by Timothy Zahn
"Like there was no reason for a group of streetlights to go dim the way they did two nights ago?"
Caroline asked quietly.
Roger winced. "Yeah," he agreed. "You be careful, okay? No telling how many other players there are in this game."
"I'll bet Melantha knows," Caroline said. "Maybe I can get her to talk."
"After you get to Paul and Janet's," Roger warned.
"Yes, of course," Caroline said with a half-audible sigh. "We'll see you later."
Roger clicked off the phone, glancing around as he put it away. Sylvia probably still had someone following him, hoping he would lead them to Melantha. Now, more than likely, Torvald had added a tail of his own. Two very different groups of people, both of them desperate to get hold of Melantha.
And he still didn't have the faintest idea why.
But Caroline was right: Melantha knew. He could see it in her eyes, in her evasiveness, in her fear.
She knew.
And tonight, one way or another, he was going to get some answers out of her.
9
With a frustrated grunt, Caroline dropped the phone back onto its hook. After you get to Paul and Janet's. Right—like she was going to stand here in front of all New York and get into some long involved conversation with Melantha. Didn't he think she could figure that out for herself?
Didn't he think she could think for herself?
"What did he say?"
Caroline turned to the anxious face looking at her from just inside the office door. "It's all right," she assured the girl, carefully filtering the annoyance out of her voice. There was no point in dumping any of this on Melantha, after all. "Roger's got your trassk. He'll bring it to the new place with him."
"Oh," Melantha said, sounding a little uncertain. "He'll be careful with it, won't he?"
"I'm sure he will," Caroline said, studying her face. Some of the tension had eased at the news that her brooch was safe. But only some of it. "So off we go," she continued, trying to force some cheerfulness into her voice. "As long as we're here anyway, is there anything you need? A snack, maybe, to keep you going until we can get a real meal?"
Slowly, Melantha turned around to peer into the main part of the store, that same uncertain look still on her face. "Yes," she murmured. Turning her head to the side, she started slowly toward the front.
Caroline watched her go, frowning. For the past fifteen minutes all the girl had been able to think or talk about had been her trassk. Now, like a light switch flicking on in her brain, her top priority had apparently shifted to checking out the snack section.
"You get through?"
She turned as the store manager eased past her from the storeroom, three boxes of cigarettes balanced across his forearms. "Yes, Lee, thanks," she said. "And thanks for letting me use your phone."
"No problem," he said. "First rule of business is to treat your customers right."
"I appreciate it," Caroline said. "One of these days we really need to get a second cell phone."
"Yeah, but then you start depending on the things," Lee warned. "Then the cells get overloaded, or the system crashes, and then where are you? Give me good solid wires any day."
"You may be right," Caroline said diplomatically.
"So who's the young lady?" Lee asked, nodding toward the front of the store. "Relative?"
"No, just a friend," Caroline said, turning her head to follow his gaze. "She's been visiting for awhile and—"
The rest of the carefully prepared story caught abruptly in her throat. Melantha had not, as she'd expected, stopped by the snack food display. She was still walking in that same slow, deliberate pace.
Heading straight for the door.
"Excuse me," Caroline said, dropping her suitcase inside the office and hurrying after her. No mistake; the girl was heading outside. For a second Caroline considered calling to her, realized in time that shouting the name Melantha might attract the wrong kind of attention. Picking up her pace, she concentrated instead on getting to the door first.
Strangely enough, even with Melantha's head start it didn't look like it would be much of a contest.
Even as Caroline dodged around and past the other browsing customers, leaving consternation and the occasional New York expletive in her wake, the girl continued on in that same measured pace. It was almost as if she didn't really want to get away at all, Caroline thought, but was simply going through the motions.
She caught up with the girl a few steps short of the door. "Hey, there," she said, taking hold of her wrist. "Where do you think you're going?"
