Herbie is not a political person by nature, but he tries to stay informed. He watches CNN every night.
Burgess cleared of all charges in molestation scandal, reads the ticker at the bottom of the screen. Above it, the gray-haired Senator stands on the courthouse steps, waving at all the reporters.
"Naturally, I am elated," the Senator says into an up-thrust microphone. "As is my family. This debacle has been a terrific strain on all of us, but now, finally, we have been vindicated."
Herbie does not take his eyes from the screen as he shovels globs of day-old takeout into his mouth. He has been following this story for weeks.
"Senator, do you think this outcome will have a positive effect on your campaign for reelection?" asks the reporter.
"Well, that would be nice," laughs Burgess. "I would like to say, though, that it saddens me, the way my opponent has exploited this tragedy for political gain. My hope is that the voters will see past this cheap attempt at character assassination, and judge me according to the issues and the values that I stand for. Thank you." And he disappears into a flurry of flashbulbs and shouted questions.
"What do you think, Timothy?" Herbie asks.
Timothy sniffs at a lump of rice that rolled onto the carpet a moment ago. He looks up at Herbie expectantly.
"Maow."
"I don't know, Timothy. Don was saying today that the only reason they won is because the girl's mother was an illegal immigrant. He said they dug up all that dirt on her to undermine her credibility." Don is Herbie's supervisor at the Pharm-Aid. Like Herbie, Don is very informed about politics. Herbie respects his opinion.
Herbie digs his fingers into the gelid remains of his kung pao and hooks out a squirmy piece of chicken. He tosses it to the floor. Timothy doesn't even bother to sniff it.
"Maow."
"You may be right, Timothy. Anyway, that's what Don said. I sure wish it wasn't true, though." Herbie really does wish it. He likes Senator Burgess. Herbie is not a political person by nature, but Burgess always used to say things that made Herbie feel good. He always seemed to stand for what was right. Herbie doesn't like to think about Senator Burgess . . . touching his cleaning woman's ten-year-old daughter.
If only he hadn't lied. Herbie can forgive a lot even that. But he cannot abide a liar.
"It's the eyes, Timothy. Remember that. You can always tell a man by his eyes."
It's true. Herbie can. It's one of his powers.
Later that night, Herbie goes to the closet, where the suit lives. Timothy makes a low and broken noise deep in his throat and squeezes under the sofa.
Herbie opens the closet. All the lights in the house are off, but Herbie can reach in and feel the suit. He can put his hand on the long, leather mask. He can touch the cold glass of the eyeplates. He can run his fingers along the curve of the jaw. And the hundreds of tiny teeth.
His stomach quivers. An hour ago he voided himself, leaning over the toilet with his fingers jammed down his throat.
He is ready now.
"Airport, sir?" asks the driver.
Burgess slumps against the back seat as though a weight is pushing him down into it. "God, no. Just take me home."
The driver glances at him in the mirror, just once.
"Home, Greg. And don't fucking talk."
The driver's shrug is professional which is to say, utterly invisible as he puts on his signal and takes the Hills exit.
Burgess closes his eyes, feels the weight rolling off him. Home. Fuck home. But the press is watching where he goes tonight, and it is imperative that he be seen to spend it in the loving arms of his wife. Not that Charlotte will have him in her bedroom, much less her arms, tonight or ever. But it's the appearance that counts. That frigid bitch can shun him all she likes, as long as she does it behind closed doors.
I won, thinks Burgess. I beat it.
Outside the trees slide past, black and groping.
I'm a good man. I am a good man.
He hears the crunch of gravel under the tires.
"Take me around to the side, Greg."
The grounds are quiet. They've managed to keep the press away. Thank Christ. If only he could slip inside just as quietly, just pour himself a drink and lie down in one of the guest bedrooms without having to see or talk to anyone. But no. His wife's shih-tzu (shit-sue, he always thinks) will throw a fucking fit, like always. Might as well announce his entrance with a goddamn airhorn. He steels himself as he punches in the code at the door.
Inside the house, silence. He curses under his breath as he fumbles for the light switch. He can't put a name to what is bothering him. He still thinks he wants a stiff drink. He's halfway down the hall to the kitchen when he sees Charlotte on the floor, slumped against the wall.
"Jesus," he says, rushing to her. "Jesus. What's wrong, are you hurt?"
"Auww," says Charlotte. Her face is flushed and covered with snot. She's been crying sobbing, who knows how long. "Auww-huh. Auww-huh."
"Jesus, fuck, what is" says Burgess, and then he stops.
There is someone in the house.
Burgess turns around.
It is tall. Ten feet maybe, hunched, brushing the ceiling with its shoulders. Its arms dangle. Light glints off of round, glass eyes like two moons. Its great jaw opens, and Charlotte starts screaming, and Burgess sees all the teeth, all the hundreds of tiny teeth.
It reaches out with its arms, with its impossibly long fingers. Burgess is not nearly fast enough.
Herbie is in a littered alley, behind a closed laundromat in the city. He has the dry heaves. Herbie always comes to this particular alley, afterwards. He knows from experience that no one ever comes here.
He feels it start to come up inside him, and drops to his knees. Lying on its side nearby, the mask watches with its great glass moon-eyes.
This is always the worst part.
Herbie's jaw dislocates with a gristly crunch. His lips and cheeks stretch. His throat swells like an inner tube. His chest distends awkwardly, punching out in various directions with a crackling sound. Tears stream down Herbie's distorted face, but he cannot close his eyes.
A hand, glistening with mucus, pushes out of Herbie's mouth. An arm and an elbow slither out behind it. It twitches slightly, steaming in the chill night air.
Another wet pop from Herbie's jaw. Wider.
A fleshy hemisphere fills Herbie's mouth. It forces its way past his teeth, pushing them even wider in a series of slick heaves. The hemisphere crowns and becomes the top of a bald head. Another crunch, another pop wider and a second shoulder breaches. Herbie's entire upper torso, neck, and jaw now resemble nothing more than an enormous, squirming tube.
Once the second arm is free, the rest is easy. Senator Burgess slides the rest of the way out of Herbie's mouth along with a glut of water and mucus. The Senator is naked, his skin raw and pink, his body hair scoured completely away. He lies on the pavement, curled and shivering, while Herbie recovers.
After a moment, Herbie reaches out and places his hand on the Senator's sticky skin.
"You are cleaned," says Herbie, his voice hoarse but steady. "Nothing now remains between you and yourself. You are clear in the knowledge of who you are, and what you deserve." All the while the mask watches, but Herbie does not glance at it. He has not needed the mask's help with this part for quite some time.
"Do you understand?"
Somehow, the Senator manages to nod.
"Go home, then. Go home and forgive yourself."
Herbie staggers to his feet. He picks up the mask, tucks it under his arm, and walks out of the alley without a backward glance. He isn't worried about Senator Burgess. The police will find the Senator; he will be taken to a hospital; nothing he says about tonight will be believed. Eventually he will get his hands on some pills, or a gun, or just use his own belt. And then things will be put right.
And the sin is gone. That's the most important thing. The sin is gone, and the suit has it now.
Back home, with the suit safely in its closet, there is a moment when Herbie wonders if he was right after all. About Senator Burgess. Herbie always has these moments after he puts the suit away.
It doesn't matter. It is unfortunate, but he cannot let it distract him. Better that a hundred innocents are punished than to be cautious and allow one sin to remain.
Still. That's why it's so important to stay informed.
Herbie is not a political man by nature, but he always tries to stay informed.
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