“I’ll get your glasses,” Owen said.
John snuffled.
Owen went over to the dresser. He found John’s glasses on a plastic tray beside the ice bucket. When he picked them up, the right lens dropped out and struck the dresser top and broke into three pieces.
“Shit,” Owen muttered.
“What?”
“They’re broken.”
John sighed loudly. He sobbed a couple of times, then said, “Lemme see?”
Owen picked up the pieces of the lens. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wreck your glasses.”
Sitting up, John swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
He cupped his hands above his lap, and Owen gave him the broken remains of the glasses.
“Some friend you are,” he said.
Owen sat on the edge of the other bed and leaned toward him.
“How do you feel?”
John shook his head.
“Do you need a doctor?”
“How would I know? I’ve never gotten beat up before.”
“That’s surprising.”
“Hardy-har,” John said.
“Do you want to hit me?”
“No. Why would I want to hit you?”
“I hit you.”
“Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“Come on, why don’t you take a swing at me?”
“No thanks.”
“Come on.”
“I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
Owen laughed. John looked up at him, a slight smile on his face.
His left cheek was swollen and red.
Owen felt bad again.
“Maybe we can get your glasses repaired in the morning,” he said.
“Gonna need a new lens. And frame. See how the frame’s busted?”
Owen saw.
“You did that,” John said.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll get you a nice, new pair.”
“You think that’ll make everything okay?” John asked.
“No. But I do wish I hadn’t hit you.”
“Not as much as I do.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Look, should we go out and get some ice cream or something? Would that make you feel better?”
“Nice, big dessert for the fat boy.”
“I could go for some, myself. There’s an ice cream shop across from the photo place.”
“Yeah.”
“Wanta drive over there? I’ll treat you to a cone.”
“Wonder if they’ve got waffle cones,” John said.
“Probably.”
“I love waffle cones.”
“Let’s go see.”
“Promise you won’t hit me anymore?” John asked.
“I promise.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?”
“Yeah. Cross my heart.
“Cause it doesn’t feel good, you know?”
“I know.”
“That’s how they killed Houdini.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
John wiped his eyes, then got to his feet. As he straightened up, he winced. “Feel like my stomach’s all fucked up.”
“Maybe you do need a doctor.”
“Ice cream oughta fix me up.”
“Okay. Let me hit the john first.”
“You already did.”
“Oh. Sorry about that.” Owen hurried into the bathroom, used the toilet, then washed his hands.
When he came out, a telephone directory lay open on one of the beds. John, bending over it, flashed a smile at Owen and ripped out a page.
“Hey! What’d you do that for?”
“Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“Case you change your mind about paying a visit to Dana.”
His eyes, red and watery, looked strange without glasses. “This has her address on it.” He fluttered the page. “Lynn’s address.” He started to fold it.
“You know her last name?”
“I know many things.”
“What is it?”
“Tucker.”
“What’s Dana’s last name?”
“That I don’t know. I know many things, not everything. But if we go over there tonight, maybe we can find out.”
“We’re going for ice cream,” Owen said. “Nothing else. And you shouldn’t tear pages out of telephone books. Other people might want to use them, you know.”
John smirked. “My bad.”
“You really are an asshole.”
“Least I don’t go around punching people.”
Outside, Owen pulled the door shut and tried the knob to make sure it was locked.
“Since you’re buying,” John said, “I’ll drive.”
“Without your glasses? That’d be fun.”
John smiled and blinked at him. “Contacts, man. Ever hear of contacts?”
“You’ve got contacts on?”
“Sure.”
“How come you were wearing glasses?”
“I look good in ’em.”
“Sure.”
“So, I’ll do the driving.”
“No, you won’t. It’s a rent-a-car. Nobody’s allowed to drive it but...”
“Not your car, mine. Come on.” He nodded toward an ancient Ford Granada parked in a far corner of the lot. It looked as if it had seen better decades.
“Does it work okay?” Owen asked as they walked toward it.
“It runs. Has a brand new radiator, too. Might blow up, but it won’t overheat.”
“Maybe we should take my car.”
“No, no. I insist.”
When they reached John’s car, he opened the passenger door. The seat and floor were hidden underneath candy wrappers, maps, magazines and books. Owen glimpsed a Hustler, a Scream Factory, and a paperback copy of The Horror at Malcasa Point. Then John got in the way, bent over, and started tossing the material over the seatback.
“Nice,” Owen muttered.
“Huh?”
“Nice way to treat books and stuff.”
“You’re really some kind of tight-ass, Owen. You oughta loosen up, man.”
“So I can be more like you?”
“Couldn’t hurt.” A moment later, John scuttled backward.
“Voila,” he said, and swept a hand toward the passenger seat.
Owen could see it, now.
The floor in front of the seat was still cluttered, but nothing remained on the seat cushion except a few scattered puffs of grimy popcom, a chewing gum wrapper, and crumbs from assorted chips and cookies. Owen was tempted to brush them off with his hand. But that would’ve required touching the seat’s upholstery.
