Terrorscape (30 page)

“You're just as sick as he is.”

 

“Considering your relationship, I'll have to take
that as a compliment.”

Val turned away from the flash so he couldn't see
her face. Why did this keep happening? Why her?
Perhaps there was some pheromone certain people
emitted, perceivable only on a wavelength unique to
those individuals who preyed on them.

“You won't get away with this.”

“Ooh, that's a good pose. Are you going to cry,
too? Tell me you are. That might even get the bastard
off.” Vance stepped around the rock to get a picture
from her other side.

Fear
and terror
exploded,
creating
a raging
holocaust of cathartic release. She lashed out with her
foot and kicked as hard as she could. The angle, and
the timing, were, for once, perfect. Her foot connected
with something soft with a muffled thwack.

Vance stumbled, and his shoe caught on some of
the loose rocks. He fell with a loud splash, followed
by several smaller splashes. “Oh, you little bitch.” He
was gasping. “You
bitch
. You ruined my fucking
camera.”

He lurched back to his feet unsteadily with a
violence that wiped all traces of savagery from her
face. She flinched but all he did was extinguish one of
the candles near her body with his wet fingers. The
flame died out with an angry hiss and more shadows
appeared out of the gloom to engulf the cave walls in
darkness. He flicked his damp hand at her face.

“I hope, for your sake, that the cops find you
before the worms do. Otherwise, no open casket for
you.”

His heavy footfalls receded. When she was certain
he had gone, and that she was completely alone, Val
bowed her head and began to cry.
Chapter Twenty-Two

Hemlock

Vance leaned back against the rocks, shivering a
little with
cold, though the adrenaline coursing
through his veins mitigated the effect, rendering it a
mild annoyance rather than an actual discomfort.

Above the molten shades of violet and indigo, the
sky's zenith was spangled with stars. Vance was too
wet and keyed-up to appreciate the view. He cursed
as he wrung water out of his jeans, his shirt, his socks.
No way could he drive home like this.

If Val hadn't kicked him, he would literally be
high and dry by now. But it was beginning to look as
if he might be stuck in this festering cesspool of
yokels for another day or two.

Things weren't entirely hopeless, at least. He
could sleep in his car after letting the heaters run for a
bit. There was a half-full can of beer in the cup holder,
a couple high-protein energy bars in back. At least
he'd had the foresight to wear swim trunks.

She'll be dead soon
, he thought.
Little bitch
.
He wondered if she'd started screaming.

He almost missed the quiet crunch of gravel.
Even as he registered it, he was in the process of
writing it off as the movement of some small scuttling
creature.

He started when he realized that he was being
watched, and that his observer was neither small nor
scuttling, but the larger prey of which he sought.

Frightening, that such a large man could make
almost no sound on such rough terrain. His clothing
was so dark, he blended right into the shadows. His
coat fluttered soundlessly in the ocean breeze; it was
the only perceptible movement.

The man said nothing. That was the fucking
creepiest part. Just stared at him while the wind
ruffled his hair. His posture reminded Vance of a
leopard about to pounce, and for the first time he
began to wonder if those rumors about GM thinking
he was more animal than human were true.

I wish I could see his face
, he thought, but it was
unreadable beneath the stars.

 

“Tell me where she is.”

His voice was deep, harsh. Vance almost flinched
and hated him all the more for it. “I could tell you.”
He weighed his words carefully, “Or, I could let you
drown yourself looking for her.”

GM lunged.

Vance was bracing himself for such a charge. He
had been counting on it, in fact, because he knew that
he was the more muscular of the two of them, and in
a grappling match he rarely lost. So when GM came
to an abrupt standstill mere feet away and delivered a
kick
to
Vance's
already
sore
stomach,
he
was
completely taken off guard.

He hit the ground with a heavy, meaty thud.
Stones gouged into his skin. Sprays of sand and surf
shot up into the air.
Tide's coming in
, he thought, with
something akin to hysteria.
Val, you bitch
.
This is all
your fault.

