When Graveyards Yawn ta-1

by G. Wells Taylor

  "Certainly," he said, turning to Elmo. "Friend?"

  "Yes sir," Elmo said in his Sunday school voice.

  Dr. Forrester disappeared through a door he had to duck to get through. I looked around. Elmo still stared at me worriedly. I smiled at him then scanned the room. It was a cozy little place. Two walls were completely covered in books, and the far end was a fireplace. I looked at some of the titles. Great Expectations, and Last of the Mohicans sat uncomfortably cheek and jowl with medical texts: Treating Fatalities, Advanced Rigor-Treatments to Prolong Flexibility in Dead Connective Tissue, Psychology of the Deceased and Health for the Exhumed.

  The doctor reappeared with a crystal decanter and three glasses on a tray. "It's brandy." He sat down across from me and poured us a drink. "Take it easy." He handed me a half-full glass of the ruby liquid. "You don't want to go too fast."

  "I just need a little anesthetic, Doc," I mumbled, then threw the tumbler's contents into my guts. They jumped, but steadied themselves around the burning liquor. I held my glass out. The doctor started to shake his head but poured me another anyway. I socked that one away, then felt around for a cigarette, pulled one out and lit it. Human again. I felt Elmo's worried presence pressing the seat springs to my left.

  "I'd like to ask you a few questions about the daughter of Wilson and Helen Hawksbridge. Their son, Robert, is still looking for her." I pulled the smoke into my lungs and slowly let it out. My vision was clearing. I really didn't want to talk about the episode on the porch. I still had to sort that out. "Julie's disappearance is linked to a case I'm working on."

  Dr. Forrester's look of confusion was replaced by amusement as he read from my tone that I had just become a closed book. "Certainly. You understand I no longer work for them. They died so suddenly-and finally. Their son, it seems he was unnerved by my condition." He pointed at his chest with both open hands then made one beating wing motion down toward his knees as if to say 'look at me I'm dead.'

  "I understand he was unnerved, but I don't understand why," I said in way of consolation. "Tell me, Doctor. Julie had become pregnant a number of times after the Change. You're supposed to tell me how that is impossible."

  "Again?" The doctor leaned back and studied me for a moment. "Am I to go through this again?"

  "I see." I leaned forward, felt my bowels turn to water, leaned back again. "Authority was here. They questioned you."

  "Yes, numerous times, in fact. The day after the Hawksbridge's met their end. You see, I remember it all so well, because it was the day I died."

  "How did that happen, if you don't mind my asking?" I was eyeing the brandy.

  "Oh, it was stupid. I was painting my main hallway there-you can just see the ceiling, up those stairs. It's still unfinished. The last or what I hoped would be the last of the Inspectors left at around five-thirty. I tried to hurry and finish my painting, climbed a ladder carrying a big can of paint, got to the top of the ladder, and the next thing I remember was waking up dead."

  "You don't remember falling?" I crushed my cigarette in a blue ceramic ashtray shaped like a puma.

  "No. I don't. It was probably a combination of fatigue, paint fumes and bad luck. I blacked out." He fell silent. "I must say I thought that would be the end of the questioning. Of course, I had thought the same thing after that detective, what was his name-oh, damn I'm usually good with those things. Grange, or… what was it."

  "Grey, you talked to Owen Grey." I watched his eyes light up.

  "Yes. He was a large fellow, about your height. Short dark hair, kind of a plain dresser. Grey showed up about ten days before I died. He was looking for Julie, and asked me about her pregnancies. I still feel bad about that. I told him that, well in the strictest confidence, that she had had miscarriages. I compromised my Hippocratic oath, but I felt that under the circumstances anything might help. Julie was missing, after all, and this Grey fellow was here by permission of her parents. And they were so worried. I sometimes wonder whether that didn't figure into my dismissal. Then a little over a week later the Hawksbridges died and Authority came here and questioned me about that. They gave me a warning too."

  "Which was…"

  "Actually, Authority told me to speak to no one about my relationship with the Hawksbridges while things were under investigation. But I suppose two years is long enough for that." He topped up all our drinks, then leaned back and slipped into a professional pose. "Julie Hawksbridge, contrary to all current medical statistics, continued to ovulate after the Change. You see what seems to have happened was that women ceased to ovulate, and men to produce sperm. For as yet undetermined reasons, normal meiosis has halted in the human race-meiosis being the division of sex cells. But here we had Julie, a woman with a pre-Change age of 26 producing ovum."

