Swimmer

by Graham Masterton

  ‘Tell me what really happened to you,’ said Jim. ‘Something must have led you into this business.’

  ‘Oh … It was a long time ago, when I was a kid. We lived in Pennsylvania then, not far from a railroad track. When we went to school in the morning, my brother and I could either cycle to the nearest grade crossing, or else we could go through this drainage pipe that went right under the railroad embankment. The tunnel was dark and dripping and real scary, especially in the winter, and you had to crouch down to go through it, but it saved us almost a mile.’

  ‘Jim? You coming?’ asked Michael impatiently. ‘Susan’s feeling cold.’

  ‘Be right with you.’

  ‘I won’t hold you up,’ said David DuQuesne. ‘Maybe we can talk another time.’

  ‘No, no – just tell me what happened in the tunnel.’

  ‘The local kids used to say that years ago a man had gone shack-wacky and murdered his wife and three babies, ripped them apart with a skinning-hook. The sheriff sent out a search party, but he hid in the tunnel under the railroad. Anybody who went in looking for him was torn into pieces: dogs, deputies, you name it. He literally dismembered them, and ate their livers, raw. Forget about Hannibal Lecter: this guy was the real thing.

  ‘They never found him, and the story went that he lived rough in the woods for years – but now and then, when he was hungry, he would go back to the tunnel and lie in wait for anybody who used it as a short cut. Mad Frank Butler, that was what they called him.’

  David DuQuesne was silent for a while, his eyes so narrow that he looked almost as if he were blind.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Jim.

  ‘It was February. I was off school with the measles. My brother Philip went to school alone. Four o’clock came, then five, then six. My mother called the school to find out if Philip was staying late for drama class. The principal told her that he hadn’t been at school all day … and they had naturally imagined he was sick too.

  ‘It took the search parties three days to find all of him – or most of him. They found his bicycle in the tunnel, and his books all torn up and bloody and strewn through the undergrowth. His body … well, they didn’t tell me then, but I read about it later. He was literally torn to shreds. They never found his feet. Can you imagine that? They searched an area of four square miles and they never found his feet.’

  ‘Did they ever discover who did it?’

  David DuQuesne shook his head. ‘Maybe it was Mad Frank Butler … maybe it was some maniac pretending to be him. But you can understand now why I developed a serious interest in urban legends. There are things happening in our cities and our towns that defy all rational explanation. But that doesn’t mean they’re not happening, and that doesn’t mean that innocent people are not being killed or seriously injured.

  ‘You have to find the Swimmer, Jim. Susan’s right, it’s going to be very dangerous. But what’s the alternative? More of your students being scalded? More of your friends being drowned in their bathtubs? She’s taking her revenge out on you, Jim, no question about it, as well as other people who were there when she went under. And what’s the most painful form of revenge? Not drowning Jennie, or you, but drowning the people you care for the most. She won’t stop, Jim, I can promise you that. She won’t stop until you’ve lost everybody you love.’

  ‘Jim!’ called Michael.

  ‘I’m coming,’ said Jim. He took hold of David DuQuesne’s hand and squeezed it. ‘You’ve been a great help, David. From the way that Susan was talking about you, I had the impression you were going to be kind of – well, aloof.’

  ‘Oh, I can be aloof. I can be very aloof, especially with all the fruitcakes and loony-tunes who try to get in touch with me. If I hear one more alien abduction story, I’m going to retire to a monastery. But when Susan called me and told me about the Swimmer, I knew you had a genuine problem – and there’s no justification for being aloof when people are in mortal danger.’

  Jim went down the steps and climbed into his car. As they drove away, he turned back and saw David DuQuesne standing stiff and straight on the verandah, like the captain of a sinking liner. Jim felt a sharp pang of sympathy for him. Just like Jim, he had come into contact with the demons of this world, only to find himself burdened with a dread responsibility – a responsibility which he could never escape, no matter how much terror it brought him.

  He returned to his apartment building feeling fractured. As he walked along the corridor, he smelled a pungent aroma of garlic, onions and soy sauce. Mervyn’s door was ajar – and, as he passed, Mervyn suddenly appeared in a turquoise silk kimono with his hair drawn up in a Japanese-style bun on top of his head. His chubby cheeks were white with rice powder, and he had used black eye-pencil to make his eyes look slanted. ‘Jim! I’ve been expecting you!’