Melantha looked up at her... and Caroline caught her breath. The girl's face was blank, her eyelids drooping as if she was half asleep. Behind the eyelids the pupils were so dilated that the black nearly filled the irises. "I have to go back," she said, her voice low and husky. "It has to be done. I have to go back."
She started to pull away. "Oh, no you don't," Caroline insisted, tightening her grip. "You're not going anywhere without—"
Bring her to me.
Caroline jerked. The voice that had spoken had been like nothing she'd ever heard before. It had felt distant, yet at the same time strangely close, a voice that was completely unfamiliar yet carried the sense that she'd known the speaker all her life.
And it hadn't spoken in her ears, but in her mind.
Bring her to me, the voice continued. Open the door and bring the Peace Child to me.
Caroline frowned. Open the door? But the shop's door was already open. "Who are you?" she whispered. "Where are you?"
You must understand that what I do, I do for the best, the voice said. Unlock the door and bring her to me.
The store seemed to waver in front of Caroline's eyes, like pavement on a hot July day. The voice was so persuasive, so insistent, so confident. How could she not obey it? How could she not take Melantha to him?
Melantha. The girl who'd looked up at her with hopeless eyes as she huddled in the cold of a darkened alley. The girl who'd found enough comfort and safety in their living room that for awhile she'd seemed like a normal child before the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders again.
The girl with bruises on her throat where someone had tried to murder her.
"No," she muttered aloud to the voice. "Go away and leave us alone." She shook her head hard; and like a camera coming back into focus, her vision suddenly cleared and everything seemed to snap back into place.
And then, from somewhere nearby came the soft chime of a doorway electric eye, and she realized that Melantha's arm had somehow escaped from her grip. Spinning around, she saw that the girl had made it two steps outside the store. "Come back here," she snapped, taking a pair of quick steps and grabbing the girl's arm again. "You're not going anywhere."
Bring her to me. The voice was still there, still as insistent as before. But there was no power in it anymore.
At least, not for Caroline. But apparently Melantha wasn't as free from its influence. She was straining at Caroline's grip like a dog on a leash, trying to pull them both back toward the corner.
"Come on, Melantha," Caroline said soothingly, digging her feet into the pavement as best she could, trying not to make a scene of this. The last thing she needed was for someone to call the cops with a child-abuse complaint. She sent a quick glance around the sidewalk, but no one seemed particularly interested in the two of them.
And then, for no particular reason, she lifted her eyes to their building half a block away.
Someone was on their balcony. Two men, standing beside her orange trees.
Caroline felt her arms starting to tremble. "Come on," she told Melantha, trying to pull the girl back out of sight. It was like tugging on a bag of cement. "We have to get out of here."
"No," Melantha said, her voice as blank as her face. "I have to go back."
"Melantha, snap out of it," Caroline ordered, managing to pull her at least into the partial protection of the store's small awning. Swiveling her arou
nd, she got a grip on both of the girl's upper arms.
"You hear me? You don't have to go back. Look at me, Melantha."
Melantha blinked... and then, slowly, her face seemed to sag. "Caroline?" she whispered.
"Yes," Caroline said firmly. "You don't have to listen to him, Melantha."
"But they'll all die if I don't go back," Melantha said, her voice pleading. Her eyelids were still halfclosed, but at least the pupils were back to normal again. "They'll die."
"Who will die?" Caroline asked, an eerie feeling seeping through her.
"He said I shouldn't have run away," Melantha said. "But I didn't. Not really."
"I know that, sweetheart," Caroline assured her. "Who's going to die if you don't go back?"
"The Greens," Melantha said, tears welling up in her eyes. "The Grays." She squeezed her eyes shut, sending the tears trickling out onto her cheeks. "Everyone."
Caroline felt a shiver run up her back. Gray. Wasn't that the name Roger had mentioned? "You mean Torvald and his family?" she asked.
"All of them," Melantha repeated. "And it'll be my fault."
Caroline took a deep breath. "No, it won't," she said as firmly as she could. "Because Roger and I won't let it happen."
