Demon Page 6

  Lori sat up with a sharp cry, clapping a hand to her jugular. But the mosquito was too fast for her. It skittered off in the direction of the Dreamcatcher, which was still swinging lazily from the bed-knob where she’d hung it before she’d lain down.

  With a final triumphant buzz, the insect disappeared into the cat-gut centre of the feathered charm.

  Lori picked up her slipper, waiting for it to come out the other side so she could swat it.

  But it didn’t come out.

  She was breathing unevenly, bathed in a cold sweat, the dream still strong on her, invading her here and now.

  Shakily, she snapped on the bed-side light.

  Her fingers were covered in blood.

  10

  Lori got up late to discover that her jeans were so loose that they were practically falling off. She rooted in the back of her wardrobe for a pair of pink trousers that, inspired by the Chesney Pace, ‘little pony’ photograph, she’d bought in a moment of madness the previous year. She’d promised herself that she would diet into them but of course she’d never been able to get them past her thighs. They slid on now, no problem. She even managed to get the zip up without lying flat on her back and holding her breath. She did a little twirl in front of the mirror, admiring herself and sticking her tongue out at the aforementioned picture. She was still quite a ways from Chesney Pace slim. But she was at least a size smaller than she had been two days ago. It was a start.

  Her hair looked thicker too. More glossy. There were even some blonde streaks in it. Lori had been faithfully squeezing lemon juice on it since May, hoping the sun would lighten it up. Apparently it was just starting to take.

  “You using a new shampoo, baby?” said her Mom when she came downstairs, and Lori (don’t make waves), said yes, she’d bought a ‘thickening, lightening’ formula.

  “Looks great,” said Marge. “Pancakes or eggs with your bacon?”

  “Just juice,” said Lori. “I’m not really hungry.”

  Marge didn’t push it. The kid usually ate far more than was good for her. She could be real pretty if she lost a bit of weight. Come to think of it, she looked as though she already had. She’d managed to squeeze into the pink trousers at last. Must be love.

  The doorbell rang and Lori went to get it. Perry was on the doorstep, wearing shorts and a T and looking every inch the hero. His eyes opened a little wider as he took in the pink trousers.

  “Want to come swimming?”

  “Swimming?”

  “We usually go to the swimming hole, Sundays” said Perry. “Thought you might like to come along?”

  “Who’s we?”

  Perry gestured vaguely. “Oh, you know, the gang.”

  Lori knew. The gang. Tracey and crew. The in-crowd. All couples. She’d be the odd one out. Besides, if Perry thought she was going to get into a swim-suit in front of Tracey, slim-line, Barnes he must be crazy. Still, Tracey mightn’t come today? What with the thighs and all. Lori felt a surge of glee at the memory. Besides, what else was she going to do on a Sunday afternoon? Her diary wasn’t exactly full. She decided to take a chance.

  “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

  Marge had just waved them off when Barney McGee turned up. He looked like he might actually be sober. Forty eight hours. Some sort of a record.

  “Hey Barney,” she said. “What’re you doing this end of town?” – out of the gutter was what she meant.

  “Hey, Mrs Morrison,” said Barney. “Wondered if you needed any little thing done?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, you know, lawn mowing, garden raking?”

  “Now Barney, you know I don’t make the kind of money affords a gardener.”

  “Oh, I don’t want paying, Mrs Morrison. I got a job now. Army has me collecting litter.”

  “Good for you.”

  “But I don’t work Sundays. Tell the truth I’m looking for something to keep me busy. On the wagon. Need to keep my mind off the sauce. Besides, you give me enough freebies in your time. I figure I owe you one.”

  Marge looked at the old wino, at his rheumy eyes, his parchment skin criss-crossed with lines, his vacancy in the tooth department. Barney had been a Senior when she’d started High School. A real jock. He couldn’t be more than five, six years older than her. But he looked about a hundred and two. That was what the drink did for you. Oh well, you pays your money and you takes your choice. Who was she to judge? And if he was trying to stay off the stuff.

