Under My Skin (25 page)

With a hiss, Rosita let go of the ceiling and plummeted towards Sally. There was nothing she could do. She tried to dive out of the way, but Rosita was on her in less than a second.

Sally hit the tiled floor awkwardly, her hip bearing the brunt of the fall. Rolling onto her front, ignoring the pain, she tried to crawl away, but Rosita's nails dug into her flesh, pinning her down. The spider-woman straddled her, her hands closing in around Sally's neck.

Now that she was close, Sally saw Rosita's irises were jet black and inhumanly swollen. When she smiled her deadly smile, her teeth seemed sharper than before. ‘Back so soon, Sally Feather?' Her grip tightened. ‘Was Mother not everything you desired?'

Sally gasped and choked, trying to prize the fingers off her throat.
Mother?
Rosita was Molly Sue's daughter? No . . . not Rosita – whatever was
inside
her. ‘You . . . tricked me! She's evil!'

Removing one hand, Rosita slapped her hard across the face. ‘You ungrateful little bitch! Did Mother not give you everything? Popularity, beauty, love . . . you could have had it all.' A tiny black spider tattoo elegantly lowered itself down her slender neck on a silk strand. Rosita was more than just Molly Sue's slave. The darkness, the power inside her came
from
Molly Sue.

Sally could no longer speak as thumbs dug into her windpipe. Tears ran down her face and glittery silver shapes swam in the periphery of her vision.
It's not worth it. It's not worth it if I have to become like her
.

Maybe Rosita heard what she was thinking, maybe she didn't, but she went on, pressing harder and harder on her neck. ‘You were
weak
. You couldn't handle her power. You were an unworthy host. Not like Boris and I . . . we are her special children. We take good care of Mother and so she gives us gifts.' Gifts, Sally guessed, like being able to walk on ceilings.

Rosita squeezed harder. Like curtains closing at the theatre, darkness swooped in over Sally's vision. This was it.

‘But fear not, little one. Now you'll stay with us in the House of Skin,' Rosita cooed. ‘Join the family . . . for ever and ever and ever . . .'

Stan.
The image of his face gave her the jolt she needed. She let go of Rosita's wrist and let her hand feel its way over the tiles. Her fingers found a smooth, cool object. Porcelain. One of the Day of the Dead skulls. Sally gripped it by its eye sockets and drove it into Rosita's tattooed face with everything she had left.

There was a crunch as it made contact with her nose. Rosita screamed and fell off her. Not letting go of the skull, Sally bashed it onto the side of her head. This time, the woman crumpled to the ground. Exhausted, Sally flopped onto her back, gasping for breath. Her body lulled her to sleep, but she knew if she closed her eyes, she'd be done. Covered in dirt and grime, Sally woozily stumbled to her feet.

Get Stan.

Rosita groaned, clutching her temple. She wasn't dead, but only just conscious. Sally moved. There was only one door that she could see, partially hidden behind a torn curtain at the back of the lobby. The floor and the door seemed to slope as Sally ran for it. Everything here was topsy-turvy and Sally was still light-headed. She steadied herself against the doorframe for a second before pushing her way in.

It was the same workroom, but much, much larger. This time, the room seemed to go on for infinity, the chessboard floor stretching into the shadows with no walls in sight.

There were many chairs and tables this time, all with clients stretched out on them. They weren't in the same state as the corpses in the lobby, but not far off. They writhed in pain, backs arched, mouths open in silent screams. Their pale, naked flesh was infested, swarming in tattoos of all different shapes, colours and sizes. Each tattoo crawled over their bodies. How many entities here needed new hosts? How many demons were housed here? Or was each a fragment of one larger being? Were they all controlled by Molly Sue, like the being inside Rosita? Like the being that had been inside
her
?

