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The Brass Frog was packed. People were lined up three to the bar to get drinks. Outside in the garden, where Ramona sat alone at a table, nursing a beer, conversation was a roar that almost drowned out the sound of the crickets and the clock tower striking twelve. It was a warm night. The air was humid and a little sticky. Ramona couldn't see the stars in the dark sky because it was blanketed in a thick carpet of clouds. Ramona knew that she should go home. She had to work in the morning. But she hadn't been home today. Oh, she'd stopped in to change clothes. But pretty much right after work, she'd come to The Frog and started drinking. Maybe it wasn't the healthiest thing to do, or the right thing to do, but she couldn't handle being alone. Oddly enough, however, she couldn't handle conversation either.
Brighter Roan, the band that was playing at the bar, was on a fifteen-minute break. Brighter Roan was a popular local band. They drank pretty heavily. Their fifteen-minute breaks usually lasted a half hour. They never started playing on time either. If Ramona's life hadn't been what it was, she would have been with the rest of the kids in Elston, packed in front of the band, dancing until her hair was pasted sweaty to her forehead. It was an activity she usually engaged in. One that brought her joy. She loved Brighter Roan, whose music sounded like a cross between Nirvana and the Traveling Wilburys. Raw and powerful, while at the same time folky and easy to connect to. But she couldn’t dance tonight. She couldn't talk. She couldn't be alone. All she could do, it seemed, was drink. And, having been drinking for nearly six hours, Ramona was quite inebriated.
Her beer was empty. Ramona didn't relish the idea of fighting through the crowd at the bar to get another drink, but she also wanted more to drink. She'd been lucky enough to snag this empty table. If she left it, it would be taken by the time she got back. She'd have to stand somewhere or sit on the ground. Ramona considered for a little while. She really liked having somewhere to sit. Eventually, however, she stood up, swaying a little bit on her feet. She really was quite drunk.
She staggered more than walked to the front of the bar, wondering if she looked too drunk, if the bartender would cut her off and send her home. But when she got to the front, he didn't even give her more than a glance, just got her another beer. Ramona paid, but she didn't know if she could handle the walk back to the garden, so she stayed at the bar for a few minutes, clutching it to keep her balance. Eventually, she turned around and rested her back against the bar.
This way, she could see the rest of the room. The empty stage was in front of her, but Brighter Roan was actually climbing back onto it, slinging on their guitars. Eager dancers swarmed the area in front of the stage, cheering. Ramona attempted to clap, but she was holding her beer, so she just ended up spilling it. She needed to go home. She was way too drunk. She was going to be far too hung over to function at work the next day. But the voice in her head that was telling her this was getting fainter and fainter. Ramona thought the music would drown it out once the band started playing again.
On the outskirts of the crowd in front of the stage, Ramona spied Garrett. He was with Blair. He had leaned down to her, and she was whispering in his ear. Over Garrett's shoulder, Blair caught Ramona's eye. They stared at each other for a moment. Garrett straightened, and Ramona could see Blair more clearly. She smiled at Ramona. Waved. Then she grabbed Garrett by the neck and pulled him down to her face to kiss him.
Ramona faltered and grasped the bar for balance. Where was Owen? He was Blair's boyfriend. Her eyes swept the crowd, but she didn't see him. And Griff had said Owen hadn't been at the coffee shop this morning.
Someone put a hand on Ramona's shoulder. Ramona turned, sloshing a little beer onto the person's shoes. It was Olivia. "Sorry," said Ramona, struggling to keep her voice from slurring. "I'm a little drunk."
"Yeah," said Olivia. "I can see why. That bitch."
Ramona nodded. "Yeah."
"I don't believe her. She does this smear campaign on the guy, saying he's a rapist and that we should run him out of town. And now she's making out with him?"
"She's not really a person," mumbled Ramona.
