Tom laughed out loud. His laughter trumpeted, and cracked echoes into the night. It sounded like cannon fire.

"Rebirth!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

It didn't matter who they were, really, or what.

Did it?

"Destiny!" Tom shouted.

He swigged his beer and opened another.

The Camaro roared off back to the sciences center.

CHAPTER 15.

Jervis sat in darkness before the open window. The yellow quarter moon barely cleared the flat roof of the opposing eight-story dorm, Lillian Hall. Jervis smoked, drank, and waited.

Waiting for the truth, he pondered. It'll be arriving soon.

Czanek's phantom brand receiver came with the price. Jervis extended its antenna. To his left stood the telescope, already focused on the black second story window. It was a Bushnell 400x refractor; he bought it that afternoon for $220 at Best Buy.

Czanek's bug would let him hear, and the telescope would let him see. A full window-shot at this distance only required the 40x eyepiece. Seeing was important to him. He needed to see, not as a voyeur, but as a seeker. Why did he want to hurt himself by witnessing what he already knew? Why did people do that? To see, he thought. To see the truth with his own eyes and be caressed by its finality.

Then he heard something. A spark of static. Voices?

He heard: "He'll be here soon. Be patient." A man's voice.

Jervis held the small speaker to his ear. More: -We mustn't waste time! We only have a few more days!

That was a woman's voice, but clearly not Sarah's. It sounded silly with excitement like a little girl's. Then: "I'll be going over these while you're gone." A second woman's voice.

Jervis looked into the telescope. Sarah's window was still dark, and there was no sign of Wilhelm's love van in the parking lot. The dorm, clearly, was empty.

Then where were these voices coming from?

"G.o.dd.a.m.n!" Jervis sputtered. He realized then that his receiver was picking up someone else's bug. Czanek must've inadvertently planted another bug for another client in range of Jervis' receiver.

The voices crackled on from the box. So far Jervis accounted for two women and one man. Then the first woman said, even more excitedly: -I can't wait to begin! It'll be so much fun!

And the man again: "I just hope it works out this time."

Jervis shook his head in the dark. Just wait till he got hold of Czanek. He hadn't paid six bills to hear someone else's G.o.dd.a.m.n bug! Yet something distant bothered him. Something...

The man's voice sounded familiar.

It sounded older, more mature than a student. But then he heard another man, a second man. What was this?

"Sorry I'm late, boss. I'm all ready."

First man: "Excellent!"

Second woman: "d.a.m.n it, Dudley! I told you not to bring that thing in here!"

The first woman seemed to giggle.

First man again: "Bring the box to the car. Use your key. We'll meet you at the labyrinth."

That finished it. Only static followed. Labyrinth? Jervis puzzled. Key? And the second woman had said Dudley. Dudley Besser? That must be where the other bug was, in Besser's office.

This bothered Jervis. But one thing bothered him more-the second man's voice. It had sounded just like Tom.

Lights blared outside. Everything Jervis had heard cleared from his mind. Wilhelm's white van pulled into the lot.

The truth had arrived. Jervis' heart skittered. He smoked down the rest of his Carlton and waited. A minute, or an oblivion, later, Sarah's window came alight. Jervis pressed his eye to the telescope.

They walked in clear as day. Sarah picked up the cat, named Frid, and cuddled it. Wilhelm was dressed in brown Euromod yuppie s.h.i.t. His cropped blond head was equally plain, his broad neck, his st.u.r.dy arms and legs. He took a beer out of the fridge, a Kirin from a six pack Jervis had forgotten to reclaim after the breakup.

"Scheiss!" Wilhelm exclaimed. "Das bier?

"Oh, it's something Jervis left," Sarah apologized. "I forgot it was in there."

Wilhelm put the rest of the six pack in the trash.

Next they were kissing. Wilhelm grabbed Frid by some scruff and lobbed the animal aside. As they embraced, Sarah's hand went unhesitantly up the crack of Wilhelm's a.s.s, while his hand, frightfully larger, plowed down her pants front.

Wilhelm was pulling her toward the couch. Sarah was tee-heeing, feigning reluctance. Wilhelm peeled off his jacket and shirt. Then he peeled off all her clothes as impa.s.sively as skinning a piece of fruit. Jervis quailed.

Wilhelm had an upper torso like a Mr. Olympia contestant. He wore black briefs which bulged, and the size of the bulge was terrifying to contemplate. Sarah was rubbing against him, moaning. Frid watched from atop the end table, eyes wide as opals. Jervis felt corpse still as he peered on.

