Creature

Chapter Sixteen

CharlotteLaConner eyed the image in the mirror with lethargic disinterest. Could what she saw really be herself? But she knew the answer. The CharlotteLaConner she had grown up with-the gently smiling woman whose soft brown eyes had invariably gazed out at the world with calm acceptance-had disappeared almost completely over the past week. In her place was a pale ghost of her former self. The smile was gone, and around her lips a harsh picket fence of tiny lines had appeared. Her eyes, sunk deep from lack of sleep, flickered with suspicion, seeming even when at rest to be constantly moving, searching for some unseen enemy that must be lurking just out of sight, ready to spring out at her, to attack her if her vigilance flagged for even a moment.

The image in the mirror wore no makeup, its sallow complexion exposed for all the world to see, its stark features framed by a limp tangle of unwashed hair that bore a faintly oily sheen. But it didn't matter what that image looked like, Charlotte realized, for no one had seen it. After all, she hadn't been out of her house for more than a week.

It was Saturday afternoon, though Charlotte was only vaguely aware of it. Time, for her, seemed to have slowed down. Now, as she turned away from the mirror and its strange reflection of a person she was quite certain she didn't know, she felt herself moving with the slow rhythms of someone mired in a swamp. There were things she should be doing; she'd been keeping a mental list, adding items to it each day, as each day none of the previous items were checked off. The cleaning, for instance.

Newspapers were piled neatly by Chuck's favorite chair, the stack growing as each day she reminded herself to take them out but didn't. A thin layer of dust lay over the furniture, and wisps of lint had gathered in the corners. With a desperate effort, Charlotte tried to pull herself together to begin her chores, then sank down in front of the television, her hand automatically reaching for the remote control to flick it on. She sat still, her eyes fixed on the flickering image on the picture tube, but she didn't quite comprehend what she was seeing; the thick cobwebs that had settled over her mind effectively blocked out the inane stimulus of the cartoon on the screen.

Chuck had been patient with her, silently accepting her excuses at the beginning of the week that the snow was keeping her from going out. But the snow had melted by Tuesday morning and still Charlotte remained closeted within the house, retreating deeper and deeper within herself, desolated by her sudden and complete isolation from her son.

She was dimly aware of the back door opening and closing. When Chuck came into the little den where she sat-perched rigidly on the edge of the chair, as if afraid she might collapse completely if she let herself relax at all-her eyes slowly left the television set and focused on her husband.

Chuck gazed at her worriedly. She looked worse today, worse even than when he'd left this morning for a quick meeting with Jerry Harris. She was barely even speaking to him now, and as he'd watched her sitting at the kitchen table earlier, slowly stirring a cup of coffee long after it had turned cold, he'd wondered if she was lost to him, too, as Jeff was lost. But now, after meeting with Jerry, he had a fragile ray of hope. "Honey?" he said softly. "How are you feeling?"

Charlotte forced a wan smile. "There's so much to do," she replied, her eyes uncertainly scanning the room. "But I just can't make myself do it."

Chuck drew in his breath, then crossed to her, lowered himself to the arm of the chair and slipped an arm protectively around her. "You don't have to," he murmured. Her neck twisted and she gazed up into his eyes. "We're going away, honey. I've been transferred."

A look of confusion came into Charlotte's eyes, as if she weren't sure what the words meant. "T-Transferred? But we can't go anywhere now-it's the middle of the year. Jeff…" Her voice trailed off, as if the mere mention of their son's name had reminded her that he was no longer going to school.

"It's going to be all right," Chuck assured her. "All the arrangements have been made. We're going to Boston."

It was where Charlotte had grown up, and he'd hoped that the prospect of moving back home would snap her out of the depression that had closed around her during the past week, but she only stared at him for a moment, then shook her head.

"But of course we can't go." She spoke the words hollowly, as if repeating something Chuck must already know.

"No, darling," Chuck told her. "That's what the meeting this morning with Jerry was about. It's all set-we can leave any time. Even today, if you want to."

At last his words seemed to penetrate her fog. She looked at him again, almost suspiciously, like a mouse sniffing around the cheese in a trap before trying to snatch it. Then her eyes cleared.