"She doesn't act like one," agreed Olivia. "Look, sweetie, I'd offer to buy you a drink, but it looks like you've taken care of yourself in that area. How about you just call me sometime, okay? When you feel like shit about this after the sting is fading into an ache? And we'll make a dart board out of their faces or something, huh?"
Ramona felt like crying out of gratitude. Sometimes people were so nice. "Thanks," she said.
"You were right about Blair. I thought she was a victim. I thought she was my friend. But she's clearly just fucked in the head."
"Where's Owen?" Ramona asked.
Olivia nodded thoughtfully. "Forgot about him. Yeah, where is he? I thought he and Blair were living together."
"They are."
"Bet he's pissed."
"Absolutely not," said Rick.
Heather was draining potatoes over the sink. She jumped at the force of his words and almost spilled boiling water on herself. Several potatoes fell out of the pot and into the sink. Heather swore and set down the pot. She reached for one of the potatoes in the sink, intending to wash it off and put it back in. It was hot. She recoiled, swearing again. She turned on her husband. "What is your problem?"
"What is my problem? I get home from work, and you tell me I have to leave. And I'm the one with the problem?"
Heather turned on the cold water, dousing the stray potatoes. "That is not exactly what I said."
"Yes, it is. I walk in the door, and you tell me that I need to get the fuck out."
"No, I said that Tom has been calling you to hang out, and you could go see him this evening, because I know you said you wanted to catch up with him--"
"Yeah, because you don't want me to be here."
Heather tentatively touched a potato. It was cooler. She picked the potatoes up and put them back in the pot with the others. "No, it's not that I don't want you to be here."
"I can't believe you're cooking."
She rolled her eyes and went past him to the refrigerator for some cream. "Occasionally, I do cook."
"Yeah, for Ramona."
"Oh, God, Rick. She's my best friend. I've been trying to get her to come see me for months, and she's coming over for dinner. What do expect me to do, feed her Ramen noodles?" Cream carton in hand, she went back to the stove.
"I just think it's fucked up that you never cook for your husband, but when your best friend comes over, you're preparing Thanksgiving dinner."
She poured cream into the potatoes. On the way back to put it into the refrigerator again, she said, "I'm making chicken. Not turkey."
"You never cook for me."
"I work."
"I work too."
"And you don't cook either." Heather began to mash the potatoes as if they were Rick's face. She could not believe he was being such a dick.
"Sometimes I do."
"Well, sometimes I cook too. Like now."
"But I'm not even allowed to stay. I have to go see Tom."
"I just didn't think you'd want to be around while we were talking. I thought you'd be bored. Jesus!"
"The one night you're off. The one night where you and I could actually spend some time together, you invite Ramona over."
"Oh fuck you. That is not fair. We spend lots of time together."
"I never see you. I never see my own wife. And she doesn't even cook dinner for me."
"Welcome to the goddamned twenty-first century. Women have jobs and friends and their lives don't revolve around their husbands!"
"Don't pull that shit. That feminist shit. Because that's not even what this is about."
"Right. It's about the fact that you're a big baby." Heather opened the oven and pulled the roasting pan that contained the chicken out. She dropped it on the stove.
"That smells really good."
"You can stay. I don't care if you stay."
"Fine."
"Good. Just stop being such an ass. She's gonna be here any minute."
"I'm not being an ass. How is it being an ass for me to just want to spend some time with my wife?"
"I don't know. If you were always this charming, I'd want to be around you every second of the day."
And there was a knock on the door. Heather wiped her hands on the towel on her stove. "Be good," she said to Rick. She crossed the kitchen, went through the living room, and opened the door. Ramona was standing there, looking sheepish. She hadn't heard the two of them screaming at each other, had she? Damn it. Ramona pushed out the bottle of white wine she was holding like a peace offering.
"Hi," said Ramona.
"Hi," said Heather, taking the wine. "Come in."
