"Okay," whispered Regan.
Chris abruptly noticed goose pimples rising on her forearm. She rubbed it. Good Christ, it gets cold in this room. Where's the draft coming in from?
She moved to the window and checked along the edges. Found nothing. Turned to Regan. "'You warm enough, baby?"
No answer.
Chris moved to the bedside. "Regan? You asleep?" she whispered.
Eyes closed. Deep breathing.
Chris tiptoed from the room.
From the hall she heard singing, and as she walked down the stairs, she saw with pleasure that the young Father Dyer was playing the piano near the livingroom picture window and was leading a group that had gathered around him in cheerful song. As she entered the living room, they had just finished "Till We Meet Again."
Chris started forward to join the group, but was quickly intercepted by the senator and his wife, who had their coats across their arms. They seemed edgy.
"Are you leaving so soon?" Chris asked.
"Oh, I'm really so sorry, and my dear, we've had a marvelous evening," the senator effused "But poor Martha's got a headache."
"Oh, I am so sorry, but I do feel terrible," moaned the senator's wife. "Will you excuse us, Chris? It'd been such a lovely party."
"I'm really sorry you have to go," said Chris.
She accompanied them to the door and she could hear Father Dyer in the background asking, "Does anyone else know the words to 'I'll Bet You're Sorry Now, Tokyo Rose'?"
She bade them good night. On her way back to the living room, Sharon stepped quietly out from the study.
"Where's Burke?" Chris asked her.
"In there," Sharon answered with a nod toward the study. "He's sleeping it off. Say, what did the senator say to you? Anything?"
"What do you mean?" asked Chris. "They just left."
"Well, I guess it's as well."
"Sharon, what do you mean?"
"Oh, Burke," sighed Sharon. In a guarded tone, she described an encounter between the senator and the director. Dennings, had remarked to him, in passing, said Sharon, that there appeared to be "an alien pubic hair floating round in my gin." Then he'd turned to the senator and added in a tone that was vaguely accusatory, "Never seen it before in my life! Have you?"
Chris giggled as Sharon went on to describe how the senator's embarrassed reaction had triggered one of Dennings' quixotic rages, in which he'd expressed his "boundless gratitude" for the existence of politicians, since without them "one couldn't distinguish who the statesmen were, you see."
When the senator had moved away in a huff, the director turned to Sharon and said proudly, "There, you see? I didn't curse. Now then, don't you think I handled that rather demurely?"
Chris couldn't help laughing. "Oh, well, let him sleep. But you'd better stay in there in case he wakes up. Would you mind?"
"Not at all." Sharon entered the study.
In the living room, Mary Jo Perrin sat alone and thoughtful in a corner chair. She looked edgy; disturbed. Chris started to join her, but changed her mind when one of the neighbors drifted over to the corner.
Chris headed for the piano instead. Dyer broke off his playing of chords and looked up to greet her. "Yes, young lady, and what can we do for you today? We're running a special on novenas."
Chris chuckled with the others. "I thought I'd get the scoop on what goes on at Black Mass," she said,-"Father Wagner said you were the expert."
The group at the piano fell silent with interest.
"No, not really," said Dyer, lightly touching some chords. "Why'd you mention Black Mass?" he asked her soberly.
"Oh, well; some of us were talking before about----well... about those things that they found at Holy Trinity, and---"
"Oh, you mean the desecrations?" Dyer interrupted.
"Hey, somebody give us a clue. what' going on," demanded the astronaut.
"Me too," said Ellen Cleary. "I'm lost."
"Well, they found some desecrations at the church down the street," explained Dyer.
"Well, like what?" asked the astronaut.
"Forget it," Father, Dyer advised him. "Let's just say obscenities, okay?"
"Father Wagner says you told him it was like at Black Mass," prompted Chris, "and I wondered what went on at those things?"
"Oh, I really don't know all that much," he protested. "In fact, most of what I know is what I've heard -from another Jeb."
"What's a Jeb?" Chris asked.
"Short for Jesuit., Father Karras is the expert on all this stuff."
Chris was suddenly alert "Oh, the dark priest at Holy Trinity?"
"You know him?" asked Dyer.
"No, I just heard him mentioned, that's all."
"Well, I think he did a paper on it once. You know, just from the psychiatric side."
"Whaddya mean?" asked Chris.
"Whaddya mean, whaddya mean?"
"Are you telling me he's a psychiatrist?"
"Oh, well, sure. Gee, I'm sorry. I just assumed that you knew."
"Listen, somebody tell me something!" the astronaut demanded impatiently. "What does go on at Black Mass?"
"Let's just say perversions." Dyer shrugged. "Obscenities. Blasphemies. It's an evil parody of the Mass, where instead of God they worshiped Satan and sometimes offered human sacrifice."
Ellen Cleary shook her head and walked away. "This is getting too creepy for me." She smiled thinly.
Chris paid her no notice. The dean joined the group unobtrusively. "But how can you know that?" she asked the young Jesuit. "Even if there was such a thing as Black Mass, who's to say what went on there?"
"Well, I guess they got most of it," answered Dyer, "from the people who were caught and then confessed."
"Oh, come on," said the dean. "Those confessions were worthless, Joe. They were tortured."
"No, only the snotty ones," Dyer said blandly.
There was a ripple of vaguely nervous laughter. The dean eyed his watch. "Well, I really should be going," he said to Chris. "I've got the six-o'clock Mass in Dahlgren Chapel."
"I've got the banjo Mass." Dyer beamed. Then his eyes shifted to a point in the room behind Chris, and he sobered abruptly. "Well, now, I thick we have a visitor, Mrs. MacNeil," he cautioned, motioning with his head.
Chris turned. And gasped on seeing Regal in her nightgown, urinating gushingly onto the rug. Staring fixedly at the astronaut, she intoned in a lifeless voice, "You're going to die up there."
"Oh, my God!" cried Chris in pain, rushing to her daughter. "Oh, God, oh, my baby, oh, come on, come with me!"