Death Rhythm (13 page)

Natalie grew up thinking she died from complications during birth. That's what Hector told her throughout her childhood. "Died in the delivery room," he'd say with that faraway look in his eyes.

Then one night, when she was nineteen, packing her things, boxes, suitcases, getting ready to move away, to move off and attend school, she heard him talking to himself. He was drunk. Talking to himself.

Natalie had never seen her father actually
drunk
before that night. But now that she was leaving, he'd gotten out a twelve-pack and started drinking.

"Now don't blame me if you wake up with a hangover tomorrow morning," she'd joked. "I want you to be up bright and early to see me off."

He only nodded and opened another can.

Later, as Hector lay on the floor, on his side staring at the snow on the television screen, Natalie lifted a half empty beer can from his hands and set it on the floor next to him. He mumbled something she didn't catch, then he looked up at her with bloodshot eyes, and said, "That you, Em?"

Natalie swallowed, caught by surprise at the question.

"It's Nat, Dad."

Recognition floated back in his eyes. "Oh, Jesus. Sorry." He rolled over on his stomach, letting out a belch. He mumbled something to the floor.

"What?" Nat asked.

"She killed her," he said. "The bitch next door - she killed her, Nat."

Natalie patted Hector on the back of his head. "What?"

He let out a drunken laugh, slow, unsure of himself. "You know, when they were girls."

"Dad - "

"They killed her. They killed my Em."

"Dad, I'm leaving tomorrow. Going to school. I want you up tomorrow to see me off. You oughta get to bed. You're tired."

"Damn right I'm tired." He belched. Cleared his throat. "They killed her, girl. They killed my Em." Hector's eyes clouded over. He fell asleep.

Natalie had trouble falling asleep that night. Why would he say something like that? Why now? She had known leaving would be hard on the man. She knew it, and had been waiting for this day not only with excitement - excitement to finally be off on her own - but also with dread.

He's drunk, she thought. Drunk and trying to make me feel guilty at the last moment. Make me think something's wrong. It was a last ditch effort, and it wouldn't work.

Hector did get out of bed the next day to see her off, somewhat cranky, but he made no more mention of Emma. Didn't mention her again for another fifteen years.

SIXTEEN

Nighttime again.

Andy lay in bed, eyes wide open. He felt bad dreams coming. Felt it in the rattle of the house under the strain of the wind. Felt it in the way he gripped the blanket a bit tighter than usual. Felt it in his testicles, the skin stretched tight like the skin of a drum.

Think of Natalie. Think about Natalie, he thought.

He'd never had a big problem with dreams before. With nightmares. When he did have them, they'd been sporadic and far apart. Never amounted to a whole lot, just a bunch of B-grade horror flicks going on in his head. But here - here - they had been suffocating, taking his breath away, drying up his throat, choking him. Maybe it was the unfamiliar setting. Maybe his body wasn't used to sleeping alone, not having Cathy's warmth to cling to. Maybe it was something in the metallic tasting water.

It didn't matter. He lay there and braced himself for an onslaught.

Try not to think about it, he told himself. He remembered being told once to always think of good things before going to bed. The thoughts were supposed to linger in the mind and mix with any dreams that came.

Think about Natalie.

Something to stay in his mind and temper his dreams.

God. He had trouble believing it, believing it actually happened. He played it over and over in his mind, each time Natalie looking down at him in super slow motion. And that look on her face, intensified by the shadows the darkness threw on her. He didn't notice it before, but now, thinking about it - that look. It was her grin, her teeth reflecting the darkness back into his eyes. That grin, eager, fulfilled. For a moment, for just a moment, it reminded him of the grin on a cat as it gorged on its prey.

He shivered. Why think of that? The rest had been beautiful. Why think of that?

Think of the hair. God, her hair. How could he ever forget that? The moon playing on it like a halo, making it glow fiery red, shooting warmth into him. Her blouse open, the edges of material framing her breasts as they slowly shook as she rocked, bounced on top of him, as if her motion sent waves through them, gently rolling, gently rippling through her entire body.

