“Then I could breathe again, and the police came.” Niane couldn’t stop shaking.
“Yes. Well, I think that’s enough for now. We have group just after lunch. Why don’t you and your friend have a nice walk through the snow. The exercise is relaxing.”
Niane begged another Demerol from Navonna, then they took a nice walk through the snow. The snow was slowly getting deeper, an inch or more. From the clouds, there might be much more on the way. Niane finally made some snowballs. A fight ensued with much shrieking. Niane felt like a teenager again, although she was twenty-one going on one hundred.
She bent down to scrape up another snowball, then screamed: “Oh my god! Here’s another one! And it’s alive!”
Navonna rushed to see. “What the fuck!”
It was flopping across the snow. Short brown fur, something like a tailless monkey with membranous wings. It was smaller than a house cat and had tiny horns. Its feet were like an owl’s talons. Its muzzle was pointed and had many pointed teeth, which it snapped at them as it crawled across the snow.
Niane bent down to pick it up.
Navonna grabbed her arm and drew her back. “Don’t touch it! It’s rabid!”
“But it’s dying in the snow.”
“There’s nothing you can do. Leave it!”
“What is it?”
“I think it’s a fox bat or a fruit bat, whatever they call them. I can’t say. They live in South America.”
“Then what’s it doing here?”
“Migrating. Someone’s pet. I don’t know. There may be more of them wintering in these old buildings.”
“Bats don’t have horns. Or arms.”
Navonna dragged at her. “So now you’re the expert on bats. Just leave it alone. I’m sure it’s rabid.”
“We ought to report this to someone.”
“Then tell one of the doctors. Will you come on!”
Niane complained about her nervousness that night, but refused to take her Mellaril. Navonna gave in and gave her two Demerol. Then she unpacked their favorite dildo, strapped it on, and soon had Niane too exhausted to complain.
There was more than a foot of snow on the ground by morning. They slept through breakfast. Niane had a morning session with Dr Ashford. She complained that her crotch was too sore because Navonna had been too rough, and Navonna gave her two more Demerols, knowing full well the scam.
At least Niane wasn’t pouring coffee on herself. Navonna decided to keep her stash on her person.
Keith was his genial self. Niane was a little stoned.
“Still taking your Mellaril?”
“Yes. But it does make me drowsy.” She had flushed it down the toilet yesterday.
Small talk; then: “Let’s pick up from yesterday. I think we should explore your recent overdose.”
“I scalded my hand. I was already on too much medication. I took a handful of Demerols without thinking what I was doing. It wasn’t a suicide attempt. I was just out of control.”
“Dr Greenfeld told me you almost died. CPR and quick treatment pulled you through after heart and breathing stopped. You were clinically dead for several minutes. Very lucky to have pulled through.”
“I won’t do it again. What’s this leading to?”
“What did you experience as you were dying?”
“Again?”
“It’s important.”
“Navonna was carrying me. We were only wearing our dancer’s G-strings. Leaves came fluttering down. Only they weren’t leaves. They were like mutated manta rays or something. They settled onto our bare skin, drinking our blood. Surely you have all of this from my hospital records.”
“Best to have it from the patient firsthand.”
“All of the patients here have had near-death experiences.”
“Very observant, Niane. But you are the only one who has died twice. We can help one another to learn.”
“About what?”
“About what’s on the other side.”
“I’m out of here!” Niane stood up.
“Sit down. There’s more than a foot of snow outside, and it’s still coming down. No road crews here. I doubt you’d get very far. Aren’t two death experiences enough?”
Niane sat back down, clenching her fists. “This isn’t a retreat or a clinic! What do you want from us?”
Keith folded his hands, trying to look fatherly. “Dr Greenfeld and I have been doing research on near-death experiences. What you and the others have shared with us may answer life’s final question: Where do we go after death, and what else is out there.”
“Why this rundown dump of a hotel. Why not a real clinic?”
“Pleasant surroundings. Isolation. Past reports of paranormal phenomena. Conducive to patients’ rapport with their buried memories, as you have demonstrated. Dr Greenfeld and I agree that certain points on this earth serve as gateways to other worlds.”
