Том Годвин: Ed McBaines 87th Precinct Mystery Magazine. Volume 1, No. 4. April, 1975

She stared, incredulous. The scene was changed, different. The piano bench — it didn’t seem possible. The mannequin was a woman. She sat there, a smile on her face, her fingers curled above the keys. Behind her, from the drapery, the arm still moved, rising with its knife to plunge downward toward her back. She turned to the officer. “The man — he was on the bench. What happened to him?” She examined the rest of the scene. The older couple occupied the divan and a woman was in the club chair. She saw the flashy book covers arranged in a row with a sign in front of them. Meeting the officer’s gaze, she felt foolish and ashamed. “There was a man,” she announced. “And I watched him fall forward onto the keys.” A dozen people had gathered around and were gaping at her; it was almost as though she were defending herself before an audience.

“I don’t know if you’ve read the book,” the officer said. “It’s actually a woman at the piano. She’s the one who’s murdered.” He added hastily, “In the story, that is.”

They returned to the car, the officer attempting to be sympathetic. “Don’t let it bother you,” he said. “The imagination can play tricks, especially late at night. And with a scary scene, like the one in the window — well.” She remained silent, speaking only to thank him when he accompanied her to the door of her apartment.

Through the darkness that enclosed her, Charlene could catch the faint gleam of a light far ahead. She was in an enormous room that stretched forward and upward beyond her vision. She walked hesitantly, afraid of falling, one arm reaching out into the gloom. She neared the light and could detect shapes, odd, rigid figures with blank faces. A whirring sound drew her attention. The escalator was moving, sliding downward from high above. Her eyes were pulled unwillingly to the top. She waited, gripped by fear, as the shining metal descended. There was nothing, they were empty stairs. Why was she afraid? Then a figure appeared on high, began its descent. It lurched downward, seated askew on the metal. Midway, it grinned at her, and at the bottom it tumbled to sprawl at her feet. She shrank back. Another figure was journeying down. Dummies, she thought, no cause for terror. The escalator moved faster. The figure, its head abnormally large, seemed to soar toward her. The eyes were glazed and blood seeped in a thick stream from the forehead. She screamed.

Charlene, awake, blinked at the sunshine. It was morning and the nightmare at once thinned and began to vanish in the light of reality. She slid to the edge of the bed and sat up, trying to overcome the odd, foggy sensation that gripped her. The sound of a bell echoed in her ears several times before she realized that the phone was ringing. The voice at the other end was unfamiliar.

“It’s Dana — Dana Hoffman. Don’t you remember? We used to go to high school together. We met at the party last night, recognized each other at once.” Dana was chuckling. “Lord, I don’t know what happened to you. Have you looked for your car this morning?”

She had no recollection of the girl, but vague memories of the party began to return. She put down the phone and walked to the window to gaze at the car port. The empty slot gaped before her. Her heart sank. The car was gone.

“My... my car,” she stuttered over the phone.

“You left it at the party. I’m sure it’s O.K. You don’t remember anything, do you? Wowie, what did you drink?” While Charlene mumbled, Dana went on, “Look, I’d like to come over. I’ve been worried about you. Just for a little while, all right?” Charlene had hardly murmured agreement before the girl hung up.

When the bell rang and Charlene opened the door, she stared at the tall, slim girl. The two seemed like foils, Charlene’s light brown hair and creamy complexion contrasted by Dana’s olive skin and glowing black hair.

“Of course,” said Charlene. “You are Dana — you haven’t changed at all in six years.”

“But you don’t remember the party, right?” Dana squeezed her arm. “Just touching you to see if you’re safe and sound.”

“I’m beginning to.” Charlene nodded. The happenings of the night were taking shape. She groped for the missing pieces of the puzzle.

“Well,” said Dana, sitting at the breakfast table. “How many drinks did you have?”

“Only two.” Charlene reflected. “But they were something crazy... called Devil’s Dew. I never tasted anything like it.”

“Where did you go — that’s the question. One minute I saw you and the next, you were gone. Aren’t you going to tell me?”

Charlene hesitated. “First I want to hear about the party. I can’t seem to recall much of it.”

Dana stared. “You’re actually serious. You don’t remember all that stupid business, a ‘Sojourn with Satan’, the corny psychedelic lights — that stuff was out of style five years ago — and the guys that were nothing, the kind you wouldn’t date unless you were desperate.”

“The guys. Who was I with?”

“Who weren’t you with. Boy, you were popular.”

Charlene tried to summon the floating faces. “I seem to remember a fellow... kind of wobbly... I guess he was half-drunk... talked in a loud voice. Attached himself to me. Did you see him?”

“What a description. That could be anybody. Most of them were stoned.” Dana twisted impatiently. “Are you going to tell me where you went? When I couldn’t find you, and I saw your car, I was thinking of calling the police.”

The picture was getting clearer. “I was feeling funny, kind of sick. I went outside to get air. I think that fellow was there. And some other people... I don’t know... another fellow... or a girl? I’m not sure. Anyhow, I got into a car with them and we drove someplace.”

“Someplace? What are you talking about?”

“You won’t believe it when I tell you. Things are coming back to me.” Charlene paused, probing at the gaps in her memory. “We drove downtown and parked. Then we went to a big department store — Leland’s. And get this — we were inside the store.”

Dana was incredulous. “At that time of the night? You must have dreamt it. You know the store would be closed.”

Charlene threw up her hands. “That’s what I’ve been telling myself — the drinks or a crazy dream. But it’s too real. How can I be imagining? I see the inside of the store, a huge dimly lit room. There was a lot of noise and laughing. Something wild was going on.” Part of the scene returned. “Of course... they were fooling around with the dummies. But then...” She felt a sudden chill. “I got frightened. And suddenly, I was outside the store. It isn’t clear.” She told Dana about the store window and the man on the piano bench.

“You idiot.” Dana began to laugh. “It’s all in your mind. You mean you don’t remember? At the party there was a big poster on the wall. You were looking right at it. A copy of a Dali painting or some weird scene. Doesn’t it come back? A man with three eyes, an extra mouth and blood dripping down his face?”

Charlene stared. “I seem to recall a poster.”

“Of course.” Dana patted her, grinning. “Take my advice. Give up liquor. Two drinks, colored lights, and what do you do? You climb into anybody’s car, dream up a wild trip, and then—” Dana was all disbelief. “A department store at midnight? Come on, now. Just imagination gone berserk.”

“No.” Charlene was firm. “That was not dreamt up. I know I was there.”

At the Great American Insurance Company, Charlene, as a secretary to Mr. Hunt, worked in the middle of an expanse of desks and partitioned offices that covered an entire floor of a downtown building. Any suspicion that the department store may have been a dream was dispelled when the taxi driver stood in front of her.