"It's hideous."

"What did it to you?"

"The thing that jumped me in the cellar."

"But what?"

"What do you think?

"I don't know."

Warren pulled up his pants, fastened them, and turned around. His face looked grim.

"Do you think it was a bear?" he asked. "Maybe a bobcat? An escaped gorilla?"

"I don't know. Tell me."

"I'm not going to say it," he told her.

"Why not?"

"I don't want you thinking I'm crazy. Or a liar."

"A beast did it?"

"Is that your best guess?"

"I guess so."

"You don't really believe in the beasts, do you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Yeah. Maybe. There've been eyewitnesses."

"Maybe they were nuts or drunk or lying about what they saw."

"There were beast bodies."

"I've never seen one, have you?"

"No, but..."

"Anyway, who's to say they weren't fakes?"

"I don't think they were," Dana said, staring into Warren's eyes. "I think the beasts might've really existed. Lynn certainly believes in them. So does her father. And if they aren't real, Janice is a liar."

"Or crazy."

"I don't think she is. I don't think you are, either. But the beasts...they're all supposed to be dead."

"I know."

"They were all killed off in '79."

A corner of Warren's mouth tilted upward. "Were they?" he asked.

"It was a beast?"

"Maybe it was someone wearing a beast costume."

"Was it?"

"Why do you think I haven't stepped foot inside Beast House since the night it happened?"

"Oh, my God."

"And there's one other thing," Warren said. "Whatever it was that ripped me up that night...it...it molested me." He met Dana's eyes. "It pinned me down on the floor of the cellar and..."

Dana hurried over to him and took him into her arms.

He hugged her tightly.

He began to cry.

"It's all right," she whispered, stroking his back. "It's all right, honey. It's all right. Everything's fine."

Chapter Thirty-eight.

SANDY'S STORYJuly, 1992 Sandy knew something was wrong.

She hurt everywhere. She was lying on her back, but not on a bed. The hardness underneath her felt like a floor. A floor with a rug.

She felt as if someone had worked her over, inside and out. With a club. With teeth. With knives, maybe.

Then she remembered.

She opened her eyes and turned her head.

On the floor beside her were remains.

Terry. Oh, my God!

Grimacing and groaning as pains swarmed her from everywhere, Sandy sat up.

Parts of Terry were scattered around the room.

She started to sob.

It hurt very badly to cry.

Later, she forced herself to stand up.

Trying not to step on broken glass or pieces of Terry, she walked out of the room. She searched the cottage.

Eric seemed to be gone.

Of course he's gone, Sandy thought. After what he did...

He must've run away.

She needed to go after him.

Find him fast.

Take him home.

Or kill him.

Look what be did to my Terry!

Look what be did to me!

Fucking monster!

But she couldn't go searching for Eric like this.

She hurried into Terry's bathroom and started the shower and stood under it. The hot spray burnt her wounds. Blood streamed down her body.

She realized this was her second shower of the day. The earlier one, she'd taken with Eric. He'd been so sweet, so gentle...

How could be do this!

Maybe be thought he was saving me. The same as he saved me from Slade. Thought he was doing a good thing.

She did have a vague memory of crying out "No!" once or twice. Listening from out on the deck, maybe he'd misunderstood and charged in to rescue her.

How did be get here in the first place?

In the bed of the pickup, she thought. No other way seemed possible. She was certain he hadn't been there when she'd left the cabin or when she'd opened the gate. But maybe after she'd shut it. Maybe he'd been hiding in the trees, waiting for her to climb back into the driver's seat and get the truck moving. Then he'd rushed over and leaped into the back. That section of road was so bumpy that she wouldn't have felt anything unusual.

He wanted a ride into town.

Or maybe he just bad to find out what I was doing. How come I was leaving him two days in a row? I'd never done it before. What was so special that I couldn't wait?

Terry was so special.

DAMN IT!.

If only she'd stayed home.

Or never met Terry at all, so he would still be alive.

Or never given birth to Eric.

No, don't wish that.

I do! I do! I wish he'd never been born!

He was just trying to...

It had nothing to do with rescuing me, she suddenly realized. It was spite. It was jealousy.

He needs me all to himself.

After the shower, Sandy got blood on the towel.

She had so many wounds from the broken glass and Eric's claws and teeth that it seemed pointless to worry about bandages.

None seemed to be bleeding seriously, anyway. Just leaking a little.

Besides, some of the injuries were where she wouldn't be able reach them. On her back. Or inside.

In Terry's bedroom, she put on a pair of his briefs and a T-shirt. They clung to the moisture of her skin and the seepage from her injuries.

In the living room, she picked up the skirt and blouse that she'd worn from home. No blood showed on them, so she put them on over the T-shirt and briefs. Then she stepped into her sneakers. She found her purse near the door and slipped its strap over her shoulder.

It was heavy with the weight of her pistol.

Turning around, she gazed at the ruin of Terry's living room. And the dismembered remains of his body.

She had already made up her mind to leave everything in place.

No point in trying to clean the mess or destroy evidence.

Sure, the cops would realize Terry had been with a woman.

But there was no crime in that.

No woman had done this to him.

No man had done this to him, either.