Time Out of Mind (14 page)
Authors: John R. Maxim
Tags: #Horror, #General, #Psychological, #Suspense, #Memory, #Thrillers, #Fiction, #Time Travel
“
Like someone else entirely?” Gwen asked. ”A third
person?”
Like someone else entirely?” Gwen asked. ”A third
person?”
”
I don't know. Maybe. When I try to make sense out of
that I just... The truth is I don't even try. I just enjoy it.”
“
Jonathan”—she rose to her knees—“perhaps trying to
reason this out is not the way. Perhaps what you must do is go along with it and follow it where it leads.”
He shook his head blankly. Gwen put down the plates
she'd been gathering and stood up, stepping closer to him.
“
Whatever is happening here,” she told him, “is very real to you. And yet you fight against believing that it's
real. At times you even feel that you are being possessed
and yet it's at those very times that you are the least fright
ened. My suggestion, Jonathan, simple-minded though it
may be, is that you make up your mind that you are not
mad, that all of this is quite real, or was, and that you begin
trusting and following your feelings until we are able to
trace down their source.”
“
You believe this?” he asked. “You think it could really
have happened?”
“
How the hell do I know?” She threw up her hands.
“But as for finding out, you're certainly not short on clues.
Tomorrow, we can try to retrace this route you keep taking
during the storm. We can just walk around midtown in the light of day until you see a part that strikes a chord. Or we
can go over to the New York Historical Society and look
at old photographs, or to the library and look at old news
papers. And if that doesn't work, we can go up to Green
wich and do the same things. And why are you grinning at
me like a bloody imbecile?”
He took her to her bedroom, where they made love until
the blackness outside her window had softened to a pearl
gray. He made love to her, fighting sleep, until he knew
that he would sleep without dreams. He made love to her
in all the ways he could think of that would keep Margaret
away.
Lesko had not planned to follow Dancer. Too easy to get
spotted. All Dancer would have to do was turn a corner anywhere in Grand Central and wait, and he'd see Lesko,
who was not easy to miss, and that would be all she wrote.
What Lesko had planned to do was walk up to the Ticketron outlet in the Pan Am Building and see what Knicks
tickets he could get and then maybe get a steak next door
in Charley Brown's before he took the subway home to
Queens. But the Ticketron window had closed down early
and Charley Brown's was packed, so Lesko walked on to the newsstand past the public phones, where he could at
least get a couple of Milky Ways to tide him over. He'd
just passed the first phone booth when he smelled the Ar
amis. He kept on moving.
Could it really be Dancer? he wondered as he paid for
his candy bars. What are the odds against finding two peo
ple in the same station who sponge on enough of that fruit
juice to penetrate a phone booth door? Lesko eased himself
down the row of telephones and peeked quickly into the
last. There was the haircut. It was Dancer all right. And he
was making a report.
Lesko couldn't hear the words very clearly but he heard
the tone. It was respectful enough but not really deferential.
As in, Don't worry, I'm handling it. This mildly surprised
Lesko, who had pegged Dancer as your basic toady with
whoever held the high cards. And now he was trying to
end the conversation.
Sir.
Lesko heard him say
sir.
But not
like he meant it. Later, sir. Something like, I'll get back to
you later when I have more time. Lesko braced himself to
get quickly out of sight if Dancer touched the phone booth
door.
the tone. It was respectful enough but not really deferential.
As in, Don't worry, I'm handling it. This mildly surprised
Lesko, who had pegged Dancer as your basic toady with
whoever held the high cards. And now he was trying to
end the conversation.
Sir.
Lesko heard him say
sir.
But not
like he meant it. Later, sir. Something like, I'll get back to
you later when I have more time. Lesko braced himself to
get quickly out of sight if Dancer touched the phone booth
door.
He heard Dancer break the connection but the receiver remained in his hand, held high as if he were about to dial again. Lesko took a chance and craned his head so he could
see through the glass. No coins this time. Lesko knew he'd
used one before because he heard the little metallic clack
of a finger checking the return slot. But this was a credit
card call. Out of town. Chicago, maybe? Lesko saw a man
icured finger tap a button on the top row, then on the bot
tom row, then back up to the top. Not Chicago. Probably
the 203 area code. Connecticut. He could not make out the exchange, but Lesko would have given attractive odds that
the number was in Greenwich. Lesko waited as Dancer
tapped out his credit card number and settled in, somewhat
nervously he felt, for a possibly long conversation.