  "If men don't produce their part, then how?"

  "That's not entirely true either, and I did say 'normal meiosis has halted,'" the doctor corrected. "Some men produce a minimal amount of sperm-in very substandard quantities and those grossly mutated. Nothing healthy enough to create normal offspring, but one learns in medicine that there are always exceptions."

  "How many miscarriages did she have?"

  "Three that I am certain of. But for some reason, she would not tell me who the father was. At first I thought it was because she couldn't be sure who he was, then I realized there would not be enough men producing sperm for her to know more than one. The chances against it were astronomical."

  "So that was it. And the…the offspring?"

  "None viable. They terminated in the second month-though my post mortem examination showed they had been developing normally. Julie would just begin to suspect a pregnancy and it would be over."

  "And, did you save any specimens?"

  Forrester produced a smile then let it drop off his face. "Normally, I would. But the Hawksbridges' were tremendously concerned about their privacy. As a professional courtesy to them I destroyed any specimens I had."

  "So, no one in the medical establishment found out about it."

  "Mr. Wildclown. I assume a detective has a certain responsibility to his clients. I take my Hippocratic oath quite seriously. Talking to Grey, and Authority, well, those were unique situations. Julie was missing and remains so."

  "I wasn't finding fault. Just making an observation." I sipped my brandy. The first two had warmed my blood wonderfully. "What do you think, Doctor? Is it possible that someone could have researched this phenomena enough to attempt to breed a human?"

  "Mr. Wildclown, so far as my believing in the impossible, well, I am a dead man, your partner is a dead man, and yet we've all just sat here and shared a bottle of brandy." He smiled. "My answer is, that there is no reason for me to believe that this would be impossible."

  "Julie Hawksbridge was pregnant at the time of her disappearance. Is that correct?" My head ached momentarily-just a twinge.

  "Yes, but during her last check up with me, she was showing every indication of miscarrying again. It seems that whatever strange forces are at work upon the human race, there is a willful attempt to stop it here."

  "Thank you, Doctor." I gestured to the brandy as I stood. My head reeled momentarily. I steadied myself on Elmo's shoulder. "And for earlier."

  "Certainly, no trouble whatsoever. I haven't had company lately, and there is a certain excitement to entertaining a detective, even if he is not your average kind." He smiled shyly.

  I picked my hat up, put it on. "I've got a feeling about this next question. There were numerous Authority investigations after the deaths of the Hawksbridges?"

  "Why yes, as I said." Dr. Forrester cocked his head at a strange angle. "Numerous."

  "Oh, what the hell!" I shook my head. "There was a funny thing about those investigations wasn't there. A couple of the investigating Inspectors, different guys…"

  "One was a woman!" Forrester broke in.

  I paused, a woman. "Okay, a guy and a gal, and the funny thing about it is they all had…"

  "The same n
ame, yes, that's astonishing. I'd almost forgotten that but it's true. They did-but it was two men and a woman. I had thought it odd, and then attributed it to my hearing, which has never been the best. When I died later that day." His eyebrows screwed up. "Such synchronicity was suddenly irrelevant."

  "B-something," I said, adjusting my coat.

  "Borden." He smiled sweetly. "They were all named Borden. I remember bringing that up to the second Inspector. How funny that was. How odd-and what did she say? Oh, she said it was a common name in Authority, and she asked me for a description of the first Inspector I had seen."

  "What did he look like?" I asked already forming a picture of him in my head.

  "Short, round and mean." The doctor's eyes flared at the unpleasant memory. "I warned him, in fact, I couldn't help but say something about this terrifically bad habit he had. You see there is a lot of evidence that suggests that though the living are granted this strange immortality since the Change, they are still prey to certain degenerative processes. This first Inspector Borden had the ridiculous habit of chewing a brass toothpick. I pointed out the problems he was going to have, and well…" Forrester looked embarrassed. "He became extremely rude."

  "Was the third Inspector tall, muscular and balding-long scar across his cheeks like a smile?"

  "Yes-that's him. A very blunt individual. Though he was remarkably congenial despite it. He was most conciliatory actually, and, in fact, prompted me to put it behind me. You see: I was upset, and I had known the Hawksbridges, well-for years. This tall Borden told me to get on with life… Quite ironic really, when I think of it…the events later that day…"

  "Thank you again, Doctor. I'll tell you what. If I see any business, I'll send it your way."

