Her gaze rose. The moon hung low on the horizon. An egg moon, An egg moon, her mother would say-it was lopsided, not quite full. her mother would say-it was lopsided, not quite full.

Look at the moon tonight.

All right, I'm looking. It did look funny, its inordinate size and the queer pinkish hue. She'd been hearing about it on the news the last few days, some rare astronomical occurrence. The first day of spring was just days away; apparently, the moon's position in conjunction with this caused an atmospheric anomaly that pinkened its light at certain times. It did look funny, its inordinate size and the queer pinkish hue. She'd been hearing about it on the news the last few days, some rare astronomical occurrence. The first day of spring was just days away; apparently, the moon's position in conjunction with this caused an atmospheric anomaly that pinkened its light at certain times.

Big deal, she thought. she thought.

But the more steadily she stared...

It's pink, she thought. she thought. It's bloated. It's bloated.

Like her belly in the dream. Pink. Bloated.

But that was stupid. She was letting too much get to her. Everything reminded her of the dream. Her own belly felt bloated as she backed away from the window and padded to the bathroom.

She closed the door and turned on the lights. The mirror's brightness shocked her, and the sharp clarity of her nakedness. She still looked good-for thirtyseven. Her skin was tight, bereft of stretch marks. Could use some sun, though, Could use some sun, though, she realized. When was the last time she'd actually lain out in the sun? Years. Her skin was very white, creamy, which contrasted intensely with her very dark brown eyes and ashenbrown hair. Her nipples, too, were more brownish than pink, and large. She'd had little to compare herself to. There'd been occasions in college-phys ed electives-when she'd showered with other girls. Her body had always seemed more robust, her nipples larger and darker, her skin tighter and white. It pleased her to see how little her body had changed. At the firm there was a junior partner named Louise who was the same age as Ann. Once they'd shared a hotel room in Detroit during prelim litigation for an air wreck, and they'd changed together. Louise's thighs looked like bags of cottage cheese. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s depended, and her belly sagged. "I'll loan you my best dress if you loan me your body," she'd said with a sullen laugh. she realized. When was the last time she'd actually lain out in the sun? Years. Her skin was very white, creamy, which contrasted intensely with her very dark brown eyes and ashenbrown hair. Her nipples, too, were more brownish than pink, and large. She'd had little to compare herself to. There'd been occasions in college-phys ed electives-when she'd showered with other girls. Her body had always seemed more robust, her nipples larger and darker, her skin tighter and white. It pleased her to see how little her body had changed. At the firm there was a junior partner named Louise who was the same age as Ann. Once they'd shared a hotel room in Detroit during prelim litigation for an air wreck, and they'd changed together. Louise's thighs looked like bags of cottage cheese. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s depended, and her belly sagged. "I'll loan you my best dress if you loan me your body," she'd said with a sullen laugh.

Ann pinched her thighs. No signs of dreaded cellulite. She pinched her tummy and came up with almost nothing in the way of excess. Maybe it was her hair that made her look younger, too. It hung thick and plainly straight to her shoulders, the way she'd always worn it. The full plot of pubic hair, the same color as her hair, seemed to shine.

But suddenly, she felt adrift before the bright mirror. Mirror, Mirror, she thought. The sensation of portent returned for no reason. Her nakedness. Her brown nipples and white skin. She closed her eyes and saw the spraddled, sweating body, the spread legs, the tight bloated belly pushing... she thought. The sensation of portent returned for no reason. Her nakedness. Her brown nipples and white skin. She closed her eyes and saw the spraddled, sweating body, the spread legs, the tight bloated belly pushing...

She thought of the emblem, the bizarre double circle engraved upon the dream's chalice and suspended upon the wall.

When the phone rang in the bedroom, she nearly shrieked. For a moment she could only stand there staring at the vivid image of herself in the mirror, as the phone shrilled on. Not him again, Not him again, she pleaded. she pleaded. Not the caller Not the caller Martin was answering it just as she opened the door. The bright bathroom light threw a block into the bedroom.

"It's...it's for you," Martin said. Sleep roughened his voice. "It's your mother."

Ann sat down on the bed's edge and took the phone.

"Mom?"

