Part 25 (1/2)
”What?”
He kissed her, tasted her, reveled in her.
”I need to know...if you're still in love with...with...Vicki,” she finished.
”No. I'm not,” he promised her, and it was no lie. If he was in love with anyone, if he ever could be in love with anyone, it was with Susan.
”I swear,” he said.
They made love for hours. It was beautiful. She explored him as he explored her, in every manner thinkable, by every position they could devise. Time and time again, they spent themselves with one another...
But- Phil, now becloaked by the fervid memories, felt around in the bed.
Where is she now?
Did she leave? Did she go back to her own room while he slept? Or- Oh, no.
Had he talked in his sleep? It was something he knew he did. It was something past lovers had made him well aware of. All too aware.
Had he muttered Vicki's name in his sleep?
Jesus, don't let it be so.
He couldn't imagine it.
Despite the happenstance of the other night, Vicki meant nothing to him compared to Susan. He still cared about her, yes, he still wished her well and hoped that she could shed her addictions and make something good for herself, but...
He didn't love Vicki. He knew that.
I love- He got up, wrapped a towel around his waist, and rushed out of the bedroom, then sighed and leaned gratefully against the wall.
There she was, back in the long nights.h.i.+rt.
Thank G.o.d.
She sat placidly at his cheap little desk in the den, her legs crossed. She was reading.
Phil came up from behind, kissed her on the neck. ”Good morning,” he said. ”Or I should say, to those of us on night s.h.i.+fts, good afternoon.”
She kissed him back very matter-of-factly, as though it were something commonplace, something expected. Something purely and honestly natural.
”What are you reading?”
”These books you got out of the library,” she said. ”They're really interesting.”
”Yeah, I know. I was reading some of them last night. It's bizarre, but a little too technical for me; a lot of that genetic stuff went right over my head.”
”It says here that there are inbred communities in some parts of the world that are hundreds of years old. They're rural or mountain settlements, completely cut off from the rest of the world for centuries. And it makes for a completely isolated gene pool. The inbreeding becomes so intensive that normal births almost never happen. It mentions one settlement, somewhere in Russia, where there hasn't been a normal birth since the early 1800s.”
”And it's all exponential,” Phil remarked from what he remembered reading himself. ”Not only does the rate of normal births decline the longer the gene pool remains isolated, but the genetic defects become more severe. One of those books has pictures, but don't look at them if you're squeamish.”
Susan clearly wasn't. She turned to the book with color plates. ”Look at this, red eyes. Just like the Creekers.”
”Evidently, red eyes and jet-black hair are typical genetic signs of prolonged inbreeding,” Phil told her.
”Prolonged,” Susan repeated in a low murmur. Then she glanced up at Phil. ”I wonder how long Natter's Creeker clan have been inbreeding among themselves.”
”Who knows?” Phil replied. ”Maybe centuries.”
Eagle looked haunted when Phil met him at the bar.
And Phil knew why.
”Hey, Eagle.” Phil ordered a beer from the keep, glanced back at the stage to spy a trim, long-legged blonde doing splits. ”You ever get ahold of Blackjack?”
”No, man,” Eagle morosely replied. ”And lemme tell you something else. I haven't been able to get ahold of Paul either.”
”Don't fret it. He probably just went out somewhere.”
”All f.u.c.kin'day? When he knows our points are waiting on that pickup? This is serious biz, Phil. I tried to get Paul on the phone for hours, and there was no answer. So then I went to his place...
”Yeah?”
”The whole joint was busted up, looked like there'd been a riot in there.”
Phil smiled to himself.
Eagle went on. ”His truck was there, but he wasn't. What do you make of that s.h.i.+t?”
”Doesn't sound too good,” Phil said, sipping his Bud. ”But maybe we're worrying a little too soon.”
”s.h.i.+t, man,” Eagle objected. ”I told you, his joint was wrecked. s.h.i.+t layin' all over the place, furniture busted.”
Don't worry, it was crummy furniture. ”I catch your drift. Blackjack disappears, and now Paul disappears.”
”I just don't like it- And Paul's a big guy, strong as an ox. Probably took four or five guys to drag him out of there.”
Phil smiled to himself again. No, just one. ”Well, look,” he suggested. ”There's no point in us just hanging around here doing nothing. Have you been by Blackjack's place?”
”No, I only tried to reach him by phone.”
”All right, then let's drop by, see if his pad's busted up like Sullivan's. And, who knows? Maybe the guy'll be there. Maybe this isn't as bad as we think.”
”Yeah, I guess it can't hurt.”