"But we can't do that!" she exclaimed. She shook Chuck's arm away and rose to her feet. "We can't just pack up and go-what about Jeff? We have to make arrangements for him-find a hospital for him…" Then, seeing the bleak emptiness in her husband's eyes, the full truth of what he was saying sank into her. "Dear God!" she breathed. "You don't mean for us to take him at all, do you? You think we're just going to go away and leave him here-"

"No," Chuck protested, though he knew her words were the truth. It wasn't meant to be the way Charlotte made it sound. "We can't take him with us now," he admitted. "But when he's better, Jerry says-"

"Jerry!" Charlotte spat the name at him. "I might have known Jerry Harris was part of this." Her eyes glowed with fury. "It's all part of another one ofTarrenTech's grand schemes, isn't it?" Her voice rose dangerously and her eyes darted about the room as if she half expected to see Jerry Harris himself watching her from a corner. "Is that what it is?" she demanded. "They did something to Jeff, didn't they? And now they want to buy you off. What are they going to do, Chuck? Are they going to make us disappear, just like Tom and Phyllis Stevens did?"

It had been a wild stab, but she saw that it struck home. Her hand flew to her mouth at the look that came into Chuck's eyes, a look that was part pain, part fear.

"Don't be ridiculous," Chuck snapped, but his controlled reaction had come too late. She stood frozen where she was for a moment, listening to the lies that issued from his mouth. "Nothing happened to Tom and Phyllis. They're in New York. Tom is running the Travel Division and I saw Phyllis at a meeting in San Marcos not five months ago. She looks great."

Charlotte's eyes narrowed. "And what about Randy? Did they tell you how he is?" she fairly hissed at him. "Did you even ask?" He didn't answer for a moment, and her voice rose perilously. "Did you?" she screamed.

Chuck was on his feet now, and he took a step toward her. "No, I didn't," he began, "but-"

Charlotte backed away from him, then spun around and fled from the room. It was a trap! She knew it now. All of it was a trap. She had to get out, had to get out of the house, away from Chuck and everything that was happening. She ran to the front door, not even pausing to grab a jacket. It didn't matter, for she didn't even feel the chill of the air as she burst outside.

She paused in the middle of the street, her eyes darting toward the other houses on the block. Who was watching her? How many of them? Did they know what had happened? Were they all a part of it?

She started running, half staggering as her feet struck the uneven bricks of the pavement. She had to find help, find refuge.

But where?

Whom could she turn to? Whom could she trust?

Elaine Harris. Elaine had been her friend since…

She abandoned the thought. Elaine couldn't be trusted- she must be part of it. If Jerry was, Elaine must be, too.

And then she remembered.

There was one person she knew who might help her, might at least listen to her. Her breath coming in choking sobs, she turned and ran down the street.

Mark had left the house immediately after breakfast that morning, and Sharon had had to remind him to feed his rabbits, as she had every morning that week. His eyes had rolled with irritation and he'd suggested that Kelly do it, but Sharon had shaken her head. "They're your rabbits. You can't just dump them on your sister." He'd sighed heavily, but headed out to the backyard and quickly refilled the food and water containers inside the hutch. There were only five rabbits now, and as Sharon watched Mark hurriedly clean out the hutch, her eyes wandered to the small cross that marked the spot behind the garage where Kelly had insisted they bury the rabbit she'd found dead in the hutch last weekend.

It had been Mark who'd gone out to take a look when Kelly came running in that Saturday morning-the morning after the snowfall-crying that one of the rabbits had frozen to death. When he'd come back in, both Sharon and Blake looked inquiringly at him, but he only shrugged, seeming unconcerned. "I guess he didn't go in with the others," he said. "I turned the light on last night, and the rest of them are fine. I dumped him in the trash barrel."

Kelly, outraged at the indignity of the treatment accorded the dead animal, had insisted on a funeral for the rabbit, so after breakfast they all trooped out behind the garage and buried the little corpse in a shoe box. Only when Kelly had gone off to play with one of her friends had Sharon dug up the box, replacing it with a stone, andredeposited the rabbit in the trash barrel soChivas wouldn't be tempted to dig it up and bring it into the house, proudly presenting it to her like a child who has just won a trophy.

