drunkard and an all-around crumb."
Her cheeks flamed red. The smile was gone. "I hated him and I'm
glad he's dead."
She gave me a sharp glance and for a moment I saw fear shine
wetly in her eyes; then she recovered her self-control. We parked
and ate lunch.
Forty minutes later I paid the check out of my newly acquired cash
and walked back out to the car.
"Where to?" I asked.
"Bonaventure Motel," she said. "That's where I'm staying."
She saw curiosity jump into my eyes and sighed, "All right, I was
running away. My Uncle David caught up with me and tried to
drag me back to the house. When I told him I wouldn't go, he
dragged me out to the truck. We were going around that curve
when I wrenched the wheel out of his hands. Then you came
along."
She closed up like a clam and I didn't try to get any more out of
her. There was something wrong about her story. I didn't press her.
I drove her into the parking lot and killed the engine.
"When can I see you again?" I asked. "A movie tomorrow?"
"Sure ," she replied.
"I'll pick you up at 7.30," I said and drove out, thoughtfully
pondering the events that had befallen me in the last twenty-four
hours.
CHAPTER FIVE
When I entered the apartment the phone was ringing. I picked it up
and Vicki, accident and the bright workaday world of suburban
California faded into the half-world of phantom-people shadows.
The voice that whispered coldly out of the receiver was
Weinbaum's
"Troubles?" He spoke softly, but there was an ominous tone in his
voice.
"I had an accident," I replied.
"I read about it in the paper ..." Weinbaum's voice trailed off.
Silence hung between us for a moment and then I said, "Does this
mean you're canning me?"
I hoped that he would say yes; I didn't have the guts to resign.
"No," he said softly, "I just wanted to make sure that you didn't
reveal anything about the work you're doing for me."
"Well, I didn't" I told him curtly.
"The night after this," he reminded me, "At eight."
There was a click and then the dial tone. I shivered and hung up
the receiver. I had the oddest feeling that I had just broken
connection with the grave.
The next morning at 7.30 sharp, I picked up Vicki at the
Bonaventure Motel. She was all decked out in an outfit that made
her look stunning. I made a low whistle; she flushed prettily. We
didn't talk about the accident.
The movie was good and we held hands part of the time, ate
popcorn part of the time and kissed once or twice. All in all, a
pleasant evening.
The second feature was just drawing to the climax when an usher
came down the aisle.
He was stopping at every row and looked peeved. Finally, he
stopped at ours. He swept the flashlight down the row and asked*
"Mr. Gerad? Daniel Gerad?"
"Yes" I asked, feeling guilt and fear run through me. "There's a
gentleman on the phone, sir. He says it's a matter of life or death."
Vicki gave me a startled look and I followed the usher hurriedly.
That let out the police. I mentally took stock of my only remaining
relatives. Aunt Polly, Grandma Phibbs and my great-uncle Charlie.
They were all healthy as far as I knew.
You could have knocked me over with a feather when I picked up
the telephone and heard Rankin's voice.
He spoke rapidly and a raw note of fear was in his voice. "Get out
here, right now! We need "
There were sounds of a a scuffle, a muffled scream, then a click
and the empty dial tone.
I hung, up and hurried back for Vicki. "Come on," I said.
She followed without questioning me. At first I wanted to drive her
back to the motel but the muffled scream made me decide that this
was an emergency. I didn't like either Rankin or Weinbaum, but I
knew I would have to help them.
We took off.
"What is it?" Vicki asked anxiously as I stamped on the go-pedal
and let the car unwind.
"Look," I said, "something tells me that you've got your secrets
about your guardian. I've got some of my own. Please, don't ask."
She didn't say another word.
I took possession of the passing lane. The speedometer climbed
from seventy-five to eighty-five, kept rising and trembled on the
verge of ninety. I pulled into the turnoff on two wheels and the car
bounced, clung and exploded up the road.
Grim and gaunt against the overcast sky, I could see the house. I
pulled the car to a stop and was out in a second.
"Wait here," I cried over my shoulder to Vicki.
There was a light on in the laboratory and I flung the door open. It
was empty but ransacked. The place was a mess of broken test
tubes, smashed apparatus, and, yes, bloodstains that trailed through
the half-open door that led to the darkened garage. Then I noticed
the green liquid that was flowing over the floor in sticky rivulets.
For the first time I noticed that one of the several sheeted tanks had
been broken. I walked over to the other three. The lights inside
them were off and the sheets that draped them let by no hint of
what might have been under them - or, for that matter, what was
under them.
I had no time to see. I didn't like the looks of blood, still fresh and
uncoagulated, that led out of the front door into the garage. I
swung open the door and entered the garage. It was dark and I
didn't know where the light switch was. I cursed myself for not
bringing the flashlight that was in the glove compartment. I
advanced a few steps and realized that there was a cold draft
blowing against my face. I advanced toward it.
The light from the lab threw a golden shaft of light along the
garage floor, but it was next to nothing, in the Styngan blackness
of the garage. All my childish fears of the dark returned. Once
again I entered the realms of terror that only a child can know. I
realized that the shadow that leered at me from out of the dark
might not be dispelled by bright light.
Suddenly, my right foot went down. I realized that the draft was
coming from a stairway I had almost fallen down. For a moment I
debated, then turned and hurried back through the lab and out to
the car.
Chapter Six
Vicki pounced on me as soon as I opened the door. "Danny, what
are you doing here?"
Her tone of voice made me look at her. In the sickly yellow glow
of the light her face was terrified.
"I'm working here," I said shortly.
''At first I didn't realize where we were," she said softly. I was only
here once before.
"You've been here?" I exclaimed. "When? '"Why?"
"One night," she said quietly "I brought Uncle David his lunch. He
forgot it."
The name rang a bell. She saw me grasping for it. "My guardian,"
she said. "Perhaps I'd better tell you the whole story. Probably,
you know that people don't get appointed guardians when they
drink. Well, Uncle David didn't always do those things. When my
mother and father were killed in a train-wreck four years ago, my
Uncle David was the kindest person you could imgine. The court
appointed him my guardian until I came of ago, with my complete
support."
For a moment she was quiet, living in memories and the expression
that flitted rapidly through her eyes was not pretty. Then she went
on.
"Two years ago the company be was working for as a night
watchman folded up and my uncle was out of a job. He was out of
work for almost half a year. We were getting desperate, with
only unemployment checks to feed us and college looming up for
me. Then he got a job. It was a good paying one and it brought in