The Cellar (5 page)

Jud didn’t try to conceal the expression of doubt he knew was beginning to appear on his face.

“Let me refill your cup, Judge.”

“I don’t know what the beast is,” Larry said. “Perhaps nobody knows. I’ve seen it, though. With the exception of old Maggie Kutch, I’m probably the only living person who has.

“It is not human, Judge. Or if it
is
human, it’s some kind of unspeakable deformity. And it is very, very old. The first known attack occurred in 1903. Teddy Roosevelt was President then. That’s
the year the Wright brothers flew at Kitty Hawk, for heaven’s sake. The beast killed three people that year.”

“The original owner of the house?”

“She survived. That was Lyle Thorn’s widow. Her sister, though, was killed. So were Lilly’s two children. The authorities blamed the atrocity on a mental defective they found on the outskirts of town. He was tried, convicted, and hanged from the house balcony. Even then, apparently, cover-up was the order of the day. They
had
to know the fellow was innocent.”

“Why did they have to know that?”

“The beast has claws,” Larry said. “They’re sharp, like nails. They shred the victim, his clothes, his flesh. They pierce him to hold him down while the beast…violates him.” The cup began to clatter against its saucer. He set it down on the table and folded his hands.

“Were you…?”

“My God, no! It never touched me. Not
me
. But I saw what it did to Tommy there in the bedroom. It was too…overcome…to bother with me. It had to finish with Tommy, first. Well, I put one over on it! The window gave me some nasty cuts, and I broke my arm in the fall, but I got away. I got away, goddamn it! I lived to tell the tale!”

He managed another drink of coffee. His trembling hand set the cup back down on the table. The drink seemed to help restore his calm. In a quiet voice, he said, “Of course, no one believes
the tale. I’ve learned to keep it to myself. Now I suppose you think I’m mad.” He looked at Jud, despair in his weary eyes.

Jud pointed toward the newspaper clipping. “That says eleven people have died in Beast House.”

“Its facts are correct, for a change.”

“That’s a lot of killing.”

“Indeed.”

“Somebody should put a stop to it.”

“I’d kill it myself, if I had the courage. But God, to think of entering that house at night! Never. I could never do it.”

“Has anybody gone in after it?”

“At night? Only a fool…”

“Or a man with a very good reason.”

“What kind of reason?” Larry asked.

“Revenge, idealism, money. Has a reward ever been offered?”

“For killing it? Its existence isn’t even
admitted
, not by anyone but old Kutch and her crazy son. And they certainly don’t want it harmed. That goddamned beast, and its reputation, is their sole source of income. It’s probably all that keeps the town afloat, for that matter. Beast House is no Hearst Castle or Winchester House, but you’d be surprised how many people will pay four bucks a head for a guided tour of an old place that not only boasts a legendary monster but that also was the scene of eleven brutal murders. They come from all over California, from Oregon, from every
state in the union. A family driving through California can’t pass within fifty miles of Malcasa Point without its kids screaming to tour Beast House. Tourist dollars are the lifeblood of the town. If somebody were to kill the beast…”

“Think of the tourists its carcass would bring,” Jud suggested, grinning.

“But the mystery would be gone. The beast is the heart of that house. The house would die without it. Malcasa Point would follow close on its heels, and the people don’t want that.”

“They’d rather have the killing continue?”

“Certainly. An occasional killing does wonders for business.”

“If the town is that way, it doesn’t deserve to live.”

“A perceptive man your father was, naming you Judgment.”

“You said you would kill the beast yourself, if you could.”

“If I had the courage, yes.”

“Have you ever thought of hiring someone to do it for you?”

“Who could I hire for a job like that?”

“Depends on what you’re willing to pay.”

“What’s a good night’s sleep worth, eh?” The grin on his hollow face looked grotesque.

“You might look upon it as a contribution to humanity,” Jud said.

“I assume you know someone who might be willing, for a large sum of money, to enter the house at night and dispatch the beast?”

“I might know someone,” Jud told him.

“What would it cost?”

“That depends on the risk involved. He’d have to know a lot more before making a firm commitment.”

“Can you give me a rough idea?”

“His minimum would be five thousand.”

“His maximum?”

“No maximum.”

