Syd looked at her, looked away. "I wanted to kill him," he said at last. "I wanted to tear his stupid f.u.c.king face off."

"Better," she said. "At least that's honest." She leaned across the table.

"So why didn't you?"

The question hung in the air like an indictment. Syd took a swig off his beer. Nora watched him intently. Her eyes were inescapable; in the soft glow of the candles they looked hypnotic, otherworldly.

"I don't know," he said. "The cops came, and it felt like the moment had come and gone. I missed the window." He sighed resignedly.

"After that, I would periodically get this feeling, like I wanted to go hurt him again. Like beating him up just wasn't enough. It was like, he hadn't suffered enough yet; I was still hurting, my life was still f.u.c.ked, but he just got to skate away as if nothing ever happened. But whenever I talked about it, everyone would tell me how wrong they thought that was, like I was some kind of psycho or something . . ."

"And how did that make you feel?"

"I thought-" He stopped, corrected himself. "It felt like it was the only right thing in the whole sick f.u.c.king situation. Like if I didn't stop him-even if I had to kill him to do it-then nothing else in the rest of my life would ever mean a G.o.ddam thing."

He paused; Nora nodded thoughtfully. "There's a word to describe the reaction of everybody you talked to," she said. "It's called theriophobia."

"Come again?"

"Theriophobia. It means fear of the beast. It's like a projection, a kind of self-hatred. Fear of the violent, irrational side of your nature. Most people are scared to death of it."

For the first time in the conversation, her eyes looked away, out the window to the street below, as though searching the shadows. "They spend their whole lives running away from it, and punishing anyone who doesn't. They tell you it's crazy to feel things like that, like you're a monster for even having such thoughts, much less doing something about it."

"Yeah, but it's funny," he said, almost wistfully, "while it was happening, it was the cleanest feeling I'd ever known. It wasn't so much irrational as something that transcended reason. There was no doubt, or guilt, or second-guessing myself. I had no idea what was going to happen next, or how things would play out, and it didn't even matter. I just knew what I had to do . . ."

"But in the end, you weren't true to it," she said. "I mean, he's still alive, right? He still slinks among us." Syd looked down, nodded.

"Yeah, he hangs out down at Fifty-Five South and all the local yuppie watering holes. But at least he p.i.s.ses himself at the mention of my name."

"Uh-huh."

She didn't say anything else, just uh-huh. She didn't have to. It was uncanny, her knack for nailing him: in the s.p.a.ce of a second she had reduced the wild, b.e.s.t.i.a.l side of Syd that had so terrified his friends and acquaintances to a toothless, yapping lapdog. Her tone of voice was neutral, utterly without malice or judgment, but no less deadly for it.

Syd swished his beer, drained the dregs. It was the last one in the house. He glanced at the little pile of cans before him, checked his watch. Twelve-fifteen.

"h.e.l.luva time to run out of beer," he sighed.

Nora watched him a moment longer, then stood, blew out the candles, crossed around to his side of the table.

"So c'mon," she said.

"Where are we going?"

She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, then whispered in his ear.

"Out," she said.

15.

They were halfway to Chameleon's when Nora had a change of heart.

They were high up on the Mt. Haversford Road, Tom Waits's moody "Bone Machine" playing low on the stereo. For the last twenty minutes Nora had been lost in thought, preoccupied: she stared out the window, watching the shifting shapes just outside the headlights' glare. When they pa.s.sed a sign that read REST AREA 1 MILE, Nora turned.

"Pull over up there," she said.

Syd looked at where she was pointing, shook his head. He was feeling kind of weird, and he wanted a beer to calm his nerves. "I don't know," he protested. "It's gettin' kinda late . . ."

"Just for a minute," Nora said. "Please . . ."

She placed her hand on his thigh, squeezed. Syd sighed and slowed, wheeling the car off the road and into the parking area. It was dark, utterly deserted, just a wide barren strip of asphalt, but up against the rim of the forest. A few picnic tables dotted its perimeter, empty and forlorn. Syd pulled into a slot, left the engine running, the lights on.

"Okay," he said. "Now what?"

Nora reached over and shut the engine off, then sat back, admiring the night.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she sighed. "I love it up here."