But as the week had gone by, and it became increasingly clear that Mark's interest in the creatures was waning, she'd wondered what to do with the small colony that still survived. Blake had suggested eating them, and though Sharon could still remember eating rabbit when she was a little girl, the thought of devouring what had been family pets turned her stomach. Now, as Blake sat in his chair in the family room going over a stack of files, and Kelly sprawled on the floor staring at a cartoon on television, she gazed out the window at the furry creatures-all too unaware that their future had suddenly become uncertain-who were peacefully munching on their food. Perhaps they could simply release them and let them join the large colonies of jackrabbits that proliferated all over the valley. Her reverie was suddenly interrupted by a pounding at the front door. Before she had risen to her feet, Kelly was dashing out of the room. A minute later the little girl was back, her eyes wide and her voice trembling.

"There's a lady here," she said. "And she looks like she's crazy or something." She hesitated a second, then went on proudly, "I didn't let her in."

Frowning, Sharon went to the front door, Kelly trailing after her, and opened it a couple of inches. For a moment she didn't recognize CharlotteLaConner standing on the front porch, her face ashen, her dark-circled eyes reddened with tears. But at last Charlotte spoke. Gasping, Sharon pulled the door wide.

"Please," Charlotte rasped, her voice strained and her eyes darting back over her shoulder, as if she thought she were being followed. "I don't have anywhere else to go. You've got to let me in… please?"

As Kelly pressed close to her, Sharon held the door with one hand and drew Charlotte in with the other. "Charlotte! What is it? What's wrong?"

"They're making me go away," Charlotte sobbed. "They want me to just go away and forget about Jeff. But he's my son, Sharon!" she wailed. "I can't just forget him. I can't!"

Sharon stared at CharlotteLaConner, her mind whirling. What was the woman talking about? Jeff was in a hospital somewhere, wasn't he? She began guiding Charlotte gently toward the kitchen and the family room beyond, then realized that Kelly was still beside her, gazing curiously at the distraught woman. "Go up to your room, sweetheart," she said. "Just for a little while. All right?"

For a second she thought Kelly was going to protest, but then, as if she knew that something was happening that she didn't need to know about, she trotted up the stairs. When she got to the top, she turned and looked back. "Is she JeffLaConner's mother?" she asked.

Sharon hesitated, then nodded. Kelly seemed on the verge of saying something else, but abruptly changed her mind and disappeared down the hall toward her room.

Blake was on his feet when Sharon and Charlotte came into the family room. When he saw the state Charlotte was in, he quickly began stuffing files back into the briefcase. "I'll be out of here in a second," he mumbled. He fell silent as CharlotteLaConner's bleary eyes fixed on him.

"Are you in on it, too?" she demanded, her voice reduced now to a hoarse rattle. Gasping for air, nearly spent from her wild run through the streets, she allowed herself to collapse onto the sofa. But her eyes never left Blake.

"I… in on it?" Blake asked. What was the woman talking about? Of course, he knew about JeffLaConner's breakdown. He'd even helped set up the boy's admission to a private mental institution near Denver.

CharlotteLaConner's eyes were wild now. "They're all part of it, you know," she rasped, her eyes flicking toward Sharon. "They did something to Jeff, and they don't want me to find out what it is. They won't let me see him. They even say it's my fault!" She buried her head in her hands and began sobbing. Sharon reached out, wanting to comfort her, but Charlotte shrank away from her touch.

The door bell rang, and Charlotte flinched visibly at the sound. Wordlessly, Blake hurried out of the room, and a moment later Sharon heard the faint sounds of whispered conversation. Then Blake was back.

Behind him, his eyes veiled with worry, was ChuckLaConner. As soon as he saw Charlotte, his sigh of relief filled the room.

"I'm sorry," he said to Sharon, going to sit next to his wife. But as he tried to slip his arm protectively around Charlotte, she shrank from him as a moment ago she had from Sharon. "I wasn't sure where she went. I've been driving around, looking for her." He paused, then reached out to Charlotte once again. "Honey, it's going to be all right. I'm here, and I'm going to take care of you."

"No!" Charlotte lurched to her feet and scuttled away until she had backed herself into a corner of the room and could go no farther. She froze there for a moment. Dimly, as if from a great distance away, she could hear her husband's voice.