This time Niane jumped up for good. “You’re no psychiatrist! You’re a pair of looney-tunes! Navonna and I are out of here as soon as the snow stops. And I’ll tell the others. We’ll phone down for a fleet of snowmobiles or something.”
“Lines are down,” said Keith patiently. “Bad storm.”
“And you’ve got bats in your belfry.” Niane started for the door, then decided to fire the parting shot. “You really do. Only thing is they live in those old sheds, and they have horns and monkey’s arms.”
Keith jumped up and grabbed her arm. “What have you seen!”
“Just what I said. Let go of me!” He was very strong.
“Just tell me!”
“I found a dead one in the road when we first got here. Yesterday I found one dying in the snow. Navonna said it was probably rabid and had migrated from South America. Let go of my arm.”
Keith’s eyes were intense, and he wouldn’t let go. “Just show me where you found it. I’ll make arrangements for all of us to leave once the snow stops. I promise.”
Niane got her coat and pulled a still sleepy Navonna along for protection and confirmation. Keith was waiting impatiently with Dr Greenfeld.
Of course, it was impossible. Niane and Navonna weren’t sure just quite where, the bat had still been crawling about, and the snow was approaching two feet in depth. A record blizzard for this area of the Smokies’ foothills.
Niane kicked along the gravel road. They’d been at it for hours, and she was freezing. She remembered the large pine tree. There it was, the skeletal one, where she’d flung it, buried under the snow. She scraped away snow.
“Here’s one of them.”
Keith carefully removed it from the snow. He and Dr Greenfeld examined it in awe.
Keith murmured: “My god, it’s really happening!”
The snow was falling so thick that Niane almost didn’t see it flying toward them. “Here’s a fresh one! Watch out!”
The bat-thing struck Dr Greenfeld, ripping her heavy quilted parka with its teeth. She screamed and slung it off her arm. It flew back into the snow storm, circling.
“Back inside,” said Keith. “Quick.”
As Niane turned to shuffle back through the snow, she saw a drift move. Something like a lamprey eel peered out. Niane ran as fast as she could, saying nothing to the others.
They passed a clump of reddening snow. Mrs Malone had made a bad decision to have a morning winterland stroll. Keith brushed away enough snow to see the bloated maple-leaf things that feasted upon her.
“The experiment’s out of control!” Dr Greenfeld massaged her bleeding arm. “There’s too much energy! They’re breaking through!”
“Move!” ordered Keith. A stick with teeth shot out of the snow and snapped at his leg, barely missing.
They made it inside and locked the door. For whatever good.
“What’s happening!” Niane demanded.
Someone was screaming upstairs. The screams stopped.
“This site is a gateway,” Keith said, looking all about. “Sort of a flaw in the universe of the
natural human world. The Cherokees knew about it. The whites ignored it. Now things are breaking through.”
“You’re no psychiatrist,” Niane said slowly.
“I am, but I’m also what you might call a sorcerer. Sounds foolish, but we do exist.”
“And I’m Elvis in drag. And I’m walking out of here right now. Navonna, come on!”
Keith shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter if you believe me. This was to have been an experiment to gather together a group of near-death survivors. I wanted data. I hoped for a possible spiritual manifestation from your combined experiences linking to the gateway here. Nothing like this, however. Together you created too much power. I was only doing research.”
“And I was the one locked up in the nut house,” Niane said.
Someone else was screaming from the direction of the kitchen. There was the sound of breaking glass. Something hit the front door. Hard.
“You’re doing it,” Keith said.
“What? What am I doing?”
Keith removed his tie. He seldom wore one. He mopped his forehead with it. “My theory is that when you die, you fall into a universe of absolute evil. Its denizens – demons, if you will – formed by your imagination, descend upon you. No heaven, only hell. When you die and are returned to life, they will try to follow you back into life. You’ve been dead twice, Niane. And we’re standing at a portal. They’re following you. They’re here. It’s all out of control.”
Keith whipped his tie around Niane’s throat. “I’m sorry, Niane, but this is the only way. I never meant for the experiment to end like this.”
Niane clawed at him, gasping for breath.
