Pressure Points

Camilla watched him from a booth at the other end of the diner and knew that it was going well. She raised the cup of stout black coffee to her lips to hide her smile. Camilla only allowed herself emotion at the end, when the target was already past the turning point. To feel anything before then was disaster. This had been proven to her twice, and Camilla would never allow a third occurrence. Failure was unforgivable, emotion inexcusable, in her work.

Joseph Swanson, soon to be ex-ceo of SwanTech, sat five booths down. He did not look at her. He did not look at anyone. He stared down at a table no doubt just like the one Camilla sat at: old white formica, nicked and scratched and tattooed with stains from uncountable cups of coffee.

The man was incongruous in these surroundings. He typically frequented the more exclusive restaurants in New Orleans, took in power lunches at the trendiest of them, occasionally took in a cappucino at Stargill's. Even now, on the verge of total collapse, his Botany 500 trenchcoat and Armani suit wrinkled and stained, he did not fit in this workingman's greasy spoon.

It was three o'clock in the morning, and they were just north of the Big Easy, in a twenty-four hour diner off the side of I-55. The diner testified to the fashions and taste of the fifties. The booth seats and stools had once been a bright red color, but time had eroded them down to some kind of dirty cinnamon hue. Everything else was a soiled and tired white. Even the cigarette machine by the door looked to be not a day newer than twenty-five years old.

There was one other customer in the place, a thin man wearing a red University of Nebraska baseball cap who sat at the counter, methodically picking away at an omelette. Otherwise it was quiet, the waitress sitting behind the cash register with a John Grisham paperback, getting up to refill coffee occasionally.

A white clock above the order window behind the counter buzzed like a fat lazy fly.

So Swanson was not at home in this dirty and depressing place; Camilla could have wished for a Denny's if for no other reason than there would likely have been more witnesses, but this would have to do. Swanson's mind was on the edge of the abyss. She had been pushing on his pressure points for almost a week now. Rough black stubble covered his cheeks and chin, several days' worth of growth, streaked with white. His eyes were sunken red marbles. He'd been wearing the same clothes for four days.

Camilla sipped her coffee, sure now that this was it, the final push. It felt no different, this one, than any of the other dozen. Nasty work, yes, but what real choice was there? The thing had to be fed somehow.

She closed her eyes. Thought of pressure points. Thought of the hungry thing roaming her mind, caged by her will.

Thought: snake circle slither through body crawl through belly whisper name joseph joseph angry red SNAKE bloody venomous hungry SNAKE calling speaking screaming JOSEPH JOSEPH JOSEPH

Thought: PUSH

Let the thing out.

Opened her eyes.

Swanson jerked, whipped his head to one side as if he'd heard a gunshot. He sat straight up, glared at the passing waitress, followed her with his bloodshot stare.

The waitress came to Camilla's table. "More coffee?"

"Yes," said Camilla, "Please."

Swanson shifted his gaze to Camilla. She thought: bursting feces maggots Maggie rotting Maggie angry red SNAKE run joseph SNAKE RUN RUN PUSH

It travelled down the length of the thing's leash, the unbreakable umbilical link that ran from Camilla's backbrain to the heart of the unseeable creature.

Swanson scrambled from his booth, knocking his coffee cup to the floor in shattering demolition. The waitress jerked at the sound and missed the cup. Camilla slid sideways to miss the coffee running off the edge of the table.

Swanson screamed and staggered backward. It seemed as though he was trying to shape the scream into a word, perhaps his late daughter Maggie's name. Maggie had died of a blow to the head while on vacation on the Swanson ranch in Arizona five years ago. She had been four. Swanson had been the prime suspect, but lack of evidence had terminally stalled the prosecution. This information had been in the dossier provided to Camilla. Swanson feared snakes, and Camilla exploited that, but the buried guilt over his murder of his daughter had proven to be the best pressure point.

The waitress set the coffeepot down and started toward Swanson, and Camilla thought that showed admirable bravery. Pointless, but admirable.

Thought: Maggie swollen black bloated rot rot Maggie dead dead DEAD PUSH

It sizzled like a nerve impulse down the leash into Swanson's head. Sometimes it was useful to leave a weapon lying conveniently about, but usually it was enough to send them tumbling down into spiraling madness, and this time she felt it would do. Camilla wondered, as always, just what form his insanity would take. She could shove them, but it was just putting things in motion; she never knew where it would go.

