Parasite

  The woman in the bathrobe was on the back porch. I screamed again and grabbed the handle, yanking on the heavy glass door. There was a moment when I thought that it wasn’t going to move. Then it slipped into position on the track, allowing me to pull it shut before the woman reached me. I fumbled with the lock, snapping it into position. Her hands hit the glass, palms first. Then she stopped. Completely. She was still breathing, but there was no other movement; she might as well have been a statue.

  A statue with dead, dead eyes.

  “Oh God oh God oh God,” I gasped. My heart was hammering against my ribs, and the sound of drums was in my ears again. It was almost loud enough to drown out Beverly’s barking. I wanted to close the curtain and shut out the sight of the woman’s empty stare. I couldn’t make myself move. In that moment, it was like my body had decided that it was no longer interested in working in tandem with my brain.

  Maybe this was what it felt like for Sherman and the others when the sleeping sickness first caught hold of them. Like they had suddenly become observers in their own lives, completely unable to make their bodies respond to their commands. Maybe this was how it was forever. Maybe they never got to stop watching—

  The woman at the back door raised one hand before slapping her palm deliberately back against the glass. I jumped, startled into motion. Her dead gaze never wavered. Beverly was still barking, and the hammering drumbeat of my heart was still thunderous in my ears.

  I looked into the woman’s dead eyes and knew that whoever she’d been a few hours before, she wasn’t that person anymore. There was no experience or identity in her eyes; they weren’t just dead, they were empty. Everything that made her who she was had been drained away, replaced by some set of instincts I didn’t understand. Instincts that had, for whatever reason, drawn her and her companions to my yard.

  She slapped the door again, her palm pressing white as a snail’s belly against the glass. I took a step backward. Even that small motion felt like a victory. See, it said, you aren’t like them. You still move when you want to move. You’re still you, and not anything else. The thought helped me take another step. The woman kept slapping the door, each movement slow and deliberate. I didn’t take my eyes off her as I kept backing up, finally reaching the table where I’d left my phone.

  Picking it up, I hit the voice recognition switch on the side—a helpful leftover from the days when I’d been speaking but not yet capable of reliably reading the controls on my own phone—and said, “Dial Dr. Steven Banks.”

  The words surprised me. I’d been intending to call the police right up until I spoke. At the same time, calling Dr. Banks made perfect sense. If SymboGen knew things about the sleeping sickness that they weren’t sharing, maybe they’d also know how to make the people around my house go away. The police wouldn’t have that information. I didn’t want anybody getting hurt.

  “Dialing,” said the phone politely, switching itself to speaker in response to my command. The sound of ringing followed.

  A man I didn’t know picked up the line, saying, “Dr. Banks’s office. Dr. Banks is in a meeting right now, may I take a message?”

  “No, you can transfer me to him,” I said. “This is Sally Mitchell. It’s an emergency, and even if you’re new, you still have a card with instructions telling you what to do if I call. Please. Put me through to Dr. Banks.” It wasn’t the politest greeting ever. I didn’t feel like I had time for much politeness. Not with the dead-eyed woman pawing at my back door and staring at me like I was the answer to a question she was no longer fully capable of asking.

  “O-of course, Miss Mitchell,” stammered the man on my phone, sounding stunned. “I’ll put you right through.”

  “Thank you,” I said distractedly. I’m not sure he heard me. The phone clicked, and the sound of his breathing was replaced by the sweet acoustic guitar hold music of the SymboGen communications system.

  I waited, none too patiently, and listened more to Beverly barking than to the music. As long as she was still barking, the man was still outside. Hopefully the second woman was there with him, and not exploring some other avenue into the house. I shivered a bit, despite the fact that it was a perfectly warm day. If she got inside, I didn’t know what I would do.

  The phone clicked. “Sally?” said Dr. Banks. He sounded concerned but not panicked. If anything, there was a note of relief in his voice, like he’d been waiting for the day I would call him voluntarily for a very long time. “What’s wrong? You gave Jeff a bit of a scare.”