  “The yard could do with cleaning up,” she said. Understatement of the year. She wished she had a dollar for every time Ted had promised he’d ‘get to it first thing’. “Looks like a junk-shop back there. You had any breakfast?”

  Barney shook his head.

  “Come on in the kitchen” said Marge. “Junior’s out with the dog somewhere, Lori’s gone swimming and Ted’s having his Sunday lie-in, so the coast is clear. If you’re going to work your day off, least I can do is feed you first. Pancakes or eggs with your bacon?”

  The swimming hole was packed when they arrived, the periphery of the oasis ringed with cars and bikes. The water was full of kids, thrashing around and making a din. Still more were sitting on spread out blankets, drinking sodas and eating donuts. It was baking. Ninety in the shade, at least. Out in the sun it must have been pushing a hundred. Lori wished she’d put her hair up. It was sticking to the back of her neck like glue.

  She noted, with sinking heart, that Tracey was already there, holding court over Backwater High’s smart set. She HAD put her hair up and, as usual, she looked stunning. She was wearing a yellow bikini the size of a postage stamp, her thighs artfully hidden by a matching sarong. Trust her to make a virtue out of a necessity.

  The Barnes entourage had snaffled the best spot. In the lee of a large rock with a big willow hanging over it like a beach umbrella. Perry parked and Tracey waved, and he leapt out, grabbing his towel and heading towards her, leaving Lori to follow after. She struggled out of the car. Suddenly the pink trousers didn’t seem like such a good idea. They were too tight for this heat. They were too tight, period. As she walked towards the willow she felt like a blancmange on legs.

  Tracey weighed her up as she approached, giving her the kind of supercilious smile that had reduced more confident girls than Lori to ashes. As she had feared, it was all couples. Beautiful couples. Except for Wayne Maxwell, of the spots, who had been brought along to make Perry jealous. He was sitting at Tracey’s feet now, looking up at her with adoring eyes. Like a spaniel.

  “Move, Wayne,” said Tracey, prodding him with her perfectly manicured toe, indicating that all was forgiven and that Perry should sit down. Wayne shuffled out of the way with ill-concealed displeasure. He was white and weedy in his swimming costume.

  Lori was suddenly sorry for him. He probably felt as out of place as she did. As Perry and Tracey kissed and made up, she sat down beside him and smiled. Wayne just scowled and moved away from her. As if she had leprosy.

  It was going to be a long afternoon.

  “Hello, Lori” said Tracey, loudly. “Have you come to do the cabaret? Where’s your tape recorder?”

  Everybody laughed, except for Perry, and Lori thought that, if she had a gun, she would cheerfully shoot stupid Tracey Barnes between her stupid eyes. She imagined the bullet tearing through Tracey’s head, leaving a hole the size of a baseball in the back of her skull, covering the famous red hair in blood and brains. Fame and fortune, size eight, Perry and Tracey Barnes six feet under.

  “Greedy,” said the voice in her head.

  “Take no notice,” Perry said to Lori, dragging Tracey to her feet. “Come on, hon,” he nuzzled her neck. “Let’s go swimming.”

  “Not me,” said Tracey. “Ask your leading lady. I’m not going into the water today.”

  “Tracey spilled coffee on herself,” said Wayne. “She burned her legs.”

  Tracey kicked him viciously. “I did not,” she spat. “It was her mother,” she pointed at Lori, “
She’s the one that spilled it on me.”

  “That’s not true,” said Lori, shocked out of her silence by such a statement.

  “How would you know?” said Tracey. “You weren’t even there. You were in back. Washing dishes. Mary-Lou saw the whole thing, didn’t you Mary-Lou?”

  “Sure,” said Mary-Lou, who would have sworn black was white if it kept her in Tracey’s good books. “Sure. I saw it. She tripped and spilled the coffee all over you.”

  Tracey turned to Wayne and raised her eyebrows. He looked down at his feet. “I must have been mistaken,” he said.

  “She did this to me,” said Tracey, dramatically, pulling aside the sarong.

  Everybody gasped. Under a layer of calamine lotion, her thighs looked red-raw.