“My funds aren’t bottomless, but I believe I’d be willing to invest a considerable portion of them, if necessary, in a project of that type.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I’m open to suggestions,” Larry said.

“Why don’t the two of us drive up the coast, bright and early, and pay a visit to Beast House.”

The two cups of coffee didn’t keep Jud awake when he got back to his apartment. He fell asleep at once, and if he dreamed at all, he remembered none of it when the alarm clock blared at 6
A
.
M
. Monday.

Roy woke up in a king-sized bed. Next to him, face down with her hands tied behind her back, lay the girl Joni. She was naked. A short length of clothesline led from her wrists to Roy’s right hand. He untied his hand, then both of hers.

He rolled Joni onto her back. Her eyes were open. She looked up at him, through him, past him. Almost as if she were blind.

“Sleep well?” he asked.

She didn’t seem to hear.

He placed a hand on her chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart, and the rise and fall of her breathing.

“Where’s your spirit?” he asked, and laughed.

She didn’t blink or move. Not when he pinched her. Not when he stroked her body, or sucked it, or bit it. Not when he entered her. Not when he shuddered with an orgasm. Not when he pulled out and got off the bed.

He tied her again, anyway.

He dressed in the father’s clothes. He made coffee. While it percolated, he prepared six slices of bacon, three eggs over easy, and two pieces of toast. He carried them into the living room and turned on the television.

The phone rang. He picked it up.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Hello?” The woman’s voice sounded confused. “May I speak to Marv, please?”

“He isn’t here. Can I take a message?”

“This is Esther. His secretary?”

“Oh. You must be wondering why he didn’t show up at work.”

“He didn’t even call in.”

“Oh, well, no. He had a heart attack last night. Early this morning, actually.”

“No!”

“I’m afraid so. Last I saw, they were loading him into an ambulance.”

“Is he…is he alive?”

“Last I heard. I’m staying with Joni. You know, baby-sitting. I haven’t heard a thing since they left.”

“What hospital was he taken to, do you know?”

“Let me think. Gee, you know, I’m not really sure. Everything was so confused.”

“Could you let us know when you hear any word of his condition?”

“I’d be glad to.”

She gave him the office telephone number. He
didn’t copy it. “I’ll be sure to get back to you,” he said, “the minute I get any news.”

“Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.”

He hung up, went back to the couch, and began to eat. His breakfast was still warm.

When he finished it, he searched for the telephone book. He found it in a kitchen drawer under a wall extension. He poured himself another cup of coffee and returned to the living room.

First, he looked up Hayes. No Hayes, Donna. Only the Hayes, D. that he had checked last night. It had been her apartment, no question about that. He’d recognized some of the furniture.

He wondered if she still worked for that travel agency. What was its name? Had a catchy slogan. “Let Gold be your guide? Not gold, Gould. Gould Travel. He thumbed through the white pages, found it, and dialed.

“Gould Travel Service, Miss Winnow.”

“I’d like to speak to Mrs. Hayes, please.”

“Hayes?”

“Donna Hayes.”

“We have no Donna Hayes at this number. This is Gould Travel Service.”

“She works there, or she
did
.”

“Just a moment, please.” He waited for almost a minute. “Sir, Donna Hayes left our employ several years ago.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“I’m afraid not. May I be of service to you? Were
you thinking of a cruise, perhaps? We have some marvelous cruises…”

“No thank you.” He hung up.

He looked up Blix, John. Donna’s father. Her parents would know where she’d gone, for sure. He copied the address and phone number.

Shit, he didn’t want to see them. They were the last people he wanted to see.

What about Karen? He grinned. He wouldn’t mind seeing Karen, at all. In fact, he wouldn’t mind seeing a lot of her. Maybe she’d know where to find those two bitches.

Worth a try.

Even if she didn’t know, a visit could still turn out worthwhile. He’d always liked the looks of her.

What was the name of that guy she’d married? Bob something. Something like a candy bar. Milky Way? No. Mars Bar. Bob Mars Bar. Marston.

He looked up Marston, found a Robert, and copied the address and telephone number.

He’d pay them a nice visit. Not now. He didn’t want to leave quite yet. What was the hurry? He might as well stick around for a while, enjoy himself.

