The Tomb

by F. Paul Wilson

  The three of them trailed into the kitchen where Eunice was preparing lunch. Jack slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and stared morosely into space. Vicky apparently noticed that he wasn’t responding to her in his usual manner so she went out to the backyard to her playhouse. Gia sat watching him, dying to know what he was thinking but unable to ask with Eunice there.

  Vicky came running in from the back with an orange in her hand. Gia idly wondered where she’d got it. She thought they’d run out of oranges.

  “Do the orange mouth! Do the orange mouth!”

  Jack straightened up and put on a smile that wouldn’t have fooled a blind man.

  “Okay, Vicks. The orange mouth. Just for you.”

  He glanced at Gia and made a sawing motion with his hand. Gia got up and found him a knife. When she returned to the table, he was shaking his hand as if it were wet.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “This thing’s leaking. Must be a real juicy one.” He sliced the orange in half. Before quartering it, he rubbed the back of his hand along his cheek. Suddenly he was on his feet, his chair tipping over behind him. His face was putty white as he held his fingers under his nose and sniffed.

  “No!” he cried as Vicky reached for one of the orange halves. He grabbed her hand and roughly pushed it away. “Don’t touch it!”

  “Jack! What’s wrong with you?”

  Gia was furious at him for treating Vicky that way. And poor Vicky stood there staring at him with her lower lip trembling.

  But Jack seemed oblivious to both of them. He held the orange halves up to his nose, inspecting them, sniffing at them like a dog. His face grew steadily paler.

  “Oh, God!” he said, looking as if he was about to be sick. “Oh, my God!”

  As he stepped around the table, Gia pulled Vicky out of his way and clutched her against her. His eyes were wild. Three long strides took him to the kitchen garbage can. He threw the orange in it, then pulled out the Hefty bag, twirled it, and twisted the attached tie around the neck. He dropped the bag on the floor and came back to kneel before Vicky. He gently laid his hands on her shoulders.

  “Where’d you get that orange, Vicky?”

  Gia noted the “Vicky” immediately. Jack never called her by that name. She was always “Vicks” to him.

  “In … in my playhouse.”

  Jack jumped up and began pacing around the kitchen, frantically running the fingers of both hands through his hair. Finally he seemed to come to a decision.

  “All right—we’re getting out of here.”

  Gia was on her feet. “What are you—?”

  “Out! All of us! And no one eat anything! Not a thing! That goes for you, too, Eunice!”

  Eunice puffed herself up. “I beg your pardon?”

  Jack got behind her and firmly guided her toward the door. He was not rough with her, but there was no hint of playfulness about him. He came over to Gia and pulled Vicky away from her.

  “Get your toys together. You and your mommy are going on a little trip.”

  Jack’s sense of urgency was contagious. Without a backward glance at her mother, Vicky ran outside.

  Gia’s anger flared. “Jack, you can’t do this! You can’t come in here and start acting like a fire marshal. You’ve no right!”

  “Listen to me!” he said in a low voice as he grasped her left biceps in a grip that bordered on pain. “Do you want Vicky to end up like Grace and Nellie? Gone without a trace?”

  Gia tried to speak but no words came out. She felt as if her heart had stopped. Vicky gone? NO—!

  “I didn’t think so,” Jack continued. “If we’re here tonight, that might happen.”

  Gia still couldn’t speak. The horror of the thought was a hand clutching at her throat.

  “Go!” he said, pushing her toward the front of the house. “Pack up and we’ll get out of here.”

  Gia stumbled away from him, propelled not so much by his words, but by what she’d seen in his eyes … something she’d never seen or ever expected to see: fear.

  Jack afraid—it was almost inconceivable. Yet he was; she was sure of it. And if Jack was afraid, what should she be?

  Terrified, she ran upstairs to pack her things.