Ramona came in, but she didn't follow Heather back into the kitchen, probably because she could see that Rick was still in there. Ramona and Rick had never really gotten along. In some ways, Heather thought that was good. It meant she'd never have to worry about her husband and best friend having sex. In other ways, it kind of sucked, because whenever the three of them hung out, there was always a little bit of tension. Tonight, because Rick was angry that Ramona was here, the air was thick with it.
Wonderful. Heather had invited Ramona here so that she could console her best friend. Ramona was going through some really tough shit. And now Rick was going to make her uncomfortable, and Heather wasn't going to be able to help Ramona at all. Why couldn't he just leave, for God's sake? Why did he always have to be so difficult?
"Ramona?" called Heather from the kitchen. "Would you open the wine you brought for me?"
"Sure," said Ramona, starting forward.
"I can do that," said Rick sullenly.
Ramona stopped walking. "Um," she said. "You know, I didn't mean to--"
"You're fine," said Heather. "I want you to be here. I've been trying to get you here. Don't feel weird."
Heather turned back to the stove. What else did she have to do? Oh yeah, she had to get the green beans out of the microwave. She went to do that.
Rick was struggling with the corkscrew. Didn't the man ever open wine, for God's sake? Of course not. He always drank beer. Heather snatched the bottle from Rick and easily pulled the cork out. "There," she said. "Thanks, Rick." She handed the bottle back to him.
He glared at her. "I had it," he said.
"I know you did, sweetie," she said. This entire evening was turning into a nightmare. Not for the first time, she wished she'd never gotten married. Somehow, she managed to get all the food on the table, and everyone sat down. But they just munched on their salads silently and sipped at their wine.
"This is really good dressing," said Ramona. "What is it?"
"I made it," said Heather.
"Wow," said Ramona. "That's awesome."
"Thanks."
More munching sounds. Heather had never realized how loud people sounded when they were chewing. God. This was a disaster. Why was her life always like this? Well, she wasn't going to let Rick destroy her night with Ramona. She'd talk to her about what was going on if it killed her.
"So," said Heather, "I saw Garrett yesterday."
"You did?" Ramona asked.
"I had to return a book to the Elston library, and he was working. He seemed..." Heather didn't know how to explain it. "I don't know. Creepy."
"Well," said Rick. "The dude's a rapist."
"Yeah, but he didn't seem creepy before," said Heather.
"You believe me?" said Ramona.
"Believe what?" said Rick.
"Shut up, Rick," said Heather.
Rick put down his fork. "That was kind of rude, Heather."
"I don't have time for your delicate emotions right now," said Heather.
Ramona scrunched down in her chair and became very interested in her salad.
Heather sighed. "I'm sorry," she told Rick.
"It's okay," sighed Rick. He picked up his fork again.
"I don't know what I believe, Ramona," Heather said, "but he was different."
"Can someone tell me exactly what you guys are talking about?" Rick said.
"You'll think I'm nuts," said Ramona.
"Is this more of Heather's spirit stuff?" Rick asked disdainfully.
"Not exactly," said Ramona, "but it's just as weird."
"Hey," said Heather. They were ganging up on her. "My 'spirit stuff' is not weird."
"Sorry," said Ramona. "That's not what I meant. God knows I have no right to say that whatever you think isn't real."
Heather was finished with her salad. She reached for the serving platter that had the chicken on it and put a few pieces on her plate. Then she passed the plate to Rick.
"Fill me in," Rick urged, serving himself some chicken.
Ramona began to talk as they passed and dipped their food. "Well," she said, "it's kind of hard to explain. You know Mason right?"
Rick nodded. "I used to, anyway."
"Well, one night, I hung out with him while I was tripping on mushrooms, and he told me that he thought he was a falling star."
"Wait. Who was tripping on mushrooms?"
"He said that he was an ancient being that came into being when the universe exploded and created our universe. And he said that he wasn't Mason. He said that he killed Mason."
"That dude was on drugs," Rick pronounced.