What happened after that seemed devil inspired, a mocking one act s.e.x play that somehow knew Jervis was in attendance. This was the girl he loved more than anything on earth, giving herself aplomb to this egotistical German muscle-rack.

In a trance of sadness, Jervis continued to watch as Sarah lay back on the couch. Wilhelm stood feet apart, legs like corded, sculpted wood. He hauled down the tight briefs. Sarah's eyes widened as Wilhelm posed for her appraisal. "Oh, w.i.l.l.y, it's huge!"

"No," Jervis pleaded. "Please, G.o.d. Don't let me see this."

Sarah leaned forward, l.u.s.t glowing off her face. All Jervis could see was Wilhelm's a.s.s and Sarah's hands kneading the muscled glutes. He could hear the awful sound of what she was doing to him. Lewd, wet smacking. m.u.f.fled sounds of delight. Thanks, G.o.d, Jervis thought. Thanks a heap.

He began to cry.

Soon Sarah finished with the oral warm up. She lay back again, woozy with l.u.s.t, shiny around the mouth. "w.i.l.l.y! It's just so big!"

"Mein stander? Ja? Das gute." He turned to let her look at it again, offering a full side shot, which unfortunately offered a full side shot for Jervis too.

"My G.o.d," Jervis uttered. "My G.o.d." Then tears slipped off his cheeks as he continued to stare. Wilhelm pushed open Sarah's legs and mounted her.

He teased her navel with the gorged glans, slapped her stomach with it five or six times. Then he drew it down...

Jervis felt hairs standing out on his neck. This guy's bigger than a rolling pin, he thought. Where's he going to put all that?

Then he shuddered. Wilhelm proceeded as if on cue. He sunk it all into her at once, one quick stroke to the hilt. Bam! Sarah went momentarily rigid, then wrapped her legs around his herculean back, riding the sudden, relentless movement. Hot, delighted girl squeals shrilled from Jervis' receiver; his eye pressed harder to the eyepiece.

Wilhelm went on for more than a half hour. Sarah maintained her excitement with equal vitality. Her o.r.g.a.s.ms were obvious: multiple vibrating shrieks, legs tensing each time she went.

Eventually Wilhelm withdrew. He grunted like a fearless knight having just shorn down an enemy, and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed all over Sarah in dolphin spurts of seed. When he finished, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, stomach, and thighs shined as if sh.e.l.lacked.

Jervis was falling apart, his eye welded to the telescope. Wilhelm got up and walked briefly out of view. Sarah lay worn and shining on the couch, blissfully spent. Her pink s.e.x gaped. A moment later Wilhelm reappeared, holding a blue garment of some kind.

"Please, G.o.d," Jervis quavered. "No, G.o.d. No."

What hung from Wilhelm's hand was a blue dress shirt, just your average Christian Dior, about thirty bucks at any men's shop. But this shirt in particular was one of Jervis', one he'd left in Sarah's closet. He'd left it there on purpose, hoping it would remind her of him in the future. The shirt was allegorical, a psychic remnant. It was the last part of him in her living s.p.a.ce and, hence, her life.

Wilhelm put the shirt to immediate use, guttering evil laughter. He very efficiently wiped his s.e.m.e.n off her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, abdomen, and thighs. "I wish Jervis could see this!" Sarah bubbled. Then Wilhelm wiped his c.o.c.k off as well and stuffed the shirt into the garbage.

Satisfied? he asked himself. Any English major would appreciate the obvious existential symbols here. It wasn't just a shirt Wilhelm had wiped his c.o.c.k off with, it was Jervis. The shirt was Jervis.

To end the scene, Frid hopped onto Sarah's belly, purring. The blasted animal looked directly into the telescope...and smiled.

Jervis collapsed.

He lay there for quite a while. The telescopic scene remained in his mind like a lit ghost. Sometime later he crawled to the wastebasket and threw up. It was a violent, clenching emesis. He'd emptied himself as much from his heart as from his stomach.

He'd wanted the truth and he'd gotten it. Only one thing left, he thought. Dead love's final flight.

The idea had a sweetness now, like a song, like a nocturne.

You don't have the guts, his mind told him.

"Yes, I do," Jervis answered the dark. "Watch me..."

He got up and lit what he presumed would be his last cigarette. He smoked deep. He let the room stay dark, for it should be that way for this. Yes, dark. Sweet, sweet dark.

He pulled the Webley out of the sock drawer. It was cold and heavy. It was big. His grandfather had given it to him on his deathbed. "A young man needs a good pistol," he'd said, death already tinting his face. The Webley was a unique automatic revolver, British made. Jervis c.o.c.ked it, inspired by its heavy, steel click. He was proud of his lack of reluctance.