In Swanson's case, the answer was nowhere. He fell silent and fell to his knees. The waitress knelt beside him, but he was gone now, retreating somewhere far inside himself where he would be safe. That was enough for Camilla. She reeled the thing back in, although, as always, it fought the whole way. It chattered and scrambled against her mental walls, but really it's hunger was blunted, and it quickly quieted down.

Soon an ambulance would be called for the man. By the end of the day, he would be taken somewhere expensive and discrete for treatment, and the story would make the papers the next day. SwanTech's IPO would be delayed. Suddenly bereft of it's founder, the company would be ripe for takeover. Her services, though not cheap, would prove to be a wise investment f or her client. Time to call the client. Brother would check the accounts and start cleaning the money.

She left a twenty on the table for her cup of coffee, and exited the diner while the waitress and trucker were occupied with the now vegetative Swanson. Her Explorer was parked on the far edge of the lot. She dialled the client's number on her cell phone before starting the engine.

As she heard the ringing on the other line, she absently noted a large white Cadillac pull off of the service road into the diner parking lot. Late seventies model, ugly as all hell. She thought no more of it as the other end picked up.

Willie was hungry for more, even now, so he made Nose take the first exit they came to. Willie, evidently, was ready to go. Nose had to guess all this, because Willie didn't talk much. Just sat over there, makin' Nose do all the drivin', and played with his new pistol, the one they got off that dude in Lafayette after they knocked his skull in with the mailbox post they'd got in Lake Charles. Nose kept thinkin' about the sound the guy's head had let out when that length of metal had changed it's shape. Nose liked the noise. Nose couldn't get the noise out of his mind, kept running it over and over. Maybe Willie was right; maybe there was only sharks and guppies. Maybe it was time to be a shark.

"Shark. Shark," he said, pointing over at Willie, "Shark, ark, ark, ark."

Willie glared at him.

Nose shrugged and eased the Caddy, which they'd got off that fat broad in Baton Rouge after they'd torched her, down the off ramp.

"Ark!" He cackled.

Willie glared at him.

Sharks, that was them. The world was a bunch of guppies and it was like Willie said, they only remembered the Sharks. Starkweather, Manson, Ghengis Khan, Caligula. These were names that Willie used to throw at Nose sometimes. Names didn't mean much to Nose. Names was just names. Doing meant something to Nose. Sharks meant something to Nose.

"Ark, ark, ark!"

Nose saw the diner up off the side of the road, only two cars out front and two off behind, a semi off to the side, and he grinned at Willie.

"Shark, ark, man! Shark hungry, man!"

Willie nodded, and looked back down to his pistol, a mean looking black thing. Nose couldn't have told you what kind it was. Hey, it was a gun, it killed folks, what more did you need to know? Nose was not into details, that was what Willie was for.

"Ark! Ark! ARKARKARK--" Willie pointed the gun in the general direction of Nose's head and pulled the trigger. The driver’s window blew out in a hurricane of safety glass pellets. Nose jumped, pissed himself, and swerved the Caddy all over the road. He steadied it and glanced at his brother.

Willie said something. Nose's ears rang too much for him to hear it, but it looked like Willie said "Enough."

Well, hey, you didn't have to be no mind reader to figure that one. Icecicles ran through his head. Willie wanted Nose to understand who the bigger shark was here. Nose caught that loud and clear.

Nose kept his mouth shut as they pulled up under the bright lights of the diner awning. But he kept thinking, SHARK!

Camilla said to the other party, "Your man is out."

The other party said, "The payment will show in your account by noon."

"Very well."

"It was a pleasure dealing with you. The ex-Mrs. Swanson thanks you."

"It was good business," Camilla said, and disconnected. Payment for this job was three hundred twenty-five thousand. It would show up in her account in the Caymans today. And would sit there as largely untouched as the rest of it. Perhaps someday she would be able to use the money. Perhaps someday she would be free of the thing.

She punched in a number for Salt Lake City, where brother lived this year. Downtime now. No need to think about working again until later on this year. The one bright spot in her situation was that the thing did not need to feed often. Like an anaconda, once or twice a year sufficed. She closed her eyes as the phone rang in Utah, thought of a mountain place in Switzerland. A place she would never be found. A place to grow old. A place to be at peace.

