B. I really am."

"Thanks ...Margi. You know ...you know ...how much ..."

"Shhh." Margi put her finger to Colette's lips. "Don't say it. Don't make it feel anymore like a good-bye than it has to."

Margi released her and went to DeCayce, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

"Good luck," she said. "Both of you. Good luck."

DeCayce looked relieved. Actually, Phoebe thought, everyone looked relieved.

They said their farewells, made promises to stay in touch, then said some of the things people wish they said to loved ones while they were still alive. Margi managed not to cry again until their train was pulling out of Grand Central Station, but even then it didn't last long. Phoebe offered to drive once they were back in New Haven, but Margi said she could handle it.

"Aren't you a needy little boy tonight?" Phoebe said, picking

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Gargoyle off the floor and squeezing him to her. Gar licked her cheek and then her ear. She dropped him on the bed, where he curled up on her favorite pillow.

She walked to the window and looked down to where a large shadow was moving through the Garritys' backyard. Adam, doing his exercises again. Her lights were out, with only the soft spectral glow of the computer behind her casting any illumination. She didn't think that he'd be conscious of her-- the night was practically moonless, so she could barely see him. But she waved anyhow.

Her room had grown chilly, and she had put her terry cloth bathrobe on over her pajamas. She sat down at her computer and went online. There were a number of e-mails to mysocalled-
undeath.com
, one of which had "RE: Colette Beauvoir" in the header line, and also one from Tommy. She knew she was being selfish when she chose the one from Tommy, but Gargoyle was her only witness, and he wasn't going to tell anyone.

Hi Phoebe,
he'd written,

"I've made it safely to DC. I think I'm going to be staying at least until springtime. There's a lot I want to do here.

Great, she thought, one line and I'm already starting to tear up.

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I wanted to let you know I think you guys are doing a great job managing the site. I also think it is a great idea having the "I'm back" section. I had no idea that Colette had a brother and that he might not be aware that she's differently biotic. I saw that you had two more postings from db people the next day. I really hope someone figures out a way to get the picture uploaded for the girl in Omaha. I'm really, really excited about the things you're doing with the site; I'm leaving stacks of the cards we printed up everyplace I think people might use them.

She whistled for Gar, and when he wouldn't come she got up and captured him, sitting down with him on her lap. He gave her a grouchy look but didn't move, probably because she started scratching behind his ears.

I have a list of people I want to talk to and places I want to go. Most of my agenda involves talking to people who could help us, or talking to people who refuse to help us, but there's also some other things I want
|fc
check out. On my way down from Pennsylvania I met a zombie who told me that there's a zombie gang--as in actual criminal street gang--who gets recruits by encouraging trad kids who want to join to shoot each other. If you come back, you get to be in the gang, and if you don't, game over. I can't see why anyone would willingly choose this existence over real life, but the kid I met insisted it was true. He said his cousin tried to get him to join, but he turned him down. He said

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they're "crazy fearless" because they're dead, and apparently they have all the other gangs scared witless of them. Do me a favor and don't tell any of this to Takayuki or the other old-schoolers, because I think he'd come down here and be leading them within a few weeks. How is Tak and the whole dead crew, by the way? Is Karen keeping everyone in line?

Phoebe smiled at the thought of Takayuki and George and the rest of his crew catching a bus down to DC so they could join the fun. But Tommy's next line erased the smile:
Phoebe,
he wrote,
I wanted to let you know I've met a girl.

She read the line a second time. Gar had begun to growl because she had stopped scratching his ears. He had written
Phoebe,
as in "Phoebe, listen up, because this next bit is serious. Very serious."

Phoebe, I wanted to let you know I met a girl. A zombie girl. I don't know if it's going to go anywhere, but since I met her here we've been spending a lot of time together--time is something we've both got a lot of--and I like being with her and I think she likes being with me. Her name is Christie Smith.

I don't want to know her name, Phoebe thought. Tommy, why would you think I would need to know her name? Christie Smith, Christie Smith. Sounds like a weathergirl. Or a porn star.

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Why do you even care? she thought. You're happier with Adam than you ever would be with Tommy. With Adam, you never have to guess how he really feels about you.

She pushed up and away from the desk with an abruptness that surprised Gargoyle, who let out a little yelp of surprise. She went back to the window. Adam was still working in the gray grass below.

Christie Smith, she thought. And then: wasn't it
you
that broke up with
himl Adam needs me. I don't have any time for you,
you said, or something equally stupid.
I don't have time
to a boy who has nothing, nothing in the world
hut
time, an eternity of endless sleepless hours waiting, like waiting for the phone to ring when you know it never will.

After a while she sat back down at the computer. There wasn't much left to read, and she was determined to get through the rest of it even though her hands were shaking and she could feel a rush of tears ready to spill from her eyes. She didn't know if she was angry or sad or both. Probably both.

I still think of you a lot,
he wrote,
all the time, really, except some times when I'm with Christie. I haven't talked to her about you yet, but she's been to the Web site, so she knew that I had feelings for a living girl.

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A living girl. Not a Traditionally Biotic Girl or a Beating Heart, she thought. For someone who chose his words so carefully, how could Tommy not know that each one he wrote was like a razor blade being dragged slowly across her heart.

I feel like you're still in my soul, Phoebe. And I haven't told her about you because I feel like in doing so I would be letting you go, and I'm just not ready for that yet. It probably isn't fair to her, or to you, even, because I know how you feel, but just not ready.

He thinks he knows how I feel, she thought. She closed her eyes and was more than a little surprised when the rush of tears subsided.

Anyway,
began his final paragraph,

I hope you aren't mad at me for writing about this. I just wanted you to know that I really am trying to let go like you wanted, so you don't have to worry that some creepy, love-struck dead kid is going to show up under your window some night playing a mandolin. I'm trying, Phoebe. But it isn't easy.

Love,

Tommy

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She was hot all of a sudden, and she wriggled out of her bathrobe and threw it onto the bed, where the belt fell across Gargoyle, whose ears pricked.

"I know," she said, "you're wondering what's gotten into me tonight. I'm sorry, baby boy."

Somewhat mollified, Gar put his doggy chin on his forepaws. He was too dignified to try to move the belt.

"So you think you know how I feel," Phoebe said, the fingers of her now-steady hands tapping but not depressing any of the keys on her keyboard. She looked back at Gar, who seemed to raise one fuzzy, questioning eyebrow at her. "Well, how about I tell you how I really feel?"

Her fingers were like long, vicious knives stabbing at her keyboard.