  ‘Hi, Mervyn. You’re looking very geisha.’

  ‘Gay, yes. Not so sure about the sha. You’re back late. I was beginning to fret.’

  ‘We had an accident at college today. One of my students was scalded in the showers. She’s at Sisters of Mercy, in intensive care. Then I had some other business to take care of.’

  ‘You haven’t forgotten, I hope?’

  ‘Sorry, forgotten what?’

  ‘I’m cooking you a special farewell supper on a Japanese theme.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Sure you are.’ Mervyn had invited him weeks ago, and what with packing everything up, and the prospect of losing Karen, and most of all the Swimmer, it had completely slipped his mind. ‘Give me a couple of minutes to straighten myself out and I’ll be right with you.’

  ‘Listen – if you don’t want to do this, I won’t be upset.’

  ‘For God’s sake, of course you’ll be upset. Look at all the trouble you’ve gone to.’

  ‘Don’t forget to give me that list of TT’s dietary requirements, will you? And Her Majesty’s food bowl.’

  ‘Sure thing. I’ll give you the vet’s number, too. Just in case she needs worming or anything disgusting like that.’

  ‘Jim … I’ve cooked you a wonderful ethnic meal, complete with rice crackers, warm sake, vegetable tempura and koto music. Don’t let’s start talking about worming.’

  ‘Mervyn … you really shouldn’t have done this.’ He was almost glad that his visit to David DuQuesne had obliged him to turn down Karen’s invitation to dinner. Mervyn would have been desperately hurt if he hadn’t showed.

  Mervyn flapped a pale, plump hand. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve been friends for how long now? If I can’t give you a modest sayonara, then for God’s sake.’

  Jim took hold of his hand. ‘You’re right. And I really appreciate it. Just give me a moment to go to the bathroom.’

  ‘You can use mine if you like. There’s a wonderful poster of Jim Morrison on the wall, in those skin-tight leather pants.’

  ‘It’s okay, I’ll, uh – use my own. I was never a Doors fan, personally.’

  Jim went back to his apartment and splashed his face six or seven times with icy cold water. He changed his shirt and rolled on some more Contradiction deodorant. He stared at his face in the mirror for a while and thought he looked haggard. It was no good. Ever since he had come out of hospital at the age of nine and seen dead people hurrying through the streets, he had known that he would never escape from his near-death experience. Death had touched his shoulder, Tag, you’re it, and let him know that it was always close by.

  Tibbles Two came up to him and rubbed her head against his leg, purring thickly.

  ‘Come on, TT, give me a break. You’ll be living with Mervyn from tomorrow. Don’t start getting affectionate now. You know you hate me.’

  TT loped into the living-room. She jumped up on to the table and nudged his pack of Grimaud cards with her nose.

  ‘Come on, TT, I don’t want you telling my fortune.’

  TT nudged the cards again, but Jim said, ‘Forget it, TT, what do cats know? This is just a charade, isn’t it? All you want is attention. I’m going to be
giving you away to a transvestite torch singer, okay? But he’s a great guy and he’s going to take care of you better than me. So forget the cards. This is where you and me part company.’

  All the same, TT tapped the deck of cards with her paw, again and again, until they all spilled on to the carpet. Then she dropped down from the table and nudged out the three of clubs, hope, showing a woman standing by the ocean.

  ‘Well … that’s the most optimistic card you’ve ever picked. Hope, huh?’

  TT looked up at him with baleful yellow eyes. Then she nudged out another card, the nine of spades. Card number 44, death, in his tattered gray shroud.

  ‘Well, thank you for making my day. Hope, and death. I feel better already.’

  TT slowly rose up on her hind legs. He had never seen a cat do that before – not balanced on its own in the center of the room. Her ears were folded right back and her eyes were slitted so that she looked more like a snake than a cat. As she reached her full height, Jim heard a sudden sharp clattering sound in the kitchen.

