By the light of the moon Read Free Page A

human host, imprisoning the mind, using the body as
its own; these creatures were apparently slimy and nasty, but Jilly
was comforted as she listened to Parish and his audience discuss
them. Even if brain leeches were real, which she didn't believe for
a minute, at least she could understand them: their genetic
imperative to conquer other species, their parasitic nature. On the
other hand, human evil rarely, if ever, came with a simple
biological rationale.
    Fred lacked a brain that might serve as a leech condominium, so
he could enjoy the program without any qualms whatsoever regarding
his personal safety.
    Jilly expected to be refreshed by the dinner stop, but when she
finished eating, she was no less weary than when she had exited the
interstate. She'd been looking forward to an additional four-hour
drive across the desert to Phoenix, accompanied part of the way by
Parish Lantern's soothing paranoid fantasies. In her current logy
condition, however, she was a danger on the highway.
    Through the windshield, she saw a motel across the street. 'If
they don't allow pets,' she told Fred, 'I'll sneak you in.'

3
    High-speed jigsaw is a pastime best undertaken by an
individual who is suffering from subtle brain damage and who
consequently is afflicted by intense and uncontrollable spells of
obsession.
    Shepherd's tragic mental condition usually gave him a surprising
advantage whenever he turned his full attention to a picture
puzzle. He was currently reconstructing a complex image of an
ornate Shinto temple surrounded by cherry trees.
    Although he'd started this twenty-five-hundred-piece project
only shortly after he and Dylan checked into the motel, he had
already completed perhaps a third of it. With all four borders
locked in place, Shep worked diligently inward.
    The boy – Dylan thought of his brother as a boy, even
though Shep was twenty – sat at a desk, in the light of a
tubular brass lamp. His left arm was half raised, and his left hand
flapped continuously, as though he were waving at his reflection in
the mirror that hung above the desk; but in fact he shifted his
gaze only between the picture that he was assembling and the loose
pieces of the puzzle piled in the open box. Most likely, he didn't
realize that he was waving; and certainly, he couldn't control his
hand.
    Tics, rocking fits, and other bizarre repetitive motions were
symptoms of Shep's condition. Sometimes he could be as still as
cast bronze, as motionless as marble, forgetting even to blink, but
more often than not, he flicked or twiddled his fingers for hours
on end or jiggled his legs, or tapped his feet.
    Dylan, on the other hand, had been so securely taped to a
straight-backed chair that he couldn't easily wave, rock, or
twiddle anything. Inch-wide strips of electrician's tape wound
around and around his ankles, lashing them tightly to the chair
legs; additional tape bound his wrists and his forearms to the arms
of the chair. His right arm was taped with the palm facing down,
but his left palm was upturned.
    A cloth of some kind had been wadded in his mouth when he'd been
unconscious. His lips had been taped shut.
    Dylan had been conscious for two or three minutes, and he hadn't
connected any pieces of the ominous puzzle that had been
presented for his consideration. He remained clueless as to who had
assaulted him and as to why.
    Twice when he'd tried to turn in his chair to look toward the
twin beds and the bathroom, which lay behind him, a rap alongside
the head, delivered by his unknown enemy, had tempered his
curiosity. The blows weren't hard, but they were aimed at the
tender spot where earlier he had been struck more brutally, and
each time he nearly passed out again.
    If Dylan had called for help, his muffled shout wouldn't have
carried beyond the motel room, but it would have reached his
brother less than ten feet away. Unfortunately, Shep wouldn't
respond either to a full-throated scream or to a whisper. Even on
his best days, he seldom