Halloween III - Season of the Witch (7 page)

Just then the long-legged girl stopped dead in her tracks.

Cut to her point of view.

A tall shape blocking the sidewalk ahead. Silent and evil-looking. Some kind of mask on his face.

The announcer’s voice:

“STARTING AT TWELVE NOON WITH SUCH CLASSICS AS
THE CREEPING UNKNOWN, ENEMY FROM SPACE
AND
FIVE MILLION YEARS TO EARTH!
CLIMAXING WITH THAT BLOODCURDLING CLASSIC,
HALLOWEEN,
THE MOVIE GENE SHALIT SAYS STOOD HIS HAIR ON END! AND ALL BROUGHT TO YOU WITHOUT INTERRUPTION BY . . .”

“Charlie,” groaned Challis.

The familiar tones of the commercial followed.

“TWO MORE DAYS TO HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN, HALLOWEEN . . .”

“Come on, Charlie!”

“Whatsamatter? Don’t you have any holiday spirit?”

“No.”

Charlie kept flipping till he found a football game. He nodded with satisfaction, drew himself a beer, whipped off his apron and settled down to watch.

The door to the bar opened a sliver. Challis tried to ignore the glare from outside. After a minute he couldn’t; it was blanking out the TV. He swiveled on his stool.

And saw who it was.

Standing there, sunlight coruscating through her hair and almost blacking in her features, was Ellie Grimbridge.

She let the door close. She came right over to him. She was considerably more relaxed than the last time he had seen her, and her eyes were stopped down to a more realistic size. She’s had some sleep, thought Challis. I wonder who gave her the pills?

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello.”

“My name’s Ellie Grimbridge.”

“I know.” He tipped his glass to her. “Dan Challis.”

“I know.” Challis felt a cool breeze touch his face as she sat next to him. She smelled good. Clean. He wasn’t surprised. “One of the nurses told me where I could find you,” she said.

“Ah. Probably Agnes.” I shouldn’t have had that last drink, he thought. I can’t seem to keep her centered. She must be sitting awfully close. But I sure can smell her. Thank God for small favors. “I like Agnes,” he said, feeling dizzy. He couldn’t think of anything clever to say.

She looked down. I scared her off, he thought. Or my breath did. Now she’s going to think even less of me than she did before, if she even thought of me at all. She must think I’m utterly useless.

But she came here.

Challis made a herculean effort to pull himself together.

“I’m sorry about your father. I thought about calling or sending flowers or something. But I figured you’d rather be left alone.”

“You figured right.” She took a deep breath. “Thanks for coming to the funeral.”

Thanks for noticing, he thought. But how can you thank me? I’m the one who let—

“You do this every Saturday morning?”

“No,” he said immediately. She was slipping in and out of a demure, businesslike tone and a more personal, friendly one. Working quickly through the levels. What does she want? Whatever it is, I owe her. I owe myself. Press it. Cut through all this to what’s really going on.

“This,” he said, “is a special occasion. I’m supposed to—” Why was he hedging? “To go pick up my kids. In a little while. We’re going bowling. Then to the Fun Factory. One hundred and fifty video games in a relatively small room.”

It was the best he could do. Jesus Christ, he thought, she’s exquisite. Then: What am I thinking? That’s disgusting. She probably thinks you’re an old man—she’s going to start calling you
sir
any minute. Then: Relax, you poor son of a bitch. You haven’t been out in the real world for a while, have you?

Be serious. She’s got a problem and she wants your help. She didn’t come down here to say thanks; she could have done that with a card. As if she had anything to thank you for. And her problem is your problem, isn’t it?
Isn’t it?
One and the same.

How to begin?

“One more, Charlie.”

The bartender tore himself away from the football game. “Yo, boss.”

Challis said to her, “Get you one?”

“No, thanks.” There was something on her mind, all right. “Did—did my father say anything to you the night he died?”

Charlie poured the drink. Challis studied it.

He measured his words. “Yeah. He said, ‘Tell Ellie I love her.’ ”

He glanced over to see if she believed him. She clearly did not. But now her lips were trembling.

“You’re a bad liar,” she said softly. She rose shakily, holding herself together with visible effort. Challis was suddenly and overwhelmingly moved by her effort. “But thanks anyway.”

