Nightworld ac-6

by F. Paul Wilson

  Ba gave her one of his little bows.

  "I respect that," Jack said, "but I think it's shortsighted. When the light goes altogether, you're not going to get a break like this. Those things'll be at you nonstop. You won't get a chance to go out and repair the damage and shore up the weak spots. And I don't care how well fortified you are, Mrs. Nash, sooner or later they're gonna break through."

  She glanced at Alan who was nodding silent agreement. And why not? The logic was unassailable.

  "You can't do this alone?"

  "I might be able to. I usually work alone, but this is different. Time is critical." He lifted his bandaged arm. "I've been out in the dark with those things. And I see by Ba's neck that he has too."

  "So have I," Sylvia said.

  Jack's eyebrows lifted. "Really? Well then, you know what it means to have someone watching your back."

  Sylvia remembered the tentacles entwined in her hair, pulling her backward…

  Repressing a shudder, she said, "How long have you known this Glaeken fellow?"

  "A few days."

  "And you're completely convinced?"

  He shrugged. "I've seen a lot of scams—worked a few myself. This guy's for real. Besides, everything's going to hell out there at about a hundred and fifty miles an hour. After what I've seen in the past three days, I'm a believer."

  Reluctantly, Sylvia admitted to herself that she, too, was becoming a believer.

  "When would you be leaving?"

  "Tomorrow morning. With any luck I'll have him back on your doorstep sometime Tuesday. Wednesday morning at the latest."

  "Two days at the most. You're sure?"

  "Pretty sure. Either I can get the necklaces back or I can't. I'll know fairly soon after I get there."

  "Two nights," she said slowly. "Ba maybe you should reconsider."

  "No, Missus," he said. "It is too dangerous here for you to stay alone."

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alan stiffen—a barely perceptible straightening of his spine that would have passed unnoticed by a stranger. But Sylvia knew him too well. Ba would be devastated if he even suspected that his words had stung Alan. He'd never forgive himself.

  "Glaeken's offer still stands," Jack told her. "Come into the city. Stay with him. He was right about his place being spared. He's practically hanging over that hole and he hasn't been bothered by a single bug."

  "Out of the question," Sylvia said. "Alan and I are quite capable of handling the situation. We won't be driven from our home by these things." She turned to Ba. "We're safe in here, Ba. You saw that last night. Once we locked the doors and rolled down the shutters, we had no further problems. Tonight will be the same. And the night after that. And the night after that."

  "Missus, I am not sure—"

  "Neither am I, Ba. We can't be sure of anything anymore. Except perhaps that the situation will steadily deteriorate until we're all mad or dead."

  "I vowed to protect you, Missus. Always."

  "I know you did, Ba," she said softly.

  Sylvia's heart warmed at his unflagging devotion. But that devotion could be a burden as well as a benefit. It was a great comfort to know she was protected, but she also had to allow herself to be protected. And that wasn't always easy.

  Pulling away from the snug cocoon of that protection, even temporarily, was difficult—akin perhaps to leaving all the windows open in a storm. And knowing the distress it caused in Ba made the move all the more difficult for her.

  She asked Jack, "What will the return of these necklaces do?"

  He shrugged. "Only Glaeken knows. Set things right, I hope. Mother Nature's gone nuts. Maybe these things will go toward building something that'll give her some electroshock therapy."

  "If that's true, Ba…if acquiring these necklaces will help end this nightmare, perhaps you would be adhering closer to the spirit of your vow by going with this man."

  Ba stood silent for a moment, the center of attention. His eyes were tortured.

  "Missus…"

  "Let's do it this way," Sylvia said, lighting on an idea. "We'll see how tonight goes. If Alan and I need your help to get through, then I'll ask you to stay. But if it turns out we can handle things ourselves, then I think you should go with Jack."

  "Very well, Missus. If that is what you wish."

  I don't know what I wish, she thought. But I know we can't spend the rest of our lives sealed up in Toad Hall.

  "That is what I wish," she said.

  "All right!" Jack said, clapping his hands once as he rose to his feet. "I'll be here first thing tomorrow morning—bright and early."