"You have to understand," he was saying. "Ever since the trouble with Jeff started she's been getting worse and worse."

She had to get hold of herself-she had to! He was going to convince them that she was crazy, and if that happened…

She drew a deep breath, then another. She stood quite still for a moment more, then slowly, her hands held carefully at her sides, turned to face the three people who were watching her. Though every one of her frayed nerves demanded she turn away once again, cried out for her to give in to the panic that was building inside her, she knew she couldn't. She swallowed, trying to clear her throat of the lump that threatened to cut off her breathing, then took another breath.

"I'm all right," she said, praying that her voice didn't betray her now. "I just… well, it's been a terrible week for me, and I guess I just came apart for a minute."

Her eyes held Chuck's as she silently pleaded with him to say no more. If he understood the look, he chose to ignore it.

"It's the strain of the last week," he said, his eyes meeting Blake's. "You know the situation-Jeff's in isolation and-" He stopped, his gaze shifting away from the Tanners. "Well," he finally went on, "I'm afraid Charlotte's begun imagining things." He moved across the room and took his wife's hand. "Come on, darling," he said quietly. "Let's go home and let you get some rest."

When they were gone, the house seemed oddly silent. It was Blake who finally spoke, after shaking his head sadly. "I've been working on it all week," he said. "Something just snapped in Jeff's head." He ran his tongue thoughtfully over his lower lip. "And I guess it's pretty obvious where the instability came from, isn't it?"

Sharon said nothing, for while ChuckLaConner had tried to explain what was happening to his wife, her eyes had remained on Charlotte.

And in Charlotte's eyes, she had read a clear message.

Don't believe him. Please…don't believe him.

Mark Tanner and Linda Harris were coming down out of the hills above Silverdale. They'd been hiking for an hour, and though Mark had taken his camera with him, so far he hadn't taken a single picture. Even when a large buck with antlers spread proudly above his head had emerged from a grove of aspens and instantly frozen in place, staring at them, Mark had made no move to capture the image.

"What's wrong with you?" Linda finally demanded, her voice sharp with exasperation. The buck, after nearly two minutes, had bounded away and disappeared,Chivas halfheartedly chasing it for a few yards before giving up and rejoining them as they started back toward town. "I thought you liked to take pictures of everything."

Mark shrugged laconically. "I did," he agreed. "But I don't know-lately it seems like taking pictures is just like everything else I used to do." He fell silent, trying to find the words to explain to Linda what was happening to him. ''Taking pictures is sort of like standing on the outside, looking in," he went on. "And I'm just tired of feeling like I'm left out of everything."

Linda glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Ever since the night he'd gotten beaten up, he seemed different, but so far he hadn't been willing to talk about it. In fact, she'd hardly seen him all week; three times she'd had to go to cheerleading practice after school, and the other two days Mark had gone out to the sports center to keep his appointments with Dr. Ames. "You mean like sports?" she asked now, keeping her voice as casual as possible. To her surprise, Mark only nodded.

"I guess so," he admitted. "I mean, always before, I didn't really care about being so small, 'cause I didn't want to go out for anything anyway." He grinned at her then, and exaggeratedly flexed one of his arms. "But all of a sudden I'm starting to work out, and I'm putting on some weight. Watch!" He dropped to the ground and did fifty push-ups while Linda watched, astonished. He was barely even breathing hard when he was done. "What do you think of that?" he asked. "Three weeks ago I couldn't even have done ten."

"Big deal," Linda commented sourly. "So you can do push-ups. Who cares? JeffLaConner used to be able to do a hundred. And look what happened to him!"

"Aw, come on," Mark replied, suddenly deflated. He'd been so sure she'd be at least a little bit impressed. "Just because I'm trying to get in shape doesn't mean I'm going to turn into an asshole like Jeff!"

Linda glared at him. "He wasn't always an asshole, you know. When I first started going out with him, he was really nice. In fact," she added pointedly, "he was real nice till he turned into a sports nut!"

Mark felt his cheeks burn. "Well, I'm not going to do that," he protested. They were walking along the river now, theHarrises ' house only a block away. "And what's wrong with trying to be like everyone else?" he demanded. "Maybe I'm sick of not fitting in!"