He went into the bedroom. “Hi there, Joni. What you been up to?”

She stared at the ceiling.

Sunlight and screeching seagulls woke Donna. She tried to fall asleep again, but the narrow bed, swaybacked with age, made it impossible. She got up and stretched her stiff muscles.

Sandy was still asleep on the other bed.

Quietly, Donna crossed the cool wood floor to the front window. She raised the blind and looked out. Across the courtyard, a man weighted down with suitcases was leaving a small, green-painted cabin. A woman and a matching pair of children waited for him inside a station wagon. Half the cabins of the Welcome Inn had either a car or a camper parked in front. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked. She pulled the blind.

Then she looked for the telephone. The room didn’t have one.

While she was dressing, Sandy woke up.

“Morning, honey. Did you sleep well?”

“Fine. Where are you going?”

“I want to find a telephone and call Aunt Karen.” She tied her sneakers. “I don’t want her worrying about us.”

“Can I come?”

“You can stay here and get dressed. I’ll only be a minute, then we’ll go get some breakfast.”

“Okay.”

She buttoned her plaid cotton blouse and picked up her handbag. “Don’t open the door for anyone, right?”

“Right,” the girl said.

Outside, the morning air was fresh with the scent of pine, a smell that reminded her of warm, shadowed trails in the Sierra where she used to backpack with her sister. Before Roy. The way Roy acted in the mountains, she quickly lost the taste for the wilderness. Once she was rid of him, she should have taken up backpacking again. Maybe soon…

She climbed steps to the porch of the motel office and saw a telephone booth at the far end. She headed for it. The wood groaned under her feet, sounding like the weathered planking of an aged pier.

She stepped into the booth, dropped coins into the telephone slot, and dialed Operator. She charged the call to her home phone. The call went through.

“Hello?”

“Morning, Karen.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Is that any kind of greeting?”

“Don’t tell me, your car broke down.”

“You’re clairvoyant.”

“Do you need a lift?”

“No, I’m afraid I’ll have to beg off, for today.”

“Poor loser.”

“It’s not that.”

“They changed your days off? And we were having such good times on Mondays. What’ve you got now, Friday-Saturday, Tuesday-Wednesday?”

“Your clairvoyance has slipped.”

“Oh?”

“I’m calling from the glamorous resort town of Malcasa Point, home of the infamous Beast House.”

“Are you crocked?”

“Sober, unfortunately. As near as I can figure, we’re about a hundred miles north of San Francisco. Give or take fifty.”

“Christ almighty, don’t you know?”

“Not exactly. I’m sure, if I could see a map…”

“What are you doing way the hell-and-gone up there, anyway?” Before Donna could answer, Karen said, “Oh God, is he out?”

“He’s out.”

“Oh my God.”

“We thought we’d better make ourselves scarce.”

“Right. What do you want me to do?”

“Let Mom and Dad know we’re okay.”

“What about your apartment?”

“Can you have our stuff put into storage?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Call Beacon, or someone. Let me know what it comes to, and I’ll send you a check.”

“How am I gonna let you know anything?”

“I’ll keep in touch.”

“Are you ever coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“How could they let him
out?
How
could
they?”

“I guess he behaved himself.”

“Christ!”

“It’ll be all right, Karen.”

“When am I gonna
see
you again?” She sounded close to tears.

“This’ll blow over.”

“Sure it will. If Roy happens to drop dead of a coronary, or drives into a bridge abutment, or…” A sob broke her voice. “Christ, this sort of thing…how can they let it happen?”

“Hey, don’t cry. Everything’ll be fine. Just tell Mom and Dad we’re okay, and we’ll be in touch.”

“Okay. And I’ll…take care of your apartment.”

“Take care of yourself, while you’re at it.”

“Sure. You too. Tell Sandy hi for me.”

“I will. Good-bye, Karen.”

“Bye.”

Donna hung up. She breathed deeply, fighting for control of her own shaken emotions. Then she crossed the porch. As she started to climb down, she heard the squeak of an opening door.

“Lady?”

She looked around at a teenage girl standing in the office doorway. Probably the owner’s daughter. “Yes?”

“Are you the lady with the car trouble?”

