The Stone Bull

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “Don’t bother,” I told him. “I’ve had enough of men who fell in love with Ariel first.”

  “I’ll drive you to New York tomorrow myself,” he said, as though I hadn’t spoken, and I knew his sense of duty was operating. He still felt responsible for me. “But first,” he went on, “there’s something I mean to show you in the morning.”

  There was no point in arguing with him. Tomorrow I would try to make some other arrangements for my return. I couldn’t bear a long drive to the city with Brendon, when all the way I would be remembering the foolish happiness I had experienced on the trip here. Where had it gone? Why had I ever thought it existed, or that it would last?

  He walked with me to the steps of the house, told me shortly that he would pick me up at nine in the morning and went off in the direction of the gardens, with that dark gazebo waiting above. I stood for a moment on the veranda, watching him go. He could still walk with the old arrogance in the very way he held his head—an arrogance that had once fascinated me. But now I felt only a haunting sadness. We both knew it was over. What a maze of hurt Ariel had left behind, wherever she went. Brendon, Naomi, me. Magnus too, but he had learned the secret of using pain and going on. He knew how to live with bitter unhappiness, and yet he could bring out of it the genius behind those marvelous sculptures. Would I ever be as wise as that? At least, thanks to Magnus, I would look with a new eye when I painted my next flower or tree. I would stop trying for a patterned perfection that never really existed in nature or in men.

  No one was about when I went upstairs and I was glad to be left alone. For a time I tried to read, but too many thoughts were crowding my mind, and a vision of Ariel seemed to dance between the print and my eyes—that lithe and supple figure in the leotard that I had seen again tonight.

  What were those tumbling words Ariel had poured out to me that day on the telephone? I hadn’t understood and so I’d remembered only that she was threatening to take her life—the old threat that I had heard before. But she had said something else—was it something about a son? That word seemed to return to my mind, but it meant nothing to me now, any more than it had then.

  What might she have seen that day? Which of them would she have protected—if that was what she was doing? As everything had begun to come clear in retrospect, there seemed only one man she had loved. Brendon. But if he had been there that day, his presence would surely have been innocent. I thought I knew that much about him at least. My mind kept returning to Naomi and her camera—what did she know that she might not be telling? What had Ariel really said to her? And what about Irene? Somehow I didn’t want to think of Irene.

  So the hours have worn away with all my confused pondering, and midnight has come and gone. Yet I still sit by the window, unable to sleep, thinking at last about Magnus. I feel an emotion toward him—I am strongly drawn. But I’m not sure that this feeling is love. I don’t think I will ever be so positive of love again as I was with Brendon. How can one ever know, ever be sure?

  I think of the elderly couples I have watched walking together around the hotel, their arms linked, their attention rapt upon each other. They are the ones who know because they have something that has lasted, and I envy them. Perhaps love is only a learning—something that takes years to grow.

  My flash of useless insight dies. It is useless because I am young and I can’t wait until I am old to find the answers. At last I return to my bed and pull the covers over me. But still I do not sleep. Still there are questions that will not leave me alone. What is it that Brendon wants to show me tomorrow? What is it that may destroy my trust and admiration for Magnus?

  Surely nothing can do that. The thought of Magnus is with me constantly. What a strange thing he said to me today when we were talking about murder. He had said that perhaps I was a “mistake.” A puzzling word. I remembered his strong arms pulling me from the lake and carrying me to the truck. How fortunate for me that he had been there at the right moment that afternoon.

  No, nothing is going to shake my trust in Magnus. There is a tenuous thread stretched between us, and perhaps it is already stronger than Brendon can dream. Only Magnus and I can break it. I do trust Magnus, and I don’t trust Brendon—and that’s the end of it.

  Nevertheless, the next morning I was ready when the man who was still my husband came for me. I hadn’t gone over to the hotel for breakfast, but had eaten something with Irene and Naomi.

  Naomi looked pale as we sat in the little breakfast room with its green and white wallpaper, and the sun coming in the windows. Perhaps she had put a good deal of emotion into her effort last night, and it had left her drained. Irene, on the other hand, had a strangely keyed-up glitter about her—as though she waited for something she knew was going to happen. She seemed to approve of my leaving today for New York, but her thoughts were really on other matters, and there was no more pretense that I was a loved daughter who had come here to live. She wanted only to be rid of me now. Even Naomi came out of her pale preoccupation to comment on Irene’s electric state of being.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she asked. “You’re acting like a spark ready to set off the dynamite. And you still haven’t told us about being up there in front of my camera that day.”

  Irene put her coffee cup down with a thump that spilled liquid over the brim. “Everything’s going to be all right,” she said brightly. “I have a feeling that everything will be all right now.”

  “You mean when Jenny leaves?”

  “Perhaps that’s part of it,” she said, and subsided to eat her breakfast more quietly, perhaps deliberately quenching that spark.

  I had a worry too. My real concern—one that had crystallized this morning—was how to see Magnus again. When I was through with Brendon and whatever he had to show me, I must go to the cabin in the woods for one last time. New York would have to be postponed until Magnus and I had at least spoken to each other again. It was quite possible that he would be glad to see me go, but if that was the case, then I had to know it from his own lips.

