The Midnight Tour

floor. A floor with a rug.

She felt as if someone had worked her over, inside and out. With a club. With teeth. With knives, maybe.

Then she remembered.

She opened her eyes and turned her head.

On the floor beside her were remains.

Terry. Oh, my God!

Grimacing and groaning as pains swarmed her from everywhere, Sandy sat up.

Parts of Terry were scattered around the room.

She started to sob.

It hurt very badly to cry.

Later, she forced herself to stand up.

Trying not to step on broken glass or pieces of Terry, she walked out of the room. She searched the cottage.

Eric seemed to be gone.

Of course he’s gone, Sandy thought. After what he did...

He must’ve run away.

She needed to go after him.

Find him fast.

Take him home.

Or kill him.

Look what be did to my Terry!

Look what be did to me!

Fucking monster!

But she couldn’t go searching for Eric like this.

She hurried into Terry’s bathroom and started the shower and stood under it. The hot spray burnt her wounds. Blood streamed down her body.

She realized this was her second shower of the day. The earlier one, she’d taken with Eric. He’d been so sweet, so gentle...

How could be do this!

Maybe be thought he was saving me. The same as he saved me from Slade. Thought he was doing a good thing.

She did have a vague memory of crying out “No!” once or twice. Listening from out on the deck, maybe he’d misunderstood and charged in to rescue her.

How did be get here in the first place?

In the bed of the pickup, she thought. No other way seemed possible. She was certain he hadn’t been there when she’d left the cabin or when she’d opened the gate. But maybe after she’d shut it. Maybe he’d been hiding in the trees, waiting for her to climb back into the driver’s seat and get the truck moving. Then he’d rushed over and leaped into the back. That section of road was so bumpy that she wouldn’t have felt anything unusual.

He wanted a ride into town.

Or maybe he just bad to find out what I was doing. How come I was leaving him two days in a row? I’d never done it before. What was so special that I couldn’t wait?

Terry was so special.

DAMN IT!

If only she’d stayed home.

Or never met Terry at all, so he would still be alive.

Or never given birth to Eric.

No, don’t wish that.

I do! I do! I wish he’d never been born!

He was just trying to...

It had nothing to do with rescuing me, she suddenly realized. It was spite. It was jealousy.

He needs me all to himself.

After the shower, Sandy got blood on the towel.

She had so many wounds from the broken glass and Eric’s claws and teeth that it seemed pointless to worry about bandages.

None seemed to be bleeding seriously, anyway. Just leaking a little.

Besides, some of the injuries were where she wouldn’t be able reach them. On her back. Or inside.

In Terry’s bedroom, she put on a pair of his briefs and a T-shirt. They clung to the moisture of her skin and the seepage from her injuries.

In the living room, she picked up the skirt and blouse that she’d worn from home. No blood showed on them, so she put them on over the T-shirt and briefs. Then she stepped into her sneakers. She found her purse near the door and slipped its strap over her shoulder.

It was heavy with the weight of her pistol.

Turning around, she gazed at the ruin of Terry’s living room. And the dismembered remains of his body.

She had already made up her mind to leave everything in place.

No point in trying to clean the mess or destroy evidence.

Sure, the cops would realize Terry had been with a woman.

But there was no crime in that.

No woman had done this to him.

No man had done this to him, either.

Terry hadn’t been murdered, he’d been tom to shreds and partly devoured by a wild animal. You could tell that just by looking.

And if you did more than look—if you ran laboratory tests—the teeth and claw marks and saliva and semen would confirm what you already knew: Terry Goodwin had suffered his fatal injuries as the result of a vicious animal attack.

They couldn’t tell you what sort of animal, though.

Over the years, whenever the remains of Eric’s human victims had been found, the blame had always been placed on mountain lions, bears or coyotes.

Such an animal would probably catch the blame for this, too. Not that there’d be many facts to support such a theory. Just that the evidence pointed to some sort of wild carnivore with sharp teeth and claws. Something like a mountain lion, a bear or a coyote.

Some folks, of course, were bound to suspect that Terry had fallen victim to one of those beasts. After all, Malcasa Point was only about a hundred miles to the south. Everybody knew about the beasts. Most of the people in Fort Platt had probably gone on the Beast House tour at one time or another. Most had certainly seen the movies, too, and some had undoubtedly read the books.

People would wonder.

But nobody was likely to believe—or suggest—that a beast had killed Terry.

The beasts were like U.F.O.s. Only kids, drunks, and morons believed in them.

And me, Sandy thought. And me.

She opened Terry’s front door and stepped out onto the porch. Without even glancing around to see if there might be a witness, she turned to the doorway and raised a hand in farewell.

“See you later, Terry,” she said in a cheerful voice. “And thanks again. I really had a great time.”

When she said that, she had a sudden urge to scream.

But she kept smiling.