David Morrell - The Totem

"They're triangles."

"That's right. You see those padded benches on the sides."

"Well, what about them?"

"Rumors, I suppose. My father's father said that wives were swapped up here, that people went with different partners in around the back of those things. He said there were secret doors that you could go in for privacy."

"He knew that for a fact?"

"He never was invited. No one ever found a secret door."

"Then that's just a rumor, like you said. I mean, a thing like that, somebody would have told."

"And maybe not have been invited anymore."

"But Baynard's wife. Why would she have gone along with this? You said that she was from society."

"I didn't mention that she also had a reputation. Baynard was the one who had to go along with it. To keep her with him. Then the parties got a little out of hand. She found a man she liked much better than the rest. Some people say she left with him. Others say that Baynard killed her. But they never found the body."

"Oh, that's swell. So now you've got us searching through some kind of haunted house. Just keep your mind on what you're doing. Dunlap, you stay here. We'll check this right end. Then we'll move down toward the other. Shout if anything slips past us. Everybody ready?"

They nodded, then slowly worked across to search the corner to their right, moving around the triangle. They knocked the wood in case they might find a secret door. They crossed to search the other corner. Then they moved along the big wall, going around the triangle on that side.

"Nothing so far," Slaughter said. "We still have two partitions and the balcony. We've almost got him. Let's be careful."

They moved up toward the far end.

"Like I said, be careful."

There was nothing in the far left corner, nothing in the right.

"Okay, he's up there in the balcony. He's got to be."

They started up the narrow stairs but bumped against each other; there wasn't room for the four of them.

"This isn't working," Slaughter told them.

They were grateful for the chance to wait.

"Rettig, you stay back. You other three go up," Slaughter told them. "Rettig will be just behind you."

Rettig breathed out with relief. The other three looked tense, aiming their flashlights up the narrow stairway.

"What about on top of those partitions?" one man asked.

"No. How could he climb up on them?"

And in that brief distraction, their faces turned out toward the ballroom, everything began to happen. First, the snarling, then the hurtling body. It came off the balcony, a half-seen diving figure that swooped past them, slamming hard at Rettig, men now scrambling, shouting, bodies rolling on the floor. Slaughter heard the snarling, Rettig's screaming, as he tried to get in past the scrambling bodies. He saw Rettig struggling upward, something hanging on him. He saw Rettig falling backward then, the extra weight upon him as they crashed against the near partition, the old boards cracking, and the men were rushing forward with the net.

"Where is he?"

"Here, I've got him!"

Rettig kept screaming. Then the net swung through the flashlight beams toward where he struggled with the figure on the padded bench beside the triangle.

"Oh, Jesus, get him off me!" Rettig shouted, and he kicked, the figure thumping, snarling on the floor.

The net fell. They had him. Arms and legs were lashing out, entangled worse with every effort. Slaughter pushed between his men and saw them roll the boy and get the net around his back and chest, and there was no way that the boy could get out. He was powerless, except for where he slashed his teeth against the net and snarled at them.

The medical examiner hurried next to Slaughter, set down his bag, and reached inside to grab a hypodermic. "Keep him steady."

"You don't think we'll let him go."

The medical examiner pulled out a vial, slipped a needle into it, and eased out the plunger to get liquid into the chamber. Standing by a flashlight, he pushed slightly on the plunger until liquid spurted from the needle. Then he looked at Slaughter. "Pull his shirtsleeve up."

"You're kidding. In that net. I couldn't move it."

"Rip a patch out then. I don't care. Let me see some skin."

Through the webbing, Slaughter tugged and ripped the shirtsleeve. He was quick, afraid the boy might get at him. The medical examiner swabbed alcohol across the skin and leaned close to press the needle.

One loud yelp. The medical examiner kept pushing gently on the plunger. Then he straightened, and he looked at Slaughter. "In a minute."

"Why are these bricks here?" someone said, and Slaughter turned. Too much was going on.

"I don't-"

Then he saw where Rettig's fall had broken the partition. In there, as he shone his flashlight, he saw a wall of bricks. He glanced at Rettig who was slumped across the padded bench, his hands up to his throat.

"Are you all right? He didn't bite you, did he?" Slaughter asked.

Rettig felt all over his body. He breathed, gasped, and swallowed, breathing once again. He nodded, wiping his mouth. "I think I only lost my wind." He tried to stand but gave out, slumping once more on the bench. "I'll be okay in just a second. What bricks?"

"There behind you."

Rettig turned, still trying hard to breathe. "I don't know anything about them. I don't think they should be here."

Slaughter didn't even need to ask him. Rettig was already going on. "I guessed that this one sounded different from the others. Much more solid, heavier."

"What's that supposed to mean?" a policeman asked.

"Baynard's wife. I think we know what happened to her." The group became silent.

Slaughter felt Dunlap beside him.

They peered down at the small boy who was tangled, now unconscious, in the net.

"A little kid and all this trouble. Hell, I didn't really understand how little he would be," Slaughter said.

They stood around the boy and stared at him.

"We'd better get him to the hospital," the medical examiner said. "You too, Slaughter. Rettig, you as well. I want to check both of you."

"He never touched me," Slaughter said.

"The cat did. If this virus is like rabies, you're long due to start your shots. Rettig, I don't know. If you don't have a bite, there won't be any problem."

"But I wasn't bitten," Slaughter told him. "Only scratched."

"You want to take the risk?"

Slaughter shook his head to tell him no.

"That's what I thought. Don't worry. You've got company. I need the shots as well."

"But you weren't bitten either."

"No. But with this bloody lip, I can't take any chances. The boy is harmless now. You men can lift him. Stay clear of his head."

They looked at Slaughter, who nodded. One man held the boy's legs while another gripped his shoulders.

"Hell, he doesn't weigh a thing."

"That's what I said. A little kid and all this trouble," Slaughter answered. "It's enough to make you-"

Hollow and disgusted, he watched as the men worked with the boy to reach the stairs. "Here, someone grab that corner of the net before we have an accident," he ordered, and they moved clumsily down the stairs.

Slaughter kept his flashlight aimed before them. On the second landing, they turned, heading toward the bottom, and he heard the idling cruisers now. He saw the headlights glaring through the open door, the mother and the father out there, and the woman from the organization that ran this place, an officer beside them.

"Take it careful," one man said and paused to get a better grip around the boy's shoulders. "Okay. Now I've got him." They reached the bottom, moving across the hall toward the entrance.

"Rettig, tell that woman what we found up there. Those bricks could mean a dozen things, and none of them important."