  ‘The hell?’ He hurried into the kitchen and found that both of the faucets were turned on full, and that water was blasting into the sink and spraying across the draining board. He turned the faucets off and then went back to the living-room, dabbing at the front of his shirt with a towel. TT was still standing erect, staring at him.

  ‘How did that happen?’ he demanded. ‘Did you do that?’

  TT slowly sank down, but she didn’t take her slitty little eyes off him.

  ‘You’re warning me, aren’t you? You’re really warning me.’

  But TT stayed where she was, watching him, unmoving; and he knew that, ultimately, the decision to hunt down the Swimmer was his alone.

  He went back to Mervyn’s apartment with a chilled bottle of Cuvée Napa sparkling wine, which he had been saving for his last night with Karen. It had only cost $12.98, but Mervyn fluttered his eyelashes and said, ‘Champagne, pour moi?’ and opened it up with the softest of exhalations, like an expert. ‘Do you know what sommeliers call that sound, when they open up a bottle of champagne? Le pet d’un ange. An angel’s fart.’

  ‘You have hidden depths, Mervyn.’

  ‘I know, and I’ve tried so many diets.’

  They sat cross-legged on the floor in Mervyn’s living-room and Mervyn brought in little lacquered bowls of braised lotus root and tuna salad with a bean-paste dressing and crisply fried pieces of chicken and green peppers. The room was illuminated by paper lanterns, and Mervyn played a CD of traditional Japanese ongaku music, soft and plangent and almost hypnotic. They drank cups of warm sake and after a while Jim began to feel more relaxed than he had since Sunday morning, just before Jennie had called him.

  ‘I have to admit, Mervyn, I’m enjoying this.’

  ‘Well, I shall miss you, dearest Jim, when you’re gone. You’re one of the few people I know who treat me like I really am, rather than what I look like.’

  ‘Just as well, I guess. At the moment you look like a low-budget production of The Mikado, with you playing all of the parts.’

  ‘Have some more takenoko kimpira. I love Gilbert and Sullivan. “We are not shy; we’re very wide awake, the moon and I!” You were telling me about this David DuQuesne. I think I’ve heard of him. Hasn’t he been on the television?’

  ‘Yes, he used to have a show called Modern Mysteries. Kind of an X-Files, only true.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I think I remember. The bloodied bedsheet that came to life, that was one, wasn’t it? Ugh! That gave me nightmares for weeks.’

  ‘You’ve got it. He says we need to find a really top-class medium and try to confront this Swimmer face to face.’

  ‘I thought you already had a medium. This Susan Silversocks, whatever her name is.’

  ‘Her minder won’t let her do it. I have the impression that she had a seriously bad experience not long ago, getting in touch with some malicious spirit, and she still hasn’t got over it yet.’

  ‘Don’t you love this lotus root? It’s supposed to work wonders for your sex life. Either that or your catarrh, I forget which. You ought to try my friend Gabriel Dragonard – well, his real name is Rooney – he’s a medium. He runs a weekly ad in the Hollywood Reporter. “Talk to the loved ones you’ve lost.” Woooooh!’

  ‘Is he any good? I’m not being rude, but we can’t risk having any amateurs on this job. They could get themselves hurt, or worse.’

  ‘Oh no, Gabriel’s wonderful, I swear it. He got in touch with James Dean once. Dean had borrowed a copy of this guy’s screenplay to read and it was the only copy he had and after Dean was killed nobody could find it. But Gabriel talked to James Dean and found out that he had left it by accident in the men’s room at the Beverly Wilshire … and that’s where they found it. And that’s a true authenticated story.’

  ‘Where can I find this friend of yours?’

  ‘I’ll call him myself, if you like. Let’s put it this way … he tends to be way over the top when he’s dealing with the general public. Well, they expect it. The moody music. The incense. You don’t want any of that, do you?’

  ‘Not unless it genuinely helps.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. It’s part of the showmanship, that’s all – and that’s what Gabriel does. He’s a showman. But he knows what he’s doing, too.’

  ‘I hope so. This could be seriously dangerous.’

