Chapter Text
Theresa was beyond tired. She hadn’t been sleeping very well lately—too many weird, creepy dreams of things chasing her and sand in her shoes—and she’d finally volunteered to take first watch for Barbara, to make sure that no one tried to hurt them or steal their stuff. Barbara had slept right through the point where they normally switched, and Theresa hadn’t the heart to wake her, especially if she probably wasn’t going to sleep anyway.
It was the early morning now—the sun just barely edging over the horizon, a faint light-polluted orange glow spilling in through the car window. Barbara was still asleep, tucked into her worn pink sleeping bag, fingers dug into one seam so hard a little bit of stuffing was poking out of the seam. She’d always had horrible dreams, but Theresa didn’t want to wake her—not with how little sleep she’d been getting, lately, so she just tucked her girlfriend closer to herself, stroking her dull blond hair.
What a bloody anniversary, huh?
She wanted to give her spark the world—hell, she would have settled for giving her the keys to a little apartment, or, even more fantastically, a lease for the smoothie shop they’d both dreamed of, as younger, dumber kids, but neither of them were old enough to sign the paperwork, and with only one of them employed, it was doubtful they could make NYC rent, anyway. Instead, she’d settle for trying to get enough money busking to buy them lunch at that taco place they loved, the little Taco Loco food truck downtown that always pulled up by Central Park in the afternoons.
They’d been extraordinarily lucky, lately. Lucky enough to be able to wash all of their clothes, and get a nice, rooftop parking spot so they could see the sun in the morning, and afford a gym membership—oh, that was right, she’d wanted to get Barbara some of that good conditioner for their anniversary. Romantic, it was not, but her hair always suffered when she didn’t have the good stuff to wash it, and even if Theresa still thought she was beautiful regardless of whether her hair was shiny or faded and rife with split-ends, her girl always got sadder when she couldn’t take care of it.
She should have gone out to get it earlier- she’d wanted it to be a surprise, but splitting up was always dangerous—someone had to stick with the car, given that they were living out of it, and it was bad enough being a homeless girl in a big city without being alone, too. So she hadn’t had the chance, and now it was June 7 (at least she thought, based on her tally) and it would be tacky to get a gift on the day.
She looked down at Barbara, brushing a kiss across her golden hair. Everything was going to go right today. It just had to. She would let her girlfriend sleep in (maybe it was a good thing the pizza place she worked had cut her hours) and then they would go to the gym, and then the library (where they’d read fun things, for once, instead of workshopping and reworking their resumes) and then spend the afternoon at the park. She’d saved up money, too—11 dollars and 47 cents—and hopefully, if the stars aligned, she could get enough for stuffed doughnuts, too, if people liked her music. Her dad had always called her a little siren…
Barbara shifted, lashes flickering, muttering a protest as the morning light cast golden bars across her face.
She’d wake up soon, and since the girl was always hopeless before her coffee, Theresa got to work plugging her little electric kettle into the port that was supposed to be for charging your phone. Was it very effective? No. Did it manage to heat up just enough water for coffee and the occasional instant noodle pack? Yes. She waited until the water was as hot as it could get, and then decanted it into a mostly-clean thermos, the one with pink kittens curling around and around it in a repeating pattern. A few scoops of instant coffee, stirred in with her knife for lack of a better utensil, and it was just about ready.
“Hey wire,”
“Terry? Too early…”
“Sorry, I know,” Theresa said, “But we should probably be getting going before our ticket expires.”
“Hnrrg.”
Theresa smothered a smile.
“Here, let me,” she said, cranking the seat back out to street-appropriate verticality, and helping her girlfriend-burrito into a more upright position. Barbara was still all wrapped up in her sleeping bag—she always ran cold, even in the summer, and she liked the ridiculous thing too much to leave it before she had to.
“I was thinking we’d get in a workout and showers, and then go to the library and rent something stupidly indulgent,” she said, “And then maybe spend an afternoon at the park. I know I’ve got to do some busking with how Pizzaz Pizza’s been treating you, but we could still make a picnic out of it.”
“Sounds good,” Barbara said. Or at least that’s what Theresa thought she meant. What she actually said was “Soun’ goo’” between sleepy blinks, but that’s what Theresa got for trying to talk to her before 11 am. Theresa used the top of the center console to mix the horrible cinnamon roll creamer Barbara always liked into the coffee, and then handed the whole thermos to her girlfriend.
“Careful, it’s hot!”
Barbara, as always, ignored her, sucking in the hot liquid as fast as was feasibly possible. After a long, breathless slug, she looked up and blinked, sky blue eyes starting to clear. “Right. Good fuckin’ morning, girlie.”
Theresa grinned. “Now you’re awake. Did you hear anything of what I was saying?”
“Something about the gym? And then busking?”
“Yeah. And I was thinking we go to the library and rent something stupidly indulgent, you know? Instead of going there to study and work.”
“Hmm, sounds good to me. Also, happy anniversary!”
“Happy anniversary,” Theresa said, deliriously happy even with her mostly-empty stomach and exhaustion-weighted limbs.
“So what are you waiting for?”
“What am I waiting for what?”
“Get over here and kiss me!”
Laughing, Theresa leaned over and did so, then pulled back, nose wrinkling. “I’ve got to get you to try some other flavor of creamer one of these days. Cinnamon is a travesty.”
“Cinnamon's amazing! Besides, it was on clearance!”
“So was Triple Toffee Delight, and I don’t see you getting that.”
“Toffee is a horrible confection straight from hell’s testing chamber. I’m not getting toffee, ‘triple delight or not’.”
Theresa giggled, unable to help herself. “Yeah, ok. Maybe next time there’ll be coconut or something.”
“Coconut…” Barbara sighed, a flicker of wistfulness falling across her face. “Yeah, maybe. Anyway. You were saying we should hit the gym?”
