Лоуренс Блок - Ariel

They had met at the motel, arriving in separate cars, and this time she had paid for their room. Her car was the first to leave the motel parking lot, and he pulled out after her, followed her part way back to the city, then let her get ahead of him. His sexual desire was long gone now, but the tension that had been a part of it had merely taken a different form. He wanted to scream, to beat on the steering wheel with his fists, to swing the wheel hard left and plow across the median strip and take an oncoming car head-on.

He did none of these things. Instead he drove slowly and steadily into town, went to his office, left after a few minutes and had a cup of coffee at the Athenian on Meeting Street. He got back in his car and drove past Roberta’s house. Her car was parked in front and there were lights on.

It was mid-afternoon, and there were children walking around the neighborhood, singly and in groups, on their way home from school. He drove up one street and down the next, slowing down periodically to scan the faces of the children he passed.

Then, when they were more than a block away, he spotted them. Ariel and her little friend with the glasses.

He pulled the car to a stop alongside the curb, pressed a button to lower the window, kept the motor running. The two of them were deep in conversation, unlikely to notice him, and he felt driven to stay where he was and get as good a look at the girl as he could.

The two drew nearer. When they were almost abreast of his car, Ariel turned to look directly at Jeff. Something went through him when their eyes made contact, something cold. She stopped in her tracks. Her mouth was slightly open, her face ghostly pale. Beside her, the boy had stopped when she did and looked now to see what had attracted her attention.

Images flashed on the screen of Jeff’s mind. His car, animated, with eyes for headlights, leaping the curb to bear down on the two children. Ariel, nude, her breasts tipped with staring eyes, beckoning seductively to him. The boy, dancing goat-footed like Pan. Images, amorphous ones, of blood, of lust, of death.

Only a few yards separated them. He and Ariel stared deeply into each other’s eyes for an immeasurable moment. Then, with an effort, he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

A block away, he had to pull over and stop again. His heart was pounding, his palms too slippery with sweat to grip the steering wheel. He dug out a handkerchief, dried his hands, mopped perspiration from his forehead.

Now what, he wondered, was that all about? One look into a child’s eyes and he’d been thrown so far off his good reasonable center? But something had happened, he had to admit, and he couldn’t begin to say what it was. It was as if those damned bottomless eyes of her had functioned as a mirror, showing him aspects of himself he had no desire to see.

Bobbie was overreacting to Ariel, he was still certain of that much, but he no longer felt her perceptions were so entirely out of whack. There was something about the child, something very damned unsettling.

Maybe he should tell Bobbie as much. But he knew, suddenly and certainly, that he would not. He would not tell anyone what had just happened.

“Ariel?”

Erskine was tugging at her arm. She had turned to watch the car drive off and it was gone and she continued staring after it. With an effort she turned to face Erskine.

“That was him,” she said.

“Who?”

“Didn’t you recognize him?”

“The man in the car? No. Who was he?”

“The Funeral Game.”

“Huh?”

“DWE — I forget the number. The license plate.”

“DWE-628.”

“You didn’t notice his face but you memorized his license number? You’re really weird, Erskine.”

“I didn’t even notice his license number. You told me the other day, remember?”

“And it happened to stick in your mind?”

“I remember things like that,” he said patiently. “You know that.”

“Well, it was him.” She was a shade calmer now, but her emotions continued to wrestle inside her. There was fear, and anxiety, and off to one side was a growing sense of anger. “He was the one who dropped off Roberta the other day.”

“What was it you said before about funerals?”

“He was at Caleb’s funeral.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” They were walking now, bound for Erskine’s house. “He even came out to the cemetery. I thought maybe he was studying to be a game-show host. You know, The Funeral Game. ”

“Great program. How would it work?”

“You know, pick the right coffin and win a prize.”

“A free embalming. I think you’ve got something there, Jardell.”

He got carried away with the idea, suggesting various prizes and competitive trials for the program, and Ariel waited him out. Then she said, “You’re missing the point. He was waiting for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sitting there in his car with the motor running. He was waiting for me to come home from school. Then he took a close look at me and I looked at him and he drove away.”

“Oh, boy.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Paranoia strikes again.”

“I’m not being paranoid. What do you think he was doing there? He even had his window rolled down so he could get a good look.”

“Lots of people roll their windows down.”

“Not as cold as it is today. How many cars do you see driving by with the window down?”

“That’s a point.”

“He was waiting for me.”

“Then why did he drive away the minute you turned up?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re just lucky I was along to protect you, Jardell. God only knows what fate would have awaited you otherwise.”

“Be serious.”

“Oh, I can’t,” he said, flapping his arms and making a face. “I can’t because I’m a kid, and kids are never serious.” He went on flapping his arms and darted on ahead, making horrible bird noises. Ariel shook her head, sighed, and walked on after him....

Up in his third-floor room, Erskine said, “All right, Mr. Funeral Game was looking for you. Why?”

“You mean you want to talk about it? You’re done with your imitation of a constipated vulture?”

“You just saw him twice before? At the funeral and when your mother got out of his car?”

“That’s right. Maybe I saw him years ago. There’s something familiar about him, but maybe that’s just because he’s got those television looks.”

“Same as you and me.”

“Funny, funny. Maybe—”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe he’s a detective.”

“You’ve got your television shows mixed up. Why a detective?”

“Maybe Roberta hired him.”

“To find out why you don’t come straight home from school? Wouldn’t it be easier to ask you?”

“She knows I come over here. That’s not why she would hire him.”

“Why, then?”

“To find out how Caleb died.”

“Don’t you go to a doctor for that?”

“Not if she thinks Caleb was murdered.”

He sat forward, staring at her, and now his eyes looked absolutely enormous. “You think she thinks—”

“She thinks I killed Caleb.” The words echoed, caroming off the walls of the little room. She had never spoken them aloud before. She was surprised her voice sounded so calm.

“Did she say anything?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then—”

“It’s what she thinks. The other day she asked me how I knew Caleb was dead that morning. She was in his room, she was on her way out of the room, and one look at her face and it was obvious somebody had died. I mean, it couldn’t have been anything else.”