The Tomb (Repairman Jack)

by Wilson, F. Paul

  Gia's hurt and angry face popped into Jack's mind.

  "I'm full of surprises."

  8

  Kusum could wait no longer. He had watched sunset come and go, hurling orange fire against the myriad empty windows of the Sunday-silent office towers. He had seen darkness creep over the city with agonizing slowness. And now, with the moon rising above the skyscrapers, night finally ruled.

  Time for the Mother to take her youngling on the hunt.

  Though not yet midnight, Kusum felt it safe to let them go. Sunday night was a relatively quiet time in Manhattan. The stores closed early, the theaters had no evening performances, and most people were home, resting in anticipation of the coming week.

  The Paton woman would be taken tonight, of that he was certain. Kolabati had unwittingly cleared the way by taking the bottle of rakoshi elixir from Jack and disposing of its contents. And had not the Paton woman eaten one of the treated chocolates as she spoke to him on the phone this morning?

  Tonight he would be one step closer to fulfilling the vow. He would follow the same procedures with the Paton woman as he had with her nephew and her sister. Once she was in his power, he would reveal to her the origin of the Westphalen fortune and allow her a day to reflect on her ancestor's atrocities.

  Tomorrow evening her life would be offered to Kali, and she would be given over to the rakoshi.

  9

  Good gracious, what is that smell?

  Nellie had never thought one could be awakened by an odor, but this...

  She lifted her head from the pillow and sniffed the air in the darkened room...a carrion odor. Warm air brushed by her. The French doors out to the balcony were ajar. She could have sworn they’d been closed all day, what with the air conditioner going. But that had to be where the odor was coming from. It smelled as if some dog had unearthed a dead animal in the garden directly below the balcony.

  Nellie sensed movement by the doors. No doubt the breeze on the curtains. Still...

  She pulled herself up, reaching for her glasses. She found them and held them up to her eyes without bothering to fit the end pieces over her ears. Even then she wasn't sure what she saw.

  A dark shape was moving toward her as swiftly and as soundlessly as a puff of smoke in the wind. It couldn't be real. A nightmare, a hallucination, an optical illusion—nothing so big and solid looking could move so smoothly and silently.

  But no illusion about the odor that became progressively worse with the shadow's approach.

  Nellie was suddenly terrified. This was no dream! She opened her mouth to scream but a cold, clammy hand sealed itself over the lower half of her face before a sound could escape.

  The hand was huge, it was incredibly foul, and it was not human.

  In a violent spasm of terror, she struggled against whatever held her. It was like fighting the tide. Bright colors began to explode before her eyes as she fought for air. Soon the explosions blotted out everything else. And then she saw no more.

  10

  Vicky lay awake, shivering under the sheet. Not from cold but from the dream she’d just lived through in which Mr. Grape-grabber had kidnapped Ms. Jelliroll and was trying to bake her in a pie.

  With her heart pounding in her throat she peered through the darkness at the night table next to the bed. Moonlight filtered through the curtains on the window to her left, enough to reveal Ms. Jelliroll and Mr. Grape-grabber resting peacefully where she’d left them. Nothing to worry about. Just a dream. Anyway, didn't the package say that Mr. Grape-grabber was Ms. Jelliroll's "friendly rival"? And he didn't want Ms. Jelliroll herself for his jams, just her grapes.

  Still, Vicky trembled. She rolled over and clung to her mother. This was the part she liked best about staying here at Aunt Nellie's and Aunt Grace's—she got to sleep with Mommy. Back at the apartment she had her own room and had to sleep alone. When she got scared from a dream or during a storm she could always run in and huddle with Mommy, but most of the time she had to keep to her own bed.

  She tried to go back to sleep but found it impossible. Visions of the tall, lanky Mr. Grape-grabber putting Ms. Jelliroll into a pot and cooking her along with her grapes kept popping into her head. Finally, she let go of her mother and turned over to face the window.

  The moon was out. She wondered if it was full. She liked to look at its face. Slipping out of bed, she went to the window and parted the curtains. The moon was almost to the top of the sky, and nearly full. Its smiling face made everything so bright. Almost like daytime.

