The man slowly shook his head from side to side.

Keeping his light on Slade, he said, "If what you're telling me is true, it sure sounds like self-defense. So why are you trying to hide the body? You should've just called the cops right after it happened and admitted everything. Nobody's going to blame you for trying to defend yourself like that."

"Guess I was scared," Sandy said. "I've got a little baby, you know? I was scared they might take him away. I mean, I'm only fourteen, and..."

"You've got a child?"

"Yes sir. And he's the daddy." She jabbed a finger toward Slade's body. "He's my baby's daddy and my daddy, too."

"Oh, my God."

"Dey'll take away little Eric por sure," Lib said. "Dem polks at Child Welpare. Dat's how come we had to run opp and why we gotta hide da pucker's body."

The man was silent for a while. Then he asked, "Where are you from?"

"Noplace much," Sandy told him. "Last couple of months, we've just been on the road."

"You live in this trailer?"

"Yes sir," Sandy said.

"Where are you heading?"

"Noplace. Just figured we'd keep on going, and hope for the best."

"What kind of money do you have?"

"A few bucks. You want it?"

He lowered the pistol. "I'm not sure I believe everything you're telling me," he said. "But you two...It's pretty obvious you're in a jam. I'd be glad to help you, but I don't want to end up like this guy."

"Are you fixin' to attack us?" Sandy asked.

"Not likely," he said.

"Den it ain't likely we'll kill you," Lib told him.

"Mom's right," said Sandy.

"In that case... Maybe you'd like to be my guests. I've got a cabin just up the road a piece. You could probably use some food and a good night's sleep."

"Got anyting to drink at dat cabin ob yours?" Lib asked.

"Just about anything you might want."

"Hot damn! Let's went, honey!"

The man said, "My name's Harry. Harry Matthews."

"I meant her," Lib explained, swinging a thumb toward Sandy.

"I like to call my girl honey. But maybe I can call you honey, too, ip you treat us right."

"Fine. So let's take care of this body, first. Then we'll go on up to my place."

Chapter Fifteen.

A VISIT FROM CLYDE.

All afternoon, Dana's mind dwelled on Warren. She thought about the way he'd looked and the things he'd said. She wanted to know everything about him.

Tuck, no doubt, would be able to tell her plenty.

But Dana was afraid of hearing it. The guy just couldn't be as wonderful as he seemed. He must have some sort of awful flaw.

After a talk with Tuck, she might want nothing more to do with him.

We can't talk about him here, anyway, she told herself. I'll wait till after work.

During a slow period in the middle of the afternoon, she was leaning against the side of the ticket booth, daydreaming about Warren, when Clyde stepped around the corner. He was carrying a stool with a padded seat.

"Interested" he asked.

"I don't want to take your seat," Dana told him.

"I've still got one." He set down the stool for her.

"Well, thanks."

As Dana climbed onto it, Clyde watched her closely. Though he wore sunglasses, their lenses weren't dark enough to hide the direction of his gaze. He mostly watched her breasts and crotch.

She was used to that sort of thing.

Sometimes she found it flattering, sometimes exciting. Often, though, it seemed like an embamssing invasion of her privacy and annoyed or disgusted her.

Long ago, she'd discovered that her reaction depended on who was doing the staring.

Though Clyde was certainly handsome-well over six feet tall and built like a Mr. Universe contestant-she didn't care much for him.

"So," he said. He folded his arms across his massive chest and looked her in the eyes. "How's it it going?"

"Okay."

"First day on the job."

"Not bad," she said.

"You have a little trouble upstairs?"

"No big deal."

"Lynn pulled you out."

"I just wasn't feeling very well. I needed some fresh air."

"Where have I heard that before?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Happens to everyone. Well, not everyone. But just about. It's hard to last all day in there, especially for a beginner. I'll tell you your symptoms. Cold sweat, faintness, nausea, a sense of suffocation. Tell me I'm right."

"You're right."

"Of course I'm right. I've seen it a thousand times. Did you barf?"

"No."

"Plenty do. You probably would've, except you got out in time."

Dana tried to smile pleasantly. "Well," she said, "I'm glad I didn't."

"You know what it is?"

"What what is?"

"Purely psychological."

"Ah."

Nodding, he pulled a pack of Camels out of his shirt pocket. He held it toward Dana.

"No thanks," she said.

He took one for himself and lit it up.

"See, you tell yourself it's just a house. You're just a tour guide in a house full of dummies...That includes the tourists. The dummies."

She smiled and nodded.

"So, you tell yourself nothing is going on. But plenty is going on. It's not just a regular house with dummies inside. You know what really happened there, and you can't hide from it. The more you try to hide from the reality of the place, the more your subconscious works on you." He nodded briskly. "You know what that does to you?"

"What?"

"It screws up your entire system. Your whole internal organic structure knows where you are. So you don't breathe right. It's like you're afraid to take a deep breath when you're in there, like the air is full of disease because of all the death and decay. And you don't want to suck it into your own body. Do you see what I mean?"

"Sure," she said.

A guy this handsome, she thought, shouldn't be cursed with such nutty ideas.

"So, see, what you're doing to yourself, you're giving your brain a case of air starvation. You know why you feel like you're suffocating in there?"

"Why?"

"'Cause you are. You're trying subconsciously to hold your breath, see?"

"Uh-huh."

"Does that make sense to you?"

"Sure."

"'Cause, subconsciously, you don't want to be breathing the fucked-up air inside that house."

"Right."

"You get it?" he asked, the cigarette bobbing between his lips.

"I get it."

"See how it's all in your mind?"

"Yeah."

"Now. Do you know how to fix it?"

"By breathing?"

"Absolutely. But it ain't that easy. See, your subconscious has a mind all its own."

This time, Dana's smile was genuine.

Clyde smiled back at her, looking very pleased with himself.

"You can't just order your subconscious mind to let you breathe. Doesn't work that way. What you've gotta do is come to terms with Beast House."

"Come to terms with it?"

"Absolutely. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, you know."

She managed a chuckle.