F. Paul Wilson - The Tomb

"It's a deal."

Abe groaned under the weight of the case of incendiary bombs while Jack, still in harness with the flamethrower, maneuvered his way up the steps to the ground floor. After Abe had deposited the crate in the rear of the panel truck, he motioned Jack out to the street. Jack darted out from the store doorway and through the rear doors of the truck. Abe pulled the iron gate closed in front of his shop and hopped into the driver's seat.

"Whereto?"

"Take West End down to Fifty-seventh and turn right. Find a dark spot under the highway and we'll go on foot from there."

As Abe put the truck into gear, Jack considered his options. Since climbing a rope with a flamethrower on his back and a crate of bombs under his arm was out of the question, he would have to go up the gangplank—his variable frequency beeper would bring it down. Events could go two ways after that: If he was able to get aboard undiscovered, he could set his bombs and run; if discovered, he would have to bring the flamethrower into service and play it by ear. If there was any chance to do it safely, he would let Abe get a look at a rakosh. Seeing would be believing—any other means of explaining what dwelled in Kusum's ship would be futile.

Either way, he would see to it that no rakoshi were left alive in New York by sunrise. And if Kusum cared to interfere, Jack was quite willing to help his atman on its way to its next incarnation.

The truck stopped.

"We're here," Abe said. "What now?"

Jack gingerly lowered himself to the street through the rear door and walked up beside Abe's window. He pointed to the darkness north of Pier 97.

"Wait here while I go aboard. I shouldn't be long."

Abe glanced through the window, then back at him, a puzzled expression on his round face. "Aboard what?"

"There's a ship there. You just can't see it from here."

Abe shook his head. "I don't think there's anything there but water."

Jack squinted into the dark. It was there, wasn't it? With a mixture of amazement, bafflement, and relief growing within him, he sprinted down to the edge of the dock—the empty dock!

"It's gone!" he shouted as he ran back to the truck. "It's gone!"

He realized he must have looked like a crazy man, jumping up and down and laughing with a flamethrower strapped to his back, but Jack didn't care.

He had won! He had defeated the Mother rakosh and Kusum had sailed back to India without Vicky and without Kolabati! Triumph soared through him.

I've won!

25

Gia ran up the steps of the five-story brownstone and stepped into the vestibule inside the front door. She pulled on the handle of the inner door just in case the latch hadn't caught. The door wouldn't move. Out of habit she reached into her purse for the key and then remembered she had sent it back to Jack months ago.

She went to the callboard and pressed the button next to "3", the one with the hand-printed slip of paper that said "Pinocchio Productions." When the door did not buzz open in response, she rang again, and kept on ringing, holding the button in until her thumb ached. Still no responding buzzer.

Gia went back out to the sidewalk and looked up to the front windows of Jack's apartment. They were dark, although there seemed to be a light on in the kitchen. Suddenly she saw movement at the window, a shadow looking down at her. Jack!

She ran back up to ring the "3" button again but the buzzer started to sound as soon as she stepped into the vestibule. She pushed through the inner door and ran up the stairs.

As she approached the third floor, she found a long brown wig and a flowery, broad-brimmed hat on the stairs. A sickeningly sweet perfume hung in the air. The newel post on the landing was cracked almost in two. There were torn pieces of dress fabric strewn all about the hall and splotches of thick black fluid on the floor outside Jack's apartment.

What happened here?

Something about the splotches made her skin crawl. She stepped around them carefully, not wanting to touch one, even with her shoe. Controlling her unease, she knocked on Jack's door.

The door opened immediately, startling her. Whoever was there must have been waiting for her knock. But the door had swung inward only three inches and stopped. She could see the vague shape of a head looking out at her, but the dim light from the hall was at the wrong angle to reveal the face.

"Jack?" Gia said. She was plainly frightened now. Everything was wrong here.

"He's not here," said a hoarse, cracked, whispery voice.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. Will you look for him?"

"Yes… yes." The question was unexpected. "I need him right away."

"Find Jack! Find him and bring him back! Bring him back !"

The door slammed closed as Gia stumbled away, propelled by the sense of desperate urgency that had filled that voice.

What was happening here? Why was there some strange shadowy person in Jack's apartment instead of Jack? There was no time for mysteries—Vicky was missing and Jack could find her! Gia held on to that thought. It was all that kept her from going insane. Even so, the sense of nightmare unreality that had come over her after finding Vicky gone gripped her again. The walls wavered around her as she played along with the bad dream…

… down the stairs, through the doors, down to the street to where the Honda sits double parked, start it up, drive to where you think—hope !— Abe's shop is… tears on your face …

Oh, Vicky, how am I ever going to find you? I'll die without you!

… drive past darkened brownstones and storefronts until a dark blue panel truck pulls into the curb to the left just ahead and Jack gets out of the passenger side …

Jack!

Gia was suddenly back in the real world. She slammed on the brakes. Even as the Honda was skidding to a stalled stop, she was out of the door and running to him, crying his name.

"Jack!"

He turned and Gia saw his face go white at the sight of her. He ran forward.

"Oh, no! Where's Vicky?"

He knew ! Her expression, her very presence here must have told him. Gia could hold back the fear and grief no longer. She began sobbing as she collapsed into his arms.

"She's gone!"

"God! When? How long?" She thought he was going to cry. His arms tightened around her until her ribs threatened to break.

"An hour… no more than an hour and a half."

"But how?"

"I don't know! All I found was an orange under her bed, like the one—"

"NO!" Jack's anguished shout was a physical pain in her ear, then he spun away from her, walking a step or two in one direction, then in another, his arms swinging at the air like a wind-up toy out of control. "He's got Vicky! He's got Vicky!"

"It's all my fault, Jack. If I'd stayed with her instead of watching that stupid movie, Vicky would be all right now."

Jack suddenly stopped moving. His arms lay quiet against his sides.

"No," he said in a voice that chilled her with its flat, iron tone. "You couldn't have changed the outcome. You'd only be dead." He turned to Abe. "I'll need to borrow your truck, Abe, and I'll also need an inflatable raft with oars. And the highest power field glasses you can find. Got them?"

"Right in the shop." He too was looking at Jack strangely.

"Would you put them in the back of the truck as quick as you can?"

"Sure."

Gia stared at Jack as Abe bustled away toward the front of his store. His abrupt change from near hysteria to this cold, dispassionate creature before her was almost as terrifying as Vicky's disappearance.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to get her back. And then I'm going to see to it that she is never bothered again."