Into You (Part 13)
Created | Updated Dec 20, 2020
Into You (Part 13)
'Did you bake something? It smells like…' He furrows his brow, as if recalling a pleasant memory.
'Mhmm… I made a fruit tart.' I point to it sitting under glass on the counter near the window. 'It's for tonight. Gerald and I…' I trail off when I see the scowl forming on his countenance. 'Oh. Perhaps I could offer you a slice. It's too big for just two people to eat.'
'No. That's okay. I'm not hungry. The aroma is… familiar.' He shakes his head is if to clear away internal cobwebs, then stretches forth his other laden hand. 'The tote bag is still okay, right?' He catches me off-guard with the sudden reversal of the conversation.
'It's Gerald's, remember?' He looks at me like a deer in the headlights. 'Okay, Arlo, I'll take it. I'll give it to him this evening when we have dinner. That way it gets back to its owner.' After a moment of visual examination, I take the tote, open it, peer inside, and—relieved—take it from him. I set it on the counter, folded, next to the tart under glass. When I turn around, Arlo is several steps too near me. I sidle off to the side.
'Um… Arlo, is this the only reason you came by? I mean, I really didn't need either of the two items, but I'm happy to return the tote back to Gerald.'
His demeanor changes again, as if a switch is flipped, and the light allows him to see the thing he's searching for. 'As a matter of fact, there were one or two questions I had for you.' He taps his lips with the tip of his index finger three times, then says, 'Could you show me where you stepped on the blob?' There's an almost businesslike fleeting half-smile that graces his face for a split second, then he's leaning forward, waiting for me to speak or move.
'Yes. Sure.' I don't know why this has me so flustered. 'Follow me out into the back yard.' Maybe it's because I don't want to remember all the craziness that transpired yesterday. Maybe something else. I lead him through the back door, onto the patio, and out into the grass to the approximate location. 'Right about here. This is where I remember it squi…' I can't finish the words because I don't want to finish the thought.
Arlo squats down and examines the ground. Then he puts one knee down for better balance and leans as low to the grass as possible without tipping. 'Right here? In this area?' He swirls his open palm over the place I remember stepping on the blob. Damn it! I didn't want to go there.
'Yes. That's correct.' I back up and give him space to survey the tiny plot of ground.
I watch him hunker down onto both knees and palms, his belly inches off the ground. Arlo practically puts his nose into the loam, tilts his head first one way, then another, and peers over the blades of grass. He pushes himself up to stand, and brushes off his knees and his hands. He must have exerted himself, because his exposed skin has a sheen to it.
'Nope. I can't determine anything from that,' he posits.
'It's hot outside,' I tell him. 'Would you like to go back inside for some tea or soda?'
He looks up at the sky for long seconds, shielding his eyes with the visor of his left hand. He sighs and glances at me, over his shoulder. 'Tea? Yes, Lynne, I'd like that.'
As we head back inside, I ask him, 'Arlo, how did you know where I live? Did you ask Gerald?'
He has his head down and I think he mumbles, 'Dead reckoning.'
'What? Like a homing beacon?'
'Oh… No,' he says bringing his gaze up and giving me that mini-smile. 'Yes. Gerald told me. You live next door. That's right.' He follows me through the patio door.
In the kitchen, I open the fridge to pull out the pitcher of tea. When I back out, I almost bump into Arlo, who evidently followed me too closely. 'Excuse me,' I tell him and take the pitcher to the L junction of the two counters. I open the overhead cabinet and pull down two tall glasses. I turn to ask him, 'Do you mind sweet tea or—'
Arlo is standing inches before me, effectively tending goal, and I realize there's no room to either side of the table for me to scoot past him. I didn't hear him come up behind me, and that alone causes the hackles to stand up on my neck. His eyes are wide… and dark. So very dark. It's as if his irises have opened so wide there's nothing but the deep-space void of black pupil, and even that seems to be pushing outward to engulf the whites of his eyes.
'Arlo…? Ar-ar-ar-l-l-lo…' I stammer and recognize what's happening. I'm starting down the slippery slope of shock. Beads of sweat break out, from my scalp to my armpits. A tiny revelation flashes through my mind. My sheen of sweat is perspiration; Arlo's sheen isn't sweat, but rather a shimmering secondary layer of epidermis. I see it moving and shifting atop his own skin, bunching up and straining outward, becoming tendrils that change from silvery sheen to oily black as the extrusions surge out toward me.
I scream. I scream and scream, until one dark tendril claps over my mouth. Streamer after streamer of ebony blob material slough away from Arlo and flow onto me, over me, into me. In whimpering shudders, I stare at Arlo, who is just as freaked out as me. He stumbles backward, ramming his hip against the table, and hobbles out of the kitchen. He glances back repeatedly, his eyes wild with terror, and bangs out through the front door. I hear a car start up, rev like mad, then shatter the neighborhood calm with the screech and squeal of tires.
There's silence. It's very quiet in my house. The only sound is the faint rustle of my blouse as I slide down the front of the cabinetry, jittering, wondering why my field of vision is narrowing into blackness.
