nudity, indecent exposure and, probably, would be sub-
jected to a psychiatric examination.
One of the passengers in the car said that they must
have been dazed. He knew them well, they were re-
sponsible citizens, and they would never leave the scene
of an accident unless they had been rendered half-
conscious in a state of shock.
"Maybe so," the policeman said. "But you have to ad-
mit it's rather peculiar that all three should take off their
clothes—slide out of them the way it looks to me—and
run away. We were right behind you, and we didn't even
see them leave."
"It was raining very heavily," the passenger said.
"Not that heavily."
"What a night," the other policeman said.
Childe tried to talk to the others in the accident, but
only Forrest J (no period) Ackerman would reply. He
seemed very concerned about a painting in the rear seat
of Pao's car. He had removed it shortly after the police
had arrived and put it in the back seat of his Cadillac.
If the police observed this, they did not say anything.
Now he wanted to get it back to his house.
"I'll take you as soon as they let us go," Childe said.
"Your house isn't far from here; it won't be any bother."
He did not know what Ackerman's part in this was.
He seemed to be an innocent victim, but then there was
the transfer of the painting from Pao's car. How had
Pao gotten hold of it? Also, there seemed to be two
Paos. Were they twins?
Forry Ackerman told him something of what had hap-
pened on the way to his house. Childe became excited,
because he had met Woolston Heepish when he was in-
vestigating the disappearance of his partner, Colben.
Childe decided that he would appear to go along with
Ackerman's story. The man seemed to be sincere and
genuinely upset and puzzled by what had happened.
But it was possible that he was one of the Ogs, as
Hindarf called them. It was also possible that he was one
of the Tocs.
When he drove up before Ackerman's house, he
looked at it through the dark and the rain, and he said,
"If I didn't know better, I would think Heepish lived
here."
"That man deliberately fixed his house to look like
mine,'' Forry said. "That's why he's called 'the poor
man's Forry Ackerman,' though I don't think he's so
poor."
They went inside and, while Ackerman hung the
painting, Childe looked around. The layout of the
house was the same, but the paintings and the other
items were different. And this place was brighter and
more inclined to science-fiction subjects than Heep-
ish's.
When Forry stepped down off the sofa with a sat-
isfied smile, Childe said, "There's something wrong about
this accident, other than the disappearance of Pao. I
mean, I was chasing Pao in one car and the three
men with him in the other. Yet you say you were chasing
Pao, too."
"That's right," Forry said. "It is puzzling. The whole
evening has been puzzling and extremely upsetting. I
have to get the latest issue of my comic book out to my
publisher in New York, and I'm far behind. I'll have to
work twice as fast to catch up."
Childe interpreted this as meaning that he should
leave at once. The man must really be dedicated to
his work. How many could go back to their desk and
work on a piece of fiction about vampires when they
might have been associating with genuine vampires, not
to mention genuine werefoxes and werewolves?
"When you get your work done, and you're ready to
talk," Childe said, "we'll get together. I have many
questions, and I also have some information you might
find interesting, though I don't know that you'll believe
it."
"I'm too tired to believe in anything but a good
night's sleep, which I'm not going to get," Forry said.
"I hate to be inhospitable, but …"
Childe hesitated. Should he take up more of this man's
time by warning him? He decided that it would be bet-
ter not to. If he knew what danger he was really in,
he would not be able to concentrate on his work. And
knowing the danger would not help him in the least un-
less he believed in it and fled from this area. That
did not seem likely. Childe would not have believed
such a story if he had not experienced it.
He gave Forry his phone number and address and
said, "Call me when you're ready to talk this over. I have
a lot to tell you. Maybe together we can get a more
complete picture."
Forry said he would do so. He conducted Childe to the
door but before he let him through, he said, "I think I'll
take that painting into my office with me. I wouldn't
put it past Heepish to try again."
Childe did not ask why he did not call the police. Ob-
viously, if he did, he would be held up even more in
getting out Vampirella.
30
Herald Childe did not get home until seven in the
morning. The rain had stopped by four-thirty, but
the canyons were roaring streams. He was stopped by
the police, but when he explained that he lived off the
main road, he was permitted to go ton. Only residents
could use this section of Topanga Canyon, and they
were warned that it would be better if they stayed away.