Someone on the other end picked up. Dancer spoke about ten muffled syllables, probably his name and the person he
was calling. None of the syllables sounded like Dancer.
And the tone was curt. He was talking to an underling,
Lesko decided, maybe a housekeeper. There was another
long silence of perhaps twenty seconds, and Dancer
abruptly straightened. More words, but these were different.
Lesko picked out his own name twice and Corbin's three
times before Dancer even took a breath. And here was the
tone he was expecting. Eager but servile. Dancer, you boot
licking little shit. Lesko thought about leaving, about not
pushing his luck. On the other hand, though, Dancer was
now so absorbed by the sound of his master's voice that a bomb could go off or he could break a nail and it probably
wouldn't have distracted him. What the hell, thought Lesko. He bit off half a Milky Way and stepped into the adjoining
booth, quietly closing the door. Lesko took out his billfold
and shaped it into a circle with the plastic cards inside. This
he placed against the metal wall and fitted his right ear
against the soft leather rim.
was calling. None of the syllables sounded like Dancer.
And the tone was curt. He was talking to an underling,
Lesko decided, maybe a housekeeper. There was another
long silence of perhaps twenty seconds, and Dancer
abruptly straightened. More words, but these were different.
Lesko picked out his own name twice and Corbin's three
times before Dancer even took a breath. And here was the
tone he was expecting. Eager but servile. Dancer, you boot
licking little shit. Lesko thought about leaving, about not
pushing his luck. On the other hand, though, Dancer was
now so absorbed by the sound of his master's voice that a bomb could go off or he could break a nail and it probably
wouldn't have distracted him. What the hell, thought Lesko. He bit off half a Milky Way and stepped into the adjoining
booth, quietly closing the door. Lesko took out his billfold
and shaped it into a circle with the plastic cards inside. This
he placed against the metal wall and fitted his right ear
against the soft leather rim.
Six
Up you get, Ducky.” Corbin felt a shock of cold air
across his back as Gwen stripped away the quilted
comforter. She stepped to her window and threw open the
bedroom drapes, flooding the room with soft filtered light.
Corbin winced and covered his eyes. She was in that ugly robe again, he saw, and already freshly showered. Her wet hair lay flat and dripping against her head. Corbin faked a
yawning stretch and then lunged for the comforter.
across his back as Gwen stripped away the quilted
comforter. She stepped to her window and threw open the
bedroom drapes, flooding the room with soft filtered light.
Corbin winced and covered his eyes. She was in that ugly robe again, he saw, and already freshly showered. Her wet hair lay flat and dripping against her head. Corbin faked a
yawning stretch and then lunged for the comforter.
“
No you don't, love.” She stamped one foot over the
end on the floor and snatched away his pillow. But he held fast to the quilt, clutching it tightly against his neck. Again
she stripped the rest of it from his body and, leaning over
him, shook her head like a wet dog. Corbin bellowed as he
rolled away from the spray.
No you don't, love.” She stamped one foot over the
end on the floor and snatched away his pillow. But he held fast to the quilt, clutching it tightly against his neck. Again
she stripped the rest of it from his body and, leaning over
him, shook her head like a wet dog. Corbin bellowed as he
rolled away from the spray.
“
Have more fun in b-bed,” Corbin chattered the slogan of a New York sleep shop. “Whatever happened to lazy,
sexy Saturday mornings in the sack?”
Have more fun in b-bed,” Corbin chattered the slogan of a New York sleep shop. “Whatever happened to lazy,
sexy Saturday mornings in the sack?”
“
Those are for lazy, sexy people,” she retorted. “We,
au contraire, are energetic and coldly efficient investigators.
I've made a list of what we're going to do today and left
a mug of hot coffee on the washbasin next to the shower.
Get cracking.”
Corbin glanced toward the window and frowned. “It's
still snowing, sweetheart.”
still snowing, sweetheart.”
“
Take your shower, Jonathan,” she said more gently.
Take your shower, Jonathan,” she said more gently.
“
When do I see this list?” Corbin buttoned his badly
wrinkled trench coat as Gwen Leamas undid the first two
latches on her apartment door.
When do I see this list?” Corbin buttoned his badly
wrinkled trench coat as Gwen Leamas undid the first two
latches on her apartment door.