“Fucking bitch.” He groped for his knife but it
wasn't in his pocket. It must have fallen out when the
bitch kicked him. “Goddamn it—”

GM crouched down beside him, one arm hanging
off his knee. “Tell me where he is,” he repeated, in the
same tone as before. This close, though, Vance could
see that the other man's eyes gleamed with dark
impulse.

Vance took a swing. GM leaned back, evading the
brunt of the attack, but the gemstone in his class ring
opened up a small circular gash on the grandmaster's
cheek. It didn't look like it hurt particularly—certainly
not the way
he
was hurting—but it prompted GM to
kick Vance again, harder. His groan filled the night
sky.
A few more of those love-taps and I'll be pissing cherry
Kool-Aid
, he thought.
“You're too late, you fuck. By now, she's dead.”

“I don't believe you.” GM's voice was still calm; it
belied the steel in his hand. He had a knife. The knife
that killed Charlie?

“If you kill me, you'll never find her.”
“I'm not going to kill you.”

GM yanked Vance's swim trunks down. Vance
stared at the other man's grim face in disbelief as his
hand closed around his shriveled penis. Was he some
kind
of
queer?
Then
he
felt
the
first
cut
and
understood, he understood all too well. GM was only
on the second pass when he started screaming.

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

Until last year, Val had never thought too long or
too hard about death. It seemed so far away, almost a
fantasy land. One decade, after all, was more than
half her life, and death was, by those measurements,
at least five spans away. If not more.

But now…she wondered. Now she knew living
was just a brief hiatus, a blip really, in the infinite line
of nothingness that composed that shadowy realm of
the unknown. It could stop at any time.

Her skin was starting to go numb from the cold.
Weren't one's memories supposed to flash before
one's eyes at a moment like this? The water was up to
her breasts now and climbing steadily. Time for
reflection was running out.
Post-mortem
, she thought.
That's what the analysis of a chess game is called after its
close. Post-mortem
. After death.

Most of the candles had fizzled out, leaving the
cave darker than before. The brackish smell of the
rising tide made her eyes water and her nose sting.
She tried struggling but the salt water had made her
rope bonds even firmer than before.

Maybe my life has been leading up to this moment.

Something splashed further down. Falling rocks?
A shark? Her whole body was prickling now, as if she
were being stabbed all over by thousands of tiny
needles. The Pacific was ice-cold, winter-chilled.

Val began to feel sleepy, dreamy.

I am dying
. The thought should have alarmed her,
but now, as she was cradled into Eternal Sleep, she
found she did not really care.

She thought she was dreaming when she felt the
warm body brush against hers. Hallucinating. The
brain did that, sometimes, as brain cells died.

“Hold your breath.”

 

The water was nearly level with her chin now. She
inhaled—and the waves rushed up against her face.

 

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

 

Val opened her eyes.

It was dark, still, which meant only a couple
hours must have passed. The sky was navy velvet
studded with diamond stars. The smell of the salt
seasoned the air with its telltale pungency, paired
with the musk of naked skin.

She was leaning against a man's bare chest; it was
covered by damp, curling hair. A brown nipple
loomed in her periphery, leering out like a blind eye.

Alarmed, she glanced upwards only to see
him
,
Gavin, in repose just now. His thick brows were
drawn together, giving him a concerned expression
she had never glimpsed on him when awake.

His full lips were parted, and his short eyelashes
were like streaks of charcoal against his parchmentpale skin. An odd pang reverberated inside her body
as she regarded his sleeping face. It scared her how
normal he looked. How vulnerable.

But he isn't
, she reminded herself.
Not even close
.

 

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

When she opened her eyes again the darkness
outside the window had been tempered by small rays
of light on the horizon.

A hand stroked her cheek, possessively, before
slipping under her chin to take her pulse. The hand
was cold, and she felt gooseflesh ripple down her
arms and tighten the skin around her breasts.

