by Gene Wolfe
16
DR. VON MADADH
SALLY’S FIRST, wild thought was that it was Tom lying in his old place—that the call from the sheriff’s office had been a prank or an absurd mistake. It seemed so natural, so inevitable, that it should be a mistake.
The doorbell rang, and the telephone. Sally ignored them both, and they fell into step, the longer, exasperated peals of the chimes stepping on the regular mechanical clamorings of the telephone like the notes of an all-percussion band in some sad institution for the severely retarded.
But the figure that lay upon its side in their bed was too small to be Tom. Those were not Tom’s broad shoulders, surely, and that black hair was not brushed with gray. “Mr. Fee,” Sally said. “Mr. Fee, that’s my bed. You can’t sleep there.”
There was no response.
She walked around the bed and for a moment (though it was only a moment) she again thought the sleeper Tom. No, Tom lay in the mortuary, his body displayed on some hideous metal table while cheerful little Richard J. Fouque gummed down his eyelids and wired his jaw shut.
“Mr. Feel” She tapped Fee’s shoulder with the barrel of the pistol.
He opened both eyes, closing them again at once.
“Mr. Fee, get up!”
Without opening his eyes a second time, he said, “No!” loudly and firmly.
Sally jerked back the sheet and blankets, aware that the doorbell was still ringing though the telephone had stopped. Fee was naked and extremely hairy. She said, “I’ll call the sheriff.”
“Go ’head.”
“Get out of my house!” Without Sally’s wishing any such thing, her voice had risen to a wail.
“My house,” Fee announced. He sat up, swinging his feet out of the bed, and belched.
“It isn’t! I’m not going to sell it.”
“Took m’money.” Fee belched again and fell backward, so that he lay crosswise on the bed, his head on the other side, his feet not quite touching the floor.
“I’ve got to see who’s at the door. Get out of my bed! I don’t want to find you here when I come back.”
She straightened up and realized that the pealing of the chimes had been stilled for some time; she crossed to the window and drew back the drapes. By angling her head, she could almost see the front door. The porch light was on, as she had left it. There was no one on the porch, nobody at the door.
“’m drunk,” announced Fee.
Sally turned back and found him sitting up again.
“Li’l too much. Whole bottle. Weak head. Celebrate the deal.” He covered his mouth with one hand and looked surprised.
“You can’t be drunk! I just saw you five—fifteen minutes ago.”
“Gonna—sick …” Fee moaned and fell sidewise.
She ran into the bathroom. The tin wastebasket there held only a few crumpled tissues. She dumped them out and filled it at the bath tap, inspired by the memory of her mother’s throwing water on a drunken caller thirty years before. The wastebasket sloshing, she hurried back into the bedroom.
Fee lay again as she had see him first, his back to her, the blankets drawn up about his thin shoulders.
“All right!” She hurled the water toward him.
Behind her, a curious female voice asked, “Why did you do that?”
Turning around, Sally found a teenage girl staring at her; the girl wore jeans, a red flannel shirt, and a dark zip jacket, and looked as though she might be one of Seth’s classmates.
“Who are you?” Sally asked.
“Lucie.” The girl extended a small, neat hand with a junk-jewelry ring. “You’re Mrs. Howard?” Sally nodded; she glanced back at Fee, but Fee had never moved. She accepted the girl’s hand. “How are you, Lucie?”
“I’m swell, Mrs. Howard. I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this. I was ringing the bell when I heard your voice in here. It sounded like you were in trouble, so I tried your door and it wasn’t locked. Why’d you throw that water on the bed?”
Sally gestured toward Fee. “Because I want him out of it. Because I won’t take no for an answer.”
The girl stared for a moment, then pulled down the spread. As she did, Fee vanished; what had appeared to be Fee was only a pillow without a pillowcase and a wadded-up blanket, both soaked now.
“I’ll take them off for you,” the girl said helpfully. “Where would you like them?”