  “As a matter of fact,” she said, looking at Lori as though she’d just crawled out of a drain. “I’m thinking of suing her for damages.”

  “I’m sure it was an accident,” said Perry, trying to calm the situation. “Mrs Morrison wouldn’t do a thing like that on purpose.”

  “Are you taking her part against me?” Tracey, miffed that Perry had brought Lori along, was clearly spoiling for a fight.

  Lori scrambled to her feet, hot and humiliated. This had been a bad idea. She had thought, because of the audition thing, because of the Dreamcatcher, that she might be accepted now. Become one of the social scene. She should have known better. The social scene had just closed ranks. She could see what they thought of her by the expression on their faces.

  “Take me home, Perry,” she pleaded. She was close to tears.

  Perry looked at Tracey and shook his head.

  “Why do you always have to be so nasty?” he said.

  He turned to Lori, patting her shoulder.

  “Go sit in the car,” he said. “I’ll take you home just as soon as I’ve cooled down.”

  Ripping off his T shirt, he bounded off towards the swimming-hole and leapt in, cutting the water in a faultless dive. Lori watched as he executed a perfect crawl across the pond. She could hardly take her eyes off him. He looked good enough to eat. Not until he reached the other side and did a racing turn did she pull her gaze away and move towards the roadster.

  But Tracey had other ideas. Furious that her bid for sympathy had misfired, she stomped into Lori’s path and stood, straddle-legged, hands on her hips, in front of her.

  “Why don’t you join him?” she said.

  “I don’t want to,” said Lori, bile rising in her throat. “Leave me alone.”

  “Yeah, leave her alone,” said Wayne. Now that Perry was off the scene again, he could suddenly see an opening back into Tracey’s good books. “She’s so fat, she’d probably bring the water level over the edge anyway.”

  Tracey smiled grimly.

  “I still think she should join him.” She looked at the rest of the boys in the group. Todd and Hunter and Douglas and Brad. Nary a one of them that wouldn’t dump his current girlfriend without a thought if Tracey showed the slightest encouragement. “What do you think, guys?” she said.

  Lori backed away, bumping into Wayne. He pinioned her arms to her sides, hissing in her ear.

  “Where’s your swim-suit, fat girl?”

  Mary-Lou and the other girls moved into a huddle next to Tracey, anticipating the fun. Who did Lori Morrison think she was, anyway? Crashing their Sunday afternoon?

  The boys looked at each other. Why not? A bit of horseplay. A drenching for the outsider. Perry would take her home afterwards. No harm done. And she’d know her place next time.

  With a communal whoop, they dived on Lori and, with Wayne holding her feet, carried her, struggling and screaming to the swimming hole and flung her, fully clothed, into the water.

  Just before she sank beneath the surface, Lori saw him. He was sitting on the bonnet of the roadster, the snakeskin jacket slung round his shoulders and an amused smile on his face.

  Watching the fun.

  11

  Lori was going down for the third time before anyone realised that there was a problem. And then it was only Wayne.

  “Gee whizz,” he said. “I don’t think she can swim.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Tracey. “Everybody can swim.”

  “No, really guys. It looks to me like she’s drowning.”

  “Well why don’t you go rescue her then?” snorted Brad, grabbing Wayne and flinging him into the water.

  Wayne came to the surface, coughing and spluttering, and began to flounder painfully towards Lori, who was thrashing around in the deep end.

  “Go get her,” shouted Todd, “You Tarzan. She Jane.”

  Mary-Lou sidled up to Tracey.

  “She looks like she might really be in trouble, Trace” she whispered, nervously.

  “She’s faking,” said Tracey. “Some people will do anything to get attention.”

  But Lori wasn’t faking. She was sinking. Drowning. Dying. Pulled down by the weight of her saturated clothing and the heavy platforms that she’d put on to give her an extra bit of height, to make her look that little bit slimmer.

