Page 93 of The Undead

I’m packing now—not that there’s much to pack, a few changes of underwear; five or six pairs of jeans and shirts and shoes that I picked up at small-town department stares on the way. A few bottles of shampoo and conditioner and makeup. You know, the necessities.

I’m packing Michael’s things, too. Funny how normal they look. Underwear, the same brand he used to wear, only a lot cleaner. Blue jeans for the doctor who hated to be “dressed down.” A T-shirt that made him laugh that said “Vampires Suck.” Two pairs of running shoes. He’s taken up running. At least I hope that’s what he does when he’s out alone at night.

He’s sleeping, now. It’s nearly dark. The sun is sliding behind the clouds outside the motel windows; I’ve lined the windows with aluminum foil to keep out arty stray beams of light, and I’m sitting at the little round table in the corner under the dim lights waiting for nightfall. I’m smoking again. It’s a bad habit. Oddly enough, Michael’s started smoking too; guess he figures it can’t hurt, can it? He isn’t very good with matches yet. He bought a Bic lighter the other day. He drops it about every time he flicks it, but there’s something so serious about the way he tries that I can’t laugh at him.

It’s as if his life depended on it

We’re going home, back to Dallas if not to our actual smoking-hole-in-the-ground house. I look across the featureless motel room, and there, under the bolted-to-the-wall clown picture is my husband, my lover, Michael Bowman. I can see the glint of his wedding ring. I try not to notice that his eyes are open and dry.

“I love you, Michael,” Maggie said in the silence of the dark room. “Till death. Beyond it.”

But God help her, she was cold inside, and scared.

Epilogue

Adam

There was a noise at the door, but Adam didn’t bother to look up. It was William. It was always William, inevitable as morning.

His book didn’t seem to be in focus. Adam lifted a hand to adjust his glasses, and his chains clinked heavily around his wrists. William kept him too weak to break them, too beaten to use them as weapons.

Or so William thought. Adam smiled slightly and turned a page of the tattered paperback he’d found in the trash.

“I brought you somethin’,” William’s voice whispered, bayou-thick and cloyingly sweet. Adam squeezed his eyes tightly shut when he heard the drumming heartbeats, smelled the blood. “Look. Ain’t he pretty? His momma shouldn’t’a let him run around so late by himself.”

“God damn you,” Adam whispered, unable to stop himself. William laughed, barely a scratch of sound but enough to spark rage in Adam’s stomach.Wait, he warned himself.Wait. It will come.

The heartbeats pounded in his ears, thick and fast. A child’s panic. Adam looked up and found William smiling at him.

The little boy was about five, dark-haired, Hispanic. His eyes were swollen from crying, but he was quiet now in the last extremity of terror.

Adam felt himself falling, and hated himself for it.

“Dinner time,” Sweet William said, and smiled. “Hope you’re hungry, boy, I’ve got plans for you.”

Adam stared at him, eyes swirling red and black. Underneath William’s ruthless control he was strong, and getting stronger. He’d conserve his strength for now, and play the game. Oh, yes, William’s plans for him were extensive and horrifying.

But not as elaborate as the plans I have for you. Sweet William, Adam thought.You like games. Here’s one for you.

This one’s called—biding my time.

And, of course, Revenge.