Childe pushed on—literally—and eventually got to
his driveway. He saw three houses that had slipped
their moorings and moved downhill anywhere from six
to twenty feet. Two of the houses must have been
deserted, but outside the third a family was moving some
furniture and clothes into the back of a pickup truck.
Childe thought momentarily about helping them and
then decided that they could handle their own affairs.
The pickup truck was certainly more equipped to move
through the high water than his low-slung car, and if
they wanted to break their backs moving their sofa,
that was their foolish decision.
Another car of the same year and model as the others
was parked under the branches of the oak tree. The
water flowing down the street was up past the hubs of
the wheels. So strong was the force of the current, it
sometimes lifted Childe's car a fraction of an inch.
But at no time was more than one wheel off the ground.
He parked the car in the driveway. The garage floor
was flooded and, besides, he wanted the car to be avail-
able for a quick takeoff. He was not sure that the water
pouring off the cliff and drowning his backyard would
not lift the garage eventually. Or, if the cliff did col-
lapse, it might move far enough to smash the garage,
which was closer to the cliff than the house.
He unlocked the door and locked it behind him.
He started to cross the room when, in the pale day-
light, a shapeless form rose from the sofa. He thought
&nbs
p; his heart would stop.
The shapelessness fell off the figure. It was a blanket
which had disguised it.
For a moment, he could not grasp who was standing
before him. Then he cried, "Sybil!"
It was his ex-wife.
She ran to him and threw her arms around him, put
her face against his chest, and sobbed. He held her and
whispered, over and over, "Sybil! Sybil! I thought you
were dead! My God, where have you been?"
After a while she quit crying and raised her face to
kiss him. She was thirty-four now, her birthday had
been six days ago, but she looked as if she had aged
five years. There were large dark circles under her eyes
and the lines from nose to mouth had gotten deeper. She
also seemed thinner.
He led her to the sofa and sat her down and then said,
"Are you all right?"
She started to cry again, but after a minute she
looked up at him and said, "I am and I'm not."
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked.
"Yes, you can get me a cup of coffee. And a joint,
if you have one."
He waved his hand as if to indicate a complete change
of character. "I don't have any pot. I've gone back to
drinking."
She looked alarmed, and he said, hastily, "Only a
shot very infrequently. I'm going to school again. UCLA.
History major."
Then, "How did you find this house? How did you
get here? Is that your car out in front?"
"I was brought, up here by somebody—somebodies—
and let into the house. I took off the blindfold and looked
around, I found my photograph on your bedside table, so
I knew where I was. I decided to wait for you, and I fell
asleep."
"Just a minute," he said. "This is going to be a long
story, I can see that. I'll make some coffee and some
sandwiches, too, in case we get hungry."
He did not like to put off hearing what had happened,
but he knew that he would not want to be interrupted
after she got started. He did everything that had to be
done very swiftly and brought in a tray with a big pot
of coffee, food, and some rather dried-out cigarettes he
found in the pantry. He no longer smoked, but he had
gotten cigarettes for women he had brought into the
house.
Sybil said, "Oh, good!" and reached for the cigarettes.
Then she withdrew her hand and said, wearily, "I haven't
smoked for six months, and my lungs feel much better.
I won't start up again."
She had said this before and sounded as if she
meant it. But this time her voice had a thread of steel in
it. Something had happened to change her.
"All right," he said. "You left for your mother's
funeral in San Francisco. I called your sister, and she
said you'd phoned her and told her you couldn't get a
plane out and your car wouldn't start. You told her
you were coming up with a friend, but you hung up
without saying who the friend was. And that was the
last I heard of you. Now, over a year later, you show
up in my house."
She took a deep breath and said, "I don't expect you
to believe this, Herald."
"I'll believe anything. With good reason."
"I couldn't get hold of you, and, anyway, after that
horrible quarrel, I didn't think you'd want to ever see
me again. I had to get to San Francisco, but I didn't
know how. Then I thought of a friend of mine, and I
walked over to his apartment. He only lived a block
from me."
"He?"
"Bob Guilder. You don't know him."
"A lover?" he said, feeling a pinprick of jealousy.
Thank God that emotion was dying out, in regard to
her, anyway.
