wall; that wall was the night sky and the lightless expanse of the deep,
cold sea.
Candy moved along the high hedge, until he sensed that he had reached
the place where Frank had stood. He held up both big hands, letting the
wind-fluttered leaves tremble against his palms, as if the foliage might
impart to him some psychic residue of his brother’s brief visit.
Nothing.
Parting the branches, he peered through the gap at the house, which
looked larger at night than it really was, as if it had eighteen or
twenty rooms instead of ten. The front windows were dark; along the
side, toward the back, where the light was filtered through greasy
chintz curtains, a kitchen window was filled with a yellow glow. But
for that one light, the house might have appeared abandoned. Some of
the Victorian gingerbread had warped and broken away from the eaves. The
porch roof was sagging, and a few railing balusters were ken, and the
front steps were swaybacked. Even by the mere light of the low crescent
moon, he could see the house needed painting; bare wood, like glimpses
of dark bone, showed many places, and the remaining paint was either
peeling translucent as an albino’s skin.
Candy tried to put himself in Frank’s mind, to imagine Frank kept
returning. Frank was afraid of Candy, and he had reason to be. He was
afraid of his sisters, too, and of all memories that the house held for
him, so he should have stayed away. But he crept back with frequency,
in search of something-perhaps something that even he did not understand
Frustrated, Candy let the branches fall together, retraced his steps
along the hedge, and stopped at one gate post, then other, searching for
the spot where Frank had fended off cats and smashed Samantha’s skull.
Though far milder than it had been earlier, the wind nevertheless had
dried blood that had stained the stones, and darkness hid the residue
Still, Candy was sure he could find the killing place. He gently
touched the pilaster high and low, on all four faces, if he expected a
portion of it to be hot enough to sear his hand. But though he
patiently traced the outlines of the rough stones and the mortar seams,
too much time had passed; even his exceptional talents could not extract
his brother’s lingering and He hurried along the cracked and canted
walkway, out the chilly night and into the stiflingly warm house again,
i the kitchen, where his sisters were sitting on the blankets the cats’
corner. Verbina was behind Violet, a comb in hand and a brush in the
other, grooming her sister’s flat hair.
Candy said, “Where’s Samantha?”
Tilting her head, looking up at him perplexedly, Violet said, “I told
you. Dead.”
“Where’s the body?”
“Here,” Violet said, making a sweeping gesture with hands to indicate
the quiescent felines sprawled and curled around her.
“Which one?” Candy asked. Half of the creatures were still that any of
them might have been the dead one.
“All,” Violet said.
“They’re all Samantha now.” Candy had been afraid of that. Each time
one of them died, the twins drew the rest of the pack into a circle,
placed the corpse at the center, and without speaking commanded the
living to partake of the dead.
“Damn,” Candy said.
“Samantha still lives, she’s still a part of us,” Violet said. Her
voice was as low and whispery as before, but dreamier than usual.
“None of our pussies ever really leaves us. Part of him… or her…
stays in each of us… and we’re all stronger because of that, stronger
and purer, and always together, always and forever.”
Candy did not ask if his sisters had shared in the feast, for he already
knew the answer. Violet licked the corner of her mouth, as if
remembering the taste, and her moist lips glistened; a moment later
Verbina’s tongue slid across her lips too.
Sometimes Candy felt as if the twins were members of an entirely
different species from him, for he could seldom fathom their attitudes
and behavior. And when they looked at him Verbina, in perpetual
silence-their faces and eyes revealed nothing of their thoughts or