Edward Lee - Succubi

Bard dragged Zack’s body out to the cruiser. The town lay asleep in darkness. The high hedgerow hid him and his efforts. Zack was what police called “skell”: a low-life deadbeat punk, a criminal. Bard could’ve cared less that the boy was dead; that’s not what distressed him now to the point that he felt tremors in his gut. To them, it wasn’t a street punk who had been murdered, it was a brygorwreccan. This fact, and the desecration of their temple, was notice to them. They had been attacked. They had an enemy in the know.

Bard knew well that they would not like this. No, they wouldn’t like this at all.

«« — »»

Next morning, Martin sheepishly entered the kitchen. Ann didn’t look up from her orange juice and muffin.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he offered.

“What do you mean?” she feigned, still not looking at him.

“Coming home late, coming home drunk,” he said. “I met some of the guys at the Crossroads. We were drinking, running our mouths, and next thing I know it’s closing time. You know how it is.”

“No, Martin, I don’t know how it is. So why don’t you tell me?”

“Come on, Ann. Give me a break.”

At last Ann looked up. “That’s not what any of this is about and you know it.”

Martin looked confused. “Why are you so pissed off? It’s not the crime of the century when a guy has a few too many beers and loses track of time.”

Ann huffed. “I know that, Martin, and you know that’s not the reason I’m pissed off. Don’t treat me like a fool.”

“Ann, what are you—”

“Who were you with yesterday!” she snapped.

He looked at her funny. “I told you, the guys from the ’Roads.”

“Right, Martin, right.”

“It’s true,” he countered. “I was with Andre, the guy who runs the place, and Dave Kromer, Bill Eberhart, and some other guys who work in town.”

“Bullshit, Martin. I saw you. Yesterday afternoon, I saw you driving my car away from that silly little general store, and there was a woman sitting next to you.”

“Wha—oh, you mean Melanie.”

“No, Martin, it wasn’t Melanie—”

“Yes, it was, Mom,” Melanie said, coming into the kitchen. She was wearing a sundress Ann didn’t recognize. Casually, she opened the refrigerator and poured some orange juice. “I went into the store to get some sodas to take to Wendlyn’s. Martin saw me coming out so he picked me up and gave me a ride.”

Ann’s brow runneled. “A ride to where?”

“I told you, Mom. To Wendlyn’s. She wanted to show me her dresses. In fact, she gave this one to me. Wasn’t that nice of her?”

“Uh,” Ann stalled. “Yes, it was.” She felt an instant fool, looking at Martin. “I’m sorry, Martin. I thought—”

Martin laughed. He came around and rubbed her shoulders at the table. “What, you thought I was running off with Maedeen the ice cream lady?” He laughed again.

“I guess I’m overreacting to everything these days,” Ann said, as if that were an excuse. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Actually, I can’t blame you for jumping to conclusions,” Martin joked. “As good-looking as I am, what woman wouldn’t be constantly jealous? My expertise as a lover is world-renowned. Before I met you, women had to put themselves on a waiting list to go out with me.”

“Oh, God!” Melanie laughed and left the kitchen. But Ann still felt like a shitheel. She touched Martin’s hand as he continued to massage her shoulder. How long could he remain so forgiving of her quick temper and lack of forethought? She’d practically accused him of cheating on her, which was the laugh of all time, considering what she’d done last night with…

Milly, she remembered.

She felt horrible keeping the truth from him. If it were with another man, he’d be justified to end the relationship right now. But with another woman? What would he do if he knew? What would any man do?

She wanted to tell him, but what on earth could she say?

“I’m going out back for a while,” he said, and picked up his pad and pen. She didn’t have time to say anything. “I’m working on a great poem, my magnum opus,” he went on with his mysterious poet’s enthusiasm. “So far it’s a hundred stanzas.”

“Happy writing,” she offered.

Alone now she felt even more of a shitheel. She’d never expressed any active interest in his writing because she didn’t know how to. That, and what she’d almost wrongly accused him of, made her feel very low, and lower still considering her lewd foray with Milly.

Milly, she thought again. What would she say next time she saw her? She dreaded their next meeting. But she’d have to see her soon, to check on her father. This morning, Dr. Heyd had told her that her father seemed to have stabilized from last night’s blunder, but that could change any minute. Shivering, she remembered the nightmare, the vertigo, and the new words the dream had whispered in her mind. Dother fo Dother But what could that mean? The words made no sense. Then she remembered where they’d come from: they’d been some of the words her father had written last night when he’d come conscious. The dream had merely transplanted the words into its own scape.

That made her feel a little better. But there was still Milly. Total recollection evaded her. In pieces, she remembered what they’d done together, and she even remembered how much she’d liked it. But what had happened afterward? Ann had wakened on the couch, downstairs, not in Milly’s bed.

In dread, she went up the stairs, down the hall. She could hear the awful heart monitor. She stepped in and stopped. Milly was taking her father’s blood pressure. Innocuously, she looked up. “Oh, hi, Ann.”

Hi, Ann? Ann thought. Ruffled, she gazed at the nurse.

“What’s wrong?”

Ann cleared her throat. “Milly, I want to talk to you about last night.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Milly perkily replied. She looked fresh, rested, bereft of taint. “Your father’s fully stabilized.”

“That’s not what I’m referring to,” Ann proceeded. “I mean, you know…last night.”

“What about last night?” Milly casually removed the cuff from Ann’s father’s thin arm. She wore her typical nurse’s outfit, the white dress, white stockings, and white shoes. She acted as though nothing were amiss.

“Are you all right?” She came right up to Ann, put her hand on her forehead. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine, Milly, I just—shit! I’m really bothered about what we did last night.”

Milly laughed softly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I went right back to bed after we stabilized your dad. I slept till three a.m., then Dr. Heyd woke me up so he could go home.” Her concerned look deepened. “Oh, you must’ve had a fight with Martin last night.”

“What? What makes you say that?”

“I came downstairs a couple of times to get a Coke, and I saw you sleeping on the couch. You were tossing and turning. Bad dreams?”

Ann didn’t get it. “Milly, wait a minute. I slept on the couch last night? All night?”

“Of course, don’t you remember? I just assumed you had a fight with Martin, so that’s why you weren’t sleeping with him.”

Ann gauged her next question. “Milly, did I come into your room last night?”

Milly gave her a canted look. “My room? No. Why?”

Ann stared, fully confused. Then Milly said, “You poor thing. You mustn’t have slept well at all. Do you feel okay? You don’t seem to have a fever. Do you want me to get you something?”

But Ann felt better at once, much better. A dream, she realized. She shuddered at the imagery: Milly’s pubis in her face, her dirty talk, and the hideous black phallus. I dreamed the whole thing. “No, no,” she answered at last. “I’m fine, just a little mixed-up. I had the strangest dream last night.”