"Better is a poor and wise child than an old and foolish
king, who no longer knows how to take care of himself."
Ecclesiastes 4:13
Carrie skidded in to work twenty minutes late. Her hair was a mess, she was wearing the same clothes she had worn the night before, she was hurried and hustled, and grinning from ear to ear.
Laura laughed at the sight of her. "Someone got lucky."
Carrie waved her in and motioned for her to shut the door.
"My God, Laura!" Carrie sat down at her desk, and started digging through her purse looking for her comb and primping necessities. "It was amazing! Like nothing I've ever had before." If it was possible, an even more stupid grin came across her face. "And now I will say something that's going to make me sound like an utter lunatic, so you have to forget I ever said it. I know it's crazy, because I don't really even know her, but . . . I think I'm in love with that woman. It's such a lesbian cliché, to go out on one date and start saying you've met your soul mate, but I've never done it till now, I swear."
Carrie worked on making herself look presentable, and succeeded to a degree that made Laura want to hate her.
"I think that's great," Laura said. She couldn't wait to tell Tommy. He'd kept her up half the night, bitching at her for dragging him into that shit. Complaining that his poor partner had looked like a deer caught in headlights. Tommy had refused to back down even when she had reminded him that they had left together and no one was holding a gun to anyone's head. She couldn't wait to tell him that she was right and he had been wrong.
Carrie stood up, took off her suit jacket, and straightened out her shirt. Then she rolled her skirt so that it was at least two inches shorter. "So, does it look like a different outfit?"
Laura nodded in appreciation. "You do this a lot?"
Carrie smiled. "Never for such a good reason."
"Tommy's a little bent over the whole thing. He knew Spider was gay, but he didn't know, if you know what I mean. Now he's afraid they'll have to have a conversation which gets beyond 'Uh huh' and 'want another beer'."
Carrie laughed. "I don't think he needs to worry about it. If she hasn't talked to him about it before, it's not likely that she's going to start now. Well . . . I'd love to talk for hours and hours, but I'm late already. So bring me the McGillicutty files and lots and lots of coffee."
Tommy didn't know why he let her drive. It was almost better when she was depressed and sleep deprived. She zipped in and out of traffic, humming tunelessly until finally he couldn't stand it anymore.
"OK! All right already," Tommy said, throwing up his hands. "So did you do the DA?"
"Assistant DA," Spider grinned wildly, and Tommy growled back, so she answered his question. "Many, many times. Then I slept, really slept, for the first time in weeks. Then I woke up and we did it again."
"So the 'my life sucks, it's always sucked, and it's always going to suck' of yesterday is now behind us?"
"Right now they could drop a bomb on the hood of this car, and I'd say look at all the pretty colors."
Tommy laughed, shook his head, and changed the subject. "So, have you given up your teacher, fire starter, family man theory?"
"Nope, that was not merely a delusional thing caused by my depression."
Their comlinks buzzed and a message came through from central. This time the body was in an alley again.
Barney Jones had not been a nice man. He'd been busted three times for selling narcotics to minors. Just six months ago they'd had to watch him squirrel his way out of a murder rap. The victim had been a sixteen-year-old girl that he'd gotten drunk. He'd been screwing her when she'd died of alcohol poisoning, and from the coroner's reports he hadn't stopped screwing her even then. Her genitals were all but mutilated by his constant pounding. They should have taken him out and hung him from his dick. Somehow he weaseled his way out of the murder rap and they convicted him of statutory rape, for which he had served a whole six months. Then the courts put him right back on the streets again. But he hadn't been out long when the Angel of Death had swooped down and microwaved his brain.
The coroner pulled back the sheet for Spider and Tommy.
"Ding dong the wicked witch is gone," Spider muttered, laughing a little. Even Tommy couldn't wipe the smile from his face.
"You know him?" the coroner asked.
"Barney Jones. A real low life, and a candidate for the hit parade," Tommy said and explained about the young woman whose life had been ended by him.
