Ravenous (12 page)

That Norton woman had better be careful. If her husband ever found out, he just might kill her, even unintentionally—he might even kill them both. If not, he would no doubt beat her to within an inch of her life, and he'd probably do the same to the Sutherland boy.

That was Andrea's problem, of course, not Doris's. That made it no less interesting to Doris, though. Almost as interesting as Oprah's guest.

She turned her attention back to the television. ...

 

 

 

13

 

Chicken Casserole

 

 

Hurley entered his house with a heavy sigh. Something from the kitchen smelled good. He found Ella loading the dishwasher. He got a glimpse of that beautiful profile in the grey glow of the window. His eyes wandered down her body and he smiled. Hurley loved her no less than the day he'd married her twenty-eight years ago, and found her to be no less beautiful. How he loved coming home to those warm curves that were so pleasing beneath his hands.

“What's cookin', lover?” he said as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

“Chicken casserole,” she said.

“Ah, your chicken casserole, my favorite.”

“You're actually home in time to eat it this evening. How was your day?”

“I've had better.”

“Any sign of your naked man?”

“No. None at all.”

“What about the animal?”

“Lenny from Fish and Game went over to the hospital and looked around through that patch of woods today for prints, droppings, fur, something to tell him what had been there last night, what had killed Garrett.” Hurley sighed. “He found nothing.”

“Nothing at
all
? Isn't that odd?”

“It's downright strange, is what it is. Lenny said if there'd been something there, there'd be some sign of it. I told him what George had said, that Garrett had been killed by a large animal with fangs and claws. But Lenny found no sign of anything but squirrels and ‘coons. Plenty of human prints, though, especially around where Garretty's body was, footprints everywhere, a totally useless mess—some barefoot, which would be our naked guy, I'm guessing. Anyway, Lenny said as far as he could tell, the biggest thing hanging around in that patch of woods was a fox.”

“What are you going to do now?” Ella asked.

“I don't know, honey, I just don't know. As for
right
now, I'm gonna sit down and have some of that chicken casserole.”

“It'll be ready soon. Go change and wash up, and I'll make you a drink.”

“Aaah, good,” Hurley said. He left the kitchen smiling and feeling pleasantly hungry, looking forward to that drink. It was the best he'd felt since leaving the house that morning, and he hoped it would last.

 

 

 

14

 

The Laramie House 1

 

 

Irving Taggart awoke suddenly, feeling cold. When he'd found this empty, rotting old house early that morning, just before sunrise, he'd gone up the stairs and found a bed and a blanket. His foot had gone through one of the stairs on the way up—he'd nearly broken his leg and badly scratched and scraped his shin and calf. The wounds had healed up within minutes.

Downstairs, he'd found the remains of a body. It was little more than a pile of bones. It had been there so long, it no longer smelled. The odor of death had simply become one of the layers of the whole rotting smell of the house—layers that Irving Taggart could smell individually, vividly. The corpse on the couch had been there a good long time. Patches of blackened, mummified skin covered the bones in places, but not enough to hold them together.

In the bedroom upstairs, Irving Taggart had found some smelly, dusty old clothes in an open suitcase. He poked through them until he found something that looked like it might fit him. As well as being old and smelly, they were as ugly as golf clothes, but they were
clothes
. He also found a pair of broken, mud-caked deck shoes.

Irving put on tan plaid pants, an orange shirt which was a tad snug and missing a button, and the deck shoes. He found a mattress on the floor, and a ratty old blanket. The mattress was a mess—stuffing coming out, covered with stains and rat turds and piss. The blanket was moth-eaten and thin, as smelly as the bed. But he had not cared about that, he'd just wanted,
needed
, to sleep after feeding. He was always tired after feeding, and it had taken him quite some time to find the old house. He'd slept all day long once he'd settled down on the mattress.

He had no idea it was the Laramie house, of course, nor would he have cared had he known. All he wanted was shelter ... and privacy.