  When Brendon came over from the hotel, driving a truck, I was waiting for him on the veranda in an old-fashioned rocking chair. We greeted each other as politely as strangers, spoke about nothing for a minute or two and then I got into the front seat beside him.

  “I won’t make you climb the mountain today,” he said. “I’ve borrowed Keir’s truck.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked as he put the truck into gear.

  “Up to High Tower,” he told me, and after that I asked no questions.

  I felt uneasy, and ready to resist anything he might say against Magnus, but I had to go with him. I had to know.

  When we had followed the road for a while on its gradual climb, Brendon braked near the top and looked out at the hillside rising beyond the road.

  “That’s funny,” he said. “It seems as though that door has been opened. Wait, and I’ll have a look.”

  He got down from the front seat and climbed up the bank to the metal door set in the mountain. I knew what it was because he had shown it to me on our very first climb together up here. Deep in the hillside an underground tunnel led to the tower, carrying cables for the electricity that was needed for the beacon, as well as pipes for water. The water had never been needed because the underground room Bruce McClain had planned had not been finished, but the tunnel was still in use and this was its upper door.

  After a moment or two of investigation, Brendon returned to the seat beside me. “The door is unlocked. I don’t have a key with me, though they’re available at the hotel, but I’ve closed the door. I’ll have to speak to someone about this. We can’t have one of our guests going into that tunnel, where he might be trapped.”

  As we drove on, I asked a question. “Did you see Irene last night?”

  He nodded and was silent.

  “Is it going to end soon?”

  “Yes,” he said, and the ring of that one word had a grim sound.

  “You don’t want to
tell me?”

  “I don’t want to tell anyone! I wish it could lie buried under all those rocks. But I won’t open it up until you’ve gone, Jenny.”

  I knew he would tell me nothing more.

  When we reached the top, we parked in the empty space below the tower. The morning was bright and cool, and as it was a weekday, fewer guests had come to the hotel. As yet no one besides ourselves had ventured up the mountain.

  My uneasiness was increasing. I hated to walk unprepared into an unknown situation. Something unpleasant was in store for me up here, I felt sure, but I had no inkling as to what it might be.

  Inside the entrance room, Brendon went to a door near the foot of the stairs that zigzagged to the top of the tower. For this door he had brought a key, and he slipped it into the lock, turning it.

  “I hope it’s not bolted on the other side,” he said.

  Under his hand the door swung open easily upon empty darkness beyond. When I pulled back, he moved down the first steps ahead of me.

  “The stairs are steep, so be careful. This wasn’t intended as the main entry to the room. I’ll go first. I have a flashlight.”

  I still held back. “Why should we go down there at all?”

  He smiled at me, teasing. “Surely you can’t leave Laurel Mountain without seeing our famous underground room?”

  “I’m quite happy not to see it.” I was aware that my heart had begun a steady thumping because of a rising dread of this underground place. He hadn’t brought me here to show me a room.

  When I turned back toward the exit from the tower, however, Brendon came to swing me around in no uncertain manner.

  “I want you to see this room,” he said. “I want you to see what’s down there. I have a light and you won’t fall on the stairs. Electricity was put in when the room was built, and when we get down I’ll light it up.”

  I knew his determination from the past, and there was nothing to do but follow the moving beam of the flash down a flight of stairs that were as steep as the companionway of a ship. Stale air rushed up to meet us, with a smell of dampness and rot, and cold seeped into my bones.

  “Now then,” he said when I reached the bottom step, just behind him, “come here where you can see.”

  He touched a switch on the wall and, with a suddenness that made me blink, overhead lights flashed on part way down the ceiling of the great room. Not all of it had been finished, but the walls at this end were paneled in wood that was showing neglect. A portion of the floor was wood-finished, though this intent too had apparently gone uncompleted when plans had been abandoned. The floor that stretched away to the other end of the room was rough concrete, as were the distant walls.

  The entire space was empty except for one huge object that stood in the center of the floor at the far end. Brendon started toward it, drawing me after him.

  The overhead lighting stopped before we reached the figure that stood upon its high pedestal, but the mingling of light and shadow at this end made the thing all the more frightening. Once more a larger than life-size creature had been carved from granite—a monstrous panther with two head—one alert and watchful, the other snarling in ugly rage, somehow grotesque and utterly evil.

  “Do you see how hideous it is?” Brendon said at my elbow. “It’s a mockery, dreamed out of a twisted imagination. Can you look at that thing and not see what Magnus is truly like?”

  I had been frightened when I came down to this cold room, dreading the unknown, afraid of what I might find. But I was frightened no longer. I looked up at Magnus’ terrible panther and smiled.

  “It reminds me of Laurel Mountain.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The two faces of Laurel. One beautiful and wild and natural. The other hideous and snarling.”

  “But don’t you see—” Brendon began.

  I put a hand on his arm, silencing him. “You don’t understand Magnus at all, do you? Sometimes one can get rid of inner torment by externalizing it. By creating something as ugly as one’s own inner thoughts. That’s what he’s done here. Afterward he could go on to create both the beautiful panther that stands at Panther Rock and his superb bull.”