“There was a man in—” The words seemed helpless, useless. Sally tried to recast them to make them sound sensible. “A man came into my house this evening,” she said, “and he won’t leave. I thought it was him, there. He did that, fixed up the blanket like that to fool me.”
The girl murmured, “Maybe you ought to sit down.”
“Maybe I should. I’m terribly tired, and I’m going to have to sleep in a damp bed tonight, I suppose.”
Sally let the girl lead her into her own living room. Her favorite chair (in which she had so often sat to talk with Tom, or read and watch TV) was full of peace.
“I could bring you a Coke or something,” the girl offered. “Or tea—I can fix tea if you’ll tell me where the things are.”
“You don’t know?”
The girl shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“That’s a relief,” Sally said. “Such a wonderful, blessed relief. No, no tea. If you’d like a Coke, there’s some in the refrigerator. Down the hall, and it’s the second door on your right.”
“Thanks,” the girl said. “I’ll get some—that salty stuff makes you thirsty. Sure you don’t want any?”
Sally shook her head and watched the girl’s departing back. I’ll never see her again, she thought. Or I will, but she won’t leave, ever. She’ll have to marry Seth. Or if she won’t, I’ll tell everybody they’re married.
For a few minutes she had nearly forgotten Seth. Thinking of him worried her; she put her head in her hands. After a long time, the girl said, “I brought a little glass in case you want some. I’ll just drink out of the can, okay? Wouldn’t you like a little?”
It seemed to Sally that whole years had passed since anyone had spoken to her with kindess; she nodded, not because she was thirsty, but because it was so much more pleasant not to refuse an act of charity.
Very carefully, the girl decanted cola into one of Sally’s little juice glasses. “It’s nice and cold,” she said. “Thanks for not being mad because I came in.”
“That’s all right, it’s only that I’ve had—My husband passed away today. Maybe you knew.”
The girl nodded. “I heard about it.”
“And then this evening it’s simply been a madhouse. I had a gun, even. Did you see it?”
The girl shook her head. “When I came in, you just had the wastebasket full of water.”
“That’s right. I think I left the gun in the bathroom, on the toilet, with the key. I put them down so I could empty the Kleenex out of the wastebasket.”
“It might be better to leave it there awhile,” the girl suggested.
“I suppose so. And our dog came back. Did I tell you?”
The girl shook her head.
“He was run over last year, only he wasn’t, really, because he was back in his dog house tonight. Seth built that dog house for him. I brought him in with me—he’s housebroken, and the deputy said it would be better if I had a dog. I fed him, too.” Sally sipped her Coke; it was cold and tasted good. “Then he ran off—exploring the house, I suppose. I’ve been thinking. I don’t think he’d bite that man, but he might, really. Once he bit a boy who was fighting with Seth.” She fell silent listening for the sound of dog claws on the floor upstairs. Silence brooded over the house.
“Rexy!” she called. “Here, Rexy!”
The girl touched her arm. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mrs. Howard.”
“Call the dog? Why not?”
The girl shrugged. “You never know what may come when you call, especially on a night like this. I did it once.”
“Oh
, that’s silly! Seth used to call him all the time. You’re a friend of Seth’s, aren’t you? Are you in his class?”
The girl shook her head again. “Is Seth your son?”
“That’s right. He’s a senior this year.”
“No, madame. I go to the camp here. But rather, the camp it is now over, but I do not go away.”
Sally found a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve heard there were a lot of foreign girls there. You don’t know Seth?”
“Mais oui, madame. Mais non, that I do not. Est charmant? I am so sorry.”
“Then why are you here?”
“A certain one whom I know, he has given to me the address, thus I seek for him here.” The girl raised her voice slightly. “The one whom I thought dead is not so, and I must inform him of this. Also that I tried very hard, very many times filling my mouth, spitting out when I could no longer drink. Of the Master of the Hunt, I have no further news.”
Sally could only goggle at her.
“My friend, he has said he comes here tonight to buy this house from you. Has he done thus? He is here now, I think.”
“Fee. You’re a friend of Fee’s.”
“We are close, madame, let us put it so—in friendship most warm.”
