Twistor

by Cramer, John; Wolfe, Gene;

  Flash told him.

  23

  Tuesday Noon, October 26

  David was exhausted. He had been running through the forest for nearly an hour. It had been quite strange to walk over the waters of Union Bay and along Lake Washington with dry feet like some Biblical figure. He stopped again to take a bearing. Holding the twistor unit at eye level, he pressed the PEEK button. A black sphere formed in the coil cup at the end of the device. Nothing could be seen within it. He was below ground level here.

  He switched off the twistor unit and shoved its long cylindrical body through a loop of his belt. The silvery flashlight barrel projected behind him almost like a short sword, he noticed, and the cup at the other end was like a rounded handguard. He stepped across the brightly colored line surrounding a nearby tree and began to climb its broad trunk, using the large upthrust bark scales for hand and footholds. The green treebird higher in the tree squawked a threat down at him but did not approach.

  Shadow scampered up the tree ahead of David. He seemed amused at his companion's lack of native climbing ability. When David was about four meters off the ground he paused and PEEKED again. He'd been traveling parallel to the Laurelhurst lakeshore. In the scene visible through the field sphere, he was just above the lake level and opposite a boat dock. A fast-looking motorboat was tied at the dock, and a house number was nailed to the edge of the pier. It was the address he'd been looking for. He descended and climbed uphill toward the place where, in another universe, a large house had been built on the shore.

  The house, David was relieved to find, was on about the same level as the forest floor. Seattle is built on many hills, and this universe had sizable hills of its own, but the topography had rarely corresponded during David's journey here. If the house had been at a level much higher or lower than that of the forest, reaching it could have presented a serious problem.

  He walked 'into' the house, pressing the PEEK button and watching as he passed through an outer wall and into the kitchen. Empty. He pressed TALK and put his ear near the sphere, listening through the low hum of the cycling twistor field. His ear felt cool as a flow of air passed from his universe to the other, caused by the pressure difference that he'd noticed before. Male voices came to him through the hum. He chose a direction that should take him through one of the kitchen's interior walls, walked a short distance, and PEEKED.

  Two men were seated in the living room. David recognized them as two of the three 'movers' who had invaded his lab. The balding man, the one who had done all the talking, sat in a large armchair. There was a brightly colored ski mask on the armrest beside him. The large ugly man sat opposite him on a sofa. He was the one who'd pointed the gun, and now David noted that the man's right hand was missing, the stump covered by a sort of tan sock.

  David walked to a corner above their heads and just behind them, well out of their field of view. He pressed TALK again, and listened.

  The large man was feeling impatient. 'When'll they be back?' He looked across at his boss.

  'In maybe forty-five minutes, an hour,' replied the balding man. 'We used up most of the neurophagin on the old guy, and the bitch trashed the rest. So I sent 'em over to Harborview for more. The docs there are using it for tests on some loonie cases. The DOD supplies the junk and pays for the research. One of the duty nurses there's a junkie and a friend of mine. She works the psycho ward and gets me some real good junk for this kind of work. They watch the hard drugs pretty close there, but who'd want to steal neurophagin? Its side effects are supposed to be a secret, but all the nurses know it's bad shit. Causes permanent brain damage.' He smiled.

  'Then we juice the chickie?' the big man asked.

  'Then we do the girl,' the other answered. 'Ya know, she's got a good kick.'

  'How're the old family jewels doin'?' the big man asked. 'She whammed you a good 'un.' He chuckled appreciatively.

  The balding man looked annoyed. 'I wasn't expecting it,' he said. 'She'd seemed so cooperative. I should've remembered what she did to you when you guys snatched her.'

  The big man scowled. 'When do I get her?' he asked finally, looking wolfish.

  'Soon,' said the balding man. 'After we use the neurophagin it'll take maybe a day or two more of questioning. Then, if Broadsword says it's OK, you can have her for a while. Guess we'll have to use the boat to sink both of 'em pretty soon anyhow.'

  The big man smiled in anticipation, then frowned. 'Hey, there's a draft in here,' he said looking around. 'And do you smell somethin' funny?' He thought he saw something flicker at the edge of his vision, but when he turned toward the corner nothing was there.