Navonna rushed to help her, but Dr Greenfeld tackled her. They rolled about on the floor. Niane could hear more screams, but had no breath for her own. Keith ignored her clawing and struggling. He pushed her to the floor, knees on her chest, tightening the tie about her throat. “Third time’s a charm, Niane.”
Niane lost consciousness. It was all black. It was snowing. She saw a snowman. A very poorly constructed snowman. More like a cone. Its face was covered with icy tentacles. It began to move toward her. Its arms stretched out like thick ropes. It grasped her throat. She couldn’t breathe. The darkness thickened.
Niane was able to draw breath again. Navonna was shaking her, her face desperate. “Baby! Baby! Come on, baby! Just hold on for me!”
Niane coughed and sat up. Her throat ached. She gulped air.
Dr Greenfeld was in worse shape. Navonna had crushed her skull with a table lamp.
The door was smashed open.
“Where’s Dr Ashford?” asked Niane, holding her throat. She was barely conscious. A tie was wrapped loosely about her throat.
“He’s gone. Something broke through the door. I was trying to get away from Dr Greenfeld to help you. All I saw was something like pieces of thick rope reach in and drag Dr Ashford away. Dr Greenfeld turned to look, and I hit the bitch hard with that lamp. I think I may have killed her.”
A frosted tentacle snaked through the broken door, curled about Dr Greenfeld’s leg, dragged her into the snow.
Navonna was still too stunned to know panic. “Girl, we’ve got to get out of here.” She said it as if she were speaking of leaving a bad singles bar. There were more screams from upstairs. Navonna didn’t seem to hear. Her nose and lips were bleeding, unheeded. She just hung onto Niane, out of it.
“We’ll never make it just now in the snow,” Niane said. “We’ll lock ourselves in our room. I think they won’t harm me.”
“Who?”
“My death fantasies. They only followed me from the other side. The others lacked the power to escape them. Let’s hurry. I think I can protect us both now.”
They huddled together throughout the evening and a sleepless night, hearing an endless barrage of screams and crashing sounds.
“From ghoulies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night, dear Lord preserve us.” Navonna must have said that prayer a hundred times as they clutched each other and shuddered at every sound. Niane seemed much calmer now and kept reassuring her. Navonna gave them both some Demerols.
By daybreak it had all stopped. Except the snow. Just flurries.
They crept out cautiously. The smell of death hung over the decaying hotel. There were no sounds.
“Are they all dead?” Navonna wondered.
“Do you want to look?” Niane fussed with the telephone. Yes, the lines really were down. She begged a Demerol from Navonna.
“All right. We’ll hike it to town. Maybe we can hitch a ride once we hit the highway, if it’s clear. I’m not staying here another moment.” Niane tugged on her coat.
“Are those . . . those things gone?” Navonna worried.
“Let’s not wait to find out. I think they got what they came for. For now. Come on!”
The wind had blown the dry snow into drifts, clearing much of the gravel road. They had trudged along for about a mile before Navonna fell back and noticed that Niane was leaving no footprints in the snow. Nor a shadow.
Probably just the snow in her eyes and the glare. She hurried to keep up.
PAUL J. McAULEY
The Temptation of Dr Stein
PAUL J. MCAULEY lives in Scotland, where he works as a research biologist. His first novel, Four Hundred Billion Stars, was published in 1988 and won the Philip K. Dick Award. It was followed by Secret Harmonies, Eternal Light (shortlisted for the Arthur C. Clarke Award), Red Dust, Pasquale’s Angel and Fairyland. His short fiction has been collected in The King of the Hill, and with Kim Newman he co-edited In Dreams, an anthology of stories about the culture and myths surrounding the 7-inch single.
The following story is set in the same alternate history as his novel Pasquale’s Angel (another Arthur C. Clarke Award finalist), in which the inventions of the Great Engineer, Leonardo da Vinci, have transformed Florence into a world power. The novel features an appearance by a certain Dr Pretorious (a character memorably portrayed by the great English eccentric Ernest Thesiger in James Whale’s 1935 movie Bride of Frankenstein), and “The Temptation of Dr Stein” concerns his activities in Florence, some ten years earlier . . .
