Every cell in her body has its own individual o.r.g.a.s.m, over and over. The dingy bas.e.m.e.nt has colors that have never existed anywhere in the universe before this moment. The tiny sounds of mice and roaches inside the walls echo like a beautiful concerto. The world is full and vibrant and alive again. More than ever.

"Sara? What're you doing? The ceremony's about to start!"

"Yeah, I know. But, um, it looks like I don't have to do it."

Angie sighed into the phone. "Another punishment? You don't get to go to graduation because you didn't do the laundry on time or something?"

"Dunno. Maybe. All I know is there's n.o.body here now. They didn't tell me anything."

"Oh. They probably just forgot, then."

"Yeah, probably. It's all right, though. You know I'd rather stay home than have all those eyes on me. This is much better."

Neither girl spoke for a moment.

"I'm wearing my graduation gown here at home, though," Sara said. So it's almost like I'm there."

"Well, keep it on. You can wear it out to the parties tonight. We're going to meet at Matt Thompson's house, right?"

"Yeah. I can walk over there. You're going to get there at nine, right? I can't go alone if I don't know you're there."

"We'll be there."

"Can you put Josh on the phone?"

"He was around a minute ago but then his family mobbed him and dragged him off someplace. I'm not sure where he is right now."

"Oh. Well, I'll see you both at the party, then."

"I don't have any ammonia at home," she said.

"Don' need it. You can use baking soda." He rummaged around in a box of junk next to the table. "Here. Li'l present..."

He handed her a pipe and a can of ether.

Her face slackened in grat.i.tude. Something inside her mind tried to scream, sickened by her reaction.

She stuffed the gla.s.s pipe into her purse on top of the ounce she'd bought- at substantial discount over what Alexander would have charged ...

But there's a reason for that, isn't there? A whole night with him? And a whole day pa.s.sed out? And you're proud of a discount? You're a wh.o.r.e, Princess.

The large rectangular can of ether dangled from her hand as she carefully made her way down the darkened sidewalk.

Freebase had to dry under a heat lamp for twenty-four hours before it could be smoked. Renfield wouldn't mind sharing his red bulb for a little while.

Sara couldn't feel her face. Even most of her body was numb. She leaned on the sprayer, trying to focus. Brian came up with a load of dishes, walking sort of like a cowboy.

"You look tired," he said. "Here." He handed her a stick of gum. "That'll perk you right up. Ginseng gum, all the way from Korea."

She unwrapped the stick and popped it in her mouth. "Mmm. Tastes like sugary dirt."

"Yeah, you won't be laughing when it kicks in. Once you feel it, then you'll know."

She put her hand on top of her head. "Will I get bigger or smaller?"

He sneered at her, adjusting his pants and arching his back.

"Sorry," she said, chewing. "I guess I'm just used to stuff that, you know ... does something. Anyway, what's the matter with you?" she asked, shifting to lean on the front of the sink. "Haven't gotten paid to s.h.i.t yet?"

Brian lifted the edge of his black T-shirt. A wrist-thick b.l.o.o.d.y slab wrapped in plastic nestled against his stomach, descending into his black pants. "Shhh!" he said. "Don't tell, okay? Don't tell. It's prime rib! I'm runnin' to my car, okay? If anyone looks for me, tell 'em I'm out smoking." He shuffled toward the back door. "Gonna have me a prime rib party!"

"Sara!" Terry called from over by the stove. "We're running out of olive oil. Get some from the storeroom." She stared. He flicked his fingers at her like he was trying to shoo away a squirrel. "Now!"

She lumbered into the storeroom. There was an open case of olive oil. She grabbed one of the big plastic jugs. Someone had written on it: a.s.s lube. Use on Neil's Dad.

Twenty-three hours. Close enough to twenty-four. Close enough.

Iggy had said to let it dry for twenty-four hours. But she'd been staring at the crystals and suffering, snorting line after useless line for something like two hours.

Close enough.