“
It's in my coldly efficient head,” she answered, pulling
open the door and guiding him through it by the arm. Gwen
followed close behind him as they descended the single
flight of stairs into an old-fashioned foyer darkened by flo
ral print wallpaper and an Oriental carpet runner on the
floor. A potted palm sat near an inner door that had leaded
stained glass panels. On the last step Corbin hesitated, his
hand gripping the knob at the end of the mahogany banister.
”
I already smell it,” he whispered.
“
You smell what, Jonathan?”
' The way the city smells in these ... when I see those
people.”
people.”
“
Jonathan”—she put a steadying hand on his shoulder—
“could you be referring to horse piss, by chance?”
”
I think so.”
Gwen pushed him forward. “What you smell is the re
pulsive little boy on the third floor who occasionally urinates behind the radiator. That, and the landlord's equally
disgusting cat who defecates in the potted rubber plant.”
pulsive little boy on the third floor who occasionally urinates behind the radiator. That, and the landlord's equally
disgusting cat who defecates in the potted rubber plant.”
She led him through the glassed inner door and pulled
open the heavy main door, which showed evidence of del
icate carving under layers of brown paint. Corbin flinched as passing flakes, sucked by the foyer's warmth, turned violently in his direction.
open the heavy main door, which showed evidence of del
icate carving under layers of brown paint. Corbin flinched as passing flakes, sucked by the foyer's warmth, turned violently in his direction.
“
It's barely snowing at all.” Gwen turned him and
pulled up his collar. “Most of it's being blown off trees
and rooftops.”
It's barely snowing at all.” Gwen turned him and
pulled up his collar. “Most of it's being blown off trees
and rooftops.”
Corbin looked up. The sky, though thick and gray, had taken on a mottled appearance as the moisture content of
passing clouds was reduced to random pockets. The clouds
would begin to break up soon. He wished they'd slept an
other hour.
passing clouds was reduced to random pockets. The clouds
would begin to break up soon. He wished they'd slept an
other hour.
“
Our first trial run,” Gwen told him, taking his hand,
“is going to be a slow and soggy walk just down to the subway station on the corner. You'll tell me what you see,
if anything, and what you feel as well. If you get an impression, speak it. Don't try to reason it out first and by all
means don't deny it.
“
Next, we'll take a short ride on the Lex down to Fifty-first Street, where we'll start a slightly longer walk over to
Saks Fifth Avenue. At Saks we'll get a bite of breakfast and then we'll buy you a pair of overshoes, a new shirt,
and some socks and underthings. After you've changed in
their dressing room we'll cross the street to Barnes and
Noble where we'll purchase a Manhattan street map. While
there, we'll browse through whatever picture books they
have showing New York as it looked in the last century.
Then, if you're up to it, a bracing walk over to the Bur
lington Building because that's where this ghostly stalk of
yours seems to begin and end.”
Corbin didn't know whether to feel frightened or re
lieved. Gwen was actually beginning to believe him. Or
wanting to believe him.
“
How do you expect to narrow it down?” he asked.
“Nothing's the same anymore.”
“
Let's wait until we see a map and a few photographs.”
Holding his arm, Gwen started down the stone steps to the
narrow packed-down path of the unshoveled sidewalk.
“You'll be fine, Jonathan,” she said, not looking at him. “You'll have done so well that this afternoon I'm going to
treat you to a lovely high tea at the Palm Court of the Plaza.
Uncle Harry's going to meet us there.”
Corbin stopped. “Urn, just a second, please.”
“
Harry hasn't seen you since we had dinner in Chicago.
He's been asking about you.” Gwen offered her most
blameless smile.
Harry hasn't seen you since we had dinner in Chicago.
He's been asking about you.” Gwen offered her most
blameless smile.
“
When?” Corbin asked, unmoved by it.
“
When what?”
“
When did he ask? It wouldn't happen to have been
while I was in the shower?”
When did he ask? It wouldn't happen to have been
while I was in the shower?”
“
It did come up then, yes. When I called to ask if he'd
have tea.”
It did come up then, yes. When I called to ask if he'd
have tea.”
“
Gwen, for Pete's sake—”
“
Oh, Jonathan.” She put her fingers to his lips. “What
will it hurt? Harry Sturdevant comes from a very old and stinking-rich New York family. He knows this city and its
history backward.”
“
He's also a shrink.”
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