Bon voyage, Kusum.
28
Gia ran up the steps of the five-story brownstone and stepped into the vestibule inside the front door. She pulled on the handle of the inner door just in case the latch hadn’t caught. The door wouldn’t move. Out of habit she reached into her purse for the keys and then remembered she’d sent them back to Jack months ago.
She went to the callboard and pressed the button next to 3, the one with the hand-printed slip of paper that said Pinocchio Productions. When the door did not buzz open in response, she rang again, and kept on ringing, holding the button in until her thumb ached. Still no responding buzzer.
Gia went back out to the sidewalk and looked up to the front windows of Jack’s apartment. They were dark, although there seemed to be a light on in the kitchen. Suddenly she saw movement at the window, a shadow looking down at her. Jack!
She ran back up to ring the 3 button again, but the buzzer started to sound as soon as she stepped into the vestibule. She pushed through the inner door and ran up the stairs.
As she approached the third floor, she found a long brown wig and a flowery, broad-brimmed hat on the stairs. A sickeningly sweet perfume hung in the air. The newel post on the landing was cracked almost in two. Torn pieces of dress fabric were strewn all about the hall, and splotches of thick black fluid spotted the floor outside Jack’s apartment.
What happened here?
Something about the splotches made her skin crawl. She stepped around them carefully, not wanting to touch one, even with her shoe. Controlling her unease, she knocked on Jack’s door.
The door opened immediately, startling her. Whoever was there must have been waiting for her knock. But the door swung inward only three inches and stopped. She could see the vague shape of a head looking out at her, but the dim light from the hall was at the wrong angle to reveal the face.
“Jack?” Gia said. She was plainly frightened now. Everything was wrong here.
“He’s not here,” said a hoarse, cracked, whispery voice.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Will you look for him?”
“Yes … yes.” The question was unexpected. “I need him right away.”
“Find Jack! Find him and bring him back! Bring him back!”
The door slammed closed as Gia stumbled away, propelled by the sense of desperate urgency that had filled that voice.
What was going on? Why was there some strange shadowy person in Jack’s apartment instead of Jack?
Gia had no time for mysteries—Vicky was missing and Jack could find her. Gia held onto that thought. It helped her hold onto her sanity. Even so, the sense of nightmare unreality gripped her again. The walls wavered around her as she played along with the bad dream …
… down the stairs, through the doors, down to the street to where the Honda sits double parked, start it up, drive to where you think—hope—Abe’s shop is … tears on your face …
Oh, Vicky, how am I ever going to find you? I’ll die without you!
… drive past darkened brownstones and storefronts until a dark blue panel truck pulls into the curb to the left just ahead and Jack gets out of the passenger side …
Jack!
Suddenly back in the real world. Gia slammed on the brakes. Even as the Honda was skidding to a stalled stop, she was out of the door and running to him, crying his name.
“Jack!”
He turned and Gia saw his face go white at the sight of her. He ran forward.
“Oh, no! Where’s Vicky?”
He knew! Her expression, her very presence here must have told him. Gia could hold back the fear and grief no longer. She began sobbing as she collapsed into his arms.
“She’s gone!”
“God! When? How long?”
She thought he was going to cry. His arms tightened around her until her ribs threatened to break.
“An hour … no more than an hour and a half.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know! All I found was an orange under her bed, like the one—”
“No!” Jack’s anguished shout was a physical pain in her ear, then he spun away from her, walking a step or two in one direction, then in another, his arms swinging at the air like a windup toy out of control. “He got Vicky! He’s got Vicky!”
“It’s all my fault, Jack. If I’d stayed with her instead of watching that stupid movie, Vicky would be all right now.”
Jack suddenly stopped moving. His arms lay quiet against his sides.
“No,” he said in a voice that chilled her with its flat, iron tone. “You couldn’t have changed the outcome. You’d only be dead.” He turned to Abe. “I’ll need to borrow your truck, Abe, and I’ll also need an inflatable raft with oars. And the highest power field glasses you can find. Got them?”