  “But this is evil!” Brendon protested.

  “Of course. That’s why he wanted to transfer his feelings into stone and be rid of them.”

  Dazedly, Brendon shook his head. “Jenny, it’s you I don’t understand anymore. I felt sure that when you saw this—”

  I stopped him again. “I’m glad I saw it, Brendon. Don’t look like that. Please don’t regret—anything. We had something marvelous for a little while, and I think we’ll always remember it. But next time you’ll turn to someone who will never remind you of Ariel—if you’re wise. And perhaps in the same way I’ll find someone who will never remind me of you.”

  There was a sorrowing in his eyes, even while he smiled at me with an uncertainty that was uncharacteristic.

  “You’ve changed since you came here, Jenny.”

  “I’m trying to grow up,” I said. “I’m trying to grow into me—not Ariel.”

  He bent and kissed my cheek, and I knew it was both salute and farewell.

  Before we could start back toward the stairs, however, there was a sound at that end of the room. Brendon called out, “Who’s there?” and waited.

  There was no answer—only the clatter of his voice echoing down the long room.

  “Wait here,” Brendon said. “I’d better investigate. I don’t want any guests wandering down into this place. Magnus’ nightmare isn’t for the public eye.”

  He hurried off toward the stairs, his feet rousing more echoes on the concrete. I saw him run up out of sight—and then two things happened. All the lights went out, and at the head of the stairs I heard the slamming of a door.

  18

  In that vast cavern where a monster panther reigned, I stood lost and frightened. With a voice that caught in my throat I called out Brendon’s name, but the further crashing of echoes only alarmed me. Had this been deliberate? Had he locked me in down here? No, I knew him better than that.

  Then I heard the footsteps coming from the direction of the stairs—not running openly, but moving with stealth along the concrete toward me. It was not Brendon this time. I knew he must be shut beyond that slammed door, and when he rattled it violently, I knew the heavy door must have been bolted against him on this side. As he struggled to open it, those secret steps came closer.

  I managed to move behind the granite panther, hoping it would hide me.

  “Jenny?” The voice was a whisper, unidentifiable. “Jenny, have you remembered what your sister told you on the phone that day?”

  As I crouched behind the great stone block, my breath held as long as possible, lest by an exhalation I betray my presence, a strange, clear memory flashed through my mind. In that instant I remembered very well what Ariel had said, and I knew with deepening horror who it was that stalked me in this ghastly place.

  As the sudden beam of a flashlight cut the darkness, another memory flashed back. There had been all too much that I had never questioned: that truck, for instance, parked so conveniently and coincidentally when Magnus had fished me out of the lake. That boat set out for me to take so easily had been a “mistake,” as Magnus had suggested. He had meant that the threat against me was pointless, unnecessary because at that time I was really harmless. Why hadn’t I questioned the truck’s being there? Or the old boat?

  The whisper came again. “Jenny? Where are you? You needn’t be afraid. It will be very quick. As quick as it was for Floris. Though I’m sorry it’s you. I liked you, Jenny. I could have grown very fond of you.”

  In the distance Brendon was pounding on the bolted door, shouting to me. But I dared not answer and reveal myself to the hunter. Softly, I moved, circling the panther, hiding from the darting flash that tried to catch me like a spotlight on a stage. My heart was thumping wildly in my ears.

  There was a savoring now in the whispers. “H
ow easy it was to prepare that boulder so it would fall. How simple to phone Loring with a lie that would bring Floris into the Lair. But I meant to send that rock crashing myself. It was ready to fall, and I was down there working at it with a crowbar, but I never meant for your sister to do it for me. When Ariel went out on the rock there was nothing I could do except get away as fast as I could. Your sister saw me. She knew that I was up to something. But she left the next day without speaking. And when she died, I thought I was safe. Until you came.”

  The voice paused, and I heard the quick, light breathing. Then it went on.

  “I didn’t know that Irene had been there earlier. I don’t know what she saw or guessed. But I think she didn’t want to betray me. We were friends when we were young. Once I even thought she might have married me—if it hadn’t been for Bruce. She should have married me instead of Loring. Then all Laurel would have been safe in our hands.”

  He still didn’t see me where I crouched, but the flashlight might move faster than I at any moment. Yet I dared not try to flee into the open. He would be upon me at once and I would be helpless in those strong hands.

  His voice went on again, relentlessly. “I didn’t have anything against you, Jenny, until that day when I met Irene coming from the cemetery and she told me what you planned to do. I threw those stones down on you, hoping you’d be scared away. But you weren’t, so I put that old boat where you’d find it. That was needless, I thought afterwards, and I wrote you off because there was nothing you knew and I thought you harmless. I grew quite fond of you, Jenny. That was another mistake, wasn’t it?”

  I felt sick over what he was saying. Because I had grown fond of him too—and trusting. But what lay behind the mask was something as monstrous as the horrid stone panther above me.

  The banging at the top of the stairs had stopped, and I felt more alone than ever. If Brendon went down the hill to the tunnel entrance, it would take a long while, and it would all be over before he could reach me. While Brendon knew something was wrong, he couldn’t guess my danger or the need for haste.