Spider was talking to the bartender. " . . . Strange Robby was here. He's the guy that picks up our weird trash. You know, the stuff the garbage guys won't take. He may have been out here when this happened."
"Why do they call him Strange Robby?" she asked curiously.
The bartender shrugged. "I don't know, they just do."
"Do you know where he lives?" Spider asked.
"Better than that; I got his card."
Spider followed the guy into the bar. It was a real dive. The people inside looked more like caricatures of scum than real people. The guy handed her the card, and she took it wishing she'd left her latex gloves on. One look at the card told her why they called him Strange Robby; the guy's real name was Robert Strange.
Spider was already in the driver's seat, so that meant Tommy had to ride shotgun again. Tommy slid into the car and closed the door. "Poor Barney Jones, couldn't happen to a nicer guy." He laughed. "I love this Fry Guy, Spider."
Spider nodded. "We got a potential witness. I figure if we talk to him we can maybe keep the Feds from doing it and finding something out."
Tommy nodded. "It may be wrong, but it sure feels right."
Robby was working in the shop, trying to fix an old refrigerator. Elvita and Duane played on the floor in front of him with some blocks he had made for them out of scraps from a construction site. He'd cut the wood into workable lengths, shaped some into cars and trucks and animals, and painted them with bright colors. No kids had ever enjoyed a set of Leggos any more than these two enjoyed their blocks. The skyscraper they were making looked wobbly at best.
When a deep but definitely female voice from the door asked, "Are you Robert Strange?" Robby jumped, and the blocks went crashing to the floor. The toddlers laughed, clapped their hands, and started construction all over again hardly taking notice of the new comers. After all, people were in and out of Robby's shop all the time.
Robby knew looking at them that they were police, and he swallowed hard. "I'm Robert, but most folks just call me Robby," he said wiping his hands on a shop rag as he scrambled to his feet. "How can I help you?"
"I'm detective Chan, this is detective Webb." They both showed their comlinks. "We're investigating a murder that took place behind Frank's Tavern. We were told you might have been out there at the time," Tommy said.
Robby was silent, watching the woman. She was watching the kids play. Then she looked at him. Looked him right in the eyes because they were exactly the same height. He saw the blood and the trenches, heard her anguished cries as she watched in horror as those around her died. Exhausted, wounded, running through streets filled with fire and explosions and death fighting a war she didn't really understand for a freedom that didn't really ever trickle down to her. Saw her righteous anger so strong. Like his, and yet not. She understood him. Hell, she was him, and as he was looking into her soul, she was looking into his. Even as his brown eyes were staring to her blue gray ones.
"Mr. Strange?" she asked in a quiet voice.
He looked away from her. "I didn't see anything," he told Tommy and shrugged. "I wasn't in the alley long. I got the trash and I left."
"Your kids?" the woman asked.
"No, my brother and sister. I take care of them. All of them, actually. There's seven all together," Robby said.
"That must be quite a job," the woman said.
"It keeps me out of trouble," Robby said with a smile. "I'm sorry I can't help."
The woman looked at him and smiled a big, friendly smile. "No problem. Thanks for your time."
Robby watched them go. That was it. They weren't going to ask him any more questions. He had thought someone was helping him, and now he was sure he knew who.
"What the hell was that all about?" Tommy asked.
"What?" Spider asked innocently.
"You bloody well know what! Back there, with the garbage man. I think he knew something, and you looked like you were fucking on another planet."
"Would if I could," Spider said with a smile. Then answered the puzzled look on her partner's face. "Fuck on another planet."
"Come on, Spider, you saw something. What the hell was it?"
"I didn't see shit," Spider said. "Just . . . well, didn't you ever meet someone that you felt you were destined to meet?"
Tommy thought about that and had to answer truthfully. "My old Jujitsu instructor, you, and Laura. But the black garbage man, Spider?"
She shrugged. "That's the way I felt; I think he felt it, too."
"What else, Spider? There was something else—something to do with the Fry Guy. What was it?"
"I think you're right. I think he does know more than he's letting on, and I think he's not talking for the same reason we're not."