  I staggered slightly as I followed him to the door. I felt Elmo's hands give me gentle shepherd touches on my shoulders. Dr. Forrester smiled and nodded his head vigorously as we left. I noticed a bullet crater in the bricks where I had fallen. As Elmo lead me to the car, I got the feeling that my hunt had taken a strange new twist. The creatures of the jungle were dangerous. And some of them had found their way right inside my head.

  Chapter 53

  We got back to Grey's office at around midnight. I was going to give Tommy his body back after I made a call. For the first time in a long time, I actually wanted out. I didn't desire any more of the physical world. I wanted the peace my intangible state gave me. No more pain, no more murder and fire. I sat behind the desk, again noticed the crushed glass sound coming from the cushions then dialed Mrs. Alan Cotton, 333 Sea Heights.

  "Good evening," I heard the butler answer. His voice had its characteristic pissed and snotty edge to it.

  "Hello, Edward. Sorry to call so late. It's Wildclown. I'd like to talk to Mrs. Cotton." I lit my final cigarette of the possession.

  "It is very late. May I take a message?"

  "Edward, you're not doing your job again. Mrs. Cotton told me to call day or night."

  "Mrs. Cotton is entertaining."

  "You know, Edward, I found her a lot of fun myself."

  "You misunderstand me, Mr. Wildclown, she has company." He cleared his throat.

  "It's important."

  "But Mr. Wildclown, the time…" Suddenly I heard a voice in the background, muffled at first then rising with intensity accompanied by the squeaky handclasps of a wrestle over the phone.

  "Oh, for God's sake, Edward, let me talk to him." A pause. "Mr. Wildclown?"

  "Mrs. Cotton. I'm sorry to call so late."

  "That's quite all right. Edward and I were playing a little canasta. He keeps me busy that way."

  "That's fine by me, Mrs. Cotton. There's nothing I like more than a little canasta before bed. To calm my nerves."

  She was silent for a moment, looking for affront. "What is it, Mr. Wildclown?"

  "I just wanted to give you a report, and ask you a few questions."

  "This couldn't wait until morning?"

  "It's important. I want you to know how you're spending your money." She had already given me a package containing a post-dated check for the first two weeks.

  "Very well, Mr. Wildclown." Her tone was beginning to gain a level of interest.

  "I believe I know who killed your husband, and why. I'm not going to name any names yet, because I'm not positive. You'll be the first to know when I've finished checking a few things out." I paused for a deep drag of smoke. "May I ask you a personal question?"

  "If it will help."

  "Did you and Alan have any kids before the Change?"

  "No, we tried, but were unsuccessful. It seems my, well, this is personal. I simply wasn't able. It hurt Alan a great deal, but he seemed to adapt to it. In fact, he even froze some of his, well…"

  "I know, carry on." I did know, and I didn't feel like hearing it.

  "Anyway, he froze some so that he could have a child with me, if there were some medical breakthrough or in the event something happened to him, an injury, whatever. Anyway, I always thought he began his work with genetics in an attempt to solve the problem." She paused. Then her voice honked. "What does this have to do with Alan's death?"

  "A great deal. Tell me, Mrs. Cotton. You and your husband. Were you getting along, before he died."

  "I'm not sure what you mean."

  I hated coyness. "Were you playing canasta with Mr. Cotton, before bed."

  "Mr. Wildclown!"

  "Please, Mrs. Cotton. It is late. I am obviously in a foul mood. Were you and Mr. Cotton?"

  "No, no. We hadn't been together as husband and wife for years before his death." I heard a barely suppressed sob. "He was always away with his work, and he just didn't seem interested in me any more."

  "I wonder-have you called Authority again? Have they called you?"

  "Why, no."

  "Well expect a call. I believe I saw Mr. Cotton's lab, or what I was expected to believe was his lab. It all looks very convincing." I paused. "They'll probably offer the grieving widow a look now."

  "Was there a fire?" Her voice was tired.

  "Yes, and no. I have the feeling I saw the setting for an act in a play that got rewritten along the way. There's no point to going into that now. I'll fill you in later. Thank you, Mrs. Cotton. I'm sorry to disturb you." I listened to muffled honking noises. "I'll keep you informed."