Ramona shrugged. "That's what he said later, but at the time, he swore he wasn't. Anyway, so then last Halloween, I saw Angelica Murdock on her porch. Hours after she'd been killed. I thought she was a ghost. But then I started hanging out with Garrett, and he told me that the night that he supposedly raped Blair, what actually happened was that he saw a group of river hippies kill her."
"And you bought that?" asked Rick. "That's a pretty lame story. I can't believe he tried to tell you that."
"He wasn't lying to me," said Ramona. "On top of that, I found a picture of Dawn Trimbley from the 1950s, and she looked exactly the same as she does now. There's also a missing person investigation going on for her in Texas. She went missing in 1989, and she looked exactly the same as she does now."
Rick laughed. "So, somehow all this stuff fits together?"
"Yeah, I think so," said Ramona. "I think that Mason was telling me the truth. He and Blair and Dawn and who-knows-who-else really are some kind of ancient beings of some kind. And they fit into our society by..." Her voice got very quiet. "...stealing our bodies."
Rick looked at Heather. "And you believe this?"
Heather shrugged. "I didn't say that."
"What do you mean?" Rick said to Ramona. "How do they do that?"
"I don't know. I guess they have like power or magic or something. But I think they have stock identities or something. Like Dawn. Maybe she stole that body in the 1950s. Maybe earlier. But after a few years, it would be suspicious if she didn't age or didn't change, so she stole someone else's body. They've probably been doing this for a really long time. And a college town is perfect, because people come and go after just a few years. And people change in college, so no one gets too suspicious when one of their friends suddenly starts acting strange. They kill the real people, and they assume their identity. That's why I saw Angelica. Someone had assumed her identity, but they fucked up, because Angelica's body was found."
"Wait," said Rick. "Earlier you said that Garrett was different, Heather. You aren't saying that this is what happened to him?"
"Yeah," said Ramona. "They got Garrett. He's dead. Whatever looks like Garrett is the same thing that looked like Owen, I think."
"Owen?" said Heather.
"He hasn't been to work since Garrett got different, and last night I saw Blair and Garrett making out," said Ramona.
"Blair was making out with Garrett?" said Heather. "That's weird. Rick, you gotta admit that's weird."
"Yeah," said Rick, "that's weird."
"And you said that you thought Mason got different," said Heather.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I think that some monster took over Mason's identity," said Rick. "I'm sorry, Ramona, but what you're saying is really just totally crazy. It's like you're living in a horror comic or something. Of course, I could say the same thing about some of the shit Heather thinks about ghosts."
"Rick, just because you don't believe in the supernatural, doesn't mean it isn't real," said Heather.
"Just because you do believe in it, doesn't mean it is real," he responded.
"It doesn't matter whether I'm right or not," said Ramona. "Not really. It's not like I can really do anything about it."
"Well--" started Heather, then stopped. "Maybe you're right. So, you're just going to drop it? You've been obsessed with this."
"I think I just wanted to know what was going on," said Ramona. "I know now. I'm gonna leave town."
"What?" said Heather. She didn't want Ramona to move. If Ramona moved, she wouldn't have anybody but Rick. "When? Where?"
"As soon as I can get another job," said Ramona. "And I'll just go wherever another admissions department will hire me."
Ramona was going to move? And far away from the sound of it. Heather found herself not liking the idea at all. It was funny, because she'd expected Ramona to be a sort of basket case, since she was thinking all these crazy, paranoid things. But Ramona was very calm and very rational. She didn't act like a person who'd gone nuts. In fact, she almost seemed really...grown up. More grown up than Heather felt, and Heather was married, for Christ's sake. Suddenly, Heather felt frightened. If Ramona left, then she would have to grow up too. She and Rick would have to act like a real married couple. Hell, maybe they'd have to have children or something. It wouldn't be fun and games anymore. It would be adulthood. Serious. And Heather needed Ramona to be her tie to youth. Ramona couldn't go. "I don't know," said Heather. "Maybe we could try to stop them. The river hippies."
