F. Paul Wilson - Nightworld

Jack tore his gaze away from the window. He seemed mesmerized by the hole in the Park.

"What? Oh, sure. You go do what you have to do. I'll take care of things."

Glaeken headed for Magda's room. He knew Repairman Jack was very good at taking care of things.

WXRK-FM

We've had a lot of requests for this next record here on K-Rock's All-Request Weekend. I guess it has something to do with what happened last night.

Cue: "The Night Has A ThousandEyes"

"Maybe you'd better call and cancel us out of this little meeting," Hank said.

Carol glanced at him across the bedroom as she finished buttoning her blouse. He'd tested the lock on the bedroom window for the dozenth time, and now he was craning his neck this way and that, his quick hazel eyes scanning the street below and the sky above.

"We can't," she said. "It's too important."

Glaeken had called her early this morning and asked her to come over and meet the others who would be involved in his countermove against Jimmy.

No! Not Jimmy—Rasalom!

"I don't think it's safe. That's over by Central Park."

"Mr. Veilleur said we have nothing to fear in the daylight."

Hank quickly ran a hand through the thinning light-brown hair that he combed straight back from his receding hairline. That plus his prominent nose tended to give him a hawkish appearance. Carol had been trying to get him to soften his hairstyle. He'd comply for a while, then revert to his old ways. He'd been a bachelor for forty-five years when they met. She had no real hope of changing him into someone with a sense of style, but that didn't mean she'd stop trying. She liked challenges.

"Nothing to fear in the daylight? And what makes this Mr. Veilleur so sure about that when one renowned scientist after another claims to be completely baffled by that hole and these creatures?"

"He knows," Carol said. "Believe me, he knows."

"I don't like this, Carol," Hank said, wandering the tiny bedroom with his hands thrust deep into his pockets. "With all the awful things going on out on the streets, it seems to me the prudent thing to do would be to stay inside until everything's under control."

Carol shook her head and smiled softly as she pulled a skirt from its hanger in her closet. That was Hank, always weighing the pros and cons, measuring the liabilities, gaging the hazards to find the course of action with the lowest risk-benefit ratio. Always safe and sane, always planning ahead, that was Hank. And there was nothing wrong with that.

No…nothing wrong with that at all. Carol needed safe and sane in her life. She needed someone nearby who planned for the future. It helped Carol believe that there was going to be a future, and that it mattered.

Hank was so different from Jim. Her first husband had been a writer, living day to day, doing things on impulse, earning hangovers. Spontaneity and intemperance were not part of Hank's repertoire.

And yet there was much to be said for staid and stable. Her marriage to Hank might lack the heat and passion of her relationship with Jim, but it did have warmth and trust and companionship, and she needed those right now.

"I can't put it off," Carol said. "It's got to be this morning. There are people there he wants me to meet, and I want you to meet him and the others."

He looked at her. "You're determined to go, aren't you."

"Hank, I've got to."

"Well, I'm certainly not letting you travel across town alone today. So I guess we'll be paying a visit on Mr…"

"Veilleur. But he likes to be called Glaeken. And Bill Ryan will be there, so it won't be as if you won't know anybody."

"He's involved in this too? How long have you been meeting this Veilleur or Glaeken fellow? And why does it all have to be so mysterious? Why can't you tell me more about it?"

"I'm going to tell you all about it. I—I haven't told you everything about my past and I think it's high time you knew."

Hank stepped in front of her and gently slipped his arms around her.

"You don't have to worry about me. Nothing you can say will change how I feel about you."

"I hope so." I hope you can handle what's coming.

"But why can't you tell me first?"

"Because I want you to have the big picture first before I tell you my part in it. Glaeken knows more about it and can explain it better than I can." He was there when it all started. "He knows who's behind those things that came out of the Central Park hole last night."

Hank took a half step back from her.

"He does? Who?"

Carol bit her lip, wondering how much to say. Well, why not just blow the door off its hinges? Give him his first look into her locked room. Nothing would stay hidden long after that.

"My son."

Jack wasn't sure how long he'd been standing at the window, mesmerized by all the furious activity round the hole in the sheep Meadow, when the doorbell rang. He glanced down the hall where Glaeken had gone but there was no sign of him.

Well, he'd said to answer the door, so that was what he'd do. Obviously Glaeken was expecting company.

Jack opened the door and found the Odd Couple standing in the hall. A graying priest and a funny-looking younger guy with unfocused eyes, a stitched lip, and a dazed look on his puss. And was that drool in the corner of his mouth?

"Who are you?" the priest said. Obviously he'd expected someone else to answer the door.

"That's not what people usually say when they're on that side of the door," Jack told him.

"I live here," the priest said with a touch of irritation.

Jack wasn't going to argue with the man. He stepped out of the way.

"If you say so."

Jack checked out the priest as he passed. He was taller than Jack, maybe a dozen or so years older, but he looked fit. His face was battered and haggard and his blue eyes had a haunted look, the look of a guy who'd seen too much of a bad thing.

The priest led his shell-shocked companion into the living room and sat him on the sofa. He almost had to bend the guy's knees to get him to sit. Then he turned to Jack.

"Where's Glae—I mean, Mr. Veilleur?"

"He asked me to call him Glaeken, and he's back with his wife. My name's Jack, by the way."

"Oh, yes. I was supposed to meet you yesterday." He thrust out his hand. "Bill Ryan."

Jack shook his hand. "You the priest?"

"Used to be. I didn't catch your last name."

"Jack'll do." To steer the talk away from names, he pointed to the guy on the sofa, and yeah, that was drool on his chin. "What happened to him?"

"That's Dr. Nick Quinn. He's one of the scientists who went down into the hole yesterday. He's the one who survived."

Jack stared at Nick Quinn with new respect. "I saw what came out of there last night…"

Ryan put his hand on Quinn's shoulder. "I'm afraid Nick saw something much worse than those things."

"Yeah," Jack said, watching the poor bastard stare blindly into space. Went down a rocket scientist, came back a geranium. "I guess he did. Where'd you come from this morning?"

"Washington Heights."

"How do things look up there?"

"Not too bad. Mostly you'd never know anything happened until you get to Harlem. And even there, you could convince yourself they had nothing more than a bad storm last night. But from the Nineties down it looks like there was a riot or something. And around here…" He shook his head in dismay. "There's still blood on the pavement."

Jack nodded. "It was worse earlier when I walked through from the East Side."

His gut squirmed at the memory of that walk. He hadn't slept much last night. He'd spent most of the time standing anxious guard over Gia and Vicky and watching the tube for word from Central Park. There were news specials all night, but no visuals. Camera teams sent to the area were never heard from again. Shortly after sunrise he'd ventured out into the streets. Sutton Square was quiet, and early morning traffic was rolling uptown and down on Sutton Place as usual. No flying monsters anywhere about, so he'd jogged up the incline toward midtown.