  4

  Alone in the kitchen, Jack sniffed his fingers again. At first he’d thought he was hallucinating, but then he’d found the needle puncture in the orange skin. No doubt about it—rakoshi elixir. Even now he wanted to retch. Someone—someone? Kusum!—had left a doctored orange for Vicky.

  Kusum wanted Vicky for his monsters.

  The worst part was realizing that Grace and Nellie had not been random victims. The two old women had been intended targets. And Vicky was next.

  Why? In God’s name, why? Was it this house? Did Kusum have a Manson thing going where he wanted to kill everyone who lived here? Grace and Nellie already gone, but why Vicky next? Why not Eunice or Gia? It didn’t make sense. Or maybe it did and his brain was too rattled right now to see the pattern.

  Vicky came up the back steps and hurried through the kitchen carrying something that looked like a big plastic grape. She walked by with her chin out and her nose in the air, without even once glancing Jack’s way.

  She’s mad at me.

  To her mind she had ample reason to be upset with him. After all, he’d frightened her and everyone else in the house. But that could not be helped. He could not remember a shock like the one that had blasted through him when he recognized the odor on his hands.

  Fear trickled down his chest wall and into his abdomen.

  Not my Vicky. Never my Vicky!

  He walked over to the sink and looked out the window as he washed the smell off his hands. The house around him, the playhouse out there, the yard, the whole neighborhood had become tainted, sinister.

  But where to go? He couldn’t let Gia and Vicky return to their own apartment. If Kusum knew of Vicky’s passion for oranges, surely he knew her address. And Jack’s place was definitely out. On impulse he called Isher Sports.

  “Abe? I need help.”

  “Nu? I should be surprised?”

  “This is serious, Abe. It’s Gia and her little girl. I’ve got to find them a safe place to stay. Somewhere not connected with me.”

  The banter was suddenly gone from Abe’s voice. “Hotel no good?”

  “As a last resort it’ll do, but I’d feel better in a private place.”

  “My daughter’s apartment is empty until the end of the month. She’s on sabbatical in Europe for the summer.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Queens. On the border of Astoria and Long Island City.”

  Jack glanced out the kitchen window to the jumble of buildings directly across the East River. For the first time since cutting the orange open, he felt he had a chance of controlling the situation. The sick dread that weighed so relentlessly upon him lifted a little.

  “Perfect! Where’s the key?”

  “In my pocket.”

  “I’ll be right over to get it.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Eunice came in as he hung up. “You really have no right to send us all on our way,” she said sternly. “But if I must go, at least let me clean up the kitchen.”

  “I’ll clean it up,” Jack said, blocking her way as she reached for the sponge in the sink. She turned and picked up the Hefty bag that contained the tainted orange. Jack gently pulled it from her grasp. “I’ll take care of that, too.”

  “Promise?” she said, eyeing him with unconcealed suspicion. “I wouldn’t want the two ladies of the house coming back and finding a mess.”

  “They won’t find a mess here,” Jack told her, feeling sorry for this loyal little woman who had no idea that her employers were dead. “I promise you.”

  Gia came down the stairs as Jack ushered Eunice out the front door. She seemed to have composed herself since he’d chased her upstairs.

  “I want to know what all this means,” she said after Eunice was
gone. “Vicky’s upstairs. You tell me what’s going on here before she comes down.”

  Jack searched for something to say. He could not tell her the truth—she’d lose all confidence in his sanity. She might even call the nut patrol to take him down to pillow city in Bellevue. He began to improvise, mixing truth and fiction, hoping he made sense.

  “I think Grace and Nellie were abducted.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Gia said, but her voice did not carry much conviction.

  “I wish it were.”

  “But there was no sign of a break-in or a struggle—”

  “I don’t know how it was done, but I’m sure the liquid I found in Grace’s bathroom is a link.” He paused for effect. “Some of it was in that orange Vicky brought in to me.”

  Gia’s hand clutched his arm. “The one you threw away?”

  Jack nodded. “And I bet if we had the time we could find something of Nellie’s that’s laced with the stuff, something she ate.”

