Sparky stopped dead.
Now only Selena was moving, turning, holding out her arms. And her face was aging fast.
I said, "Eat me, Sparky!" Take your Mama away.
"But… but you're not alive! You're buried in the ground!"
Selena frowned and mouthed the words, "Who are you talking to?" Then abruptly she laughed, reaching for the waist button to her shorts, fumbling, getting it loose, pausing for effect before she pushed them down.
Heat flamed up from the sun-drenched bank.
Small deep pools now studded the surface of the mud, each one gleaming like a crystal against the background of lacquer green.
Then the mud seemed to climb Selena's legs, reaching out for the shorts that were coming down, coming off, first one leg sucking out of the goo, then the other, then the woman standing spread-eagled and naked before Sparky's terrified eyes.
Sparky looked at the woman's crotch, and that was when the thought unwanted ripped through Sparky's mind: tzantza! Again: tzantza!Again: tzantza! It would not go away.
Suddenly the strain of gazing at the brilliant sheet of mud became too much; Sparky's eyes sought relief in other details of the scene. Like the purple wasp with dull orange wings that slipped by to the right. Like the werewolf wail of the howler monkey lost somewhere in the canopy of gloom above and behind. Like Selena's tumbling black hair with one long loose strand that —
No! Not a strand of hair-but rather a slow, regular, unhurried movement — a slithering, sliding, swaying black, heading toward Sparky. Now Selena was approaching Sparky, her feet sucking through the mud as she reached for her shoulder bag lying on the bank. Selena now dripping sex from her Medusa smile as the anaconda wrapped its coils round and round her head, the jaws of the snake snapping open for a quick glimpse of small white teeth, its dark eyes black with fury and hate as it lashed like a whip with its tail.
A series of hot shivers passed through Sparky's gut.
Time had become a drone; Pandora's Box opened.
Now there was fear in the hair-snake, all slimy with muscles that appeared from nowhere to play beneath its skin, rising up in knots or dissolving into jelly at the command of the small brain within the spade-shaped head.
There was fear in what Selena now held in her hand. The object emerging from the shoulder bag looked like some two-faced Janus-head, like tongues of the Devil curving up to lick the jungle air.
And there was fear in Selena's voice, her words steamy and sultry in Sparky's tortured ears: "Don't you look away, babe. I got the hots for you. Just walk right i n t o me and let that animal loose. Come on — "
and eat me, child. Take your Mama away!
Selena reached out and with a growl grabbed Sparky by the arm as her other hand, with the Devil in it, went for the shorts. In panic Sparky pulled away sharply, and slipped and fell in the mud. Selena laughed as the shorts ripped, baring Sparky's groin. Then she tossed the garment up on the bank and stood with her legs spread, towering above the figure sprawled on the ground at her feet. On hands and knees, through tear-filled eyes, ripped and stoned by the acid. Sparky looked up.
It was at that moment that Sparky's hand touched the handle of the knife still in its belt sheath.
Then Selena was squatting slowly, her groin now coming to life.
Tzantza? No, not tzantza but… but —
A black mass of hair rose up on its haunches from the woman's crotch to wave several strands of pubic wisp hypnotically in front of Sparky's face. Within moments the patch of black had eight legs of various lengths covered with long coarse hair. Then it had become an obscene fat sack, round and bulging with a pair of unpleasant eyes that glared forth from a kind of watch tower above the body. Next the spider sat back on four of its legs, the other four raised in the air — then it dropped and moved with a furtive, sinister motion back into the swamp of Selena's crotch.
A second later, Selena sat down on Sparky and her hand, which held the Devil's head issued forth.
"F e e l t h a t, babe, just feel that. Have I got a t r e a t for you."
"No!"
Sparky!
"go away!"
"Ah ya, slip it deep inside. Now fuck me, babe."
I hate you, Mother! Daddy, help me please!
Selena bucked with a sudden jerk, the forceful thrust of her body slamming Sparky against the ground. Then she began to thrash convulsively, her limbs now twitching and her eyes bulging wide. At first there was just an unearthly sound from where the knife had pierced her windpipe, a noise halfway between a bubble and a hiss as if someone were sucking at a clogged tube. Then Sparky yanked the blade savagely to the right, tugging it when it caught. And with a gargle, Selena's throat slit open and a fountain of blood in pulsing spurts sprayed the air with a crimson fog.
Sparky started to scream.
Silence.
A vast silence that was no silence at all — but more a holding of breath. For though all sound had ceased and a hush had come over the forest, this was jungle silence, watchful and alert. This was the silence of the snake, the tiger and the bat. This was a silence to call forth the self-protective in man. This was the sort of silence that said: "Seize the nearest weapon — for that which comes, will come too quick for thought."
The woman knew this jungle, so she put down her bowl of chicha and cocked her head to one side.
She was an ugly Jivaro woman, clothed as was the custom with the left shoulder bare. Her hair was filthy with dirt and infested by lice, her face painted in wild designs. Listening, she sat in front of a poorly constructed, thatch-roofed hut the bamboo walls of which seeped quantities of smoke. A tzantza hung above the narrow door.
In front of this woman, a fire was burning under a clay pot filled with a muddy stew. Beyond the pot, a young child with spindly legs and a swollen stomach was pulling the tail of a mangy, flea-bitten dog. The dog had ceased to play and now listened like the woman.
The first sign of anything unusual was a dull, high-pitched screaming that came from the trees above. First a colony of monkeys worked themselves up to a feverish excitement, then all the other creatures of the jungle seemed to join in — only to stop abruptly. This left an eerie path of silence down which came a shriek of such terror and ecstasy, each emotion bouncing wildly off the other, that the woman jumped up sharply and ran to retrieve her child. In fear she clutched the infant to her breast, her eyes darting about in the forlorn hope that her mate might suddenly return to their home.
Then she shuddered violently, for it froze her to the bone.
This wrench of primal passion.
Sparky's first orgasm.
Psycho
Vancouver, British Columbia, 1982
Tuesday, November 2nd, 9:30 a.m.
"Did you enjoy the reading?" Dr. Ruryk asked.
"It was informative," DeClercq replied. "But pretty heavy going."
The psychiatrist nodded. "How shall we handle this?"
"If you have no objection, I'd like to make a tape. It will be on file in the squad room for those who want to listen and benefit from your views. Nothing formal, just a general discussion with free association."
"Sounds okay to me," Dr. Ruryk said. "Let's roll."
Dr. George Ruryk was a man of advancing years and growing reputation. DeClercq's wife Genevieve spoke highly of his ability and was rather amazed that the police had made so little use of his knowledge in the past. She had persuaded her husband not to make the same mistake. That more than any other reason — for DeClercq valued his wife's opinion — was why the Superintendent now found himself sitting in the wicker chair opposite the psychiatrist as filtered sunlight streamed into the greenhouse and brought the color of the roses vibrantly alive. Ruryk wore round wire-rim glasses and a Vandyke goatee that made him look like Freud. As DeClercq picked up the microphone he thought,Why is it that psychiatrists all have beards? What have they got to hide?