The New Neighbor (13 page)

It was the man Jen had seen.

No
, Robby thought.
Just dreaming ... that's all
.

But what if it
had
been the man Jen told him about.
Someone
besides Jen and himself should know there was a weird guy sneaking around the neighborhood.

Robby decided to wake his dad, except –

– he was falling asleep on his bedroom floor, sinking quickly back into the muddy depths of the sleep from which he had not entirely surfaced. Robby shook his head hard, sat up against the bed and tried to stand, failed once, tried again, then staggered toward the door, leaning first on the night stand, then his desk, then a chair.

The hallway was dark and silent. Robby leaned against the wall for a moment and his head drooped until his chin rested on his chest and his breathing became slow, shallow.

"No," he croaked to himself, jerking his head up. He swayed like a drunk and took a deep breath, focusing his bleary eyes on his parents' bedroom door. He trudged forward, staggering from one wall to another, until –

– his legs gave beneath him, unable to hold his weight, and he fell in a heap on the floor only a few feet from his parents' bedroom.
 

Through the black smoke of his fatigue, Robby felt the onset of panic. Something was wrong with him. He was sick. Suddenly, the man he'd seen – or thought he'd seen – was unimportant and he could think of nothing else but getting help. He took in a breath and tried to cry out for his parents, but his voice was nothing more than the gurgle of a clogged drain and his eyelids lowered completely, plunging him into darkness.

"Duh ... Duh ... Daaad." The word was only breathed, barely audible to Robby himself.

He pulled himself over the floor with the distant sound of the dogs barking across the street still in his ears and –

– something else.

Robby heard his dad ...
grunting
. Although it was a sound he'd never heard his dad make before, it was unmistakable.
 

They're fucking
? he thought vaguely.
Mom must not be too sick
.
 

There was a moment of pause, a moment of embarrassment, then the panic set in again and Robby realized the interruption couldn't be helped. He dug his fingers into the carpet and crawled toward the bedroom.

* * * *

George lay on top of Lorelle, trying to hold in his cries as he slammed into her again and again, approaching his second orgasm as he looked down at her grinning face. His semen glistened around her mouth and in her hair and she reached up, swept her fingers through it, then licked them like candy.

She pulled away suddenly and George had to gulp back the shout of protest that rose in his throat.
 

Sitting up, she reached down between her legs and slipped three fingers inside herself. When she removed them, they were dripping wet. Lorelle rolled over onto her knees, ass raised high, and reached back between her cheeks, sliding each wet finger into her asshole slowly, one at a time.
 

George's breath came faster as he watched her, then stopped completely when she wrapped her fingers around his cock, pulled it toward her and pushed herself back to meet him.
 

He entered her with an almost painful groan and clawed her back as he pounded into her ass harder and harder and harder until.

* * * *

Robby heard a low, throaty groan, then a loud thump from the bedroom as if something heavy had fallen to the floor. Sprawled on the floor, mouth hanging open, Robby listened and, when he heard nothing more, became even more afraid.
 

What's happening
? he thought, and took another breath, this time managing a feeble, "What's ... wrong? What's – “

The very air changed. The darkness seemed to thicken and Robby felt as if his breath were being sucked out through his eye sockets.
 

The house chilled, became so cold that Robby expected to see his breath puff before him.

Something moved behind the closed door, then –

– silence.
 

No grunting or groaning. Even the dogs had stopped barking.
 

Except ...
 

Something gushed outside, like a sudden burst of wind.
 

Again ... and again ...
 

Like the slow flapping of great wings.
 

Then Robby blinked several times rapidly, feeling slightly confused, and looked around at the dark hallway. He stood easily, the deadly fatigue gone, and went to his parents' bedroom door, listened.

Nothing but his dad's snoring.
 

Massaging his eyes, Robby returned to his room. As he got back in bed, he tried to imagine his mom and dad making love. He'd tried before, unsuccessfully, but this time the image that came to mind was clear and vivid, as if he were in the room watching them. He relaxed in his bed, strangely warmed by the vision of his parents naked and entwined.

Outside his bedroom window, rain pattered and wind sighed and, once again, Robby sat up and looked out. There was a light on across the street at Lorelle's. A shadow moved behind the newly hung curtains, which suddenly parted, and –

– Robby ducked quickly, pulling the covers up to his chin. He didn't want to see her. He didn't even want to
think
about her.

And for some reason, he did not want her to see him.

He was still awake a few minutes later when a pulsing red and blue glow seeped in around the edges of his window shade. He pulled it aside to see Lorelle walking out to meet a police officer getting out of his car. Robby slid his window open a few inches and listened.

Above the hiss and crackle of the car's radio, Robby could hear their voices, but could only make out some of the words.
 

" ... prowler a while ago," Lorelle said.
 

" ... good look at him? Or did ... "

" ... walked with a cane and wore a fedora ... dark overcoat ... scarred face,
horribly
scarred ... arm with a metal hand ... "

Robby closed the window and let the shade drop back into place.
 

Could she have seen him? There hadn't been any sign of life over there other than the dogs barking. And even if she had, how could she have seen his metal hand if he wore a glove over it, as Jen had said?

Outside, the car door slammed and the policeman drove away.
 

Robby tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn't relax.
 

Something wasn't right....

Chapter 8
 

Something in the Air

It was not a typical weekend for the Pritchards. On Saturday morning, the sun rose behind lead-gray clouds and was nearing its peak before everyone in the house was awake.

