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Authors: Tim Waggoner

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BOOK: The Men Upstairs
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The Spindlekin have been watching the mayhem they created with impassive expressions, but now they turn toward me, as if only just noticing me. Gray-Hair gives me a nod, and the four of them start walking across the street, smiles slowly spreading across their faces, as if they’re pleased to see me. None of the onlookers pay any attention to the Spindlekin as they converge on my corner, gray work shirts darkened from the rain, and the accident scene fades from my awareness as I focus on them.

When they reach me, Gray-Hair speaks first.

“You’ve been following us all day.”

I don’t say anything. I’m too scared.

“You like what you see?’ Mr. Mustache says.

“Sure he did,” Metal-Face adds. “I bet he’s become a real fan of our work.”

“An admirer,” Mr. Mustache says.

“An
aficionado
,” Gray-Hair adds.

They’re grinning as if they’re enjoying this immensely. I’m vaguely aware of the paramedic still trying to get the Civic’s door open, and now I hear the distant sound of other emergency vehicle approaching. I wonder if a news crew will beat them here. I’m still scared, but I’m starting to get pissed off, too. Whatever the hell these fuckers are, whatever strange abilities they possess, they’ve just hurt people, maybe even killed some.

“When the cops get here, I’ll tell them everything,” I say. “They’ll take you away, and we won’t have to worry about you anymore.” I don’t bother to explain the
we
. There’s no longer any need to play games.

Gray-Hair takes a step closer to me. I want to step back, but I force myself to hold my ground. His breath smells like alcohol and spoiled meat.

“What makes you think a jail can hold us?” he says.

“Not that it’ll ever get that far,” Mr. Mustache adds. “What are you going to say? That you saw three men standing on corners before the accident? That they waved their hands right before it happened? The police won’t believe you.”

“They’ll think you’re fucking crazy,” Metal-Face says.

He’s right and I know it. And then, without my thinking about it, a one-word question pops out of my mouth.

“Why?”

Gray-Hair looks amused. “You’ve seen the slogan on our van. It speaks for itself.”

“But why the park, the nursery home? Why –” I gesture toward the wrecked vehicles. “
This
?”

Gray-Hair’s grin widens so far I wouldn’t be surprised if his lower jaw tears away from the rest of his face.

“Why not?” he says.

The chaos in the street continues, but the sounds of people shouting, crying, and moaning fade into the background. All my attention is focused on Gray-Hair. I feel like a small animal confronted by a large predator. If I take my gaze off him for instant—hell, if I so much as blink—I feel like he’ll attack.

“I know you want Liana back, but she’ll never return to you.” I say. “Not of her own free will.”

Gray-Hair leans his face close to mine. A gust of wind comes from behind him, catches his long wet hair and blows strands of it toward my face. They undulate in the wind, looking like they possess a life of their own, and the tips brush my cheeks and forehead, leaving oily deposits whenever they touch my flesh. “She
will
return, because she has no choice,” he says. “A creature like Liana cannot be separated from her Spindlekin for very long.”

“Because she’s your Desiderata,” I say, almost spitting the word.

Mr. Mustache shakes his head. “That’s not –”

Gray-Hair cuts him off with a sharp look. “It’s close enough,” he says, then turns back to me. “Liana has certain…needs.”

“Needs only we can fulfill,” Mr. Mustache says with a smirk.

“And we’re damned good at it,” Metal-Face adds, leering.

Jealousy and anger well up inside me, and despite the fact that I’m totally outmatched in power, I clench my hands into fists, as if I intend to fight them. The Spindlekin exchange amused glances.

“She can stay away from us for a week or two,” Gray-Hair says, “Maybe an entire month if she really works at it. But in the end she will be ours again. We have only to be patient.”

Metal-Face bares his teeth at me in a half-smile, half-snarl. “And when she does, that’s when we’ll take care of you.”