"But—"
"No buts," Caroline cut off her protest, trying to ignore the voice still prodding at the edge of her mind. "It won't happen. Understand?"
Melantha swallowed hard. "But if it's the only way?"
"We'll find another way," Caroline promised, squeezing her arms reassuringly. "But right now, we have to get out of here."
"Mrs. Whittier?"
She turned around, tensing. But it was only Lee, holding her suitcase. "Here, you forgot this," he said.
"Thank you," Caroline said, not sure she dared let Melantha out of her two-handed grip yet. "Just set it down, would you?"
Lee's forehead wrinkled. "You okay?" he asked, setting the suitcase beside the door.
Caroline hesitated. What could she say? "We're just having a little discussion," she said.
"Oh?" Lee peered at Melantha. "You okay, miss? You don't look so good."
Melantha looked questioningly at Caroline, then back at Lee. "I'm all right," she said, her voice quavering only a little.
"You sure?" he asked, clearly not convinced. "Anything I can do?"
"Actually, yes, there is," Caroline said suddenly. "You could call 911 and tell them someone's burgling our apartment."
Lee's eyes widened. "How do you know?"
"They're on our balcony," Caroline said. Carefully, she eased her head out from under the awning to look.
The balcony was empty. "Well, they were," she amended, moving back under cover again. "They must have gone inside. Please?"
Lee pursed his lips, but nodded. "Okay. What's the address?" She gave it to him, and he nodded again. "Okay. Wait here." Turning, he hurried back into the store.
Caroline sneaked another peek out from under the awning. The balcony was still clear; but if the men up there had seen her, they would already be on their way down. "We've got to go, Melantha," she murmured to the girl, letting go with one hand and snagging the suitcase.
"No, wait," Melantha said suddenly, grabbing at her arm. "They're still there."
Caroline frowned up at the empty balcony. "Where?"
"On the wall to the left of the balcony," Melantha said, pointing. "Two Grays."
Caroline frowned a little harder. On the wall to the left...?
Abruptly, she caught her breath. On the side of their building, right where Melantha had said, she saw something. Not people, but a pair of what looked like ripples or perhaps giant drops of water.
Only they were moving up the side of the building, not down. "What is that?" she breathed.
"They're Grays," Melantha hissed. "They're coming for me."
"Grays?" Caroline echoed, Roger's nighttime story racing through her mind.
But his human fly had been just that: human. This was something else entirely. "Are they wearing camouflage?" she asked, knowing full well that couldn't possibly be it.
"They're masked," Melantha said, her breath starting to come in ragged gasps. "We have to get out of here." The ripples stopped moving, and even knowing where to look Caroline couldn't see anything.
And then something caught her eye, and she felt her throat tighten. There was indeed nothing to be seen of the two figures themselves... but just beneath where the two ripples had stopped moving she could see small dark crescents against the lighter color of the wall.
The two men had vanished. But their shadows were still there.
"We have to go," Melantha said again.
"I know, honey," Caroline said, looking back into the store. Invisible men climbing walls, someone calling into her mind...
Her eye caught a small rack of scarves beside the checkout counter. "Here," she said, pulling Melantha back into the store. "Tuck your hair into the back of your collar," she ordered, pulling the most conservatively patterned scarf free and digging into her purse. She found a ten-dollar bill and dropped it onto the counter, then turned back to Melantha and flipped the scarf over her head, tying it under her chin the way she'd seen elderly women wearing them. "How does that feel?"
"Like I'm an old woman," Melantha said distastefully, her fear receding momentarily into the background as preteen fashion dignity asserted itself.
"Let's hope everyone else sees you that way, too," Caroline said. "Walk a little stooped over, and we'll pretend I'm taking my mother for a walk."
Melantha's face screwed up, but she nodded. "I'll try."
"Okay." Putting the girl's hand on her crooked elbow the way she'd seen other women walking, Caroline reached down and picked up the suitcase. "Let's go."