He was watching her, she realized suddenly,
studying her with directness that would have made
her feel naked if she hadn't already been so.

“You've fallen in love with me—haven't you?”

This was so far from what she was expecting, it
was as if he'd hit her. She didn't have time to
construct a defense; her face felt raw and exposed.

“I saw the way you were looking at me, when you
thought I was sleeping. I felt you touch me.”

“No,” she said, “That's not true. I would never—”
He kissed her. Easily, passionlessly, he kissed her

and she was lost. He kissed her, and it left her
gasping. His breathing, on the other hand, didn't
change at all. She stared at him, wide-eyed.
“You were saying?”

He leaned in again, and Val pushed him away. A
thought had just occurred to her.

 

“This is Vance's hummer,” she said haltingly.
“What did you do to Vance?”

 

“How little you think of me.”

This was too far from truth for her own peace of
mind. She shook her head. “Did you kill him? No,”
she answered her own question. “You wouldn't kill
him. You're not that merciful.”

She expected him to laugh; not that it was
particularly funny, but usually that seemed like the
whole point. He didn't, though.

“What did you do? Dismember him?”

That brought a phantom smile to his pale lips but
it was far from affable. “Dismember,” he repeated,
rolling the word around in his mouth like a pearl. “An
appropriate choice of words, that. Especially when
one takes into account the etiology…”

It took her a moment to make the leap.
“Oh no,” she said, shaken. “You didn't—”
“Oh yes,” he said. “I did.”
She choked back a sob.
“Such a tender heart.” He tapped her chest. The
same hand that, equipped with a blade, had carved

into human skin as if it was sirloin. “Don't tell me you
feel sorry for him.”

Val covered her mouth and turned away.
“Why do you do it?” she whispered. “Why?”

“You may as well ask me why I breathe. I simply
do, and that is that.” He patted her cheek. That broke
the dam that had been holding back her tears all this
time. She began to cry, the way only one with a
broken heart can cry.

He did not love her. He never would.

 

She could give, and give, and give, until there was
nothing left at all—and it would make no difference.

Not to him.
Epilogue

Once upon a time, there was a naïve and innocent
girl who thought she could tame the beast and live
happily ever after. But the beast did not want to be
tamed, for he was a beast and beasts care not for such
things, and the girl died along with her dreams.

From childhood's grave sprang a young woman,
jaded before her years, who knew that beasts could
wear the skins of men, and that evil could exist in
sunlight, as well as darkness.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose
.

 

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

Val was surprised to learn that Mary still lived.
Upon waking in that cavern she had not spared much
thought for anyone other than herself, but she did
have a passing thought that her roommate must have
come to a similar end by Vance's hand. But no.

When police located Vance Benveniste on the
pebbled shores of Crescent Bay, partially conscious,
weak, and disoriented from blood loss, he had been in
no state to play coy with information. He told the
cops everything, in between his ragged gasps and
pleas for help. Mary was found locked in the closet of
his apartment, dazed and dehydrated, but otherwise
all right. She was being kept overnight for observation
in the local hospital, just in case, but her condition
was stable. Vance, on the other hand, had died on his
way to the emergency room.

Val found this out from Gavin. He slipped her the
information in bits and pieces. Like table scraps. She
didn't ask how he knew. She assumed that he had
been the anonymous tip-off that had led investigators
to the scene of the crime.

Gavin would do that. Play both sides, and then
watch the ensuing chaos from the sidelines. Whatever
furthered his own interests or amused him was ample
motivation. The lowest common denominator of
human morality was always self-interest.

(You've fallen in love with me, haven't you?)

Pain lanced through her chest as if a large needle
were sewing her ribs together, cinching them far too
tight. Emotions snarled like brightly colored threads,
some standing out in sharp contrast. Aubergine guilt.
Carmine
lust.
Scarlet
anger.
Pain,
virgin
white
because nothing was purer than the original aversive
stimulus. Fear in cowering, vulnerable pink. Emerald
regret. Sorrow, veiled in midnight blue.