Gary Brandner - The Howling II

Afraid of the answer she would get, Karyn asked the question, "Do you know where he went?"

"Oh, yes."

Hope flickered again.

"Chris and another man who worked here at the time, a man named Walter Eckersall, went into partnership and started their own consulting firm. They were a perfect team. Chris supplied the enthusiasm and the creative thinking, and Walt took care of the solid, practical details."

"Are they still in business?"

"'Yes, they are. And doing very well, too. We even call them in to do a job for us now and then."

The personnel man wrote down an address in North Hollywood. Karyn thanked him and hurried out to the Buick. It was mid-afternoon. Time was slipping away.

The building on Lankershim Boulevard was a low, cinderblock structure with clean lines and a modest sign on the front identifying it as E & H Engineering Consultants. Karyn scanned the automobiles parked in the diagonal spaces in front of the building, half-hoping to see Chris's bright red Camaro. It was not there. But of course, she told herself, he would have a different car by now.

Inside, the girl at the reception desk, a chesty brunette, smiled up at her.

"I'd like to see Mr. Halloran," Karyn said.

"Mr. Halloran isn't in," the girl said carefully. "Can Mr. Eckersall help you?"

Karyn's spirits sagged again. Finding someone in real life could be so difficult. In the movies all you did was pick up a phone, and there they were. But in the movies there was always a parking place in front of the bank too. "I'll talk to Mr. Eckersall," she said.

Walter Eckersall was a tall, loose jointed man with bushy brown hair. He wore black-rimmed plastic glasses and spoke in a voice of surprising gentleness.

"You had some business with Chris?" he said.

"Not really," Karyn said. "It's more personal."

Eckersall's eyes shifted their focus to a far corner of the room. "Chris is taking a little vacation just now. If you're a friend of his, you'll know how he appreciates his leisure."

"Yes, I know," Karyn said quickly. "Can you tell me where he's gone?"

Eckersall looked uncomfortable. "Uh, I don't know if I can really, uh — "

"I should tell you," Karyn said, "that there is no romance involved here. My personal business with Chris has nothing to do with his private life."

Eckersall gave her a relieved smile. "Sorry. When an attractive lady comes in looking for Chris I sort of assume — well, never mind that. He's down in Mexico now. Staying at a hotel just outside Mazatlan. The Palacia del Mar."

"Thank you," Karyn said. "And don't worry, you haven't gotten Chris in any trouble."

"There's one more thing I'd better mention," Eckersall said. "He's not down there alone."

Karyn hesitated only a moment. "Knowing Chris," she said, "I didn't think he would be."

Heading back to Brentwood in the late afternoon, Karyn silently cursed the traffic on Sunset Boulevard that slowed her progress. Soon it would be dark, and the night, she knew, belonged to the werewolf.

By the time she reached her parents' house the sun had slipped down behind the Santa Monica Mountains. Darkness fell like a curtain. Karyn put the car away in the garage, then stood outside and swung down the counterbalanced door. She started for the house. Halfway along the walk to the front door her heart froze.

A sound.

Something moving in the bushes.

Karyn turned for one terrified look. It was just a dark shape. A shadow moving among shadows. But there was no mistaking what it was.

Karyn fought off the paralysis and ran for the house. Please, God, let the door be unlocked! She banged into the solid oak panel, fumbled a split second for the knob, turned it in her slippery hand and half-fell into the house.

Mr. and Mrs. Oliver, startled, rose from their chairs in the living room. Karyn slammed the heavy door shut and cranked the deadbolt lock into place. Outside something thudded softly against the door. Then there was silence.

Her mother came quickly toward her. "Karyn, what's the matter?"

"Is someone out there?" her father said.

Karyn stood with her back braced against the door and struggled to keep her voice at a normal level. "It's all right. Something startled me for a moment."

Mrs. Oliver put her hands gently on her daughter's shoulders. Frank Oliver reached for the doorknob.

"If somebody's bothering you — " he began.

"No, Daddy, don't go out there!!" Karyn cried. Her father looked at her sharply, and she went on in a quieter tone. "Please, Daddy. For me."

Reluctantly he drew his hand back.

"Is the back door locked?" Karyn asked. "And the windows?"

"Karyn," her father said, "if something's happened, I want to know about it."

"Frank." Mrs. Oliver's tone caught his attention. "It won't do any harm to make sure the place is locked up. And it will make Karyn feel better."

Frank Oliver looked from his wife to his daughter. "Well, sure. All right."

"Could we do it now?" Karyn said. "Right away?"

Mr. and Mrs. Oliver exchanged a look, then began checking the windows. Karyn hurried through the house and tried the back door. She was relieved to find it locked. After making sure the kitchen windows were secure, she relaxed a little. She knew her mother and father thought they were humoring a somewhat neurotic daughter, but that was all right. Better than taking a chance with the thing that was out there somewhere in the night. The beast was taunting her, Karyn felt. Letting her know it could kill her at almost any time it chose. Well, maybe it would pass up one opportunity too many.

She drew a deep breath and walked back into the living room to join her parents.

"Everything's locked up tight," Mrs. Oliver said.

"And double-checked," Frank Oliver added.

Karyn hugged her mother, then went over and took hold of her father's hands, "Thank you both," she said, feeling the depth of her love for these people. "You won't have to worry about this after tonight. I'll be leaving tomorrow."

"Leaving?" said her mother. "I'd hoped you could stay longer. A week or so, at least."

"I wish I could," Karyn said, "but there's something I have to settle once and for all before I can ever stay anywhere comfortably again."

She waited. Both of her parents wanted very badly to ask her questions. It showed plainly in their faces. Where was she going? Why? For how long? But, God bless them, they held their questions inside.

"I promise I'll tell you all about it," she said, "when I come back."

I'll tell you something, anyway, she thought. Something you can believe.

When I come back.

If I come back.

It was a long and sleepless night, but in the morning she was still alive.

A FRESH BREEZE flowed in off the Gulf of California, bringing relief to the damp heat of the Mazatlan summer. North of the city, where the tropical forest pushed close to the shoreline, the Palacio del Mar Hotel occupied a half-moon of beach.

On the stretch of white sand in front of the hotel Chris Halloran lay on a beach blanket. He was propped on his elbows, eyes shaded by a tattered straw hat, as he watched a pretty, auburn-haired girl play in the light surf.

The Palacio was generally favored by an older, quieter clientele than that favoring the new high-rise resorts which had gone up in the city. Chris liked the older hotel because it felt like Mexico.

The pastel stucco of the main beach area was not much different from Miami. Beach or Waikiki. At the Palacio you could hear Spanish spoken by the fishermen who came down from the village of Camaron, and you could smell the heady aroma of chiles from the kitchen where the hotel employees ate.

Two of the employees walked by on the path bordering the stretch of beach where Chris lay. Roberto, a handsome lad of seventeen, carried a tray of iced tea for a couple from Indianapolis who sat up the beach protecting their sunburns under one of the hotel's umbrellas. Dancing along at Roberto's side was Blanca, saucy and pert in her maid's uniform, her arms loaded with fresh towels for the cabanas. The eyes of the boy and girl spoke intimately to each other.