The New Neighbor (31 page)

"Perhaps you've noticed a few changes in your household since you and perhaps other members of your family became involved with this woman," he went on. "You're beginning to feel hostile. You're quick to anger. Perhaps your entire family has been fighting bitterly, even violently.”
 

As he continued, pale faces appeared in windows. A front door opened and a little boy appeared, watching the talking pickup with the same intense interest he might bestow upon an ice cream truck, but without the smile.
 

"These changes," Quillerman said, "these feelings, are all due to your involvement with this woman. She means you great harm and she is not – I repeat, she is
not
– human. That sounds preposterous, I know, but
think
about it a moment. I think deep down inside, where you put all the thoughts and desires and suspicions you want to keep from yourself, you know that it's true.”
 

Quillerman drove back and forth as eyes watched, the sky darkened and the mist crept silently through the neighborhood...
 

Chapter 20

Into Temptation Again

The kitchen floor creaked under Betty LaBianco's considerable weight as she searched for the jar of Skippy peanut butter. Ed had probably hidden it. That was the kind of stupid thing he'd been doing lately. Normally, she would ask him about it, but they weren't speaking to each other. Ed seemed to have other things on his mind, but that was just fine with Betty. She had other things on
her
mind.
 

Things like Lorelle Dupree. Betty hadn't been the same since Lorelle had first breathed in her ear, first touched her like Ed never had, never could.
 

Ed. What an idiot. It had taken her long enough to realize it, but better late than never. She'd been married to that buffoon for nearly thirty years and it had taken a neighbor to make her realize that those years had been wasted.
 

Sometimes – yes, she could admit it to herself – sometimes she just wanted to
kill
him.
 

The television was on in the living room and Ed was sprawled in front of it on the sofa, grumbling about the amplified voice that echoed through the chilly afternoon outside.
 

Betty squatted in front of the counter and opened one of the lower cupboards. No luck.
 

A draft was coming in from beneath the back door and she felt it on her bare feet, thinking vaguely that something needed to be done about it as she opened another cupboard.
 

Her back was to the door, so she didn't see the mist curling in beneath it, didn't see it rise and begin to take shape.
 

No Skippy. Damn. She closed the cupboard, stood and turned.
 

"Hello, Betty," Lorelle whispered.
 

Betty slapped a hand over her enormous breasts and leaned back against the counter. "Good Lord, you scared me. You ... you're ... " Lorelle was naked. Betty looked around, confused. "How'd you get in here ... like
that
?”
 

Lorelle ignored the question, stepped forward and placed a hand on Betty's round cheek. "Do you hear that voice outside?”
 

Betty nodded.
 

"That's the voice of a man who wants to hurt me. He's saying things about me that aren't true. Awful things. And he's saying them over a loudspeaker."
 

Betty's eyes were wide and her mouth curled into a small O as she stared dreamily at Lorelle. "Why?" she asked after a long time.
 

"Because he's jealous."
 

She slid her hand down Betty's flabby neck ...
 

"He's jealous of what we have, what I can give you."
 

... down her chest to one enormous, liquidy breast, which she caressed and cupped, rubbing her thumb over the nipple.
 

"He wants what we have. He'd snatch it up in a second. But he thinks it's wrong. He thinks it's bad. But we know better, don't we Betty?"
 

Betty nodded, her eyelids drooping heavily as Lorelle moved her hand down Betty's side, over rolls of fat and around to her back, where her fingers massaged firmly, then gently, firmly, gently.
 

"He's someone you know, Betty. You have to resist him if you want to see me anymore. You have to show everyone how wrong he is. You have to make him go, Betty. Him and the reporters. All of them. Do you understand, Betty? You
have
to
make
them
go
."
 

Betty nodded as Lorelle's face came closer and closer and their lips finally touched. Lorelle's tongue slipped in and out of Betty's mouth and she sucked on Betty’s lips.
 

The kiss was too much. Betty felt her strength giving out, felt her knees bending beneath her, then she lost consciousness as –
 

 
– Lorelle eased Betty to the floor in her arms effortlessly, then turned and went into the living room where she stepped in front of the television, smiled and said, "Hello, Ed.”
 

* * * *

The mist eased through the neighborhood, shifting direction now and then. A single swirl moved over the surface of the mist like a small and lazy tornado. It went from the LaBianco house to Sheri MacNeil's, where it disappeared for a little while ...
 

... then across the lawn to the Weylands’ houses ...
 

... and later, to the Parkers ...
 

... from house to house ...
 

... to house ...
 

Chapter 21

Observations

The two remaining reporters and their crews stood watching the white pickup go back and forth, listening to the bizarre warnings coming over the loudspeaker. Finally, Alana Carson, the reporter from KCPM 24 in Chico, left her cameraman and assistant at the car and approached the van with KRCR 7, a Redding channel, painted on the side.
 

"Does this go on a lot around here?" Alana asked as she approached the young man standing beside the van. He was tall and thin with blond hair, in his late twenties.
 

"I don't think so," he said. "But then, I'm kind of new to the area. For all I know, people do this a lot here. Do you understand what he's saying?"
 

"I'm not sure. Do you know who he is? Are you familiar with his church?"
 

"No. But I'm going to get familiar with it."
 

"Any idea what woman he's talking about?"
 

He shook his head, then smiled at her and said, "By the way, I'm Steve Lang."
 

She introduced herself, shook his hand, then their attention returned to the pickup as it drove by them again, heading north.
 

