He ignored me, sliding along the table as if being dragged forward by an invisible hand. “O Lord, have mercy,” he prayed, taking a jittery step toward Saul, then another. “As you had mercy on Samson, have mercy on me.”
“The Lord has nothing to do with this,” said Saul. There was a new note in his voice, something dark and gloating. I took a step back, then another, as Phelps stumbled in my direction. His pupils were huge and seemed to fill his whole face.
“No,” Phelps said, half begging, his hands stretched out toward me. “No, please, stop it,stop it!”
“I can’t stop it,” I told him, retreating. “I can’t, I can’t, I would if I could!”
It was only the truth. I hated Phelps and I was afraid of him and I still would not have wished this on him.
“Not long now,” said Saul pleasantly.
Phelps paused, swaying on his feet. “No,” he said, sounding momentarily lucid. “No, it isn’t.”
“Come on, then,” Saul said, his voice deepening and darkening. “Come a little closer. You know you want to. I didn’t want to feed again, but for you, Phelps, I’ll make an exception.”
The muscles in Phelps’s face twitched and spasmed, but his next words were clear enough. “You think I’ll go alone?”
“You’re alone now,” purred Saul.
“Samson brought… Samson brought the temple…”
I had already retreated until my back hit the wall, but at his words, I started forward. “No!”
“Samson brought the temple down!” Phelps cried, pitching up against Saul’s bed. His arm came up again with the gun pointed at Saul.
Saul screamed in his face.
That horrible sawing-violin shriek would have startled anyone. My heart stuttered in my chest. It drove Phelps back a step and that was enough, that was all I needed. I lunged forward and swung the faithful enameled pan and the angle was bad and Iknewit wasn’t heavy enough to knock him unconscious, but maybe he’d drop the gun and I could grab it or maybe there’d be a miracle or maybe the world would end but I had to dosomething.
It slammed against the back of Phelps’s head and something gave under the blow. Something that felt almost exactly like a grape popping.
Phelps’s back arched and he screamed and pitched forward. He dropped the gun and I dove for it, past his legs, and it vanished into the muddy water. I had a moment of panic that I’d grab it wrong and hit the trigger and shoot myself in the face, but then I felt the cold metal under my hands. I came up with it and scrambled out of the way, just as Phelps’s scream was cut off and replaced by a horribly wetcrunch.
I turned.
Phelps’s feet drummed against the floor as he spasmed. He had fallen across Saul, and I did not need to see the red tide pouring across Saul’s chest to know what had happened next.
It occurred to me, very distantly, that the merciful thing to do would be to shoot Phelps now. I looked down at the gun inmy hands. I was shaking so hard that my teeth began to chatter and I had to clench my jaw to stop them. If I tried to aim like this, I would probably hit Saul. Saul, who had his face buried in the hollow between the other man’s neck and shoulder.
Would it matter if I shot them both? End it here?
To really end it, you’ll have to burn Saul’s body. Possibly while he’s still alive.
The crunching had changed to something softer and wetter. Phelps had stopped thrashing and lay limp across the table where Saul had been chained for twelve long months or more.
(he’s not human)
(he’s something else)
(a devil)
Some things were too monstrous to inflict, even on devils. I lowered the gun.
Phelps’s last breath came out in a long gurgled sigh and was still.
I hit the wall and slid down it, hands over my ears, trying desperately to block out the sounds of Saul Gregor feeding.
CHAPTER 20
