Savage

  When the heavens roared, and there was a searing flash that stole away her sight, and for a brief moment Sidney thought it could very well have been the end of the world.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was like the storm was speaking to her—screaming at her—telling Janice to do it—do it now—or the moment would be lost forever.

  The sound from outside was all encompassing, surrounding the house completely in its furious message.

  Alfred yelped loudly as the lights flickered, and the power went out.

  “Great,” Ronald said, standing beside her in the darkness.

  Yes, yes it is, she thought, listening to the urgings of the storm. She reached out toward the top of her bureau for the bronze statue of a French bulldog that she had gotten from a dear friend the week Alfred had come to live with them.

  “Do we have a flashlight up here, or is the one downstairs the only . . .”

  Janice followed the sound of his disgusting voice, the promise of never ever hearing it again adding an almost preternatural strength to her arm as she smashed the bronze statue into the side of his face. He went down with a yelp of surprise, and she stood above him still clutching the bronze Frenchie. She could smell something strong and coppery—her husband’s blood. Even the stuff that coursed through his veins disgusted her beyond belief.

  It was dark in the room, and through squinted eyes she tried to find where he had fallen, finally zeroing in on the sound of his labored breathing. He lay on his stomach, legs moving as he attempted to crawl. Janice straddled her husband, at first disappointed that he was still alive, and then strangely excited.

  That meant that she would get to hit him again.

  Ronald rolled over onto his side, and she could just about make out the wide whites of his eyes as he looked up at her.

  “Why?” he managed as she found the strength to lift the bronze dog up over her head.

  “Because I hate you,” she answered in all its cruel simplicity as she brought the statue down upon his head.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sidney had never heard a clap of thunder so loud or seen a lightning flash so bright.

  On instinct, she had immediately dropped to her knees in the rain, blobs of undulating color writhing before her eyes in reaction to the nearly blinding flare.

  “Sidney!” she heard Cody call out to her. She could just about make out the shape of the truck ahead of her and her ex-boyfriend leaping from the driver’s seat to help her up and bring her and Snowy back to the car.

  “What the hell was that?” she asked, both scared and a little embarrassed.

  “I have no idea, but I don’t think we should be out here anymore,” Cody said, sliding into the driver’s seat as she squirmed closer to Rich.

  “Take us up to the house,” Rich said. “We’ll stay there till this dies down.”

  Cody brought the truck up to the front of the building with the sailboat in tow. The rain was falling in what seemed to be a single sheet. Even though they were no more than ten feet from the house, they could barely make it out in the drenching torrent. After putting the truck in park, Cody turned off the engine. They all sat there, listening to the nearly deafening hiss of the storm. Their visibility was zero through the truck’s windshield; they might as well have been underwater.

  “Are you okay?”

  Sidney realized that Cody was talking to her, and she looked at him.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re shaking,” he said.

  She realized that he was right and chalked it up to being wet and cold, although she knew it was more than that.

  “I’m soaked,” she said, throwing her arm around Snowy and giving her a quick hug. “Let’s get inside and dry off.”

  They exited the car into the ferocity of the storm. If it wasn’t for being directly behind Rich as he ran, she could imagine herself getting lost and wandering off in the opposite direction. It was crazy; she could honestly say that she’d never seen rain like this before.

  They all stood behind Rich, urging him to hurry as he fished his keys from his pocket to open the door. Then they rushed in, desperate to be out of the wet.

  “Shit,” Rich said, flicking a light switch up and down. He walked down the hall and to the left, peering into the room beyond. “Power’s out. No clock on the microwave.”

  “That’s all right,” Sidney said. “Just as long as it isn’t raining on us, I’m fine.”

  Snowy shook violently, and Cody leaped back with a squawk.

  “Do you mind?” he asked the dog, who wagged her tail lovingly as she looked at him.

  “Do you have an old towel that I can use to wipe up?” Sidney asked Rich.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, walking into the dark kitchen.

  He returned with a flashlight and a roll of paper towels.

  “Catch!” he said, tossing the roll to her.

  Sidney pulled off a few sheets and went to work drying the hardwood floor.

  “So was that really just thunder that seemed to shake the planet?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what it was,” Cody said. He motioned for the paper towels and pulled off a length to dry himself. “It sounded more like a bomb went off.”

  “I’m surprised it didn’t shatter any windows,” Rich said, perusing the living room on the opposite side of the foyer, his flashlight beam moving from window to window.

  He returned to where they were all standing.

  “Well, that was fun,” he said, and smiled in typical Rich fashion.

  “Yeah, it was a blast,” Cody replied with a taint of sarcasm, rubbing a wad of paper towels over his dark, wet hair.

  They found their way into the kitchen and gathered around the granite-topped island in the middle of the room. Rich left the flashlight in the center of the countertop to give them some light.

  “Still sounds pretty nasty out there,” he said, leaning against the island.

  They all listened and could still hear the pounding rain and wind, but strangely enough there wasn’t any more thunder.

