“Liar!”
“Now, now. Relax. If you do this right you’ll come out alive. It’s not like fairy gold. You’ll be real and walk and talk like the other boys and girls.”
She squirmed, knowing he wasn’t kidding. Not one bit.
“This isn’t going to involve riddles, is it?”
“Oh no, that would put you at, shall we say, a grave disadvantage. That is an art lost to your times.”
“So what is it?”
“Just names. Trivia. You guess the name of the person I’m thinking of, sort of, becoming. That’s the great thing about your world, Cadence. Aspiration. Ambition. You can be anyone.”
“I can’t just guess names.”
“Oh yes you can. I believe you know them already. And I shall give you a few clues.”
“How could I know the names?”
“Because they are in the little box that people and places live in. The television. I’ve been spending time with it. It’s everywhere. People have told me people and places inside it aren’t real, but believe me, I know a thing or two about reality. I’m going to become someone different and you’re going to guess who it might be.”
“You mean TV and movie stars?”
“That’s what you call them. You know something of them, yes? Here’s your real chance to use your learning. Only not stars, villains. It’s a weakness of mine.”
“Do I get a clue?”
“Three. Just to keep with tradition. I just gave you your first one. And … I’ll throw in a comment when you’re wrong.”
“How many guesses?”
“I’ll let you know. So start.”
She thought for a second, Mel’s warning about never … ever betting her life on movie trivia rocketing around inside her head. Then she focused, thinking about weighty bullshit thrown about in a class on cinema history.
“OK, uh, I’ll start with … Norman Bates.”
“Come on, I may be from another world but I’m not crazy.”
Then she took her absolute best, intuitive guess. “The Alien.”
He scoffed. “You know I have affinity for blood that melts swords and armor. Like Beowulf’s moment facing Grendel’s dam. Great talent, but not so good for these times.”
Now she was truly at a loss. “Uh … the Wolfman.”
“Well, I know the night-blooming wolfbane, but I am most certainly not pure of heart.”
“HAL. T-1000.”
“Enough of the nonhumans.”
“Hannibal Lecter.”
“Better. Nice selection. Too gruesome, though. Not my style.”
“Say warmer or colder.”
“Huh?”
“If I’m close, say ‘warmer.’”
“Very well. I’m ready.”
“Jack Torrance.”
“Uh, warmer. I like his mind, but I’m too pragmatic. Anyway, I never drink … wine.” He laughed at his own joke.
“Tony Montana.”
He laughed. “Scarface? A loser. Also no drugs. You people obsess with such false realities. They are like stinks of fart-clouds. Your fool of a grandfather was one of those druggies.”
“OK, let’s see…”
“I think we’re on our last leg here, Cadence. Think of coin, scratch, silver and gold. That’s your last clue, and you have three guesses left.”
“OK. Hmm. Auric Goldfinger.”
“Ah, very warm. But he’s too arrogant. He should’ve killed Mr. Bond and moved on.”
“Noah Cross, no … no … Gordon Gekko!”
“Whatever you may think of me, I don’t necessarily think greed is good. It’s a fine distinction, I admit. So now, this guess is your last one.”
“My last one?” She only then realized how she had wasted her guesses on some of the unlikeliest movie villains.
“Yes, my dear. Alas, we’re there.”
She took her time, looked at him carefully, thinking about his style. It came to her. Something in his manner suggested it, the same world-weary, dissipated sang-froid. Besides, she remembered the movie Die Hard was on TV late earlier in the week. It was worth the gamble. “I’ve got it.”
“I doubt that.”
“Hans Gruber!”
He seemed surprised, and then raised his hands to give a soft clap clap clap. “Very well done, my dear! Ordinarily, I would say you have won. But, as you might expect, there’s a catch. I must confess.”
He paused.
“Come on,” she said, “there’s no John McClain that could stop you.”
“No, I’m afraid not. These police detectives are a joke. They could never, as they say, get the drop on me. As for you, there’s no way you could win. It’s like life. You play, but you don’t know the rules of the game.”
“You are a bastard. Now you do sound like Tony Soprano. You don’t have the balls to have rules!”
“Now, now, there you go again. I truly did enjoy our conversation. I will now pay a visit to your meddlesome gramps at ye olde Algonquin. And then all this will be finished.”
She looked down and saw the sweep hand on the pocket watch quit moving. It chimed softly, with each note she seemed to stiffen, and the world went an uneasy gray.
Chapter 39
OCTOBER 31. 2:40 P.M
So in tune had Jess become with the syren melody of the Elvish writings that, when they so desired, they could speak on their own and his translations somehow ended up scrawled across the pages. Almost without effort, the story of the final chapter of Ara’s Tale was now creating itself. He awoke to find his scribbled pages spilling onto the floor. He leaned back and stretched.
At that very moment, outside the very room in which Jess sat and stretched, a very real, steel blue Beretta Px4 9mm pistol was pointed dead center at the back of Barren’s head. The man pointing the pistol was Bossier Thornton. He cocked the trigger. He had just come out of the elevator to find the man from Riker’s Island. The man was now standing stock still, senses alert, assessing every detail of the situation. Bossier had, as they say, most definitely gotten the drop on him. It was a first in Barren’s life. He assayed the hallway, the lighting, the footing on the carpet, the distance of the man behind him, his age, his breathing, his fear.
Bossier spoke in quiet tones. “Don’t move. Stay still. Hands and palms up and away from your body.”
Barren didn’t move. And then he moved quicker than any cat ever. Bossier sensed a blur sweep past him and then felt his head being pulled back and a knife-edge rest cool and competent against his neck. The touch of steel on his skin, the presence close behind him, all were exquisitely delicate. They were so effortless, so silky. He dropped his gun; it bounced softly on the carpet. The voice next to his ear was soft and familiar. “If you resist in the least, my meddling friend, you won’t even feel the cut. So be as still as a spring dawn. How did you come to be here? Quick and quiet your answer.”
Bossier swallowed and gulped. His throat twitched, every pore and follicle testing the blade. “The call from your cell phone. You were talking to Cadence. You said you were coming here.”
It was meaningless to Barren, but enough to complete his decision. Finish this, he thought. He could complete the task here, but it would be messy. Besides, he had not yet killed in this world. His master was far, far away, and the completion of his single task was within his grasp. His place in all the rest of this world, in all its details and decisions, was his alone to define.
Bossier’s heart thudded so heavily that he could hear nothing but the boom and roar from inside. His only feeling was cool metal on the skin of his neck. The knife lifted away. He felt a hand push hard below his ear. No icy line along his throat. He felt almost a relief at being lucky as the hand pushed harder and the world fell into compressing grayness. I actually may live, was his last thought as he passed out.