Terrorscape Read Online Free PDF Page A

perfect
balance, coaxing cruelty. When he kissed her with that
mouth, she lost all reason. When he used it elsewhere,
she lost her mind.
    “Because I want to be controlled,” she gasped.
The sensations, while not exact, were just close
enough to reality that her body remembered—
“Because you need to be controlled.”
    There was a light emphasis on the word need , and
she strained, grasping, for consciousness that was just
out of reach….
    He pushed; her world fragmented into dozens of
sharp, cutting shards, shedding the salty blood and
saltier tears that ringed the bitter cocktail of her
despair. She was caterpillar and butterfly both, caught
in a cocoon of raw nerves and open sores; she was
insanity, wrapped up in the thin, transient layers of a
temporary lucidity; and she was afraid, because an
innate desire lay in the bottom reaches of her psyche
for the very poison that was killing her.
    And then the dream exploded into a mental fog,
and Mary was shaking her, as pale as her dark
complexion allowed for, and Val was awake, and her
heart was like a cannon in her chest.
    “Val—Val! Wake up! You're having a bad dream.”
Val heaved and wondered if she would puke.
Mary, clearly wondering the same, said, warily,
“Are you gonna be all right?”
    “Yeah.” Val closed her eyes. “I'll be fine.” She
rubbed the ring on her hand her parents had given
her as a parting gift. Supero omnia . “Time to go?”
Still looking at her strangely, Mary said, “Yeah,
time to go. Come on.”
     
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
    Mary turned out to have three sisters—Florence,
Angelica, and Cherish. Each of them were as brightlyattired and effusive in greeting as their youngest
sister, and Val felt a bit as if she were being mobbed
by a flock of friendly tropical birds. They insisted she
call them Flo, Angel, and Cherry, respectively.
    “Our mother reads too many romance novels,”
one of them—it might have been Angel, Val wasn't
sure—said,
causing
the
other
three
to
nod
in
solidarity. “That's how come our names are so—”
    “—dramatic—”
“—cheesy—”
“—soap-opera-ish—”
“All of the above,” Angel said.
“Memaw likes her bodice-rippers.”
“Not just romances, but bodice rippers . There's a
difference, you know.”
     
“Oh,” said Val, who didn't know.
     
“She says they just don't write the love-scenes like
they used to,” Cherry said, rolling her eyes.
     
“'Cause they're not politically correct.”
     
“So we hear you're coming out to dinner with us
tonight,” said Flo. “Hope you like sushi.”
     
“I love sushi,” said Angel.
     
“Well, I wasn't asking you know, was I? I was
asking Val, here.”
     
“Sushi's…okay.”
    “This sushi is better than okay. Have you ever
been to Tabemono before? You have to go to Japan for
better sushi. Or Seattle.”
“Val's not from around here,” Mary said. “This is
her first day—okay?”
    “You're awfully pale for such dark hair,” Angel
said, “and those freckles! Girl, you are whiter than
chalk. Hey Flo, doesn't she look like one of them
china dolls?”
    Flo squinted at her. “You ever consider dyeing it?
I've seen lots of girls try it, but you could totally rock
the redhead look, no problem.”
“Leave her alone,” Mary said, seeing Val's face
blanch. “She's going to think I'm crazy or something.”
“She should think you're crazy—you are .”
    A friendly tussle ensued on the walk through the
parking lot. Mary cried out, “You're going to mess up
my hair!” but laughingly as braids were tugged and
arms were slapped.
    Val, bringing up the rear, shoved her hands into
the pockets of her dress. She felt fourteen again,
awkward and unsure: an island of loneliness.
    The food at Tabemono was delicious, but the
flavors seemed to reach her tongue through several
layers of rubber. She ate mechanically with her
chopsticks, nodding in all the right places and
answering all the questions directed at her. She