  Strangely enough, she wasn’t scared. But she was conscious. Conscious of the green water closing over her head, invading her lungs, relaxing her brain. Conscious of the weed drifting round her ankles, the mud from the bottom of the pond rising in a cloud to invade her nose and mouth. And she was confused. Also not a little disgruntled. What an ignominious way to go. On a boring Sunday afternoon, in the boring swimming hole, in boring old Backwater Ridge. All her wonderful dreams unfulfilled. Dead. Before her life had really begun.

  She wasn’t actually surprised when he swam towards her through the murk, moving lazily, sinuous as a water snake. His blonde hair, usually slicked back, floated about his handsome head like the water weed, giving him the aspect of a beautiful, deadly Merman. He had taken off his glasses and his eyes, like yellow headlights piercing the gloom, looked into hers with a mixture of affection and amusement.

  “I’m dying,” she complained, although no words came out. Just bubbles that rose to the surface in an uneven stream, catching the diffused light, making little rainbow patterns in the swell.

  “I know,” said the voice in her head.

  “But what about all our plans?”

  “All YOUR plans.”

  “All your promises, then. Don’t you ever keep your promises?”

  “I always keep my promises,”

  “But I’m dying.”

  “You’re not dead yet,” said the voice in her head.

  She felt his strong arms round her, pulling her to the surface. Tranquilly, without haste. As if, under water, time had slowed to a snail’s pace. Then her head broke the surface and the light blinded her and the noise of the air rushing into her lungs was loud as an express train thundering into a tunnel. And they were Perry’s arms around her. Perry. Shouting.

  “Out of the way, out of the way. Give her room. Give her air.”

  And then, oh the shame of it, she was violently sick.

  Michael Coyote had been up on the Ridge all afternoon. Nothing to do until he heard from Barney. He’d been exploring the old Indian cave dwellings that the Sheriff had told him were there. Not because he was looking for anything in particular. Just for something to do.

  As he drove past the water-hole, he noted the commotion and braked the Honda on an outcrop of rock, so he could get a better view.

  It looked like someone had had an accident. A big crowd of kids were standing in a circle round a seemingly lifeless body on the ground. He squinted his eyes, narrowing the sight-line. The blonde boy, Lori’s next door neighbour, was giving someone the kiss of life. It looked like it was Lori.

  Miguel’s stomach rolled over. Not yet. Not so soon. Not before he had a chance to...

  Then the body on the ground wretched and started to cough and he realised that there was still time. Though he suspected, not much...

  “Move,” said Perry, picking Lori up and shouldering his way through the silent throng.
She was pale as death, barely breathing. As he carried her to the car, Brad grabbed his arm.

  “It was an accident,” he said. “We were just messing around. We didn’t mean....”

  “Get out of my way, you idiot,” said Perry, though gritted teeth.

  “Tracey said she was faking,” said Mary-Lou. She was almost as pale as Lori. “Is she going to be OK?”

  “Oh sure,” said Tracey. “Blame me.”

  Perry fixed her with a look of utmost contempt.

  “You’ve really done it this time, Tracey.” he said. “Enough is enough. You and I are through.”

  And he turned on his heel and hurrying Lori to the roadster, tucked her into the back seat before jumping in behind the wheel.

  “You can’t dump me, Perry Johnson.” Tracey shrieked at his retreating back. “Nobody dumps me. I already dumped you. Hear me? I already dumped you.”

  But Perry ignored her, driving off in a cloud of dust.

  There was an embarrassed silence.

  Then Todd said....“Hey, Where’s Wayne?”

  Miguel Coyote had a grandstand view of what happened next.

  The words were barely out of Todd’s mouth when Wayne Maxwell erupted from the water as though he’d been shot from a canon. He came up with such force that he almost cleared the surface, his thin white body, visible as far as his knees, arched into a bow-shape.

  He gave a single gut-wrenching shriek, as though all the devils in Hell were after him. Then he disappeared below the surface again, leaving only a whirlpool of ripples behind.

  But he hadn’t just sunk. It was as if he’d been yanked back down into the swimming-hole by a giant invisible hand.

  Nothing happened for a single breath-held moment. Then a dark red stain began to discolour the water.

  And everybody headed for the hills.