It all made sense – well as much as something so insane can ever hope to. They, whatever they were, must move from host to host until they were spent like the husks outside. The host only died when the parasite allowed it. Oh, with the exception of Boris and Rosita – Molly Sue must preserve and enhance them to do her dirty work.
How many years,
Sally wondered,
until she'd have used me up and bled me dry?

All excellent questions, but questions Sally didn't have time to deal with, and, by the looks of it, it was way too late to save these poor souls. One of the human cages – a girl not much older than her – peered at her with sunken, glassy eyes. Despair contorted her face into something inhuman and Sally had to look away.

Where is he?
She followed the buzz of the needle. In the centre of the hall, under a single feeble lamp was Boris. He held his needle just centimetres above a clear expanse of skin: Stan, hunched over a chair, his shirt off.

‘NO!' Sally screamed, her voice echoing through the chamber. Boris's amber eyes gleamed above his mouth mask and she tore across the room, pushing past trolleys and tables. Ignoring the artist's height and weight, she threw herself at him, grabbing for the needle. He wasn't expecting the attack and, to even Sally's surprise, she knocked him back. He collided with his trolley – inks and jars toppled over with a smash. An overwhelming blast of alcohol filled her nostrils. Antiseptic.

Boris batted her away like a fly, knocking her into a cold puddle, and turned back to Stan.
No
. Sally pounced onto his back, tugging him away. ‘Let him go!' she cried before biting his ear. She bit so hard she tasted blood. This time, Boris howled in pain. He threw his shoulders left and right, trying to loosen her but she only clung on tighter, wrapping her legs around his waist. ‘Stan! Run!' she yelled, but he didn't move, draped where he was.

With her left hand she grabbed at Boris's jaw and the surgical mask came away. Sally screamed and crashed to the floor, and saw his face for the first time. She couldn't look away. It was
hideous
. Where there should have been a jaw was just a
hole
. A long, thick, pink tongue thrashed around like a fish out of water. His top teeth were normal enough but the tongue was loose, flopping around his neck with no chin or lower teeth to support it.

All Sally could think was that Boris, the man, not the creature inside him, had tried to tell someone the truth. Only Molly Sue could have done this. Sally pressed her hand to her own mouth, knowing Boris had most likely ripped his own jaw off under the influence of his tattoos.

Furious, his eyes burned like fire. He made a horrid, slurping moan and came for her. He would surely crush her.

‘Stop!' Stan's voice rang around the room. ‘Sally, just stop.'

Both she and Boris turned to him. ‘Stan . . . you're OK!'

‘I'm fine.' He rose from the chair, a little woozy, but otherwise unharmed.

Sally ran to him and examined his skin. It hadn't been marked. ‘Oh, thank God. I got here in time.' She reached out for his hand. ‘Let's get out of here!' In this place, he was the only thing that seemed real. A lifeboat in a sea of nightmares. She clung to him.

He pushed her away. ‘Sally, I have to do this.'

‘What?' She looked at him like he was insane. ‘No! No way!'

‘Rosita told me everything. If I take Molly Sue, you'll be free and things can just go back to how they were.'

Sally shook her head, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. ‘No. Stan, you don't know what she's like.' The door creaked and Rosita prowled in, sticking to the outskirts of the light. Sally ignored her. ‘She'll make you do the most terrible things. You don't get a say in them. She'll steal your body.'

Stan seemed resigned to this; his eyes were dim. ‘I can
feel
her . . . it . . . in me. It just wants to exist.'

‘For ever,' Sally spat. ‘She wants to live for ever. She'll go on and on. When you die she'll just keep going.'

‘I . . . I don't mind. She says she just wants a home. I'll do that if it means you can be free.'

Rosita edged ever nearer. Sally grabbed another jar of antiseptic solution from a different trolley and hurled it at her. She side-stepped it, and it smashed into the wall behind her. ‘Stay where you are!' Sally growled at Rosita, who cowered behind a table. She turned back to Stan. This was a trick. ‘You're not Stan. It's Molly Sue. You're making him do this.'