He conjured up her voice. So clear and lusty. It echoed in his head, warming up his brain cells, filling up the space with its rich vibrato and resonance.

Make love to me, Andy
.

His eyes grew heavy and began to close.

Make love to me, Andy
.

He smelled her, the smell of apple and honey and sweat, years of sweat. A sweat so sweet, and - animal-like.

His body relaxed. His testicles loosened. His eyes closed. On the backs of his eyelids, he watched Natalie bounce slowly up and down, making love to him. The image lingered for an eternity as he lost touch with the cold concrete of reality and slipped into sleep.

Sleep. The healer. The pacifier.

And Natalie was still on top. Bouncing.

Only now they were in bed. This bed. And she was bouncing.

Bouncing - until suddenly she began to grow. Natalie Plant started growing up and up and up towards the ceiling. She was growing, and - no. No, it was Andy who grew. He felt himself get bigger and bigger inside of her, his blood pouring from all his veins into his growing cock.

It lifted Natalie higher, to the ceiling, he felt himself so hard, up to the ceiling. Natalie flailed her legs, ducking, pounding on the ceiling, impaled on his cock, its flesh pulsing violently. Natalie had to bend over, double over as she rose higher, as Andy's cock rose higher, pushing her against the ceiling.

Crushing her.

Andy's muscles tightened, all of his muscles, as the snap of Natalie's bones vibrated against his hardness. First her skull and neck crunching. Then her ribs, each one's CRACK sending another vibration to his groin. Andy grabbed onto his cock, a pulsating log of flesh, grabbed onto it with both hands, squeezing it, the width of a sprinter's thigh, undulating, Andy trying to control it, to stop it.

jesus oh christ oh jesus

His buttocks shook, his whole body shook, his soul, as Natalie's thigh bones splintered against the ceiling, the fucking ceiling, covered with her blood and entrails, as his cock pushed further, and he shook and began to spasm, his hands overflowing with his own flesh, pulsating, shaking his hands like an engine. He was reaching heaven, reaching horror, reaching the ceiling, he had pushed clear through Natalie and could feel -
feel
- the fucking ceiling with the tip of his cock.

He began to ejaculate. He felt the first blast begin at his forehead and travel like a bolt of lightening to his groin, as he became lost in the intense euphoria? Pain?

And he came, the semen exploding out of his cock against the ceiling, ricocheting back down, thick and viscous, covering him with its stickiness, covering him with Natalie's blood.

oh jesus oh fuck oh christ

Another bolt shot through him, his hands trying to gain control as another torrent of semen, and another, spewed down on him like lava, as his cock, six feet tall, pushing against the ceiling, the goddamn ceiling, vibrated like a jackhammer.

The semen poured down in buckets, the spasms that pushed it out never stopping. It poured down on Andy, poured in his mouth, his nose, his eyes, his ears, his asshole. He choked on it, was drowning in it, sucking it down into his lungs, where it regenerated and shot out again.

Buckets. Barrels of it.

A fucking ocean.

SEVENTEEN

Mae came into the bedroom early, throwing open the curtains. "Rise and shine! I've got breakfast cooking."

Andy lay there blinking, letting his eyes adjust to the light. He felt embarrassed, realizing he had on only underwear beneath the sheets. His hair was all mussed up, and he wondered if she could smell his breath from there.

Mae opened the window a quarter of the way up, letting a chilly breeze race through the room. Andy shivered. Mae shut the window, and said, "That should help bring you around. You can take your shower, then come downstairs to the kitchen. We'll get a hot meal in you yet."

The smell of fatty bacon and hash browns drifted up to Andy's nose. He felt like one of Pavlov's dogs, his mouth filling itself with saliva. He swallowed, hoping it wasn't too late to prevent any drool from escaping and landing on he plateful of food Mae set down.

"I feel like I've been neglecting my duties as a host," Mae said. "I hope you'll forgive me." She sat down on the kitchen table across from Andy.

"This looks great," Andy said, working on his hash browns. Then he remembered last night, and set his fork down.

"Mae," he said. "You've been great. A great host. A great aunt. Thanks for letting me stay here. You don't even know me."