  “I can’t think of anything…” Her voice trailed off, then rose again. “What about the chocolates?” Gia grabbed his arm and dragged him to the parlor. “They’re in here. They came last week.”

  Jack went to the candy bowl on the table beside the recliner where they’d spent Sunday night. He took a chocolate off the top and inspected it. No sign of a needle hole or tampering. He broke it open and held it up to his nose … and there it was: the odor. Rakoshi elixir. He held it out to Gia.

  “Here. Take a whiff. I don’t know if you remember what Grace’s laxative smelled like, but it’s the same stuff.” He led her to the kitchen where he opened the garbage bag and took out Vicky’s orange. “Compare.”

  Gia sniffed them both, then looked up at him, fear growing in her eyes. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” he lied.

  He took the candy and orange from her and threw both into the bag. Then he brought the dish from the parlor and dumped the rest of the chocolates.

  “But it’s got to do something!” Gia said, persistent as always.

  So that Gia couldn’t see his eyes as he spoke, Jack made a show of concentrating on twisting the tie around the neck of the bag as tightly as he could.

  “Maybe it has some sedative properties that keeps people quiet while they’re being carried off.”

  Gia stared at him, a mystified look on her face. “This is crazy! Who would want to—?”

  “That’s my next question: Where’d she get the candy?”

  “From England.” Gia’s face blanched. “Oh, no! From Richard!”

  “Your ex?”

  “He sent them from London.”

  Jack’s mind churned furiously as he took the garbage bag outside and dumped it in a can in the narrow alley alongside the house.

  Richard Westphalen? Where the hell did he fit in? But hadn’t Kusum mentioned that he’d been in London last year? And now Gia says her ex-husband sent these chocolates from London. It all fits, but it made no sense. What possible link to Kusum? Certainly not financial. Kusum hadn’t struck Jack as a man to whom money meant much.

  This was making less and less sense every minute.

  “Could your ex be behind this?” he asked as he returned to the kitchen. “Could he be thinking he’s going to inherit something if Grace and Nellie disappear?”

  “I wouldn’t put much past Richard,” Gia said, “but I can’t see him getting involved in a serious crime. Besides, I happen to know that he’s not going to inherit a thing from Nellie.”

  “But does he know that?”

  “I don’t know.” She glanced around and appeared to shiver. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

  “Soon as you’re ready.”

  Gia went upstairs to find Vicky. Before long, mother and daughter stood in the foyer, Vicky with a little suitcase in one hand and her plastic grape carry case in the other.

  “What’s in there?” Jack asked, pointing to the grape.

  Vicky held it out of his reach behind her back. “Just my Ms. Jelliroll doll.”

  “I should have known.” At least she’s talking to me.

  “Can we go now?” Gia said.

  She’d been transformed from a reluctant evictee to someone anxious to be as far away from this house as possible. He was glad for that.

  Jack took the large suitcase and led the two of them up to Sutton Place. He hailed a cab and gave the address of Isher Sports.

  “I want to get home,” Gia said. She sat in the middle, Vicky on her left and Jack on her right. “That’s in your neighborhood.”

  “You can’t go home.” As she opened her mouth to protest he added: “You can’t go to my place, either.”

  “Then where?”

  “I’ve found a place in Queens.”

  “Queens? I don’t want to—”

  “No one’ll find you in a million years. Just hang out there for a couple of days until I see if I can put a stop to this.”

  Gia put an arm around Vicky and hugged her close. “I feel like a criminal.”

  Jack wanted to hug both of them and tell them they’d be all right, that he’d see to it that nothing ever hurt them. But after his outburst this morning, he wasn’t sure how they’d react.

  The cab pulled up in front of Abe’s store. Jack ran in and found him at his usual station, perusing his customary array of newspapers. Mustard brightened his black tie, poppy seeds peppered his ample shirtfront.

