"Oh, he's supposed to meet you. You couldn't maybe find someplace else?” The Guard leaned against the door.
She licked her lips and lowered her lids. “Well, I couldn't meet him at home, you know what I mean."
"No, I don't."
"His wife."
He cocked his head to one side. “This car yours?"
"Yes. Well, no, it belongs to a friend. I can show you the registration."
He walked around to the back and looked at the license plate, then returned. “When's your friend due?"
"Some time this morning, if he can get away.” She tried to sound believable.
"You wouldn't be making a pickup, would you?"
"I don't understand."
"A pickup. Dope, miss, or maybe stolen goods. You wouldn't be making a pickup, would you?"
"Of course not."
"What's your name?"
She gave her name and spelled it, hoping that this Guard did not know the one at St. Anne's. He wrote it down.
"Okay, miss, I'll be back down here later, so just watch it, okay? If I see you around, I might have more questions.” He walked back to his jeep and she closed her window. The jeep rolled away.
She clutched the wheel. She could not wait here much longer. If her name was circulated around National Guard headquarters much more, they would soon be paying calls. They might ask too many questions she could not answer. She started the car and drove away.
Sarah had talked Gerard out of staking out Raf's place after curfew. He spent the night tossing restlessly in bed, awakening her with his movements. By dawn, she was exhausted.
"You shouldn't have left,” he told her when they were at last driving toward Seneca Street.
"What was I going to do, wait for that guy to haul me in for questioning?"
"He wouldn't have hauled you in. He probably questioned you because he was bored, it was just a break in his routine. The worst he would have done was come back and ask more questions."
"How do you know? If we keep looking suspicious, and they find out about what we've been doing, we'd never be able to explain it.” They went over the bridge. “I'm sure he's still there."
"He'd better be."
They turned the corner and drove down the street. Gerard made a U-turn and parked not far from where she had been the day before.
"All right,” she said, resting her head on the seat. “What now? What do you expect to do? Are we going to sit here all day, or go up there?"
"We could wait for him to come out. We could catch him outside."
"And do what?"
Gerard scowled. “I could take him, you know. He might be taller, but I have at least fifteen pounds on him."
"How do you know he doesn't have weapons?"
He glanced at her. “I guess I don't."
She stiffened. Raf had come out on the porch. “Look."
"Who's that?"
"That's Raf."
"You're crazy, Sarah. He doesn't look anything like Raf."
"He's Raf, Gerry. It's his walk, that's how I knew. You have to believe me. You lost your memory, you probably forgot things about him."
"I remember what he looks like."
"It's him."
Raf left the house and strode toward Seneca Street.
"Okay, listen.” Gerard had his hand on the door. “I'm going to follow him. As soon as we're gone, lock up the car and go up to his apartment. Hide yourself. As soon as I see he's going back home, I'll double back and meet you there. We can catch him when he comes up the stairs."
"But what'll I do?"
"Just wait. You've got your purse, haven't you? You can swing it at him if you have to, and besides, I'll get there before he does."
"But—"
Gerard was out of the car. He slammed his door and followed the tall man. Sarah locked the door and adjusted the security system on the dashboard. Gerard passed the Salvation Army and disappeared around the corner. She could no longer see Raf.
She got out and locked her door. As she walked down the street, it occurred to her that Gerard might lose Raf. She might have to face him alone inside the building. She cursed herself for her cowardice, stomped up the steps to the porch, and went inside.
The hall was dark, and smelled of dirt and urine. She climbed the stairs, almost tripping on a loose board. The wood squeaked and groaned. She passed the second floor and heard the sounds of crying children.
The third floor's ceiling was low, not far above her head. Raf would have to stoop up here. His apartment was probably little more than an attic. There were two apartments on the third floor, but the door to one was wide open. She looked inside. Except for several empty bottles, the room was bare. The other apartment had to be Raf's.