  “I’m having a bit of a scare myself right now, Dr. Banks,” I retorted. “I’m alone in my house with my dog, and three people with that sleepwalking sickness are here. One of them is at my back door. She keeps hitting the glass.” It seemed like such a small thing when I said it out loud like that, but it was impossible for me to properly articulate how horrible every little smacking sound was. Her palm was starting to look more red than white when she hit the door, like the repeated impacts were irritating the skin. If it hurt her at all, she didn’t show it. Her expression remained exactly the same, as blank as it had been the moment she appeared on the porch.

  “Sally, you need to get out of there.” Now Dr. Banks sounded like he was on the verge of panic. “Is there any way for you to get out of the house?”

  “I’m in my bathrobe, I’m unarmed, and there are three of them.” I stressed the number this time, like that might somehow make him understand how bad the situation was. “I know one is in the side yard and one is in the back. I don’t know where the third one is. So no, I can’t get out of the house, unless you’re absolutely sure they’re not going to attack me the way Chave did. I don’t have a bunch of security guards here to save me.”

  Dr. Banks took a deep breath. “Are the doors locked?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to send a security team. If you think there’s any chance the people outside your house are going to get in, I need you to go and lock yourself in the bathroom. My men can get inside even if you’re not there to open the doors for them. I’ll pay for any damages. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Dr. Banks. I understand.” My parents would be pissed if they came home and SymboGen had kicked the front door in, but I assumed they’d be even angrier if they came home and found me dead in the kitchen.

  “Stay safe, Sally.” The line went dead. I lowered my phone, slipping it into the pocket of my bathrobe, where I wouldn’t lose it. The woman from down the block was still methodically slapping the glass door. Beverly was still barking. As long as I focused on those two things—those pieces of proof that I was still safely inside and the monsters were still outside—I was okay.

  I was okay.

  I was…

  I wasn’t okay. I found myself staring at the woman on the other side of the glass door, searching her eyes for some trace of the woman I’d seen walking down the sidewalk less than a week before, laughing over her shoulder, engaged with her own life. That woman wasn’t there. No one was there. I was looking at a corpse that just happened to be somehow up and walking around, and if I didn’t understand how that was possible, that was just because there were so many things I didn’t know.

  I kept staring into her eyes, almost afraid to move, and waited for the sound of someone coming to rescue me.

  Time stretched and slipped away, becoming something defined by three sounds: Beverly’s barking, the slap of skin against glass, and the drumbeat hammering of my own heart. I didn’t move. Beverly was starting to sound hoarse, but she wasn’t letting that stop her. As long as Mr. Carson was at the window, she was going to keep on barking at him. I wondered how much she understood about the sleeping sickness. What sort of scent did the infected give off, if a dog could detect it at a distance? She’d known when her original owner first started getting sick. She’d known when Mr. Carson and the others came up to the fence. They had to smell sick somehow.

  I suddenly flashed on Marya talking about Tumbleweeds, her store cat, and how he’d bee
n standoffish with the customers for the first time in his pampered life. What was it she’d said? “He even hissed at a poor woman yesterday.” I had to wonder whether that poor woman had joined the ranks of the sleepwalkers shortly after being rejected by the normally good-natured feline. If animals could detect the early signs of the infection, they might be the best way of avoiding it.

  Assuming that all animals could detect the early signs of the infection, whatever those signs were. Assuming that the infection was passed person to person, and that it could be avoided. Assuming a whole lot of things, most of which probably weren’t safe to assume, not with the limited information available to me.

  I was still staring at the woman when Beverly stopped barking and started to growl. I whipped around before I fully realized that I was going to move. The slapping against the glass behind me got more insistent, but it was competing with a somewhat more pressing sound: someone was knocking on the front door.

