That clinched it for Mike. It could only be the Black Womb, not that it mattered now. The blade came down faster than Mike could see and he closed his eyes, waiting for the sharp pain before death. Nothing. He opened his eyes to see the killer had lowered his weapon.
“You have already been harvested,” he said. The voice sounded exactly like Black Womb’s, rough and gritty. Mike blinked once and the monster disappeared into the darkness.
He heard a sound from Mrs. Kennessy, but before he could react, Black Womb had him in his strong grasp. The Womb forced Mike into a pantry and pushed a large table up against the door with ease, vanishing again.
Mike slammed his body into the door to little effect, then tried again. All the while, Black Womb’s words kept ringing in his ears: already been harvested.
Suddenly, as if a light went on his head, he realized. My appendix. That freak-show’s already got a piece out of me, so now he’s after... Cathy.
He started banging harder.
Cathy shivered violently against Sandra Davis’ breast, sobbing despite all her best efforts to stop. Her heart still pounded so hard that it made her chest twitch with every beat, pumping enough fear through her body to give her a migraine. She had known the woman holding her for as long as she could remember, used to stay at her house as a child when her parents went out of town. Her cinnamon-scented perfume brought her back in time nearly a decade and reminded her of a place where she felt safe. It did not make her feel better, but instead proved how different her life was now compared to then. The contrast between the two made her want to throw up even more than she already did.
Sandra stroked Cathy’s long black hair, her nails tickling against her scalp as she made soft shushing sounds like those made by softly flowing waves. Under different circumstances, they might have put Cathy right to sleep. “It’ll all be okay,” the old woman said in a hushed voice.
Cathy turned her head up briefly and examined her woman’s face. Her silvery hair was dull in the glow of the forty-watt lamp in the corner, and her lips that were always ruby red stood out so much from her milky white complexion that they might have been fake. The nightgown she wore was sky blue and had flowers printed all over it, just like every other piece of clothing she owned. Everything about her spoke to her sweetness and honesty... but her eyes shone with tearful pity, giving her away. Her lip quivering, Cathy buried her face into her blouse again.
Across the room in a rickety wheelchair that looked as though it had been manufactured during the first World War, John Davis glanced at Cathy and frowned before turning back toward the window. He poked apart the plastic strips of his blinds so that the Kennessy’s blackened doorway was just visible, squinting to try and see any movement that might be going on inside. He thought he saw something flash, then quickly flutter about, but wasn’t sure. His eyes weren’t as good as they used to be and his doctor thought it might be glaucoma, but they were still waiting to get the tests back. His old service revolver lay on his deadened lap and he brought his hand to it every few minutes, as if to make sure it were still there.
“Is he there yet?” Cathy sobbed, stammering out every syllable as bubbles of mucus joined the tears on her face. She held Sandra in close, making her ribs hurt. She didn’t complain.
Cathy’s voice was so wracked with tears and adrenalin that it took John a moment to process what she had said. When he did, he nodded at her solemnly, forcing a smile onto his thin, heart-shaped face. It made his large ears wiggle a little, something that had always made her giggle as a child. “Not yet honey, but I can hear the sirens coming.”
She sniffed twice, then continued the same broken moan she’d been making for the last ten minutes, mumbling something about Xander in a voice so inhuman neither of them understood a word of it.
John checked the safety on his revolver to make sure it was off, then turned back toward the window. His chair squeaked from the sudden motion, the pin on each wheel making a soft clicking sound as they snapped into place and prevented him from rolling involuntarily.
There were no sirens, of course. He knew better than most that the only police in Coral Beach would be all the way on the other side of town at this time of night, patrolling the stretch of highway between here and Coral Cove. He pushed the palm of one strong hand against the worn rubber wheel, moving a little closer to the window. Again it made the same clicking sound, a little louder this time.
Cathy nearly jumped out of her skin, pulled Sandra closer and forcing the wind out of the older woman’s lungs in one quick huff.
“Just the chair,” John smirked, winking at her from over his shoulder. “The police will be here soon.”
The soft-glowing lamp