She sighed. She could conceal herself in the empty apartment behind the door; she would be safe. She went inside and looked around the room, supposing that derelicts camped out in it after curfew; they were probably on the soup line at present and might not return until later. She hoped she was right.
She closed the door, leaving only a crack. As she leaned against the wall, she was surprised to find that she was no longer frightened. She rubbed her hands, trying to warm them. The house was poorly insulated, and there was a long crack in one of the windows.
She paced the room, halting when she heard the floor creak, afraid she would alert someone below. She tiptoed back to the door. Raf's entrance was visible through the crack, though she would be alerted by the creaking stairs before Raf got that far, and Gerard would be with her before then.
She took several deep breaths, composing herself. Her heart raced as she pressed her forehead against the peeling wall. She might be waiting for a while.
A door below slammed; she straightened. Someone was coming up the stairs; the footsteps were slow and measured, unlike Gerard's. She waited, taking a cautious breath, and moved closer to the door. Now she could not see through the crack. The footsteps passed the second floor, and continued up the stairs toward her.
A derelict, she thought, readying her purse. Then she panicked and thought: Raf. Gerard might have lost him. She told herself that he would not look in here. The footsteps halted on the other side of the short hallway. The unseen intruder knocked on the other door, then rattled the doorknob. Then the footsteps moved toward her door.
She froze. She would have to get past him and flee down the stairs. Holding out her purse, she prepared to swing it and then run. She sidled away from the door on her toes.
The door swung open. She held her purse by the strap and began to swing it, then pulled it back.
"Mr. Epstein."
The old man came in and drew the door shut. “I saw your car when I pulled up,” he said softly. “I suspected that someone might be lurking here. Are you alone?"
"Gerry's following Raf.” She leaned against the wall. “What are you doing here?"
"You knew I was going to look for him. I went to several places before I heard about this one. I found men who fit the right physical description, but who weren't my absent tenant. Then I spoke to my acquaintance Mr. Arkadian, a slumlord, I'm afraid.” He adjusted his beret. Strands and tufts of white hair still stuck out from under the hat. “He is not very observant, but he told me enough. He'd rented a place here, on the third floor, to a tall man who was weird. That's how he put it. The man had paid for the place in gold. Others in this building began to complain to Arkadian that he was entertaining all sorts of low life and was a foreigner of some kind besides. That intrigued me, and I thought I should take a look. When I saw your car, I knew I'd struck pay dirt."
"I saw him by accident on Monday,” Sarah said quickly. “I followed him here."
"You should have told me. You could have saved me trouble."
"I was afraid you wouldn't believe me. He doesn't look the same. But I recognized his walk."
"Are you sure he's the same man?"
"I'm sure. I don't know how, but I'm sure. It's Raf, Mr. Epstein.” She searched his wrinkled face. “W
hy are you so curious about him?"
"I told you. I want to verify your strange story."
"There has to be more to it than that."
The old man nodded. “Perhaps there is. I'm curious, too, you know. I may look old to you, but in my mind, I'm still young. I live as I do because I must, but I too have my dreams.” He paused. “We are in danger, you know. If this Raf Courn is simply a trickster of some kind, he might be a wealthy man with some influence and the money for bribes. If we get on his bad side, even my few friendships among the police might not be able to help us. And if he is what he claims, we can't predict his behavior. I thought about all this, but I went ahead. I don't have many years left. Maybe it's time to gamble."
"That's what Gerry said.” She folded her arms. “He said he'd beat Raf back here if he saw him heading home. I just hope Raf doesn't see him."
"And what were you going to do then?"
"Confront him."
Mr. Epstein shook his head. “Then I suppose we must wait."