Linda said nothing until they were a few yards from her house, then she turned to face him. "Look," she said. "I'm not mad at you or anything like that. I'm just worried about you, okay? And if you want to 'fit in'-whatever that means-I'm sure it's all right with me. But if you're going to turn into another JeffLaConner, you might as well tell me right now."

Mark stared at her, baffled. Turn into JeffLaConner? He wasn't anything like Jeff, and never would be. "But I'm not," he protested. "I'm still me, and I always will be."

They turned up the driveway of theHarrises ' house. From the apron in front of the garage, Robb waved to them. "Hey, Mark!" he called out. "Want to shoot some baskets?" He took aim and tossed the basketball in his hands expertly through the hoop. When his eyes met Mark's, Mark was certain he saw a challenge in Robb's look. For a split-second he hesitated. Then a grin spread across his face. "Sure," he called back. "Why not?" He sprinted down the driveway,Chivas trotting after him, and didn't notice the look of disappointment that came into Linda's eyes before she turned away and hurried into the house.

Ten minutes later Mark was beginning to breathe hard, but he was pleased that despite Robb's size and ability, he'd still managed to score three baskets. Now, dribbling the ball carefully and edging toward the basket, he searched for an opportunity to duck around Robb. He made his move, feinting left, then dodging around to the right, but just as he leaped toward the basket, he felt Robb's elbow dig sharply into his ribs. He grunted as a stab of pain shot through him and the ball went wild, bouncing off the backboard and dropping into Robb's hands. Robb immediately rose into a smooth lay-up, and the ball sailed through the hoop.

"Doesn't count," Mark yelled. "You fouled me!"

"Tough shit," Robb grinned. "You see a referee anywhere around?"

A flash of anger swept over Mark. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded. "A foul's a foul."

Robb shrugged. "I play to win," he said, idly flipping the ball through the hoop once more.

Mark stared at him. "There are rules to this game, you know."

The grin faded from Robb's lips, and his eyes hardened. "The only rule I know is the one about winning," he said. He dropped the ball and gave Mark a shove. Surprised by the sudden move, Mark staggered backward.

Robb shoved him again, and now Mark's back hit the garage door. "Come on," he said, "what's going on?"

"Chicken?" Robb asked. "Is the little boy mad 'cause he lost a point?"

Mark's jaw tightened, and before he truly realized what he was doing, his fist flashed out, catching Robb on the jaw. Robb's eyes widened slightly, then his lips twisted into a malicious smile.

"So you want to fight, huh?" he mocked. "Is the little boy finally growing up?"

He began throwing punches then, his jabs barely touching Mark as he taunted the smaller boy. Finally he moved in close, and Mark seized his opportunity. Clenching his right fist tight, he threw himself toward Robb, plunging his fist into the other boy's stomach. A burst of air erupted from Robb's lungs and he lurched back, clutching his stomach and struggling to recapture his breath. Just as he was about to strike out at Mark once more, the back door of the house opened and Elaine Harris rushed out.

"Stop it!" she demanded. "Stop it this instant!" Both boys, startled by the sharpness of her words, turned to face her. She glared angrily at Robb. "I don't want to hear any excuses at all," she declared. "You're nearly a foot taller than Mark and you outweigh him by fifty pounds. Now you get into the house, and when your father gets home, you can explain this to him!" She waited, her hands planted on her hips, and finally Robb, his head ducked low, hurried past her and disappeared inside. When Elaine spoke again, her voice was gentle and apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Whatever happened, he shouldn't have taken a punch at you."

Mark felt his face burning with shame. What did she think he was, some kind of little kid who couldn't even defend himself? As he wordlessly turned away and hurried down the driveway, he remembered what had happened on the night whenhehadn't been able to defend himself.

But today had been different. Today, even after Robb had taken a swing at him, he hadn't tried to run away.

This time he'd stood his ground and fought back.

And for a moment, after he'd landed the blow to Robb's belly, it looked like he might have won the fight. Of course, Robb had already been recovering from the blow when Mrs. Harris had come out, and he might yet have taken a pounding.

But still, at least he'd tried this time.

In fact, he'd sort of enjoyed the fight, he realized as he started home.

The feeling of pleasure in physical combat was something he'd never experienced before.

It had certainly never before occurred to him that he might like it.