Page 8 of Creature
“Although it occurs to mewe may need to find a way to silence it before you show it to Swan.We don’t want it to ruin your cover story.”
Silence. God, would they steal his voice as well? Then who wouldwhisper his name late at night, when the sunshine seemed only adream and the emptiness threatened to swallow him for good? Johnclamped his mouth shut and curled back into a ball. He wouldn’t beganymore; he wouldn’t let them see him cry.
In the silence that fell, John felt Lowe’sgaze heavy upon his skin. And then the chief’s voice.
“So what do you say, boy?Are you man enough to take this on? Or should I drive you back toBunker Hill? I’ll bet the rats at the March Hotel are missingyou.”
After a long pause, Lowe answered. “I’ll doit.”
“Excellent! Now come withme. We’ll go over the details.”
John hazarded a peek before they left, andhe discovered that Lowe still stared at him. Lowe’s expression wasdeeply troubled, but John couldn’t discern why. Then the chiefgrunted impatiently, and Lowe followed him out of the cell. Thedoor slammed shut; the lights went out. John was left with hispatch of sunshine and a new sense of unease.
***
He spent a few daysthinking about words and their opaque meanings. He didn’tunderstand most of the conversation between Lowe and the chief, andthe parts hedidunderstand scared him. Likestudied. The chief had referred tohim asthe creature. What did that mean? What sort of creature was he, if not aman?
He had no answers. Yet his mind stubbornlyasked the questions again and again, even when John sprawled in thesunshine and tried to think about the sky.
Then one morning, just as the first tendrilsof light came creeping through his window, the chief and Lowereappeared. This time Lowe wore a lightweight collared sweater andkhaki trousers. Although he still seemed nervous, he also carriedan air of resignation, as if he’d made an uncertain decision butplanned to stick with it.
“Put these on it,” saidthe chief.
When John saw what thechief pulled from his coat pocket, he cowered back into his corner.Chains. The last time he’d been chained….Oh, no. Please.
Lowe took them with a frown. “You said he’snot dangerous.”
“It’s not. This simplymakes transport easier.”
Lowe took a deep breath, crossed the cell,and crouched over John. Although Lowe was grimacing, his hands weresurprisingly gentle as he manacled John’s wrists and ankles, butnot tight enough to hurt. Then he stood and looked at the chief.“Okay.”
“Pick it up. It shouldn’tbe too heavy for you.”
After a brief hesitation,Lowe stooped. John attempted to push himself back against thewalls, tobecomethe walls, but Lowe rather easily scooped John into hisarms.
And that was strange. Because although Johnwas terrified, he found himself leaning into the solid warmth ofLowe’s body. He felt Lowe’s rapid heartbeat, saw a tiny nick wherehe must have cut his chin while shaving. John smelled coffee, soap,cigarette smoke, and the hint of something sweet, like sugar orsyrup. He relaxed a bit and settled his head against Lowe’sshoulder, feeling as if he was somehow scavenging a littlehumanity.
All right then. Whatever lay in wait forhim, he could enjoy this particular moment. Could relish a man’stouch that didn’t hurt.
“Let’s go,” said the chiefimpatiently.
Lowe carried John out ofthe cell—goodGod, he was out of the cell!—and then through some rooms and ahallway and up a narrow flight of stairs. By the time they reachedthe top of the stairs, Lowe was breathing hard. So was John, butfrom shock rather than exertion. It had been so long since he’dseen anything but his familiar four walls. Tentative relief playedthrough him, because when he’d beenstudied, it was in a large room justdown the hall from his cell. At least that place didn’t seem to behis immediate fate.
With the chief in the lead, Lowe carriedJohn through a vast, high-ceilinged space with hard surfaces thatechoed every footstep. John trembled at the openness of it all andfought the urge to hide his face against Lowe’s shoulder. He caughta quick glimpse of a grim-faced woman standing behind a longcounter, and then—
Good Lord.
Then they were outside.
That was theskyabove him,gloriously high and endless, the exact color of a robin’s egg. Andit was real, not just something he’d conjured from his Swiss-cheesememory. His friend the sun looked down on him with its full glory,unencumbered by iron bars. “Outside,” he rasped.
Lowe glanced down at him but kept onwalking.
They didn’t go far, just afew steps from the building’s door. The chief had led them to… avehicle.An automobile, John’s head primly informed him, although this vehicle borelittle resemblance to his notion of what an automobile was. Thisthing was lower, sleeker, with rounded edges that made it look morelike an animal than a machine.
“In the trunk,” said thechief.
“But—”