  The balding man sniffed. 'Just fresh air,' he said. 'Smells like cedar trees or somethin'.'

  The big man frowned, recalling the strong cedar smell in that room at the university and the weird happenings when he'd lost his hand. It'd been a shock, losing the hand. He'd decided that he was going to get a sharp hook, like a pirate's, to replace it. In his kind of work a hook like that'd be a definite asset. And it would have other interesting uses, too. The cedar smell came again. 'I don't like this old place,' he said. 'It's kinda spooky.' He put his left hand in his pocket to rub the rabbit's foot that he always carried.

  'Funny you should say that,' said the balding man. 'When the real-estate broad at the Scott office gave me the keys, the guy at the next desk asked, kinda jokin', if this house was the haunted one. I asked what the hell he meant. The lady told him to shut up, but he said they already had the lease money so there was no harm in telling.

  'He said that a rich old lumber guy had owned this house, and one morning he shot his wife and daughter and grandkids and then hung himself in a tree out in the yard. S'pose to be their spooks, still here, is why they're rentin' now instead of sellin'. They wanna let the rumors die down first. It's sure a creepy old place all right, but I haven't seen any spooks.' He paused. 'Hell, I need a brew,' he said, getting up and moving toward the kitchen.

  As soon as the balding man had left the room, the big man felt a cold wind near his ear. He looked around suspiciously but saw nothing. Then, very close by, he was startled by a crazy-sounding voice that whispered to him. 'We're coming for you,' the voice said. 'We are. We'll make you one of us. You'll be part of our house . . . always.'

  The big man screamed, jumping up from the sofa and looking around. Nothing was there. He was sweating and his heart pounded. The other man came back into the room at a dead run. 'What th' Hell?' he demanded. 'Why'd you yell?'

  The big man turned slowly. He couldn't tell his boss. 'Nothin',' he muttered. 'I just bit my tongue, and it hurt.' He grinned sheepishly.

  The other man looked disgusted. He turned without a word and stalked back toward the kitchen.

  The big man stood up and paced. He'd heard it. It couldn't have been his imagination. He rubbed his rabbit's foot again. The old stories came flooding back, the ones his grandma would tell to scare him when he'd been bad. And the nightmares that had followed. In the stories the guys never had the sense to leave, to run, and the horrors always got 'em. He felt the wind again, and looked around. Nothing. Then the voice came again. 'We'll eat off your other hand,' it said, 'and then your balls, and then your nose, and then your eyes . . . ' He repressed the scream this time, but ran to the bathroom, closed and locked the door, and leaned against it, trembling.

  There was a terrible shit-smell. He'd fouled his pants, he realized. Shaking, he cleaned himself as best he could. Then he vomited his breakfast. He was scared, shaking. He wasn't ever going to leave the bathroom, to go out there.

  Then the cold wind came again. He hadn't locked them out. The crazy voice said, 'We are very very hungry. We need your flesh. Give it to us . . . ' There was a sharp pain in the fleshy part at the edge of his left, his remaining hand. When he looked down, a circular wound was there, like a bite.

  He erupted from the bathroom, a reddening towel wrapped around his hand. He fumbled with his keys at the front door, got it open, and ran. He ran and ran. He
was still running when the police car stopped him a long time later.

  David was PEEKING as the balding man, bottle of beer in hand, cursed as he locked the front door. He turned, walked to the living room, and put on the ski mask. Then he walked up the stairs, still muttering to himself. Damn, thought David, he's going to be out of reach. And the bastard's planning to do something to Vickie. From where he stood he could only reach to the high ceiling of the first floor.

  David stuffed the twistor unit through his belt again and climbed a nearby tree. Its treebird owner glowered down at him from a high branch. Shadow led the way as usual. They stopped on the lowest limb. David removed the twistor unit from his belt and PEEKED through the field sphere. An empty room. He moved further out on the branch and sighted again. He was looking down from a point near the high ceiling. He drew a sharp breath.