They had been sitting on the floor most of the morning. Sarah had been silent, listening to tales of how things used to be, when Mr. Epstein had been a wealthy man. He had spent everything, speculating in land, something he was sure would never lose its value. He had been wrong, of course. Sarah thought of her father; he had not speculated, he had saved and relied on the pension that would eventually be his. He, too, had been wrong. The house Sarah had grown up in, up near the Adirondacks, was too far north to be saleable, and the pension was close to worthless. She thought of her parents in California. Her father's singing, the hobby he had not been able to make a career, was keeping him alive now. His resonant baritone soothed refugees in encampments, his kindly spirit lifted theirs. The Army paid him, and other entertainers, to keep things calm, to dampen the hopelessness and keep it from becoming rage.
She lifted her head at the sound of footsteps below. “I think that's Gerry,” she murmured. She got up and opened the door a bit. She waved when she saw him on the staircase. “Gerry."
He came in, looking startled when he saw Mr. Epstein. “I think he's coming. I had to hurry. It looked like he was coming back here."
Sarah helped Mr. Epstein to his feet. “Was he alone?” she asked.
"I think so. I hope he doesn't pick up anyone along the way.” He glanced at Mr. Epstein. “What are you—"
"Later, Gerry. Right now, we must be quiet, and wait."
A few minutes later, they heard someone coming up the stairs. The visitor was alone. Sarah saw Mr. Epstein remove his gun from his holster, and shuddered. She had not expected violence, in spite of her worries and Gerard's talk about taking Raf on; now she knew it was a possibility.
"Can't you put that away?” she whispered.
"The safety's on,” the old man whispered back. A key rattled in the lock across the hall. Without warning, Mr. Epstein pulled the door open and moved across the hall, Sarah and Gerard close behind him after a moment's hesitation. The tall man looked up, apparently startled. “Inside,” the old man said rapidly, and they pushed their way into the apartment. Gerard closed the door.
"What is this?” the tall man said. His voice was accented and gruff, not at all like Raf's. “Is this a roust, or what?"
"Just be quiet and sit down.” Mr. Epstein pointed with his gun. “You have made a mistake, Sarah. This man is not Raf Courn."
Sarah searched the strange face as the man seated himself on a cot. Except for two old wooden chairs, it was the only furniture in the room. A sink was in the corner, its porcelain heavily stained. A door was near it. She went to the door, opened it, and saw a toilet inside, then turned and surveyed the stranger once again. His hair was short and blond, almost white. His eyes were slits, not large as Raf's had been. His nose was smaller, and his mouth was pinched; the skin of his face was pale, as if he did not get any sun.
"I know it's Raf,” she said, beginning to doubt herself. She had made a mistake. She remembered his walk, and realized how flimsy that evidence was. Wanting to believe he was Raf, she had fooled herself. “I don't know.” Her voice caught on the words. “I was so sure."
"Look, sister,” the man said. “I come back here to relax in my home, and I don't want no visitors. Now you and your friends better leave."
Something snapped inside her. “Admit it,” she cried. “Admit this is all a disguise. You stole Gerry's memories, for God's sake."
"Somebody stole your brains. You're nuts.” The man removed something from his pocket, opening his coat to show Mr. Epstein he had only a bottle of whiskey. He set the bottle on the floor. “Get the hell out of my room. No old geezer with a gun is going to push me around, or some dope like you, sister, or some Polski clown like you.” He glared at Gerard's broad face.
"I'm Russian,” Gerard replied.
"Some Russky clown, then."
Sarah lowered her eyes, staring at the whiskey bottle. “I think the man is right,” Mr. Epstein said. Her vision blurred. She continued to gaze at the bottle and thought she saw something shiny near it, almost concealed by the faded, pink bedspread draped over the cot.
"Wait,” Sarah said desperately. “Lift that bedspread.” The man looked at her warily, then lifted it.
A silver console was under the bed. “It's Raf's,” she said. “It's his component, his doo-hickey. Where did you get it?"
"I was going to pawn it, sister. I put it there so it wouldn't get stole."
"You're lying.” She raised a fist, and Gerard reached for her and held her hand. “You're lying."
