It was quite clear though that Jeffy wanted to stay.
"I don't want to go, Mom."
"Please don't argue with me, Jeffy," Sylvia said in a low voice. "It's time to go home."
Jeffy tried to pull away from her. "No!"
"Please obey your mother, Jeffy," Glaeken said softly.
The boy abruptly stopped struggling. The look Sylvia threw Glaeken was anything but grateful.
"There's something you should realize, Mrs. Nash," Glaeken said. "The creatures that attacked your house last night are active only in the hours between sunset and sunrise. They must hide from the sun during the day. However, as I'm sure you are all aware, the daylight hours are shrinking."
"But that can't go on forever," said an unfamiliar voice.
Alan turned and saw that Hank was on his feet, staring in turn at each person in the room. It was the first time he had opened his mouth since he'd been introduced.
"Can it?" Hank said.
"The pattern will continue," Glaeken said. "And accelerate. Sunrise was late again today. Tomorrow it will be even later. Sunset will keep coming earlier and earlier."
"But if that keeps up…" Hank's eyes widened. "Lord!"
Slowly he sank down next to Carol on the couch.
"You see the pattern? Shrinking daylight hours, lengthening periods of darkness. The hole creatures will have progressively longer time for their feedings, and shorter periods when they must be in hiding. And when daylight is gone completely…"
"They'll never stop," Jack said in a hushed voice.
Alan knew from looking at him that no matter what terrors he and Sylvia and Ba had experienced last night, Jack had seen far worse.
"Correct," Glaeken said. "We are headed for a world without light, without law, without reason, sanity, or logic. A nightworld from which there will be no dawn. Unless we do something."
"Call me when you get the metal," Sylvia said.
Alan reached out and shook hands with Glaeken as he passed, then wheeled himself to where Ba stood holding the door.
"Don't leave," said a strained voice.
Alan turned at the door and saw that Nick had stepped out of the kitchen. His eyes were bright and alive again. And there was genuine concern in them as he stared at Alan.
"Why not?" Alan said.
"If the four of you leave here today, only three will live to return."
A chill swept over Alan. He glanced out into the atrium and saw Sylvia, Ba, and Jeffy standing before the elevator. As he watched, the bell dinged and the doors slid open. Sylvia and Jeffy stepped inside. Ba stood waiting, restraining the doors with one of his big hands.
Alan was paralyzed for a moment. The three outside were waiting for him; the six people in the apartment were staring at him. He wanted to stay, but wouldn't—couldn't—stay without Sylvia. And no way was Sylvia moving in here. Not yet, at least.
He shrugged and flashed what he knew was a weak grin at the people in the apartment.
"We'll see about that."
Then he headed toward the elevator, feeling as if he was rolling himself toward an abyss as deep and dark as the one in the Sheep Meadow outside.
As the door closed behind Dr. Bulmer, Bill guided Nick back into the kitchen. The younger man's behavior disturbed him. He was acting like some sort of Delphic oracle, transmitting threats and predictions from beyond. Was it madness or had his brush with the abyss left him connected, as Glaeken had said, to the chaos that was encroaching on all their lives?
"Are you trying to frighten people, Nick?"
"No," he said as he resumed his seat at the kitchen table. His eyes were tortured. "They're in danger. One of them's going to die."
"Who, Nick? Which one?"
If Nick was actually tapped in to something, maybe Bill could get something concrete out of him before he went catatonic again. Those four people from Long Island—the woman, Sylvia was a bit of a bitch, but he didn't want to see harm come to any of them, especially the boy.
"Who's going to die, Nick? Who's in danger? Is it Jeffy, the boy?"
But Nick was gone again, his face empty, his eyes blank.
"Damn it, Nick!" Bill said softly. He gave the slumped shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Couldn't you have held on a few minutes longer?"
No reply, of course. But he did catch a voice rising in the living room. He went to see what was up.