“I’m not afraid.” The sensation of Gray-Hair’s grease-slick hair on my skin is making me queasy, and I hope I sound calmer than I feel. “I love Liana, and she loves me. No matter what you say, she’ll never return to you willingly. And if you try to force her to go with you, she’ll just escape again.”

I expect Gray-Hair to get angry then, shout that Liana belongs with them. But instead he looks at me thoughtfully. Then a slow, sly smile spreads across his lips, and he turns to exchange glances with his two companions. At first the others seem puzzled, but then understanding enters their gazes and they too smile.

Gray-Hair’s rain-wet locks have continued to caress my face, although the wind died away several moments ago. But now the strands retreat and settle back against their owner’s body. He nods to me then in an almost courtly fashion.

“I’m glad we talked. It’s been most enlightening.”

Then he turns and walks away, the other two following him. None of them bother to glance back at me as they depart. It’s as if they’ve completely forgotten about me, and I can’t say I’m altogether sorry about that. No one in the crowd pays any attention to them as they climb into their van, start the engine, and drive away. At first I’m glad they’re gone, but then I realize they’re headed in the direction of our apartment complex.

Liana.

Panic rushes through me, and I turn to run toward my car. But before I can take a step, I see a police officer walking down the sidewalk toward me—a petite black woman only slightly older than Liana. I look at the accident scene and see that three police cruisers have arrived. I have no memory of them showing up. There’s another siren growing louder as it approaches. Another emergency vehicle is on its way. Hopefully this one will arrive intact.

I assume the officer figures I’m a witness and wants to take my statement. But before she can reach me, I turn once again and starting running toward my Protégé. The officer shouts for me to stop, but I ignore her. All I can think about is getting home to Liana before the Spindlekin. I reach my car, get in, fire up the engine, and peel out of the bank’s parking lot. Unlike the Spindlekin, who parked on the other side of the intersection, I can’t take the most direct route to my apartment. The two wrecked vehicles and the trio of police cruisers are blocking the way. So I head north. This way will be longer, but it’ll only add a few minutes, and there’s nothing I can—

I see the cop’s lights in my rearview an instant before he hits the siren. I assume the officer who shouted for me to stop radioed one of her companions, and he set off in pursuit of me. I check my speedometer and see I’m doing fifty in a thirty-five zone. I didn’t realize I was going this fast. I consider jamming the pedal to the floor and making a run for it. I don’t think I can shake the cop, but if I can get him to follow me home, maybe I can convince him to help me stop the Spindlekin. After all, he has a gun and he knows how to use it. And Liana told me that whatever powers the Spindlekin possess, in the end they’re still flesh and blood.

But I’m afraid that if I don’t pull over, the cop will find a way to make me, maybe ram my rear end and make me spin out, the way they do on police reality shows. If I get arrested, I’ll never reach Liana in time. My internal debate rages for a few more seconds and then, hating myself for it, I pull over to the side of the road. The cop pulls up behind me, and leaves his flashers on as he gets out of his cruiser and walks toward me.

I barely register the cop’s features. He’s around my age, in good shape, a bit of a paunch, though.

“Leaving the scene of an accident at high speed.” His expression is neutral, his tone emotionless. “A little suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”

At first, I can’t think of how to respond. If I tell him the truth, he’ll think I’m crazy. Although at this point, I wonder if I’m not.

“I’m late to shoot photos for a business catalogue,” I say. I grab my camera off the passenger seat and hold it up as if it’s a visual aid. “Since the intersection was blocked, I had to turn around, and now I’m going to be even later.” My words have all come out in a rush, and I force myself to take a breath and slow down as I add, “But I know that’s no excuse for speeding.”

The cop looks at me for a moment before asking to see my license and registration. I have trouble keeping my hands from shaking as I produce my license, and I have to dig through the junk in my glove box to find my registration. Once the officer has both, he tells me he’ll be right back and then he returns to his cruiser. I grip the steering wheel to steady my hands, and I try to keep calm. But I can’t keep the flood of images from racing through my mind—images of what the Spindlekin will do to Liana if they get hold of her. My engine is still running, and I’m tempted to say to hell with the cop and hit the gas. But I force myself to wait, and after what seems like hours, the officer returns.