Something slick and cold skidded over her mind. The thing woke up in screeching alarm. She opened her eyes.

Two men were stepping away from the white Cadillac. One of them was holding something. It was hard to make out in the faint light, but . . . yes, it was a gun.

Time to go.

She started the engine.

The man with the gun swivelled his head her way.

Fine, let him. She threw the Explorer into reverse, knowing he would not get a clear shot at her, and the Ford leapt backwards.

The man with the gun looked at her.

And something cold shot through her mind like a battering ram. It scattered her thoughts as though they were tenpins. It bludgeoned the thing, stunning it, stunning her. Her feet slipped from the clutch and gas pedals and the Explorer shuddered, stalled, and stopped. Camilla dropped the phone and involuntarily clapped her hands to her ears. She slumped over the steering wheel. It let out an agitated cry. This did not help.

Something cold, something so cold.

Freezing, actually, and she had no idea what was happening, could not think of how to fight it. Camilla fell down onto the seat, drew her legs up into a fetal position as the blizzard tore through her mind. Blizzard? That, yes, and glacier as well, a glacier that moved with the speed of a striking cobra, smashing her under.

She had time for nothing but surrender.

They got out of the Caddy, Nose wishing he had a gun, too. Why should Willie be the one? Nose thought maybe they ought to do a cop next, just cruise until they found one, ice him. Get some serious hardware, some serious publicity. He told himself to remember to tell Willie.

Willie held the gun out to his side, ready to go. Nose knew how it was going to be: they'd walk in and Willie'd do a 'shout', make everybody freeze for a minute, and then he'd pop 'em. Nose would try to get one, too, 'cause there was not reason for Willie to have all the fun. Hell, wasn't they a team? Damn yes they were! Still and all, it didn't set just right with Nose that Willie had a piece and he didn't.

They walked to the door, cool as ice, man, and then they both heard the sound of an engine turning over. Both of them saw it at once: this Blazer or something down at the end of the parking lot, the one they'd seen when they pulled in, there was somebody in it, and now they were peelin' out.

"Bullshit," said Nose.

Willie nodded.

He shouted. His mouth was closed in a tight line.

Nose felt it, pretty strong this time. He was gettin' to where he heard it a lot more now. When they first found out what Willie could do, Nose couldn't hardly hear it at all. Now it was like it was something on tv, or the radio, except not with words. Nose felt the chill of the 'shout'. He was glad it wasn't him Willie was shouting at, was glad Willie never had.

Willie was a good brother, sometimes.

Shark, ark.

They walked over the car, it was a Ford Nose saw now. He thought of them walking over, thought it was like something from that move he'd seen, "Pulp Fiction". Cool movie. Willie walked a little bit ahead of him. Held the gun pointed at the truck. Nose didn't think anybody'd be getting out. It had been a loud 'shout', more a SHOUT, and Nose figured whoever it was probably had cream of wheat for brains now. Fuckin-A, sharks and guppies, sharks and guppies, man.

They both looked in the driver window. A dumpy looking bitch was down on the seat. Looked like she was asleep. Shit. Dead, maybe. Wearin' jeans and a big heavy coat. Glasses. Nose figured she had to weigh maybe a hundred eighty pounds. Not even worth the time.

Willie nodded. He stepped back and put a shot through the window. It coughed in like a snowfall of fake diamonds. Then Willie pointed the gun at the broad.

As he fired, they both felt it: a quick flash of a woman, bloody and naked, old, smeared all over a bathroom.

Nose shrieked and shook his head, but could not hear it over the gun going off. He dropped to his knees and made that picture go away. Not in his head. Not! Get out! He wiped away tears from his eyes. Where had that come from, Jesus, now? He blinked and looked up. Willie stared down at him.

"Yeah, okay, I'm ready. Shark, ark."

Willie strode toward the diner. Nose got to his feet, glanced in the Explorer and saw some blood on the seat. Not much, but Willie knew what he was doin'.

Nose yelled, "ARK!"

He trotted off to catch up with Willie.

Willie was a poor shot.

Camilla wiped blood away from her face as a tiny voice bleated from the cell phone by her head. The thing whipped and writhed in her head. It was actually angry, and this was a revelation to Camilla. She had always thought of the uninvited guest in her head as a thing alive, but wondered if that was just her imagination. She had no doubt now.