Donna nodded.

“Bix from the Chevron called. Him and Kutch went after it. Bix said he’d see you when he gets back.”

“They don’t have the keys.”

“Bix doesn’t need ’em.”

“Did he want me to do anything?”

The girl shrugged one shoulder. It was bare except for the strap of her tank top. She was obviously wearing no bra, her nipples pressing dark and turgid against the thin fabric. Donna wondered why the girl’s parents allowed her to dress that way.

“Okay. Thanks for the message.”

“Any time.”

The girl spun away. Her cut-off jeans were slit up the sides, revealing tawny leg almost to the hip.

The girl’s going to get herself raped, Donna thought. If Sandy ever dressed like that…

Donna climbed down the porch steps and crossed the parking area to their cabin. She had to wait while Sandy finished in the bathroom.

“Do you want to eat here at the Inn?” Donna asked. “Or should we try our luck in town?”

“Let’s go into town,” Sandy said, her voice eager. “I hope they’ve got a Dunkin’ Donuts. I’m dying for a doughnut.”

“I’m dying for a cup of coffee.”

“Java Mama.”

They went outside. Sandy, squinting, opened her denim handbag and took out her sunglasses. Their round lenses were huge on her face. Donna, who rarely wore sunglasses, thought they made her daughter look like a bug—a
cute
bug, but still a bug. She was careful never to mention the resemblance.

“What did Aunt Karen say?” Sandy asked.

“She said to tell you hi.”

“Were you gonna play tennis today?”

“Yep.”

“I bet she was surprised.”

“She understood.”

They reached the roadside. Donna pointed to the left. “Town’s that way,” she said. They started toward it. “From the way Aunt Karen sounded, I don’t think she’d ever heard of Malcasa Point. It is a beautiful place, though, isn’t it?”

Sandy nodded. Her sunglasses slipped down her nose. With a forefinger, she poked them into place. “It’s pretty around here, but…”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“No, tell me. Come on.”

“How come you told Aunt Karen?”

“Told her what?”

“Where we are.”

“I thought she ought to know.”

“Oh.” Sandy nodded, and adjusted her glasses.

“Why?”

“Do you think it was a good idea, telling her? I

mean, now she knows where we are.”

“She won’t tell anyone.”

“Not unless he
makes
her.”

They stepped off the roadside and waited on the rutted shoulder until an approaching car whooshed by.

“What do you mean, ‘
makes
her’?” Donna asked.

“Makes her tell. Like he used to make you tell things.”

Donna walked in silence, no longer enjoying the cool, piny air. She imagined her sister stretched naked on a bed, tied firm, Roy beside her using a cigarette lighter to heat the shaft of a screwdriver.

“You never saw what he did to me, did you? He always locked the door.”

“Oh I never saw
that
. Not what he did in the bedroom. Just when he hit you. What
did
he do in the bedroom?”

“He hurt me.”

“It must’ve been awful.”

“Yeah.”

“How did he hurt you?”

“Lots of ways.”

“I bet he does that to Aunt Karen.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” Donna said. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“When can we leave here?” the girl asked nervously.

“As soon as the car’s ready.”

“When’ll that be?”

“I don’t know. Axel went out there this morning with a man from the service station. If it doesn’t need repairs, we can go as soon as they get here with it.”

“We’d better,” Sandy said. “We’d better get out of here fast.”

They chose to eat breakfast at Sarah’s Diner across from the Chevron station. After seeing the selection of doughnuts displayed on a counter-top cake stand, Sandy decided against them. She ordered bacon and eggs, instead.

“This place is gross,” she said.

“We won’t eat here from now on.”

“Ha ha.”

Sandy put a hand underneath the table, and crinkled her nose with disgust. “There’s
gum
under the table.”

“There’s always gum under tables. Some of us have sense enough to keep our hands off it.”

Sandy sniffed her fingers. “Gross.”

“Why don’t you go wash your hands?”

“I bet the john is
really
the pits,” she said, and got up from the table as if eager to verify her theory.

Smiling, Donna watched her step smartly toward the far end of the diner. The waitress came and filled Donna’s heavy, chipped cup with coffee.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome, sweetie.”

