F. Paul Wilson: Infernal

Jesus God… Jack was a wealthy man.

Tom looked into the almost full backpack. With this kind of money he could disappear and stay gone. But that would be stealing from Gia. No… couldn't.

Finally Jack's hidey-hole was empty, its contents transferred to the backpack. Tom hefted it. Had to weigh fifty, sixty pounds. And he'd bet a lot of those numismatics were worth ten times their gold weight.

"With all this money… why do you keep working?"

Jack backed out of the closet.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

He shook his head. "Nah. Got to head over to Gia's. And anyway, the point, as you lawyers like to say, is moot. I'm retired as of tomorrow morning, thanks to you."

Tom had to turn away from the look in his brother's eyes.

"Jack, I've got something I need to say to—"

"Sorry. No time for chitchat." He rose and took the backpack with him. "Got to get to Gia's." That look again. "Not much time left, and guess who I'd rather spend it with."

Tom watched him shrug into his leather jacket, then stuff some video-cassettes into the backpack and sling it over his shoulder. He handled the weight as if it were nothing.

"Listen to me, Jack… I can't believe this is happening."

"Wish I could say the same."

"If you're really… if this really happens, I'll make sure Gia and Vicky are—"

"Are what? Taken care of? How are you going to do that?"

"I meant, I'll look out for them."

"No need. Already covered." Jack's cold gaze froze him to the spot. "And why on earth do you think Gia would want to have anything to do with the reason I'm not around?"

His words only reinforced what Gia had told him this afternoon.

He heard the words again, saw her stricken expression, felt again the jabs against his chest as if she was poking him anew right now.

Our rock will be gone. And all because of you!

No… no way he could approach her again. He was anathema.

"Jack, what do you want me to do?"

"Nothing, Tom. Nothing at all. I may not like where I am but I don't expect any help from you. And if by some one-in-a-million miracle you offered it, well… you're the last person on earth I'd accept it from."

Tom stood still and silent, reeling.

"So long, Tom. Have a nice life."

And then he was gone, the door swinging closed behind him.

Tom blinked back sudden tears. My own brother. What have I done? What have I done ?

12

-12:19

Gia pulled him inside and wrapped her arms around him. Jack eased the backpack onto the floor and returned the hug.

"You said a couple of hours. It's been four!"

He felt terrible about that.

"I know. I'm sorry. Things got complicated."

She looked up at him. "Do I want to know?"

"Most definitely not."

She tugged him down the hall. "Vicky's starving."

A leaden weight sat where his stomach had been.

"I'm not."

"Neither am I. Every few minutes I feel like running to the bathroom and vomiting. But we've got to keep up appearances, don't you think?"

"Definitely."

"I wish you hadn't promised her Amalia's. I'd have liked to make you something."

"My last meal?"

"Don't, Jack. Please don't."

"Okay, okay. It's just… I don't know how to handle this."

"I do." Her lower lip trembled. "I'm going to fall apart."

He held her close a moment, then, "Where's Vicks?"

"In the kitchen."

He pointed to the sitting room. "Then let's make a quick detour."

He retrieved the backpack from the hall and carried it to the sitting room couch. He set it on the end table under the reading lamp.

"I want you to take this."

Gia held back, looking uneasy. "What is it?"

He unzipped the front compartment and spread the edges.

"Take a look."

She stepped forward and took a hesitant peek. She frowned, then her head snapped back.

"Gold coins? Why?"

"They're for you."

"But aren't they your…?"

"Life savings. Yeah."

She backed away. "I don't want it."

Jack had figured she'd react like this.

"Gia, I want you to have them. I need to go away knowing you and Vicky will be taken care of."

She began to fill up. "But giving me your life savings means your life is over. I can't—"

"Hey, don't look at it that way. I just need someone to look after it while I'm gone. You know… till I get back."

She began crying and Jack took her in his arms.

"This can't be happening, Jack. It can't."

"Maybe it's not. Maybe eight A.M. is going to come and go without anything happening and we'll all be sitting around looking at each other and feeling stupid."

"You don't believe that."

Right. He didn't.

At least not intellectually. He'd seen the wonders of the Compendium and knew it was no ordinary book. And so far it had been right about everything: the Stain, how it grew, how to transfer it… everything. So why should it be wrong about when the two ends met?

But a deeper, nonrational part of him refused to believe that he wouldn't be here with Gia and Vicky tomorrow night.

"I can hope, can't I? But just in case it does happen, I want you to have this stuff to dip into whenever you need to… till I come back."

He felt her shoulders quake. He had to snap her out of this. He knew she'd keep up a front for her daughter.

"Let's round up Vicky and get down to Amalia's before she starves."

Gia broke away and wiped her eyes.

"This isn't like me."

"Well, you've never been in this kind of situation before."

"Neither have you."

Not quite true. Jack had been in situations where he hadn't known whether he'd live or die. But those had been different. In those his survival depended on his actions: Make the right move, survive; make the wrong move, gone.

But this… he had no moves, no choices, no decision, no wiggle room. An iron straitjacket.

"Yeah, well… I'm a tough guy, remember?"

Not so tough that he didn't dread dinner with Vicky tonight. Because in the next hour or two he'd have to tell her he was going away.

13

-11:23

Jack was glad he didn't have to describe his feelings as he watched Vicky work on her mussels in garlic and wine sauce. He had no words for them. And he'd never be able to get them past his locked throat anyway.

Amalia's… an unpretentious, eons-old, storefront restaurant in Little Italy with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths over long tables for eating family style. Mama Amalia, older than the restaurant, loved Vicky and had greeted her with the usual fanfare—two-cheek air kisses and loud proclamations of what a beautiful child she was. Gia and Jack were an afterthought as she placed them all at a table near the window. No mystery why this was Vicky's favorite.

And here she was, attacking her favorite dish.

As Jack watched her work through the huge platter, pausing only for a sip of Limonata while she arranged the empty shells into an interlocking daisy chain, he couldn't help thinking of the old Squeeze song.

He sipped a glass of Valpolicella and poked at a bowl of sauteed broccoli rabe and sausage. Gia had ordered a tricolore salad and a Limonata but had touched neither.

A night out at Amalia's had always been a festive occasion for the three of them, with mmmms and aaaahs about the delights of this or that. But for Gia and him tonight, it might have been a funeral.

Funeral… got to be a better word than that.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at Gia, saw her watching him. She reached out and squeezed his hand.

Her voice was barely audible as she cocked her head toward Vicky. "Want me to—?"

He shook his head. "I need to."

He took a deep breath.

"Hey, Vicks? I need to talk to you about something."