  With the air conditioner on and the windows closed against the heat, all the outside sounds were blocked out. Everything was so still and quiet out there, like a picture.

  She looked down at her playhouse roof, white with moonlight. It looked so small from up here on the third floor.

  Something moved in the shadows below. Something tall and dark and angular, manlike yet very unmanlike. It moved across the backyard with a fluid motion, a shadow among the shadows, looking as if it was carrying something. And there seemed to be another of its kind waiting for it by the wall. The second one looked up and seemed to be gazing right at her with glowing yellow eyes. They had hunger in them...hunger for her.

  Vicky's blood congealed in her veins. She wanted to leap back into bed with her mother but could not move. All she could do was stand there and scream.

  11

  Gia awoke on her feet after a moment of complete disorientation with no idea where she was or what she was doing. The room was dark, a child was screaming, and she could hear her own terror-filled voice shouting a garbled version of Vicky's name.

  Frantic thoughts raced through her slowly awakening mind.

  Where's Vicky...the bed's empty...where's Vicky? She could hear her but couldn't see her. Where in God's name is Vicky?

  She stumbled to the switch by the door and turned on the light. The sudden glare blinded Gia for an instant, and then she saw Vicky standing by the window, still screaming. She ran over and lifted the child against her.

  ''It's all right, Vicky! It's all right!"

  The screaming stopped but not the trembling. Gia held her tighter, trying to absorb Vicky's shudders into her own body. Finally the child was calm, only an occasional sob escaping from where she had her face buried between Gia's breasts.

  Night horrors. Vicky had had them frequently during her fifth year, but only rarely since. Gia knew how to handle them: Wait until Vicky was fully awake and then talk to her softly and reassuringly.

  "Just a dream, honey. That's all. Just a dream."

  "No! It wasn't a dream!" Vicky lifted her tear-streaked face. ''It was Mr. Grape-grabber! I saw him!"

  "Just a dream, Vicky."

  "He was stealing Ms. Jelliroll!"

  "No, he wasn't. They're both right behind you." She turned Vicky around and faced her toward the night table. "See?"

  "But he was outside by the playhouse! I saw him!"

  Gia didn't like the sound of that. No one was supposed to be in the backyard.

  "Let's take a look. I'll turn out the light so we can see better.”

  Vicky's face twisted in sudden panic. "Don't turn out the lights! Please don't!"

  "Okay. I'll leave them on. But there's nothing to worry about. I'm right here."

  They both pressed their faces against the glass and cupped their hands around their eyes to shut off the glare from the room light. Gia quickly scanned the yard, praying she wouldn't see anything.

  Everything was as they’d left it. Nothing moved. The backyard was empty. Gia sighed with relief and put her arm around Vicky.

  "See? Everything's fine. It was a dream. You just thought you saw Mr. Grape-grabber."

  "But I did!"

  "Dreams can be very real, honey. And you know Mr. Grape-grabber is just a doll. He can only do what you want him to. He can't do a single thing on his own."

  Vicky said no more but Gia sensed that she remained unconvinced.

  That settles it, she thought. Vicky's been here l
ong enough.

  The child needed her friends—real, live, flesh-and-blood friends. With nothing else to occupy her time, she’d been getting too involved with these dolls. Now they were even in her dreams.

  "What do you say we go home tomorrow? I think we've stayed here long enough."

  "I like it here. And Aunt Nellie will be lonely."

  "She'll have Eunice back in the morning. And besides, I have to get back to my work."

  "Can't we stay a little longer?"

  "We'll see."

  Vicky pouted. "'We'll see' Whenever you say 'we'll see' it ends up meaning 'no.' "

  "Not always," Gia said with a laugh, knowing that Vicky was right. The child was getting too sharp for her. "But we'll see. Okay?"

  Reluctantly: "Okay."

