Rasalom. It was Rasalom.
The face smiled—an Arctic gale registered greater warmth. Then its lips moved, forming words, but the voice seemed to come from everywhere. Or was it inside her head?
"Hello, mother."
Carol backed out of the kitchen. The face followed.
"Mommy, don't leave me!" The tone was mocking.
Carol stopped retreating when her back came up against the dining room table. She looked around for Glaeken but knew he wouldn't be there. He'd gone out hours ago and had left her with Magda. Carol swallowed and found her voice.
"Don't call me that!"
"Why not? That's what you are."
Carol shook her head. "No. You grew inside me for nine months, but you were never my child. And I was never your mother."
Another smile, as cold as the first. "I sympathize with your efforts to dissociate yourself from me. I understand them because I've tried to do the same in regard to you. Perhaps you've had more success than I."
"What are you talking about?"
"The bond of flesh. Since the day I was conceived within you, I've worn the flesh you gave me. It links us. I don't like it any more than you do, but it is a fact, one that won't go away. One we both have to deal with."
"I've learned to deal with it—by not thinking about it."
"But that doesn't cancel it. I've given this a lot of thought and there's a better way to deal with it, a way that allows me to come to terms with my fleshy link to you. A way that can benefit you as well."
The voice in her head was so calm, so soothing. Almost mesmerizing. Carol shook herself.
"I—I don't want anything from you."
"Don't think just of yourself. Think of your friends. I'm offering you and some of them a safe harbor, a haven, a chance to survive the endless night."
"I don't trust you."
The smile again, rueful this time. "I wouldn't trust me either. But hear me out. You have nothing to lose by listening to my proposal."
Carol remembered what Bill had told her about a woman named Lisl who'd lost her soul and her life by listening to Rasalom. But what, besides her sanity and her dignity, did Carol have left to lose? Unless a miracle occurred, tomorrow would hold the world's last daylight. By Friday she'd be in the same leaky life raft as the rest of the world.
"What do you mean by 'a haven'? And how many of my 'friends' can I take there?"
"A reasonable number."
"Glaeken among them?"
The face rotated back and forth, the equivalent of a head shake.
"No. Not Glaeken. Anyone else, but not Glaeken. I've waited too long to even my scores with him."
Carol didn't know what to think, what to do. If Rasalom had agreed to allow Glaeken safe harbor, she'd have known he was lying. There was probably no rivalry, no enmity in human history as long and as bitter and as deeply ingrained as theirs. But he had excluded Glaeken. What did that mean? Could his offer be genuine? If she could save Bill and a few of the others…
"Come downstairs and we'll discuss it."
"Downstairs? Oh, no. I'm not leaving this building."
"I'm not asking you to leave this building. I'm one floor down. In your apartment."
"How—how did you get in?
"Come now, Mother dear. I can do anything I wish. Anything. Come visit. We'll talk. I'll be there until darkness falls. After that I'll have other matters to attend to."
The face grew dim, became transparent, then faded completely. Gone as if it had never been.
Carol sagged back against the table. Expect the unexpected. Wasn't that what Glaeken had said? Easy enough to say, but Rasalom's face—floating in the air, talking to her as casually as if they'd bumped into each other in an aisle at the A&P.
And the ease with which he seemed to have entered the building was bad enough, but knowing he was waiting down in her apartment tied her up in knots.
Should she go? That was the question. And what was this all about? Was she supposed to haggle with him? Barter for lives? The responsibility was numbing.
Maybe she could ask him about Hank—where he was, if he was. She should have thought of that when Rasalom was here.
She had to risk it. If she could save even a few people…
But she didn't want to go alone. She knew she had to, but she didn't like it. She didn't have much time, either. If only she had a weapon of some sort. But what could she use against someone who could change the course of the sun and anything else he pleased?
As Carol picked up the broken dishes from the kitchen floor and threw them away, she spotted the knife rack over the sink. She pulled out the wide-bladed carving knife and tucked it into the folds of the old cardigan she had borrowed from Glaeken. A laughable weapon, considering who she'd be facing. She knew her best hope was not to need any weapon at all, but the weight of the blade in her hand imparted a modicum of comfort.
She peeked in on Magda and found her sleeping soundly. Carol guessed it would be all right to leave her for a few minutes. Glaeken would be back soon, and Rasalom had said he'd wait only until dark.
She hurried downstairs.
Her apartment had an empty feel. The drapes were open but because the windows faced north, the light was dusky.
Was he here? What was she supposed to call out? Jimmy? Rasalom? Certainly not Son.
"Hello?" she said, settling on that. "Are you here?"
She walked through the living room and down the hall. Why didn't he answer? Was this some sort of a joke?
Suddenly he was there, stepping out of the bedroom not three feet in front of her.
He was naked.
Carol cried out in shock and jumped back.
"Hello Mother." His voice was coarse, raspy, more dead than alive.
He stepped toward her as she backed away. His slim body seemed faintly luminescent, and his genitals…he was hugely erect, pointing directly at her face. Suddenly he darted by her and positioned himself between her and the door.
She turned and faced him, her heart thudding, her palm slick on the handle of the knife in her sweater.
"Wh-what's this all about? I thought you wanted to talk."
He smiled. "Isn't it wonderful what desperation will do to people? It paralyzes some, makes others brutish, and makes still others stupid. You fall into that final category, Mother." He spat the last word. "What's it about? It's about a love note to Glaeken and the rest of you. It's about defilement and slow, painful death, Mother. Incestuous rape and matricide. In other words, you and me."
He leapt at her. Reflexively Carol pulled out the knife and held it before her with both hands. She felt the impact as Rasalom's body struck it, felt the skin part before the point, felt the blade sink deep into his flesh. He grunted and stepped back. He looked down in wonder at the knife handle protruding from his upper abdomen, just below the breast bone. He touched the handle with a finger, then looked up at her.
"Mother…you shock me. I guess there are still a few surprises left in this world."
"Oh, God!"
"He won't help you. He was never there. But I am here now. And I am your God. Think of it, Mother. You are about to be raped by God. And afterwards. He caressed the handle like a priapic tool…"I shall use this to skin you alive. Won't that be a nice gift to hang in Glaeken's closet? Your skin."
Carol screamed and tried to dash past him but he caught her with one hand and slammed her back against the wall. The breath wooshed out of her with the impact. As she tried to regain it, the door to the apartment burst open.
"Carol!"
A group of men—some of then armed—burst in, and in the lead was Bill. He leapt to her side and Carol clung to him, sobbing.
"Oh, Bill, oh, Bill, thank God you're here!"