  Alan said, "It probably won't be bright and it certainly won't be early."

  Sylvia watched Jack go over to Ba and extend his hand.

  "I respect where you're coming from, Big Guy, but believe me, this is our only chance to really do something about this—to maybe turn it around and stop it so we can all get back to our normal lives. That's worth risking a couple of days, isn't it?"

  Ba shook his hand slowly. "I will go with you tomorrow."

  Jack smiled. "Try to control your enthusiasm, okay?"

  Then he waved and headed for the front door. When he was gone, Ba turned to her.

  "Excuse me, Missus. I have work outside."

  "Of course," Sylvia said. But as she watched him go, she caught her breath as that recurring phrase slipped into her mind.

  Only three will live to return.

  "Something wrong?" Alan said.

  They were alone now and his gentle brown eyes were fixed on her.

  "Is something right?" she said.

  "You looked frightened."

  "I was thinking about what that lunatic in Glaeken's apartment told you and wondering if I was sending Ba to his doom. What if he's killed on this trip? It will be my fault."

  "I've never believed anyone could tell the future," he said. "And as for fault, that's a no-win game. If Ba goes off and gets killed, it's your fault. If you don't convince him to go and he gets killed around here, it's also your fault. But actually, neither scenario is anybody's fault. It's nothing but a mental trap."

  "I guess you're right. I'm treating some nut's rant as if it's really going to happen. I must be as crazy as he is." She leaned over and kissed him. "Thanks, Alan. You're good for me."

  He gave her a kiss of his own. "And thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For saying, 'Alan and I are quite capable of handling the situation.' That meant a lot."

  So…he had been stung by Ba's remark.

  "Ba didn't mean anything."

  "I know that."

  "Ba admires you and respects you. He's forever in your debt for the care you gave Nhung Thi before she died. You're on his Good-Guy list."

  "I'd hate to be on his Bad Guy list."

  "Ba doesn't really have one of those. All the people he considers bad guys seem to disappear. And he'd be crushed if he thought he'd offended you."

  "I wasn't offended."

  Sylvia stared into his eyes. "Truth, Alan."

  "Okay," he said, glancing away. "That crack about not wanting to leave you 'alone' did get to me. I mean, what am I—a houseplant? I know I'm in a wheelchair, but I'm not helpless."

  "Of course you're not. And Ba knows that too. It's just that he's been my self-appointed watchman for so many years, he thinks he's the only one who can do the job. If I had the Eighty-second Airborne camping in with me, he'd still consider me unprotected if he wasn't at my side."

  "It's funny," Alan said, staring at the wall. "You hear women complaining about being labeled as 'the weaker sex' and not given a chance to prove their competence and equality and maybe even superiority to men in business and industry. They don't see the flip side of the coin. The guys are saddled with the macho ethic. We're supposed to be tough, we're supposed to be able to handle anything, be cool in any situation, never back down, never surrender, never admit we're hurt, and for God's sake, never ever cry. It's not easy to handle even when
you're at the top of your form; but when something happens to knock you off your feet, I tell you, Syl, it becomes a crushing burden. And sometimes…sometimes it's just plain murder."

  Sylvia didn't know what to say to that. She simply reached over and held his hand. She hoped that said it all.

  WWOR-TV

  CAMERON: But Dr. Sapir, how exactly did you arrive at these figures?

  SAPIR: I simply charted the times of sunrise and sunset and the resultant hours of daylight since Wednesday on a graph. Those figures yielded the curve you see here. I have merely continued that curve.

  CAMERON: And that shows…?

  SAPIR: All you have to do is follow it. We'll have approximately eleven hours of sunlight today; slightly less than ten hours tomorrow, Monday; about eight hours and forty minutes of daylight on Tuesday, about seven hours on Wednesday, and—you see how steep the curve is becoming—four hours and forty-two minutes of light on Thursday.

  CAMERON: And on Friday?

  SAPIR: On Friday, nothing.

  CAMERON: Nothing?

