Clive Barker - The Great and Secret Show

"Didn't see the joke," Vance said, his eyes still on what was out of sight to Grillo. "She never—"

"My God!" Grillo said, suddenly realizing. "He was here, wasn't he? He was here when you and I..." The thought took the words away. All he could manage was "...outside the door."

"I didn't know at the time," Ellen said softly. "It wasn't planned that way."

"Christ!" Grillo said. "It was all a performance for him. You set me up. You set me up to get your fantasy heated up."

"Maybe...I had a suspicion," she conceded. "Why are you so angry?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"No, it isn't," she said, her tone all reason. "You don't love me. You don't even know me, or you wouldn't be so shocked. You just wanted something from me, and you got it."

Her account was accurate; and hurt. It made Grillo mean.

"You know this thing's not here forever," he said, jabbing his thumb at Ellen's prisoner; or more correctly, at the truncheon.

"I know," she said, her tone betraying some little sadness at this fact. "But none of us are, right? Even you."

Grillo stared at her, willing her to look around at him; see his pain. But she only had eyes for the fabrication. He gave up on the possibility, and delivered the message he'd come here with.

"I advise you to leave the Grove," he said. "Take Philip and leave."

"Why's that?" she said.

"Just trust me. There's a good chance the Grove won't even be standing tomorrow."

Now she deigned to look around at him.

"I understand," she said. "Close the door, will you, when you leave?"

"Grillo." It was Tesla who opened the door to Hotchkiss's house. "You meet some damn weird people."

He'd never thought of Hotchkiss as weird. A man in mourning, yes. An occasional drunkard; who wasn't? But he wasn't prepared for the level of the man's obsession.

At the back of the house was a room given over entirely to the subject of the Grove and the ground it was built on. Geological maps covered the walls, along with photographs, taken over a period of years, and neatly dated, of cracks in the streets and sidewalks. Tacked up alongside were newspaper cuttings. Their single subject: earthquakes.

The obsessive himself sat unshaven in the midst of this information with a cup of coffee in his hand and a look of weary satisfaction on his face.

"Didn't I say?" were his first words to Grillo. "Didn't I tell you? The real story's beneath our feet. Always was."

"You want to do it?" Grillo asked him. -

"What? The climb? Sure." He shrugged. "What the fuck? It'll kill us all, but what the fuck? The question is: do you want to do it?"

"Not much," Grillo said. "But I've got a vested interest. I want the whole story."

"Hotchkiss has got an extra angle you don't know about," Tesla said.

"What's that?"

"Any more coffee?" Hotchkiss asked Witt. "I need to sober up."

Witt dutifully went off to get refills.

"Never liked that man," Hotchkiss remarked.

"What was he, the town flasher?" Tesla said.

"Shit, no. He was Mr. Clean. Everything I used to despise about the Grove."

"He's coming back," Grillo said.

"So what?" Hotchkiss went on, as Witt stepped into the room. "He knows. Don't you, William?"

"Know what?" Witt said.

"What a shithead you were."

Witt took the insult without a flicker.

"Never much liked me, right?"

"Right."

"And I never much liked you," Witt replied. "For what it's worth."

Hotchkiss smiled. "Glad we got that sorted out," he said.

"I want to know about this angle," Grillo said.

"Simple really," Hotchkiss said. "I got a call in the middle of the night, from New York. A guy I hired when my wife left, to find her. Or try at least. His name's D'Amour. He specializes—I guess—in supernatural stuff."

"Why'd you hire him?"

"My wife got involved with some very peculiar people after our daughter's death. She never really accepted that Carolyn was gone from us. She tried contacting her through spiritualists. Eventually joined a spiritualist church. Then she ran off."

"Why look for her in New York?" Grillo asked.

"She was born there. It seemed the likeliest place for her to go."

"And did D'Amour find her?"

"No. But he dug up a whole bunch of stuff about the church she'd joined. I mean...this guy knew what he was doing."

"So why did he call you?"

"He's coming to that," said Tesla.

"I don't know who D'Amour's contacts are, but the call was a warning."

"About what?"

"About what's happening here in the Grove."

"He knew?"

"Oh he knew all right."

"I think that maybe I should talk to him," Tesla said. What time's it in New York?"

"Just after noon," said Witt.

"You two make whatever arrangements you need to make about the climb," she said. "Where's D'Amour's number?"

"Here," Hotchkiss said, passing a pad over to Tesla. She pulled off the top sheet, with the digits and the name (Harry M. D'Amour, Hotchkiss had written) scrawled on it, and left the men to their deliberations. There was a phone in the kitchen. She sat down, and dialled the eleven numbers. It rang at the other end. An answering machine picked up.

"There's nobody here to take your call at the moment. Please leave a message after the beep. "

She started to do so. "This is a friend of Jim Hotchkiss, in Palomo Grove. My name's—"

A voice broke into her message.

"Hotchkiss has friends?" it said.

"Is this Harry D'Amour?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"Tesla Bombeck. And yeah, he does have friends."

"Every day you learn something. What can I do for you?"

"I'm calling from Palomo Grove. Hotchkiss says you know what's going on here."

"I've got some idea, yeah."

"How?"

"I've got friends," D'Amour said. "People plugged in. They've been saying for months something was going to break out on the West Coast, so nobody's that surprised. Saying a lot of prayers, but not surprised. What about you? Are you one of the few?"

"You mean psychic? No."

"So what have you got to do with all this?"

"It's a long story."

"So cut to the chase," said D'Amour. "That's a movie expression."

"I know," Tesla said. "I work in movies."

"Oh yeah. What as?"

"I write them."

"You written anything I'd know? I see a lot of movies. Keeps my mind off my work."

"Maybe we'll meet sometime," Tesla said. "Talk about movies. Meanwhile, I need your take on a few things."

"Like what?"

"Well, for one: have you ever heard of the Iad Uroboros?"

There was a long, long-distance silence.

"D'Amour? Are you still there? D'Amour?"

"Harry," he said.

"Harry. So...have you heard of them or not?"

"As it happens, yes."

"Who from?"

"Does it matter?"

"As it happens, yes," Tesla returned. "There's sources and sources. You know that. People you trust and those you don't."

"I work with a woman called Norma Paine," D'Amour said. "She's one of the people I was talking about before. She's plugged in."

"What does she know about the Iad?"

"First," D'Amour said. "Around dawn something happened on the East Coast, in dreamland. Do you know why?"

"I've got a good idea."

"Norma keeps talking about a place called Oddity."

"Quiddity," Tesla corrected him.

"So you do know."

"No need for the trick questions. Yes, I know. And I need to hear what she has to say about the Iad."

"That they're the things about to break out. She's not sure where. She gets mixed messages."

"Do they have any weaknesses?" Tesla said.

"Not from what I hear."

"Just how much do you know about them? I mean, what will an Iad invasion be like? Are they going to bring an army through from Quiddity? Are we going to see machines, bombs, what? Shouldn't somebody be trying to tell the Pentagon?"