‘She isn't,' Stan insisted. ‘She says her hosts must willingly submit.'

‘I don't believe you.'
Although I did.

‘It's true! Sally, please, just let me do this for you.'

Her hands curled into fists. ‘Stan . . . I don't need you to
save
me. I need you . . . to go. I just need you to be OK. You want to free me? I can't ever, ever be free knowing I did this to you. I would rather die.' She took at deep breath. ‘Molly Sue, if you're not making Stan do this, prove it! Come back into me . . . now.' She grabbed Stan's face and planted another kiss hard on his lips. She pulled back and Stan blinked, stunned.

A pause and then it hit her. Once more she felt the shadow tendrils unfurling in her mind. Like tangleweed, Molly Sue wrapped herself around Sally's thoughts. As much as she hated to admit it, she hadn't quite felt . . . complete . . . without her.

‘Did ya miss me, darlin'?'

‘Let Stan go,' she said aloud. Stan now slumped into the tattooist's chair, the possession or transfer apparently draining him.

‘But he seems so willin', dontchya think? And I could have a real good time with all that body. No offence, darlin', you ain't exactly the life and soul of the party . . .'

Sally ignored her. ‘You have me. You don't need him. What is it they say?
Better the devil you know?
'

Molly Sue hesitated but seemed to agree. ‘They also say,
there's no place like home
.'

The ball was in Sally's court.

Well, this really, really sucked. This is what tomorrow was like now. Every tomorrow. Ever. Sally Feather and Molly Sue: BFFs 4eva. She felt that last dribble of hope gurgle down the plughole. ‘I guess we're stuck with each other. I made my bed . . .'

‘And now we'll get real cosy in it together. I'm not so bad, am I, sugar?'

Sally felt her blood turning black; revulsion crawled under her flesh all the way to the bone. ‘You're . . . a disease, Molly Sue. A plague.'

Stan, his torso slick with sweat, examined her, no doubt looking for signs she was possessed. ‘Is she back in you? Sally, no!'

Sally slipped her hands in his. Time to say goodbye. ‘Stan, this . . . is right. It's how it has to be. I can't stand the thought of anything happening to you.' She looked him in the eye and saw how blue they really were for the first time. They were the colour of the sky in summer, a blue you could swim in. ‘Stan, I love you. Not love like in a cheesy Valentine's Day card or boy-band song . . . something bigger and better than that. You are like the scaffolding around my heart and you always have been. I
need
to know that you are OK.'

‘Mary, Jesus and Joseph, I'm a gonna hurl,' Molly Sue muttered.

‘Stan, please just go.'

The muscles in his neck tensed. ‘Are you coming with me?'

Tell the truth or lie?
Lie.
‘Yes, but I need to get some things straight first. I can't go on like this for ever. I'll be out in two minutes. I just want you out of here . . . I don't trust them.'

‘I'll wait.'

‘Stan, please.' At that moment she needed Stan to understand without her even thinking about it. She looked deep, deep into his eyes, willing him to go and telling him to trust her.

He caved, although he seemed far from pleased. ‘I will be right outside. I'm not going home without you.' He scowled at Boris, trying to give the Stan Randall interpretation of a menacing glare. It didn't really come off but Sally appreciated the gesture. Reluctantly, he backed towards the door to the lobby.

Sally waited until he had left. Rosita sidled up alongside Boris. ‘We cannot let you leave the House of Skin,' she said. ‘You'll just go back to your friends and have the tattoo removed. We live to protect Mother.'

Sally wondered what kind of deal with the devil Rosita and Boris had signed. Immortality in exchange for bringing in willing victims? There was every possibility they weren't even human at all any more. Sally half smiled. ‘I wish it were that easy. It didn't work last time. I'll give it to Molly Sue, she's resourceful.'

The tattoo spoke to her children – apparently they could hear the tattoo too. ‘Stop her. She's plannin' somethin'. I can feel it and she's blockin' me out!'