Prototype by Brian Hodge

Author:Brian Hodge
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Horror, Fiction
ISBN: 9780440216285
Publisher: Dell
Published: 1996-01-02T07:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

The next day was Thanksgiving, bringing a fine snow that fell for hours in a lazy windless drift. The invitation came from Nina the night before. They usually convened for the major holidays, she told Sarah, because with families elsewhere or estranged or both, they were all the family any of them had.

"Do you want to go?" Sarah asked Adrienne.

"You do, don't you?"

"Well … I guess," trying not to sound too eager, and it hit Adrienne just right, and she began to laugh at such poorly feigned nonchalance, the first real laugh she'd turned loose in a week. Sarah smiled broadly, the inadvertent savior.

"Sure, why not," Adrienne said. "I can't think of anything more depressing than sitting around here and trying to pretend it's just another day."

"That's the Pilgrim spirit."

Nina and Twitch lived in a third-floor walk-up on the fringes of Capitol Hill, above a twenty-four-hour copy shop. They gathered at half past noon, and Sarah quickly sized up that tradition played little role in their celebration, if it could be called that at all — pretty much as she had anticipated. They gave no thanks, offering no prayers because, she surmised, none had much faith that prayers were heard. The menu was piecemeal, each contributing some culinary specialty or two: Uncle Twitch's chili of flaming torments, Nina's baked Jamaican salt-fish and a vegetable stir-fry, couscous and baklava for dessert from Erin. Graham not only brought a Greek salad, but furnished the centerpiece as well, a papier-mâché turkey nailed to a cutting board and opened as if dissected, body cavity stuffed with Monopoly money.

"He makes a different one every year," explained Erin as she circled it with her video camera.

"I'm glad to see he's back in form," said Twitch. "Last year was a disappointment. An Indian drowning in a pumpkin pie, what the hell was that all about?" He waved his arms in spastic confusion.

Graham stood smoking by the window, staring down three floors to a deserted street. "How many times do I have to explain this to you, Twitch? It wasn't pumpkin, it was shit. Who ever heard of putting corn in pumpkin pie?"

"Shit, my ass," said Twitch. "It came out of a can with a label, said Libby's, right on it."

"That's why I put the corn in, idiot, so you could tell the difference." Graham fumed with smoke and friendly disgust. "Give you a simple historical metaphor and it's like you're still lost in a forest."

Erin turned her camera on Uncle Twitch, telling Sarah and Adrienne, "He's just still pissed 'cause he cut a piece and tried to eat it."

Twitch frowned, grumbling. "Well, the least he could've done was baked the thing."

"That's when we took a vote," said Nina, touching Adrienne on the wrist. "No more organic centerpieces."

Conspicuous by his absence was Clay, and at least this group was traditional in one respect: They spent much time talking of the one who had failed to make it to the table this year. No one knew what he was

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