Jen crawled out of bed, put on her robe, then shuffled around the house, her eyes closed half the time. After a while she realized she was the only one up. She made herself some toast, turned on the television and stared blearily at some dumb cartoon. As she began to feel more awake, her thoughts kept returning to the hideous man she'd met the night before, and the nightmares through which he'd stalked her in her sleep. She decided that, when he woke up, she would tell Dad about the man. She was afraid if she didn't, he would be chasing her through her sleep for many nights to come, laughing through his twisted grin as his shiny steel hand clutched at her hair.
 

But when Dad finally walked out into the living room wearing his bathrobe, his hair looking like a clump of barbed wire that had been pressed into his scalp, Jen had second thoughts. He was pale and moved slowly with his eyes half closed.
 

"Morning, Dad," she said tentatively.
 

He went to the recliner, where Monroe was sleeping in a curled-up ball. He swatted the cat hard with his knuckles. Monroe hissed as he dove from the chair and shot out of the room.
 

Jen was startled. He usually lifted Monroe out of the chair. She knew he didn’t like Monroe, but she’d never seen him
hit
the cat before.

"You feeling okay, Dad?"

He made a noise in his throat and moved his head, but that was all.
 

It'll wait
, Jen thought, turning back to the television.

* * * *

Every inch of George's body ached. He couldn't remember drinking anything more than a beer last night, but he felt as if he were suffering the hangover of a lifetime. His hands trembled and his legs were weak and he felt as if someone had stabbed a straw into his gut and sucked out his insides.
 

When he first opened his eyes that morning, he'd thought of a dream he'd had, a vivid sexual dream, no doubt inspired by Lorelle Dupree's proposition the night before. It wasn't until he realized that he was lying on the floor beside his bed – that he’d
slept
on the floor – that his dream took on a new meaning. He sat up and saw the red circles of irritated flesh just below his thighs, as if his knees had been rubbing vigorously on the carpet. He touched his unusually tender cock and smelled on his fingers the distinct, musky odor of his dream.

How had it happened? How had she gotten into the house? Before going to bed, he’d gone through his nightly routine of checking all the doors to make sure they were locked. It made no sense.

As he sat in the recliner, wincing at the blaring noise from the television, George remembered he'd left the bedroom window cracked all night long. But in the dream –

–
It wasn't a dream
, he thought,
it was real
–

– he'd been awake when Lorelle came in. He would have heard that window open – even if he’d been asleep, the sound would have woken him.

As he ran his fingers through his hair, George noticed that the movement made his back sting. When the sensation did not go away, he got up, went to the bathroom, dropped his robe and turned his back to the mirror over the sink, looking over his shoulder.

Thin red scratches striped his back.
 

He quickly washed his face with cold water and decided he would make a pot of coffee. Then, no matter what it took, George was going to forget all about it.
 

After scrubbing his face with a towel, he looked into the mirror and muttered hoarsely, "Just a dream. Thassall."
 

In the hall, he heard Karen stirring in the bedroom and hurried away before she came out.

* * * *

Karen had awakened suddenly, sat up and clutched her head in her hands, sick with guilt. She went over it all in her mind and could not believe what she had done. And she’d done it just across the
street
! Lifting her head slowly, she stared for a moment at the jewelry box on her dresser. That was where she'd hidden the tiny silver women Lorelle had give her. She thought of the way their legs were locked together, of what she and Lorelle had done.

It was still light outside, so she probably had time to fix a quick dinner. That's what she would do. Maybe she'd get take-out Chinese food – a favorite in their house – and treat them all like royalty, shower them with affection, pay each of them a lot of attention – more than she usually did, she was afraid. She felt groggy, as if she'd been drugged, and knew she could probably sleep a few more hours if she laid back down. But she couldn't do that. George would be home soon and the kids were probably hungry.

As she got out of bed, she saw the time on the digital clock: 10:41 A.M.
 

Karen slapped a hand over her mouth and groaned, "Oh, God." Her stomach turned and her throat felt thick, as if full of phlegm. She
never
slept that long, not without at least waking once to go to the bathroom, or something. She had
never
been a heavy sleeper.

Slipping on her panties and dress, she peeked out into the hall, saw no one, and went into the bathroom. The woman who stared at her from inside the mirror was frightening: greasy hair, pale, splotchy skin with dark bags beneath her eyes, and hands that looked veiny and aged.

Turning away from the mirror, Karen sat on the edge of the bathtub and closed a fist around a clump of her flat, spiky hair, thinking about it all again.
 

All the licking and sucking ... all the wet noises they'd made ...

The worst part was that no matter how hard Karen tried to be repulsed by the memory, it only excited her and made her want more.
 

An abrupt knock at the bathroom door made her jump.

"Mom?" Jen called.
 

Taking a deep breath, struggling to keep her voice steady, she answered, "What, honey?"
 

"Do we have any more cocoa? I can't find any."
 

"May-maybe not. I-I’ll come look in a minute. Okay?"
 

“‘Kay.” After a moment: "You feel better?"
 

"Yeah. Yuh-yeah, I think so."
 

"That's good." Her footsteps hurried down the hall.
 

Better than what
? Karen thought. Had Jen sensed something wrong yesterday? Had she looked
this
bad yesterday?
 

Looking in the mirror again, she was certain she'd never looked worse.
 

She stood and ran a brush through her hair a few times, then stood at the bathroom door for several long seconds, wondering how she could bear to show herself in her own home.

* * * *

Robby felt better when he woke that morning, although he had not slept well. His dreams of Lorelle had been haunted by the dark, limping figure he'd seen out his window the night before.