  She put Vicky back between the covers. As she went to the door to switch off the light she thought of Nellie in the bedroom below. She could not imagine anyone sleeping through Vicky's screams, yet Nellie had not called up to ask what was wrong. Gia turned on the hall light and leaned over the banister. Nellie's door was open and her bedroom dark. It didn't seem possible she could still be asleep.

  Uneasy now, Gia started down the stairs.

  "Where're you going, Mommy?" Vicky asked with a frightened voice from the bed.

  "Just down to Aunt Nellie's room for a second. I'll be right back."

  Poor Vicky, she thought. She really got a scare.

  Gia stood at Nellie's door. All was dark and still within. Nothing out of the ordinary except an odor...a faint whiff of putrefaction. Nothing to fear, yet she was afraid. Hesitantly, she tapped on the doorjamb.

  "Nellie?"

  No answer.

  "Nellie, are you all right?"

  When only silence answered, she reached inside the door, found the light switch, but hesitated, afraid of what she might find. Nellie wasn't young. What if she’d died in her sleep? She seemed to be in good health, but you never knew. And that odor, faint as it was, made her to think of death. Finally she could wait no longer. She flipped the switch.

  The bed was empty. It obviously had been slept in—the pillow was rumpled, the covers pulled down—but no sign of Nellie. Gia stepped around to the far side, walking as if she expected something to rise out of the rug and attack her. No Nellie lying on the floor. Gia turned to the bathroom. It stood open and empty.

  Frightened now, she ran downstairs, going from room to room, turning on all the lights in each, calling Nellie's name over and over. She headed back upstairs, checking Grace's empty room on the second floor, and the other guestroom on the third.

  Empty. All empty.

  Nellie was gone-just like Grace!

  Gia stood in the hall, shivering, fighting panic, unsure of what to do. She and Vicky were alone in a house from which people disappeared without a sound or a trace

  Vicky!

  Gia rushed to their bedroom. The light was still on. Vicky lay curled up under the sheet, sound asleep. Thank God! She sagged against the doorframe, relieved yet still afraid. What to do now? She went out to the phone on the hall table. She had Jack's number and he’d said to call if she needed him. But he was in South Jersey and couldn't be here for hours. Gia wanted somebody here now. She didn't want to stay alone with Vicky in this house for a minute longer than she had to.

  With a trembling finger she dialed 911 for the police.

  12

  "You still renting in the city?"

  Jack nodded. "Yep."

  His father grimaced and shook his head. "That's like throwing your money away."

  Jack had changed into the shirt and slacks he’d brought along, and now they were back at the house after a late, leisurely dinner at a Mount Holly seafood restaurant. They sat in the living room sipping Jack Daniel's in near-total darkness, the only light washing in from the adjoining dining room.

  "You're right, Dad. No argument there."

  "I know houses are ridiculously expensive these days, and a guy in your position really doesn't need one, but how about a condo? Get hold of something you can build up equity in."

  Not a new subject. Dad would go on about the tax benefits of owning your own home while Jack lied and hedged, unable to say that tax deductions were irrelevant to a man who didn't pay them.

  "I don't know why you stay in that city, Jack. Not only have you got federal and state taxes, but the goddamn city sticks its hand in your pocket, too."

  "My business is there."

  His father stood up and took both glasses into the dining room for refills.

  When they’d returned to the house after dinner, he hadn't asked Jack what he wanted; he'd simply poured a couple of fingers on the rocks and handed him one. Jack didn't know how many glasses they’d had since the first.

  Jack closed his eyes and absorbed the feel of the house. He’d grown up here. He knew every crack in the walls, every squeaky step, every hiding place. This living room had been so big then; now it seemed tiny. He could still remember that man in the next room carrying him around the house on his shoulders when he was five. And when he was older they’d played catch out in the backyard. Jack had been the youngest of the three kids. There’d been something special between his father and him. They used to go everywhere together on weekends, and whenever he had the chance, Dad would float a little propaganda toward him. Not lectures really, but a pitch on getting into a profession when he grew up. He worked on all the kids that way, telling them how much better it was to be your own boss rather than be like him and have to work for somebody else. They’d been close then. Not any more. Now they were like acquaintances...near-friends...almost-relatives.

