Graham Masterton - The Ninth Nightmare

‘But Gordon Veitch isn’t likely to be alive today, is he?’

‘It’s possible, if he’s become a Dread. A Dread is a kind of a ghost which exists partly in dreams and partly in the waking world, as I do. On the other hand, it might be somebody else altogether, trying to carry on where Gordon Veitch left off. It will be up to the Night Warriors to find out, and track him down, and stop him.’

At a quarter of nine, Springer said that it was time for him to go. Katie opened the front door for him. The cumulus clouds were closer now, and a warm, fretful wind was blowing. In the far distance, over the Gulf, she could hear the rumbling of thunder.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Springer, taking hold of both of Katie’s hands.

‘Sorry for what? If it’s my destiny to be a Night Warrior, then it’s my destiny.’

‘You haven’t yet entered anybody else’s dreams. You may not feel quite so sanguine about it when you do.’

‘Well, we’ll see. I’m off to visit my dementia patients now. I think I prefer your kind of madness to theirs.’

Springer said, ‘I do look like Mr Flight, don’t I?’

‘What?’

‘Your music teacher, from Nautilus Junior High. You liked him a whole lot, didn’t you? Which is why I came here looking like this.’

He raised his hand in a little salute and walked away down the path. Katie was about to call him back and ask him how he had known about Mr Flight, and more to the point, how he had managed to look almost exactly like him. But then she thought: leave it, maybe you don’t really need to know.

Detective Wisocky closed the file he was working on, tossed down his pen, and said, ‘That’s it, Charlie. Time for nourishment. Rally’s, for a triple cheeseburger. And you’re buying.’

Detective Hudson looked up from his desk and said, ‘Come on, Walter — I picked up the check for yesterday’s lunch.’

‘Sure you did, Charlie. But yesterday’s lunch was chow fun noodles, right, and chow fun noodles is Chinese, right, which is a totally different ethnic cuisine from cheeseburgers, which is domestic. The last time we ate cheeseburgers I paid, and the next time we eat Chinese I’ll pay for that. But you can’t go confusing your different ethnic cuisines on a financial basis, otherwise we won’t know where the hell we are.’

‘Well, to tell you the truth, I feel like Mongolian.’

‘You goddamned look Mongolian, too. What does that have to do with lunch?’

They had almost reached the door when the phone rang on Walter’s desk.

‘You going to answer that?’ asked Charlie.

‘What? No. Absolutely not. It’s trouble.’

‘How do you know it’s trouble?’

‘It’s trouble because it’s going to postpone the moment when I can open my mouth and take my first bite of a Rally’s triple cheeseburger.’

‘You should answer it, Walter. Really. I got a hunch, that’s all.’

‘You and your goddamned hunches. You got more hunches than Quasimodo.’

Charlie raised one eyebrow, and when the phone went on ringing, and ringing, Walter eventually went back to his desk and scooped it up. ‘Wisocky,’ he snapped. ‘What?’

‘Officer John Skrolnik here, detective. We got called out to a house on Corydon Road, reports of a young woman screaming.’

‘Screaming? What was she screaming about?’

‘Nobody knows, because she disappeared.’

‘What do you mean, disappeared?’

‘She’s not here. The owners of the property heard her screaming upstairs in her apartment but when they went up to find out what was wrong she wasn’t there, even though they never saw her leave the house.’

‘Who was she?’

‘A student. Her name was — hold on — Maria Fortales, just twenty years old. She was studying law at CRWU.’

‘I thought all the Crew students had to live on campus, in a dormitory or a sorority house or something.’

‘Only for the first two years.’

Walter took a deep breath. ‘Maybe she went out for lunch. That’s what I’m trying to do, believe it or not. Go out for lunch. Why don’t you go out for lunch, too? What’s the matter with you? You never hungry?’

‘Her landlord said that she was screaming like somebody was killing her. He said he never heard nobody scream like that before, never.’

‘But there’s no sign of her?’

‘None. That’s why I called you. Don’t you remember, the last time we had a missing persons case, you said I could always call you?’

‘OK,’ Walter admitted. ‘So I did. How sweet of me. Corydon Road, what number?’

‘Twenty-four eight hundred.’

‘Roger that,’ said Walter. ‘Give us ten minutes.’

He hung up the phone. Charlie was standing right next to him with an expectant look on his face. ‘You and your goddamned hunches,’ said Walter.

‘What is it? What’s happened?’

‘Apparently some young girl was yelling her tits off like she was being murdered and then she took a powder and nobody knows where she went. And for that I have to forego my lunch.’

‘I don’t know, Walter,’ said Charlie. ‘As soon as that phone rang — for some reason it gave me this incredibly strong feeling that something seriously bad is going to happen.’

‘You bet your ass it is. My stomach’s going to start rumbling, and you’re going to have to listen to it.’

They parked behind Officer Skrolnik’s white squad car, and climbed out. It was starting to rain, quite hard, and the rain came rustling down through the rusty-colored trees like an expectant audience waiting for the arrival of a great concert pianist.

‘Had to fucking rain, didn’t it?’ Walter complained, and by way of punctuation there was a loud bang of thunder from the direction of Cleveland Heights.

Corydon Road was a quiet suburban avenue less than a half mile from the university campus, and many of its residents let out rooms to students during term-time. Number 24800 was a small green-painted house with a gray-shingled roof and a veranda, with a sagging 1969 Buick Riviera parked in the driveway.

Officer Skrolnik was waiting by the front door. Inside the hallway, his partner was talking to an elderly man with white hair and a baggy gray cardigan. Officer Skrolnik was very tall, with a prominent larynx that bobbed up and down like a Halloween apple whenever he spoke.

‘Thanks for coming so quick, detectives. The landlord and his wife are really spooked.’

‘What’s the landlord’s name?’ asked Walter.

Officer Skrolnik flipped open his notebook. ‘Richard Yarber. His wife’s name is Maude. They said that Ms Fortales came back very early this morning, around five thirty, after spending the night with some of her college friends. Around eleven forty-five they heard her screaming but the door to her room was locked and they couldn’t get in to find out what was wrong. Mrs Yarber went across the street and asked one of their neighbors to help them — Mr Herman Eisner, he’s a retired fire marshal. He managed to kick the door open but the room was empty. No sign of Ms Fortales or anybody else.’

Walter sniffed. ‘Couldn’t she have climbed out of the window?’

Officer Skrolnik shook his head. ‘It used to be their grandson’s room and the windows all have childproof bars. Apart from which, it’s a sheer twenty-foot drop down to the side of the house.’

‘Well, très mysterious. Let me talk to them.’

He entered the hallway and Charlie followed him. He showed Mr Yarber his badge and said, ‘Detective Wisocky, sir, and this is Detective Hudson. Sounds like you’ve had a kind of a weird experience this morning.’

‘I’ll shay,’ said Mr Yarber, with his false teeth clicking. ‘Shcared the living Jeshush out of ush.’