She didn't tell him what she really thought. After all, they all wanted the same thing.
She got home late. She'd felt bad about not seeing Henry the day before, and so she had spent extra time with him. It had been a long day after a long night, and her butt was dragging out her tracks.
She walked in and froze; there was someone in her bed. Then she saw the briefcase and overnight bag and smiled. She was a little surprised by the wave of relief that swept over her. All day she had wondered if what had happened last night was even real. If it was, did Carrie really want to see her again or was it all in her head? How should she approach her? Did they have to start all over again at square one, or were they past that? Now she could start to relax.
Spider closed and locked the door behind her and walked over to the bed. She stood and just watched Carrie for a minute. In sleep, with all the stress of life washed from her face, she was—if possible—even more beautiful. Spider took off her shoes and crawled in beside Carrie, pleasantly surprised to find that she wasn't wearing any clothes. She took Carrie gently into her arms and as she stirred, kissed her on the back of her neck. Carrie stretched and rolled in her arms to face her in one fluid motion, and they kissed.
"So, who's this sleeping in my bed?" Spider asked, as their lips parted.
"Is it alright, or is it just too crazy for you?" Carrie asked. The confidence Spider had come to associate with Carrie's voice seemed to have temporarily departed. She was putting herself on the line, letting her emotions dictate her actions maybe for the first time in her life. Spider knew the feeling, it was like jumping out of a plane not having packed your own shoot, you just didn't know whether it was going to open or not.
"It's more than all right." Spider pulled her closer. "I like crazy, and you can surprise me like this any time."
"Can I . . . I mean . . . what are we doing? We hardly know each other . . . "
Spider held a finger against Carrie's lips. "We know each other." She moved her hand and held it palm open against Carrie's chest, over her heart. "In here we know each other. Finding you is like finding a piece of myself that I didn't know was missing."
Carrie melted into her arms as all fear of rejection left her.
Spider rummaged around the kitchen until she finally gave up and yelled, "Ramen soup, grilled cheese, or I could send out for pizza or Chinese."
"Chinese would be nice. Chicken Chow Mein?"
"Sounds good to me." Spider called the Chinese restaurant on the speed dial. She walked back into the living/bedroom where Carrie, wearing a skimpy black robe tied at the waist, was looking at Spider's books. Carrie pulled out one entitled History of the Paranormal and held it up.
"A little light reading?"
Spider took the book and put it back. "I like to read."
"Apparently so. Nothing fictional?"
"I don't have time to read the things I want and still read strictly for pleasure; if that makes any sense . . . I put on some tea." Spider walked over and sat down in her chair.
Carrie came over, sat in Spider's lap and wrapped her arms around her neck.
Spider laughed and held her close. "I'm not complaining, but when the food gets here I'm eating and going to sleep."
"Can I stay? Wake you up in the morning?" Carrie asked with a seductive smile.
Spider laughed. "You know I've never been a sex object before. I think I like it."
"I really don't hop into bed immediately with every woman I meet," Carrie defended.
"I know that," Spider said.
"You do, don't you?" Carrie said. It was obvious that she had something more in mind.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you do know. You're psychic . . . or something."
Spider laughed nervously. "Ah, come on, Carrie. You're an intelligent, professional woman . . . "
"Exactly, and part of my job is solving puzzles . . . Everyone has seen things in their lives that shouldn't have happened and did. I don't think you have to be an idiot to believe in the paranormal. I'm serious. You're psychic, aren't you? At very least you feel what I feel. That's why you're so good in bed."
"You think I'm good in bed?" Spider was very pleased.
"Please. You know you are. Don't try to change the subject. Are you psychic?"
Spider took in a deep breath. "Carrie there is no such . . . "
Carrie caught Spider's glance and held it. "Don't give me any shit, girl."
"Maybe . . . I don't know," Spider said with a shrug.
"Oh, how very, very noncommittal, Detective Webb. Yes or no?"