"Yeah, me, too," Syd said. He looked around, distracted, then checked his watch. Twelve forty-five. "We should really go," he warned. "The bar's gonna close soon."

"Mmmm." She paused, nodded thoughtfully. "I've got a better idea."

Nora leaned over and kissed him, and as she pulled away Syd heard a click . . .

. . . and then she was throwing the door open, stepping outside. Syd looked first at Nora, then at the ignition. The keys were gone.

"Aw, s.h.i.t," he groaned, annoyed. "Nora!"

But Nora just ignored him, moving away from the car and into the trees, the headlights casting giant shadow-puppets before her.

"Nora!" Syd shouted. Nora kept moving. Syd threw open the door, climbed out after her. He called to her again. Nora disappeared, laughing. He called to her again.

Nothing.

Syd cursed and considered his options. Not many. She was playing games with him. He was stranded. He was starting to get p.i.s.sed.

"NORA!!".

From the trees, her echoing mirth. There was nothing else to do. Syd cursed again, and followed.

The woods were still and silent as he picked his way through the underbrush, the only sounds around him his own clumsy fumbling and the subtle rush of breeze through branches. The weather was a little warmer than yesterday, but not by much: he could still see his breath, felt the damp night chill on his skin. A gentle breeze wafted around him, hissing through the trees. Syd had left the Mustang's headlights on, the better to see her with; they tossed garish monster-movie shadows before being utterly absorbed by dense growth. Twenty yards in and he was steeped in darkness, without a clue as to how he was going to find her.

Then, without warning, the headlights shut off. And the real blackness settled in.

Syd whirled, caught the last faint glow of dying light. His pupils dilated, desperately trying to capture every stray bit of luminescence. Then it faded, withdrew.

And Syd was screwed.

Because the night that descended upon him then was not city-night, not twinkly-lights-in-the-distance night or even creepy-don't-go-down-that-back-alley night, where the shadows skulked and huddled in corners and between street lamps.

This was nature's own mother night, and her dominion was complete. Syd couldn't see his hand in front of his face, his feet on the ground, or the way back to the car. He felt suddenly helpless, trapped. He probed around with his left foot, took a testing baby step forward. His leg snagged a fallen branch, then b.u.mped painfully against a rotten stump. His eyes bugged wide, cones and rods screaming.

He stopped, let his sight adjust until he could make out shapes, vague silhouettes. It was still horrible. He blundered forth, hands clutching blindly, calling out her name.

"Nora!" he whispered. "Nora, dammit, where are you?"

"I'm right beside you."

Syd spun; squinting, surprised. One of the shadows moved, and Nora's form became faintly visible: leaning against a pine, an arm's length away.

"Jesus!" he hissed. "Don't do that!"

"Why are you whispering?"

"What? Oh . . ." He caught himself. "Nora, quit f.u.c.king around. The lights just went out on the car."

"I know," she said. "I turned them off."

"You did what . . . ?" Syd stopped, stymied, wondering how she had doubled back and then found him again so quickly. He couldn't see her face, but there was no mistaking the amus.e.m.e.nt in her voice. He reached out to her, a blind man reading flesh Braille. "Let's just get out of here . . ."

"Why?" she replied. "What's the rush?"

He started to say something else, but she just kissed him again, effectively silencing his objections. Her mouth was a warm sanctuary; Syd felt his senses unconsciously focus around it. He touched her face, then slid down her neck to her shoulders. When he felt the bare skin of her back, Syd stopped, shocked. She was topless.

"Jesus!" he gasped. "What the f.u.c.k are you doing?"

Nora just laughed, pulled him close. As she did he realized that she was not just topless, she was completely stripped, bare-a.s.s naked in the middle of the pitch-black woods. Her flesh was taut; her nipples stiff, yearning. She nuzzled him; as she did her fingers snaked inside his jacket, began unb.u.t.toning his shirt. Industrious little creatures, working overtime.

"Take this off," she ordered.

"I don't want to," he said, puffing her fingers away. She kissed him again, and Syd felt his resistance crumble. Nora pressed against the rising bulge in his pants, squeezed. The thought of one more beer seemed suddenly irrelevant, unnecessary.