"Oh Jesus, Heather," said Rick, "you don't think what she's saying is actually true."
"It makes sense," said Heather defensively, and it did, to a point. Except for the fact that what Ramona was saying was impossible.
Rick laughed. "No, it really doesn't."
"It's okay, Heather," said Ramona. "They want me to leave, anyway. Mason keeps telling me to stay away from them and to stop digging. They sent me a message by getting Garrett. That's what will happen to me if I don't butt out. I know I can't fight what they are. I'm just going to leave."
"You can't let them run you out of town," said Heather. "You love Elston."
"I hate Elston," Ramona said. "I'm stuck there. I just want out. It's all I've wanted for a long time."
Later, after Ramona had left, Heather and Rick were washing the dishes together. Heather had wanted Ramona to stay longer, but it seemed like the longer Ramona stayed in Heather's house, the more uncomfortable she got. She kept saying she just needed to get home. She had work tomorrow, and she'd been up too late the night before. So, Heather let her go, but she was really distraught at the idea of her best friend moving far away. She wanted to hang onto Ramona for as long as she could. She half-felt as if when Ramona left her house, she was leaving for good.
Things were still tense between Rick and her. But at least he was helping with the dishes. She'd expected him to go play video games or mess around on the internet for several hours. Maybe he was really serious about wanting to spend time with her. She knew that their work schedules didn't line up well most of the time. She was starting to feel warm, fuzzy feelings for him. He was her husband. She did love him. Maybe, if she played her cards right, she could even get laid tonight. She and Rick never had sex anymore. He was always complaining that he was tired, or that he didn't feel well. Heather had always thought that was what women were supposed to do. She thought men were supposed to be up for having sex anytime anyplace. But Rick wasn't a typical guy. He'd wanted to get married young. Most guys were afraid of commitment. Maybe the roles were just reversed in their relationship. He was the girl, and she was the guy. She slid close to him, put her arm around his neck. And then, of course, he ruined it.
"I can't believe you were encouraging her," he said. "You were acting like that crazy stuff she said could actually be true."
Heather sighed and moved away from him. "I know," she said. "I just...got upset when she said she was going to move. I'm going to miss her."
"Right, because Ramona is like the most important part of your life."
"Rick, please, can we not do this?"
"I don't think you should hang out with her anymore, anyway. She's obviously totally crazy, and it's rubbing off on you."
"You can't tell me who to hang out with," Heather said. She couldn't believe he'd just said that. Sometimes, she really didn't feel like she actually even knew Rick. Like he'd put on an act when they'd first met so that she would think he was a nice, well-adjusted guy, but actually he was a jealous, sexist bastard.
"I'm not ordering you to, I'm telling you what I think."
"I have known Ramona for a lot longer than I've known you. And when she and I lived together, we got along a hell of a lot better than you and I do."
"So you prefer your crazy best friend to your husband."
"I wish you'd stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Calling me your wife or you my husband. It makes it sound like you own me or something."
"I am your fucking husband."
"And evenings like this make me regret that."
Rick stepped back. He had a dish in his hands that he was drying, and he put it down. He looked stricken. "You don't mean that."
"You're fucking attacking me. How am I supposed to feel? And you're acting jealous of Ramona. Like you don't know that I'm married to you, and no one could ever take your place. I just feel like I don't even know you."
Rick face twisted, and he shook his head slowly as if it had come loose from his neck. "How can you say that?" he asked quietly.
"You're just being really weird."
"So you don’t want to be married to me?"
"I didn't say that. What is wrong with you? You take everything so fucking personally."
"When you say you regret marrying me, I don't know how not to take that personally."
Heather threw her hands up in the air. "I can't talk to you about this anymore."
"Fine," said Rick. "I'll leave. You've wanted to get rid of me all evening." He stalked through the living room and out the door.
Heather called after him to wait, asked where he was going, but by the time she got to the door herself, his car had pulled out of the driveway. She pulled the door closed and sat down heavily on the floor.
