“Finish it! Finish it! Finish it!” The tenants trilled. Loretta began to howl. The sound was pained, as if she’d been stabbed.
“Audrey. Put it down,” Saraub cried. His arms were plaster wings that reminded her of flight.
She squeezed the rebar. The look he wore was familiar. Even now, his concern outweighed his fear. Stupid man, worried about how his murder might cramp her freedom. So good at caring for other people, so terrible at caring for himself. A red ant climbed along her cheek and bit the bridge of her nose. She realized she’d become the thing she hated most. She’d become Betty’s sickness.
The thing inside her lifted her hand against the man she loved. This time she fought it. She noticed her filthy sweat suit and bare feet. Remembered Jayne, and her mother, and herself, all so scarred and raw but fighters, too. Saw Saraub’s blood as it coated the plaster of paris. Broken arms—who’d hurt him?
They both knew he could do a lot better than a white-trash hick with OCD. The thing is, maybe he didn’t want better. Maybe she made him happy.
“Finish it! Finish it!” the tenants wailed.
She dropped the pole and bent down next to him. “I’m sorry,” she said. Around them, ants scurried. There were so many that they looked fluid. They rushed the door, and she remembered, finally, that time in Hinton. Red ants had filled the holes then, too.
“I love you. I’m sorry,” Audrey said as she helped him stand. Just then, Loretta hobbled out in front of the door. All around them now, ants squirmed. They filled the ever-widening cracks as the door continued to open.
“I’ll do it myself!” Loretta hooted, then picked up the rebar and swung. Only, she didn’t go after Audrey or Saraub. She hit the den wall. Plaster chunks broke loose from their wooden beam bones. The others joined her, weak fists punching.
“Fire!” Evvie Waugh cried, and they all cheered. “Fire! Fire! Fire!” A few scrurried out of 14B, still chanting.
“What?” Saraub whispered. She squeezed his hand to quiet him. Together, they slid toward the hall, but Loretta spotted them, and blocked their way. “It’s my party!” she said. “And you have to stay!”
Panting, Saraub whispered, “I think we can take them.”
She doubted this but appreciated his optimism; from the way it slumped backward, she’d broken his shoulder. Supporting him by the waist, they kept going for a step, then two, until the crowd pushed back. Fists flailing, she struggled, punching at random. The sound was like twigs breaking. Saraub threw his body into the crowd. A few, including Evvie Waugh, fell as he jerked his neck back and shouted, “Run!”
The command confused her—did he expect her to leave him? She shook her head and followed him into the crowd. Flailing, kicking, trying to wrest him back. After a short struggle, the tenants had her, too.
The seconds passed. The smell of smoke wafted through the vents. She could feel heat, too, and realized then where the ones who left had gone. To open the door, the tenants were killing the only thing they loved. They were burning down The Breviary. It shrieked its agonized protest, and they shrieked, too. The thing about monsters, they hate themselves most of all.
“Oh, shit,” Audrey said.
Saraub stood on tiptoe, to see over the tenants’ heads, and called out to her, “We’ve got to get out of here!” just as Loretta Parker twisted the faucet handle and opened the door.
48
Mother
The door opened. The Breviary screamed in pain and joy. On the other side of the door were the monsters, at last. Spiderlike Edgar Schermerhorn was up front. Behind him were Loretta Parker, Evvie Waugh, Francis Galton, and the rest of the tenants, too. And then, to the left, shadow versions of Audrey Lucas and Saraub Ramesh. Their likeness was unmistakable, only their joints were rounded and their eyes were black. They walked on four legs.
She understood then what was behind the door. Humanity’s dark, soulless twins. Cast off by reason and consequence but always searching for ways to return, be it through the subtlety of sickness or the enormity of a door. They were shaped like insects because insects are the only animals that have no souls.
Snarling, they pushed against the boundaries that trapped them inside the door, which would collapse as soon as The Breviary died. From its groans of pain, perhaps even The Breviary regretted what it had done.
“Stupid building. I’m the boss. Me!” Loretta cried.