  The sound they heard next was more localized and sounded like a cartoon spring being let go. Sidney’s hand went to her stomach.

  “Oh crap,” she said, and laughed. “Did you hear that?”

  “Oh my God,” Rich said, laughing. “I didn’t know what the hell that was.”

  “I’m starving,” she said, defending herself.

  “I’m pretty hungry too,” Cody agreed.

  “Shouldn’t have thrown your lunch in the parking lot,” Rich said with a smirk.

  “Screw you.”

  “You got anything to eat?” Sidney asked hopefully.

  Rich looked around the kitchen. “House was pretty much closed up for the summer,” he said. He went to the cabinets and began opening the doors. “I don’t think there’s anything up here.”

  He slammed the last of doors and lowered his hands. Sidney noticed him reacting to something as he reached into the pocket of his jacket.

  “Aha!” he said pulling something out and dropping it in the center of the granite island. “Boom!” he added. “Who’s the man?”

  It was a half-eaten package of Starburst candies.

  “I do believe there are three left.”

  “Looks good to me,” Sidney said, peeling away part of the outer paper to help herself to one of the candy pieces. She was hoping for cherry but got lemon instead. Beggars can’t be choosers, she thought as she unpeeled the candy and popped it into her mouth.

  “Go ahead,” Rich said, gesturing for Cody to help himself.

  “Nah.” Cody stepped back. “I hate friggin’ Starburst.”

  Rich rolled his eyes, reaching for the remaining candy and choosing one.

  Sidney studied Cody as she chewed the sour candy.

  “I never really noticed before,” she said in between chews, staring at him.

  “What’s that?” Cody asked.

  “That you can be a real jerk a lot of the time.”
r />   CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  She’d only had the chance to fully cook one of the microwave dinners before the power went out.

  Caroline peeled the plastic covering back on the one that had only partially cooked, sticking her fingers into the mashed potatoes to see how hot they were. They were barely warm, with areas of cold. She didn’t hold out much hope that the Salisbury steak was any hotter.

  “This one only got cooked halfway,” she said to her son, who was holding a glass jar with a candle burning within.

  “That’s all right,” Isaac said. “I’m not hungry.”

  His free hand twitched at his side as he held back the urge to fiddle with his hearing aid.

  “Well I’m not going to waste it,” she said. “And don’t even think about touching that hearing aid again. We’re very lucky that you didn’t break it. There’s no way to fix it if you do, you know—so leave it.”

  “Yes, Mother,” he said, not making eye contact with her.

  She knew he was upset with her for yelling at him, but if she hadn’t, he would have broken those hearing aids. He’d had problems with that ear in the past, and the audiologist had adjusted things so it should have been working fine, but who knows what he had been up to when she wasn’t watching him.

  “Here,” she said, handing him the colder of the meals. “Eat what you can. I don’t want you complaining later that you’re hungry.”

  With his twitchy hand he took the dinner from her.

  “I’m going to eat in my room,” he told her.

  “No, we’re going to eat together,” she corrected. “Just like a family should.”

  She could see him looking about the kitchen, and the less-than-clutter-free environment that existed. Yes, she was well aware that the house was a bit messy, but she was working on it.

  That made Caroline think of her daughter again and the strangers coming into her home to film how filthy she was for all the world to see, and that just made her angry.

  “We’ll eat in the living room,” she stated firmly, taking her dinner and plastic silverware and making her way from the kitchen.

  Normally she would have enjoyed some television while eating, but with no power there wasn’t any chance of that. She knew that she had some batteries around someplace and considered sending Isaac to look for them, but decided that could wait, that maybe the power would return shortly, and there would be no need for batteries.

  “Hold that candle a little higher,” she ordered her son, who was walking behind her. “I can’t see when you hold it so low.”

  “Sorry,” Isaac mumbled.

  She hated to be cross with the boy, but as he’d gotten older, he’d become more defiant, wanting things done his way. She let him think he was the boss when it came to his room, but that was as far as she let him go. Isaac thought he was a man, but to her, he would always be her little boy and would always need her to care for him, even if he thought otherwise.

  She carefully made her way across the uneven landscape of the living room, not wanting to tip over any of the stacked boxes or piles of important belongings on her way to the area of the room that she liked to call her nest.

  “You can set the candle right there,” she told her son, motioning with her microwaved dinner to a relatively flat surface on top of magazines that had been stacked on the coffee table. She’d been meaning to go through those.

  Isaac did as he was told, placing the candle down and partially illuminating the semiopen area where she liked to enjoy her television programs.

  Caroline lowered herself into the chair at the center of her nest. She grunted as her butt sank into the cushion, the springs barely able to support her weight anymore. She would have to think about replacing it someday.

  Someday.

  Placing the serving tray of her dinner on her lap, she proceeded to peel away what remained of the plastic covering. She looked up from her steaming plate to see Isaac just standing there.

  “Aren’t you going to sit?” she asked her son. His face was eerily illuminated in the light of the candle.

  He looked around. “There isn’t anyplace.”