  Vickie was there. She was tied in a chair, some pink rubber thing wrapped around her mouth. She was awake and looked very frightened. She was struggling against the ropes, and David could see where they had rubbed her wrists raw. He felt a rush of helpless anger and frustration. The balding man, now wearing a ski mask and still holding the beer bottle in his hand, was standing in front of her.

  From his precarious perch on the tree limb David lacked the control to do the ghost routine again, and the balding man looked to be more difficult to frighten. His mind raced. He decided on another approach. He pressed the TALK button and spoke into the sphere in a loud commanding voice. 'All right, you're all finished here, fella. This is the police. The house is surrounded now, and there's a sharpshooter with a rifle pointed right at your heart. If you don't wanna get hurt, untie the lady! Now! Move!'

  The man jumped and looked around. Then he took a small white-handled pistol from somewhere behind his back and walked over to Vickie. He pointed it at her head. 'I don't know where you are or how you're doing that, buddy,' he said, 'but you're obviously not the police. You sound more like that smartass at the university. I have a nice hostage here, a good friend of yours. Show yourself now, or I'm going to put a nice round hole right through this lady's head.' His thumb clicked the pistol's safety off.

  David realized that his police routine was not going to work. He spoke once more into the sphere. 'This is your last warning, fella. Untie the lady now, and you won't be hurt. Otherwise, we're going to have to kill you.' He looked back at the man. Stubborn bastard.

  'C'mon,' David said through the sphere, 'you look like a reasonable guy. Why take chances, when you don't know what you're dealing with. I don't want to kill you. Let her go. Now!' Then he edged out on the limb to a spot right over Vickie's head. He tied a length of climbing wire around the limb, slipped into his sling seat, and lowered himself until he hung sideways just above the man's ski mask. 'Last chance,' he whispered near the man's ear. The man jumped and shoved the gun tight against Vickie's head. David was close enough to see the man's finger tightening on the trigger. There was no time left, no choice. He might shoot her. And even if he didn't, the others would soon be back with the drug. It was now or never. Dangling upside down now, David struggled to position the hazy twistor sphere at the rear center of the man's head, the muscle-control area. His hand trembled as he pressed the TWIST button. A reddish-gray lump of hair, skull, and nerve tissue dropped to the forest floor, making a soft plop as it landed among the leaves below.

  In another universe the man in the ski mask collapsed to the floor, a gaping wound at the back of his head. Bright red blood flowed out on the wooden floor in a spreading pool. Vickie peered down at him, her eyes wide, then looked around. 'Mmfff!' she said through the rubber gag. 'Mmmmmmfff!'

  David felt sick. He'd just killed a man, another human being. He pulled himself back upright and sat for a moment, fighting the waves of nausea. Finally he leaned over and spoke into the sphere. 'Vickie!' he called to her, 'It's me, David. The kids and I are OK, but we're still in this shadow universe. We can't get back, yet, but I've got a small portable twistor unit working. I was using it on your friends. You're safe for the moment, but some more of those guys will be coming back very soon.'

  She turned in the direction of his voice and nodded.

  'I'm going to send a little friend of mine to help you. His name is Shadow. You'll like him.' Then David took out his little red Swiss army knife, opened the knife blade, and reminded Shadow how to cut rope with it. Then he moved to a point on the limb which would put him next to the curtained window and sent Shadow through. He watched as Shadow went through, caught the curtains, descended, and strode centaurlike over to where Vickie was tied. He seemed very interested in her, and sniffed her thoroughly. David directed Shadow with the voice commands he'd been trained to follow, and soon the little creature was sawing away at the ropes.

  As Shadow worked, David explained to Vickie where she was and what Flash had told him. He suggested that she call the police as soon as she was free. As he was talking, he noticed that the view through the sphere seemed to be washing in and out. He put his fingers on the power transistors along the side of the twistor unit. Five of them were cool, but one was quite hot to the touch.

  'This damned thing's going out on me!' he yelled through the fading field. 'Be – ' The dim sphere in the cup abruptly winked out. ' – careful!' He switched off the power, spat and blew on the hot transistor to cool it, then tried to produce the field again. The copper cup had no dark sphere inside. 'Shit!' said David. The only power transistors in this entire universe were back at the treehouse.