The man stared at her for a long time. Then he leaned back, resting his head against the wall. “My, my,” he murmured in a soft voice. “Sarah, my dear, I did not expect you to take such umbrage, though I suppose I should have.” He smiled. His eyes widened, and became those of Raf.
Eleven
Sarah settled herself in one chair while Gerard sat in the other. Mr. Epstein was staring at his revolver. “You can put that away, sir,” Raf said. “I shan't do anything reckless."
"How do I know that?"
"My goodness, can't you take my word? I do have my sensibilities, after all. I didn't try to avoid my rent, you know. I even left my deposit, plus all my belongings."
The old man put the revolver away and sat carefully on the cot next to Raf. “You caused us a lot of trouble,” Sarah said. “You don't even know how much."
"I left you money, didn't I? I thought you would be quite happy to forget me. Then you turned up at my country hideaway. That came as quite a shock. I was afraid you might find certain things. I was there, you know. I was in the basement. I had to find a way to get you out of there, so I took Gerry's memories, the same thing I had done to you earlier. I'm afraid I botched the job, I didn't mean to remove so much, but I did achieve my purpose. He panicked, and you both retreated, leaving me undiscovered."
"Then it's true,” Mr. Epstein said. “Everything Sarah told me is true."
"Of course it's true."
Sarah suddenly felt weak. She took off her scarf, realizing that the room was growing warmer. Her hands were trembling.
"You didn't cover your tracks very well,” the old man said.
"My, my. I did the best I could. I didn't expect you to look for me. I underestimated you. But then you're familiar with this town, and I am an outsider, so to speak.” He raised his eyebrows. “Whatever did you expect to find by pursuing me?"
Sarah shook back her hair. “I don't know. Some explanation, I guess. You toyed with us, Raf, you played with us. Why?"
"To amuse myself."
She gripped the arms of the chair. “To amuse yourself."
"Well, why not? I didn't deprive you of anything, and I must have provided some entertainment to you also."
Gerard rose. “I want my memories back. I don't like having blank spots in my mind."
"Why, surely. I can't say I blame you.” Raf rose, circled Gerard, and ran a hand down his back. Gerard staggered, shook his head, and sat down again. “Is that satisfactory?” Ge
rard nodded.
"Is that all?” Sarah asked.
Raf shrugged. “Certain things become quite simple in time,” he murmured. “You have some blank spots too, Sarah."
She shook her head. “I'll leave things as they are.” She was not sure she wanted to know what had passed between them. “I suppose you can plant false memories, too."
"I could, though that's more difficult.” Raf sat down on the cot. “I could send you all from this room with a perfectly nice set of memories that would explain your actions, while leaving you oblivious of me. It might take a little time for me to develop such a scenario. But why bother? I doubt anyone else would believe your story."
"Mr. Epstein believed me,” Sarah replied.
"But, then, Mr. Epstein is an exception."
"Some of the people at your party believed you."
Raf frowned. “Oh, some of them found my little tales and hints amusing, that's all. It's fun to imagine that something of significance has taken place, that there is something beyond the ordinary. But then the routines of life swallow one again. You three have surpassed my expectations."
Gerard was scowling. “What kind of people are you?” he said suddenly. “Why do you do this? You run around here as if you can do what you please."
Raf smiled. “My, my, Gerard. You are testy, aren't you. I'm a tourist. You have people who travel in other lands, perhaps indulging themselves with the natives."
"There's nothing here for you,” Gerard replied. “Maybe you should just go home."
Raf stared at Gerard. For a moment, Sarah thought she saw a look of pain in the large, dark eyes; it passed, and she could no longer see any expression at all. She shifted her gaze from his face and stared absently at the spots of green paint scattered among shreds of fading beige wallpaper on the wall behind him. “I don't suppose,” Raf murmured, “that there's really much left for me to learn here."
Mr. Epstein exhaled loudly. “I would think you'd have laws,” the old man said, “some sort of restriction on what you can do. What kind of society is it that has no laws or principles? Or don't we count for anything?"
Alien Upstairs Page 9
