"They understand it better than any adult you know would. This will get
better on its own, Marci. Look." He wiggled his thumb at her. It was now
the size of the tip of his pinky, and had a well-formed nail and
cuticle.
"That's not all that has to get better," she said. "You can't just let
this fester. Your brother. That *thing* in the cave..." She shook her
head. "Someone needs to know about this. You're not safe."
"Promise me you won't tell anyone, Marci. This is important. No one
except you knows, and that's how it has to be. If you tell --"
"What?" She got up and pulled her coat on. "What, Alan? If I tell and
try to help you, what will you do to me?"
"I don't know," he mumbled into his chest.
"Well, you do whatever you have to do," she said, and stomped out of the
cave.
#
Davey escaped at dawn. Kurt had gone outside to repark his old Buick,
the trunk bungeed shut over his haul of LCD flat panels, empty
laser-toner cartridges, and open gift baskets of pricey Japanese
cosmetics. Alan and Davey just glared at each other, but then Davey
closed his eyes and began to snore softly, and even though Alan paced
and pinched the bridge of his nose and stretched out his injured arm, he
couldn't help it when he sat down and closed his eyes and nodded off.
Alan woke with a start, staring at the empty loops of duct tape and
twine hanging from his captain's chair, dried strings of skin like
desiccated banana peel fibers hanging from them.
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