She watched the waitress head for another table. Then the opening door caught her eyes.

Two men entered the diner. The emaciated one seemed far too young to have white hair. Though nicely dressed in a blue leisure suit, he had a harassed look like a refugee. The man beside him might have been his keeper. With deep blue eyes in a face that made her think of carved, highly polished wood, he had the confident look of a cop. Or a soldier. Or the guide in Colorado, many years ago, who led her and Karen on a deer hunt with their father.

The two men sat at the counter. The strong one had light brown hair neatly clipped above his shirt collar. His wide back filled the tan shirt, pulling it taut. The black belt looked stiff and new in jeans so old that one of the belt loops hung loose, dangling over his rear pocket. His rubber-soled hiking boots looked older than the jeans.

As if attracted by the intensity of her gaze, the man looked over his shoulder. Donna fought an urge to turn away. She met his eyes for a moment, then glanced at the next man, then on down the counter casually. She lifted her coffee cup. Steam no longer rose from the coffee. An oily film on the dark surface reflected swirling colors like a rainbow, or spoiled roast beef. She drank, anyway. Setting down the cup, she allowed herself another glance at the man.

He was no longer watching her.

Disappointment shadowed Donna’s relief.

She drank more coffee and watched him. His
head was turned as he listened to the nervous, white-haired man. A shoulder blocked her view of his mouth. She saw a slight rise on the ridge of his nose, apparently from an old break. A scar slanted from the corner of his eyebrow down to his cheekbone. She looked back into her coffee, afraid she might again attract attention.

When she heard quick, familiar footsteps, she saw the man’s head turn. He glanced at Sandy, then Donna, then looked back at his friend.

“All clean?” Donna asked, perhaps too loudly.

“They didn’t have anything to dry my hands on,” Sandy told her, and sat down.

“What’d you use?”

“My pants. Where’s the food?”

“Maybe we’ll be lucky and it won’t come.”

“I’m starved.”

“I guess we can give it a try.”

The waitress soon came, bringing plates of eggs, sausage links, and hash browns. The food looked good, oddly enough. As Donna sliced into her sausage, her stomach rumbled loudly.

“Mother!” Sandy giggled.

“Must be a thunderstorm on the way,” Donna said.

“Can’t trick me. That was your gut.”

“Gut isn’t polite, honey.”

The girl grinned. Then, with an expression of wrinkled distaste, she picked a sprig of parsley off her hashbrowns and flicked it over the edge of the plate.

Donna glanced at the man. He was drinking coffee.
As she ate and talked with Sandy, she looked up at him often. She realized that he wasn’t eating. Apparently he and his friend had only come into Sarah’s for coffee. Soon they got up from the counter.

The man reached into his hip pocket as he headed for the cash register. His nervous friend protested, and lost. After he paid the bill, he took a thin cigar out of his shirt pocket. He unwrapped it. As he wadded its cellophane wrapper into a tiny ball, he scanned the area near the counter, probably searching for a trash container. Finding none, he stuffed the ball into his shirt pocket. He clamped the cigar between his teeth. His eyes swung suddenly toward Donna. They fixed upon her, held her stunned like a doe in headlights. The eyes stayed on her while the man struck a match and sucked its flame to the tip of his cigar. He shook out the match. Then he turned, and pushed through the door.

Donna let out a deep, trembling breath.

“You okay?” Sandy asked.

“I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

“You don’t look so fine.”

“Are you about done eating?”

“All done,” Sandy said.

“Ready to go?”

“
I
am. Aren’t you gonna finish?”

“No, I don’t think so. Let’s be on our way.” She picked up the bill. Her hand shook as she reached
into her purse. She tucked three quarters under the edge of her plate, and got up quickly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just want to get outside.”

“Okay,” the girl said doubtfully as she followed Donna to the cash register.

Outside, Donna looked down the sidewalk. A block off, an old woman with a poodle was stepping awkwardly off a curb. No sign of the two men from the cafe. She checked the other direction.

“What’re you looking for?” Sandy asked.

“Just trying to decide which way looks best.”

“We’ve already been that way,” the girl said, and nodded toward the left.

“Okay.” So they turned right, and began walking.

“Do you think we can leave this morning?” Sandy asked.