Michael Gray Novels

by Henry Kuttner

  “Tell me about it,” Gray murmured.

  “They both frighten me. In the same way. They’re almost the same thing, the same feeling. I’m not sure—I can’t remember much—something’s following me. Something terrible. It comes closer and closer in the dark. It has a dress on, but it—it—” She laughed uncertainly. “Its face is all hairy and—and slobbering. If it touches me I’ll die. I’ll fall and fall and fall until I die.”

  “Do you know what it is?” Gray asked softly.

  “It’s nothing. It’s just a dream.”

  “Does the face remind you of anybody?”

  Karen laughed shakily. “It makes me think of old Spot, a dog we had when I was small.”

  “Were you very fond of him?”

  “Oh, yes, I was. You see, I was an only child and Spot was almost like a sis—a brother I never had.”

  “What happened to Spot?”

  She opened her eyes wide at him. “Rabies! I’d forgotten that entirely. I guess it scared me so I forgot. I can remember Spot with foam on his mouth, and my mother rushing me indoors, and the neighbors coming, and a policeman….” She swallowed hard. “I guess they had to shoot him. I know that was the end of poor old Spot.”

  “Did it happen in the winter, in the snow?”

  “No. This was summer. I remember that distinctly.” Karen smiled. “You know, I feel better already. Funny how just talking about it, remembering it, seems to take the curse off.”

  “I’m glad,” Gray said. “How much better do you feel?”

  She seemed to be testing herself. “Some.”

  “Enough to sleep?”

  Her eyes flew wide open again. The panic look came back and she gripped the comforter tight.

  “I don’t know why it scares me so,” she said in a hoarse, low voice. “I don’t dare sleep.”

  “What will happen if you do?”

  “Dennis will get in and—and kill me. He’s tried, you know!”

  Gray nodded. “Well, you have a nurse here, and you can have a policeman, I think, if that would help. Your husband has tried three times today and hasn’t got in yet. Are you sure that’s the only thing you’re afraid of?”

  She turned her head restlessly on the pillow. “Every time I drift off I go into a terrible lurch and feel I’m starting to fall. You know that feeling? If I don’t jump awake right then I can’t save myself. And—I think—that nightmare. It might come back. I think it would come back. I’d be there in the dark again with the snow all around and that awful thing in the dress with the hairy face coming at me….”

  “Maybe it’s only old Spot,” Gray suggested soothingly.

  “No. It just—reminds me of Spot. It isn’t Spot at all. It’s something else, something real—I don’t want to talk about it!” She had begun to breathe hard again and the bones of her knuckles showed white through the skin as she gripped the blue satin.

  Gray thought for a moment.

  “I have one idea,” he said. “You could have a sedative, of course, but that wouldn’t stop the dreams. I think I know a way you could sleep without dreaming or anxiety.”

  “What? Oh, I wish I could! Tell me!”

  “Do you know anything about hypnosis?”

  She gave him a dubious look. Gray smiled. “It’s a perfectly respectable therapeutic tool. They’re using it quite a bit in medicine now, too. It could help you to relax. I could suggest to your unconscious mind that you’d sleep without dreaming. At the first inkling of anxiety or nightmare, I could suggest that you wake up in an instant, wide awake. How does that sound?”

  She smiled uncertainly. “It sounds wonderful—if it would work.”

  “It should work. You do need rest, and this way you can be pretty sure of getting it. Shall we try?”

  She nodded. “I guess so. Yes, we could try. What do I do?”

  “Just relax.” Gray got up and drew the shade again. He said, “Now—”

  “Wait a minute.” Karen’s uncertain smile wavered on her mouth. “I want to say something. The last time I talked to you, you asked me if I wanted to make any changes in myself. I lied—I said no. I do want to.” She paused, appeal in her face. “I need to change. I need to badly. Can you help me?”

  “I hope so. I think I could.” Gray’s smile was warm. “We’ll get together tomorrow when you’re rested and see how we can work at it, if you still want to.”

  Karen sighed, a relaxed sound. “I know I’ll want to,” she said.

