Clive Barker - The Great and Secret Show

"You'd better stay away from me," he told Tesla as he staggered back. "I think I got flu."

"Then go back to bed. Who gave you flu?"

"Some kid."

"Abernethy called," Tesla informed him. "So did a woman called Ellen."

"Her kid."

"Who she?"

"She nice lady. What's the message?"

"Needs to talk to you urgently. No number."

"Don't think she's got a phone," Grillo said. "I should find out what she wants. She used to work for Vance."

"Scandal?"

"Yeah." His teeth had begun to chatter. "Shit," he said. "I feel like I'm burning up."

"Maybe I should take you back to L.A."

"No way. There's a story here, Tesla."

"There's stories every place. Abernethy can put somebody on this."

"This one's strange, "Grillo said. "Something's going on here I don't understand." He sat down, his head thumping.

"You know I was there when the men who were looking for Vance's body got killed?"

"No. What happened?"

"Whatever they said on the news, it wasn't some underground dam burst. Or at least it wasn't just that. For one thing I heard shouts long before the water. I think they were yelling prayers down there, Tesla. Prayers. And then there was this fucking geyser. Water, smoke, dirt. Bodies. And something else. No: two something elses. Coming out of the ground, under cover."

"Climbing?"

"Flying."

Tesla gave him a long, hard look.

"I swear, Tesla," Grillo said. "Maybe they were human...maybe not. They seemed more like...I don't know...more like energies maybe. And before you ask, I was clean and sober."

"Were you the only one who saw this?"

"No, there was a guy called Hotchkiss with me. I think he saw most of it too. Only he won't answer his phone to corroborate."

"You realize you sound certifiable?"

"Well that just confirms what you've always thought, right? Working for Abernethy digging up dirt on the rich and famous—"

"Not falling in love with me."

"Not falling in love with you."

"Lunatic."

"Insane."

"Listen, Grillo, I'm a lousy nurse, so don't expect sympathy. But if you want more practical help while you're sick, just point me in the right direction."

"You could look in on Ellen. Tell her the kid gave me the flu. Get her feeling guilty. There's a story there, and I've only got a piece of it so far."

"That's my Grillo. Sick but never shamed."

It was late afternoon by the time Tesla set out for Ellen Nguyen's house, refusing to take the car even though Grillo warned her she'd have quite a walk. A breeze had mustered itself, and escorted her through the town. It was the kind of community she rather fancied setting a thriller in; something about a man with an atom bomb in his suitcase, maybe. It had been done before, of course, but she had a twist on the tale. Rather than telling it as a parable of evil she'd tell it of apathy. People simply choosing not to believe what they were told; just going about their daily business with expressions of blithe indifference. And the heroine would try to galvanize these people into a recognition of their own danger, and fail, and at the end she'd be dumped outside the town limits by a mob who resented her stirring up the mud, just as the ground rocked and the bomb went off. Fade out. The End. Of course it would never get made that way, but then she was a past mistress at writing screenplays that never saw-celluloid. The stories kept coming, however. She couldn't walk in a new place or meet new faces without dramatizing them. She didn't analyze too closely the stories her mind created for each cast and setting, unless—as now—it was so obvious as to be unavoidable. Presumably her gut told her that Palomo Grove was a town that would one day go bang.

Her sense of direction was unfailingly good. She found her way to the Nguyen residence without need of backtracking. The woman who answered the door looked so delicate Tesla feared to speak above a whisper, much less try to pry some evidence of indiscretion from her. She just stated the facts simply: that she'd come at Grillo's request because he had caught the flu.

"Don't worry, he'll survive," she said, when Ellen looked distressed. "I just came over to explain why he wouldn't be coming over to see you."

"Come in, please," Ellen said.

Tesla resisted. She was in no mood for a fragile soul. But the woman would not be denied.

"I can't talk here," she said as she closed the door. "And I can't leave Philip for too long. I don't have a phone any longer. I had to use my neighbor's to call Mr. Grillo. Will you take a message to him?"

"Sure," Tesla said, thinking: if it's a love letter I'm trashing it. The Nguyen woman was Grillo's type, she knew. Sweetly feminine, soft-spoken. In sum, utterly unlike her.

The contagious child was sitting on the sofa.

"Mr. Grillo has flu," his mother told him. "Why don't you send him one of your drawings, so he gets better?"

The boy padded through to his bedroom, giving Ellen an opportunity to pass her message along.

"Will you tell him that things have changed at Coney?" Ellen said.

"Changed at Coney," Tesla repeated. "What does that mean exactly?"

"There's going to be a Memorial Party for Buddy, at his house. Mr. Grillo will understand. Rochelle, his wife, sent the chauffeur down. Summoned me to help."

"So what's Grillo to do about all of this?"

"I want to know if he needs an invitation."

"I think you can take the answer as yes. When's this to be?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Short notice."

"People will come for Buddy," Ellen said. "He was very much loved."

"Lucky man," Tesla remarked. "So if Grillo wants you he can contact you up at Vance's house?"

"No.-He mustn't call there. Tell him to leave a message with next door. Mr. Fulmer. He'll be looking after Philip."

"Fulmer. Right. I got that."

There was little else to say. Tesla accepted a picture from the invalid to take back to Grillo, along with the best wishes of mother and son, then set out on the homeward journey, inventing stories as she went.

"William?"

It was Spilmont on the line, finally. The children were no longer laughing in the background. Evening had fallen, and with the sun gone the lawn-sprinkler's water would be more chilly than pleasurable.

"I haven't much time," he said. "I've wasted enough this afternoon as it is."

"What?" said William. He'd spent the afternoon in a frenzy of anticipation. "Tell me."

"I went up there to Wild Cherry Glade, just as soon as you left."

"And?"

"And nothing, guy. Big fat zero. The place was deserted and I looked like an asshole, going in ready for Christ knows what. Guess that's what you planned, right?"

"No, Oscar. You've got it wrong."

"Only once, guy. Once I can take a joke, OK? I'm not going to have anyone say I haven't got a sense of humor."

"It wasn't a joke."

"You really had me going for a moment there, you know? You should be writing books not selling real estate."

"The whole place was empty? There wasn't a trace of anything? Did you look in the pool?"

"Give me a break!" Spilmont said. "Yeah, it was empty. Pool; house; garage. All empty."

"Then they skipped. They got away before you arrived. Only I don't see how. Tommy-Ray said the Jaff didn't like—"

"Enough!" said Spilmont. "I've got too many wackoes on the block without the likes of you. Straighten up, will you? And don't try this on any of the other guys, Witt. They're warned, see? Like I say: once is enough!"

Without signing off Spilmont terminated the call, leaving William to listen to the disconnected tone for fully half a minute before he let the receiver slip from his grasp.

"Who'd have thought?" the Jaff said, stroking his newest charge. "There's fear in the unlikeliest places."