The ether made her room smell like a hospital. Would someone smell it? Maybe call the police?

She laughed. If anything brings the police, it'll be Joe's wallet.

Breathing heavily to load up on oxygen was easy. Holding the pipe, loaded with crystals, made her breathe hard anyway. It made her want to dance. To giggle with glee. To take over the world.

Her hands trembled. She flicked the lighter, warming the bowl and drawing in the fumes. A little tendril of lost vapor danced above the bowl as she removed the pipe from her lips, setting it down next to the lighter.

Moans. From somewhere. Somewhere inside me.

Another full-body o.r.g.a.s.m floods every cell. She sinks back into the red velvet couch, its fabric kissing and caressing her skin wherever it touches. Its little fuzzy hairs stick up from its fabric, now perfectly visible as if she is a tiny creature walking among them. The void inside her is finally filled.

Down in the darkest part of her, the trapped little Sara feels fine.

CHAPTER 12.

The Imp of a Vampire "JUST-A-COUPLE-more-weeks-till-we-graduate, Uh-uh-uh, uh-uh-uh-uh-uh," Angie sang along with Greg Kihn's Breakup Song. "Gonna-get-away-from-people-that-we-really-hate, Uh-uh-uh, uh-uh-uh-uh-uh."

Sara laughed, taking over. "Yeah-take-your-song-to-Stanford-it'll-be-a-hit, Uh-uh-uh, uh-uh-uh-uh-uh. But-you'll-never-be-a-rock-star-'cause-you-got-no-t.i.ts, Uh-uh-uh, uh-uh-uh-uh-uh!"

Angie laughed, gaping at Sara and giving her the finger. "b.i.t.c.h! Okay, you asked for it- "

The front door opened. Mummy swept into the house as her latest boyfriend's MG buzzed away down the street. Angie rolled her eyes and shook her head, disgusted.

Sara raised her palms off the kitchen table, silently pleading with Angie to calm down. The splint immobilizing her wrist felt heavier than it looked. Leaning closer to Angie, she whispered, "Just forget it. A few weeks 'till we're out of high school, and then I'll be free from this stuff."

Angie's eyes narrowed, but at least she stayed quiet as Mummy came into the kitchen.

"h.e.l.lo, girls," Mummy said as she carried herself majestically across the kitchen floor. Watching her walk always gave Sara the impression Mummy was entering a special reception where she was the guest of honor. She was tan; wherever she'd gone must've been tropical. Her gaze swept across both girls and the bowl of sticky Korean rice cakes between them on the table.

Mummy froze. Neither girl had said h.e.l.lo. Time stopped.

Turning in slow motion from one girl to the other, Mummy a.s.sessed the situation. She would never accept a gushing h.e.l.lo now; it was too late. Mummy peered into Angie's accusing eyes, and time stopped again.

Mummy spoke without taking her eyes away from Angie's. "Sara, I'm very tired from the flight. My bag is just inside the door. Please take it to my room."

Angie shook her head slowly. Threateningly. "I'm afraid she can't do that, Mrs. Usher."

Angie's voice made Sara's pulse pound. Was it her tone, or just the certainty that this encounter was about to turn explosive?

Mummy c.o.c.ked her head slightly. "What?" The word was not really a question. It felt more like an accusation.

"Sara sprained her wrist yesterday when she slipped and fell after school. At first we thought it was broken."

Actually, Sara had slipped at school. She'd brought a plastic bottle of vodka in her backpack to get her through reading her paper to her European history cla.s.s. After finishing the bottle she had slipped on the stairs, grabbing for the railing to keep from tumbling to the bottom. Her numb fingers had slid over the railing and her wrist had become wedged between it and the wall. When school got out two hours later, her wrist had swelled up to double its normal size.

"We tried to find you," Angie said, "but of course n.o.body knew where you were. Apparently you never told anyone where you were going when you left last week."

Mummy's eyes narrowed. "Well, it's lucky Sara's father is a doctor. I'm sure he took care of everything." Her eyes flicked across Sara's face. "Or at least he should have."