  Gray said, “Good. Now you’d better get those pillows comfortable and lie back. I think—” He paused, struck by a sudden memory. “I have an interruption too,” he said. “Before we go on with this, will you answer a question? Were you ever treated by a man named Perry Brand?”

  Karen blinked up at him, frowning a little. “Brand? Isn’t that the man Susan Turk swears by? No, I’ve never even seen him. Why?”

  Gray gave her a considering look. She returned it candidly. This sounded like the truth. But with Karen Champion, did you ever really know?

  He said, “It isn’t important, now. I was just wondering. Are you comfortable, now? I want you to lie back and relax as much as you can. You’ll find you start to get very sleepy as I begin to count….”

  17

  Dennis Champion opened his house door and stood peering out into the dimness at Gray. The porch light threw Gray’s face into shadow, and Champion stooped and peered like an old man, his head sunk between massive shoulders.

  “Who is it?” he asked in a growling voice. “I can’t see—oh.” The voice went flat. “What do you want?”

  “To talk to you a minute,” Gray said.

  Champion’s big shoulders hunched. “Well, I don’t want to talk to you!”

  Gray said, “Frankly, I don’t give a damn what you want. I’ve just seen your wife and I’m concerned about her health. That’s the only reason I’m here. Not for the pleasure of your company, Champion.”

  Taken a little aback, Champion stared at him.

  “What’s this about Karen’s health? All right, come in.” He stepped back ungraciously. Gray followed him into the big living room with its impersonally arranged furniture. Uninvited, Gray sat down and pulled an ash tray toward him.

  Champion stood rocking on his feet slightly, waiting. He wore well-pressed slacks and an immaculate white shirt, with a very old, fraying sweater of maroon wool pulled on over it. Gray had seen, as Champion turned in the doorway, the block letter of his university standing out with dingy brightness across the back of the sweater.

  Gray tapped his cigarette in the tray.

  “Dr. Ettinger called me in this evening to talk to Mrs. Champion,” he said. “She’s been under a very considerable strain for some while. I think she’s in danger of an emotional crack-up that could take her a long time to get over. These things build up for a long time. Then suddenly some precipitating factor can tip the person over the edge. I thought you ought to know how things stand.”

  Champion said, “My God! I didn’t realize—the poor kid! How bad is it?”

  Gray shook his head. “I don’t know, yet. There’s the internal crisis, and the external one. Albano’s death and—other things.”

  “Like me, you mean.” Champion was faintly blustering.

  “Like you,” Gray agreed.

  Champion looked startled. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes, I am. I can understand your wanting to see her, but she isn’t in a very—well, call it an accepting mood just now. It’s disturbing to her to know you’re trying to reach her. Very disturbing.” Gray measured Champion with his eyes. “I thought if you realized it you’d be willing to stay away from her for awhile.”

  Champion met his eye. Then he swung away and stood staring at the empty fireplace, his back to Gray and the big block letter catching the light. “All right,” he said, his heavy voice low. “I’ll stay away.”

  Gray glanced around the room. Through the open archway into the dining room he could see a place-mat spread and the
scooped-out remains of a frozen TV dinner in its aluminum plate. A book in a bookstand was propped up before the plate. Gray wondered what the lonely man had been reading.

  Champion said heavily, “I guess I ought to apologize to you, Gray. Karen does need help. Maybe you can give it to her. She’s the only human being in the world who means a thing to me any more. I just don’t understand what’s gone wrong, but—well, I want her to be as happy as she can be.”

  “Until the man who murdered Albano’s caught,” Gray said, “I doubt if she’ll feel very secure.”

  “There’s nothing new on that?” Champion’s glance was keen.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “I suppose,” Champion went on, “she thinks the murderer is the person who attacked her Wednesday night. Or who she thinks attacked her.” He shook his head heavily. “She thinks that was me.”

  “Has she any reason to think so?” Gray asked.

  Champion gave him a resentful look. “I was here in bed. I never laid a finger on her in my life. I never would! Not in anger!”

  “Not even at Lake Tahoe?”

  Champion stared. “What about Tahoe?”