  His father handed him the glass of fresh ice and sour mash, then returned to his seat.

  "Why don't you move down here?"

  "Dad—"

  "Hear me out. I'm doing better than I ever dreamed. I could take you in with me and show you how it's done. You could take some business courses and learn the ropes. And while you're going to school I could manage a portfolio for you to pay your expenses. 'Earn while you learn,' as the saying goes."

  Jack was silent. His body felt leaden, his mind sluggish. Too much Jack Daniel's? Or the weight of all those years of lying? He knew Dad's bottom line: He wanted his youngest to finish college and establish himself in some sort of respectable field. Jack's brother was a judge in Philly, his sister a pediatrician in Trenton. What was Jack? In his father's eyes he was a college drop-out with no drive, no goals, no ambition, no wife, no children; someone who was going to drift through life putting very little in and getting very little out, leaving no trace or evidence that he’d even passed through.

  In short: a failure.

  That hurt. Like most sons, he wanted his father to be proud of him. Dad's disappointment was like a festering sore that tainted their already attenuated relationship, making Jack want to avoid a man he’d always loved and respected.

  He was tempted to lay it out for him—put all the lies aside and tell him what his son really did for a living.

  Alarmed at the trend of his thoughts, Jack straightened in his chair and got a grip on himself. That was the Jack Daniel's talking. Leveling with his father would accomplish nothing. First off, he wouldn't believe it; and if he did, he wouldn't understand; and if he believed and understood, he'd be horrified...just like Gia.

  "You like what you're doing, don't you, Dad?" he said finally.

  "Yes. Very much. And you would, too, if—"

  "I don't think so."

  After all, what was his father making besides money? He was buying and selling, but he wasn't producing anything. Jack didn't mention this—it would only start an argument. The guy was happy, and the only thing that kept him from being completely at peace with himself was his youngest son. If Jack could have helped him there he would have. But he couldn't.

  "I like what I'm doing. Can't we leave it at that?"

  Dad said nothing.

  The phone rang. He went into the kitchen to answer it. A moment later he came ou
t again.

  "It's for you. A woman. She sounds upset."

  The lethargy that had been slipping over Jack suddenly dropped away. Only Gia had this number. He pushed himself out of the chair and hurried to the phone.

  "Nellie's gone, Jack!"

  "Where?”

  "Gone! Disappeared! Just like Grace! Remember Grace? She was the one you were supposed to find instead of going to diplomatic receptions with your Indian lady friend."

  "Calm down will you? Did you call the cops?"

  "They're on their way."

  "I'll see you after they leave."

  "Don't bother. I just wanted you to know what a good job you've done!"

  She hung up.

  "Something the matter?" his father asked.

  "Yeah. A friend's been hurt." Another lie. But what was one more added to the mountain he’d told over the years? "Gotta get back to the city." They shook hands. "Thanks. It's been great. Let's do it again soon."

  He had his racquet and was out to his car before Dad could warn him about driving after all those drinks. He was fully alert now. Gia's call had evaporated all effects of the alcohol.

  Jack was in a foul mood as he drove up the turnpike. He'd really blown this one. It hadn't even occurred to him that if one sister disappeared, the other might do the same. He wanted to push the car to eighty but didn't dare.

  At least the traffic was light. No trucks. The night was clear. The near-full moon hanging over the road was flat on one edge, like a grapefruit someone had dropped and left on the floor too long.

  As he passed Exit 6 and approached the spot where his mother had been killed, his thoughts began to flow backward in time. He rarely permitted that. He preferred to keep them focused on the present and the future; the past was dead and gone. But in his present state of mind he allowed himself to remember a snowy winter night almost a month after his mother's death…

  13

  He’d been watching the fatal overpass every night, sometimes in the open, sometimes in the bushes. The January wind had frosted his face, chapped his lips, numbed his fingers and toes. Still he waited. Cars passed, people passed, time passed, but no one threw anything off.