Gene Wolfe - An Evil Guest

THAT night, the death of Florence McNair was replayed in her dreams. The siren screamed, no one seemed willing to help, and her legs would not obey her — an instant stretched, almost, until she snapped.

She got up, opened the drapes as stagehands open a theater curtain, unlatched her French doors, and stepped out into her private garden, where tall figures with long, almost human faces waited among the palms and azaleas, wrapped in leathern wings.

“Hello,” she said. Then, “I’m Cassie Casey.” And after that, “I suppose you know.”

“Our touch frightened you,” one whispered.

Cassie nodded. “I suppose it must have. I doubt that it would now.”

The one who had spoken laid his hand on her shoulder; he was taller than she. It was a small hand with three fingers and a thumb, and its back was covered with dark fur as soft as down.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve come out.”

Another whispered, “It is enough that you come.”

“I’ve always felt you were friendly — friends I didn’t want. Friends I was deathly afraid of.”

The first whispered, “We understand.”

“Now I’m afraid of something else. Terribly, terribly afraid, and I don’t think it’s friendly at all. When I was little I was scared of dogs — just ordinary, neighborhood dogs. Pets. Isn’t that silly?” She giggled.

None of the winged ones spoke.

“My mother married a new man, and he was — was just horrible. When she was away, he made me do things for him, and he said over and over he’d kill me if I told her. One time I was home all by myself, and I saw him coming up the walk. I ran out the back door and went through the hedge into a neighbor’s yard and hid behind their garage. Only their dog had seen me. He came into my hiding place and licked my face and hands, and let me hug him. Does this make any sense?”

“He whom you fear was a god once,” one of the winged ones whispered.

Another whispered, “We might be gods, too. Such gods as he. We do not desire it.”

“You already know what I’m afraid of?”

There was a sigh of assent from them all. “We do.”

“Then tell me, because I don’t. When — when I dreamed I went swimming with that Takangese — there was something horrible way deep in the water. When the lady from Perth was killed, I thought it had killed her.”

The winged ones watched her in silence.

“But it was only a shark. It’s real, isn’t it? The thing I dreamed of. The Storm King.”

“It is not a god.” That was one of the winged ones who had not spoken, save when they all spoke.

“So it’s real, and I’m a lot more scared of it than I ever was of you. I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

“We are your friends.”

“I know it. Would you like to come inside?”

“Would you like us to carry you through the air?” The whispered reply carried no hint of humor.

“I’ve got it.” Cassie managed to smile. “No thanks. You said the Storm King wasn’t a god. Not really. What is he?”

“One who came to this world sooner than we.”

“An alien?”

“Yes,” whispered one.

Another added, “Here.”

And a third, “Even as we.”

“Is this a dream? Am I just dreaming I’m out here in this warm night, talking to you — ” She made a quick count. “To you five in my nightgown?”

The first whispered, “Does it matter?”

“Maybe not. I won’t ask why the Storm King wants to kill me. What can I do about it?”

“Does he wish your death?” the first asked.

Another added, “Not so soon.”

And a third, “He wishes you.”

Cassie tried to smile. “Monster lusts for beautiful Earth woman? I think I watched the movie. What can I do about him?”

“Go home,” one of the winged figures whispered.

“He can’t reach me there?”

Another whispered, “He has long arms.”

“I know they do. I’ve seen pictures.”

One was standing upon the back of her stone bench, although she had not seen it climb. “We will save you.” It spread vast wings and seemed to float up like a kite.

“Trust those who love you.” That whisper was the first. A moment later it too was gone.

“Only them.” One remained. It stretched a furry, clawed hand toward her. She took it, and it pressed her hand, very gently, between its own. “You are our cub.” Its long, hard face was without expression, but its eyes held a palpable warmth.

“I can trust you,” Cassie said. “I know it.”

It nodded solemnly, then gestured toward the graying sky.

She nodded, too, and backed away. After a last look, she turned and stepped back into her suite; when she turned again to close the French doors, her garden was empty.

SHARON answered on the first ring.

“This is Cassie. I owe you a call.”

“You owe me a dozen. Cassie, please, where the hell are you?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“Dammit, you vanished without a trace. You checked out of the hotel and that was it. Nobody I talked to had any notion where you went. I checked the hoplines, both airports.”

“Did you talk to India?”

“For God’s sake, Cassie! She was the one who told me you’d disappeared.”

“I phoned her. Did she tell you that?”

“No, damn her!”

“I called to let her know I was all right, but I don’t think I told her where I was. I know I didn’t. What time is it where you are? I know it has to be different, but I have no idea how much.”

“Where are you, Cassie?” Sharon sounded ready to throw whatever might be within reach.

“I asked first. What time is it there?”

“Almost lunchtime.”

“I see. I just ordered breakfast. Room service, you know. They have all this weird tropical fruit. I think I told India.”

“You’re in a hotel. Where is it?”

“I don’t know if it makes you fat, but boy does it make me feel healthy. The thing is, Sharon, I’m out of the country and I haven’t got a passport. Am I in trouble?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Maybe there’s, you know, diplomats or something.”

“An American embassy.”

“Right, I’ll ask. Nelly will know. Only I wanted to say, Sharon” — Cassie grinned — “that I might have to hang up to let the waiter in.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Can I tell you about my dream? There were tall flying things in my garden. Remember Batman? These were Manbats. Menbats. Only I think one was a woman bat.”

“Where are you, Cassie?”

“On this cute little chair. It looks very French, to me anyway. I don’t know much about furniture. It’s all spindly and gilt, with an ashes-of-rose plush seat. I’ve got the drapes pulled back and the glass doors open, and the ocean’s so darned warm and beautiful you can’t believe it. Only the shark signs are up, so there’s no swimming except in the pool.”

“For God’s sake! Cassie, either you answer this one or I’m hanging up. Is Wallace Rosenquist with you?”

“I’m happy to give you a full and honest reply. No, he isn’t. I haven’t seen him in quite a while, and I have no idea where he is. Will that do it?”

“Have you ever heard of William Reis, Cassie?”

“Say again?”

“William S. Reis.”

“Oh, you know, I have heard of him. Not lately, but Gid said something about him a while back. Dr. Gideon Chase did, I mean.”

“Is Rosenquist tied in with him? To the best of your knowledge?”

“Oh, golly! Sharon, all these big financial types know each other. You ought to know that. Don’t you want to hear about my dream? If it was a dream, I mean.”

“No!”

“Wait a minute.” Cassie cocked her head as though listening. “I think that’s my waiter. He’s pretty close to a giant and I think he carries a gun, but he knocks so softly I miss him sometimes.”