The coffin was empty.
For a moment, Larry thought,
Then he saw her. She stood on the other side of the coffin. Tears gleamed in her eyes. Her chin trembled slightly. There was no stake in her chest. Somehow, she now wore Lane’s white sweater, jeans and boots. But she was Bonnie, beautiful and innocent and weeping softly.
Larry suddenly realized he was naked. He looked down at himself and sighed with relief. He now had his robe on.
“He killed me,” Bonnie said, her voice trembling.
“Vampire!” Uriah bellowed. “Hideous slut!”
“Shut up,” Larry snapped at him.
“I’m no vampire,” Bonnie said. She sniffled. “Uriah’s crazy. He... he murdered my friends and me. We never did anything.”
Larry scowled at Uriah.
“She’s lying, you fool.”
“Oh yeah?” Larry snapped. “You goddamn maniac, you...” And he was suddenly rushing the man. “I’ll kill you, you fucking maniac!”
Uriah hurled the severed head of a coyote at him.
The eyeless head rumbled through the air, blood spraying from the stump of its neck, its maw wide, fangs dripping. Larry flung up his arms to block it. The teeth snapped shut on his forearm. He yelped and flinched and woke up.
The house was dark and silent. He lay uncovered on the bed, trembling, his skin tingling with goose bumps and bathed in sweat. He sat up. The bottom sheet peeled away from his wet back. Looking past the vague form of his sleeping wife, he squinted at the alarm clock. Almost one. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than half an hour.
Not even
He ran his hand through his drenched hair. The muscles along the sides of his neck felt tight and cold. They seemed to be squeezing pain into his head.
He climbed out of bed, stepped quietly to the closet and put on his robe. It clung to his damp skin. Knotting the belt, he went into the hallway.
He passed Lane’s open door on the way to the bathroom. Her light was off, but he wondered if she was asleep. He didn’t stop to check.
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. I’m not going to look at the pictures.
What
He knew what he wouldn’t do — go back to bed. Not right away, at least. He felt wide awake. Besides, there was no point in trying to sleep until the headache subsided. And he didn’t want to risk another dream. Not like that one.
At the end of the hallway he entered the bathroom. He shut the door but left the light off, knowing it would hurt his eyes. The mellow glow from the night-light was enough. As he stepped toward the medicine cabinet, he breathed deeply of the scents that still lingered after Lane’s shower. Feminine, flowery aromas from her soap or shampoo or body powder... who knows what? But they filled the bathroom with her presence, and Larry felt himself relax a little.
He took two aspirin, washing them down with cold water.
He returned to the door. He took hold of its knob.
He realized that he didn’t want to face the dark, silent house beyond the door. He didn’t want to lie in bed and wait for sleep. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to sit alone in the living room and try to read or watch television. He didn’t want to sneak into his office and slide open the file cabinet and take out his pictures of Bonnie.
I’m just fine right here, he told himself.
He thumbed down the button in the middle of the knob. The door locked with a loud ping.
He lowered the toilet seat and sat down. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. He stared at the bath mat. Even in the faint light he could see where Lane’s wet feet had matted down the nap.
He breathed through his nose, savoring the comfortable, familiar mix of aromas.
Bonnie can’t get to me here, he thought.
A knock on the door startled him awake. The bathroom was gray with morning light. “Dad, my teeth are floating.”
“Just a minute.” He pushed himself off the floor, picked up the bath towel he’d used to cover his legs, hung it on the rack and straightened his robe. He flushed the toilet. Then he lifted its seat and stepped to the bathroom door. “What’s the secret password?” he asked.
“I’m gonna pee on the floor!”
“That’s it.” He opened the door.
Lane rolled her eyes upward. “About time.” As she sidestepped past him, she stopped and frowned. “Are you okay? You’re looking kind of weird.”
“Rough night,” he said.
“Case of the trotskis?” she asked.
“Just a headache.”
“Good. So you didn’t stink the place up.”
“Smells fine in there.” It smells like you, he thought. He rubbed her mussed hair. She stepped past him and shut the door.
In the bedroom he found Jean still asleep. He closed the door, hung up his robe, and crawled into bed. The sheets on his side were cool. He rolled, and curled himself against Jean’s back. He slipped an arm down across her belly. She was warm and smooth. He eased his face against her hair. The smell of her was like those that had kept him company through the night.
She and Lane must use some of the same stuff, he thought, snuggling against her.
“Time to get up?” she mumbled.
“Not yet.”
“Good. Hold me for a while.”
Thirty-three
“Try not to shoot each other,” Barbara said through the van’s open window. She gave Pete a kiss, then stepped backward.
Jean, by the passenger window, frowned at Larry and said, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m okay.”
Ever since getting up, he’d been plagued by stomach cramps and loose bowels. Jean had suggested he phone Pete and cancel the outing. He’d been tempted. But he knew that his problem was caused by nerves. If he called off the trip to Sagebrush Flat, Pete would insist on trying it again tomorrow. Better to get it over with.
“What’s the problem, pardner?” Pete asked.
“A little indigestion,” he said. He didn’t want to discuss his runs. Not with Barbara standing there. “I’m fine now.”
“Okey-doke. We’re off.”
Jean kissed Larry and moved out of the way.
Pete turned the ignition key.
“Must be the battery,” Larry said.
Pete tried again. Again he said, “Shit.”
Larry felt like celebrating.