  “Miss Mitchell?” shouted an unfamiliar male voice. “Are you all right? If you are unable to come to the door, we will enter to confirm your condition. We will be making entry on the count of ten. One…”

  I took a deep breath and walked toward the door, fighting the urge to run. “I’m here,” I called, once I was close enough that I was sure they’d be able to hear me. I stole a glance at Beverly. She was still standing on the couch, legs locked into rigid lines. Mr. Carson wasn’t outside the window anymore. Instead, three men in SymboGen security uniforms were standing there, each of them holding a shock baton. The head of a fourth man was just barely visible above the window frame.

  Beverly turned toward the sound of my voice, and her growling stopped, for a moment. Then she started growling again as she jumped off the couch and ran to stand guard over the back door. The couch cushions were irreparably stained with mud and grass. Somehow, I didn’t think Mom was going to be all that upset, considering what Beverly had been defending me from. Even if I still wasn’t sure exactly what that was.

  “Miss Mitchell, is it safe for you to open the door? If, for some reason, it is not safe, we will make our own way inside.”

  Translation: they would knock down the door. “Just a second,” I said, and began undoing the locks.

  I opened the door to find a man in full SymboGen security gear standing on the porch, with two more guards behind him. There were three large black vans parked in front of the house, their rear doors standing open.

  “Miss Mitchell,” said the man. He nodded his head respectfully, his eyes skittering away from my face as he began to scan the house behind me. Beverly’s barking caught his attention. “Is your dog agitated by the intruders?”

  “There’s a woman on the back porch,” I said. “Beverly’s barking at her. There were two more—”

  “We have already restrained them,” said the man. He looked over his shoulder, making a series of complex gestures with his right hand. The two men nodded and went trotting away, heading for the side of the house. “The third intruder will be removed shortly. May I enter?”

  Feeling a little foolish standing there in my bathrobe and bare feet, I nodded and stepped to the side. “Please. I don’t think they managed to get inside at all, but I’ll feel a lot more secure once I’m sure.”

  “That’s why we’re here, Miss Mitchell,” said the man, and stepped past me, into the house. “May my men enter? I will remain with you while they secure the property.”

  “Okay.” I stepped farther to the side, making sure there was a clear path into the house. Beverly was still barking. I slipped my hands into the pockets of my robe and just stood there, feeling awkward and exposed.

  A second man in SymboGen security gear appeared, nodded to me, and walked past me into the house. I stayed where I was, swaying slightly on my feet.

  The sound of the glass door sliding open was barely audible under the sound of Beverly’s maddened barking. The sound of the electric prod hitting the woman on the other side was much easier to hear. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the way the sound made my stomach turn over. I couldn’t help remembering Chave, and how quickly she’d gone from a person to a target. I didn’t know the woman in my backyard nearly that well.

  Beverly stopped barking. For a moment, there was only silence. The sound of footsteps alerted me to the return of the second man to have entered the house. I opened my eyes, turning to face him.

  “The intruder from your yard is being removed now,” he said calmly. His baton was back at his belt. That made me feel a little better.

  “Hold this position,” said the first man. To me, he said, “Please wait here while I check your doors and windows.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I murmured. I might as well not have said anything. He was already gone, walking deeper into the house with his shoulders locked in an almost military line. Beverly trotted over to sit down beside me, pressing her shoulders against my leg. I bent enough to stroke her ears. “Good dog, Beverly. You’re a good dog.”

  She looked up at me with worshipful brown eyes, her tail thumping once against the floor. In her world, everything was right. She had protected her human from the bad things outside, and now she was being called a good dog and having her ears petted. I wished it could be that simple for me.

  Two more men from SymboGen appeared on the porch, flanking the second man. One of them saluted me. “Miss Mitchell,” he said.

  I blinked at him, not sure how I was supposed to respond to the salute. I settled on a weak wave. “Hello,” I said. “Can I get you anything? Um. And also thank you for coming. I didn’t want to call the police, I was afraid someone would get hurt.” Someone had gotten hurt because I called SymboGen. Those electric batons didn’t just tickle. But if I’d called the police, I might have been spreading an infection I still didn’t understand. I couldn’t do that.