The cab swarmed around her, lost focus, but she stared at the dash clock, watched the blinking LED display until everything shifted back into place. Liquid puzzle pieces, but they held.

The insectoid voice. From the phone. Cell phone. Camilla fought to remember. A call to . . . she could not remember.

"Camilla," said the wasp voice, "Camilla! Are you there? Camilla!"

She groaned, pushed herself up, keeping her head below the dash. Her skull throbbed, a seed pounded in a giant's fist. A stitch burned across her forehead. She touched it, felt the blood, and the burning screamed up into a laser searing her skull. Camilla winced and sucked a deep cold breath. The pain levelled out again in a moment. A sort of clarity returned. She wiped more blood from her face and picked up the phone.

Her hand trembled doing it. Camilla stared at it for a second. Then she put the phone to her head. It was her brother.

"Kurt?"

"Jesus, Camilla, you okay?"

"No. I've been shot. Well, he mostly missed. Hurts like hell." She sat up all the way. The shattered driver side window framed the diner. It was a forlorn thing, in it's fragile island of light. She could see her two attackers inside, gesturing wildly.

"Mostly missed? Camilla, where are you?" She never told Kurt where a job took her.

"Never mind. I'm fine. I'll call you in an hour."

She punched the power button and the phone went quiet.

Kurt would be worried sick, and she hated to do it to her brother, but a startling thing was happening to her. She was furious. She had not been this furious since Tampa.

Since her parents' murder. Since the eel-like creature had set up shop in her skull. Camilla shuddered, felt the thing, so often a faithful weapon, try now to turn down that dark path of memories.

Perhaps it was not as protective of it's host as she'd always assumed.

Shit. There was not time for this. She concentrated and clamped down on it.

A shot snapped from inside the diner like a sharp handclap.

Camilla stepped out of the Explorer. What did she care? What business was it of hers? She knew that she should just leave, not involve herself. She was no less a predator than the two who'd attacked her. Does the tiger feel outraged at the wolf that dares attack it?

Yet she did. Her intellect said "Let it go." Her heart demanded she tear them apart. Camilla was smart enough to know that this was related to Tampa, was smart enough to know that this could change none of that.

She walked on regardless.

Willie stood over the guy who'd been twitchin', the gun still pointed at him, a thin haze of bluish smoke in the air.

"Awright!" cried Nose, hopping from one foot to the other like a child who must pee. "Got 'im! Shark, ark!"

The guy sure wasn't jerkin' now. His brain was in a lot of little pieces all over the diner floor. Feeding time, feeding frenzy.

The other three people in the diner were dazed, stunned like cattle by the shout Willie had thrown at them.

Nose was a little disappointed that there were only three left. How were they ever going to catch up with Bundy and Dahmer and guys like that with this nickel and dime shit? Maybe they needed to do a Wal-Mart or something. He'd have to see what Willie thought of it.

The cook, this jelly-gut old white guy, no hair, was losing it behind the counter. Nose watched him, fascinated. In all the movies he saw, it was always women that popped their lid, but man, it sure didn't happen like that in real life. The waitress was staring at Willie, scared for sure, but under control. This cook, on the other hand, stood behind the counter, his hands all bunched up in his greasy white apron, and cried like a little girl. His mouth flopped up and down like he was gonna say something, but Nose knew he wouldn't. Total pussy. Jesus, made you sick. That waitress, she was a good guppy, this guy, he wasn't shit.

Willie seemed to agree. He pointed the gun at the cook and put the top of the cook's head back through the service window and into the kitchen. Nose thought all the red and grey on the wall and stainless steel added a nice touch. Nose thought that if he hadn't been a shark, he would have been a cop, just to see all those crime scenes. Each one was a piece of art to him.

The scarecrow in the red ballcap said, "Just what in the fuck do you want?" Trying to be brave, shit.

Guy looked like a trucker. Nose did not like truckers. Ignorant redneck hick bastards. Driving a fucking truck, what was that?

"Oh man," said Nose, "We wanna fucking EAT YOU!"

Nose thought the guy would cringe back. Instead the trucker shot right off his stool and slammed into Nose, knocking him back into a booth, plowing him to the floor. Nose shrieked. A pincer of fire locked onto his spine where he'd hit the table. The guy was gut punching him, and it hurt. Such a scrawny guy, and shit, Nose wasn't a shrimp. But he couldn't get any room for a decent swing under the table, and the guy was fast.