  Mervyn sucked soy sauce from his fingers and picked up his mobile phone. He punched out Gabriel Dragonard’s number and waited while it rang. ‘You should hear his phone. It plays “Danny Boy”. He has terrible taste. In fact, unlike moi, he has no taste at all.’

  Eventually he said, ‘Gabriel! How are you? It’s Mervyn! Yes, I know I did, but I got so tied up. No, not like that, you cheeky boy. Listen, Gabriel … a very dear friend of mine needs to communicate with the spirits. Not an ancestor, no. A young girl who’s been giving him some trouble. Yes, he knows her name. Yes, he can probably find you a picture. But it could be risky. She’s a very vengeful spirit, this young girl. I know. All women are the same, aren’t they?’ He cupped his hand over the receiver and said to Jim, ‘He’d like to talk to you personally, if that’s all right.’

  Jim took the phone. ‘Jim Rook here, Mr Dragonard … I hope this isn’t asking too much.’

  Gabriel Dragonard sounded distinctly Irish. ‘It depends what you expect me to do. And whatever it is – even if you’re a friend of Mervyn’s – I’m afraid I can’t do it for free. Even a medium has to pay the rent.’

  ‘That’s okay, I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement. I need you to get in touch with the spirit of a young girl who died about ten years ago in a drowning accident.’

  ‘What sort of trouble is she giving you?’

  ‘Serious trouble. She’s already drowned a nine-year-old boy and a student of mine; and she tried to drown Mervyn, too.’

  Gabriel was silent for a moment, and he was obviously thinking hard. ‘This is heavy stuff now, isn’t it? This isn’t just a bit of craíc with your dead grandpa.’

  ‘No … I’ll admit that it’s probably going to be dangerous. But unless I can get in touch with her she’s going to drown more people, no doubt about it.’

  ‘Well, I always relish a challenge. Most of the spirits I’m called on to contact are tedious old seniors who don’t want to talk about anything but golf. I haven’t had to deal with any genuinely difficult spirits since I was called in to exorcize a house in Malibu.’

  ‘You carried out an exorcism?’

  ‘Oh yes, about three years ago now. The local priest wouldn’t do it. He said that possession by evil spirits was nonsense. Imagine that – a priest who didn’t believe in evil spirits! This spirit was a Mexican maid whose fifty-five-year-old employer had made her pregnant, and she hanged herself in the stairwell. Only seventeen, poor kid. But every time her employer tried to sleep in the house he felt that he was being strangled by a rope. Personally I think he deserved it, but it was only fair on the girl to giv
e her some peace. She was a difficult one, very vengeful. She nearly strangled me, too. But if you know what you’re doing, the risk is reasonably controled. You have to make the spirits feel that the living still remember them and still care about them. It’s the loss of their physicality that enrages them the most. They feel useless and hopeless. You have to give them hope, and then you have to give them death.’

  Jim thought of the Grimaud cards that TT had nudged out for him. Hope and death.

  ‘Would you consider holding a seance?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t actually call them seances,’ said Gabriel, a little sniffily. ‘I call them “transmigratory consultations”.’

  ‘I see. Well, would you consider holding one of those?’

  ‘I think so. As long as we take certain basic precautions.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘For obvious reasons, we don’t do this anywhere near water; and you give me two hundred and fifty dollars cash in advance and a further two hundred and fifty if I can successfully contact the spirit. Is that fair? It’s less than half my usual fee.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jim agreed. He would have to wait a little longer to buy himself a new tennis racquet, but this was far more urgent. ‘What time would be good for you?’

  ‘Tomorrow night, around nine? Nine is a very auspicious time for spirits. Three times three. Twice three is six. Three sixes are six-six-six.’

  ‘Can’t you do it tonight? I’m supposed to be flying to Washington tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m all booked up this evening. Six ladies from Pasadena. It’s up to you. But it sounds to me like you’ve got yourself a very, very serious problem. The sooner you lay this spirit to rest, the better for all concerned.’

  ‘All right. Nine tomorrow. Give me your address.’

  He wrote down Gabriel’s address in Santa Monica and then hung up. Mervyn raised a thinly penciled eyebrow and asked, ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Sure. It’s just that this isn’t a farewell dinner after all. I’m going to have to postpone my flight tomorrow.’