Different style. Nothing in the building matched. The carpeting appeared to be assembled from a thousand discarded scraps. The walls were brick, then wood paneling, then stucco, then polka-dotted wallpaper. Nothing lined up in a conventional way. The hall seemed askew. The stairs curved downward, giving one the impression of walking down when going up. The doors tilted at odd angles, though never the same angle. And the numbers marking the apartments were all in different fonts. The entire building was like a hastily constructed model, put together from bits and pieces of other models by a maker who was only vaguely familiar with traditional design conventions.
She hadn’t noticed any of this before. Or maybe it hadn’t looked like this before. Maybe this was all a byproduct of her new perceptions. Either way, it weirded her out.
They passed the gruesome puppy beast in front of Apartment Two. The door opened a crack, and she glimpsed a shadowy figure.
“Hey,” the figure whispered.
The puppy snarled, and the door slammed shut.
The apartment was exactly as she’d left it. She’d expected it to be as twisted and skewed as the rest of her new universe, but everything was in order. Except that the coffee table had had a big bite taken out of it.
“Sorry,” said Vom. “Kind of hard to put on the brakes once I get going.”
He helped her push the refrigerator back against the wall. Someone knocked.
He answered the door before she could stop him.
A short blond woman in her forties and a hulking bat-like creature in a sweater vest stepped into the apartment.
“Congratulations.” She gave Vom a polite hug. “We just heard about your early parole.”
“Stacey, Peter. I thought you’d have moved out by now.”
“We’re working on it,” she said.
The bat gurgled.
“Now, Peter,” said the woman. “Be nice.”
The creature lumbered over to Diana. She recoiled from the grinning monster and his saber-like fangs. He thrust a lump wrapped in tinfoil into her arms. “Yours,” he said as drool dripped down his chin.
“Now, Peter,” said Stacey. “Is that any way to treat our new neighbor?”
Diana held the lump in limp hands. It was warm. And was it squirming or was that just her imagination? How the hell could she even tell anymore?
“You’ll have to excuse Peter. He always gets a little grumpy after a few hours of hosting.”
“No problem,” replied Diana.
Peter pounced on Stacey. He squeezed her in a tight embrace. They howled in one terrible harmony as his body collapsed into a frail mortal shell while she took on the bat-monster shape. The only difference was that now it wore a floral-print dress.
Peter smoothed the few strands of hair on his balding head. “That’s better. You must be Vom’s new warden.”
“I must be,” said Diana.
The Stacey-thing snatched the tinfoil lump and bit into it.
“We just got a new breadmaker,” said Peter. “The missus has been dying for a chance to try it out.”
“Pumpernickel,” cooed Stacey-thing. “Goood.”
“For Heaven’s sake, honey, don’t eat it all.”
She offered the loaf to Diana with a sheepish smile. Bread crumbs and bits of tinfoil were stuck between Stacey’s pointed teeth.
Diana politely turned the offering away. “No, thank you. Maybe later.”
“I’ll take that.” Vom snatched the bread and shoved it into the mouth in his potbelly.
CHAPTER FOUR
Once a week Calvin and Sharon spent the night together, doing something. It was an informal arrangement, and since they lived together they already saw each other regularly. But there was only one night when it was expected, when they would leave the apartment together and see a movie, get some dinner, or maybe just hang out at a coffee shop and talk.
Sharon knew better than to think of it as date night, but sometimes she still did.
Dressing for almost-date night was tricky. She didn’t want anything too formal or too casual. She wanted to be comfortable. She wanted to look nice. Although this was purely for her own satisfaction. Calvin didn’t care what she looked like. She could’ve worn a clown suit and he wouldn’t have noticed. Half the time he needed her help to dress himself.
He didn’t need clothes, but having walked among humans for ages he had the basics down, though he did complain that fashion was always changing and was hard to keep up with. Shirt. Pants. Usually he remembered his shoes. She’d long ago accepted socks were hit-and-miss. Underwear was right out. Getting to dress up was difficult because it was all just so many extra accessories as far as he was concerned. Ties escaped him. Cuff links he couldn’t understand. Wrinkles were beneath his notice.
Given a choice he’d have walked around in a T-shirt, sweatpants, and sandals all day, every day. And that would’ve been just fine with her, but it wasn’t up to her. Greg had established a rule that Calvin had to maintain a certain level of presentability at all times. It was necessary since most people would not worship a man who dressed slovenly. Not in this day and age. There were expectations, standards. If Jesus were walking the Earth today he’d have to get a shave and a haircut and invest in Armani. Probably no one would listen to him, but at least he’d have a fighting chance.
In addition to Calvin’s underdeveloped appreciation of clothing, he also had no appreciation of the human form. To him all humans were merely walking bags of meat. If Calvin was a god (and who was to say he wasn’t?), he was not the type of god to cavort with every piece of tempting mortal ass that came along. And while she wouldn’t have minded some cavorting, Sharon had accepted it.
But when date night came along she still put on some makeup, still struggled to find the right pair of slacks that made her ass look good, still fretted about those few extra pounds, and still debated what level of cleavage was most flattering without drawing too much attention to itself.
She came out of her bedroom, wearing her carefully selected ensemble.
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Good,” he replied automatically, like a trained dog. He didn’t even look up at her, but at least he was trying.
They decided to go to the Mexican place just down the street. Although just where it popped up varied from week to week: it migrated from building to building, replacing the bookstore or the Italian restaurant or the church. And there were some days when it disappeared entirely.
The universe, while mostly stable, had its hiccups. The Mexican place was one of these. When it was there it was a vibrant restaurant full of life and energy with the best tacos in town. When it was gone… it was just gone. The sound of mariachi music remained, though, filling the block every hour of the day, the ghostly echoes of a phantom band.
She’d never seen the restaurant appear or disappear. It seemed to happen only when no one was looking. On occasion the restaurant would disappear with people still inside it. They would promptly be forgotten by everyone, never to return. Whether they ceased to exist, were devoured by some nameless thing, or were perhaps lured into a mysterious netherworld by the freshest handmade tortillas and most delectable enchiladas in the city, no one knew. All Sharon knew was that the food was delicious and reasonably priced, and they served a margarita that she was willing to die for. Or disappear. Or whatever.
The Mexican place was there, occupying the spot usually held by an electronics store. They grabbed a seat and munched chips. From the inside the world looked different. The city was gone, replaced by a vista of yellow grass and an emerald sun. Giant moths soared in the skies. Their colorful prismatic wings shimmered in great clouds. The view was part of whatiked about the place.
