Why dont we nottake her home till we figure that out.
Hey, were already here. Whenll we get another chance like this? Come on, man, we agreed. Dont bail out on me now.
Im not bailing out. I just dont see what well accomplish. Our book has to be a lot more than a couple of goofs taking a stiff home and freaking out their wives. Even a true story needs action along the way, drama, a climax. Especially a climax. Weve got nothing.
Well, eventually we pull the stake.
And the damn thing stilljust lies there.
Maybe, maybe not.
Oh, come on. You said yourself shes not a vampire.
We dont know that for sure. Obviously, someonethinks she is.
Okay. Suppose we pull the stake and she isa vampire?
Thatd be something, huh? Then weve got a best-seller for sure.
If she doesnt bite our necks.
Well take precautions when the time comes. You know, have plenty of crucifixes and garlic handy. Maybe buy some handcuffs or tie her up.
So what happens if we pull the stake and nothing happens? Which is the way its bound to go down. Then what?
Pete started the van moving forward.
A big dud, thats what, Larry told him.
Pete eased the van onto the road. It rolled slowly toward the Sagebrush Flat Hotel.
Lets just go home and forget about it.
You said we should play it by ear.
My ear tells me to forget it.
Ive got a better idea. Petes head turned toward Larry. In the hazy moonlight his teeth seem to glow as he smiled. You say weve got a dud if we pull the stake and she just lies there. Well, lets find out tonight if shes a vampire. He eased the van to the other side of the street and stopped in front of the hotel. Lets go in there and pull the stake.
Enounters
Sixteen
Larry stood in front of the van, shivering, and aimed his flashlight at the doors of the hotel. They were shut. The padlock hung from the hasp, but nobody had repaired Petes damage. The staple was still ripped from the right-hand door.
Pete came up beside him. He held the tire iron.
You wont need that to break in, Larry whispered.
Nodding, Pete slipped the rod under his belt. He glanced up and down the street. Then he raised the camera and snapped a shot of the doors.
As he stepped onto the sidewalk, Larry clutched his shoulder. Wait a minute.
Im going in there. If youre scared...
Arent you?
Hey, sure. But Im not gonna let that stop me. You can wait out here if you want.
Larry let his hand drop. He followed Pete across the sidewalk. The muscles of his legs felt soft and shaky. His bowels ached. His heart thudded and he panted, trying to get enough air into his tight lungs.
Whos going to write Petes book, he thought, if I have a heart attack and keel over dead?
Pete opened the door. Larry shined his light into the lobby. Its beam trembled on the stairs to the left, jerked past the banister and downward, sweeping over the empty space to the right.
They stepped inside. Pete shut the door.
Im in, Larry thought. Good Christ.
The wind was gone. He heard it, but it no longer blew against him. The hotel was warm. Not as warm as the van, though. He couldnt stop shivering. His skin felt tight. He knew he was goose bumps from head to toe. An icy hand seemed to be squeezing his genitals.
He swung the flashlight back and forth. Over the sandy, hardwood floor. Across the registration counter. Along the walls. Turning slowly, he lit the boarded windows at the front. The closed doors.
The click and blink of the camera made him flinch. Its automatic film advance buzzed.
Wanta get the general layout, Pete whispered. He took several more photos, turning in a full circle to capture every foot of the lobbys empty interior.
While he reloaded, Larry squatted down to ease a cramped feeling in his bowels.
You okay? Pete whispered.
Hardly.
Crap your pants, youll have to walk home.
Ha ha.
Im going up and get a couple of the landing.
Larry stood but didnt go with him. He aimed the light at the stairs. Pete climbed them, holding the camera in both hands. And stopped abruptly.
Very interesting. Have a look.
Grimacing, Larry forced his wobbly legs to carry him to the stairway. He made his way upward until he reached Petes side.
Four dirty, weathered planks lay across the landing. They covered the hole left by Barbara when the boards gave out beneath her.
You know what this means, Pete said.
Lets get out of here.
God, I hope he didnt take our vampire.
God, I hope he did, Larry thought.
Hope he doesnt show up.
What if hes the coyote eater?
Larry shined his light up the stairs. It reached into the second-floor corridor, threw a faint glow high on the wall. He stared, half expecting a wildman to shamble into the beam.
Petes got a gun, he reminded himself.
But the scare will probably kill me.
He wished he could make himself look away from the upstairs corridor. But he didnt dare take his eyes off it.
Pete drew the revolver. Hang onto this for a minute.
Larry switched the flashlight to his left hand and took the gun in his right. He aimed both toward the top of the stairs.
The solid, heavy feel of the .357 was comforting.
Very comforting.
Almost like putting on a coat, the way it soothed his chills and calmed him. But better.
No wonder Petes been so cool about most of this. Hes had the pig-iron on his hip.
Pete snapped a photo of the landing. Then, letting the camera dangle by its strap, he crouched and lifted one of the boards. He propped it upright against the wall. When all four planks had been removed, he took two shots of the gaping hole.
No longer worried much about an intruder, Larry lowered his gaze to the break in the landing. He saw the splintered edges of wood that had gouged and scraped Barbara. He remembered the feel of her body when hed wrapped his arms around her. The soft warmth of her breasts against his forearm. The way shed looked later, standing in the sunlit doorway with her blouse open.
His mind came back to the present as Pete began setting the boards back into place. He realized he was no longer shivering at all. He wondered if it was having the gun or thinking about Barbara that had taken away the shakes. Probably both, he thought.
Okay, Pete said, getting to his feet. He held out his hand for the weapon.
Let me keep it, Larry said.
Pete was silent for a moment. Then he shrugged and said, Sure, why not?
They turned around and started down the stairs.
Were gonna have a lot of good shots of this place. Did that Amityvillebook have photos?
Nope.
Great. Well be going it one better.
They reached the bottom of the stairway and stepped around the newel post, shoes crunching on the sandy floor.
The panel alongside the staircase was shut, just as they had left it. The body of Christ on the crucifix gleamed golden.
Pete took a few strides backward and snapped a photograph to show the staircase enclosure.
Stepping up to it, he ran his hands along a seam in the paneling. He tried to dig his fingers in, then gave up and took out the tire iron. He pushed its wedge into the crack. Slowly, as if trying not to make a sound, he pressed the bar.
Open, sesame, he whispered.
With a soft groan and squeak of nails, the slab of wood moved outward half an inch.
Pete slipped the fingers of his left hand into the gap. He shoved the bar under his belt. Using both hands, he eased the panel toward him. Nails squawked. The gap widened.