"I seem to know what people are . . . not thinking . . . but, what they're feeling. I seem to be more empathic than just about anyone else. It's not always a plus in a relationship, or in life for that matter."
"It's a plus as far as I'm concerned."
Carrie kissed Spider on the neck, then moved to her lips. When they parted Carrie looked deep into Spider's eyes.
"Do you know what I'm feeling now?" she asked in a low tone.
"Lust," Spider said with a smile.
"No," Carrie got up and moved to sit on the coffee table in front of Spider. "You don't really know me. If you did, you'd know that this is not like me. Begging to be set up with someone. Sleeping with a woman on the first date or coming back the next night and flashing my DA badge to get into her apartment. Waiting naked in her bed. I just don't do that. Or I didn't till I saw you. The first time I saw you I wanted . . . no, needed you. I needed to be with you. So I asked Laura to fix me up with you. I don't have any trouble getting dates."
"I didn't figure you did. I'm very flattered."
Carrie felt like there was a fist in her throat. She wasn't going to say it, but then it felt like it was choking her, and she said it before she really knew she was. "I . . . I know this sounds crazy . . . I love you."
Spider didn't hesitate. "I love you, too, and you're right, it is crazy."
They spent most of the night making love and talking.
Carrie rolled over and looked at the clock. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. She almost panicked before she remembered it was Saturday. She yawned, stretched, and rolled back over. When she saw that Spider wasn't there she was mildly annoyed. Spider walked out of the bathroom carrying her comlink, and it was then that she realized that it must have been Spiders comlink that had woke her up. Spider sat on the edge of the bed and let Carrie drape herself around her waist, which made them both happy.
" . . . Uh huh, uh huh . . . . You're fucking shitting me!"
Carrie jumped a little, startled by Spider's sudden outburst.
"Our serial killer . . . You're sure?" She sighed, obviously resigned. "OK I'll get dressed and meet you there." She closed transmission. "Fuck!"
"Have to go to work?" Carrie asked, unable to mask the disappointment in her voice.
Spider lay down on the bed and kissed her. "I'm sorry. Dammit, I could happily lay here all day." She got up and walked back into the bathroom.
"You have a serial killer?" Carrie asked carefully.
Spider poked her head back out the door. "You know the Fry Guy is one of our cases?" Stupid question, really. As the assistant DA, she no doubt knew as much about the case and who was on it as anyone. "He fries bad guys' brains in their heads, so I personally think we ought to be giving the guy a round of applause instead of trying to find, stop, and prosecute him. Anyway, that's one of our cases. Well, ours and the fucking Feds. He just broke his pattern. He killed a cop."
"Maybe the officer was on to him . . . "
"I doubt that. I think this guy has a very good sense of justice. I don't think he'd kill someone just because he was afraid of being caught. Maybe the cop was dirty. Maybe there's something we don't know about this cop, and that's why our boy killed him." Spider was waiting for Carrie to be appalled by the way she was talking about this killer, as if he were one of the good guys. But if she was upset, she sure as hell wasn't showing it.
"How would he know?" Carrie asked.
"Same way he knew the other guys were bad." Spider shrugged and went back into the bathroom.
"You think maybe he's an ex-cop?" Carrie asked, walking after Spider.
Spider shrugged, slipped out of her robe and turned the shower on. "Might be, but I doubt it." Spider screamed over the water.
Carrie had a thought.
Spider was scrubbing the last of the sex off her body when Carrie crawled in the shower with her. Spider laughed. "I have to go to work, Baby."
"This won't take long."
"Where the fuck were you?" Tommy asked.. Spider grinned stupidly, and Tommy shook his head. "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know."
Spider shrugged and walked into the crime scene. Officer Lambosto was lying in the middle of his shop floor. Fried-eyed just like the others. Spider looked around at the workbenches and tools and smiled. Five hundred dollar chain saw. New radial arm saw. Brand new motorbike.
"Why are you smiling?" Tommy asked. Then added in a whisper. "This guy was one of us. Maybe if we had done our jobs this killer would be off the streets right now. This is our fault."
