Bill Pronzini - The Hidden

His headlights washed over the other vehicle; the driver seemed to be the only occupant. Sitting there quietly—looking, waiting? Or doing something else, like swilling booze, getting ready to smash a bottle on the asphalt or the rocks below or throw it at a sea creature like that drunken motorcycle rider on the Navarro River?

Friend—or enemy?

He pulled up a few yards away, transferred the 9-mil Glock from the glove compartment to his coat pocket, and went to find out.

E L E V E N

NIGHT.

A martini for Shelby and half a glass of wine for him while good jazz played soft in the background—Macklin’s CD choice this time, Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue . Crab salad, leftover sourdough, half a bottle of chardonnay. One of the DVDs from Ben’s collection, his choice again—a farcical boy-meets-girl comedy that was watchable if not particularly funny. Quiet time again, more wood on the fire, the last of the wine from dinner in Shelby’s glass.

The combination of heat and music and food had relaxed him for the first time in days. Again he watched the firelight play over the smooth contours of Shelby’s face, the familiar curves of her body. Tenderness welled in him. And, inevitably, desire.

He said, “Remember that trip to Big Sur right after we were married? The cabin in the woods?”

“What made you think of that?”

“Sitting in front of the fire like this.”

She was silent.

“That’s not all we did in front of the fire,” he said.

Still silent.

“There’s plenty of room in front of this one, too. I could go get a blanket from the bedroom …”

“No,” she said.

“Just like that? No?”

“Not tonight, Jay. I’m not in the mood.”

One of the burning logs dropped off the grate, sending up a shower of sparks that glowed bright red before winking out; his desire died just as quickly. “Seems like you’re not in the mood a lot lately. It didn’t used to be like that—you used to be horny all the time.”

“A lot of things used to be different.” She stirred out of her chair. “I think I’ll take a hot bath.”

“You don’t have to lock the door,” he called after her. “I won’t come in and try to wash your back.”

Bed. Shelby turned away from him, the cold, rhythmic sound of the rain on the roof adding to his feeling of loneliness. Sleep was a long time coming.

And when it did—

Dark place, warm, safe. Sleeping.

Not sleeping anymore. Listening.

What’re those noises? Loud, weird.

Thump. Grunt, slurp, screech, squeal. Thump thump thump.

Something’s out there.

Something … terrible.

I have to find out what it is. But I don’t want to. I’m afraid.

Squeal, howl, slurp. Thump thump thump thump thump.

Oh God, what if it tries to hurt me?

Stay here, don’t move.

No, I can’t, I have to find out what it is—

Dark place, cold. Walking.

Long tunnel, shadows crawling on the walls, faint glow from somewhere that lets me see where I’m going. The floor feels like it’s made of ice, I start to shiver from the chill. Walking straight, turning right, walking straight, turning left—

Light ahead, so bright it hurts my eyes. The noises come from behind it—grunt, slurp, thump thump squeal thump. I want to stop walking toward the light, I’m afraid of what I’ll see, but I have to find out what’s making those sounds.

Closer. And into the light, through the light.

No! No!

Monster.

Horrible, hairy thing and what it’s doing, what it’s doing—

Slurp, thump, slurp slurp.

It’s feeding!

I make a sound, I can’t help myself, and the thing rises up from the carcass of whatever it’s eating, its open mouth and yellow-spike teeth dripping crimson. It looks around at me, then lets loose an ear-splitting roar and leaps up with long sharp claws slicing the air and comes lurching toward me spitting fire.

Run! Hide!

And I run out of the light into the shadows, run through the tunnel, I’ve never run faster … but I can’t run fast enough, the thing is close behind me, I feel its fire breath and hear the pounding click of its claws—

Dark place again, and I’m down on all fours crawling into another dark place. Trying to make myself smaller, squirming like a worm into a hole, hide, hide!

Too late.

The thing is there, looming over me, I see the awful twisted shape of it as it bends down and … oh Jesus it wraps a claw around my arm and yanks me upward. Pain erupts, then wild panic as it drags me close to its red drooling mouth.

It’s going to eat me!

But first it shakes me, hard, my teeth rattle like bones, I smell the hot stink of its breath in my face. Spiraling terror makes me pee on myself. The thing roars again and shakes me harder, and then it—

—rips my arm off and hurls it on the floor—

—and rips my head off and hurls it on the floor—

—and my head rolls into the wall, wobbles and stops, and my eyes stare up, stare up—

—and I’m looking at my wriggling mutilated body wet all over with piss and blood—

—and the creature’s mouth opens wider, yawning like a cavern, and from the floor I hear it booming out words in a voice loud as thunder but I can’t understand them, the words somehow fall like whispers against my ears—

—and in horror I watch my headless body being stuffed inside its gaping mouth—

—and then the yellow spikes gnash down and the chewing starts, and I scream and scream and scream—

Macklin was awake now, shaky and bathed in sweat, his breath coming in short grinding gasps. Another nightmare ride, the same every time in every detail, ending when the imaginary monster begins to eat his headless body and he screams himself out of it. Shelby was alert beside him in the dark bedroom, trying with hands and words to calm him. He heard himself say, “I’m all right, I’m all right,” but he wasn’t. His heart felt as if it would burst. One of these times it just might.

She said, “Lie still, shallow breaths,” and got out of bed and hurried into the bathroom.

He lay still, willing his pulse rate to slow. He’d been having the nightmare for so long he couldn’t remember when it first started. Until his life had degenerated into the string of failures, he’d gone as long as two years without a replay; since Conray terminated him it came more frequently. He didn’t understand it, didn’t have a clue what it meant or what triggered it. Some deep-rooted fear … the fear of death? He just didn’t know.

Shelby came out with a wet towel, sponged the sweat off his face. Better now, with the towel draped across his forehead. The tightness still felt like a closed hand inside his chest, but the blood-pound in his ears had lessened and he was breathing more easily. He’d be okay.

Until the next time.

She said, “It might help if you’d tell me about it.”

He couldn’t. He’d never told anyone. A kid’s fantasy monster nightmare … stupid, too embarrassing to talk about. But real—so bloody real .

“No, it wouldn’t,” he said. “Don’t keep asking me, okay?”

It was an hour or more before he slept again.

T W E L V E

ANOTHER GRAY, GLOOMY, WINDY day. The rear deck, the grassy slope, and the side patio were all wet with dew. Shelby stepped outside for a few seconds to see how cold it was. Damn cold—the wind slapped at her face like a frostbitten hand, the sharp smell of ozone pinched her nostrils. There’d be more rain pretty soon, probably another storm.