Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack)

by F. Paul Wilson

  “Right. Well, he’s located them on Maui, and I’m going to head out there tomorrow to see if I can get them back.”

  “I see.” Sylvia kept her tone noncommittal. “What does that have to do with Ba?”

  “I’d like him to come along.”

  “And what did Ba say?” She suspected the answer but wanted to hear it for herself.

  “He refused. Said he couldn’t leave you here unprotected.”

  Sylvia turned to him. “Thank you, Ba.”

  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. 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?”

  “We met a little over a year ago. We’ve spent most of our time since then trying to prevent all this from happening.”

  “But you failed.”

  “I think that’s obvious. But even if I’d known him only a few days, I’d be 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 Ba 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. 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 in his building. 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.”

  Sylvia shook her head. “Out of the question. 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.”

  Sylvia’s heart warmed at his unflagging devotion. But that devotion could be a burden as well as a benefit. She took great comfort in knowing 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 guardianship, 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.

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

  He shrugged. “Only Glaeken knows. Set things right, I hope.”

  “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.”

  “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.”

  As Sylvia 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?”

  “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, is it your fault? But if you don’t convince him to go and he gets killed around here, then isn’t that also your fault? 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 onl
y 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 being given a chance to prove their competence and equality and maybe even superiority to men. They don’t see the flip side of the coin. The guys are saddled with the macho ethic. We’re expected 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.

  Carol was returning from the mailbox—empty. No delivery today, apparently.

  The elevator doors opened to reveal a middle-aged couple, each weighted with a pair of suitcases. They looked pale, drawn, shaken. Carol recognized the woman—she’d seen her by the mailboxes a few times.

  “Moving out?” she said, stepping aside to let them step out into the foyer with their luggage.

  The woman nodded glumly. “My sister’s got a place in the Catskills. We’re going to move in with her until this mess gets straightened out.”

  “What happened?”

  “We were invaded by the bugs. All the lower floors were.”

  “How awful!” Carol said.

  She realized then how lucky they were to have an apartment on an upper floor. She’d been in and out of bed repeatedly, checking the windows. A few times she’d found one sort of monstrosity or another clinging to the screens, but for the most part she’d been spared last night. But what about tonight?

  “Not as awful as what happened to the Honigs in two-twelve,” her husband said. “Jerry lost his left hand and their little girl got carried off.”

  The woman’s brave facade crumbled as she began to sob. “Poor Carrie!”

  Carol’s heart went out to the Honigs, whoever they were.

  “If there’s anything I can do for them—I mean…”

  Her voice trailed off. What could she do? She wasn’t sure how to handle her own problems.

  She wished them luck as she stepped onto the elevator and pressed the 10 button. The door closed, leaving her alone with her fears. More like uncertainties. Still no word from Nelson despite dozens of calls. She’d filled his voice mail and now it wasn’t accepting new messages.

  The bank had been no help. They said all the transactions had been verified with the proper PINs and phone inquiries. They’d all originated from Atlantic City.

  That last convinced Carol that something awful had happened to Nelson. He was—or had been—in Denver, and had never been a gambler. He’d always joked that it made more sense to take your money and simply hand it to a casino pit boss and save everyone a lot of time and effort. He must have been kidnapped or—

  The phone rang. She checked the caller ID and knew the number. She snatched it up.

  “Nelson!”

  A croak: “Carol.”

  She barely recognized the voice, but was sure it was Nelson.

  “Where are you? What happened?”

  “I owe you an explanation. I—”

  Her own voice seemed to have a will of its own. “Are you still in Denver? Did you get my messages? What—?”

  “Can I get a word in here?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “I got your messages. I’m in Atlantic City. I—”

  “Atlantic—!”

  “Yes, Atlantic City—and I’m not coming back.”

  Carol found herself speechless.

  “All my ‘business trips’ to Denver have actually been down here to AC. I … I found someone and I’m going to stay with her. I’ve been a tight-ass all my life. Time to live a little. I emptied my accounts because I need the money.”

  “But you—”

  “What? You’re going to complain about that? It’s my money. I earned it. And you’ve got plenty of your own. More than you can spend. So I don’t understand all these frantic calls about the accounts.”

  She did have more than she could spend—forty million? Fifty? She didn’t know. When he’d walked out at age fifteen, Jimmy—Rasalom—had taken half the fortune he’d amassed, and left the rest. It had kept growing. She’d given millions away to charities, but it kept growing, and growing.

  She felt a surge of anger. “I wasn’t worried about the money, I was worried about you!”

  A long pause, then, “Well, don’t be. It’s not you. I just don’t want to be married anymore.”

  “You could have been man enough to tell me in person!”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry about that, but I thought this was just a temporary thing. After all, I’m seventy freaking years old. But when I saw that Central Park hole on the tube, something inside told me it was all over.”

  “Oh, give me a break!”

  “It’s true, Carol. It’s the end times. I’ll spend my last days down here, you spend yours up there with your priest friend.”

  That last shocked her more than anything.

  “Bill? Don’t be—”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Carol. I’ve seen the looks passing between you two. Maybe you had something going on in the past, maybe something’s going on now. I don’t know. But if not, my advice is to get it on now. There’s not much time left.”

  Were her feelings for Bill that obvious?

  He said, “That’s it, Carol. Get out of the city. Get someplace safe. It’s all going to fall apart. Sorry if I’m hurting you, but this is the way it has to be.”

  And then he hung up.

  Carol stood in her living room, the silent phone in her hand, and felt a cascade of disparate thoughts, feelings, and observations take shape.

  Nelson … he’d been somewhat distant over the past few months but she hadn’t paid all that much attention. Her own life had been turned upside down earlier in the year by revelations of what her child had become, the horrors he’d perpetrated. And then … the return of Bill Ryan.

  Was she to blame? Had she helped send Nelson off the rails? Or was he simply giving in to the off-kilter zeitgeist? He hadn’t had a midlife crisis, so now he was having a late-life crisis?

  Whatever the reason, he was gone, off with someone new, leaving her alone.

  No … not alone. She didn’t have to face this alone.

  WNYW-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.

  CAMERON: But how is that possible?

  SAPIR: It’s not.

  CAMERON: Then how—?

  SAPIR: It is what it is. It just … is.

  Manhattan

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

  No sunrise on Frida
y? It seemed impossible, but Dr. Harvey Sapir was world renowned. And to see him break down and cry …

  “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 readying the deserted apartments for refugees people would be bringing in. 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 him.

  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.”

  The sight of her swept away his lethargy.

  “Neither did I. 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.