They left the store and headed east, away from the apartment. Caroline could feel Melantha's hand trembling, and found herself fighting against the impulse to abandon their mother-daughter act and take off running. Setting her teeth, she split her attention between walking slowly and keeping an eye over her shoulder for an available cab.
They were halfway down the block before Melantha spoke again. "Are we still going to your friends'
apartment?" she asked.
"Of course," Caroline said. "Why? Do you want to go somewhere else?"
"No," Melantha murmured, reaching up to push a lock of hair back up behind the scarf.
It wasn't until they had found a cab and were heading south that Caroline understood what the girl had been really asking.
Heading east on 96th, the direction they'd taken from the store, would ultimately have taken them to Central Park, and the apartment Roger had visited that morning.
The place where all the Greens lived.
10
It had been a long day, the paperwork at the 24th Precinct had been worse than usual, and the last thing Detective Sergeant Tom Fierenzo wanted to do was look at yet another crime scene.
"I hope this isn't going to take very long," his partner, Detective Jon Powell, commented as they showed their badges to the doorman and crossed to the elevator. "Sandy was hoping we could have the whole weekend to ourselves for a change."
"We'll be out in an hour, tops," Fierenzo promised, hoping it was true. Powell, fourteen years his junior, was still able to actually relax on his days off, and he'd been looking forward to the weekend since Wednesday morning. More to the point, so had his wife, and Fierenzo didn't particularly want to disappoint either of them with last-minute paperwork. "Nice simple robbery," he reminded the other as he punched for the sixth floor. "No homicide, no hostage situation. Easy as pie."
"Maybe," Powell grunted. "But you know Smith. If there are any complications, he'll find them."
"Point," Fierenzo conceded. Officer Jeff Smith had the detective bug as badly as Fierenzo had ever seen, and everyone from Lieutenant Cerreta on down knew it. Even routine crime scenes got the full treatment when Smith and Hill were the cops of record. "On the other hand, maybe he's got a big weekend coming up,
too."
Powell snorted. "Right. Rereading the NYPD Detectives' Manual."
Fierenzo shrugged. "Somebody has to know what's in it."
Smith was standing by an open door halfway down the hall when they arrived, talking with a middleaged man wearing a khaki shirt and slacks. The older man seemed to have come down with a case of the nervous twitches, not an uncommon occurrence under circumstances like these.
What was uncommon was that Smith wasn't wearing his calm, the-policeman-is-your-friend expression. In fact, behind a rather stiff guardian-of-the-people face, he had the look of a cat with a cornered lizard in his sights.
He looked up as Fierenzo and Powell joined them, and something in his stance clued Fierenzo to play this one formally. "Officer Smith," he greeted the other. "What've we got?"
"This is Mr. Umberto," Smith said, his voice equally formal. "He's the building super."
"Mr. Umberto," Fierenzo said, nodding.
"And this is the scene of the crime," Smith continued. "The apartment of a Roger and Caroline Whittier."
"Doesn't look like forced entry," Powell commented, peering at the door.
"It wasn't," Smith confirmed. "Perps were three males, Caucasian but dark in a Mediterranean sort of way, all of medium height and slender build. One was sixty to seventy years old; the other two in their mid-twenties."
"And how exactly do we know this?" Fierenzo asked.
Smith looked sideways at Umberto. "Because Mr. Umberto is the one who let them in."
"Really," Fierenzo said. That explained the severity of the man's twitches, anyway. It was an all-toofamiliar story: some smooth-talking con man would show up, spin an impressive wall mural of smoke and mirrors, and get someone to let him past a set of deadbolts. "May I ask why, Mr.
Umberto?"
Umberto winced. "I guess... because he told me to."
Fierenzo frowned. This was usually where the defensiveness and excuses started. "What do you mean? What exactly did he say?"
The hapless super winced again. "He just... said to open the door. And I... did."
"Did he have a work order?" Fierenzo asked, moved by a desire to give the man every benefit of the doubt. "A weapon? Did he threaten you?"
