Read Online The Edge of Sleep by David Wiltse - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Wiltse
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way she preferred it, and he preferred whatever she wanted.
With his eyes shut he imagined her as a bird, a large and beautiful and dangerous bird, graceful and effortless in flight, remorseless in pursuit. Lethal and lovely. She was an eagle.
He was a bear, lurking in a cave. Bears hid. They did terrible things, too. They killed, they clawed and bit, but they hid—because they were afraid. The eagles never hid, she was never afraid. There was nothing in the world that could hurt her. The eagle never hid, never stalked, never lay in wait. She circled overhead, seeking her prey with an eye that could see forever. She could see the terror in the rabbit’s eye from afar and had but to fold her wings to be upon it before it could move.
She could even attack a bear. She could rip him apart with her talons, skewer his eyes, grab his heart. To Ash, a bear was helpless before an eagle. He could not hear her approach as she plummeted from on high, he could not see her before she was upon him with her terrible grace and beauty. He could do awful things with his strength, but never to the eagle. He was powerless under the eagle’s attack.
He felt the eagle upon him, the flutter of the giant wings, the caress of feathers, the ripping of his fur and hide with beak so razor-sharp it gave no pain. His flesh opened out to her as if in blossom and she fed upon him.
And then he heard the beauty of her song ringing out, filling the cave and reverberating off the walls with the richness of her joy.
“Oh. Daddy,” she sang. “Come on, Daddy. Daddy!”
Chapter 5
B ECKER’S HOME IN Connecticut was forty-five minutes from the Town Center mall in Stamford. He drove there on the Merritt Parkway and studied the center divider. It was as he had remembered it when talking to Karen. A low guard rail made it impossible to pull a car onto the center strip without severe damage to both the railing and the automobile. There were occasional flower beds on the divider and so many trees there as well as on both sides of the road that the experience was one of driving at high speed through the deciduous forest that still held New England in its grasp. In summer, the parkway was a blur of green, and in autumn it blazed with fall colors, providing sudden vistas that made the road known for its uncommon beauty. As a highway for commuter traffic to New York, it served, although just barely, with four lanes and merely adequate engineering. But as an avenue through the forest, it was Connecticut’s pride and joy, and the state devoted a good deal of effort to keeping the divider well trimmed and clean.
It was no place for pedestrians, however. Anyone walking there would be seen by dozens, if not hundreds, of drivers per minute. Becker made a note to investigate the state employees who tended the strip. Their uniforms would not make them invisible but somewhat less noteworthy.
Becker pulled into the passing lane and rolled down his window. On the passenger seat next to him lay a brown leaf bag that he had purchased that morning. Inside the bag, taped together, were three twenty-five-pound sacks of cat litter. First he tried to lift the dead weight from the seat and across his body with his right hand while steering with his left. He made five attempts, stopping midway each time when it was apparent he was about to lose control of the car.
Next he tried to steer with his knees while handling the heavy bag with both hands. He lost control almost immediately with the exertion necessary for the lift. Finally Becker dragged the litter-filled bag onto his lap and lifted it from there to the open window. Opening the door was out of the question; it would require him to be too far from the divider. After several failed attempts. Becker managed to get the bag balanced on the window opening. The blast of a horn brought him back to the realization of his position. He was swerving dangerously and his speed had dropped to less than forty miles an hour. Angry
With his eyes shut he imagined her as a bird, a large and beautiful and dangerous bird, graceful and effortless in flight, remorseless in pursuit. Lethal and lovely. She was an eagle.
He was a bear, lurking in a cave. Bears hid. They did terrible things, too. They killed, they clawed and bit, but they hid—because they were afraid. The eagles never hid, she was never afraid. There was nothing in the world that could hurt her. The eagle never hid, never stalked, never lay in wait. She circled overhead, seeking her prey with an eye that could see forever. She could see the terror in the rabbit’s eye from afar and had but to fold her wings to be upon it before it could move.
She could even attack a bear. She could rip him apart with her talons, skewer his eyes, grab his heart. To Ash, a bear was helpless before an eagle. He could not hear her approach as she plummeted from on high, he could not see her before she was upon him with her terrible grace and beauty. He could do awful things with his strength, but never to the eagle. He was powerless under the eagle’s attack.
He felt the eagle upon him, the flutter of the giant wings, the caress of feathers, the ripping of his fur and hide with beak so razor-sharp it gave no pain. His flesh opened out to her as if in blossom and she fed upon him.
And then he heard the beauty of her song ringing out, filling the cave and reverberating off the walls with the richness of her joy.
“Oh. Daddy,” she sang. “Come on, Daddy. Daddy!”
Chapter 5
B ECKER’S HOME IN Connecticut was forty-five minutes from the Town Center mall in Stamford. He drove there on the Merritt Parkway and studied the center divider. It was as he had remembered it when talking to Karen. A low guard rail made it impossible to pull a car onto the center strip without severe damage to both the railing and the automobile. There were occasional flower beds on the divider and so many trees there as well as on both sides of the road that the experience was one of driving at high speed through the deciduous forest that still held New England in its grasp. In summer, the parkway was a blur of green, and in autumn it blazed with fall colors, providing sudden vistas that made the road known for its uncommon beauty. As a highway for commuter traffic to New York, it served, although just barely, with four lanes and merely adequate engineering. But as an avenue through the forest, it was Connecticut’s pride and joy, and the state devoted a good deal of effort to keeping the divider well trimmed and clean.
It was no place for pedestrians, however. Anyone walking there would be seen by dozens, if not hundreds, of drivers per minute. Becker made a note to investigate the state employees who tended the strip. Their uniforms would not make them invisible but somewhat less noteworthy.
Becker pulled into the passing lane and rolled down his window. On the passenger seat next to him lay a brown leaf bag that he had purchased that morning. Inside the bag, taped together, were three twenty-five-pound sacks of cat litter. First he tried to lift the dead weight from the seat and across his body with his right hand while steering with his left. He made five attempts, stopping midway each time when it was apparent he was about to lose control of the car.
Next he tried to steer with his knees while handling the heavy bag with both hands. He lost control almost immediately with the exertion necessary for the lift. Finally Becker dragged the litter-filled bag onto his lap and lifted it from there to the open window. Opening the door was out of the question; it would require him to be too far from the divider. After several failed attempts. Becker managed to get the bag balanced on the window opening. The blast of a horn brought him back to the realization of his position. He was swerving dangerously and his speed had dropped to less than forty miles an hour. Angry
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