"Yes," she said. "Earlier. We parted but not because
we couldn't stand one another. We just didn't strike fire
off each other, sexually. But we remained fairly good
friends. Anyway, I got there just as he was packing to
leave for Carmel. He couldn't stand the smog anymore,
and even though the governor didn't want people leav-
ing, he said he was going anyway. He was glad to drive
me all the way into San Francisco, since he had some
things to do there."
They had driven out Ventura Boulevard because
the San Diego Freeway was jammed, according to the
radio. At a standstill. Ventura Boulevard was not
much better, but ten miles an hour was an improve-
ment over no miles.
Just off the Tarzana ramp, the car overheated. Guilder
managed to get it into Tarzana, but there was only one
service station operating. The proprietors of the others
were either staying home or were also attempting to get
out of the deadly smog.
"You won't believe this," she said, "but I stole a
motorcycle. It was sitting by the curb, its key in the ig-
nition. There was no one in sight, although the owner
may have been only thirty feet away, the smog was that
thick. I've ridden Hondas before, did you know that7
Another friend of mine used to take me out on one for
fun, and he taught me how to ride it."
And other things, thought Childe without pain. The
thought was automatic, but he was glad that it did not
mean much now.
There had been no use in her trying to reach 'Frisco
on the Honda. The traffic was so thick and slow-moving
that she did not see any chance of getting to her destin-
ation until the funeral was over, if then. She decided
to return to her apartment. Eyes burning, sinuses on fire,
lungs hurting, she rode the Honda home. That took two
hours. The cars were filling both sides of the street,
all going in the same direction, but there was enough
room, if she took the sidewalk now and then, to travel.
She got to her apartment, and five minutes afterwards,
someone knocked on her door. She thought it must be
another tenant. Without a key, it was difficult to get
into the building.
But she did not recognize the two men, and before
she could shut the door, they were on her. She felt a
needle enter her arm, and she became unconscious.
When she awoke, she was in a suite of three rooms, not
including the bathroom. All were large and luxuriously
furnished, and throughout her captivity she was given
the best of food and liquor, cigarettes and marijuana,
and anything she desired, except clothes. She had one
beautiful robe and two flimsy negligees which were
cleaned each week.
When she first awoke, she was alone. She prowled
around and found that there were no windows and
the two doors were locked. There was a big color TV
set and a radio, both of which worked. The telephone
was not connected to the outside line. When she lifted
it, she heard a man's voice answer, and she put the
receiver down without saying anything. A few minutes
later, a door swung open, and two men and a woman
came in.
She describe
d them in detail. One of them could be
one of the Paos; the woman had to be Vivienne Mab-
crough. The second man did not sound like anyone he
knew.
Sybil became hysterical, and they injected her once
more. When she woke up again, she controlled her-
self. She was told that she would not be harmed and
that, eventually, she would be released. When she asked
them what, they wanted her for, she got no answers.
Over the year's time, she concluded that her captors
were planning on using her, somehow, as a weapon
or lever against Childe.
Childe, thinking of the sexual abuse he had suffered
during his short imprisonment in the Igescu house, could
not conceive that she was not molested in any way. He
asked her if she had been raped.
"Oh, many times!" she said, almost matter-of-factly.
"Did they hurt you?" She did not seem to be affected
by his question or any painful memories.
"A little bit, at first," she said.
"How do you feel now? I mean, were the experiences
psychologically traumatic?"
He was beginning to feel like a psychiatrist, or, perhaps,
a prosecuting attorney.
"Come here, sit down by me," she said. She held out
a slim and pale hand. He came to her and put his arm
around her and kissed her. He expected her to burst into
tears again, but she only sighed. After a while, she said,
"I've always been very frank with you, right?"
"Yes. But I don't know that a compulsion to honesty
was the main factor," he said. "That may have been your
rationalization, but I thought that your frankness was
more to hurt me than anything else."
"You might be right," she said. She sipped on some
coffee and then said, "I'll tell you what happened to me,
but it won't be to hurt you. I don't think so, anyway."
31
Sybil exercised, smoked more than was good for her,
watched TV and listened to radio, read the magazines
and books supplied whenever she asked for them, and
generally tried to keep from going crazy. The uncertainty
of her position was the largest element pushing her to-
wards insanity. However, it was not as bad as being in
solitary. The man who answered the phone would talk
Image of the Beast and Blown Page 32
