Speaking in Tongues

face.
    What is it, what is it, what is it? . . . A simple question. Yet simple words can’t convey the answer—that two people who were once in love no longer are.
    He’d closed his eyes. “I don’t want to be married to you anymore,” he’d said.
    Good-bye . . .
    Tate now looked away from the bench and glanced impatiently at the cordless phone, sitting on the porch swing. Why wasn’t—
    It rang. He blinked and snagged it from the cradle.
    “Hello?”
    Silence for a moment. Then: “Tate?”
    “I’m here, Bett. What’s wrong?” His heart went cold at the sound in her voice.
    “I’m on my way to Baltimore.”
    “You are? Why?”
    More silence. “Brad left me.”
    “What? At a time like this?”
    “It’s not his fault. I did something stupid. I don’t know . . . I don’t want to go into it. It’s . . . Oh, Jesus, it’s a mess.”
    “Bett, you sound terrible. Are you crying?”
    “I can’t talk about it. Not now.”
    “When’ll you be back? What about Megan?”
    “I don’t care.”
    He heard utter defeat in her voice. “What do you mean?”
    “Oh, Tate. We’ve blown it. There’s nothing we can do. We’ve ruined her life, she’s ruined ours. Maybe she’ll come back, maybe she won’t. Let’s just let her go and hope for the best. I don’t care anymore.”
    “This doesn’t sound like you.”
    “Well, it is me, all right? It was stupid looking for her, it was stupid getting together like this, you and me. We should have kept our lives on different sides of the universe, Tate. What’ve we got to show for it? Just pain.”
    “We’re going to find her.”
    “She doesn’t want to be found. Don’t you get that? Let her go and don’t worry about it. She’s part of the past, Tate. Let her go. The phone’s breaking up. I’m coming to a tunnel. Good-bye, Tate . . . Good-bye . . .”

Chapter Twenty
    Bait.
    That’s me, yes sir. That’s me.
    He’s on to you, Crazy Megan says. Move, move, move.
    She went to the right and Peter Matthews went to the right.
    Left and left, straight and straight.
    Getting closer all the time.
    Whispering, “Megan, Megan, Megan.”
    Other words too. She wasn’t sure but she thought he was muttering, “I want to fuck you, I want to fuck you.” Or maybe “cut you.”
    Megan was part of his fantasy now. She was a victim from those disgusting comic books. The tentacles, the monsters, the purple dicks, the claws and pincers . . .
    And was nothing more than a game to the boy—if you can call a six-foot, two-hundred-pound thing a boy.
    As she moved up and down the corridors, gripping the handle of her glass knife in her right hand, which stung fiercely from the blisters, she had all sorts of terrible thoughts: why the father had brought her here, for instance. As a bride for his son. Jesus . . . Maybe Aaron Matthews had wanted grandchildren. MaybePeter’d been at Jefferson High—they had a special ed department—and he’d gotten obsessed with her. That might be it. And his father had kidnapped her to be a present for his son.
    Down the corridor toward the kitchen.
    Scuffling, muttering, but no sight of him.
    Down the corridor that led past the door to the basement. The lock looked flimsy but not that flimsy. Breaking it open would make a hell of a noise. And what was down there anyway?
    No, Crazy Megan tells her. Stick to your plan. He’s gotta go down.
    Well, one of us does, thought the less confident half of the duo.
    Keep going, keep looking for him. Up and down the dim halls.
    It didn’t seem that late but the hospital was in a valley and the sun was behind a mountain to the west. The whole place was bathed in cold blue light and she was having trouble seeing.
    She stopped. The boy’s footsteps were getting closer.
    This is it, Crazy Megan says. Just stab the fucker in the back and get it over with.
    But Megan reminded her that she couldn’t do that. As much as she hated him, she couldn’t kill.
    He wants to fuck you. He wants to pretend he’s one of those insect monsters and fuck you till you bleed. You have to—
    Be quiet! I’m doing the best I can.
    Closer. The steps got closer. The sound coming from around the corner. She didn’t have time to get into the main corridor—he was too close.
    She stepped into a little nook. Trapped.
    He moved closer, paused. Maybe hearing her.
    Maybe smelling her. He’d stopped whispering her name. Which scared her more because he knew he was close to his prey and didn’t