Her mother's voice sounded curt, businesslike. It sounded...stoic. "Ann, there's been a..."

"What, Mom?"

"Your father," the voice hesitated.

Oh, no. Please, no, Ann's thoughts dripped. Ann's thoughts dripped.

"Your father's had a stroke. It's bad. Dr. Heyd says he might not last the week."

As the words sank in, Ann could only stare. Through the minute slats in the window blinds, she could see the pinkened, pregnant moon.

In another place, two girls sat side by side in the grove. They were young. They were naked and holding hands. Wistfully, they peered up into crystal black sky.

"Heofan," one whispered.

"Give lof," whispered the other.

They had. They could taste it in their mouths, salty sweet blood.

"The wifmunuc will be happy."

"I'm happy too!"

The old pickup truck sat in darkness down the grove. So stupid the helots were. Like animals. The girls had only had to hang around the parking lot for a few minutes before they'd been approached. "Whatchoo two purdy thangs doin' standin' round here all by yerselfs?" the fat one had asked. "Our boyfriends left us," one of the girls had replied. "Can you guys give us a ride home?" "Why, sh.o.r.e!" offered the tall one. "Cain't have two purdy thangs like yawl hitchhikin' these dark roads all by yerselfs."

The two girls had grinned.

All four squeezed into the big bench seat. The tall one drove. He was nicelooking, long black hair, nice boots, nice smile. He cranked up Led Zeppelin. The fat one looked...fat. Long hair too, sideburns, flannel shirt. He looked like a redneck Meat Loaf. "We alls from Crick City," he said. "Where yawl from?"

"Lockwood," answered the young dohtor.

"This here's Gary, I'm Lee," the fat one said.

Then Gary said, "Still a bit early, though. And Lee an' me was fixin' on partyin' a little more."

Lee's chubby face grinned. "Yawl like ta join us awhile?"

"Sure," said the younger.

"The night is young," said the older.

They both grinned again in the darkness.

"We know a place we can go. Nice and quiet."

"Just lead me the way, sweetheart," Gary enthused, and cranked the Led Zep up a little more, "Houses of the Holy." Lee cracked open beers for all of them, Iron City. "Best brew ya can buy, an' only a buck ninetynine a six!"

It had been a glorious fulluht; the girls had learned well. The younger had reveled in the look on Lee's face in the moonlight. She'd had to push his tremendous beer belly up to get on him right, though. It hadn't been easy.

"We give lof," said the younger.

"Through husl," finished the older.

The younger drooled, straining over the fat one's thrusting hips. The older was moaning, riding the tall one in the dirt. They were powerless now; the dohtors had taken them quick. They'd seeped into the peows' gasts like balm. The tall one hadn't even screamed when the elder dohtor sank the aesc into his heart. The younger one had plunged her own aesc delightfully in and out of the fat one's belly in time with his fervid spurts. Blood flew, painting her. She shrieked in bliss as the big, dumb body twitched between her legs.

Sated, they rose and went to work. The blood on their young flesh looked black in the beautiful moonlight. They worked hard and happily.

The older dragged their bodies back into the truck as the younger siphoned gasoline into a paegel, which she then splashed into the cab.

They sat for a time first, they always did. They liked to stretch naked beneath the moon and dream of red heofan, of the G.o.dspellere, and the coming blissful nihtloc.

Later, they dressed and collected their things. The older carried the laden bags. "See ya 'round, Gary," she said, laughing.

"Nice partyin' with ya, Lee," called the younger. She lit a pack of matches and tossed it into the cab.

The cab burst into beautiful flames, like a fek oven. Within the fire, the meat hissed and sizzled.

Chapter 8.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Ann, it's not your fault." Martin poured coffee for her in the kitchen. He drew the curtains and let the morning sun beam in.

"I want you two to go. I'll go home by myself."

"That's ridiculous," he said. "This is an emergency, and we're a family. We'll go together."

"Melanie will be crushed," Ann said.

"Ann, Melanie will understand. understand. This is your father we're talking about, and her grandfather." This is your father we're talking about, and her grandfather."

