Weed
Page 44
Chapter 44
The cellar smelled like a laundromat. Charlie had obviously sprayed the place with deodorant. Charles led Boone to the corner where the bed lay; Penny's bed during her basement confinement. I inspected the floor. No apeshit. I inspected the window. It had been broken but was now covered in a piece of plywood with a hinge at the top.
"Hinge?" I said.
"Beg pardon, Miss Fleetsmith?" Charles said, standing back from the bed so Boone could perform an inspection.
"You've put a hinge on the plywood," I said.
"In order to facilitate his re-entry, should that be his wish." Charles seemed pleased with his handiwork. I noticed that the hinge was spring loaded so that the plywood stayed closed until pushed from the outside.
"And to facilitate the re-entry of robbers, rapists and other assorted marauders," I said.
"It is unlikely, Miss Fleetsmith, that a cursory glance from outside would suggest a port of entry. Indeed, the exterior is parged so as to mimic the foundation wall." Charles was smiling.
Boone was walking about the basement, taking note of … of … actually, there was little to note. It was a damp, cold and featureless cellar with abandoned pieces of furniture, cardboard boxes, a broken standing lamp, a shovel. This was an old house, quite impressive when viewed from the outside, even extravagant when viewed from the inside … but it had the typical cold and clammy, dungeon-like basement characteristic of a century home.
"If we're to catch hairy Hans," I said, "we'll need to monitor his comings and goings. Boonie? Surely you've come with sophisticated gadgetry, audio-visual receivers, telecommunications devices."
Boone stopped into a dark corner and stooped to pick up something. He walked to where a single light bulb hung, suspended by a thin wire. I was hoping it wasn't apeshit. He held a piece of paper up to the light and read aloud:
"Fran: I didn't do it. Please help me. Something terrible has happened. Josey"
Boone looked at me. He was obviously confused.
"It's the note that Josey left me," I said, "attached to a window at the Oershott Lab. How Hans got it, I have no idea. Perhaps I left it attached to the window. I can't remember. In any case, Hans obviously knows that Josey came to me for help and probably knows she's living here. Maybe we really should get the two apes together, as we had planned. I don't know exactly what that would accomplish, but what the hell." I turned to Charles. "Charlie, can you bring Josey down?"
"Miss Fleetsmith," he said, "Miss Josey is in Atlanta in order to flaunt her—"
"Shit!" I had forgotten. "Okay, okay. Anybody have an idea?" I looked at Boone.
He stuck the note in a pocket and headed for the stairs. "Ah'll be back in an hour," he said.
Charles and I watched Boone run up the stairs. I walked to the bed and sat while Charles tested the plywood panel in the window, then grunted: "Miss Penny," he said, anxiously. "I must put her to bed. I'm afraid she's still sleeping at the breakfast table." He ran to the stairs and climbed out of sight. I was alone. It was damp. It was still morning, but I was exhausted. I felt incompetent, foolish, half-witted, helpless. Perhaps I should discuss the matter with … with what's-his-name. The guy from the CDC in Atlanta. Douglas Henderson. Yes, he seemed far better informed than I of the consequences of this weed. A virus, carried on the fungus, the spores. The fungus dissolves the cell wall, injects virus-coated spores, invading the cell mitochondria, the virus multiplies and continues on, injecting its parcel of DNA into the cell nucleus, reviving junk DNA which had been dormant for millenia, recovering ancient characteristics, cocoonizing, revitalizing bodily organs … gomorashu, perfection … sometimes apefaction—
There was a sound from outside the window. I jumped from the bed and headed for the stairs, then, angry at my alarm, grabbed the shovel and returned to the window. If it were Hans, I'd be ready. I would let him enter, determine if he were in the mood for conversation and, if not, I would—
The plywood panel swung open, clattering against the wooden ceiling beams. I stepped back., holding my shovel aloft. A dark face appeared in the window, then a body silhouetted against the morning sun. I shouted, "Hai!" and stood so my shovel could be seen, menacing, awesome.
"Hi! Miss Fleetsmith?"
It was Charles.
"I was just checking the apparatus," he said. "It seems in excellent order and quite unlikely to illicit unlawful entry."
Boone was back in less than an hour. It wasn't a short drive to police headquarters so he probably had the sirens screaming all the way there and back. He installed a small video camera which he attached to a wooden beam in the ceiling, pointing it at the plywood window cover. A thin strip of metallic tape ran from the plywood to the surrounding window frame. If the window opened, the tape would break and a bell would ring on the second floor. A rather quiet bell so that our ape-man wouldn't be inclined to flee. The video camera was to send a picture to a small video monitor. There was an argument concerning where the monitor should be placed, but I insisted; it was set on my nightstand, by my bed. When all was completed, I was starved and Charles made up a brunch of lettuce, bacon and tomato sandwiches on toast, with cranberry cocktail. Boone finished his in less than a minute.
We talked for perhaps an hour, about what I would say to Hans, were he to arrive in his furry regalia. Finally we decided that I would play it by ear, improvise, adlib. No one was sure what information we could glean, nor whether we could even communicate.
Eventually, just before noon, Boone left. I didn't see him again for several days. Indeed, I was hoping that Hans would show up so I'd have an excuse to phone Boonie boy. But days passed and although both Charles and I had expected to hear the sound of a bell some evening, and I awoke several times each night to peer at the video monitor, there was no evidence of the ape. In fact, Charles checked each day and found no evidence of apeshit.
Frustrating!