Mason was lying on his couch, reading his Sociology textbook. He tried to keep up with the reading for his college courses, but sometimes he failed miserably. He'd discovered that when he did the reading, he didn't need to study nearly as much for exams, but sometimes reading textbooks was just such a chore. He didn’t understand why people had to write textbooks in such a dry style. Certainly, there was a way to convey the information in a more interesting way.
Someone was pounding on the door of his trailer. He'd bet even money he knew who it was, too.
He sat up and stretched. The pounding continued. He was coming. God. Mason stood up and went to the door. It was Blair, Garrett, and Cecelia. Wow. They were triple-teaming him. "What?" said Mason.
"Let us in," said Blair.
Mason studied his fingernails. "What if I say no?"
Blair rolled her eyes and pushed past him. Garrett and Cecelia followed. Mason stood staring at the empty doorway for a couple seconds, then he closed the door. "Please, come in," he said.
Blair stood in the middle of his living room, surveying it with distaste. "I don't understand why you moved off the river," she said. "This place is so..."
"Did you really come here to discuss where I live?" Mason asked.
"Actually, no," said Blair. "I came to talk about Ramona."
Mason nodded. Right. Ramona. If he didn't know better, he would think Blair had a crush on Ramona. She talked about her enough. He gestured to Garrett. "I thought the situation was under control."
"I'm not the only person she told about Angelica," said Garrett. "She also told her best friend Heather. But you knew that."
"Did you know that?" Blair demanded. "God, Mason, you fucked up that Angelica thing so bad. If you hadn't--"
"Whatever," Mason said. "You killed Blair in front of Garrett. In front of his goddamned fucking face. And you let her get away, so she was running down the street--"
"That wasn't all my fault. If you had been there, things might have gone differently."
"And anyway," said Garrett, "Garrett's not a problem anymore. But Heather is. She's interested in the occult."
"Did you know that?" Blair repeated.
"I didn't know she was interested in the occult," said Mason. God. Why hadn't Ramona listened to him when he told her never to say anything about Angelica? This would never have happened if she'd just kept her goddamned mouth shut. On the other hand, if he hadn't wanted see her so bad, he wouldn't have gone out on the porch that night and offered her a light.
"But you knew about Heather," said Blair.
"And you didn't say anything," said Cecelia. "Do you understand that this is about more than just you? So, okay, you're in some sort of depressed funk thing, but what about the rest of us?"
"I won't let you recruit Ramona," said Mason.
"It's so much bigger than Ramona now," said Blair. "We take Ramona, that will make Heather suspicious, and then she'll start digging in her little ghost books--"
"Actually," said Garrett. "It was kind of a big book."
Blair ignored him. "--and then we're in big trouble."
"Talk about trouble," said Mason. "I can't believe you're palling around with Garrett, the guy who raped you. Everyone in town is talking about it. They think you're crazy, Blair."
"They'll get over it," snapped Blair.
"I think you're losing it," said Mason.
"No, you're losing it," said Blair. "Besides, I used to have someone who helped me with these sorts of things." She crossed to Mason. Ran her hands over his arms. He shook her off. Looked at the ceiling. "What happened to you?" she whispered to him. "Where did you go?"
Mason went to the couch and sat down. He had to stay away from her. Sure, sometimes, he missed her too, but he just didn't think the way she thought anymore. "So what are you planning to do, then?"
"Take Heather," said Cecelia. "Ramona will think she's crazy, because everyone who believed her won't anymore. And we cut off the connection to the occult."
"Heather lives in Freeburg," said Mason.
"We do it in Freeburg," said Blair. "Or if we can't, we can bring her back here. We can overpower her and knock her unconscious or something."
"But does it even matter?" said Mason. "She doesn't live in town."
"I guess that's what you told yourself when you convinced yourself you didn't have to share this information with us," said Garrett.