"No," Angie said. "We tried to call him, but n.o.body would tell us where he was. Sara said he was probably off boffing his mistress."

Mummy nodded. "Probably."

"So my mom took us to the hospital. They took some x-rays and found it was just sprained. But n.o.body knew your insurance information, so my mom paid the bill."

Mummy raised her eyebrows. "Sounds like a trip to the hospital wasn't necessary in the first place." She turned to Sara, her gaze piercing all the strength Angie had tried building up in her. "Was it, Sara?"

Sara swallowed, mute.

"Yes, it was. And my mother expects to be paid back, Mrs. Usher."

Tears streamed down Mummy's twisting, darkening face.

"Oh, I bet she does. She has a lot of nerve, trying to make me look like a bad mother in front of the whole community, rushing my daughter to the hospital at the first opportunity! Well, if she wants to play savior to someone, she can find somebody else's kid, especially when there's nothing wrong with Sara! But your mother doesn't have half the gall you do, you little brat! How many times have you been a guest in this house? You come over here, you sit around, you eat, and now you and your mother try to convince my daughter that she needs you to save her? I-"

"Eat?" Angie asked, gesturing at the rice cakes. "Oh, do you mean these? I brought these from home, like I do so often, since most of the time you don't feel responsible to make sure your daughter even has food! So you know what? We did have to save her. We saved her from you! Somebody had to do it."

Mummy was crying for real now but her face was still twisted with rage. She took a ragged, moaning breath, turning to Sara, playing the victim again.

"Is that how you feel, Sara? That you had to be saved from me? That I don't provide for you? After all I've done?" The rage faded into a kind of self-pitying blankness but Sara recognized that look: The rage was right there under the surface, waiting to come rushing back. Sara's entire life had been spent desperately trying to avoid that rage. Her response was automatic.

"No, Mummy," Sara heard herself whisper.

Angie turned to face her.

"Sara, don't let me down, here," Angie said. "This is your chance to make it right. If you're ever going to-"

"I think she's heard quite enough from you, you manipulative Chinese b.i.t.c.h!" Mummy yelled. The rage was back again, twice as strong now that it was fueled with Sara's stolen strength. "I will not have someone in my house trying to turn my own daughter against me with vicious, hurtful lies!"

Mummy turned away from the girls, crossing the kitchen in three gliding steps and grabbing the phone. "Get out!" she said. "Get out now! If you are not out that door right now, I will dial 9-1-1 and tell the police you are an intruder in this house."

Even Angie's eyes were filled with angry tears now. "I'm not an intruder," she said through clenched teeth. "I am Sara's guest here, and you know it."

Sara's mother turned to Sara, her face slackening into a vacant thousand-yard stare that tore right through her. Sara felt herself shrinking, shrinking. "Is that true, Sara?"

Sara gaped at the table, her face dripping tears and snot and drool. The little Sara in her mind curled into a fetal position.

A loud sound brought her back to herself a little bit. Sara was alone in the kitchen. Her mother was probably upstairs. That bang must've been Angie slamming the door on her way out.

Her shoulders ached. She flinched, tensing up and locking her knees as Iggy's belt made another stripe on her back. Her clothes were piled in the corner, replaced only with the rope around her wrists and the filthy pillowcase over her head.

The buzzer sounded. Someone was upstairs. Certainly Iggy would ignore it ...

His feet shuffled over to the intercom. He clicked the b.u.t.ton, listening without speaking.

"Luke," the speaker said. It was Neil's voice. Iggy buzzed the door.

Sara bent her elbows, squirming and pulling against the rope, but it held fast to whatever he'd attached it to above her head. "Let me down," she said, pulling again. "He's coming. Let me down."

The belt cut across her stomach, the pain more intense than it had been on her back because she hadn't been expecting it. "Shut up," Iggy said. His voice sounded bored.

Knocks. Iggy called out. "What do you need?"

"A big one!" Neil's voice said.