“Right in the shop.” He also was looking at Jack strangely.
“Would you put them in the back of the truck as quick as you can?”
“Sure.”
Gia stared at Jack as Abe bustled away toward the front of his store. His abrupt change from near hysteria to this cold dispassionate creature before her was almost as terrifying as Vicky’s disappearance.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get her back. And then I’m going to see to it that she is never bothered again.”
Gia stepped back. For as Jack spoke, he’d turned toward her and looked past her, looked downtown as if seeing through all the buildings between him and whoever was in his thoughts. She let out a small cry when she saw his expression.
She was looking at murder … as if Death itself had taken human form. That look on Jack’s face—she turned away. She couldn’t bear it. More rage and fury than any man was meant to hold were concentrated in his eyes. She could almost imagine someone’s heart stopping just from looking into those eyes.
Abe slammed the rear doors of his truck and handed Jack a black leather case. “Here are the binocs. The raft’s loaded.”
The look in Jack’s eyes receded.
Thank God! She never wanted to see that look again.
He slung the binoculars around his neck. “You two wait here while—”
“I’m going with you!” Gia said. She wasn’t staying behind while he went to find Vicky.
“And what?” Abe said. “I should stay behind while you two run off with my truck?”
Jack didn’t even bother to argue. “Get in, then. But I’m driving.”
And drive he did—like a madman: east to Central Park West, down to Broadway, and then along Broadway for a steeplechase ride downtown. Gia was squeezed between Jack and Abe, one hand braced against the dashboard in case they had to stop short, the other against the roof of the truck’s cab to keep from bumping her head as they pitched and rolled over the hillocks and potholes in the pavement—New York City streets were no smoother than the rutted dirt roads she used to drive in Iowa.
“Where are we going?” she cried.
“To meet a ship.”
“Jack, I’m so frightened. Don’t play games with me. What’s this have to do with Vicky?”
Jack looked at her hesitantly, then past her to Abe.
“You’ll both think I’m crazy. I don’t need that now.”
“Try me,” she said.
She had to know. What could be crazier than what had already happened tonight?
“All right. But just listen without interrupting me, okay?” He glanced at her and she nodded. His hesitancy was unnerving. He took a deep breath. “Here goes…”
29
Vicky is dead.
As Jack drove and told Abe and Gia his story, that inescapable fact stabbed at his mind. But he kept his eyes fixed on the road and held himself away from the agony of grief that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment.
Grief and rage. They mixed and swirled within him. He wanted to pull over to the curb and bury his face in his arms and weep like a baby. He wanted to ram his fist through the windshield again a
nd again.
Vicky! He was never going to see her again, never do the orange mouth gag, never paint up his hand like Moony for her, never—
Stop it!
He had to stay in control, had to look strong. For Gia’s sake. If anyone else had told him that Vicky was missing, he might have gone berserk. But he’d remained calm for Gia. He couldn’t let her guess what he knew. She wouldn’t believe him anyway. Who would? He’d have to break it to her slowly … in stages … tell her about what he’d seen, what he’d learned during the past week.
Jack drove relentlessly through the near-empty streets, slowing but never stopping for red lights. Two A.M. on a Wednesday morning and still traffic about, but not enough to matter. He was headed downtown … all the way downtown.
His instincts insisted that Kusum would not leave without the Mother rakosh. He wouldn’t want to wait too far from Manhattan. To sail on, even at bottom speed, would mean outdistancing the Mother and leaving her behind. According to Kolabati, the Mother was the key to controlling the nest. So Kusum would wait. But he didn’t know that the Mother wasn’t coming.
Jack was coming instead.
He spoke as calmly as he could as he raced through Times Square, past the Flatiron Building and Union Square, past City Hall, past Trinity Church, ever southward, all the while telling them about an Indian man named Kusum—the one Gia had met at the UK Mission reception—whose ancestors were murdered by a Westphalen well over a century ago. This Kusum had come to New York with a ship full of seven and eight foot creatures called rakoshi that he sent out to capture the last members of the Westphalen family.