Mason sighed heavily. "What if Ramona leaves Elston?" he asked. "Wouldn't that just make this all go away?"
"You think you can make her do that?" asked Blair. "How quick can you make her do that? You know how hard it is for people to leave this town. It's why we stay here."
"What do you care about Heather anyway?" asked Cecelia. "Or are you in love with her too?"
"I'm not in love with Ramona," said Mason. He wasn't capable of an emotion like that. His kind didn't love. They just...survived. As best they could. He sighed. "Fine. When are you planning to recruit Heather?"
"Soon," said Blair. "But Garrett doesn't know where she lives. We need to get that information from Ramona."
"You want me to get Ramona to give up her best friend?" said Mason. "She won't do it. She's scared to death of what could happen, and she believes it's real since what happened to Garrett."
"You're going to warn Ramona, aren't you?" said Blair. "This is why you can't be here alone. We can't keep our eyes on you. You could do anything."
There was another knock on Mason's door. He stood up. "Jesus, you didn't think three of you were enough? Did you invite everyone over?"
"No one else is coming," said Blair.
Mason was already at the door. He flung it open, expecting to see a throng of the others. Instead it was... "Rick?" he said. Mason riffled through memories. It was sometimes hard to keep things straight. It wasn't as if he had little folders with people's names on them and their memories all in neat little files like a Microsoft Office Suite. Instead, everyone's memories got jumbled together. Mason tried to target just Mason's memories. Tried to place this face. "You got married," he said quietly. "To a girl named... Shit. Go away." Rick, who used to be one of Mason's close friends, had married Heather, who must be the same Heather that was Ramona's best friend. Why was he even here?
Rick looked confused. "I almost went to the river, but then I remembered that you moved. I just need to talk to you, but I guess if it's a bad time--"
"It's a really bad time," said Mason. "Trust me, you'll be much happier if you just turn around--"
"Who's at the door?" said Blair. She was suddenly behind Mason, her head resting on his shoulder. One of her hands reached to cup Mason's ass. He shook her off again, turning to tell her not to touch him anymore. "Well, God Mason," she said, "let him in. Don't be rude."
Mason hesitated. Was there really anything he could do at this point? Garrett would certainly remember that Heather was married to Rick. Rick would be a target anyway, wouldn't he? "Come in," he said, standing aside.
Rick eased inside, his eyes darting between Mason and the other three people in the room. "Like I said, if it's a bad time, I can talk to you later. I didn't realize you'd be busy."
"He's not busy," said Blair. She smiled. "Hey, I remember you. You used to live in town, didn’t you?"
"No," said Rick, "but I went to school in Elston."
"That's it," said Blair. "I knew I recognized you. What's your name again?"
"Rick," said Rick.
"You're Heather's husband," said Garrett.
Damn it. Mason had known he'd put it together.
"Yeah," said Rick. "Do I know you?"
"I'm Garrett Hillard," said Garrett, offering his hand to Rick.
Rick shook it. "You're Garrett, huh? It's funny, because you're one of the reasons I'm here. My wife has gone totally insane, and she thinks that you..." He looked around. "...that all of you are like these body stealing monsters." Rick laughed.
"Fuck," said Blair. "Grab him."
Garrett lurched forward, bear hugging Rick. Rick struggled. "Little help here, Mason?" asked Garrett.
"What's going on?" said Rick.
Mason didn't move. He didn't want to be part of this anymore. It had to end at some point. It just had to.
"Mason," Blair prompted.
Rick elbowed Garrett in the gut and managed to get one of his arms free. Garrett winced as he attempted to get Rick back under control.
"Mason," said Blair. "Help Garrett." She caught Mason's eyes with her own, put a look of pleading and need into them that Mason didn't know if he'd ever be able to resist. He jerked toward Rick and Garrett. And then it was if his limbs moved without his thought. It was an automatic movement, lithe and slick like butter. He wrapped his arm around Rick's neck. Tightened it. Rick gasped and clawed at Mason's arm, but Garrett captured Rick's hands and forced them down to his waist. Mason and Garrett looked at Blair expectantly.
