Rob Zombie - Lords of Salem

“Hey, girl,” said Herman.

“Hey,” said Heidi. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said. “I’m just a worried Mother Hen checking in to make sure that everything is hunky-dory on the other side of the tracks.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “In fact, I slept really well last night.”

Her voice was still animated and lively but her face remained a mask, her eyes continuing to stare off into the distance.

“Well, that’s something anyway,” said Herman.

“Yeah,” said Heidi. “Hey, I’m sorry for being such a flake this past week. It’s all good now. I’m all good now.”

“I hope so,” said Herman.

“So, did you touch base with the band yet?” she asked.

“The Lords?” he asked. “Negative. As far as I know, nobody has. Sounds like amateur hour to me. I guess we just basically head over there, go through the motions, and hope that at showtime someone actually turns up and does a gig.”

“Well, worst case, I guess if they’re a no-show, then we get an early night.”

“Either that or a riot. Anyway, Whitey will swing by for you around five and then you can head over and experience this magical evening firsthand.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan,” she said.

“So,” said Herman. “He’ll be over around five.”

Heidi laughed. “Dude, heard you the first time. Don’t worry. I’ll be ready for him. Bye.”

“Bye,” said Herman.

She snapped the phone shut and for a moment sat motionless. Slowly, she raised her other hand to her mouth and took another long drag on the cigarette.

She let her eyes slowly cross, the room suddenly doubling itself. She held her gaze like that for a moment and then slowly, very slowly, let it come back together.

When the image was singular again she realized that the apartment was not what she’d thought it was. The carpet was not a carpet after all but thousands of rats. Her blanket, too, wasn’t a blanket after all, but rats. When she lifted her cigarette to her lips, it was not a cigarette she lifted, but a smouldering rat’s tail. Rats were everywhere. I should be upset by this , she told herself, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not be. She watched them come and go, felt them move under her and around her, but made no effort to drive them away or to flee. She just stayed where she was, motionless, her face utterly expressionless, like that of a doll.

Chapter Fifty-one

Francis moved his briefcase from one hand to the other and then reached into his trouser pocket. Where was that piece of paper? He reached across his body, patted his other pocket but it wasn’t there either. No, he had just had it. Where—and then when he reached into the breast pocket of his suit coat, there it was.

He unfolded it and straightened it, then compared the address written on it to the address on the house’s steps. Yes, the same. He headed up them and peered at the buzzers until he found Heidi’s name.

Just as he was about to ring the buzzer, he noticed a woman standing inside, watching him. It startled him so much that he almost dropped his briefcase.

She opened the door partway, looked at him. “Are you all right?” she asked. She was attractive, perhaps a few years younger than Alice. She was wearing a batik dress. She had a good head of curly blond hair, a little gray running through it.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m fine. I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for Heidi Hawthorne.”

The woman gave him a strange smile. “Do you perhaps mean Adelheid Elizabeth Hawthorne?” she asked.

Francis nodded, smiled. “Yes,” he said. “Actually, I do.”

The woman looked him over more carefully. “You look familiar,” she said.

“I do?” he said, surprised.

“Yes,” she said. “You do.”

“I work as a volunteer over at the Salem Wax Museum,” he said. “Sometimes I walk by here on my lunch break. Maybe you’ve seen me then.”

“Ah, the wonderful wax museum,” said the woman. “Got to teach those impressionable kiddies about Salem’s glorious past.”

Here at last, thought Francis, someone who understands. He smiled, extended his hand. The woman took it, shook.

“My name is Francis Matthias,” Francis said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The woman nodded. “Now, are you friend or foe?” she asked.

“Of Heidi’s?” he asked. He pondered. “I wouldn’t exactly say I’m a friend. I don’t know her well enough for that. But I’m certainly not a foe. An acquaintance, shall we say?” He made an effort to withdraw his hand, but she kept hold of it. “And may I ask who you are?” he said.

“Lacy,” she said. “I… I take care of Heidi.” She let go of his hand.

“Can I see her?” asked Francis.

For a moment Lacy just stood there and blinked, but then she smiled. “I don’t see why not,” she said. “Please come in.”

Lacy pushed the door open wider and ushered Francis past her. Smiling and nodding to her, he made his way in.

I should get up , Heidi was thinking, as she’d been thinking for the last half hour. I’ve got to leave. I’ve got things to do. But she felt like she didn’t have complete control over her own body. It was as if she was living in her body but no longer filling it, like the person who was Heidi existed in a small place deep within the body itself and the rest was blankness and empty space. It made her body feel bloated, ungainly.

She managed with great effort to leave the bed and wander into the living room. Her boots were in a heap there and she sat on the fainting couch and pulled them on. Her faux fur coat had been balled up and thrown near the entrance to the kitchen, and she slipped it on and stumbled toward the front door.

But when she opened it, she found that it opened not into the hallway but into another manifestation of her apartment. She walked out and found herself back in the same room, confused.

She closed the door, waited. When she opened it again, the apartment was still there on the other side. She walked through again, moving from her apartment into her apartment, and then stared around. It should have felt backward but it somehow didn’t. It was the same apartment. She simply couldn’t leave.

She closed the door and waited, counting slowly to one hundred. Her heart was beating faster and she tried to relax, tried to breathe deeply, and she did calm down a little. Then, gathering herself, she reached out and opened the door again.

It opened this time not onto her apartment but only onto a bricked-up doorway. The bricks were old and weathered and the mortar was dusty and filthy, as if the wall had been there for a very long time.

What the fuck? she wondered.

A little panicked now, she closed the door again and went to look out the bedroom window. Yes, everything looked normal out there, just the same old ordinary street.

An older man came down the sidewalk and stopped in front of the house and stared up at it. He looked familiar, but it took a moment still for her to place him. It was Francis, the guy they’d interviewed a few days ago, the witch guy. What was he doing here? Maybe he was coming to see her. That was good. Maybe he could help her get out.

She watched him until he began moving down the walk and toward the house and then she moved back into the kitchen, waiting for the doorbell to ring so she could buzz him in.

But the doorbell didn’t ring.

Maybe the door downstairs was already open, she told herself. Sometimes Lacy left it propped open, particularly on a nice warm day. If that was the case, he might just come up the stairs and knock on her door.

She waited. And then waited some more. But nobody rang the bell or knocked on the door.