Dead silence in the cab of the panel truck when he finished his story. He glanced over to Gia and Abe. Both were staring at him, their expressions alarmed, eyes wary.
“I don’t blame you,” he said. “That’s just the way I’d look at somebody who told me what I just told you. But I’ve been in that ship. I’ve seen. I’m stuck with it.”
Still they said nothing.
And I didn’t even tell them about the necklace.
“It’s true, damn it!” He pulled the Mother’s scorched fangs and talons from his pocket and pressed them into Gia’s hand. “Here’s all that’s left of one.”
Gia passed them over to Abe without even looking at them. “Why shouldn’t I believe you? Vicky was taken through a window twelve stories up!” She clutched at Jack’s arm. “But what does he want with them?”
Jack swallowed spasmodically, unable to speak for a moment. Vicky’s dead! How could he possibly tell her that?
“I-I don’t know,” he said finally, his vast experience as a liar standing him in good stead. “But I’m going to find out.”
And then they ran out of island—they’d reached Battery Park, the southern tip of Manhattan. Jack sped along the west side of the park and screeched to the right around a curve at its end. Without slowing, he plowed through a cyclone gate and hurtled across the sand toward the water.
“My truck!” Abe yelled.
“Sorry! I’ll get it fixed for you.”
Gia let out a yelp as Jack swerved to a stop in the sand. He leaped out and ran to the bulkhead.
Upper New York Bay spread out before him. A gentle breeze fanned his face. Due south, directly ahead, lay the trees and buildings of Governors Island. To the left, across the mouth of the East River, sat Brooklyn. And far off to the right toward New Jersey, on her own island, stood Lady Liberty with her blazing torch held high. The bay was deserted—no pleasure boats, no Staten Island ferries, no Circle Line cruisers. Nothing but a dark wasteland of water. Jack fumbled the binoculars out of the case slung around his neck and scanned the bay.
He’s out there—he’s got to be!
Yet the surface of the bay was lifeless—no movement, no sound but the lapping of the water against the bulkhead. His hands began to tremble as he raked the glasses back and forth over the water.
He’s here! He can’t get away!
And then he found a ship—directly between him and Governors Island. On previous passes he’d confused its running lights with the lights on the buildings behind it. But this time he caught the glint of the setting moon off its aft superstructure. An adjustment of the glasses brought the long deck into focus. When he saw the single kingpost and its four cranes amidships, he was sure he had her.
“That’s it!”
He handed the glasses to Gia. She took them with a bewildered look on her face.
He ran to the back of the truck and dragged out the raft. Abe helped him unbox it and activate the CO2 cartridges. As the flat oval of yellow rubber began to inflate and take shape, Jack slipped into the harness of the flamethrower. His back bothered him hardly at all. He carried the box of incendiary bombs to the bulkhead and checked to make sure he had his variable frequency beeper. He noticed Gia watching him intently.
“Are you okay, Jack?”
In her eyes he thought he detected a hint of the warm feelings she once had for him, but he saw doubt there, too.
Here it comes: She means, Are you all right in the head?
“No, I’m not okay. I won’t be okay until I’m through with what I’ve got to do out there on that ship.”
“Are you sure about this? Is Vicky really out there?”
Yes. She’s out there. But she’s dead. Eaten by—Jack fought the urge to burst out crying.
“Positive.”
“Then let’s call the Coast Guard or—”
“No!” He couldn’t allow that. This was his fight and he was going to do it his way. Like lightning looking for a ground, the rage, the grief, the hatred balled up inside him had to find a target. If he didn’t settle this personally with Kusum, it would destroy him. “Don’t call anyone. Kusum has diplomatic immunity. Nobody who plays by the rules can get to him. Just leave this to me!”