  “The time you and your wife were snowed in there. Wasn’t there a balcony outside your room? Did you try to push her over it once?”

  “Oh, my God,” Champion said. “Here we go again. She—she can’t really believe that.”

  “You mean it didn’t happen?”

  “Hell, no. Of course it didn’t. Even if I’d thrown her off the balcony it wouldn’t have hurt her. There was about a ten-foot drop into deep snow. I admit I lost my temper that day.” He flushed. “I guess I did sound off a little. But there I was, snowed in, the business on the edge of ruin back here, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. Sure, I blew off. That was the first time. I felt like a criminal about it afterward.”

  “The first time?”

  Champion sighed. “Karen’s one of those people who can’t stand a harsh word. I’m pretty hot-tempered. Always have been. But I kept a grip on my temper as soon as I realized, right after our marriage, how my blowing off affected her. It was—rough. For a long time I didn’t blow off at all. I could feel the pressure building up—oh, the hell with it.”

  “That Tahoe business—what was the quarrel about?”

  “I don’t even remember now. Nothing important. By that time I was ready to sound off about anything.” Champion made a quick, slashing gesture of disgust. “I wish I could go back, start over—do things better next time. Karen needs help. If she’d only let me give it to her—” Champion grinned shamefacedly. “I even hired a detective to watch her, for a while.”

  Gray said, “A man named Fenn?”

  Champion was startled. “How did you know?”

  “He came to me on your behalf.” Gray’s voice was dry. “He had sanity hearings on the brain at that time. Thought maybe he could pay me to cross Mrs. Champion up at the last minute and testify in your behalf if you paid me enough.”

  “For God’s sake!” Champion sounded amazed.

  “It wasn’t your idea?”

  “Hell, no!”

  “What did you hire him for?”

  Champion hunched his shoulders. “Well, I’m not so sure, now. Partly, I guess, because I was worried about Karen living alone. I wanted to make sure she was getting along all right, not going around with the wrong people. You know. But then I think it was partly out of jealousy, too. I was checking up on her. Snooping, I guess you could call it.” He grinned a little. “I got to feeling guilty about it. And I got to feeling Fenn wasn’t the best man for the job, either. So I called the whole thing off. I don’t know—maybe that was wrong, too. Seems to me everything I do turns out wrong.”

  “We all have times like that,” Gray said.

  “I know. But—look, Mr. Gray. About this sanity business. I know Karen’s got it into her head I’m off my rocker. That’s ridiculous. But now the Quigleys—especially Joyce—are they trying to set me up for an asylum, really trying?”

  “You know them better than I do,” Gray said.

  Champion sighed, a deep, tired sound. “I guess I do. Too damn well. I’ve got to get rid of the Quigleys. Somehow or other, I’ve got to get free of them. I can’t take much more of this.” He gave Gray a searching look. “They arrested the Quigleys after Albano died, didn’t they?”

  “Not arrest. The police took them in for questioning.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. They were released. Was that only this morning?” Gray rubbed his head. “So much has been happening. It seems longer ago.”

  They sat silent for a moment. Then Gray said, “Mr. Champion, did you know your wife’s family well?”

  Champion looked a little surprised. “Didn’t know them at all. I think they used to live in Minnesota. Some small town.”

  “She was an only child?”

  “Oh, yes. Karen makes quite a point of that—being an autumn child. Her parents were in their forties when she was born. You know, I’ve often wondered if we’d had children whether Karen would have stayed with me. I guess it’s too late now, but if we had—well, it might have helped.”

  “What really caused your separation?”

  “My temper,” Champion said. “I’ve got to admit that. I’ve never touched her, but to Karen an angry word’s like a body punch. Oh, I guess there were other things. I’m too old for her. And the business has gone downhill. I don’t know.” He squared his shoulders. “Anyhow, I hope you can help her.”

  “Was she ever treated by a man named Perry Brand?” Gray asked.

  “Brand? I’ve heard the name somewhere. Oh, the psychiatrist Susan Turk goes to, isn’t it?”

