Speaking in Tongues

down on her all night long. And she loves to get fucked in the ass.”
    But not by you apparently, Matthews observed, noting the young man’s shocked face.
    “Stop it!”
    “During our first session she asked me how she could get rid of you.”
    “No.”
    “Yes!” Matthews spat out. “You know what she called you? The white nigger.”
    The eyes glazed over in pain as the scalpel of these words incised the young man’s soul.
    “She’d never say that.”
    “You were the big minority experiment. She wanted a black man to fuck. But somebody who wasn’t too black of course. She thought you’d be a good compromise. About as white as they come. But then she decided she’d got herself a clunker. She told me she had to drink a half bottle of Southern Comfort just so she could kiss you!”
    “No!”
    “She and Amy’d stay up all night making fun of you. Megan does a great impression of you. She’s got you down cold.”
    “Go to hell!”
    “Joshua, you asked for this!” Matthews shouted. “You pushed me, so you’re going to hear the truth whether you want it or not. She wanted your pathetic face out of her life. White nigger. You were a toy. She told me again this morning. When we were fucking on the desk in my office.”
    The boy erupted. And while Matthews’s words might have driven someone else to act ruthlessly and efficiently it drove Joshua manically forward toward Matthews, out of control. He dropped the machete and flailed away with his fists. “She never said that!” he cried. “She never said that never said that never said that—”
    Matthews fell to the ground, covering his head with his left arm. And when he rose a moment later he was holding the machete.
    The young man froze.
    Matthews studied him for a moment—the boy suddenly realizing that something very bad was going on.
    Joshua lowered his arms. “What are you going to do to me?” he asked in a soft, pathetic whisper.
    Matthews tasted the extraordinary voice one last time and stepped forward, swinging the machete into Joshua’s throat.
    The boy gave a gurgling scream and stumbled forward. Matthews leapt back, away from the boy’s swinging fist, and slashed his arm deeply. Then his leg. Joshua fell onto his back, cradling the gash in his throat.
    Matthews plunged the rusty blade into the young man’s abdomen. But with astonishing strength Joshua pushed Matthews off, twisted away, and rose to his knees, choking and coughing. The blood flowed between the fingers clutching his torn neck as Joshua crawled fast, like an animal, back through the gate toward the hospital. Matthews didn’t bother to pursue him. Joshua got thirty feet into the field surroundingthe hospital before collapsing in a stand of Queen Anne’s lace, which turned a deep purple under the spray of his blood.
    Matthews slowly walked toward him. Then stopped. He heard an animal snarling, growing closer. He backed quickly away from the quivering body.
    The rottweilers appeared from behind the house. They paused, stood rigid for a moment then charged forward hungrily. Matthews stepped out of the gate and swung it closed as the dogs swarmed in a single muscular pack over the body, which had looked so strong and impervious moments ago and was now just ragged meat.
    Matthews leaned against the bars of the gate, enraptured, watching the young man die. Joshua fought hard—he tried to rise and struggled to hit the dogs. But it was useless. The big male rottie closed his enormous jaws on the back of Joshua’s neck and began to shake. After a moment the body went limp.
    The animals dragged him into the ravine for the feast. His body vanished under the mass of snarling, bloody mouths.
    Matthews quickly changed the Mercedes’s tire and climbed into the car then sped down the rough road. He’d bury what remained of the boy’s corpse later. He didn’t have time now. Too many things to do. He was thinking that this was just like when he was a practicing therapist. Busy days, busy days. There were people to see, people to talk to.
    I’m here to change your life forever.
    •   •   •
    Who is he? Who?
    Megan McCall floated on a dark ocean, that onequestion the only thing in her thoughts. She opened her eyes and gripped the thin, filthy mattress she lay on. The room swayed and bobbed.
    She was dizzy and nauseated. Her mouth painfully dry, her eyes swollen half closed. She rolled onto her back and examined the small room. There were flaking cushions mounted on all