"You must cling to all that is good within you," Quillerman said. "Turn to god, turn to your families, use your love for each other to resist whatever temptation this creature puts before you."
 

Steve said, "He sounds batshit crazy.”
 

"Most likely," Alana muttered.
 

"In the book of James, we read, 'But each person is tempted when he is drawn away and enticed by his own desire. Then when the desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin, and sin, when it reaches maturity, produces death."
 

"But we don't have to be afraid of that temptation," the echoing voice went on, "because Peter has told us that 'the Lord can rescue you and me from –”
 

The pastor's voice gasped over the loudspeaker and the pickup screeched to a lurching stop because –
 

 
– an enormously fat woman in a teal and purple muumuu jogged into the street with surprising speed, her entire body jostling with every step – large, flabby breasts flailing up and down, rolls of fat around her neck and torso flopping – until she stepped directly in front of the pickup.
 

"Later," Alana said abruptly, waving to her cameraman to come over as Steve and his cameraman approached the pickup, where –
 

 
– the fat woman walked to Quillerman's door as he rolled down his window and gave her a broad smile, hoping for the best.
 

"I don't know what you think you're doing out here, Pastor Quillerman," she said in a nasally voice, "but I wish you'd stop. Somebody's liable to call the police on you for yelling through that thing."
 

"Hello, Betty," the pastor said pleasantly as he leaned his elbow on the edge of the open window. "I'm glad you came out. I'd like to speak with you about a –"
 

"What
are
you doing out here, anyway?" she asked, ignoring him. "I mean, driving up and down the street, talking nonsense through that damned speaker –"
 

"Excuse me, ma'am," Steve said as he came up behind her holding a microphone. His cameraman, Malcolm, stood behind him, camera operating. "Could I have a word with –"
 

Betty spun around and aimed her forefinger at Steve like a gun. "You just stay away from me with your microphones and cameras, young man. I'm not answering any of your questions and if you had any decency at all, you'd get out of here. There's been a tragedy in this neighborhood and nobody's in the mood for you bloodthirsty reporters." She spotted Alana heading toward her and pointed the finger at her, saying, "And that goes for you, too! You just stay away from me!" She lowered her arm and, as if they'd already gone, she turned back to Pastor Quillerman.
 

He was frowning at her, concerned. Her anger surprised him ... and so did her pale, sickly appearance. "Are you all right, Betty? You don't look well."
 

"I'm just fine. It's
you
I'm worried about, driving up and down out here, talking over that thing about ... what were you saying? Something about a ...
what
kind of
a demon? Are you serious, Pastor?”
 

The pickup idled as Quillerman looked into Betty's eyes for a long time, then: "Do you know a woman named Lorelle Dupree?"
 

"Yes, I
thought
she was the one you were talking about."
 

"Why did you think that?"
 

"Well, because she's different. She's an artist. They're
all
different. But she's no demon, and I think you oughtta be
ashamed
of yourself for saying so."
 

"Do you know her well?"
 

She pulled her head back and blinked several times and her lips remained pursed for a long moment before she spoke again. "She comes over now and again. I go see her sometimes. And she's just as nice as –"
 

"Who's nice?" Ed LaBianco asked, suddenly standing beside his wife.
 

Betty was startled and stumbled over her words, then said, "Lorelle Dupree. Pastors’ saying she's some kinda demon."
 

Quillerman turned his gaze to Ed and his frown grew deeper. "Are you feeling all right, Ed?" he asked.
 

"Oh, I, um –" He rubbed his hand over his long pasty face, smoothing out the deep wrinkles for a moment, wrinkles that hadn't been there when he'd last attended church. " – I guess I haven't been, you know, getting a lot of sleep lately."
 

"Any particular reason?" Quillerman asked, although he knew the answer.
 

"That’s not important," Ed muttered, dismissing it with a wave, then rubbing his puffy eyes with a thumb and forefinger. "What brings you over here, Pastor?"
 

Before Quillerman could respond, Betty said, "He's been driving up and down the street here, spreading some nonsense about Lorelle being a demon, some kind of, oh, I don't know, a
vampire
, or something."
 

Ed gave the pastor a tired frown and said, "That doesn't sound very Christian." In contrast to his words, Ed's voice was pleading rather than chastising and his eyes seemed to hold more desperation than protest.
 

Quillerman said, "Betty, may I have a word with your husband, please?"
 

"Go right ahead." She folded the slabs of her arms across her breasts with effort.
 

"I mean alone."
 

Pastor Quillerman flinched hard at the hatred that flashed in Betty's eyes for a moment. Her upper lip curled a bit, stopping just short of a hateful sneer. Then she turned and headed back toward the house, shouting at the reporters who stood nearby.
 

"Ed, that's not like her," Quillerman said softly. "That's not like Betty at all."
 

"Well ... we've both been fighting the flu, I think. She's probably just, um ... " He averted his eyes as he ran a fingernail along his lower lip. "She's just not feeling well, that’s all.”
 

Quillerman gave his next words some careful thought before speaking. "Tell me, Ed, how well do you know Lorelle Dupree?"
 

Ed turned away even further then and became more fidgety, plucking at his face, rubbing his hand again and again over what hair he had left. "She's just a neighbor, you know. Hasn't really been here long enough to –"
 

"You know what I've been saying is true, don't you, Ed?"
 

More agitation and nervousness. He cleared his throat several times, looked around without Quillerman's eyes. "Look, Pastor, I just, um, I don't think it's, you know, a good idea for you to be riding up and down the street and –"
 

"You know it's true, don't you?"