  “The key’s on the counter and so’s the address,” he said, glancing over his reading glasses without moving from his seat. “This won’t be messy, I hope. Already my relationship with Sarah is barely civil.”

  Jack pocketed the key but kept the address in hand.

  “If I know Gia, she’ll leave the place spotless.”

  “If I know my daughter, Gia will have her work cut out for her.” He stared at Jack. “I suppose you have some running around to do tonight?”

  Jack nodded. “A lot.”

  “And I suppose you want I should come over and babysit the two ladies while you’re out of the apartment? Don’t even ask,” he said, holding up a hand, “I’ll do it.”

  “I owe you one, Abe,” Jack said.

  “I’ll add it to the list,” he replied with a deprecating wave of his hand.

  “Do that.”

  Back in the cab, Jack gave the driver the address of Abe’s daughter’s apartment.

  “Take the Midtown Tunnel,” he said.

  “The bridge is better for where you’re going,” the cabby said.

  “Take the tunnel,” Jack told him. “And go through the park.”

  “It’s quicker around.”

  “The park. Enter at Seventy-second and head downtown.”

  The cabby shrugged. “You’re paying for it.”

  They drove over to Central Park West, then turned into the park. Jack stayed twisted around in his seat the whole way, watching through the back window for any car or cab that followed them. He’d insisted on taking the route through the park because it was narrow and winding, curving through the trees and beneath the overpasses. Anyone tailing would want to stay close for fear of losing them.

  No one following—Jack was sure of that by the time they reached Columbus Circle, but he kept his eyes fixed out the rear window until they reached the Queens Midtown Tunnel.

  As they slid into that tiled fluorescent gullet, Jack faced front and allowed himself to unwind. The East River was above them, Manhattan was rapidly falling behind. Soon he’d have Gia and Vicky lost in the mammoth beehive of apartments called Queens. He was putting the whole island of Manhattan between Kusum and his intended victims. Kusum would never find them. With that worry behind him, Jack would be free to concentrate his efforts on finding a way to deal with the crazy Indian.

  Right now, however, he had to mend his relationship with Vicky. She sat on the far side of her mother with her big plastic grape sitting in her lap. He began by leaning around Gia and making the kind of faces mothers always tell their children n
ot to make because you never know when your face’ll get stuck that way.

  Vicky tried to ignore him but soon was laughing and crossing her eyes and making faces, too.

  “Stop that, Vicky!” Gia said. “Your face could get stuck that way!”

  5

  Vicky was glad Jack was acting like his old self. He’d frightened her this morning with his yelling and grabbing her orange and throwing it away. That had been mean. He’d never done anything like that before. It had frightened her, but worse, he’d hurt her feelings. She’d got over being scared right away, but her feelings had remained hurt until now. Jack was making her laugh. He just must have been grouchy this morning.

  Vicky shifted her Ms. Jelliroll Carry Case on her lap. It had room in it for the doll and extra things like doll clothes.

  Vicky had something extra in there now. Something special. She hadn’t told Jack or Mommy that she’d found two oranges in the playhouse. Jack had thrown the first away. But the second was in her carry case, safely hidden beneath the doll clothes. She was saving that for later and not telling anybody. That was only right. It was her orange. She’d found it, and she wasn’t going to let anybody throw it away.

  6

  Apartment 1203 was hot and stuffy. The stale smell of cigarette smoke had become one with the upholstery, rugs, and wallpaper. Gia spotted dust bunnies under the front room coffee table from the door.

  So this was the hideout: Abe’s daughter’s place.

  Gia had met Abe briefly once. He hadn’t looked too neat—had little bits of food all over him, in fact. Like father, like daughter, apparently.

  Jack went to the big air conditioner in the window. “Could use some of this.”

  “Just open the windows,” Gia told him. “Let’s get a change of air in here.”

  Vicky was prancing around, swinging her strawberry-colored carry case, delighted to be in a new place. Nonstop chatter: