Page 118 of Succubus

Dick Face stops on the mossy brick leading to Joel’s little gray house, beneath the Japanese maple with its sparse remaining leaves curled and almost black. The sky is bleeding gorgeously now, having lost some epic battle, night closing quickly over the gore. The air breathes out in heaving, wintry gusts.

Dick Face stops singing and the cello soars into the taut silence.

“Huh,” he says, “A musician!” He listens for only a second. “Brahms was such a prick, though. Such a fussy little prick. Couldn’t stand him.” And then he calls, “Come out, hunter!” His voice seems to grow, expand, filling the whole evening.

The cello stops short.

No, no, no, no, I think. Do something, I tell myself. Do something.

But I am just one of my father’s pawns now. I am standing a few paces behind him, my feet frozen slabs below my shaking legs, my knees turning to pebbles. Is my throat closing? I want to yell, but I can hardly suck a thin breath into my lungs. Behind me, the neighbors shift slightly, and there is a clatter as something, maybe the pen, falls from captivated fingers.

Cars driving by clunk to sudden stops. An SUV parks crookedly in front of the house, and someone stumbles out and joins the party.

Joel opens the front door, still holding his bow in one hand.

He steps out onto the stoop, and he is beautiful, lit up in his white T-shirt and gray sweats, all clean and big and gentle looking.

My nose, a numb wedge, is leaking. My eyes are leaking. I am dripping terror and sorrow on myself, and I forget to move my hands to wipe it away, or maybe I can’t move my hands anymore.

For a moment, he seems completely baffled. Then his eyes find me. I see him take in my muddy pajama pants, my bare feet. And now he looks alarmed. He moves, he wants to come toward me, but Dick Face holds up a hand.

“That’s close enough.”

“Who are you?” Joel asks.

Dick Face laughs. “Is this a joke? Do you really not know?”

“Oh,” says Joel, his voice as even as ever. His doctor voice, calm under pressure, calm until the end. “You’re her father.”

I can see Dick Face’s smile in the line of his shoulders, in the toss of his hair. “I’m your destiny, Shit for Brains.”

“I didn’t— ” I squeak. I’m trying to tell Joel. “I didn’t— ”

Dick Face glances back toward me as though remembering I exist. “Are you apologizing to him? What the fuck is wrong with you? Aren’t you humans supposed to be loyal to family and crap like that? I’m your family, kid, in case you forgot. I’m your blood.” He gestures sharply at Joel. “This is the psycho who’s been picking us off for fun.”

I feel the zombies around us tense, perk up at Dick Face’s anger.

I feel my body like rotting fruit, eaten by parasites, flesh oozing off in chunks. My fingers won’t move, they’re stiff with cold, my lips heavy and useless.

“They’re zealots! Every single one of them. He doesn’t care about you—he thinks you’re vermin. He would squash you like a bug.”

I remember Joel telling me I wasn’t human, calling me a disease.

“I know,” he says to me now. “I know you didn’t do this.” He tries again to step forward.

“I said no,” Dick Face snaps, and Joel can’t move.

He winces. “What did he do to you, Tempest?” There’s fear in his face.

“Me?” Dick Face is grinning. “Wow. The two of you.” And to Joel, “What are you, a newbie? This is hilarious.” He does a sweeping gesture over Joel’s length, as though creating and dismissing him all at once. “It was you, asshole. You’re killing her. You can’t figure that out?”

“No,” Joel argues instantly. “That’s a lie.”

“Tell him,” says Dick Face, suddenly diverted by our little drama. “Before I kill him, tell him.”

I gasp. “I’m sorry! Yes. He’s right.”

Joel looks horrified. He strains against the prison of the air for a moment, falls still. “But you were fine!”