I love you, Sarah, he thought. He put the big machined barrel to his head. I still love you. With all...my...heart.

Jervis squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell shut.

And nothing happened.

"f.u.c.k me!" he shouted. He flipped open the Webley. The cylinder was empty. He rummaged through the sock drawer for his box of .455s, but it wasn't there. Someone had taken it.

He heard mad laughter in his head, a noise like a flock of grackles. Poor Jervis just couldn't win. Consciousness heaved up and out, and he collapsed to the carpet like an empty suit of clothes.

Wade felt skittish driving her home. How could he sum up an evening like this? Their discussion at the tavern had been very weird, but the kookiest part of all was what had followed at North Administration, where, for two hours, Wade had played apprentice evidence tech. Helping a police officer fingerprint a crime scene was one thing he couldn't ever recall doing on a date before.

He'd held lights for her as she Polaroided the entire clinic office, and the door, the door frame, and lock. She'd spent considerable time using extreme light angles to locate major latent areas. It amused Wade the way she softly talked to herself as she worked. She'd "dusted," "taped," "fumed," or "snapped" anything of interest. Wade was particularly impressed by her ability to raise prints on the manila file folders and the squashed door k.n.o.b.

He didn't tell her about the beer cap.

Lydia lived in an apartment complex just out of town. She seemed played out, pleasantly bequieted as Wade drove on. The breeze through the open t top played with her hair.

This night of contradictions was still flourishing. Wade grew jittery as they approached the apartments. He wondered what she thought of him, really. She seemed to like him, she seemed comfortable around him, she seemed to... That was the problem. There was too much about her that seemed. She was indecipherable. He wondered if he'd even get a good night kiss.

That idea dizzied him. Just a kiss, just one...

"I'll make it up to you," she said. She sort of laughed. "Being dragged to a crime scene probably isn't what you had in mind for a date."

"Oh, it was...interesting," he said.

"What I mean is I'd like to see you again."

Wade almost lost the wheel. "You would? I mean, great."

"I liked talking to you. I'm sorry I misjudged you. And I really liked the Old Nick." She pointed. "Here's my building."

Wade parked. She was smiling when they got out. Crickets chirruped, and tall bushy pine trees stood by the entrance. She stopped and turned around.

Wade tried to sound casual. "Hey, I really had a good-"

She came right up to him and kissed him. One second he was standing there, trying to act in control, and the next second she had her arms around his waist and she was kissing him. It was a wondrous kiss, which seemed an absurd way to describe a kiss, but nothing else fit. It was soft, warm, delicate, wet, fervent, precise, and a hundred other things at once-a subtle mystery in moonlight. Her lips parted; the tips of their tongues touched. He could feel her bare shoulders in his hands, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing. Her hair smelled lovely, clean; her skin felt hot. Pine needles brushed his back, their aromatic scent mixing with hers. Suddenly she was squeezing him so tightly it almost felt desperate.

When they stopped, they didn't say anything. She was just looking at him, her eyes big and bright. She was beautiful. She was stepping slowly back. Back, back, his own eyes fixed, and she was smiling half happily, half sadly. And then she was in the door and gone.

Tom poured Penelope out of the box.

It was very late, a quiet, warm moonlit night, and perfect for the work ahead. Tom had driven them in the Camaro to a suitable clearing back in the woods. Besser rode up front, and one of the sisters in back. Tom could see the idiot kiddie grin and sungla.s.ses in the rearview. The sight p.r.i.c.ked his nerves.

Penelope rode in the trunk, in a st.u.r.dy cardboard box.

Tom had dug the first hole in minutes, nearly breaking the shovel once or twice. He'd dug eight feet deep and six around. This was no easy feat but it was a milk run for Tom. Strength was one of the Supremate's gifts. Tremendous, indefatigable strength.

He buried Mr. Sladder's remains, then dug another hole. The low yellow moon glowed through tall trees, dappling the hidden grove. Besser stood in supervision with a Coleman lantern; he looked a bit pale. The sister stood right next to him, grinning. Tom dug the second hole with the lackadaise of a gardener hoeing a bed of petunias.

Penelope was blubbering something. She lay boneless beside the hole, a rubbery ma.s.s of flesh. She smelled good, though, like barbecued pork or something. He could see her collapsed face, her widely spread eyes, the formless mouth trying to talk. Her tongue lolled out and sputtered, s...o...b..ring.

Besser was paling at the sight.