Gia shrank from him and he realized he was shouting. Abe stood by the truck with the oars in his hands, staring at him. He must sound crazy. He was close to the edge … so close to the edge … had to hold on just a little longer …
He pulled the now inflated boat to the edge and pushed it over the bulkhead into the water. He sat on the edge and held the boat in position with his feet while he lowered the crate of incendiary bombs onto it. Abe brought the oars. Jack settled himself into the boat and looked up at his best friend and the woman he loved.
“I want to come with you!” Gia said.
Jack shook his head. Impossible.
“She’s my daughter—I have the right!”
He pushed away from the bulkhead. Leaving the land was like cutting a bond with Gia and Abe. He felt very alone at that moment.
“See you soon,” was all he could say.
He began to row out into the bay, keeping his eyes fixed on Gia, only occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure he stayed on course toward the black hull of Kusum’s ship. The thought that he might be going to his death occurred to him, but he let it pass. He would not admit the possibility of defeat until he’d done what he had to do. He’d set the bombs first, leaving enough time to find Kusum and settle up.
He did not want Kusum to die in the blind, indiscriminate, anonymous fury of an incendiary explosion. Kusum must know the agent of his death … and why.
And then what would Jack do? How could he go back to Gia and say those words: Vicky is dead. How? Almost better to be demolished with the boat.
The pace of his oars increased as he let the rage mushroom out, smothering his grief, his concern for Gia, consuming him, taking him over. The universe constricted, focused down to this small patch of water, where the only inhabitants were Kusum, his rakoshi, and Jack.
30
“I’m so scared!” Gia said as she watched Jack and his rubber boat melt into the darkness. She felt cold despite the warmth of the night.
“So am I,” Abe said, throwing a heavy arm over her trembling shoulders.
“Can this be true? I mean, Vicky is missing and I’m standing here watching Jack row out t
o a boat to take her back from an Indian madman and a bunch of monsters from Indian folktales.” Her words began to break around sobs that she could not control. “My God, Abe! This can’t really be happening!”
Abe tightened his arm around her, but she took scant comfort from the gesture.
“It is, kid. It is. But as to what’s in that ship, who can say? And that’s what’s got me shook. Either Jack has gone stark raving meshugge—and comforting it’s not to think of a man that lethal being meshugge—or he’s mentally sound and there actually are such things as the monsters he described. I don’t know which frightens me more.”
Gia said nothing. She was too occupied with the fear that clawed ferociously at the walls of her brain; fear that she would never see Vicky again. She fought it, knowing if she let it through and truly faced the possibility that Vicky might be gone forever, she would die.
“But this I’ll tell you,” Abe went on. “If your daughter is out there, and if it’s humanly possibly to bring her back, Jack will do it. Perhaps he’s the only man alive who can.”
If that was supposed to comfort Gia, it failed.
31
Vicky sat alone in the dark, shivering in her torn, wet nightie. It was cold in here. The floor felt slimy against her bare feet and the air stank so bad it made her want to throw up. She was utterly miserable. She’d never liked to be alone in the dark, but this time alone was better than with one of those monsters.
She’d just about cried herself out. She had no more tears left. Hope had grown when the monster climbed the ship’s anchor chain, carrying her with it. It hadn’t hurt her yet—maybe it just wanted to show her the boat.
Once on the deck, the monster did something strange: It took her to the back of the boat and held her up in the air in front of a bunch of windows high above her. She had a feeling somebody was looking down at her from behind the windows but she couldn’t see anyone. The monster held her up for a long time, then tucked her under its arm and carried her through a door and down flights of metal steps.
As they moved deeper and deeper into the ship, the hope that had sprouted began to wither and die, replaced by despair that slowly turned to horror as the rotten smell of the monster filled the air. But it wasn’t coming from this monster. It came from beyond the open metal door they were heading for. Vicky began to kick and scream and fight to get free as they moved closer, for she heard rustling and scraping and grunting sounds coming from the darkness beyond that door. The monster didn’t seem to notice her struggles. It stepped through the opening and the stench enveloped her.