Flesh

“I didn’t find it—”

“M’I hearin’ a but on the way?”

“Yeah, But.” He felt breathless, a little dizzy. He sat up straight and filled his lungs. “Down in the cellar, behind the stairs, I found a half a dozen eggs.”

“Eggs?”

“Yeah.”

“Like chicken eggs?”

“No, not like chicken eggs.”

Barney whistled softly into the phone. “Like its eggs?”

“I…yeah, I think so. They were clear. Like…almost like jelly beans, but soft. Red, but clear. I could see inside them. And each one of them had a little…like a little worm.”

“You puttin’ me the fuck on, Corey?”

“Little gray worms.”

There was a long silence from Barney. Then he said, “Where’re they, these eggs?”

“Still there.”

“You left ’em!”

“I stomped them flat.”

“You crazy? Shit!”

“What was I supposed to do, bag them for evidence?”

“We coulda’ had tests run, found out—”

“I know. I know that. I…I freaked out a little, Barney.”

There was another long silence. “Y’ all right?” Barney asked in a soft voice.

“I’m managing.”

“Yer not a guy loses it.”

“Oh, I can lose it pretty good.”

“I shouldn’ta had y’go in there alone. I’m sorry. Y’gonna be okay?”

“Sure.”

“Y’mashed the little fuckers.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Well, maybe just as well. Guess we don’t want’a be takin’ any chances.” Jake heard him sigh. “So momma wasn’t there, huh?”

“I think…it could be anywhere, but there’s a good chance it went out of that place with whoever it was that broke in.”

“The party kids.”

“It’s just a guess.”

“No idea who they were?”

“Just that one was probably a female, and I don’t imagine she went in that place by herself. Probably with a guy. We might lift prints off the door handles and the vodka bottle. I bagged the bottle, so we might as well check it. But I don’t think that’d get us much of anywhere. We’ve got three thousand students at Clinton U., about five hundred more at the high school, print cards in our files on maybe two dozen.”

“How ‘bout strip searchin’ every kid in town? I’ll help y’out ’n do the gals myself.”

“Yeah, sure. I almost wish we could. That or print them all, it’s about the only way we’d find the thing.”

“No guarantee the woocha got one a’ the kids, anyhow,” Barney said.

“Whoocha?”

“A bad-ass whatchamacallit. Coulda gone off ’fore the kids showed. Gotta move in mind?”

“Not really. Maybe stake out the Oakwood. I’m pretty sure the thing’s gone, but there’s always a chance that the kids might return.”

“Slim t’none. Y’better get some rest. Our whoocha got into someone, maybe it’ll fly the coop and be outa’ our hair. It sticks around, then we’ll have us a missing person or a dead body next day or two, and maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Either way,” Jake said, “we’ll have to go public with it.”

“Y’had to remind me,” Barney muttered.

“If I didn’t, Applegate would.”

“Yeah. We talked it over when he called. We’re gonna hold off till noon Tuesday. Then it’s press conference time if we haven’t nailed it. You, me ’n him, we’ll be instant celebrities—the three stooges that panicked the nation. Oh, what fun. We better get that fucker by then.”

“I hate to just wait around.”

“No point wastin’ yer time, you haven’t got any leads. Just sit tight, try t’get yer mind off it.”

“Yeah.”

After hanging up, Jake finished his bourbon. He went into the kitchen to start dinner and was peeling a potato over the sink when he realized that he had left his revolver on the sofa. He didn’t go after it. For some reason, his jitters had gone away.

Maybe it was the bourbon. More likely, it was talking to Barney—talking about the thing and its eggs, and about the break-in. Especially about the break-in. He had no doubt, any more, that the creature had found a new host. It wasn’t slithering around, looking for a chance to sneak up on him. It wasn’t ready to lurch out of the garbage disposal in a burst of potato peelings and bite his neck.

It was up the spine of a kid who’d gone looking for fun in the wrong place.

Jake wondered if the kid was getting hungry.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“It was a loverly dinner,” Celia said as they left the Lobster Shanty. “And you are a loverly person.”

“My pleasure,” Jason said.

She swept an arm around his back and pressed herself against him and kissed him. They were standing in the light beneath the restaurant’s portico, but the parking valet was nowhere in sight. Neither was anyone else. Jason held her, feeling the wet heat of her mouth, the soft push of her breasts, her belly flat against his belly. He was getting hard. He knew she could feel it. She squirmed, rubbing him. He slid a hand down her back. There was only smoothness through her gown, not even a band at her waist. He caressed the firm mounds of her rump.

He thought about Dana and felt guilty. I’m doing it for you, he told her.

For me, right, he could almost hear her say. You’re turned on, you bastard.

So who’s going to tell on me? he asked himself. Dana might even be dead.

Don’t think that. Jesus.

A car pulled into the restaurant’s driveway, so they parted. Holding Celia’s hand, Jason led her to the sidewalk. “Would you like to go somewhere?” he asked.

“Sure thing.”

“I know a nice, secluded place.”

“The secludeder, the better,” she said, bumped his side, staggered, turned her ankle and said, “Ow! Shit. Hang on.” She kicked off her high heels. Keeping her knees straight, she bent at the waist to pick up her shoes. Jason stared at the way the gown clung to her buttocks. Thoughts of Dana prevented him from stroking her. Celia straightened up, holding her shoes. “Tough enough, walking in these things if you’re sober.”

“You mean you’re not sober?”

“Not entirely,” she said, speaking the words slowly and precisely. “Nor am I entirely polluted.” She made a lopsided grin. “Are you entirely polluted?”

“I am un peu polluted.”

They arrived at his car. He opened the passenger door, helped Celia in, then went around to his side. The overhead light came on when he opened the door. Celia’s left arm was hooked over the seat back, drawing her dress taut across her breast. Her nipple made the glossy fabric jut. Her left leg had found its way through the