“Listen,” he said without pretense, as straight as he knew how. The bourbon helped. “I guess you have a right to know the truth.”

She can take it, he thought. Somehow he was absolutely sure of it.

“I hate to tell you this, but your old man was out of his mind. He was delirious. They found him wandering in the rain with a Halloween mask in his hand.”

That last remark brought the wildness to her eyes again. Instantly he regretted it. But before he could say anything more, she bit her lip and made up her mind.

“Can I show you something?” she asked.

SOMETHING
STRANGE
IN
SANTA MIRA

C H A P T E R
5

“Papa really loved this place. But business was getting bad . . . I suppose you shopped at the new mall like everybody else.”

Ellie keyed the lock and shook back the door to her father’s store.

Challis gave a last look to the street before entering. At the end of the block a tangle of bicycles blocked the cracked sidewalk and the voices of unseen children cried out from between sere oak trees. Though he knew it to be midday, he had the overriding impression that the sun was about to set.

He felt nebulously guilty, a trespasser in a special place that by rights belonged only to the neighborhood. It was an isolated area, apparently peopled exclusively by the very old and the very young, where trees planted before the town had a name continued steadfastly to shade their own against the onslaught of time and city planners.

On streets such as this one it always seemed to be turning late in the year.

Challis followed her inside.

“He was thinking about closing down. His last letter was all about it. That was three weeks ago. He wasn’t out of his mind then.”

“I believe you,” said Challis.

He gave his eyes a chance to adjust.

It was what in his childhood would have been called a general store. Along one wall was a rack of aging sports equipment, including softball bats, volleyballs and tennis shoes. Next to that, a row of bicycle tires and limp inner tubes and handlebar reflectors that held him like flies’ eyes as he passed. Tools, appliances, even clothes, everything catalogued and laid out in some arcane order.

And toys. Lots of toys.

Ellie trailed her fingers familiarly over the displays, picking up dust which she examined dispassionately before wiping her hands. She led him in a straight line to the antique register and an old-fashioned, leather-cornered ledger.

“The kids were keeping him going. They’d come in after school. He let them play with the stuff right in the aisles . . . like I used to do when I was little.” A smile as fleeting as a summer’s day played at the corners of her mouth.

“Then, later, he never wanted me to come here. In case I found him not doing anything, just sitting there, doodling.”

She scanned a page of the ledger.

“Candy, gum, two bicycles, a basketball, a few baseballs, toys. It’s all here.” Her eyes sparked at him. “He kept pretty good records for a crazy man, Doctor.”

That got to him.

“I’m sorry about the comment,” he said.

Perhaps I should go. I’m not doing her any good. This is her world. I didn’t even know the man. What more can I possibly do to make what happened any easier?

“It’s all right,” she said, shifting her tone back to neutral. He marveled at her self-control. “I did want to show you something.”

Beyond a shaft of golden sunlight at the front door, a dog barked at the clacking of roller skates. Unhurried cars cut through the autumn air, ignoring the storefront as if it were not there. The air sharpened around him. It was made up of millions of fine particles as clearly defined now as bits of crushed glass held in suspension on the mixture of scents that was October.

Ellie set the ledger aside. She opened a small appointment book.

“ ‘October 18,’ ” she read. “ ’Merchants’ Council meeting.’ He was there, I checked. ‘October 19, football game.’ He was there, too. ‘October 20, pick up more masks.’ Probably referring to those.”

She pointed to a shelf of rubber pumpkins and witches and death’s-heads.

Challis nodded. “I know them. That’s the kind he had in his hand.”

“They’re very popular,” said Ellie coolly. “According to Papa’s ledger he couldn’t stock them fast enough. I did a little detective work. The town where they make them isn’t too far from here.”

“So what?”

“If he went to the factory to pick up his order—”

“Why wouldn’t he have it sent?”

“Too close to Halloween. Besides, any businessman will tell you that if you go to the factory direct, you’ll cut your overhead. If Papa went there, then maybe they know something I need to know.”

“Maybe.”

“Look,” she said defensively, “my father wasn’t crazy.”

“I know. I already told you I believe you.”