  “We’re just doing our jobs, ma’am,” said one of the two men.

  “I know. I still appreciate it.” Beverly was looking curiously at the two, her ears pricked forward, but she wasn’t growling. I took that as a good sign that they weren’t getting ready to freak out and try to strangle me. “I really didn’t want to spend the whole day locked inside my house, panicking.”

  “Speaking of which, your house is clear,” said the man I took as the leader, walking back down the hall to the front room. “They don’t appear to have penetrated the security.”

  A dizzying wave of relief washed over me. “Oh, good. Thank you for checking.”

  “Miss Mitchell, Dr. Banks would very much appreciate it if you would accompany us back to SymboGen, so that he can see for himself that you’re all right.” The man’s expression didn’t waver. In its own way, it was as dead as the faces on the people who’d been in my yard. “We would be happy to wait while you got ready, and a space has been kept open for you in the van.”

  The relief faded, followed by the familiar dread that mention of visiting SymboGen always engendered. This time, it had a darker edge. If I went with them now, how did I know that I would ever be coming back here? No one would know where I was. I could call and leave a message, but that wasn’t enough.

  “No, thank you,” I said, through lips that felt suddenly numb and leaden. “I’m supposed to be meeting my boyfriend for lunch, and the roundtrip from SymboGen to here would leave only a few minutes for me to talk with Dr. Banks. It would be silly. But if he wants me to come in later this week…”

  “Miss Mitchell, it may not be safe for you to remain here alone.”

  “I’m not alone. I have Beverly.” I stooped enough to put my hand on the dog’s head. She stayed where she was, her attention going to the man who was trying to convince me to go with them. “I would never have known that there was potential danger outside if it weren’t for her. She’s an excellent guard dog.”

  A flicker of displeasure lit in the man’s eyes. “Even so, Dr. Banks won’t like us leaving you here alone.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not going with you,” I said, unable to k
eep the edge of anxiety out of my tone. “I called because I needed help. Maybe that gives Dr. Banks the right to ask me to come and see him, but it doesn’t mean he gets to order me. I don’t work for him. I am not a part of SymboGen.”

  “Miss Mitchell—”

  “I’d like you to leave now, please. I need to put some clothes on.” Beverly, picking up on my tension, stood. I straightened, keeping my hand resting atop her head. “Please,” I repeated.

  The man sighed. “All right. But please, if there is any further trouble, don’t hesitate to call. Dr. Banks worries for your safety.”

  “I won’t. Hesitate, I mean. I’ll call,” I said. I stayed where I was, trying to take some comfort from the weight of Beverly pressed against my leg, and watched as the man from SymboGen waved the others off the porch. He walked after them. Once he was outside, I stepped forward and closed the door.

  I let my hand rest on the doorknob, closing my eyes, and just breathed. No scary dead-eyed people in the yard. No SymboGen security on the lawn. It was just me and my dog, my good, good dog, who deserved an entire steak for the way she’d come to my defense. I would put on some clothes, call Nathan, and—

  The doorbell rang. I recoiled from the door, not opening my eyes until I was well clear of the wood. It wasn’t intentional; I just reacted. Beverly barked once, but it was an inquisitive sound, not a panicked one. Whatever was on the porch, it didn’t upset her.

  I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to slow the hammering of my heart, and called, “Hello?”

  There was no response. The doorbell didn’t ring again. I cautiously approached the door, finally standing on tiptoe to peer through the peephole. There was no one there. Feeling like this was the second stupid thing I’d done in the short time that I’d been out of bed, I dropped back to the flats of my feet and opened the front door. The peephole hadn’t lied; there was no one there.

  There was, however, a plain white envelope tucked halfway under the edge of the welcome mat, where the wind couldn’t take it away. I held my bathrobe closed with one hand as I bent to pull the envelope free, and then backed up, nudging Beverly out of the way. Once the door was closed and locked, I turned the envelope over in my hands, looking for some sign to identify who’d left it. There was nothing.