  SAPIR: Correct. If the curve holds true, the sun will set at 3:01 p.m. on Thursday and will not rise again. There will be no sunrise on Friday.

  Manhattan

  Bill Ryan sat stunned before the TV in Glaeken's study. He'd turned on the show to see if the sight of his old colleague would shock Nick back into the real world. Instead it was Bill who had received the shock.

  No sunrise on Friday? It seemed impossible, but Dr. Harvey Sapir was a world-renowned physicist from Columbia University.

  "Nick," Bill said, turning to the younger man. "What's going to happen? You've been coming on with all sorts of predictions lately. How's all this going to turn out?"

  Nick didn't answer. His vacant gaze remained fixed on one of the curlicues in the wallpaper design.

  Bill closed his eyes and tried to keep from shouting in frustration. Nothing was right. Especially Nick. Because every time he looked at Nick he was reminded of all the people who had suffered because they were close to him, because he'd cared for them. His parents, little Danny Gordon, Lisl, and now Nick. All of them either dead or mad. And to what end? To isolate him? To make him doubt himself? To make him afraid to get close to anyone, or care for anyone again?

  Hello, down there! he thought, looking out the study window at the Sheep Meadow hole, a dark splotch in the afternoon light. Guess what? It's working.

  What the hell good was he? Of what use was he to Glaeken? If anything, he was a Jonah. Why did the old man keep him around?

  Answerless questions. Glaeken wasn't even home. He was somewhere in the building helping Jack's friends move into the deserted apartments. Bill would have liked to help—the physical activity might do something to dispel this lethargy weighing upon him—but someone had to stay with Nick. And Bill felt responsible for Nick.

  The doorbell rang.

  Strange, he thought as he headed for the door. You needed a key to get up here. Who'd come this far and then ring the bell?

  He was startled when he saw the woman standing in the atrium.

  "Carol! I didn't know you were coming."

  Bill's lethargy was swept away in the flood of warmth that gushed through him at the sight of her. Already his spirits were lifting.

  "Neither did I," she said. "Glaeken sent me up."

  Immediately he knew something was wrong. He looked at her more closely and saw how prominent were the lines in her face. Carol had always looked younger than her years, but today she showed every birthday.

  "Come in." He glanced out into the atrium as she passed. "Where's Hank?"

  "Who knows?"

  "Want to talk about it?"

  "Yes," she said, then quickly shook her head. "No. I mean…" She sat down on the couch. "Oh, Bill, Hank's acting so strange I don't know what to say or what to do."

  She told him about the abrupt change in Hank's personality, about the hoarding, the lists, the other obsessive behavior.

  "You're obviously upset," he heard himself say. "Have you tried to talk to him about it?"

  Without realizing it, he had slipped into his old priestly, family-counselor role. He pulled back from it. This wasn't a parishioner, this was Carol. Someone he knew. No, not just knew, but—he could admit it now—loved for almost forty years. It was silly to try for emotional distance where Carol was concerned. He'd never make it.

  "Sure I've tried," she said, "but it's like talking to a wall. Is he having a breakdown, do you think?"

  Bill sighed. "I don't know if 'breakdown' is the right word. He's not behaving irrationally—in fact, what he's doing makes a lot of sense self-preservation-wise. He's frightened and stressed-out, like most everybody else."

  He felt the depression begin closing in again.

  "I know that. And he's not doing anything terrible, not hurting anybody. He's a good man. Really. But he's got this crazy look in his eyes."

  "Do you love him, Carol?"

  The words slipped out and immediately he wanted to call them back. He began to tell her she didn't have to answer, then realized that she knew that. So he let it hang. The question had plagued him since his return to the city a few months ago. He wanted to know, damn it.

  "Yes. In a way. Not like I loved Jim. Nothing like that. But he's a good man, gentle and kind—at least he used to be kind. Now he's just…I don't know."

  "Why did you marry him?"

  He couldn't believe he was asking these questions. But here in the darkening room, with Carol becoming a silhouette against the dying light outside, he felt he could. Should. He didn't reach for a lamp. That would break the mood set by the half light.