“Yeah, might as well. I could kill for a shower, and I know you probably would too.”
They headed out of the parking garage—thankfully without their ticket having expired—and drove downtown, stopping at a Bargain Mart for some granola bars that passed for breakfast (and some Pink Sugar Dream conditioner that Theresa snuck out in her bra, as a gift) and took turns doing reps until they were exhausted and sweaty and their already-empty stomachs felt emptier. Then they showered, and, now smelling of pink sugar (and giggling a little) they drove to the library, and then the park.
It was, by all accounts, a wonderful day—clear, without a scatter of rain or even cloud, but still comfortably cool, and Theresa had sung her heart out over her ukulele, collecting tips and winking at Theresa every time she played one of their songs.
Then they’d gotten street food. In the early evening, flush with an unusually large number of tips, Theresa turned the car around, heading towards the In-And-Out to gas up the car. It was as they were coming out of the place, gas paid for and Barbara holding a lime slushy they were supposed to split, that everything went horribly wrong.
Their first indication that something was up was when the car wouldn’t start. They didn’t generally have car trouble, since Theresa could fix the thing up easily enough, and it had just been gassed, while they shouldn’t have had to worry about new oil or a new battery for quite some time.
But it wouldn’t start, just sat there, dead on the tarmac, like a particularly recalcitrant rock. Theresa had just sat back, grabbing her girlfriend’s hand and resigning herself to going over to ask one of the truckers lingering at the other side of the gas station if they knew what was going on when they heard a little girl’s scream for help.
All thoughts of the car flew out of Theresa’s head. She’d seen the kind of shit that went down on the streets, and she couldn’t stand by. Not now. She dug in her pocket, looking for her knife. It still had a coffee stain on it from that morning- she hadn’t had a chance to wash it—but it’d do. Maybe the coffee would make it even more painful when she got to whatever sick bastard was hurting a kid.
“Terry!” Barbara protested, grabbing onto her. A spark of static electricity zapped Theresa through her cardigan.
Theresa stopped. “Look me in the eye and say I shouldn’t help.”
Barbara sighed. “I’m coming with.”
The two of them ducked into the alley beside the In-and-Out.
Another cry.
“Help me!” the voice repeated.
There was something wrong about it, but Theresa couldn’t put her finger on it. The two of them crept closer to the end of the alley, down to where sightlines were obscured by a big pile of crates and rubbish. That was where the voice was emanating.
They walked by the piles, and by the dumpster. Nothing, although the noise was louder than ever. Then, at the end of the alley, besides a big spray-painted display declaring, in lurid stylized pink and green and brilliant blue to ‘fuck the system’, they turned around.
The kid had to be behind the crates, right? Or—god forbid—in the dumpster?
But something was wrong.
Now that Theresa got closer, she could hear an odd kind of rhythmic clack-clack sound, accompanying the whimpering and crying.
Barbara tugged at her. “Terry. That voice,” she whispered. A split second before they found the cause, Theresa realized what was wrong. The voice didn’t sound natural, but almost recorded, identical in its chilling repetition.
She’d heard stories of serial killers, recording babies’ crying or women’s screams to get would-be helpers into their clutches. Was this what was going on?
As it turned out, the reality was much, much weirder.
It was not a little girl. It wasn’t even an axe murderer. It was a, well, the only word Theresa could think to use to describe it was ‘a thing’.
It was an animal almost horse-height, with a leonine body and horsey hooves, and a tail that might have been equine if it hadn’t been lashing back and forth like a particularly fucked up cat’s. And its head. Well, its head was sort of leonine and sort of wolfish, save for its enormous front teeth, which clacked together, over and over.
“Help me!” It said, between clackings, beady red eyes fixed on the two girls. Then, it charged.
Theresa immediately yanked Barbara behind her—there was no room to run, with the end of the alley to their backs. Barbara yelped as she hit the dingy concrete wall, digging in her backpack for pepper spray—like that would work, on a monster—and Theresa, trembling, braced for impact, ready to stab the thing as it lunged.
Her knife broke on its cherry red fur.
Barbara ducked around her, spraying at its eyes and mouth, and the creature backed up, frothing. “Help me!” It wailed again, snapping and clicking. “Mommy! Daddy!”
Theresa had the horrible feeling that it wasn’t just using that voice as a lure, but that it was some kind of mimetic creature, which repeated the last words of its prior victims.
“Hand me the pepper spray,” Theresa hissed. “I’ll try to hold it off—you run!”
“Are you kidding me?! I’m not going to leave you to die!”
“I’m not going to die!” Theresa said, but she could taste the lie, bitter on her lips. Even if the pepper spray seemed to have stopped it for a little bit, it was still frothing and snapping and right between them and safety, and there wasn’t much spray left in the can after the incident in April. Theresa was pretty good with a knife, so they hadn’t exactly wanted to put “pepper spray refill” on the shopping list when they could barely afford food and laundry bills.
Her thoughts drifted back to the little smoothie shop they’d wanted to open, to her dad, absent though he might be, even to Barbara’s horrible grandparents. Would it have been better for her to stay with them, and have them try to “pray her gay away” and tell her that the weird things—big, one-eyed men, angry geese with golden beaks, snake people, fucked up dogs—that they’d always seen was proof that Satan was courting them? At least she’d be alive.
Theresa was fruitlessly pumping at the aerosol can of pepper spray when, all at once, the alley got even darker. The monster started shaking uncontrollably, and then its eyes started to bleed. And then, with unnerving abruptness, it dissolved into powdery yellow sand.
There was something else in the alley, and although it looked human, Theresa could tell in the deepest parts of her being that whatever it was, it wasn’t even close.
“Hello,” the thing said, in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Are you two ok?”