"Oh, God!"
"Unk?" he heard Lacey say from the front room. Seconds later she was at his side with the flashlight, her reflection the only distinguishable human in the mirror. "What's wrong?"
Feeling weak—from hunger as well as the horror before him—he leaned against the dresser and pointed to the mirror. "Look at me—if you can."
She gasped. "Is that... ?"
"That's what's left of my reflection."
Carole's image joined them in the glass. He saw her stiffen and stare.
After a moment she said, "You're not completely gone."
"No, but nobody can tell me that's not more proof that I'm no longer human. What have I become? I'm asking you both again: What am I?"
The hunger worsened. He grabbed his abdomen and doubled over.
"Joe?" Lacey asked.
"Hungry. Can't remember the last time I ate."
He turned away and stalked to the kitchen where he began to open the cabinets and paw through their contents. Mostly condiments and spices.
"Damn it all!" he shouted. "Didn't these people eat?"
"It's a summer home," Carole said softly. "Nobody leaves food over the winter."
"God, I'm starving."
"We've got food," Lacey said.
"Right," Carole said. "You remember Mrs. Delmonico, don't you?"
"Of course I do," Joe said. "I only died. I didn't lose my memory." He looked from Lacey's stricken face to Carole's stony expression and back again. "Sorry. That was supposed to be a joke."
"Oh, yeah!" Lacey's forced laugh sounded awful. "Funny!" Her smile cracked and she sobbed. Once.
"Lacey, I'm sorry," Joe said.
She held up a hand as she pulled herself together. "I'm okay. Really."
No, you aren't, he thought. Not a single one of us is anywhere near okay.
"We should eat something," Carole said. "Who knows when we'll get another chance."
Joe looked at her. "What were you saying about Mrs. Delmonico?"
"She baked some bread and made us peanut butter sandwiches."
"Peanut butter! God, I can't remember the last time I had a peanut butter sandwich."
He followed Carole and Lacey to the cocktail table. Carole pulled out the sandwiches, unwrapped them, and handed a half to Joe. Manners reminded him to wait but hunger forced his hands toward his mouth. He took a deep bite and gagged.
His gorge rose in revulsion as he turned and spat it into his hand.
"What's in that? I thought you said it was peanut butter."
Lacey sat across the table with the other half of Joe's sandwich. She'd taken a bite and was staring at him.
He nodded to her. "Tastes awful, doesn't it."
Lacey shook her head. "Tastes fine," she said around her bite.
Carole leaned forward. "What did it taste like to you, Father?"
How could he describe something so awful? "Try to imagine rancid meat... in spoiled milk ... laced with hot tar . . . and you're only part way there."
With a glance at Lacey, Carole pulled the book bag up onto her lap and reached inside. With a single quick movement she removed something and held it under his nose.
"How about this?"
Joe recoiled, almost tipping over backward in his chair. It felt like pure ammonia shoved up his nose.
"Damn! What's that? Get it away!"
Carole showed him the flaky clove between her fingers. "Just garlic."
A queasy nausea slithered through Joe's hunger pains. He'd always loved garlic, the more the better. But now . . .
"I don't understand this!" Lacey cried. She was leaning away from the table with her eyes squeezed shut. "You can stand in sunlight and walk into a home without being invited in, but you don't cast a full reflection and you can't stand garlic. What's going on?"
Joe shook his head. "I wish I knew." Hunger gave him a vicious kick in the abdomen, doubling him over. "I do know I've got to eat. Isn't there anything else around?"
"Yes," Lacey said. She was looking past him, a strange light dancing in her eyes. "Yes, I believe there is."
She grabbed the flashlight and hurried to the kitchen. Joe heard her opening drawer after drawer, rattling utensils. Apparently she found what she was looking for because she returned to the table and stood beside him with her hands behind her back.
"Close your eyes and open your mouth," she said.
"This is no time for games, Lacey. I'm starving."
A smile appeared; it looked painted on. "Humor me, Unk. Open your mouth and close your eyes."
Joe complied, and then things started happening—fast. He sensed Lacey move closer, heard a gasp of shock—Carole?—then felt something warm and firm and wet pressed into his mouth. He'd never tasted anything like it— utterly delicious. He opened his eyes and saw Lacey close, a steak knife in one hand, and the other—
—pressed against his mouth.