"What are we doing here?" Hank was saying. He was on his feet again, staring down at Carol where she sat on the sofa. He looked frightened. He glanced at Glaeken, at Jack who had appropriated Sylvia Nash's seat, then at Bill. "What do you want with Carol and me?"
"I brought you here so you could learn the truth," Carol said. "The truth about me."
"What truth? What you said about your son before? I didn't even know you had a son."
"Well, I do," she said, then looked away. "And I don't."
Bill caught a glimpse of the unfathomed pain in her eyes. He pressed his shoulder against the edge of the wall and leaned into it until it hurt. It took all his strength of will to hold back from rushing to her side.
"But what's that got to do with what's been going on in this room? Which, quite frankly, I don't understand one bit."
"My son is behind it all," Carol said in a small voice, without looking up.
Hank looked around again. "Will someone please tell me what's going on?"
Glaeken stepped forward. "Let me try, Mr. Treece. If you remember, a short while ago I told of a man named Rasalom who in ancient times sided with the Enemy and became its agent here. That man was imprisoned in Eastern Europe in the fifteenth century. He should have remained imprisoned forever, but the German Army inadvertently released him in 1941. Before he could get fully free, however, he was destroyed. Or at least appeared to have been destroyed. Through luck and unique circumstances, Rasalom was able to incorporate himself into the unborn body of a man who would grow to be James Stevens."
Bill noticed Hank glance sharply at Carol here—her last name had been Stevens when he'd met her.
"But Rasalom was powerless within Jim Stevens," Glaeken continued. "He could only watch the world pass by from within Jim's body. Until…Jim married Carol Nevins and they conceived a child. Rasalom became that child. He was reborn late in 1968. For decades he lay low while his new body matured, soaking up power from the world around him, from the wars and genocide in Southeast Asia, from the hatred in Africa and the Middle East, and from the countless spites, acrimonies, antipathies, rancors, and casual brutalities of everyday life as well. He was waiting for the proper time to make his move. A few months ago he discovered that he was unopposed here. His first overt move was with the sunrise on Wednesday morning. He has been steadily escalating since then."
Hank was staring at Carol. "Your son? I don't believe this. I don't believe any of it. Come on, Carol. I'm taking you home."
"This isn't going to go away, Hank," Carol said, meeting his gaze. "We've got to face it."
"Then we'll face it somewhere else. Anywhere but here. I can't think straight here."
Carol rose to her feet. "Okay. Somewhere else. But we've got to come to terms with this."
Bill wanted to stop them, make Hank believe, but it was not his place. He couldn't step between a man and wife, even if the wife was Carol.
Carol said goodbye, and thanked Glaeken. Hank said nothing. They left in silence.
Jack got up and walked over to where Glaeken stood.
"Do you hire out?" he said, clapping the old man on the back. "I mean, if I ever have guests I can't get to leave, will you come over and get rid of them for me?"
Glaeken smiled, and as concerned as Bill was about Carol, he had to laugh. It was good to laugh, especially since he wasn't sure when he'd have cause to laugh again.
3 • PREPARATIONS
"They're all crazy, aren't they?" Hank said as they turned left on 57th Street and walked east.
The police weren't letting anybody into Central Park, and they'd closed off the streets
adjacent to it. There wasn't a cab to be had, so Carol and Hank had detoured south. The sun was high and warm and gleamed on Hank's scalp where his hair was thinning. Carol wished she'd worn lighter clothes.
"Who?" she said, though she knew very well who he meant.
"Your friends. They're nutty as fruitcakes. And they've infected you with their nuttiness."
Carol noticed how he watched her as he spoke. His expression was strained. He seemed desperate to hear her agree with him.
"Only Bill and Glaeken are my friends. I can only speak for them. And I assure you, Hank, they're not crazy."
"They're delusional, Carol. They've got to be!" It was almost a plea.
"Are the late sunrises and early sunsets delusions, Hank?" she said forcefully. She had to make him believe, make him understand. "Is that hole in Central Park a delusion? Were all those people killed last night another delusion?"
