Part 2 (1/2)

He needed to regroup and reorient.

”Ok . . . Ok . . . there's a giant . . . thing on the other side of this door, which isn't going to hold it for long. You gotta do something, brother. Ahhh, man, this is all sorts of bad.” He started to cry. He curled his legs up into his chest. A loud thud from the bedroom signaled the spider's advance. His eyes began to glaze over. His head bobbed forward every time the spider crashed into the door. He went limp and his body slumped to the floor. He pressed his cheek against the floor and stared down the hallway into the kitchen. He could see the fridge, the white cupboards, the sink and the window above it. The shades were still drawn and the low light gave the entire scene a dreamlike feel. He thought he might be dreaming. And it was a familiar image. His kitchen looked a lot like Momma's did . . . on that day.

The day he had lain down on the floor in all that blood.

Sheldon stared in horror, fixed in place by the terror of the monster with him now, and the memories of the ones from his past, the thought of all those Horrible outside waiting for him every day. Images of his parents' death fluttered past his eyes in rapid succession; a constant film reel inundated with blood, fragmented bone, and the jagged lines of ragged tissue.

A scream was jammed back down his throat by wave after wave of sickened psychosis. As the facade that he, and his psychiatrist, had spent so many years building began to crumble away, Sheldon felt the urge to laugh maniacally until he pa.s.sed out.

His father ran at him from the kitchen. Sheldon could see his shoes stop just inches from his face. A ghostly hand reached down and came to rest on his shoulder. Sheldon stared up at his imaginary father. He was mouthing-screaming two words over and over.

Evan wasn't the only person who could read lips.

His father told him to fight, to rage.

Fight. Rage. Anger spread over him like a fevered rash. Last time he did nothing. Whatever killed his parents could have finished him off effortlessly and he would've let it. If given the chance his father would've fought it, tooth and nail. His mother would've fought.

Father nodded in agreement and faded.

He owed it to them to fight with everything he had.

The next time Sheldon tried to scream nothing stopped it from erupting out. He surprised himself with how loud it was. ”NO! NOT AGAIN! NOT THIS TIME! I'M NOT GOING TO LAY DOWN AND JUST LET IT HAPPEN. I'M NOT GONNA LET IT HAPPEN, MOMMA!”

Complete silence. Not a sound from his bedroom. Nothing from the rest of the house. He stood up. He got up on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet and waited. When the bedroom door shattered and the spider broke through, he was already on the move, headed for the front door. He ran through the living room, grabbed an iron poker from the fireplace-sending the stand cras.h.i.+ng to the floor-sprinted to the front door, heaved it open, and froze at the threshold.

He couldn't do it. The outside world was just too bright, too loud, too unforgiving. Too horrible. Even if it meant he would die, he couldn't go outside. He spun around with the poker out in front of him. The spider was there to meet him. It jumped through the air. The spider, Sheldon, and all his misery, tumbled outside.

His senses erupted in a geyser. Bright lights exploded with the intensity of the sun. Bombs went off in his ears. He could smell everything: the malodorous stink emanating from the spider, the gra.s.s and flowers and air, his own fear sweating out of every pore. Then everything went black and Sheldon signed off.

Sayonara.

PART TWO.

WITHOUT.

Well, now it gettin', Late on into the evenin' and I feel like, like blowin' my home.

When I woke up this mornin' all I, I had was gone.

Now it gettin', Late on into the evenin', man now, I feel like, like blowin' my home.

- Muddy Waters.

f i v e.

”There's nothing to fear, Sheldon. I'm here with you,” Dr. Nemiah spoke soothingly. The tone of her voice always made Sheldon feel safe. ”You have to let go. Let go of what happened. Let go of your parents. Here, we'll do it together.”

”I can't do it.”

”You can't do it or you don't want to?”

”Both.”

”Give me your hand, Sheldon. Let's open the door and just take one step outside.” Her hand felt wonderful in his. Her smooth skin was a lot like Momma's.

Sheldon looked straight into the face of his psychiatrist. Her entire countenance was lit up by bright light from behind. She was dark like his mother. And she had the most intelligent eyes. Her greying hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. No make-up save for a conservative application of red lipstick. She was a sophisticated beauty, but no more real than his parents were. He knew this was a dream. He knew she wasn't real, but it felt so safe. He took a step forward with Dr. Nemiah and then froze. ”What if it . . . Horribles . . . are outside waiting for us?”

”Can you remember his name, Sheldon? Do you remember the name of the man that hurt your parents?”

”Yes.”

”Can you tell me that name, Sheldon?”

”Yes. His name was Oli Thompson. He was a bad man.”

”That's right. And what happened to him?”

”He went to jail forever.”

”Sheldon, later on, that awful man died in prison. He's no longer outside. He can't hurt you. Can he?”

”No.”

”What happened to your parents was chaos, just a terrible, terrible chance happening. The person responsible for their deaths is dead. There won't be anything waiting for you-us-except for blue skies and fresh air.

”Open the door, Sheldon, and welcome in the world.”

”Ok, Doctor. Just don't let go of my hand.”

He closed his eyes and stepped through . . .

s i x Open your eyes.

The world had been knocked off its axis and flipped ninety degrees. Instead of seeing houses, streets, and a tree line, Sheldon only saw sky. Where did Dr. Nemiah go? She no longer held his hand. He wasn't with her anymore. This wasn't a therapy session.

Parade, motorcycles, spider, fangs, the chase. His brain fed the events back to him in bite-size installments. The process didn't ease the panic. He was growing catatonic; legs and arms stiffened. The intensity of his surroundings devoured his lucidity. Something moved next to him, temporarily distracting his plunge into irrevocable madness. He turned to face it. His back muscles screamed in agonizing protest.

Impaled by the poker, the spider twitched once, twice, and then lay still. Up close, he could see it was welded together steel and what looked like tissue; a slab of hamburger with an Erector Set crammed into the meat. Legs and fangs were driven by cogs, springs, and gears. All of this was held together with strips of white tendon and greying muscle.

It was something created, designed, and forged. And knowing that someone, or something, had constructed it was the most frightening aspect of the entire thing.

The stab wound leaked motor oil all over the sidewalk. The gathering puddle made Sheldon think of his parents again. He had mistaken his father's blood for oil. Instead of ceasing up with panic, he was taken over by rage again. Whatever made this spider and the evil that had killed his parents were of the same kind. He was sure of it.

He had killed-destroyed-this one and it felt good, a sliver of revenge for his parents, but then Sheldon remembered the long line of motorcycles and the trailers they pulled. He gasped.