Sally was running down the hall and into the bathroom before she herself realized that she had sprung from her chair. Tom’s pistol and the skeleton key lay on the flush tank where she had left them. She snatched up the pistol and pulled the slide back far enough to make certain there was a cartridge in the chamber, then went back into the living room, deadly calm now, pausing in the hall to whistle for Rexy.
She had not expected to find the girl; but she was in her chair still, still nursing the red can of Coca-Cola. “You act foolishly, madame. I have told you this, but the whistling is especially bad.”
“Don’t worry about the dog,” Sally snapped. “Worry about the gun.”
“For myself, madame, neither. For you, both.”
“Won’t you please stop talking like that? It was funny at first, but it’s getting to be a trial.”
“I speak as well as I know your language. Would you prefer my French? I fear you would not comprehend.”
“Miss—” Sally had forgotten the girl’s name, although she remembered that the girl had given it. “Get out, please. Leave this house. Mr. Fee’s not here.”
“Yet I must locate him, madame.”
Sally discovered that her thumb was on the safety catch. “Rexy!” She whistled again.
“Please, madame. That is so evil, most especially when by a woman.”
To annoy her, Sally whistled a third time, and the doorbell rang.
“I will answer it for you, madame. Possibly I will be able to send it away.”
“I can answer my own door, thank you.”
“It would be better that you put away your pistol.”
“Maybe it would,” Sally said grimly, “and maybe it wouldn’t. I think I’ll keep it and see what happens.” Fear twisted at her stomach, tying three swallows of cobbler into frozen knots. She felt certain that if she were to lay aside the pistol, her hand would shake so badly it would go off.
The chimes sounded again, two short, polite peals.
Her thumb caressed the safety; it was still engaged. Quite deliberately, Sally put her finger on the trigger. It was Fee—who else could it be? Fee trying to find this girl. She would press down the safety catch, and shoot him through the heart as she opened the door. When somebody came, she would swear it had been an accident. She had grown up here, he was a stranger, they would surely believe her.
Or rather, they would acquit her whether they believed her or not. Tom had died today. Just today. Seth had—but where was Seth? What was the matter with Seth? Was this Seth? Had he lost his key?
“It is wise, what you do, madame. Do not answer, I beg.”
The chimes sounded again, three short peals. “I’m going to the bedroom for a moment. Don’t answer that door.”
“I will not, madame.”
It wasn’t Fee. Sally could see him standing on the porch, a man a great deal taller than Fee, with a curly beard. He was knocking now, having concluded, perhaps, that the bell was out of order.
She returned to the living room and opened the door. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I’ve been having a little trouble.”
“So I understand, Mrs. Howard.”
The stranger bowed, a slight inclination. His beard was bleached mahogany, Sally decided; a sort of light bronze.
“That’s why I’ve come. Allow me to present myself, Mrs. Howard. I’m Dr. von Madadh, and I’m here as a researcher for the Daoine Institute. But are,” he scraped his shoes on the mat, “my feet too muddy? There’s been so much rain this week—not very good for tracking, I’m afraid.” He offered Sally a large business card of the off-white shade called bone.
The girl grasped her elbow. “Madame, I beg you!”
“Not at all,” Sally said, still thinking of her visitor’s concern for her carpet. “No, really, Doctor. Please come in.”
17
THE HAUNTED CAR
As SHIELDS had assumed, the accident blocked the road. At least three vehicles had been involved, he decided: a rusted-out Ford, a van, and a farm truck. The truck had apparently been carrying cattle—crestfallen black steers appeared from time to time in the headlights of the ISP cars and firetrucks, only to be shooed away by state troopers. One of the steers was hobbling on three legs.
“Willie, it’s her!”
“It’s who?” he asked.
“Lisa, the girl from the camp. The counselor. That’s her, on that horse. I wonder what she’s doing here.”
“Rubber-necking, I suppose.”
“Well, I ought to say hello to her. My shoes got all muddy getting Wrangler into the car anyway.” Ann was opening her door as she spoke. She got out and waved. “Yoo-hoo! Lisa!”
