Authors: John R. Maxim
Tags: #Horror, #General, #Psychological, #Suspense, #Memory, #Thrillers, #Fiction, #Time Travel
Time Out of Mind (90 page)
“
Just.. .just one moment.” Harry Sturdevant stepped
between them again, both hands upraised and open. “We'd
better start with some introductions.” He looked at Gwen,
gesturing back to the man with the rifle, who seemed older than he even though he was fifteen years Sturdevant’s jun
ior. “This is Tilden Beckwith the second. He is the
...
nominal grandson of the Tilden you know, and he is very
upset at the moment. Tillie”—he turned—“this young
lady is—”
”
I am Margaret,” Gwen Leamas said calmly.
if separating the two people. “Don't do that, dear. You
don't know what you're into here.”
”
I can see that Mr. Beckwith is frightened and there's
no need. May I offer you some tea, Mr. Beckwith?”
“
How ... how ... how come there's no need?” His
eyes blinked rapidly.
Sturdevant could see no way out. “What he's asking,
dear, is how come you're not upset with him if you know he
was there when Tilden was murdered”—he stared hard at
her, giving her a moment to absorb that part—“and that his
family also arranged for the murders of every living Corbin. This gentleman assures me, however, that none of it was his fault. I believe him, and I know that Jonathan ... that Tilden
...
will believe him too when he gets here.”
Gwen never batted an eye. But inside she felt like throw
ing up. One knee began to quiver beneath her long white dress. ”I do wish you'd put down that rifle and have some
tea, Mr. Beckwith.”
His features twitched indecisively. Then, his face lighting
up, he patted his coat pocket and pulled free the quarter
bottle of Glenlivet.
“
That's
your
Tilden's brand, you will recall,” Harry
Sturdevant told her. 'Tillie here intends to have a friendly
drink with him.”
“
Yes,” she agreed. “That's a very nice idea.” She
crossed to him and held out her hand for the bottle. He
tensed as the outstretched hand came within reach, then suddenly cradled the bottle against his chest and shook off
the glove that had been holding it.
“
May I touch you?” he asked.
Gwen did not know what to do. She moved her hand closer, suspended. Ella's brother touched the back of it lightly, then her fingertips, then snatched his own hand
away.
“
Your skin is cold,” he whispered, wide-eyed. “It's
very cold.”
Gwen blinked. She knew exactly what he meant, but she
had no idea where to go with it. She was not about to point
out that her extremities, which were cold to the touch at
the best of times, had just been outside in a blizzard. On
the other hand, she wasn't sure what letting him believe
she was a walking corpse would do to his already tenuous
state of mind.
“
That rifle,” she said, pointing. “It really won't do you
much good, you know.”
“
Yes it can. It can help you. I'll be on your side when
they come.”
“
When who comes, Tillie?” Sturdevant asked.
“
If I'm on your side, will he let me keep my position?”
“
Your position,” Sturdevant repeated blankly. “You
mean as chairman of Beckwith Enterprises?”
”
I work hard. I go to all the meetings. I don't always just do what Ella says.”
“
We'll work something out, Tillie.” Sturdevant glanced toward the undraped windows. “Did you say someone's
coming here? Are we in danger?”
“
They're the ones who are in danger.” Ella's brother
patted his Weatherby. “Anyway, trying to kill you never
works. They tried this morning in the city and Lesko
stopped them. They tried last night and he stopped them
then, too.”
“
Wait a minute, Tillie.” Sturdevant made a timeout sign
with his hands. “Who is Lesko, exactly?”
“
He's like Bigelow.”
Sturdevant made another hand signal, as if to put him on
hold. “Bigelow”—he turned to Gwen—“is apparently the
hired killer who killed ... um, you ... and the others. But
then Tilden came back”—Sturdevant cocked an eye at
Ella's brother for confirmation—“but he came back much
younger, and he killed this man, Bigelow.”
“
And Flack. He got even with Flack as well.”
Sturdevant shook his head to clear it. “And when did
you say this happened, Tillie?”
“
Twenty…It was 1964. In Chicago.”
“
Chicago,” he repeated. “And a very young Tilden
Beckwith killed the man who killed ... you, Margaret...”
“
And Flack.”
Yes. And Flack. Margaret, do you know anything
about—I mean, has Jonathan ever mentioned—-” Sturdevant stopped. He waved his hands to erase the
question. It
was hardly a discussion they should be having now. But he
could see by Gwen's expression that she knew what he was
driving at. Rule out a ghost and it had to have been Jona
than. Or a ghost inside of Jonathan. Gwen was recalling a
long-ago mugging he had told her about. A mugging that
had troubled him, even shamed him, deeply.
