Page 9 of Creature
“If you get pulled over,do you want the cop to seethatright away?”
Lowe sighed. “Guess not.”
As John was set down into the small space,he felt bereft to lose the warm contact. Panic crept in when herealized that Lowe was about to close a lid, trapping him inside.But Lowe took a moment to gently rearrange John’s limbs so he laymore comfortably and then bent down to quickly whisper, “Sorry.It’s just till we get there.”
Inexplicably reassured, John remained quietand still as Lowe closed him into darkness.
Chapter Five
Harry had been uneasy for days—starting theminute Townsend slid into the booth in that downtown café. By nowhe should be feeling better. He had a decent wad of cash in hiswallet, more money than he’d ever owned at once. Enough, Townsendsaid, to get him to Portland and to support him while he seducedSwan.
He had a car too, a taffy-colored ’48 Ford.Not as nice as Townsend’s cushy late-model Caddy, the Ford showed afew dents and scrapes, and its interior smelled like an ashtray.But it was his to drive, at least for a while. He’d never owned acar.
He even had new clothes, because Townsendclaimed Harry needed something better than the well-worn denims andthreadbare shirts he’d brought from Missouri. The old church suithe’d worn for his interview was too short in the legs and too tightin the shoulders, and he knew it betrayed him as a rube from thesticks. Now he owned several pairs of nice trousers, some newshirts and sweaters, and a suit jacket that made him look downrightsnazzy.
But despite all the material goods and theescape from the March Hotel, Harry was troubled. Maybe that hadsomething to do with the not-corpse in the trunk of his car.
He hadn’t expected themonster to talk, surely hadn’t expected him tobeg. And although the monster lookedhorrible—all skin, bones, and vivid scars—his blue eyes were ashuman as any Harry had seen.
Jesus fucking Christ, what had he gottenhimself into?
After Townsend recruited him, Harry hadspent a few days at HQ with some of the agents. They’d given himthe story to use on Swan and then drilled him so thoroughly thatHarry almost lost track of his real history. Was he any longer theunwanted son of a drunk from Missouri, a guy with one thin, finalhope of a future? Or was he a would-be actor who’d had a brief buttorrid love affair with an older man, a gentleman of some means whodabbled in the arcane arts before croaking suddenly in a car wreck,leaving his monster and some of his money to his protégé?
Townsend had him sleep ina hotel near HQ. A nice place, not a rooming house like the March.Harry basked in the private bathtub and the soft, clean linens. Heordered from room service—a luxury he’d seen in movies but neverexperienced himself—and had a few drinks in the swanky hotel bar.On a whim he wandered into a bookstore and bought a copy ofFrankenstein, as if thebook might somehow help him make sense of his predicament. Itdidn’t. In fact, always a poor reader to begin with, he’despecially struggled with the old-fashioned language. Still, he’dkept the book, and now it was tucked into his suitcase in the backseat.
The monster hadn’t raised any fuss on theday when Harry had cuffed him, hauled him from the cell, up the HQstairs, and out to the car. In fact, he’d sort of leaned againstHarry’s shoulder as if enjoying the contact. That should have beenunsettling, but it wasn’t—not exactly. It made Harry want toprotect him, actually. Maybe because the monster was the firstperson in a long time who hadn’t acted as if there was somethingwrong with Harry.
“Great, I have theapproval of monsters.” Now with the monster in the trunk, Harryfrowned and stepped harder on the gas.
The Ford took him swiftly over the hills andinto the Central Valley, which reminded him uncomfortably ofMissouri. Dusty farms and little nothing towns. He frequentlyglanced at the Sierras to the east, just to confirm he was inCalifornia.
Was the monster uncomfortable in the trunk?Scared? Harry had no idea what range of emotions such a creaturemight feel, but he was certain he’d already seen the monster showfear.
Uneasy with this line of thought, Harrytried to focus on the road. Eventually, though, his eyelids grewheavy, and shortly after the sun set, he pulled into the parkinglot of the El Rancho Motel. It was an L-shaped, single-storybuilding with a red tile roof. A row of palm trees stood nearby,two of them with the crowns broken off. But what interested Harrythe most was the nearly empty lot; it looked as if he’d enjoyplenty of privacy here.
The old man in the office didn’t seem thetype to enjoy chitchat. He took Harry’s eight dollars, watched himsign a fake name in the register, and then handed over a key with aworn metal fob. “Check-out time’s eleven sharp.”
“I’ll be gone well beforethen.” Harry sauntered back into the crisp evening air.
Townsend had instructed him to leave themonster in the car overnight. Less chance of complications thatway. But Harry doubted he’d get any sleep, knowing the monster wasstill cramped in the trunk, chained and cold and alone. So aftercarrying his suitcase into the little room, he opened the trunk ofthe Ford.
The monster blinked up at him and didn’tstruggle when Harry lifted him into his arms. Luckily nobody wasaround to see him carry what looked like a naked, shackled corpse.The monster uttered a single hoarse word as Harry crossed the shortdistance back to the room: “Stars!”
The room boasted worn carpeting, woodpaneling, a seascape painting, and sparse furniture. Harry’s firstidea was to set the monster on the armchair, but he doubted themonster could remain upright. He couldn’t bring himself to justdump him on the floor, where Harry would likely trip over him. Thatleft the bed. When Harry set him there, the monster lay on hisback, completely still, his eyes wide.
Only now did Harry realize how filthy themonster was. He didn’t smell particularly bad, but grime marrednearly every surface of his papery skin.
Shit.
Soon Harry found himself on his knees besidethe bathtub, running a soapy washcloth over the monster’s body. Themonster kept his gaze fixed on Harry and didn’t make a sound,didn’t object in any way as Harry moved his arms and legs around.Finally the silence became too heavy. “Do these hurt?” Harry asked,scrubbing gently at one of the larger scars on the monster’schest.
“Hurt,” the monsterbreathed in response. Harry didn’t know if that was an answer orjust an echo of his own final word.
“I want to take the cuffsoff. Will you fight me if I do?”
“No.” The monster liftedhis wrists. “I won’t fight.”
So hedidunderstand speech, and he couldcarry at least a simple conversation. Harry pulled the keys fromhis pocket and unlocked the manacles and then the ankle cuffs. Heset the restraints aside in case he might need them later and thenwinced when he saw the terrible condition of the monster’s wristsand ankles. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Should he bandage thewounds?