  Suddenly Edward's voice came on the line. "Mr. Wildclown. I must ask you to make your calls earlier in the day. Mrs. Cotton is still fragile from her husband's death."

  "Sure Edward. But an emergency is an emergency. I hope I didn't spoil the mood."

  He slammed the phone down. So that was why the butler was so protective of the Cotton manor. He was lord of it. Now, for sleep. Elmo was in the outer office reading old magazines. A brown-bagged bottle of whiskey was twisted up in front of him. "Come on, Fatso. We can't stay here. I need sleep. But not here." I knew that I needed one more day to solve this case, and I wouldn't get it if I were caught napping. I knew that my time had run out. "Let's go for a drive, Elmo. You and I should find a place to hole up."

  Chapter 54

  We traveled a winding course into Downings, taking extra caution to lose any tails that might be on us, and ever mindful of Queens. It was easy. The streets that led in and out of the Downings District were littered with torn up cars and trucks, abandoned roadblocks and festered with detours. The office buildings in that section of town had not fared any better. Many were burned out relics of the world before the Change, corpses of a dead civilization. It was fitting that gangs of the dead commanded them now as squatters and thieves. The real money had long since abandoned this part of Greasetown.

  I knew of a place, where Tommy had taken me once, when I had been nothing more than an irritated afterthought. He had approached three tall buildings in Downings. The one in the center was ancient, and the shortest. It was a flat-topped number with all the old gothic scrollwork over the windows. Apparently whoever had owned it had been reluctant to sell, because on two congruent sides had grown up a pai
r of enormous skyscrapers of plain concrete and glass now abandoned. They dwarfed the older building, and were erected so close to it that there was a little under a cramped foot of air separating them. Juxtaposed in such a way, the old building's roof became a tarry diamond set into the corner formed by these two massive abutting buildings. The deepest point of the diamond was dark, sandwiched by the mass and shadow of the gargantuan twins, facing east. The tall buildings had few windows now-just jagged sills and warped aluminum framing. The winds howled through the cramped spaces like demons. Tommy's secret place was atop this short, flat roof that stopped at the twentieth floor. Shaded from whatever weak sun there was; it became a perfect place for mosses, and the three short cedars that grew there. Tommy had brought me here once, and I had seen stars; now I sought this sanctuary for a night's sleep in a city that was growing deadly for me.

  I was concerned about my last episode with Tommy, so gave my gun to Elmo and told him to stand guard at the top of the stairs and the broken door that served as roof-access. I walked wearily to the three cedars, sat myself under the rough shelter of a dilapidated plastic and aluminum hobo hut that had been erected beside them, opened the bottle of whiskey, set a pack of cigarettes down and let go of Tommy. He immediately mumbled something about Caesar, then attacked the bottle with a vengeance. I watched apprehensively as he smoked and drank voraciously. When a quarter of the bottle was gone, exhaustion took its toll and he fell asleep on a tumble of garbage and small, moss-covered rocks. He snored weakly. I relaxed and let the hollow darkness absorb me.

  Transition.

  I was naked in a sterile hallway. Sweat soaked my brow. The lights had gone out. Someone had scrubbed me clean again. My cheeks were raw from the plastic bristles. Whenever the lights went out the doors automatically swung shut in a long rolling thunder: boom, boom, boom like a giant stamping closer on enormous killing feet. I was left in the darkness. I pressed my back to the wall; the bricks were cold against my skin. Fear chattered in my ears.

  The sound of breathing reached me from a short distance down the hall prickling my hair at the scalp. If only the clown were here. The clown could help. He'd make the fear go away. From the darkness someone screamed, hot iron on flesh. I scuttled on all fours toward the TV blueness of a night-lit window. A swollen moon pressed against the upper corner, and punched rectangular holes repetitively down the hall where other wired windows allowed a tantalizing view, but no freedom. In the eerie light, I saw strange naked shapes moving slowly toward me, obscenely dragging mottled, twisted limbs. I opened the window on hinges. Fall branches scratched at the air outside it like creaky buried-alive fingers. A wind moaned. Leaves whirled. Approaching all around me was the silent motion of madness. But I could feel an unusual magic now. The clown was here. He had arrived. There was more to the darkness this time, the moon's light, to the shadowy forms that crept near. I knew that the lights would not return. Something had happened and they were out for good. Something had happened out there in the world beyond the black line of trees.