Nose saw Willie stumble, droop a little.

"Willie!"

Willie shook his head, aimed at the trucker. Nose flinched, expecting the flat bang of the shot.

It did not happen.

What happened was that he saw his momma again, flayed and raw, hanging from the shower head, staring at him with glazed but knowing eyes.

Nose screamed. He knew that Willie saw it in his head too, he could tell because Willie dropped the gun and took three stiff steps back, out of view.

The hick pounding on him hesitated, and Nose shoved him off, kicked ferociously at him. He had to get out of here, clear his head. Get rid of these damn pictures of his momma. She was gone, she wasn't real anymore, it was just his head yattering.

Then something hit his head like a mule kick, and he found himself falling down into a lightless pit. He knew the pit all too well, and he could not control his terror at it. He screamed all the way down. And something screamed with him.

Camilla saw the taller of the two men shoot the cook. She flinched, felt a stab of anger through the ringing in her head. The cook was not a target. He was not a job. If and when Camilla was responsible for a death, it was always a job, it was always for a reason, and it was always someone who deserved it. Kurt saw to that. This was meaningless. This was demolition for the joy of it, and she was revolted. Kurt would be astonished. His sister turning good samaritan. Stones would sing next.

She opened the door as the trucker tackled the short thug. Momentum took them under the table. The tall one, the one with the light curly hair, looked dazed, actually wilted a little, as if he was drifting off to sleep.

From under the table, "Willie!"

The tall one snapped out of it. He stepped forward and raised the gun.

Camilla did not have time to finesse it. She dropped her mindgate, the mental drawbridge that kept the ravenous thing in her brain contained. She nudged it at the curly headed man with the gun and let it rip. It lashed out like a striking rattler, looped around the guy's mind, seeking crevices, pushing for soft spots the way a shopper feels a melon for freshness. It always showed her what they were. Camilla did not know what the thing got out of it, by what mechanism it fed. She did not want to know. She told herself the people she used it on were not very nice anyway.

Especially now.

The thing tightened, wrapped itself around the man's mind, squeezed . . . and the whole thing collapsed. Camilla felt it; the shock flew up the leash. As though the thing had constricted on nothing more than a paper mache construction. Camilla blinked in surprise. Nothing was there. It couldn't be. It was as though the guy was a walking corpse, there was nothing in his brain. It was an inert lump of gray tissue. The thing swirled in the emptiness for a moment, then astonished Camilla by coming to rest. This was the first time she had ever known it to actually be motionless.

Alarmed, she tried to pull it back.

It wouldn't come.

She yanked with all her might.

It responded by fleeing. Camilla felt the strain on the leash. She could not fathom where it was going. Then she felt it close upon something solid, something substantial, and the flood of images poured back through the conduit into her. It was nearly too much.

. . . Peter . . . his name was Peter, but everyone called him Nose . . . because he'd once sniffed detergent up is nostrils thinking it was cocaine, and his nose had suffered terribly . . . Nose was from Houston . . . he had . . . killed Daddy and Sissy and . . . Momma . . . almost Willie . . . but something had happened . . .

///the apartment a week ago tv on Daddy drunk yelling at some football team Momma on the phone Sissy in the bathroom putting makeup on for her date and Nose and Willie coming home they'd been on the streets for a week because they'd been evicted from their own place because [the noise the three grrrls from Compton had made when Willie carved them apart too much noise Les the landlord sent his brother around to kick them out because the neighbors complained of noise wait till they found out what the noise was] of their asshole neighbors and Daddy had told them fuck you you don't get no more of my money and Willie said fine and Daddy barely looked up in time to see Willie shove the hunting knife down into his fat chest Daddy died easy never made a sound [heart attack from the shock of being stabbed by his own son] and it took a long time for Momma and Sissy to go it was messy and they left Momma hanging from the shower head her insides in the tub and her blood all over the bathroom and Sissys head in the toilet that was Nose's idea [teach her to tell me don't touch there teach her teach her] and Sissy in her bed with no head shark ark Willie turning to Nose and pointing the knife Nose's way Willie crying saying we done it now we're cooked and going for Nose but Nose firing his cannon of a mind [didn't mean to Willie I'm sorry sorry sorry] like it never had before and that was all for Willie but Nose got lonely and if he thought about it hard enough Willie was still with him they were sharks again shark ark///

Camilla staggered. She mentally choked off the stream of images. Someone screamed, a man, but it was faint to her, the bleating of a far off lamb. Quickly enough the rush of thought faded down, and she was able to restore her equilibrium, but a slick skin of dread coated her mind. Usually it was work prying useful information out of someone's head; this was a hundred-thousand watt broadcast.

