Страница 59 из 81
Forrest J (noperiod) Ackerman would reply. He seemed very concerned about apainting in therear seat of Pao's car. He had removed it shortly after the policehad arrived and put it in the back seat of his Cadillac. If the police observedthis, theydid not say anything. Now he wanted to get it back to his house.
"I'll take you as soon as they let us go," Childe said. "Yourhouse isn't far from here; it won't be any bother."
He did not know what Ackerman's part in this was. He seemed to bean i
Forry Ackerman told him something of what had happened on the wayto his house. Childe became excited, because he had met Woolston Heepishwhen he was investigating the disappearance of his partner, Colben.
Childe decided that he would appear to go along with Ackerman'sstory. Theman seemed to be sincere and genuinely upset and puzzled by what hadhappened. But it was possible that he was one of the Ogs, as Hindarf calledthem. It was also possible that he was one of the Tocs.
When he drove up before Ackerman's house, he looked at it throughthe dark and the rain, and he said, "If I didn't know better, I would thinkHeepish livedhere."
"That man deliberately fixed his house to look like mine," Forrysaid. "That's why he's called 'the poorman's Forry Ackerman,' though Idon't think he's so poor."
They went inside and, while Ackerman hung the painting, Childelooked around. The layout of the house was the same, but the paintings andthe other items were different. And this place was brighter and more inclinedto science-fiction subjects than Heepish's.
When Forry stepped down off the sofa with a satisfied smile, Childe said, "There's something wrong about this accident, other than thedisappearance ofPao. I mean, I was chasing Pao in one car and the three men with himin the other. Yet you say you were chasing Pao, too."
"That's right," Forry said. "It is puzzling. The whole eveninghas been puzzling and extremely upsetting. I have to get the latest issue ofmy comic book out to my publisher in New York, and I'm far behind. I'll haveto work twice as fast to catch up."
Childe interpreted this as meaning that he should leave at once. The man must really be dedicated to his work. How many could go back to theirdesk and work on a piece of fiction about vampires when they might have beenassociatingwith genuine vampires, not to mention genuine werefoxes andwerewolves?
"When you get your work done, and you're ready to talk,?" Childesaid, "we'll get together. I have many questions, and I also have someinformation youmight find interesting, though I don't know that you'll believe it."
"I'm too tired to believe in anything but a good night's sleep, which I'm not going to get," Forry said. "I hate to be inhospitable, but..."
Childe hesitated. Should he take up more of this man's time bywarning him? He decided that it would be better not to. If he knew what danger hewas reallyin, he would not be able to concentrate on his work. And knowing thedangerwould not help him in the least unless he believed in it and fledfrom this area. That did not seem likely. Childe would not have believed such astory ifhe had not experienced it.
He gave Forry his phone number and address and said, "Call mewhen you'reready to talk this over. I have a lot to tell you. Maybe together wecan get amore complete picture."
Forry said he would do so. He conducted Childe to the door butbefore he let him through, he said, "I think I'll take that painting into my officewith me. I wouldn't put it past Heepish to try again."
Childe did not ask why he did not call the police. Obviously, ifhe did, hewould be held up even more in getting out Vampirella.
CHAPTER 30
Herald Childe did not get home until seven in the morning. Therain had stopped by four-thirty, but the canyons were roaring streams. He wasstopped bythe police, but when he explained that he lived off the main road, hewas permitted to go on. Only residents could use this section of TopangaCanyon, andthey were warned that it would be better if they stayed away. Childepushedon--literally--and eventually got to his driveway. He saw threehouses that had slipped their moorings and moved downhill anywhere from six to twentyfeet. Two of the houses must have been deserted, but outside the third a family was movingsome furniture and clothes into the back of a pickup truck. Childethoughtmomentarily about helping them and then decided that they couldhandle their own affairs. The pickup truck was certainly more equipped to move throughthe highwater than his low-slung car, and if they wanted to break their backsmovingtheir sofa, that was their foolish decision.
Another car of the same year and model as the others was parkedunder the branches of the oak tree. The water flowing down the street was uppast the hubsof the wheels. So strong was the force of the current, it sometimeslifted Childe's car a fraction of an inch. But at no time was more than one wheel off the ground.
He parked the car in the driveway. The garage floor was floodedand, besides, he wanted the car to be available for a quick takeoff. Hewas not sure that the water pouring off the cliff and drowning his backyard wouldnot lift the garage eventually. Or, if the cliff did collapse, it might movefar enoughto smash the garage, which was closer to the cliff than the house.
He unlocked the door and locked it behind him. He started to cross the room when, in the pale daylight, a shapeless form rose from the sofa. Hethought hisheart would stop.
The shapelessness fell off the figure. It was a blanket which haddisguisedit. For a moment, he could not grasp who was standing before him. Then he cried, "Sybil!"
It was his ex-wife.
She ran to him and threw her arms around him, put her faceagainst hischest, and sobbed. He held her and whispered, over and over, "Sybil! Sybil! Ithought you were dead! My God, where have you been?"
After a while she quit crying and raised her face to kiss him. She was thirty-four now, her birthday had been six days ago, but she lookedas if she had aged five years. There were large dark circles under her eyes andthe lines from nose to mouth had gotten deeper. She also seemed thi
He led her to the sofa and sat her down and then said, "Are youall right?"
She started to cry again, but after a minute she looked up at himand said, "I am and I'm not."
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked. "Yes, you can get me a cup of coffee. And a joint, if you haveone."
He waved his hand as if to indicate a complete change ofcharacter. "I don't have any pot. I've gone back to drinking."
She looked alarmed, and he said, hastily, "Only a shot veryinfrequently.
I'm going to school again. UCLA. History major."
Then, "How did you find this house? How did you get here? Is thatyour carout in front?"
"I was brought up here by somebody--somebodies--and let into thehouse. I took off the blindfold and looked around. I found my photograph onyour bedsidetable, so I knew where I was. I decided to wait for you, and I fellasleep."
"Just a minute," he said. "This is going to be a long story, Ican see that. I'll make some coffee and some sandwiches, too, in case we gethungry."
He did not like to put off hearing what had happened, but he knewthat she would not want to be interrupted after she got started. He dideverything thathad to be done very swiftly and brought in a tray with a big pot ofcoffee, food, and some rather dried-out cigarettes he found in the pantry. Heno longersmoked, but he had gotten cigarettes for women he had brought intothe house.