Lisa looked toward her, waved, and neck-reined Boomer, who came trotting over. His mistress leaned from the saddle. “Mrs. Schindler? Is that you?”
“Yes, and I’ve got news for you. Willie, aren’t you going to come out and say hello?”
Lisa dismounted and offered her hand. “Lisa Solomon, Mr. Schindler. Pleased to meet you.”
“Will Shields,” Shields muttered.
“Lisa, we just took Wrangler to the hospital. Not Willie and I—”
“To the hospital, Mrs. Schindler?”
Shields could not see her well in the glare and darkness of the accident scene, but he thought she looked very small to ride such a big horse. As she voiced her question she became smaller still, or so it appeared.
“He was lying alongside the road—just lying there. We saw his horse running away, then I saw him in my lights. I couldn’t tell what had happened to him, but he bled horribly. We put him in back and brought him to the Trauma Center, and they put him right into intensive care. The doctor said he just about bled to death and it was a damned good thing I drove so fast. Willie taught me. Willie wanted to be a race driver once. Actually, he was, he raced his stock car and won some money that way, but when Mercedes was born he decided it was too dangerous and sold it.”
Lisa whispered, “He‘s—Wrangler’s—still alive?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure—” Ann paused and gulped. “Lisa, he’s going to be fine. They’ll give him blood and everything.”
“I have to see him—I’ve got to!” Suddenly, Boomer’s reins were on the ground, and Lisa was in Ann’s arms.
“She does, Willie. Can’t we drive her to the hospital?”
Shields nodded. “We may be going there anyway after we get Bob.”
“I mean right now. There’s all this mess, these cars and so on, and we can’t get through. But we could turn around and go back like those other people.”
“I’m afraid not,” Shields said.
“Will-ie!”
He shook his head. “I understand why she’s concerned, and if I were in her shoes I’d be worried
too. But Wrangler’s in a hospital under treatment. Bob’s our employee.” Shields paused. “And he’s my friend. I don’t know how badly he may be hurt, and there’s no doctor with him—a couple of teenagers are trying to take care of him. I shouldn’t have waited to eat; but because I was hungry and tired, and worried about you and Mercedes, I did. I’m not going back now.”
Lisa had lifted her head from Ann’s shoulder. “This is my car. You’ve got my old Cherokee.” Her voice quavered, and her eyes shone with tears.
“That’s what Lucie said,” Ann told her gently. “Willie took it—we own the dealership.”
“Lucie? Have you seen Lucie?”
Shields said, “She’s in back—asleep, I think.” He opened the rear door to show her, but the back seat was empty. So was the cargo area.
Ann stood on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder. “Lucie’s gone. She must have gotten out to look.”
Lisa said, “But she was with you? She was all right?”
“Certainly she’s all right. She helped me with Wrangler. Lisa, isn’t there any way we can get to Meadow Grass? That’s where Willie’s precious Bob is. Sissy told us.”
“Is Bob that man I found? Mrs. Schindler, I don’t want to go back to the lodge—not even if we find Lucie. I have to see Wrangler.”
Shields nodded. “Of course you do, and you will. And we haven’t even thanked you yet for taking care of Bob. But what about your horse?”
For a moment Lisa stared. “Boomer?” She pulled herself together with a visible effort. “You’re right—I can’t leave Boomer here.”
“Then ride him back,” Shields told her. “We’ll meet you there, pick up Bob, and go to the hospital.”
Ann said, “Except that we still can’t get through this God-damned accident, Willie.”
Lisa touched her shoulder. “Listen to me, both of you—you don’t have to. See our fence? I jumped it on Boomer, but it’s easy to take down the rails. You can put the car in four-wheel and drive through, then follow the fence to our private road.”
Shields helped her lift out the white rails and lay them to one side, while Ann turned the Cherokee and eased it through the half-flooded ditch; they were taking away the last rail when a state trooper directed his light toward them. “Afraid I can’t allow you to do this, folks. This is private property.”