Touching the stains. Some were pale, some dark. Some looked as if they might be sticky. Owen suspected catsup, mustard, blood, “secret sauce,” salsa, honey, coffee, maybe chili. He hoped that snot, feces and semen weren’t among the substances.
Don’t bet on it.
“It’s not very clean,” he said.
John dropped into the driver’s seat, shaking his car. Then he looked across at Owen and said, “Don’t be a wimp.”
“I don’t want to get my pants dirty.”
“Awww. Well, sit on a map or something.”
Among the debris on the floor was a copy of Fangoria magazine. Owen held it up. “This okay?”
“Whatever.”
Owen flopped the magazine onto the seat, opened it to the middle, and sat down on it.
John started the car. As he backed it toward the middle of the lot, he grinned and said, “What do you think Dana’s doing right now?”
“I wouldn’t know. And I don’t want to talk about her. And I especially don’t want you to talk about her. Don’t even think about her.”
John laughed. “Man, you’ve got it bad. Know what? I can take her or leave her.”
“Then leave her.”
John pulled out of the parking lot, swinging left onto Front Street. He stepped on the gas. The car leaped ahead. “Lynn�
�s the one I like. She is so fucking cute. I’d like to rip her clothes off and...”
“Would you please shut up?”
“You take Dana, I’ll take Lynn.”
“We’re not taking anyone. We’re just gonna get a couple of ice cream cones, then go back to the Welcome Inn.”
“We oughta at least drive by their house.”
Chapter Forty
THE RIDE HOME
Warren stopped his car at Front Street, waited for a van to pass, then swung to the left and picked up speed. Ahead, the town was brightly lighted. There wasn’t much traffic, though.
“You know how to get there?” Dana asked.
“Oh, I’ve been to the house a few times. Janice has parties fairly often. Staff parties. Barbecues out by the pool. I guess Lynn’s planning to throw a party in a couple of weeks, keep up the tradition in Janice’s absence.”
“That should be fun. You planning to come?”
“If I’m invited.”
“Oh, I bet you will be.”
He turned his head and smiled at Dana through the darkness.
“Just don’t count on me swimming,” he said.
“You could wear a wetsuit.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you ever go swimming?”
“Sometimes in the ocean. Late at night.”
“I’d like to do that with you.”
“Might be arranged. It’s a trifle cold, though.”
“Maybe we can go in Lynn’s pool sometime.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I could send her away for a couple of hours.”
Warren shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to take the chance.”
“Your scars aren’t that bad. It’s not like you’re hideously deformed or anything...or repulsive.”
“They apparently didn’t repulse you.”
Dana reached over and put a hand on his thigh. She felt the heat of his leg through his trousers. “You know what?” she said. “Maybe Lynn should see them.”
“No way.”
“They’re not that...”
“Give her a glimpse of my scars and she’ll know right away what happened to me.”
“What does Lynn think happened to you?”
“We told her the truth, up to a point. I went into Beast House at night because of the missing tape players. Down in the cellar, I was jumped by a couple of teenagers. They beat the crap out of me and I got cut on some broken glass. That’s what we told Lynn.”
“What about the cops?” Dana asked.
“We didn’t tell them a thing. We didn’t tell anyone a thing except Lynn. And her father, of course. Janice was taking care of my injuries, so we had to tell them something.”
“But not the truth?”
He shook his head. “I can live without being famous for a thing like that.”
“Janice went along with keeping it a secret?”
“Yeah. She didn’t want me humiliated.”
“It might’ve been good for business.”
“I’m sure it would’ve been. We kidded around about that. Doing an ad campaign. ‘The beast is back and it wants you!’ But she never really tried to make me go public.”
“Maybe the public should be told...warned.”
“Maybe,” Warren said, and stopped at a blinking red traffic light. Except for his car, the intersection was empty. He drove on. “Thing is, who would really believe a warning like that? Most people really don’t believe in the beasts. Evidence or no evidence. They’re like Bigfoot. Like vampires or werewolves. We’d sound like lunatics. We’d get accused of being frauds...And there’s no telling how a thing like that might play out. We might have even more people trying to sneak into the house at night. A warning might cause more attacks.”
Dana frowned through the darkness at him. “The Midnight Tour goes in at night.”
“It’s never been attacked.”
“At least not so far.”
“For all we know,” Warren said, “the beast hasn’t been in the house since the night it got me.”
“But it might be there every night.”
“No. Janice made sure things were safe. She cancelled the Midnight Tour and spent every night for more than two weeks in Beast House.”
“By herself?”
“Yeah. With Jerry’s .44 magnum. Most of the time, she stayed in the cellar. In the dark. Just waiting for the beast to come along.”
“My God. Is she nuts or something?”
“Brave,” Warren said.