"Could be," Hank said. "We could all be suffering from mass hysteria of some sort."
"Tell me you really believe that."
"Okay. I don't. Just wishful thinking. But the world's rampant weirdness has no bearing on your friend Glaeken's delusions. I mean, just because the earth and the sky are acting crazy doesn't mean I have to swallow everything some demented old man has to say."
"Granted. But think about it: There's not a scientific authority in the world who can explain all the lunacy we've seen the past few days."
"More lunacy is not an explanation."
"It's true, Hank," Carol said. "I swear to you, it's true. I've seen too much that backs up what he says, things I wish I'd never seen. He's not crazy."
Hank's hazel eyes, paler that usual in the bright sunlight, searched her face.
"What sort of things have you seen?"
"Some other time. We'll sit down tonight with a bottle of wine and I'll tell you all the things I've been afraid to tell you."
They walked in silence awhile. Carol knew Hank was sifting and sorting everything he'd heard today. He was a scientist at heart. When he had it all filed in the proper slots, he'd be able to deal with it and come to a conclusion. It was the way he was. Not flashy, no dramatic epiphanies, but his insight was just as valid.
Screeching tires and cries of terror brought them up short. They turned and saw a yellow cab rising off the street, trunk first. The driver opened his door, hung by the seat belt, and dropped to the pavement.
"My God!" Carol cried when she saw the woman and child lean out the rear window and scream for help. "Can't somebody do something?"
She clutched Hank's arm and they watched in horror as the cab continued to rise, beginning a slow rotation as it cleared the tops of the surrounding buildings and kept on falling up.
Finally Hank pulled her away.
"Let's go. There's nothing we can do and I feel like some sort of vulture watching it."
Carol felt the same. The tragedy of the scene made her feel weak, yet there was a horrid fascination about it.
"Stay close to the buildings," Hank said. "That way we'll have something to grab on to if it happens to us."
They walked on in silence, stepping almost gingerly, wondering if a gravity hole lay in wait on the sidewalk ahead. But Carol could not help casting furtive glances over her shoulder. Each time, the taxi was higher.
When they reached Second Avenue they were supposed to turn uptown, but Hank stopped and squinted up at the sun. He was sweating. Finally he spoke.
"It doesn't look like it's traveling any faster."
Carol tried to look at it but it hurt her eyes.
"Do you think it is?"
"Something has to be moving faster." He turned and stared at her. His eyes were watering, the pupils tiny. "I mean, the sun doesn't move, we do. Earth's rotation on its axis—that's what determines the varying duration of daylight through the year. Shorter days would mean we're either rotating faster or the Earth's shifted on its axis. But the scientists say neither has happened. Yet the days are shortening. A paradox. The impossible is happening. If that's true, then the impossible—or the impossible-sounding—things Glaeken said could be true as well."
He's coming around, Carol thought as they turned up Second Avenue and put the sun to their backs. He wasn't getting there via an intuitive leap but by the only route he knew—a logical examination of the evidence at hand. He'd have made a good Sherlock Holmes.
"Do you really think it'll happen?" he said.
"What?"
"The 'nightworld' Glaeken was talking about. It's a real possibility, isn't it?"
"Yes, but not an inevitability if he can get some cooperation."
At first Carol had been furious with that Sylvia Nash woman. How could she talk to Glaeken like that? He was only trying to help everybody, and all he was asking was their cooperation to save their own hides. But Carol had to keep reminding herself that the truth was so difficult to accept—she remembered how she had fought it for years. Decades. And Sylvia Nash was afraid of something. Carol didn't know what, but she was sure she'd seen it in the younger woman's eyes as she walked past on her way out of Glaeken's apartment.
"Let's be optimistic," Hank said. "Let's say he gets the kind of cooperation he needs and he fashions and reactivates this 'focus' he was talking about. And let's even say he gets it to work and gets the sun to return to a normal pattern. That could take weeks, couldn't it? Maybe months."