“You’re lucky you’ve got a clean driving record, or you’d be in for a ticket today.” He hands me back my license and registration. “Watch your speed from now on.”

I grin like an idiot, and it’s all I can do to keep from laughing in relief.

“I will.”

The officer looks at me one more time, and I’m afraid he’s going to change his mind, but he turns and heads back toward his cruiser, probably intending to go back to the accident scene and help out. I start driving again, careful to stick to the speed limit for a couple miles. When I judge that I’m far enough away, I press the gas again, my speedometer needle starts moving, and I race home, fighting the awful images in my head the whole way.

* * *

The rain picks up by the time I reach my neighborhood, and I turn my wipers on high. The Spindlekin’s van is parked in front of our building, and I pull in next to it. On the one hand, I’m upset they beat me here, but on the other, I’m relieved. It means they haven’t taken Liana away. I park, dash through the rain and run inside. I fumble with my keys as I unlock my apartment door, and I don’t bother to close it behind me as I enter. I call Liana’s name, once, twice, three times, my tone getting increasingly louder and more desperate. I look for her everywhere—the living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, the closet, the patio. But I don’t find her. Not knowing what else to do, and feeling panic building inside me, I search the entire apartment again. This time I notice something in the bedroom I didn’t before. Liana’s journal is lying open on the bed. I sit down, pick it up, and read the entry it’s open to. The last entry.

Richard:

I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You’re the first person who ever truly saw me, and I’ll treasure that gift forever. I’ve come to care for you so much since we met, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you. But I’ve brought many difficult things into your life, and now your safety is in jeopardy. Because of this, I must leave you, if for no other reason than to protect you. I’m going to try to believe it’s for the best, and I urge you to do the same. Your life can get back to normal now, and as for me…Perhaps it’s better that I remain with my own kind.

Thank you for our time together, Richard. They were the best days of my life. I love you.

Liana.

I understand then what the Spindlekin have done. They used Liana’s feelings for me against her, told her they’d kill me if she didn’t return to them. And in order to save me, she gave herself over to their filthy hands. I’m overwhelmed with sorrow and rage, but mixed in with those emotions are a sense of awe and disbelief. No one has ever loved me this much, sacrificed for me like this. Tears start running down my cheeks, and I wish the cop hadn’t stopped me, wish I’d gotten here in time to stop Liana from leaving. We could’ve run, could’ve—

I hear sounds from the bedroom upstairs. Moans, groans, grunts, punctuated by bursts of dark laughter.

I know where Liana is. I know what’s happening to her. I feel shock, rage, jealously. Part of me—a small, petty part—thinks I should forget about Liana, leave her with her own kind. A larger part of me feels overwhelming guilt, because I know Liana has done this to protect me, to keep me safe from the Spindlekin. But most of all, I feel love for Liana, and I know I can’t allow her to go on suffering. Not for me.

I race out of the bedroom and head for the kitchen, once again wishing I owned a gun. I grab a butcher knife from the utensil drawer, a hammer from the junk drawer. Neither is much in the way of weaponry, but they’ll have to do. As I run to the front door, I repeat a mantra under my breath. “Just flesh and blood, just flesh and blood.” I pray that it’s true.

The front door is still open, and I go through and run up the stairs to the second floor. I’m barely thinking now, running mostly on adrenaline and emotion, and I nearly stumble as I ascend. Wouldn’t it be ironic if I manage to trip and fall on my own knife, saving the Spindlekin the trouble of having to interrupt their fuck-fest to kill me?

I reach their door and I slam the hammer against the wood three times,
wham-wham-wham!

BOOK: The Men Upstairs
10.86Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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