And the thing liked it. Camilla had an idea what was happening. The thing wound out from her mind, through the empty shell of the man named Willie, down through some conduit into Peter, Nose. They were all tied together by the thing like strange charms on a barbed wire bracelet. And the thing, that demonic thing that she'd caged in her head for twelve years now, had it's teeth sunk elsewhere now. Camilla could not pull it back in, but she could hold on to it with all her might.

Nose kicked off his attacker. The trucker flew away from him and slipped through Swanson's blood. Camilla saw Nose blink and get his focus together, and knew what was coming next. She would not be in time to stop it.

She thought: blood Mamma blood Mamma skinned raw muscle meat blood blood Willie dead Willie DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD

PUSH

She felt it go, but it seemed to jam halfway there. Camilla could have screamed in frustration. Nose was so psychotic that one good tap on that pressure point would have shut him down, but apparently the thing's allegiance had shifted.

Willie raised the pistol at the trucker.

Something sailed through Camilla's field of vision and smacked off of Nose's head. A sugar shaker. It shattered when it hit the floor on the rebound. Nose went out immediately. Willie drooped like a houseplant too long without water. Camilla looked over to see the waitress grinning tightly.

"Ace pitcher for my softball team," she said.

Camilla allowed herself a shaky laugh. It was all she could do.

The thing was hung up between her and Nose. She still could not pull it back. It felt like a high voltage line strung up between them, cracking and twisting with energy.

Camilla said, "What are your names?"

The trucker, his voice shaky with the aftermath, said, "Ty."

"Mine's Shelly," said the waitress, "You okay?"

Camilla shook her head. "No. Shelly, Ty, listen to me. There's a cell phone in my Explorer. Dial 911. As you head up the road. Give me five minutes before you call."

"You want us to leave a crime scene," said Ty, "Is that it?"

The thing was straining now, a living rope caught in an invisible tug-of-war. Camilla wiped sweat from her brow. "In about five minutes, our friends are going to wake up. I can't stop that. The police won't be here in time. Even if they were, it would do no good. You'll have to trust me on that. I'll take care of them."

"You'll kill them, you mean," said Shelly.

Camilla flashed a feral grin at her. "They're sharks. Mad dogs. I can't let them go, and believe me, the cops won't be able to keep them."

"Ma'am," said the Trucker, "I'm not leavin'."

He bent down for the gun. Camilla beat him to it. He froze as Camilla pointed the barrel at his face.

"They'll kill you anyway," Camilla said, "Remember thatpain in your head when they came in? They caused that. Sounds crazy, but it's true. Nose there, he's psychic. Doesn't know it, but he is. An esper. And he uses his brother there as an amplifier. You think I'm lying, remember what hit both of you."

The trucker, Ty, glanced at Shelly. She slowly nodded.

"That's crazy shit, lady." But there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Leave, tell the police I made you leave. Forced you out at gunpoint. And I'll take care of these two. Just as they deserve."

Shelly glanced at the body of the cook. Then she let her gaze fix on Camilla, and she seemed to think it over. Then she nodded again, and stepped around the end of the counter, avoiding the mess of Swanson, and walked to the door. She looked back at Ty.

Ty sighed. "I don't like it."

The thing thrashed like a dancing high pressure hose, she could feel it. "You don't have to like it. You have to live. If you don't move, I'll shoot you."

Ty straightened up slowly, his eyes never leaving Camilla. He shook his head, and turned to leave with Shelly. They stepped out of the diner without another word. Camilla watched them go, and felt pity for them. They had not asked to attacked by sharks.

Neither had her parents.

She checked the gun and saw that there were four rounds left. Enough. A shudder whipped through her. Ty and Shelly were better off not knowing that Camillia would have killed them both to make sure that Nose and Willie were expunged. Camilla was glad it had not come to that, but she'd have done it. She hoped they would give her five minutes. Probably not. And the numbers in her cell phone's memory . . .

It couldn't be helped.

Nose stirred, groaned.

Camilla nudged him with her foot, never letting the pistol point away from him. "Wake up, come on, that's it, wake up."