"The guy's wife work?"
"How the hell would I know?" Tommy asked.
"Why would our boy change his pattern now?"
"Because this guy was on to him," Tommy answered.
"Oh, please! Like this blue jerk could figure out what neither we or the Feds could."
"We aren't really trying, remember?" Tommy said in a whisper. "It wouldn't be the first time a uniformed officer tried to get a promotion by cracking a really big case." He punched up Officer Lambosto's files. "See, he's tried to get a promotion to detective class three times."
"And he couldn't, so he went on the take. It wouldn't be the first time that has happened, either. Look around you. Look at this shit. He was a uniformed officer, so where's he getting the money to buy this crap?"
"God! I can't believe you. This guy is dead, and you're trying to fucking ruin his reputation to justify the actions of your precious serial killer."
"Our guy hasn't whacked anybody yet who didn't deserve it, why would he start now? Besides, he's our serial killer. I don't remember you bitching about him yesterday when he whacked Barney Jones."
"Barney Jones was the scum of the earth. This guy was a cop. Maybe Lambosto figured out who he was, and . . . "
"Lame, Tommy. Five will get you ten that if we start checking on this guy he's a low life just like all the others . . . "
"Spider, for God's sake! He's a cop."
"There is no reason for the Fry Guy to break his pattern, so either this stiff was a creep, or we've got another wacko with the same weapon."
"Detective Webb," one of the uniformed officers called. Spider walked to where he was. "Look at this, Sir." He pointed at something behind the workbench. "Looks like you were right."
"Five will get you ten that's the missing coke from last week's bust," Spider said.
"How the hell . . . " Tommy started.
"Elementary, my dear Chan. He was one of five people who went into the evidence locker on the day that the coke came up missing." She pulled up the information on her comlink. "This same locker came up short six months ago, but there was so little missing that they couldn't be sure it wasn't just a counting error. He's probably been doing it for awhile, just taking a little here and a little there."
"But he only signed into the evidence locker once, the computer . . . " Tommy noted.
"Is easier to get around than an attendant in a lot of ways. He could have gotten in without being logged in. It's not all that hard to do." Spider turned her attention back to the officer. "Good work. Take it down to the station and have it tested. See if it really is the stuff out of the evidence locker."
She turned to Tommy. "Let's go talk to his old lady."
"God please don't let her ask the widow if he dealt smack to first graders," Tommy mumbled as he followed her to the house.
The woman who opened the door had obviously been crying, and she'd also obviously just taken one hell of a beating. Spider looked at Tommy and smiled.
"You're a sick bitch," Tommy whispered in Spider's ear as they walked in.
The woman motioned for them to sit down on the couch and they did.
"We're very sorry to hear about your husband," Tommy said.
"Yeah," she cried.
Spider, never one to beat around the bush, looked right at the woman, smiled warmly, and asked, "So, did your old man beat the dog shit out of you, or was it the perp?"
"Christ on a crutch!" Tommy swore.
The woman looked at Spider and snarled. For a second she was silent, and then she started to cry. "That bastard!" She was shaking now. "When I saw him lying there . . . like that. You know, all burned up, I figured God had finally heard my prayers and struck the fucker dead."
Tommy sat there for ten minutes with his jaw in his lap while the woman poured her guts out to Spider. Spider had that effect on people. For some reason complete strangers would tell her things they wouldn't normally tell another soul. It was like she could break through their politeness zone; get them to say exactly what they thought instead of a stream of niceties. The widow explained that a few months ago, Elvis—yep that was the guy's first name—had started coming up with extra cash. She didn't know where he got it, but when she asked he got mad, and when he was mad he liked to slap her around, so she didn't pursue it.
Along with the coke they found a key to a safety deposit box. In the deposit box they found a sixty-kilo bag of smack and twenty thousand dollars in cash.
But this time there was no way anyone could have known. Hell, the police department had dismissed him as a suspect when the coke came up missing, stating that he couldn't be suspect because of his flawless record. Even the guy's partner passed a polygraph test when asked if he knew his partner was stealing drugs from the evidence locker and selling them.
