liability.
When he returned to the motel room, he found Shep where he had left him: standing in his stocking feet, eyes closed, exhibiting his annoyingly impressive vocabulary. “—fluorescence, phosphorescence, bioluminescence—”
Dylan hurried to the desk, broke apart the finished portion of the jigsaw, and scooped double handfuls of Shinto temple and cherry trees into the waiting box. He preferred to save time by leaving the puzzle, but he felt certain that Shep would refuse to go without it.
Shepherd surely heard and recognized the distinctive sound of pasteboard pieces being tumbled together in a pile of soft rubble. Ordinarily, he would have moved at once to protect his unfinished project, but not this time. Eyes closed, he continued urgently to recite the many names and forms of light: “—lightning, fulmination, flying flame, firebolt, oak-cleaving thunderbolts—”
Fitting the lid on the box, Dylan turned away from the desk and briefly considered his brother’s shoes. Rockport walkers, just like Dylan’s, but a few sizes smaller. Too much time would be required to get the kid to sit on the edge of the bed, to work his feet into the shoes, and to tie the laces. Dylan snatched them off the floor and placed them atop the puzzle box.
“—candlelight, rushlight, lamplight, torchlight—”
The point of injection in Dylan’s left arm began to feel hot, and it itched. He resisted tearing off the cartoon-dog Band-Aid and scratching the puncture wound, because he feared that the colorful bandage concealed awful proof that the substance in the syringe had been worse than dope, worse than a mere toxic chemical, worse than any known disease. Under the little rectangle of gauze might wait a tiny but growing patch of squirming orange fungus or a black rash, or the first evidence that his skin had begun metamorphosing into green scales as he underwent a conversion from man to reptile. In full
X-Files
paranoia, he didn’t have the courage to discover the reason for the itch.
“—firelight, gaslight, foxfire, fata morgana—”
Burdened with puzzle box and sibling footgear, Dylan hurried past Shep to the bathroom. He hadn’t yet unpacked their toothbrushes and shaving gear, but he’d left a plastic pharmacy bottle, containing a prescription antihistamine, on the counter beside the sink. Right now, allergies were the least of his problems; however, even if he were being eaten alive by a vile orange fungus and simultaneously morphing into a reptile, while also being hunted by vicious killers, a runny nose and a sinus headache were complications best avoided.
“—chemiluminescence, crystalloluminescence, counterglow, Gegenschein—”
Returning from the bathroom, Dylan said hopefully, “Let’s go, Shep. Go, now, come on,
move
.”
“—violet ray, ultraviolet ray—”
“This is serious, Shep.”
“—infrared ray—”
“We’re in trouble here, Shep.”
“—actinic ray—”
“Don’t make me be mean,” Dylan pleaded.
“—daylight, dayshine—”
“Please don’t make me be mean.”
“—sunshine, sunbeam—”
Chapter Eight
H ICKDEAD,” JILLY SAID AGAIN TO THE CLOSED DOOR, and then maybe she called a brief time-out, because the next thing she knew, she was no longer in the tilting-turning bed, but lay facedown on the floor. For an instant she couldn’t remember the nature of this place, but then she gagged on a dirty-carpet stench that made it impossible to hope that she had checked into the presidential suite at the Ritz-Carlton.
After heroically rising to her hands and knees, she crawled away from the treacherous bed. When she realized that the telephone stood on the nightstand, she executed a 180-degree turn and crawled back the way she had come.
She reached up, fumbled at the travel clock, and then pulled the phone off the nightstand. It came easily, trailing a severed cord. Evidently, the peanut lover had cut it to prevent her from making a quick call to the cops.
Jilly
When he returned to the motel room, he found Shep where he had left him: standing in his stocking feet, eyes closed, exhibiting his annoyingly impressive vocabulary. “—fluorescence, phosphorescence, bioluminescence—”
Dylan hurried to the desk, broke apart the finished portion of the jigsaw, and scooped double handfuls of Shinto temple and cherry trees into the waiting box. He preferred to save time by leaving the puzzle, but he felt certain that Shep would refuse to go without it.
Shepherd surely heard and recognized the distinctive sound of pasteboard pieces being tumbled together in a pile of soft rubble. Ordinarily, he would have moved at once to protect his unfinished project, but not this time. Eyes closed, he continued urgently to recite the many names and forms of light: “—lightning, fulmination, flying flame, firebolt, oak-cleaving thunderbolts—”
Fitting the lid on the box, Dylan turned away from the desk and briefly considered his brother’s shoes. Rockport walkers, just like Dylan’s, but a few sizes smaller. Too much time would be required to get the kid to sit on the edge of the bed, to work his feet into the shoes, and to tie the laces. Dylan snatched them off the floor and placed them atop the puzzle box.
“—candlelight, rushlight, lamplight, torchlight—”
The point of injection in Dylan’s left arm began to feel hot, and it itched. He resisted tearing off the cartoon-dog Band-Aid and scratching the puncture wound, because he feared that the colorful bandage concealed awful proof that the substance in the syringe had been worse than dope, worse than a mere toxic chemical, worse than any known disease. Under the little rectangle of gauze might wait a tiny but growing patch of squirming orange fungus or a black rash, or the first evidence that his skin had begun metamorphosing into green scales as he underwent a conversion from man to reptile. In full
X-Files
paranoia, he didn’t have the courage to discover the reason for the itch.
“—firelight, gaslight, foxfire, fata morgana—”
Burdened with puzzle box and sibling footgear, Dylan hurried past Shep to the bathroom. He hadn’t yet unpacked their toothbrushes and shaving gear, but he’d left a plastic pharmacy bottle, containing a prescription antihistamine, on the counter beside the sink. Right now, allergies were the least of his problems; however, even if he were being eaten alive by a vile orange fungus and simultaneously morphing into a reptile, while also being hunted by vicious killers, a runny nose and a sinus headache were complications best avoided.
“—chemiluminescence, crystalloluminescence, counterglow, Gegenschein—”
Returning from the bathroom, Dylan said hopefully, “Let’s go, Shep. Go, now, come on,
move
.”
“—violet ray, ultraviolet ray—”
“This is serious, Shep.”
“—infrared ray—”
“We’re in trouble here, Shep.”
“—actinic ray—”
“Don’t make me be mean,” Dylan pleaded.
“—daylight, dayshine—”
“Please don’t make me be mean.”
“—sunshine, sunbeam—”
Chapter Eight
H ICKDEAD,” JILLY SAID AGAIN TO THE CLOSED DOOR, and then maybe she called a brief time-out, because the next thing she knew, she was no longer in the tilting-turning bed, but lay facedown on the floor. For an instant she couldn’t remember the nature of this place, but then she gagged on a dirty-carpet stench that made it impossible to hope that she had checked into the presidential suite at the Ritz-Carlton.
After heroically rising to her hands and knees, she crawled away from the treacherous bed. When she realized that the telephone stood on the nightstand, she executed a 180-degree turn and crawled back the way she had come.
She reached up, fumbled at the travel clock, and then pulled the phone off the nightstand. It came easily, trailing a severed cord. Evidently, the peanut lover had cut it to prevent her from making a quick call to the cops.
Jilly
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