"You don't need another beer," she whispered, as if reading his mind. She kissed him again. "I know what you need."

"What," he countered sarcastically, "to screw out in the woods?"

"Maybe," she said, meeting him, att.i.tude for att.i.tude. "If you wanna be with me you better learn to expect the unexpected. Know what I mean?" Syd paused, then nodded.

"Good."

Nora started to peel his jacket off; Syd hovered on the threshold of abandon, then shrugged, let her. "Anybody ever tell you you're out of your mind?" he said.

"All the time." She peeled his shirt off, let it drop. "Constantly." She dropped down, pulled his boots and socks off, then unhitched his jeans and tugged them down. As he stepped out of them she came up, grabbed his wrist and unsnapped his watch, tossing it on the pile.

At last Syd stood before her, utterly naked. "That's more like it," she said. "Now, relax. Breathe. Feel the night."

Nora wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight. Her body was a furnace, radiating heat and pa.s.sion; her hair was wild and tangled, smoke-scented. Syd began to shiver, as much from excitement as from the frigid air. His teeth chattered. Nora began to ma.s.sage him, her fingers tracing patterns across the surface of his skin.

"You've got so much bound up inside," she said softly. "It's keeping you trapped. There's a whole world around you that you're not even seeing, Syd," she said softly.

"You need to see it."

She kissed him again, punctuating the message. Nora reached down, came up with a small gla.s.s vial. "What's that?" he asked.

"Trust me," she said.

She uncapped it, poured a dollop of dark liquid onto his chest. Syd was instantly struck by the thick, sharp aroma of scented oil. It was at once bittersweet, earthy and biting, like chlorophyll with teeth. "This'll warm you up," she said.

She was right about that: as it touched him, Syd felt his skin flush, tingling. She chased the rivulets down his belly with her forgers, smearing it on his torso, across his throat, down to his groin. It burned there, in glaring contrast to the night and Syd gasped, felt his p.e.n.i.s burgeon, throbbing. She poured some onto the crown of his head, and his brain started broadcasting test patterns.

She dropped the vial then and began rubbing against him, and Syd felt their flesh merge, her heat transferring to him. The smell of Nora mingled with the oil, became one swirling sensation. It filled his nostrils, dizzying. His head felt feather-light, his inner ear rumbling with the sound of his own roaring blood . . .

. . . and for the second time in as many nights he felt that sudden rush of acute clarity: a fierce, almost cellular awareness of her presence, the astonishing sensitivity she aroused in him. The awareness extended to his surroundings: as he gazed out into the night the forest took on added dimensions, his vision perceiving newly-visible layers upon layers of shadow, etched in purple and blue-gray and black. The cold felt suddenly bracing, exciting.

Nora stopped then, looked off into the foliage. "C'mon," she whispered. She took his hand, started to move away from the tree. Syd stiffened, suddenly reluctant. s.e.x was one thing; naked with her like this, he could be anywhere, they could be humping on the White House lawn and he wouldn't care. But wandering through the woods . . .

"Where are we going?" he asked, tightening up again.

"Out there," she said simply.

"What about our clothes?"

"What about 'em?" she replied. "They ain't going anywhere."

"But we can't just run around naked."

"Yeah?" she said. "Why not?"

"What if someone comes?"

"Yeah, boy, that would be terrible," she chided, then clucked her tongue reprovingly. "That's some wild streak you got there, Syd."

Nora broke contact then, stepped away; as Syd watched she melded into the shadows, her silhouette blue-lit, ethereal. His clothing lay heaped beside him, a freshly shed skin. He looked at her, playful and wanton, and more than anything in the world he wanted to have her, right there, on the ground, now.

"You'll have to catch me first," she said, reading his mind.

Syd pushed off from the tree, moving toward her. Nora darted out of reach, surprisingly nimble and quick. Syd took two steps forward, immediately landed his bare foot on a bramble.

"s.h.i.t!" he yelped. He stumbled back, hopping, and his other foot stomped on a small round stone. "Ow! f.u.c.k!"

He lurched to the side, impaled his a.s.s on a sharp stick and toppled backward, landing flat on his can in the dirt. "G.o.dDAMMIT!"

Laughter rang out from the darkness.