DR STEIN PRIDED himself on being a rational man. When, in the months following his arrival in Venice, it became his habit to spend his free time wandering the city, he could not admit that it was because he believed that his daughter might still live, and that he might see her amongst the cosmopolitan throng. For he harboured the small, secret hope that when Landsknechts had pillaged the houses of the Jews of Lodz, perhaps his daughter had not been carried off to be despoiled and murdered, but had been forced to become a servant of some Prussian family. It was no more impossible that she had been brought here, for the Council of Ten had hired many Landsknechts to defend the city and the terrafirma hinterlands of its empire.
Dr Stein’s wife would no longer talk to him about it. Indeed, they hardly talked about anything these days. She had pleaded that the memory of their daughter should be laid to rest in a week of mourning, just as if they had interred her body. They were living in rooms rented from the cousin of Dr Stein’s wife, a banker called Abraham Soncino, and Dr Stein was convinced that she had been put up to this by the women of Soncino’s family. Who knew what the women talked about, when locked in the bathhouse overnight after they had been purified of their menses? No good, Dr Stein was certain. Even Soncino, a genial, uxorious man, had urged that Dr Stein mourn his daughter. Soncino had said that his family would bring the requisite food to begin the mourning; after a week all the community would commiserate with Dr Stein and his wife before the main Sabbath service, and with God’s help this terrible wound would be healed. It had taken all of Dr Stein’s powers to refuse this generous offer courteously. Soncino was a good man, but this was none of his business.
As winter came on, driven out by his wife’s silent recriminations, or so he told himself, Dr Stein walked the crowded streets almost every afternoon. Sometimes he was accompanied by an Eng
lish captain of the Night Guard, Henry Gorrall, to whom Dr Stein had become an unofficial assistant, helping identify the cause of death of one or another of the bodies found floating in the backwaters of the city.
There had been more murders than usual that summer, and several well-bred young women had disappeared. Dr Stein had been urged to help Gorrall by the Elders of the Beth Din; already there were rumours that the Jews were murdering Christian virgins and using their blood to animate a Golem. It was good that a Jew – moreover, a Jew who worked at the city hospital, and taught new surgical techniques at the school of medicine – was involved in attempting to solve this mystery.
Besides, Dr Stein enjoyed Gorrall’s company. He was sympathetic to Gorrall’s belief that everything, no matter how unlikely, had at base a rational explanation. Gorrall was a humanist, and did not mind being seen in the company of a man who must wear a yellow star on his coat. On their walks through the city, they often talked on the new philosophies of nature compounded in the university of Florence’s Great Engineer, Leonardo da Vinci, quite oblivious to the brawling bustle all around them.
Ships from twenty nations crowded the quay in the long shadow of the Campanile, and their sailors washed through the streets. Hawkers cried their wares from flotillas of small boats that rocked on the wakes of barges or galleys. Gondoliers shouted vivid curses as skiffs crossing from one side of the Grand Canal to the other got in the way of their long, swift craft. Sometimes a screw-driven Florentine ship made its way up the Grand Canal, its Hero’s engine laying a trail of black smoke, and everyone stopped to watch this marvel. Bankers in fur coats and tall felt hats conducted the business of the world in the piazza before San Giacometto, amid the rattle of the new clockwork abacuses and the subdued murmur of transactions.
Gorrall, a bluff muscular man with a bristling black beard and a habit of spitting sideways and often, because of the taw of tobacco he habitually chewed, seemed to know most of the bankers by name, and most of the merchants, too – the silk and cloth-of-gold mercers and sellers of fustian and velvet along the Mercerie, the druggists, goldsmiths and silversmiths, the makers of white wax, the ironmongers, coopers and perfumers who had stalls and shops in the crowded little streets off the Rialto. He knew the names of many of the yellow-scarfed prostitutes, too, although Dr Stein wasn’t surprised at this, since he had first met Gorrall when the captain had come to the hospital for mercury treatment of his syphilis. Gorrall even knew, or pretended to know, the names of the cats which stalked between the feet of the crowds or lazed on cold stone in the brittle winter sunshine, the true rulers of Venice.
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