"Who's doing it?" asked Mason.
"You," said Blair.
"No," said Mason.
"Oh come on," said Blair. "You take Rick. You go home. You take Heather. Then you're Ramona's best friend. Doesn’t that sound appealing to you?"
Actually it did. Mason moved one of his hands to the top of Rick's head and spread his palm out so that he was cupping Rick's skull.
"Wait," said Garrett. "You can't let him do that. He'll sabotage it. He'll feed Ramona more information."
"That's true," said Blair. "Cecelia." She snapped her fingers. Cecelia approached Rick eagerly. She pushed Mason's hand away, replacing it with her own. Rick's breaths were hardly coming at all now. He'd stopped struggling. His face was purple. Mason knew it was almost over. He tightened his grip on Rick's neck.
Cecelia's fingers stretched and grew, going white like ice as they did. Long sharp needle-like claws tore through her flesh. Cecelia sighed, a mix of pleasure and pain, then she lifted her hand and sunk the claws deep into Rick's skull. Blood spurted onto Mason, but he kept his grip tight on Rick's neck. He couldn't be sure if Rick was entirely dead yet. If he was, it was okay. Brain activity continued long enough after death for the information they needed to collect. But they couldn't have him recovering. Rick couldn't start to breathe. Not now. Not ever.
Cecelia's face was still Cecelia's face for that moment. They all had on their human faces. But her face had started to stretch. Her jaw hung open, and it began to fall lower and lower, exposing a gaping hole of a mouth. Blair reached for Mason's free hand as she took Cecelia's. Garrett put his hand over the hand Cecelia had on top of Rick's head.
Mason could feel it. The first wave rippled into him, like the beginning of an orgasm, just before the point of no return. And then Cecelia threw her head back, every trace of her human face falling away. In a flash of blinding bright light, it ripped through them and into them, searing away their flesh, stripping them to white bone, and Mason lost himself in the ecstasy of it.
Heather woke up when Rick climbed into bed. She'd been sleeping fitfully for only a few hours. Attempts at calling Rick's cell phone had proved fruitless. He hadn't answered. She'd been terrified that he wouldn't come home. So she was relieved to feel the bed go down with his weight. She didn't care about the fight she'd had with Rick anymore. She knew that she loved Rick in a fierce and dedicated way. She didn't want to be without him ever again. She didn't know if he was still angry with her however, so she tentatively reached out a hand and rested it on his bare chest.
He covered her hand with his own. "Did I wake you?" he said to her in the voice he only used in the dark in their bed.
In response, she just snuggled close to him, sighing happily. Rick ran his hand up her arm to her neck, and began stroking her there, in the spot he knew she loved. Knew drove her crazy. She raised her head to him, and he placed his lips on her own. Heather pressed herself closer to Rick's body, and he held her close.
Everything was going to be okay now. Everything was going to be fine.
Heather thrust her hand between Rick's legs and felt his body thicken at her touch. He moaned and pulled her closer. "I love you," she whispered against his mouth.
"I love you more," he said back, the way he always did.
"No," she said, smiling. "I love you--"
Rick's hand stopped caressing her neck and wrapped around it. Heather choked. She tried to talk, but she had no air.
She knew that some people did this choking thing as a kind of kinky sex game, but she and Rick had never really leaned that way. Spanking was about as far as it ever went, and even that sometimes made Heather feel uncomfortable. She didn't know what to do, so she put her hand to his hand and tried to pry his fingers loose. His hand just squeezed tighter. Heather was really having trouble breathing, and she was starting to panic. She slapped at Rick with the hand she wasn't lying on. When that made no difference, she started punching him as hard as she could. He didn't stop!
Heather couldn’t believe this. What was Rick doing to her? If he didn't let go of her soon, he was going to kill her!
Copyright (c) 2010 Valerie Chambers