Now, in his new clothes and under the ratty, smelly blanket, on the rotting, stinking old mattress, he shivered with cold. Night had arrived again—the house was dark, all the shadows of the daytime gone, swallowed up by the blackness. The smells of nighttime were seeping into the house. Soon, Irving Taggart would go out into the night to satisfy his pounding desires, his gnawing appetites.

He could not decide which he wanted to do first—fuck or eat. Maybe he would do both at the same time.

 

 

 

15

 

After Dinner

 

 

Jason lay on his bed with the radio on. He'd just finished eating a spaghetti dinner with his parents and his stomach was full, although he had not been able to eat much. He'd been too preoccupied to have an appetite. All he could think about was, of course, Andrea.

He had finally lost his virginity that afternoon.

“I hope you don't mind if I ask this,” Andrea had said after the first time, “but was this, um ... was it your ... first time?”

Jason had been unable to lie. He never wanted to lie to her. He'd nodded. “It was that obvious? I-I'm sorry if I wasn't any good, I'll—”

“No, and
stop
that—berating yourself like that, it's not good.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Her face had opened up into a big smile and she'd said, “I'm so glad I was your first, Jason. You never forget your first. Decades from now, when you're an old man, one of the memories that will comfort you the most will be of your first time with me.”

“Oh, I'll never forget you,” he'd whispered. “I wouldn't forget you if you were my hundredth, or my thousandth—although by then I suppose I'd be pretty, um, tired. I wouldn't forget you even if we never made love, Andrea. I'll never forget you. Ever.”

Lips closed, smiling, she said, “Mmm.”

“What?”

“I like the way you say it,” she whispered. “Instead of ‘having sex', or ‘fucking'. Making love. That's nice.”

He couldn't wait till tomorrow, to get off work and come home. He would go see her again, and they would be together again.

He could. Not. Wait.

 

 

 

16

 

Sex in the Night

 

 

Hugh got the kids' baths over with and got them all in bed, Donald in his room, the girls in theirs.

Jeannie was worried about monsters in her closet.

“They come out while I'm dreamin', Daddy,” she whispered as he pulled the covers up to her chin.

“Honey, there are no monsters, okay?” He sat on the edge of her bed. “They're only in books, or TV, or the movies. There are no real monsters, sweetheart.”

“You sure? ‘Cause I've
seen
‘em.”

“I'm positive, baby, there are no monsters, sweetheart. Bad dreams only take place inside our heads.”

“Sometimes she wakes up screaming,” Annie said quietly in her bed across the room. “She has bad dreams a lot.”

Hugh frowned. “She does? Wake up screaming, I mean?”

“Sometimes,” Jeannie whispered. “When that happens, Mommy comes in and tells me a story, or sings me a song, so I can go back to sleep.”

“Baby, honey, I
promise
there are no monsters,” Hugh said, brushing her hair from her face. “Just in your dreams. And you know what?”

“What?”

“Dreams can't hurt us. They can be really scary sometimes, and they can seem very real, and we can wake up scared from a bad dream, but there's nothing a dream can ever do to hurt you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He drew an X over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

“Since Mommy's feelin' bad, will
you
come tell me a story if I have a bad dream?”

“You can bet on it. I'll be here.” He hoped he would be there—he'd never heard Jeannie screaming in the night before. Apparently, Emily always got to her and quieted her down before Jeannie's screams had a chance to wake him up.

“Okay. G'night, Daddy.”

He bent down and kissed her on the lips. “Goodnight, sweetums.” He got up and went over to Annie's bed and kissed her, too. “Goodnight, honey.”

“‘Night, Dad,” Annie said.

He left the room and went across the hall to Donald's room. It was dark, but music played quietly on the radio.

“Time to go to sleep, tiger,” Hugh said.

“Mom lets me listen to the radio at night,” Donald said. “Helps me get to sleep.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It's my clock radio, and I set it to turn off after an hour.”