Sturdevant stepped to the nearest window and pulled the
drapes closed over jt. “Let me pour you some of that
Scotch, Tillie,” he said as he moved to the next window.
“While I'm doing it, you can tell me who this Lesko is.”
in the composition board that lined the trunk. He could get
one hand through and he could move it.
for his notebook. Burke who pulled out the seats. Burke
who didn't think to snap them back even after he piled
Lesko in the trunk and wasn't even bright enough to tie
Lesko's hands. Those right there are rules one and two.
And it's about your fifth mistake. I get out of here, I guar
antee this, 1’ll be the one that kills you.
If I get out.
effort to get at the jack handle had brought on such an
agony of cramping that it was a relief to feel them slowly
die. One of his shoes was off, he remembered. Kicked loose
by the squirming. On, off it almost didn't matter. He
couldn't feel either foot.
them to pry at the composition board, even with the jack handle, but he could poke at it, ram it, try to break it down.
Come on, you sucker. Break. Goddamned Makowski.
Everything in his fucking car is falling apart except the one
thing I need to be falling apart.
He heard a loud crack. Come on, baby. That's it. He ran
the back of one hand along the surface until he found a
curving fracture that ran almost top to bottom just off cen
ter. He pressed one side of the break. It gave. It was ripping.
He could get his hand into the break, and if he could get enough leverage ... How much time? Dancer's gone what?
Ten minutes? Fifteen? Where the hell are we? They had to
get the old guy. That's right. The dame said that. She said
e was going to go shoot ghosts. So we're parked around
Corbin's house, right? Yeah, well, stupid, who gives a shit
where we are if Burke and Twinkletoes come back and they
find you with your fat head stuck in the springs of the
backseat here.
The door. Oh, shit. Lesko heard the door.
The backseat fell forward into the car. It slammed for
ward. It wasn't Dancer who did that. Lesko gripped the
jack handle as best he could with the pointed end up.
Maybe one last shot at Burke. Come on, Tommy. Get nice
and close and be your normal dumb. I'll ram this thing right
through your face. More of the composition board tore
away.
“
You have no key, I suppose.”
If the voice startled him, its tone confused him. It
sounded like the doctor at his last physical who said, “You
haven't been exercising, I take it.”
“
Do you have a key? It would be easier from the back.”
The voice was calm and polite, but a bit impatient, Lesko
thought, like a guy passing by who'd be happy to help as
long as it didn't take all night.
”
I look like I was driving this thing?” Lesko gasped.
Schmuck.
Lesko saw a hand grip the loosened seat and pull it through the open left rear door. A moment later he heard
a crackling thump off to his right. The man had thrown the
seat across the car roof into someonelses pine trees. Now a
shadow filled his field of vision. He felt strong hands gripping the shoulder padding of his coat Lesko's head reached
the foot well. He felt a hand searching for his belt, finding
it through his coat, and using it as a handle to pry loose
the rest of his body. Lesko raised himself on one elbow.
He could make out the face now. Enough of it. The bent
nose and the square jaw. If there was a little more light
he'd see the split eyebrow as well.
“
Corbin. You're Corbin.”
The face turned away in the direction of the steering
wheel. “If we could start this motor in some way, you
could warm yourself.”
“
Give me a hand. Get me into the front seat.”
stronger even than he looked. He pulled Lesko free of the
backseat and held him erect with one arm while his other
hand fumbled at the recessed handle of the front door, as
if its workings were unfamiliar to him. Lesko moaned as
blood began swelling his feet. The door finally opened.
Wait,” Lesko gasped as he was lowered behind the
wheel. “Wait. We don't have time for this.”
You have time,” was the calm reply. He was studying
the dashboard. “There are wires to the starter button which
one crosses to start a car. Do you know which ones they
are?”
as hooks to tear loose the wires running to and from the
starter switch. These he touched while pressing on the accelerator with his screaming foot. The engine coughed and
caught.
I'm going now,” Lesko heard him say. “When you
can walk or use these pedals, go down the street to Laura
Hemming’s house. There is a doctor there.”
“
Laura. Hemmings's house? You talking about that
Charles Addams house you bought?”
“
It's a white house. Number one ten.”
“
Yeah, well, let me tell you something. There's also a
shooter named Tom Burke and a little pansy named Bal
lanchine down around there someplace.”
The doctor will clean your head.” He touched his fin
gertips to the thick mat of clotted blood and hair above
Lesko's left ear. “Your friend is right.” He dropped his
left hand to the nearest heating vent. Warm air was begin
ning to come. “Goodbye,” he said, and turned up Maple
Avenue in a direction away from the Hemmings house.