One of the Feds pulled Tommy and Spider aside. "If you guys have got something on this Fry Guy, tell us now. How could he have known this guy was dirty? It's got to be someone in your department. Maybe someone in the IAD?"
"We don't know any more than you do," Tommy said. Then added suspiciously, "Probably a hell of a lot less. Why don't you just tell us what the fuck the weapon is, and how someone could get a hold of it?"
"For the thousandth time, Chan. We don't know!"
He stomped off, and Tommy turned to Spider. "You believe him, don't you?"
"You know what I believe."
When Spider got home at about five o'clock, Carrie was gone. She'd left a note.
Spider,
Got buzzed as soon as you left. Had to go into the office for a couple of hours, same reason you had to go in. Be back around six o'clock. We could go out, or stay in. Or I could go home to my lonely home and lament the fact that I'm not in your arms. Whatever you'd like.
Love, Carrie
Spider cleaned up and went to the hospital to see Henry for a while.
"I met someone. Can you believe it? I'm in love, Henry. I never thought it could happen to me, but it has. Her name is Carrie and she's beautiful, inside and out . . . Yeah, it's kind of sudden, but then maybe again it's not. You know me, I've spent most of my life looking for someone, so when I finally found her, I knew . . . . Want to hear something weird? The first night I slept with her I didn't dream at all. At least not that I remember. Last night I dreamt about Carrie, not the faceless bitch from my nightmares. I think things are going to come together for me now. Well, I gott ah go. I've got a date, but I want you to know I'm not going to forget about you, Henry. I promised I wouldn't leave you alone, and I won't."
When Carrie got back to Spider's apartment Spider still wasn't home, but she'd left a note.
Carrie,
Gone out for a minute. Be right back. Please don't start without me.
Love, Spider
Carrie flopped down in the chair more than a little disappointed. She wanted to see Spider, and she wanted to see her now.
She should be home, her home. Her nice, comfortable home. Instead she was here in this hole-in-the-wall in one of the worst sections of town, waiting like a lovesick fool for Spider to get there and "complete" her. She felt like a total idiot. She had laughed at friends who had acted the way she was acting now.
So this is love—desperate, needy, scatter-brained. Damn good thing this didn't happen to me before now or I'd never have made it through law school. Where is she, what could be more important than being here with me?
She felt insecurity creeping in on her. It was too quick. She was being too clingy; she was driving Spider away. Carrie wasn't used to feeling insecure and vulnerable. Her parents had raised her to be independent, self-assured, and self-reliant. She'd always been completely in control of her destiny; everything she'd ever wanted had been hers for the taking.
Now she was in love and she found the situation to be as unnerving as it was exhilarating. Spider could decide to end it at any minute, and Carrie was afraid she couldn't just walk away. Maybe she'd become one of those women who kept going to their ex's houses calling and crying, "why, why can't you love me, I love you."
The door opened and Spider walked in with two bags of groceries. She smiled when Carrie jumped, and then she carried the bags into the kitchen and set them down. When she turned around to walk back in the other room Carrie all but tackled her. They kissed long and hard, as if they hadn't seen each other in weeks, and Carrie was reassured.
"So," Carrie released Spider and started going through one of the sacks. "I guess this means we're dining in."
"Yes . . . well, you might as well know right now that I don't have a hell of a lot of money. I've got a lot of expenses, debts my brother left me."
"You know, Spider . . . I make good money. It doesn't always have to be your treat or Dutch treat. Sometimes I could pay, all of the time I could pay, if you want to go out."
Spider did her best to look offended. "Like a kept woman?"
"Would that bother you?" Carrie asked. "Does it bother you that I make more money than you?"
Spider thought about it for a moment. "I don't know. Truthfully, it makes me a little uncomfortable to have anyone pay for anything for me. Logically, if we're going to wind up together, and I sort of hope we are, it's a relief. Because, as I said, I'm not very flush for cash. Now don't get me wrong, all my bills get paid and all that, but there isn't a whole lot left over for extras."