"Well, I'm working on that one. Besides - you're family. I told you -"

"I know. And another thing - sorry I didn't make it for dinner last night. You went through all that trouble. Thank you. Really. If anyone's been neglecting their duties, it's been me. As a guest."

"I'm just glad you're here, Andy. It's nice to talk to someone. I haven't had the chance for so long."

"What about the neighbors?"

Mae shook her head. "No. We don't get along so well."

"How come?"

Mae sighed. "That's a long story. One I'd rather not get into over breakfast."

They were silent for a while, eating bacon and hash browns, fidgeting with their forks.

When they were done, Mae stood up and took their dishes to the sink. She came back to the table and sat. Watched Andy for a moment. Reached out and put her hands over his. "It's good to have someone to talk to again. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not."

"Good. Because it's beneficial to the soul. To unburden yourself. It's something I learned in therapy. From the institution." She smiled weakly. "God, Andy. I sat there for days - for weeks. Not knowing what to do. What to think. I just sat there, in the corner of the ward, staring at my knees, staring all day at my knees. I didn't know what to think. I didn't
want
to think.

"The doctors and nurses were like insects. They'd poke and prod all day long, sticking me with needles. They wouldn't leave me alone. Insects. So many." Mae closed her eyes as she remembered.

"I got to where I could use the needle marks as a calendar. The marks in my arms represented days. The ones in my legs were weeks. And the one's in my ass - they were every two weeks. And I sat there, my life floating by in a haze. The haze the color of the pajamas I wore.

"Doctors would talk to me. They'd talk to me all day long. But all their talk and coaxing, trying to get me to talk, was just a drone to me. Insects. Mosquitoes. Ready to dip into my veins and insert their poison."

Mae opened her eyes and grinned. "I was pretty fucked up." She turned her eyes to the table.

"Eventually my eyes grew tired of the dull blue of my pajamas. They ached for something else to look at. And that poison the doctors injected made me grow tired and disoriented." Mae shrugged. "As if I hadn't been, already. They made me want to give up my struggle with them, with myself. I didn't want to resist any more. So one day, after maybe - oh, I don't know - eight or nine months - my eyes began to wander. They slowly drifted away from that haze, that dull blue haze, and began to travel across the floor. I remember noticing how rich the tiles looked - the black and white checkered tiles. Plain black and white, Andy. Can you believe it? But that day, those tiles were such a relief to my eyes, to my system, that my vision raced back and forth across the floor, savoring the freedom from that blue haze. My eyes regained their focus and other images in the room became sharp. I realized there were other people there, Andy. For the first time in all those months, there were other people, aside from the doctors and nurses. For all that time, I thought it had been only me, tucked away in the corner of my own world. But after the haze cleared, and I started seeing other people around me, hearing their voices - only then did I realize that the world hadn't ended with me. It still revolved. No matter what I had gone through, the world still rotated on its axis, the sun still heated the atmosphere, plants still grew. In short, Andy, I realized that life still went on. And to realize that brought such a great relief to me. The doctors and nurses became real people. I began to notice their voices, how kind some of them were to me, how real. The droning and buzzing stopped. These were kind people for the most part, talking to me, trying to soothe me with gentle words. Then, when I started to talk, telling them all I could, the memories came flooding back. I went through hell all over again. But at least this time it was a hell that was memory. Not a living, breathing hell as it had once been. And as my hell gushed out at these doctors and nurses through my voice, my words, I began to feel an even greater relief. I began to recover."

"What exactly was this hell?" Andy asked.

Mae looked at him helplessly. "I'm sorry, Andy. I know I just got done telling you all about the benefits of unburdening yourself, but I can't tell you. Not now. I wish I could. I want to, but - it wouldn't be right. It's for your mother to tell you."

Andy's voice wavered. "What did my mother have to do with any of this?"

Mae reached across the table and clutched Andy's hands, squeezing them. "Your mother had a lot to do with it. She was in that psyche ward, too."

"My mother?"

"Yes."

"Come on. My mother?"

"Yes, Andy. That's where she met Abner. Your father."