  He climbed down from the tree and headed back there at a dead run.

  The doorbell rang. Flash carefully opened the door of David's apartment, keeping the chain latch on. Two men stood on the doorstep. One was very large. Flash looked out at them, ready to bolt. Somehow they didn't look like Megalith goons or FBI.

  'Hi, I'm George Williams,' the big man said, 'and this is Rudi Baumann.' He indicated his companion, smaller, darker and with ruddy cheeks. 'Paul Ernst sent us over when you called. We'll take you to get the stuff on your list. We're friends of David and your sister, and we want to help.'

  'Great-o!' Flash said, taking the chain latch off and opening the door wide. It was wonderful to be with real human beings again after almost a week of isolation. Before David, or at least the voice of David, had taken the little animal back and gone to investigate the house in Laurelhurst, he'd dictated a long list of items for Flash to buy. He'd sent through credit cards and a bank card, given Flash his bank access code number, and told him to use those for the purchases. Then, almost as an afterthought, he'd suggested that Rash try calling Paul Ernst at the university to get help.

  Flash, not wanting to run the risk that the calls could be traced to David's telephone, had slipped out over the deck and walked across the University Bridge to a pay phone. There he'd called Paul. He'd also called 911 to declare that kidnap victim Victoria Gordon was being held at an address in Laurelhurst that he gave them. George and Rudi had been at the door within fifteen minutes after Flash arrived back at the apartment.

  They all got into George's station wagon, which was parked outside. 'David suggested that I go out on Aurora Avenue North,' Flash said. 'Most of the stuff on the list should be available at Sears or the big discount stores out there. But first I'm gonna need some of the el cash-o.'

  'No problem,' said George. 'Paul Ernst is bankrolling this. Wants his kids back, I guess.' They crossed the Ship Canal, then headed west.

  Victoria, with Shadow nestled in the big pocket of her jacket, was at the front door ready to leave the house. Shadow still held David's little red knife in one tiny hand. After her new friend had freed her from the chair, Vickie had been able to remove the gag and run downstairs. She had tried to call the police, but she couldn't make the telephone work. The front door wouldn't open. She examined the deadbolt lock mounted on it. It had no knob, and couldn't be opened without a key. She checked the back door and the door from the kitchen to the garage. They were all the same.

  Frustrated and feeling de
sperate, she climbed the stairs to the bedroom where she'd been held captive for almost a week. Mandrake was still on the floor, his head and shoulders in a large pool of blood. His eyes were open. Could she make herself touch him? Her stomach churned. It was the only way.

  Steeling herself, Victoria walked to the side away from the pool of blood and searched Mandrake's pockets. The bundle of keys was in his trousers. In his jacket pocket she found the little disk recorder and several used disks. She took them all. She considered also taking the white-handled gun still clenched in his hand, but she was inexperienced with such weapons. She kicked it under the bed instead.

  As she stepped from the bedroom into the hall, she heard low rambling speech. Allan Saxon! Sorting through the keys, she selected a likely candidate and inserted it into the lock. The door clicked open. She entered the room.

  Saxon was on the bed just as before. He stared at the small brown creature peeking at him from her pocket. 'It's Vickie again,' he said, 'and she has an animal. What kind of animal is it. It's brown. It has hands and a knife. I wonder where she got it.'

  'Allan,' she said, 'we're leaving this place. Come on!'

  'I am going to leave,' he said. He put his feet on the floor. They were bare, and he was wearing a hospital gown that exposed a stripe of bare flesh down the back.

  Vickie looked in the bathroom and found some clothes. She gave him shoes, trousers and a coat. 'Put these on quickly,' she said. 'Keep the gown on and don't worry about socks.'

  'I won't worry about socks,' Saxon said as he moved to obey her. 'I never worry about socks. I don't worry about anything anymore. You put one leg through the hole and then the other. The whole is the sum of its parts. Some of the parts are shoes. Are these shoes on right? One is right and the other is left. One is the mirror image of the other. Which is the real one and which is the image? I never could work that out. Out is where we want to go. Let's go out now.' He stood.