"Then let me pay for the extras. As far as I'm concerned we're already together. If we're going to have the kind of partnership I want, we don't need to worry about where the money comes from, just how we're going to spend it. It's not like I make more money because I work any harder or I'm any smarter. I make more money because my parents were rich lawyers and they put me through law school so that I could follow in their footsteps."
"So, are your parents OK with . . . "
"Me being gay? They think so. They want to be, and they do their best. They're more upset that I went into criminal law instead of joining them in private practice as a divorce attorney. After all, that's where all the real money is, don't you know?"
Spider started putting the groceries away in an almost tangible silence.
"What's wrong?" Carrie asked.
Spider shrugged and didn't look up from what she was doing. "When my brother died, I'd been away at war for three years, in heavy combat areas, and God knows I'd seen a lot of death. In Baghdad, I'd killed men in the trenches on the end of my bayonet, close up and personal. I'd watched the people beside me, people that were my friends, die. We fought all day and all night, and when it was all over the blood was ankle deep, but we still held our ground. At least some of us did; only five people from my unit made it out of those trenches alive. At the time I thought that was the worst day of my life, but it wasn't even close.
"My father showed up at my brother's funeral drunk. When I saw Scott's coffin being lowered into the earth I felt like my soul was being ripped out of my body. The only person who had ever cared about me was dead, and I knew I was alone. At the time it felt like such a permanent thing—the being alone. I reached out blindly, taking my father's hand to give and take comfort. He jerked away and screamed for the entire crowd to hear, 'Get your filthy hands off me! My son, my Scotty is dead. But you, a fucking worthless dyke, are still alive. There is no justice.'"
"My God, Spider! I'm so sorry."
Spider looked out the kitchen door seeming to focus on nothing. "I called him a sorry son of a bitch, and I left. The worst part of it was that I didn't think he knew. I didn't think any of them knew. Don't ask, don't tell and all. In those days I thought I was completely hidden, totally closeted. But apparently everybody knew, even Scott. I never talked to him about it, and he never talked to me. I realized what that meant; that he knew and said nothing meant that he didn't really want to know. We never got a chance to talk about it—to work it out. For him to grow to accept who I am. It's made it very hard for me to be open about my sexuality. I look at you, at the ease with which you express yourself as a woman and a lesbian, and I envy you. I wonder if I'll ever be that comfortable in my own skin."
Spider wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Carrie just stared at her, obviously at a loss for words, and close to tears herself.
Spider forced a laugh. "I must be premenstrual. Excuse me." She worked her way past Carrie and into the bathroom.
Carrie rushed over to the kitchen sink and washed her face to calm herself down. What do I say? I should say something. There should be something I can say to help her. How long has she been carrying that around? Is it a story she tells everyone who gets close to her—or just me, now? Is she even close to anyone else? What about Tommy . . . no she did the same thing to Tommy that she did to her brother; she didn't tell him. She doesn't tell anyone. That was what she was saying. Carrie dried her face on a paper towel and noticed that she took off half her makeup.
"Damn!" She washed her face and dried it again. She had just finished when Spider walked back in the room.
"I'm sorry. I don't know what the hell got into me. No one wants to hear that kind of shit." Spider started putting the groceries away again.
"You're wrong. I want to hear. I want to know everything about you, Spider, good and bad—all of it. You . . . we, have nothing to be ashamed of. There's nothing wrong with us. Hell! We're wonderful. Don't let the way a fistful of uptight bigots look at you make you afraid to be yourself. You have lived an exemplary life, and you have nothing to be ashamed of."
No one had ever said that to her before. No one had ever given Spider permission to be herself. You wouldn't think it would be necessary, but for Spider it was.
That night she had the dream again, but this time the woman had a face and it was Carrie's. Then she saw Robby, and he was calling to her, begging her to join him in his fight.
Spider woke with a start; she knew what the dream meant. For her everything was coming together—and coming apart.