She accepted that and returned to the appointments. “ ‘October 21, dinner with Minnie.’ That was the day after.” She closed the book. “Minnie Blankenship. He stood her up.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure this stuff out. My father ran into trouble somewhere between here and Santa Mira.”

“Santa Mira?”

“Where they make those masks. Little place, not too many miles away.”

The roller skates returned.

Wheels spun at the front door, and a boy of nine or ten stuck his head inside. He had dirt on his face and grass in his hair.

“Pop?”

“The store’s closed,” said Ellie.

“Uh, sorry. Is Mr. Grimbridge here?”

Ellie shut her eyes. “No,” she said with great control, “he’s not.”

“Oh. Too bad. When’s he comin’ back?”

Ellie lowered her chin to conceal her face.

“Son, the store’s closed,” said Challis. “It’s not—there’s no one here now.”

“Oh. Well, is it ever gonna be open again?”

“We’ll see,” said Challis kindly.

“Oh. Well, tell Mr. Grimbridge to hurry back, okay? We need him bad. It’s almost Halloween!”

The boy nosed his skates, his Shuttlers, back to the sidewalk.

Ellie raised her head and rolled her eyes to clear them.

“I’m going,” she said.

“Wait—”

“No! It’s not too far to drive,” she said reasonably. “Maybe they can tell me something. It’s better than waiting for the sheriff to move.”

Challis sighed.

Ellie searched for her keys. “Look. The sheriff can talk all he wants to about some berserko drug addict and I still won’t buy it. I’m surprised you do,” she added contemptuously.

“I didn’t say I did.”

“I’m not going back to L.A. until I talk to the people at that factory. And anybody in between, for that matter.”

She was ready to leave. She would not be talked out of it.

She stopped at the door.

“Well?” she said.

It was probably useless.

What the hell, he thought. It matters. It matters to someone. It damn well should.

It matters to that little boy.

It matters to her.

Who else?

It’s none of my business, of course . . .

The hell it isn’t.

“Want some company?” he said.

The day was clear and sunny but the air was close inside the phone booth.

He slapped his change down. One quarter dropped at his feet among candy wrappers, an old TV Guide, an empty pack of Big Red chewing gum, a rotting, translucent balloon, a matchbook from the Rabbit-In-Red Lounge. He did not try to retrieve it.

He punched coins into the slot and dialed his— Linda’s—number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Linda? I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to—”

“Daddy? Is that you? Why aren’t you here?”

“Bella? I have to talk to Mommy, honey. Is she—?”

“Just a minute.”

He felt like a shit, hearing his daughter’s voice drop. He bore down.

“Dan, where are you? You promised!”

“I know I promised. But I completely forgot. There’s an all-day seminar, I can’t get out of it, I should have remembered but—”

He listened to her breath steaming into the phone, then the torrent of words.

He fingered a coin, tapped out an inane melody on the glass.
London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down . . .

Waiting for her to finish.

She never would.

Among the graffiti on the booth, someone of great prescience had written:
Roses are red/Violets are blue/I’m schizophrenic/And so am I.

“Look, Linda, I can’t get out of it. I’m really sorry. Uh, just a bunch of doctors talking about boring stuff . . . Linda, take it easy.”

He took the cold six-pack from under his arm and worked one of the cans free.

“I’ll call you Monday.”

He snapped the metal ring back and popped it open.

“No, I can’t remember the name of the hotel.”

He poured beer down his throat. It tasted bitter but he knew it would make him feel better in a few minutes.

“I’ve got to go. ’Bye.
’Bye.”

Ellie’s maroon Cutlass was waiting at the curb in front of the liquor store.

He had finished the can by the time she had the motor started. As they glided away into a clear, windswept afternoon, something called his attention to the window of an electronics store.

There.

Three, four, a half-dozen TV sets of various makes and sizes tuned to the same channel. And, on every one, an unholy triumvirate danced on and on to the same Irish jig.

“GLOWS IN THE DARK! ONLY TWO MORE DAYS! BUY ONE, GET IN ON THE FUN!”

And so on.

He rolled up the window, leaned back and closed his eyes. Suddenly the beer didn’t want to stay down.