“At least. I can’t imagine doing something like that. Actually, I can. Out of her mind.”
“Well, she felt that she had to do it.”
“What did she tell Mister Tucker about her nightly disappearing act?”
“Just that she wanted to guard the house from overnight intruders. And that she was hoping to catch the guys who’d assaulted me. Jerry and Lynn both volunteered for the job, but Janice wouldn’t let them. She insisted on handling it herself. Anyway, nothing happetted. The beast never showed up. So then she had a lock installed on our side of the tunnel door.”
“Is that how it got in? Through the Kutch tunnel?”
“Could be. Seems likely, since the lock was off.”
“Did anyone talk to Agnes about it? Or search her house?”
“Nope. Couldn’t do it without involving the police and getting a search warrant.”
“Why couldn’t Janice just drop in on her?”
“She tried, but Agnes wouldn’t come to the door. And Janice didn’t want to force the issue because part of her original deal was that Agnes’s house would be out of bounds.”
“So Agnes might’ve been harboring whatever attacked you?”
“Possible,” Warren said. “Or maybe she didn’t have anything to do with it. The thing could’ve gotten in from our side. Maybe it was out in the hills behind the house and found an entrance to the burrow.”
“But the locked cover...?”
“...was put in after I got attacked.”
“Ah.”
“Before that, we had an open hole in the cellar floor—with cordons around it so the tourists wouldn’t fall in. No telling what might’ve come crawling out of it at night.”
Dana realized she had goosebumps. Rubbing one of her forearms, she said, “But nothing can get in now?”
“Wouldn’t be easy. And if it did, we’d find out first thing in the morning. You know how Lynn checks through the whole house...”
“I’ve been with her.”
“She always makes a trip down cellar, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s to make sure nothing’s open down there.” Warren flicked on his turn signal, then slowed down. “If she finds a lock off, anything like that, she’s supposed to run like hell, clear the house if someone else is inside, then lock the front door and notify Janice.”
“Who will then come over with the Smith & Wesson?”
“That’s the plan,” Warren said. He turned right and started up the road. On both sides, trees loomed over them. No moonlight reached the pavement. The only light came from his car’s bright headbeams. “So far,” he said, “everything’s been fine. Nothing’s gotten in and nobody else has been attacked.”
“Nobody you know about.”
“Yeah. Well...I know what you mean. The tape players that don’t come back. But there are so many possible explanations for that. And nobody seems to be missing.”
“People must go missing all the time,” Dana said.
“Oh, I suppose so. Not out of Beast House, though. Not as far as we know. And we’d probably hear about it if a wife or daughter or someone disappeared during a tour.” He grinned at Dana. “As you found out the hard way.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“Wish I could’ve been there.”
“So you could watch me hurl? If I’d had another margarita or two, I could’ve put on a demonstration for you tonight.”
“Maybe so
me other time.”
“Hope not,” Dana said. “By the way, you know...speaking of the little tyke who ran up the attic stairs...Lance? You obviously heard about my trouble with his mother, but did you also know that he screamed when he was up in the attic and he came running down the stairs in a panic, yelling his head off about being chased?”
“Oh, yeah. I heard about that, too.”
“He said something was after him. But then all the trouble started with his mother and I never got to ask him about it.”
“Nobody did,” Warren said. “He and his mom took off the minute they got out of the house. But Lynn went up into the attic to investigate.”
“Right. She told me.”
“Nobody there. Which is pretty much what she expected. That sort of thing happens every so often—people get a case of beast on the brain and think they see one. Especially kids. They scream loud enough to wake the dead, run like hell, and scare the bejezus out of everyone. But it’s just their imaginations going wild.”
He turned onto the narrow, sloping driveway...
We’re almost back!
Dana suddenly felt a hollow ache.
Reaching over to Warren, she squeezed his thigh. “Will you come in with me?”
“If you want.”
“Sure I want.”
“I guess I could at least come in long enough to make sure everything’s okay...and say hi to Tuck.”
“Don’t you dare!”
Warren laughed.
“I already paid you off. Remember?”
“Maybe you need to pay me off again.”
“Bastard,” Dana said, grinning.
“That’s me.”
“What do I have to give you this time?”
“Surprise me.”
“Okay. Maybe. But not while you’re driving.”
Soon, the house came into sight at the top of the driveway. Its porch was lighted, and so were some of the windows. Spotlights brightened the broad area of pavement in front of the three-car garage. A blue Range Rover was parked there, off to the left.
Warren stopped behind it, killed his headlights and shut off his engine.
“Looks like Tuck has a visitor,” he said.
“Lynn has a visitor.”
“Tuck,” Warren corrected her. “You haven’t given me that extra payment yet.”
“Maybe you’ll get it now,” Dana said. “But you have to dose your eyes first.”
He shut them.
“Don’t open them till I say so.”
“Okay.”
The Midnight Tour Page 42