Hearts in Atlantis(78)

And they were hungry.

'Let the boy decide,' the leader of the low men said at last. His living branch of a finger caressed the back of Bobby's neck again. 'He loves you so much, Teddy. You're his te-ka. Aren't you? That means destiny's friend, Bobby-O. Isn't that what this old smoky-smelling Teddy-bear is to you? Your destiny's friend?'

Bobby said nothing, only pressed his cold throbbing face against Ted's shirt. He now repented coming here with all his heart - would have stayed home hiding under his bed if he had known the truth of the low men - but yes, he supposed Ted was his te-ka. He didn't know about stuff like destiny, he was only a kid, but Ted was his friend. Guys like us, Bobby thought miserably. Guys like us.

'So how do you feel now that you see us?' the low man asked. 'Would you like to come with us so you can be close to good old Ted? Perhaps see him on the odd weekend? Discuss literature with your dear old te-ka? Learn to eat what we eat and drink what we drink?' The awful fingers again, caressing. The buzzing in Bobby's head increased. The black specks fattened and now they looked like fingers - beckoning fingers. 'We eat it hot, Bobby,' the low man whispered. 'And drink it hot as well. Hot . . . and sweet. Hot . . . and sweet.'

'Stop it,' Ted snapped.

'Or would you rather stay with your mother?' the crooning voice went on, ignoring Ted. 'Surely not. Not a boy of your principles. Not a boy who has discovered the joys of friendship and literature. Surely you'll come with this wheezy old ka-mai, won't you? Or will you? Decide, Bobby. Do it now, and knowing that what you decide is what will bide. Now and forever.'

Bobby had a delirious memory of the lobsterback cards blurring beneath McQuown's long white fingers: Now they go, now they slow, now they rest, here's the test.

I fail, Bobby thought. I fail the test.

'Let me go, mister,' he said miserably. 'Please don't take me with you.'

'Even if it means your te-ka has to go on without your wonderful and revivifying company?' The voice was smiling, but Bobby could almost taste the knowing contempt under its cheery surface, and he shivered. With relief, because he understood he was probably going to be let free after all, with shame because he knew what he was doing - crawling, chintzing, chickening out. All the things the good guys in the movies and books he loved never did. But the good guys in the movies and books never had to face anything like the low men in the yellow coats or the horror of the black specks. And what Bobby saw of those things here, outside The Corner Pocket, was not the worst of it either. What if he saw the rest? What if the black specks drew him into a world where he saw the men in the yellow coats as they really were? What if he saw the shapes inside the ones they wore in this world?

'Yes,' he said, and began to cry.

'Yes what?'

'Even if he has to go without me.'

'Ah. And even if it means going back to your mother?'

'Yes.'

'You perhaps understand your bitch of a mother a little better now, do you?'

'Yes,' Bobby said for the third time. By now he was nearly moaning. 'I guess I do.'

'That's enough,' Ted said. 'Stop it.'

But the voice wouldn't. Not yet. 'You've learned how to be a coward, Bobby . . . haven't you?'

'Yes!' he cried, still with his face against Ted's shirt. 'A baby, a little chickenshit baby, yes yes yes! I don't care! Just let me go home!' He drew in a great long unsteady breath and let it out in a scream. 'I wANT MY MOTHER!' It was the howl of a terrified littlun who has finally glimpsed the beast from the water, the beast from the air.

'All right,' the low man said. 'Since you put it that way. Assuming your Teddy-bear confirms that he'll go to work with a will and not have to be chained to his oar as previously.'

'I promise.' Ted let go of Bobby. Bobby remained as he was, clutching Ted with panicky tightness and pushing his face against Ted's chest, until Ted pushed him gently away.

'Go inside the poolhall, Bobby. Tell Files to give you a ride home. Tell him if he does that, my friends will leave him alone.'

'I'm sorry, Ted. I wanted to come with you. I meant to come with you. But I can't. I'm so sorry.'

'You shouldn't be hard on yourself.' But Ted's look was heavy, as if he knew that from tonight on Bobby would be able to be nothing else.

Two of the yellowcoats grasped Ted's arms. Ted looked at the one standing behind Bobby - the one who had been caressing the nape of Bobby's neck with that horrible sticklike finger. 'They don't need to do that, Cam. I'll walk.'

'Let him go,' Cam said. The low men holding Ted released his arms. Then, for the last time, Cam's finger touched the back of Bobby's neck. Bobby uttered a choked wail. He thought, If he does it again I'll go crazy, I won't be able to help it. I'll start to scream and I won't be able to stop. Even if my head bursts open I'll go on screaming. 'Get inside there, little boy. Do it before I change my mind and take you anyway.'

Bobby stumbled toward The Corner Pocket. The door stood open but empty. He climbed the single step, then turned back. Three of the low men were clustered around Ted, but Ted was walking toward the blood-clot DeSoto on his own.

'Ted!'

Ted turned, smiled, started to wave. Then the one called Cam leaped forward, seized him, whirled him, and thrust him into the car. As Cam swung the DeSoto's back door shut Bobby saw, for just an instant, an incredibly tall, incredibly scrawny being standing inside a long yellow coat, a thing with flesh as white as new snow and lips as red as fresh blood. Deep in its eyesockets were savage points of light and dancing flecks of darkness in pupils which swelled and contracted as Ted's had done. The red lips peeled back, revealing needly teeth that put the alleycat's to shame. A black tongue lolled out from between those teeth and wagged an obscene goodbye. Then the creature in the yellow coat sprinted around the hood of the purple DeSoto, thin legs gnashing, thin knees pumping, and plunged in behind the wheel. Across the street the Olds started up, its engine sounding like the roar of an awakening dragon. Perhaps it was a dragon. From its place skewed halfway across the sidewalk, the Cadillac's engine did the same. Living headlights flooded this part of Narragansett Avenue in a pulsing glare. The DeSoto skidded in a U-turn, one fenderskirt scraping up a brief train of sparks from the street, and for a moment Bobby saw Ted's face in the DeSoto's back window. Bobby raised his hand and waved. He thought Ted raised his own in return but could not be sure. Once more his head filled with a sound like hoofbeats.