“Okay. Sounds good to me.” He went to the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Donald was frowning. “What's the matter?”

The boy said nothing for awhile, then: “It's Mom. Is she gonna be okay?”

Donald was a worrier. Sometimes it concerned Hugh—the boy seemed to take everything so seriously. “She's going to be fine. It's just going to take a little while.”

“Oh. Okay.” But the frown did not relax.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You're sure?”

As if he sensed his expression's effect on his dad, Donald relaxed his frown and smiled a little. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Okay.” Hugh bent down and kissed him on the forehead.

“Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, tiger.”

By the time he went downstairs to enjoy the silence, he was exhausted, ready for bed. He turned on the television and tried to watch, but he could not focus his eyes on the screen. Hugh turned off the television, all the lights, then went upstairs.

The bed was empty and the bathroom door was closed. As far as Hugh knew, it was the first time Emily had left the bed all day. She hadn't eaten, other than a couple bites of the tuna sandwich he'd fixed her for lunch. Hugh was worried about her—but he was too tired to worry right now. All he wanted was to stretch out in the bed. He had a new respect for the work Emily did while he was out showing houses all day.

He took off his clothes and got into bed, sat up against the headboard, and turned the TV on with the remote. He turned on Letterman and locked his hands together behind his head, elbows out.

The toilet flushed in the bathroom, then the faucet turned on. A moment later, Emily came out. He was surprised that she was naked—Emily had become quite modest since her weight gain. She stood in the doorway and looked at him. There was something odd about her eyes, about her whole expression. She pulled her lips back over her teeth and it took him a moment to realize that she was smiling.

“Hugh,” she said, her voice breathy. “
Hugh
.” She rushed to the bed and tore the covers off of him. She fell onto the bed and got on top of him.

“Emily, what are you
doing
?” he said.

She breathed heavily as she straddled him. She smelled of an unbathed muskiness. Her breasts jiggled above the rolls of fat that went around her middle.

“What does it
look
like I'm doing?” she whispered raspily.

“But, but today, you didn't even want me to
touch
you.”

“That was today. I want you now, Hugh.” She clenched her teeth and spoke through them. “I have to have you, I
have
to, I want you inside me, you hear? Right now. Right
now
. Fuck me, Hugh,
fuck
me.”

He laughed with wide eyes, his eyebrows high. “Well, what's, what're you—”

She reached down and grabbed his limp penis, then took it in her mouth.

“Oh, God,” he said.

Emily hadn't gone down on him in years. She'd done it a lot before they were married, but afterward, it had become more infrequent, until it had stopped altogether. As she sucked on him, he got hard in her mouth and let his head fall back, rolled his eyes up in his head as he closed them and moaned. She hummed with him in her mouth, then made a low, guttural sound in her throat. She climbed back up his body, reached down, inserted him, and bounced up and down on him, laughing like a child.

Hugh closed his eyes and just enjoyed it. It had been a long time since Emily had shown this kind of enthusiasm in bed. He did not understand it—it made no sense under the circumstances, given the fact that she'd just been raped, and had just killed her rapist, for crying out loud—but he did not think about it.

He rolled with it. And it was great, like the old days—if he closed his eyes and forgot about how fat she'd gotten, it was their honeymoon in Mexico all over again. Emily was making the same laughing but desperate sounds, clutching at him in the same way, blindly and tightly, her nails scratching his skin, breath coming in a fast pant. Then she clamped her lips together tightly and started to make high humming sounds through her nose. She was getting close. It was a familiar sound, such a good sound, Hugh couldn't help smiling a little. She embraced him and held him almost smotheringly tight as she came, pounding down on him harder, holding him desperately, crying out repeatedly, “Oh! Oh!” Then she stopped moving and pressed herself down on him hard and ground her hips over him for awhile, moaning softly. She put her mouth over his, sucked on his tongue as she ground on him. Then she slowly started humping him again.