fireworks, and I dropped out of my crouch. Facedown on the carpet, I twitched as a puppeteer jerked on the threads that the needles had sewn through me.
The words that came from me were none that I intended, slurred and meaningless.
Although coherent speech eluded me, I clearly heard Penny, who had been awakened by my cry.
“Cubby?” The click-click of her lamp switch. “What’s happening?”
I resisted the twitching, but spasmed all the more for my resistance.
Yet I marshalled the clarity of mind and tongue to tell her what seemed most important: “He can see in the dark.”
The bronze hardware on her nightstand rattled as Penny jerked open drawers in search of the flashlight that Waxx had confiscated.
She let out a thin shriek, like the plaint a bird in flight might issue if pierced by an arrow. The hard knock of her fall suggested that she might have struck her head on furniture.
The physical effects of the shock faded quickly. The twitching diminished to a nervous trembling, which was not a consequence of extreme voltage but an expression of my terror at Penny’s suffering.
From full collapse, I rose onto all fours, then to my knees, my mind a jigsaw-puzzle box full of fragmented thoughts from which I could not fit together a defensive tactic.
The word Taser sizzled into my mind. And Waxx Tasered me again.
I fell from my knees onto my right side. My skull rapped the floor. I bit my tongue, tasted blood.
For a moment, I thought Waxx was tearing at my pajama shirt, but the clawing hands were mine. I tried to close them into fists.
Stuttering Penny’s name, infuriated by my inability to protect her, I tried to jackknife off my side, onto my knees. The post-shock spasms facilitated this change of position. Probing the darkness, I found an armchair, used it for support, got to my feet.
I cursed myself that I was not prepared for this—not for Waxx in particular, but for someone lethal in the night. I knew well the capacity for cruelty in the human heart.
A groan of convulsive misery came from Penny as she was Tasered a second time.
A homicidal rage, of which I would never have imagined myself capable, focused me. Murderous fury more than terror cracked the dam of adrenaline, flooding me with sudden strength, animal determination.
I moved unsteadily toward where I thought Penny might be.
As invisible as the wind—and like the wind revealed only by his effects—Waxx came in from my left side, stinging me in the neck. The shocks were no longer hot but as cold as driven sleet.
Although I struck him, it seemed to be a glancing blow. My legs buckled, and I knew I would not get another chance to hit him.
As I struggled to stay on my hands and knees, he bent down and Tasered me a fourth time, again on the nape of the neck.
I lay prone and shaking, a coiled snake of nausea flexing in my gut. My mouth flooded with saliva, and I thought I would vomit.
He Tasered me again before the previous shock had begun to wear off. I wondered if the effects were cumulative, if enough of them could fry the nerves, induce a stroke, cause death.
He spoke only one more word to me: “Scribbler.”
For a while, I seemed to be floating in the blackness of deep space, the floor under me no longer a floor but a spiral galaxy slowly turning.
My sense of time had been temporarily short-circuited. When I discovered that I had the capacity to crawl, and in fact to rise to my feet, I did not know whether one minute or ten had passed since my last Tasering.
I was surprised to be alive. If, like a cat, I had nine lives, I had used up eight of them one night a long time ago.
The taste of blood remained from my bitten tongue, yet when I called Penny’s name, my voice broke as if my mouth and throat were not only dry but desiccated.
She did not answer.
Waxx must have taken Penny with him, to what purpose I could imagine, to what end I refused to consider.
One moment more of blindness was intolerable. Faint moonglow at the
The words that came from me were none that I intended, slurred and meaningless.
Although coherent speech eluded me, I clearly heard Penny, who had been awakened by my cry.
“Cubby?” The click-click of her lamp switch. “What’s happening?”
I resisted the twitching, but spasmed all the more for my resistance.
Yet I marshalled the clarity of mind and tongue to tell her what seemed most important: “He can see in the dark.”
The bronze hardware on her nightstand rattled as Penny jerked open drawers in search of the flashlight that Waxx had confiscated.
She let out a thin shriek, like the plaint a bird in flight might issue if pierced by an arrow. The hard knock of her fall suggested that she might have struck her head on furniture.
The physical effects of the shock faded quickly. The twitching diminished to a nervous trembling, which was not a consequence of extreme voltage but an expression of my terror at Penny’s suffering.
From full collapse, I rose onto all fours, then to my knees, my mind a jigsaw-puzzle box full of fragmented thoughts from which I could not fit together a defensive tactic.
The word Taser sizzled into my mind. And Waxx Tasered me again.
I fell from my knees onto my right side. My skull rapped the floor. I bit my tongue, tasted blood.
For a moment, I thought Waxx was tearing at my pajama shirt, but the clawing hands were mine. I tried to close them into fists.
Stuttering Penny’s name, infuriated by my inability to protect her, I tried to jackknife off my side, onto my knees. The post-shock spasms facilitated this change of position. Probing the darkness, I found an armchair, used it for support, got to my feet.
I cursed myself that I was not prepared for this—not for Waxx in particular, but for someone lethal in the night. I knew well the capacity for cruelty in the human heart.
A groan of convulsive misery came from Penny as she was Tasered a second time.
A homicidal rage, of which I would never have imagined myself capable, focused me. Murderous fury more than terror cracked the dam of adrenaline, flooding me with sudden strength, animal determination.
I moved unsteadily toward where I thought Penny might be.
As invisible as the wind—and like the wind revealed only by his effects—Waxx came in from my left side, stinging me in the neck. The shocks were no longer hot but as cold as driven sleet.
Although I struck him, it seemed to be a glancing blow. My legs buckled, and I knew I would not get another chance to hit him.
As I struggled to stay on my hands and knees, he bent down and Tasered me a fourth time, again on the nape of the neck.
I lay prone and shaking, a coiled snake of nausea flexing in my gut. My mouth flooded with saliva, and I thought I would vomit.
He Tasered me again before the previous shock had begun to wear off. I wondered if the effects were cumulative, if enough of them could fry the nerves, induce a stroke, cause death.
He spoke only one more word to me: “Scribbler.”
For a while, I seemed to be floating in the blackness of deep space, the floor under me no longer a floor but a spiral galaxy slowly turning.
My sense of time had been temporarily short-circuited. When I discovered that I had the capacity to crawl, and in fact to rise to my feet, I did not know whether one minute or ten had passed since my last Tasering.
I was surprised to be alive. If, like a cat, I had nine lives, I had used up eight of them one night a long time ago.
The taste of blood remained from my bitten tongue, yet when I called Penny’s name, my voice broke as if my mouth and throat were not only dry but desiccated.
She did not answer.
Waxx must have taken Penny with him, to what purpose I could imagine, to what end I refused to consider.
One moment more of blindness was intolerable. Faint moonglow at the
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