  "I guess I was lonely, Bill. When I came back to New York, I knew no one. Mostly, I wanted it that way. I wanted a fresh start. I didn't want to go back to Monroe and look up old friends. Too much time had passed. They'd just remind me of Jim and the life we had there. And they'd want to know where I'd been all these years, they'd want to know why I left, and they'd want to know about…the baby. I didn't want to talk about any of it. It would be too much like reliving everything. I wanted to create a new Carol."

  "I can understand that. Perfectly."

  "Can you?"

  "Sure. I did it myself in North Carolina. Even changed my name to Will Ryerson. But for different reasons. Strange, isn't it? We were a thousand miles apart but we were both trying to remodel ourselves, and at just about the same time."

  "Well then maybe you can understand how lonely it can be. At least you have your religious beliefs—"

  Bill shook his head slowly. "Had. Had my beliefs. They're gone now." Like just about everyone or everything else in my life I've cared about. "But go on. Please."

  "This isn't an easy city to build relationships in. Not if you're my age and unconnected. You get hit on by younger men who think you're an easy mark who'll be so grateful for the attention you'll hop into bed with them right off, or you're pursued by older ones who've already got a couple broken marriages behind them and think nothing of trying a third, or others who are simply looking for someone to take care of them. That's why Hank was so refreshing."

  "What was he looking for?"

  "Nothing. He was self-sufficient—a lifelong bachelor who knew how to take care of himself. He wasn't on the make, and neither was I. So we wound up feeling very comfortable with each other. No pressure. Just companionship—real companionship."

  Bill made no comment. He'd heard far worse reasons for marriage.

  "Companionship led to a…um…closer relationship, which led to us moving in together. After a while we decided to make it legal." A soft laugh in the growing darkness. "Not the stuff that makes for a hot romance novel, but it worked for us. Until now."

  "I wish I had some brilliant advice for you, Carol. All I can say is…" the words tasted bitter on his tongue…"hang in there a little longer. If Glaeken can buy us some time, Hank will probably come around. If Glaeken fails…well, you just might be very glad you have all that food."

  "
'Hang in there,'" she repeated. "It won't be easy, but that's what I was going to do anyway. I owe him that. I just needed a little pep talk." Suddenly she stiffened and turned to look out the window. "My God, it's almost dark! I'd better get going."

  She shot to her feet and Bill rose with her. It seemed like the day had just begun.

  Carol started for the door. Bill followed. She was reaching for the knob when Glaeken opened it and stepped inside. Jack was with him.

  "Carol?" he said. "You're still here?"

  "Yes, I'm late. I've got to hurry. It's almost sunset."

  "It is sunset," he said. "You can't go out now. You'd never make it to the other side of the Park, let alone to your apartment."

  "But I've got to go. Hank will be worried."

  "Call him," Glaeken said. "The phones were still working last time I checked. Tell him you're all right and you'll be safe here tonight."

  Bill guided her back to the phone. He empathized with her distress at being cut off from her home, but try as he might, he could not douse the gleeful elation that sparked within him at the prospect of having her near all night.

  WINS-AM

  This just in: The New York City Department of Corrections has reported a massive jail break from Riker's Island less than an hour ago. When approximately eighty-five per cent of guards on the third shift called in sick, the second shift refused overtime pay and walked off.

  The Police Commissioner reports similar third-shift problems in most of the city's precincts.

  Almost done.

  Hank had started an hour ago. He'd used the bolt cutters to snip all the pieces of cyclone fencing to size in one shot, and now he was nailing the last piece to the frame of the bathroom window. When the last nail was in place, he stepped back and surveyed the job.

  "There!" he said aloud. "That oughta keep them out."

  It was a good bet those monsters would reach the upper floors tonight. If they did, he was ready for them. Even if they tore out his screens and smashed the panes, nothing bigger than two inches around was getting through that fencing. But just as important as the fencing on the windows was the bar on the door. He'd bolted the steel brackets into the door frame; they were heavy, sturdy, and designed to hold a four-by-four oak bar. Nobody was getting into this place unless Hank said so.