  Gray said with great restraint, “Brand isn’t a psychiatrist. As nearly as I can make out he’s some kind of self-taught faith-healer. But that’s the man I mean.”

  “Well, Susan thinks he’s God Almighty,” Champion said. “But Karen never went to him that I know of.”

  Gray nodded. It didn’t prove much, of course. Karen could have gone secretly, or started seeing Brand since their separation. He tried another angle.

  “What do you think about the Albano death?” he asked. “Who’s the most likely person to have done it?”

  Champion swung his head like a tormented bull. The very thought of Albano seemed painful to him. “Hell, how do I know? One of his underworld contacts, probably. From what I’ve heard, he had plenty.”

  “It may turn out that way,” Gray agreed. “But if you had to pick somebody among the people you know, could you make a guess?”

  “Joyce Quigley,” Champion said promptly.

  “Why?”

  Champion looked a little surprised at himself. “I don’t know—it just popped out. For one thing, though, I’ve had a hunch for some time she knew Albano better than she let on. And Joyce has never had a setback. She thinks she can get away with anything. She’ll learn, one of these days. But until she does she’s murder to get along with.”

  Gray nodded, watching him.

  Champion rubbed his face savagely. “I’m going to have to do something about the Quigleys. Get them out of the business somehow. I can’t go on any longer this way.”

  “You mean sell out to them?” Gray asked.

  “Hell, no! It’s my business. I built it up. It’s my know-how started it. I’d buy them out if I had the money. My only chance would be to find somebody else, someone I could get along with, who had enough money to take over from the Quigleys. I have someone in mind—maybe I’ll get moving on it.”

  “You think the Quigleys will sell?”

  “Oh, sure, if they’re offered enough money. God knows they aren’t happy the way things are. If I don’t do something soon they’ll have me railroaded into an asylum, anyhow.”

  Gray said, “It might be a good idea to see Dr. Ettinger and talk to your lawyer about that possibility, Mr. Champion. Then if anything does happen, you won’t be caught flat-footed.”


  Champion nodded. “Good idea. I’ll do it in the morning.”

  Gray stood up. “Thanks for cooperating with me,” he said. “I’ll keep you posted on how Mrs. Champion’s feeling. Maybe, later on, she’ll be happier about seeing you.”

  “I hope so. If you could find out what’s been eating her all these years, why she tells those lies, maybe—” Champion looked faintly hopeful, “—maybe, in the end, she might even decide to come back to me.”

  “You never know,” Gray said.

  “Well—do your best for her.” Champion lumbered forward to open the door for him.

  Passing the dining room on his way out, Gray caught a glimpse of the book Champion had been reading. It was a boy’s book, one in a series popular thirty years ago. Champion was clinging desperately, it seemed, to the securities of the past. The boy’s book, the tattered school sweater, the house, the business, the marriage…. How far would he go to protect them? Far enough to commit murder?

  Had Karen Champion been right about her husband, all along?

  When the door closed behind Gray, Dennis Champion walked heavily to the telephone and dialed a number. Waiting while it rang, he sat looking out the window at the distant lights across the bay, the lines in his heavy face tensed into a harsh firmness.

  “Let me speak to Mr. Turk, please,” he said. And then, “Wes? This is Dennis. Look, Wes, I’ve been thinking. I can’t go on with the business the way things are now. I’ve got to get the Quigleys out. I’ve got to!”

  Turk said, “Maybe they’ll get themselves out. I’ve been at the plant all day, and they’ve been acting funny ever since they got here from police headquarters today.”

  “Funny? How?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. Stiff—mad at each other, but polite. It isn’t like them. When they have a fight with each other, usually everybody at the plant knows all about it. What happened at the police station, anyhow?”

  “I don’t know.” Champion’s voice was eager. “You don’t really think they might be splitting up or something?”

  “Anything could happen. Why?”

  “Well, as I say, I’ve been thinking. If I could get them out, I’d still need a partner. Somebody I could get along with, this time. Somebody I know well enough to be sure of. I’ve been thinking of you, Wes. How are you fixed? Could you swing it?” Champion hesitated. “Or maybe you’re not interested,” he said.