"I don't know, Hank. What are you getting at?"
There was a strange new intensity about him, one she had never seen before. His eyes had taken on an almost feverish glow.
"Sunlight, Carol. What needs sunlight—regular, measured doses of sunlight—more than anything else?"
"Well…plants, I guess."
"Exactly! And right now, in the spring, sunlight is crucial for germination and seedling growth. If the daily dose of sunlight diminishes steadily over the next few weeks, there will be massive crop failures all across the globe."
"If Rasalom takes over, crop failures will be the least of our problems."
"But I told you, Carol: I'm thinking optimistically. I'm assuming Glaeken will win. But win or lose, we'll still be facing world-wide food shortages, maybe even famine."
The realization startled and sickened Carol. Even if they won, billions would starve in the aftermath. A Pyhrric victory was the best they could hope for. She wondered if Glaeken had foreseen this. She was tentatively proud of Hank. Tentatively…because his sudden agitation disturbed her.
"We've got to start making plans for that eventuality, Carol," he said. "Those who can anticipate the future can profit from it."
"Oh, no, Hank. You're not thinking of the stock market or anything like that, are you?"
"Of course not," he said. He seemed annoyed that she'd even suggested it. "If we lose much sunlight for any length of time, I don't see there even being a stock market, or a commodities exchange, for that matter. Grain futures might go through the roof, but what are you going to pay with?"
"I don't understand."
"Carol," he said, stopping and gripping her shoulders, "if we have worldwide crop failures, money—currency—won't be worth anything. It'll be just paper, and you can't eat paper. The only things that'll be worth anything are precious metals like gold and silver, probably diamonds and other jewels as well, and one other thing: food."
"How can you even think about something like that?"
"Somebody's got to think about it. Somebody's got to plan ahead. I'm thinking about us, Carol. When the crops fail and the grocery shelves are emptied, we're going to see food riots in this city—in every city. It's going to be a nasty time. And if we want to get through it alive, we'd better be prepared." He took her hand. "Come on."
They resumed their trek uptown, but at a faster pace now. Carol hurried to keep up. Hank seemed filled with urgent purpose. She'd never seen him like this. The mellow, laid-back number-cruncher was gone, replaced by a manic stranger.
As they neared their apartment, he led her into the Gristedes where she di
d most of her food shopping. He pulled two shopping carts free, rolled one in front of Carol and kept the other for himself.
"Hank, what are we doing?"
He glanced around nervously.
"Try to keep your voice down," he whispered. "We're stocking up—before the hoarding starts."
Carol started to laugh, mirthlessly, from shock.
"Do you hear yourself?"
"Come on, Carol. This is serious."
And she saw in his eyes then that he was afraid. I'm afraid too, she thought. She glanced down at the empty shopping cart before her. But am I this afraid?
"Just get canned and bottled goods, and things that will keep a long time, like pasta," he whispered. "Nothing that needs to be refrigerated. Load up as much as you can carry back to the apartment and put it on the Visa."
"Charge it? I've got cash."
"Save it. We'll charge everything to the limit. Who knows? If things get really bad, the credit card companies may not be around to collect."
"Why don't we go all the way, Hank?" she said, trying to keep her voice light. "Gristedes delivers. Why don't we just clear off the shelves and have them bring everything over later? Save us all the hassle of lugging heavy bags home."
"We've got to be discreet," he said, his eyes darting about again. "We can't let it get around that we've got a stockpile of food. People will be breaking down our door when things get tight."
She stared at him. He'd figured all this out during their short walk up from 57th Street.
"What a mind you have!"
"You'll thank me when the bad times come." He pointed to the left side of the store. "You go that way, I'll go this. We'll meet at the check-out."
And then he was on his way toward the canned goods section. Carol watched him in dismay.
It's the shock, she told herself. He's been barraged with too much today. He must be reeling, confused, frightened. I've had since 1968 to adjust and I still can't quite accept it all. Poor Hank has had his whole belief system trashed in the past few hours.
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