Agyar

SIXTEEN

The new moon, as I look out through the slats, is a spot of darkness near the western horizon, and only barely visible even to me. Susan sleeps once more. There is no reason for her to be awake.

Yesterday, while she slept deeply, I carried her downstairs and took her with me while I rested. I had never done that-actually slept with a lover in my arms, and I felt such a tenderness that I thought my heart would break.

We slept undisturbed, and I had no dreams, although perhaps Susan did. We began to wake at almost the same moment. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked into my own. Confusion came over her brow, so I smoothed it by kissing her.

“Where are we?” she said.

“In my bed.”

“But it is so dark. It feels-”

“Hush, my love.”

I kissed her again. The kiss became intense, and at last weakness and urgency conspired against me. She moaned softly and held me close, and it came to me that I was killing her.

I stopped abruptly and looked at her; she was very pale, and seemed to have some trouble breathing. I cursed myself silently, rose, brought her up to the parlor, and set her in the chair. She appeared to be very pale, her breath was coming in ragged gasps.

I am glad I did not kill her; sorry I came so close.

Still, it gave me what I needed; I feel ready for whatever midnight will bring.

Jim was standing next to the chair, watching me. He made no comment.

I said, “Any more police?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“Break away from Kellem? Yes. In just about three hours.”

“Do you think it will work?”

“I hope so.”

I returned to my typewriting sanctuary to try to finish memorizing the procedure, which I will be about as soon as I am done

Kellem is either one step ahead of me, or one step behind; soon I will learn which it is. As I was typing merrily away, there were police pulling up outside the house. Jim came and informed me of this.

I slipped outside to see for myself. The police are everywhere. I saw neighbors peering through windows down the street, and others, including Bill and his wife, standing staring at my house.

And there was a van that bore the inscription “WBBM Mobile News.” Apparently the news people still aren’t certain of anything, because, as I watched, the van drove away.

It was tricky, getting close enough to hear what the police were up to, but I did, and I don’t like what I learned. They are waiting for something they called the “Tac Group,” which sounds ominous. And eventually I learned why they are there, and what they are going to do.

Someone told them that, hidden in this very house, lived the man who had killed a certain Philip Hansen. It took me a bit longer to learn that Philip Hansen had been the night editor for the Plainsman.

I have a guess who told them, too.

Laura Kellem, damn you to hell.

The worst of it is that they saw the light on in the typing room, and, as I understand it, someone even got a glimpse of me in the living room, using some sort of modern binoculars, so they know I’m here. Certainly I can slip past them as often as I want, but Susan cannot; and neither can I bring my luggage with me. Traveling without it will be inconvenient at best. I’ve had to do such things before, and I didn’t like it.

I must consider how to get Susan out of here. Hiding in my alcove is all well and good, but if they know I am somewhere in the house, and they search thoroughly, they could certainly find her.

The easiest thing, I guess, will be to explain the situation to her, and have her convince the police that I was holding her against her will. They will still wonder how I could have gotten past them, but that is hardly my problem. Let them wonder.

I am not looking forward to explaining this to Susan.

I found the cop in charge, a fat man with graying hair who I’d have thought was too short to be a policeman. He and his cohorts were trying to decide if they should go in when the “Tac Group” arrived, or wait until morning, when there was less chance of “a negative incident,” which I took to mean a neighbor getting shot. They spoke of evacuating the nearby houses.

I exerted a little influence, and I think they will wait until morning, by which time I will be gone.

Morning, however, is still many hours away; and the time until midnight is growing short. I must not allow myself to be distracted. First, I will break free of Kellem, then worry about the next step.

I have gathered together everything I will need, including the chefs knife; now I have little to do except record what has happened and wait for midnight.

I still have over an hour to wait, and the time is passing with agonizing slowness. Every few minutes I stop and pick up this paper on which I have scrawled the steps of the spell I am to perform, so that, when the time comes, I will have it firmly in mind, and so that I need not stop to read, but can proceed smoothly from memory. The old woman said that would help.

After all of this, it would be the ultimate irony if I have allowed myself to be fooled by the cigany — if the instructions on this paper are meaningless.

Yet, I think they are not. There is Jill’s example, and what I read corresponds to what I remember.

Speculation is pointless. Soon I will know.

I have run out of things to say; the time for action approaches.

I went down once more to check on all of the items for the ritual and to stretch my legs. Jim was there, looking out the window. He said, “They might try to come in.”

“Not likely,” I said.

“Oh?”

“Trust me.”

He nodded.

Susan was looking maybe a little better. She stirred as I watched her and called my name. I shivered, though I cannot name the emotion that evoked the shiver.

I knelt beside her and said, “I am here, my love.”

Her eyes opened and she smiled, weakly. “I don’t feel-I have had the oddest dreams, Jonathan.” Her voice was very soft, and though she was breathing easier than she had earlier, it still seemed to take some effort.

Still kneeling, I took her hand. It was not as warm as it usually is, and I silently cursed myself for bringing her to this state.

“It’s the house, my love. It brings bad dreams.”

She nodded and brought my hand to her cheek. Then she squinted, staring over my shoulder, and said, “Who is that?”

I followed the direction of her gaze and said, “That is Jim, a friend of mine.”

“Oh. Hello, Jim.”

“Hello, Susan,” he said.

She studied him a little more, then frowned and closed her eyes. “Am I awake?” she said.

“I don’t know,” I told her. “Would you like to be?”

“I’m not certain. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“Then perhaps you are.”

“Do you love me in my dream?”

“In your dream, in my dream, and when we are awake, I love you the same.”

She smiled and pressed my hand once more to her cheek. “Then it doesn’t matter.” She leaned her head back to rest it against the back of the chair, and breathed deeply. I thought she had gone to sleep again, but she opened her eyes and said, “When you leave, I’d like to come with you.”

“I would like that, too,” I said.

“I’ve been having such odd dreams, Jonathan.”

“Tell me about them.”

“I dreamt that you were dead, and that I was dead, only we both lived.”

“Interesting.” I almost told her then, but I think it will be better to wait until she is at least a little stronger.

She said, “I dreamt that I was dancing for all eternity, and that the more I danced, the more I lived, and the more I lived, the more I wanted to dance.” She grinned weakly. “Dancing is my life, or something.”

“Would you like to live forever, to dance forever?”

She smiled complacently. “If you were there.”

“I will always be there.”

“Then I will dance,” she said, and, with a sigh, she relaxed against the chair. Her breathing slowed a little, and presently she was asleep again. I watched for a moment, then placed her hand in her lap and came back upstairs, almost choking with emotion. Jim, bless his heart, didn’t say anything.

It is almost time. I will go over the steps of the rite once or twice again. I only have another half hour or so to chew my figurative nails. And then…