His eyes fluttered open. She felt the thing tug, renewing its efforts to be free.

Camilla released it.

Lightness overcame her, as if gravity had been repealed. She lost her breath at this, freedom now after twelve years. All this room in her head, space to think, to feel. At last, free of that coiled presence in her mind. All those years of caution, of removal from anyone she might care for, for the fear of the thing's hunger. All of those years of her mercenary life, hunting and harvesting madness to feed the creature in her head, no more than a slave. Free now, free at last.

Nose yelped, startled.

Camilla smiled. Well, he had it now, see how he liked it.

For all the time he had left.

She aimed at his head . . .

Nose grinned.

Oh, he saw the gun pointed at his face, but it did not concern him, not at all. The bitch would never have time to pull the trigger. He knew this. He knew this because now he was the biggest shark around. Snake showed him this; Snake was now showing him all sorts of wonderful things, showing him blood and madness and pain, showing how these things could be used to kill, and Nose knew that he would learn this. He knew that he would use Snake to kill on a scale that Willie had never imagined. Snake knew what Willie and Nose could do for it, and it was eager to start, hungry like it never had been, and it had been around long enough to be plenty hungry. Nose saw all of Snake's history in a flash, saw it moving from mind to mind to mind since the dawn of time. Maybe it was the last of its kind. Maybe. But in all it's long eons on this Earth, Snake had never encountered a mind like Nose's. Nose saw the possibilities. Snake was the song, Nose was the player and Willie was the amplifier to shout it out, and it was time to boogie.

But first, this bitch. Snake shot out at her in a mental blur . . .

Camilla knew it was coming and tried to fire before it hit, but it was fast, and knew exactly where to go in her brain.

///Tampa, late night in the parking lot, sea salt in the air, her father sprawled in a pool of his own blood on the pavement, Mamma going down like a broken doll as the punk kid with the pistol gunned her down, Camilla screaming and cradling her Daddy, her dying Daddy, her brother behind her screaming too, the gunman turning on her, Daddy squeezing her hand and staring into her eyes and whispering "I'm <shocking spear into her head, pain like a railroad spike into her forehead> sorry, 'milla." and then dying, letting go. Camilla screaming, screaming as something new appeared in her mind///

She screamed now, trying to force the thing out of her head, out of her memories. But it was strong, and it knew it was fighting for it's life. She sensed that Nose was moving, and Willie stirring to a semblance of life, and a black wave of terror that had nothing to do with the thing rose in her.

///screaming and something sliding between the gulfs of her thoughts, something alive and hungry and ancient, and it arced out, found the gunman's mind and ate it whole, swallowed it as a python swallows a squealing rat. And then sliding back into her head, sated, satisfied, ready for sleep, and Camilla was then alone with her grief and her monstrous tenant///

She squeezed a shot off, knowing that it wouldn't hit a thing, just trying to buy herself some time. The thunderclap caused Nose and his brother to pause.

The thing whirled inside her skull, searching for her pressure points, and she knew that it would find them. It always did. It had no pity for poor human beings with their fragile psyches, their flawed souls.

But she knew what it was, she was ready for it, and she knew all the terrors it could throw at her were fears of her own making. And for all it's craftiness, it was a dumb beast, operating more on instinct than with any skill. It could find the soft spots, the raw nerve endings, but lacked the talent to wield them as a weapon effectively. It had always needed her for that. After the first shock of attack, she was ready for anything it could do.

Camilla forced herself to focus on Nose, who grinned

like a madcap. He never lost that grin, even as she slowly

brought the pistol to bear and fired.

The thing tried to flee Nose's dying brain, but Camilla fought it, denied it access and very quickly, it was pulled down into darkness.

It was tempting to follow it down into that night, but Camilla fought the urge. After a moment, this passed, and she found herself alone amidst the carnage in the diner, alone with the blood and the stink of death. She set the gun on the counter behind her, next to a cup of coffee long grown cold. Free. But God, the cost. Camilla stepped carefully around Willie's now unanimated body, past the stiffening corpse of Nose, whose head, once filled with such incredible, unimaginable power, was now just a spread out mess of bone and shredded meat. She paused for a second, shuddering at what she saw, shuddering also at what Nose would have been, what he could have done, had she not killed him, and then stepped out of the diner to await whatever new life was presented to her.