Sometimes Martin was too too understanding. Ann knew he would do everything he could to help her, to make things work, in spite of the fact that her parents never really approved of him. "A poet?" her mother had objected. "Poets don't make any money, Ann. Why do you insist on getting involved with these deadbeats?" Yes, Martin knew all about that, and still he would do everything he could to smooth things out. understanding. Ann knew he would do everything he could to help her, to make things work, in spite of the fact that her parents never really approved of him. "A poet?" her mother had objected. "Poets don't make any money, Ann. Why do you insist on getting involved with these deadbeats?" Yes, Martin knew all about that, and still he would do everything he could to smooth things out.

"We'll go to Paris next time," he said.

Next time. When would that be? A year? Two? When would that be? A year? Two?

Suddenly, she was crying.

Martin put his arm around her, stroked her hair.

"Every time something good happens, something bad happens," she sobbed.

"It'll be all right. There was nothing you could do."

"He's dying." dying."

"Ann, just because he had a stroke doesn't mean he's dying."

"But the doctor said-"

"Come on, Ann, that old guy? He doesn't know a stethoscope from a periscope. The best thing we could do is get your father out of that town and into a real hospital."

It would never happen, Ann knew. Her parents believed in fate, not CAT scanners and ICUs.

"We better start getting ready," Martin said.

As Ann rose, Melanie traipsed into the kitchen. "What time are we-" She stopped, looked at them, hesitated. "What's wrong?"

Ann and Martin hesitated in return. Ann looked up at Martin in panic. The look said, Please tell her, Martin. I can't. I just can't. Please tell her, Martin. I can't. I just can't.

Martin understood at once. "Melanie, we're not going to be able to go to Paris this time," he began. "Something bad happened yesterday..."

"Tharp's escaped. Erik Tharp-remember him?"

Sergeant Tom Byron just stood there, mouth open.

Chief Bard sipped coffee from a spidercracked NRA mug. "f.u.c.ker busted out of the Rubber Ramada yesterday. Can you believe it?"

"Erik Tharp," Byron said. "Escaped."

"That's right, boy. State's saturated the whole area with their units, and they want all munic.i.p.al departments on watch. He busted out with a rapist, killed four people already, two hospital people, old Farley from the QwikStop out on 154, and some redneck broad from Luntville. Raped the stuffing out of the broad before they killed her. And they got a piece. State M.E. says he pulled a .455 out of the girl's a.s.s, Farley's Webley."

"Erik...Tharp," Byron repeated. The name put him in a daze. He remembered, all right. The pit full of tiny charred skeletons, and Tharp himself poised in moonlight with the shovel.

At last Sergeant Byron regained his ability to speak polysyllabically. "You figure he's comin' back here, Chief?"

"State says there's no way in h.e.l.l. Probably headed north, they said."

"Tharp ain't got a set bra.s.s enough to come back here."

Bard frowned. What could he say to Byron? He was pretty much just a kid.

"I should've killed him five years ago," Byron muttered.

Yeah, you should have, Bard thought. Instead, he said, "Don't wanna hear no talk like that, boy. We're professionals." Bard thought. Instead, he said, "Don't wanna hear no talk like that, boy. We're professionals."

With that, Bard scratched his belly and spat in the waste can.

"Lemme go lookin', Chief. I'll drive my own car. Just lemme-"

"Forget it. You mind your manners unless you wanna take old Farley's place for five bucks an hour at the QwikStop, ya hear?"

Byron, reluctantly, nodded.

"LWOne," squawked the base station. "Citizen report of signal 5F two miles south of junction 154 and Old Dunwich. M.E. en route. Check for possible relation to state signal fiftyfive slash twelve in progress."

"LWOne, tenfour," Bard groaned into the mike.

Byron stared.

"Get on it, boy", Bard said, and stood up exertedly. "Maybe Tharp's closer than the state thinks."

We look like idiots, Erik thought, glaring at the mirror. Erik thought, glaring at the mirror.

"Jesus," Duke murmured, standing aside.

They'd cut their hair short, in efforts to get with the times. Instead, they looked like they'd stuck their heads in blenders. The hair bleach hadn't worked very well either. Erik had followed the instructions, or at least he thought he had. It turned their hair almost snow white.