Dean Koontz - Phantoms

"Yes. Dan and Sylvia Kanarsky.”

The sheriff stared at her for a moment." Friends?”

"Yes. Close friends.”

"Then maybe we'd better not look in their apartment," he said.

Warm sympathy and understanding shone in his heavy-lidded blue eyes.

Jenny was surprised by a sudden awareness of the kindness and intelligence that informed his face. During the past hour, watching him operate, she had gradually realized that he was considerably more alert and efficient than he had at first appeared to be. Now, looking into his sensitive, compassionate eyes, she realized he was perceptive, interesting, formidable.

"We can't just walk away," she said." This place has to be searched sooner or later. The whole town has to be searched.

We might as well get this part of it out of the way.”

She lifted a hinged section of the wooden countertop and started to push through a gate into the office space beyond.

"Please, Doctor," the sheriff said, "always let me or Lieutenant Whitman go first.”

She backed out obediently, and he preceded her into Dan's and Sylvia's apartment, but they didn't find anyone. No dead bodies.

Thank God.

Back at the registration desk, Lieutenant Whitman paged through the guest log." Only six rooms are being rented right now, and they're all on the second floor.”

The sheriff located a passkey on a pegboard beside the mailboxes.

With almost monotonous caution, they went upstairs and searched the six rooms. In the first five, they found luggage and cameras and half-written postcards and other indications that there actually were guests at the inn, but they didn't find the guests themselves.

In the sixth room, when Lieutenant Whitman tried the door to the adjoining bath, he found it locked. He hammered on it and shouted, "Police! Is anyone there?”

No one answered.

Whitman looked at the doorknob, then at the sheriff." No lock button on this side, so someone must be in there. Break it down?”

"Looks like a solid-core door," Hammond said." No use dislocating your shoulder. Shoot the lock.”

Jenny took Lisa's arm and drew the girl aside, out of the path of any debris that might blow back.

Lieutenant Whitman called a warning to anyone who might be in the bathroom, then fired one shot. He kicked the door open and went inside fast." Nobody's here.”

"Maybe they climbed out a window," the sheriff said.

"There aren't any windows in here," Whitman said, frowning.

"You're sure the door was locked?”

"Positive. And it could only be done from the inside.”

"But how-if no one was in there?”

Whitman shrugged." Besides that, there's something you ought to have a look at.”

They all had a look at it, in fact, for the bathroom was large enough to accommodate four people. On the mirror above the sink, a message had been hastily printed in bold, greasy, black letters: Timothy Flyte.

In another apartment above another shop, Frank Autry and his men found another water-soaked carpet that squished under their feet. In the living room, dining room, and bedrooms, the carpet was dry, but in the hallway leading to the kitchen, it was saturated. And in the kitchen itself, three-quarters of the vinyl-tile floor was covered with water up to a depth of one inch in places.

Standing in the hallway, staring into the kitchen, Jake Johnson said, "Must be a plumbing leak.”

"That's what you said at the other place," Frank reminded him." Seems coincidental, don't you think?”

Gordy Brogan said, "It is just water. I don't see what it could have to do with… all the murders.”

"Shit," Stu Wargle said, "we're wastin' time. There's nothin' here.

Let's go.”

Ignoring them, Frank stepped into the kitchen, aming carefully through one end of the small lake, heading for a dry area by a row of cupboards.

He opened several cupboard doors before he found a small plastic tub used for storing leftovers.

It was clean and dry, and it had a snap-on lid that made an airtight seal. In a drawer he found a measuring spoon, and he used it to scoop water into the plastic container.

"What're you doing?" Jake asked from the doorway.

"Collecting a sample.”

"Sample? Why? It's only water.”

"Yeah," Frank said, "but there's something funny about it.

The bathroom. The mirror. The bold, greasy, black letters.

Jenny stared at the five printed words.

Lisa said, "Who's Timothy Flyte?”

"Could be the guy who wrote this," Lieutenant Whitman said.

" Is the room rented to Flyte?" the sheriff asked.

"I'm sure I didn't see that name on the registry," the lieutenant said." We can check it out when we go downstairs, but I'm really sure.”

"Maybe Timothy Flyte is one of the killers," Lisa said.

"Maybe the guy renting this room recognized him and left this message.”

The sheriff shook his head." No. If Flyte's got something to do with what's happened to this town, he wouldn't leave his name on the mirror like that. He would've wiped it off.”

" Unless he didn't know it was there," Jenny said.

The lieutenant said, "Or maybe he knew it was there, but he's one of the rabid maniacs you talked about, so he doesn't care whether we catch him or not.”

Bryce Hammond looked at Jenny." Anyone in town seen Flyte?”

"Never heard of him.”

"Do you know everyone in Snowfield?”

"Yeah.”

"All five hundred?”

"Nearly everyone," she said.

"Nearly everyone, huh? Then there could be a Timothy Flyte here?”

"Even if I'd never met him, I'd still have heard someone mention him.

It's a small town, Sheriff, at least during the off season.”

"Could be someone from over in Mount Larson, Shady Roost, or Pineville,”

the lieutenant suggested.

She wished they could go somewhere else to discuss the message on the mirror. Outside. In the open. Where nothing could creep close to them without revealing itself. She had the uncanny, unsupported, but undeniable feeling that something-something damned strange-was moving about in another part of the inn right this minute, stealthily carrying out some dreadful task of which she and the sheriff and Lisa and the deputy were dangerously unaware.

"What about the second part of it?" Lisa asked, indicating THE ANCIENT ENEMY.

Jenny finally said, "Well, we're back to what Lisa first said.

It looks as if the man who wrote this was telling us that Timothy Flyte was his enemy. Our enemy, too, I guess.”

"Maybe," Bryce Hammond said dubiously." But it seems like an unusual way to put it-'the ancient enemy." Kind of awkward. Almost archaic. If he locked himself in the bathroom to escape Flyte and then wrote a hasty warning, why wouldn't he say, "Timothy Flyte, my old enemy,' or something straightforward?”

Lieutenant Whitman agreed." In fact, if he wanted to leave a message accusing Flyte, he'd have written, "Timothy Flyte did it,' or maybe "Flyte killed them all." The last thing he'd want is to be obscure.”

The sheriff began sorting through the articles on the deep shelf that was above the sink, just under the mirror: a bottle of Mennen's Skin Conditioner, lime-scented aftershave, a man's electric razor, a pair of toothbrushes, toothpaste, combs, hairbrushes, a woman's makeup kit.”

From the looks of it, there were two people in this room. So maybe they both locked themselves in the bath-which means two of them vanished into thin air. But what did they write on the floor with?”

"It looks as if it must've been an eyebrow pencil," Lisa said.

Jenny nodded." I think so, too.”

They searched the bathroom for a black eyebrow pencil.

They couldn't find it.

"Terrific," the sheriff said exasperatedly." So the eyebrow pencil disappeared along with maybe two people who locked themselves in here.