  “Of course there is,” she corrected, annoyance in her voice. “Just move some things. Find a place.” She waved her plastic fork around in a general area.

  Isaac seemed to be looking where she was pointing. He then turned and placed his own meal on a stack that looked relatively stable.

  “You won’t get angry if I move this?” he asked about a mound of things that she could not discern.

  “I won’t be angry,” she said, eyeing the pile as she popped a piece of Salisbury steak into her mouth and began to chew.

  Isaac bent over, grabbed hold of the heap, and lifted it up from the floor. He gasped as living things quickly scurried away from the sudden exposure.

  “What was that? What’s wrong?”

  Isaac dropped the armful and stepped back. “Mice,” he said, catching his breath.

  “Mice?” she asked incredulously. “How could there be mice? Are you sure? Maybe it was just a trick of the candlelight.”

  “I know what mice look like, Mother.”

  “But how could there be mice? We’ve got cats and . . .”

  And that was when she noticed something peculiar. Perhaps it was because the lights were off, but Caroline suddenly realized that there weren’t any cats around.

  “I know we have cats, but those were most definitely mice,” Isaac went on.

  “Where are they?” Caroline asked, looking around the room, the dark corners made even darker by the fact that there was little light. “Where are the cats?” Even Mrs. Livingstone, who was always there to beg for a piece of her meal, was nowhere to be seen.

  Caroline started to make the noises that usually brought her fur babies to her.

  Had they somehow gotten out? Did Isaac leave the door open, and they all escaped out into the yard?

  Panic began to set in.

  She placed the remains of her meal on the cluttered floor and began to stand, wanting to search the room for herself. She felt something cold poke her hand, and before she could see what it was, there was a sharp stab of pain.

  Caroline cried out, falling back down into her nest as she pulled her hand away.

  “What is it?” Isaac asked.

  “Something bit me,” she said, examining the bleeding wound in the fleshy part of her hand before bringing it to her mouth to suck on.

  “Probably a mouse,” Isaac said, eyes darting around the room.

  “We don’t have mice,” she said, taking her hand from her mouth. “We have cats.”

  The concern for her babies began to rise again, and she pushed herself up from her seat. “I have to find them,” she said. “Help me, Isaac.” She motioned with the noninjured hand for him to take it so she would not lose her footing on the debris-strewn floor. “We have to make sure that none of the doors were left open.”

  “I don’t think we left any—”

  “We have to check,” she barked at him, desperate to find her cats.

  They were making their way across the uneven surface of the living room when they heard unfamiliar sounds.

  Caroline stopped, looking around, attempting to zero in on the rustling noises. They seemed to be coming from all around them.

  “Pretty kitties,” she said in a high, squeaky voice. “Is that you?” Again she made the noise that normally brought them to her. “Why are you hiding from Mommy?”

  Mrs. Livingstone was the first to appear, her large head emerging from the shadows atop the china cabinet in the corner of the room.

  “There you are,” Caroline said happily. The cat just stared at her with large, unblinking eyes, and as Caroline stared back, she noticed something of concern. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it was something that she was going to need to check once she had the chance.

  Is that some kind of a film coating Mrs. Livingstone’s right eye?

  Binky, Shadow, Cavendish, and Nero were the next t
o appear, each of them silently emerging from their hiding places.

  Are their right eyes looking funny too?

  She was about to mention this to her son when she noticed the strangest of things, odd at first and then, as the realization of what she was looking at sank in, disturbing.

  “Do you see that?” she asked Isaac, wanting to be sure that it wasn’t a trick of what little light was being thrown by the candle.

  “I do,” he answered, his hand going up again to play with his hearing aid. This time she did not stop him. She was more concerned about what she was seeing.

  Her cats were perched atop pieces of furniture, boxes, and years of accumulation, watching her and her boy with unwavering gazes.

  Around the cats, in numbers too great to comprehend, were mice.

  And the mice were watching them too.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Did you hear what I said?” Janice Berthold asked her husband, who was lying dead upon the floor. “I hate you.”

  Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could just about make out the shape of her husband’s body. She pulled back a foot and kicked him as hard as she could.

  It felt surprisingly good, but not as good as the sensation she’d experienced when she’d smashed the statue into his face. She felt a flush of warmth on her cheeks and needles of sweat breaking out over her body.

  Janice looked down again at the body before her, searching for any sign of movement, but she saw nothing.

  Have I actually done it? she wondered.

  It was something she had dreamed about doing for far longer than she cared to think. There had even been times when driving with him that she’d been tempted to reach across and grab the wheel, to send them careening off into space with the hope that he would die horribly, but she would survive.

  She’d never wanted to take the risk that he might survive as well.

  Continuing to watch the body at her feet, she still saw no signs of life, but she had to be sure. Janice squatted down to the floor, tentatively reaching a hand out to grab his wrist and check for a pulse. Her hand landed in something warm and thick puddling on the floor beneath her husband and quickly recoiled. She could see the dark, nearly black blood covering the side of her hand and almost cried out in disgust but managed to hold it together.