him, sensing the extreme monstrousness of it, was grateful for darkness.
Something bit his left ankle.
Something else started climbing his right leg, ripping his trousers as it went.
Other creatures had come out of the wall duct. As blood ran down his forehead from his scalp wounds and clouded his vision, he realized that there were many pairs of silvery eyes in the room. Dozens of them.
This had to be a dream. A nightmare.
But the pain was real.
The ravenous intruders swarmed up his chest, up his back and onto his shoulders, all of them the size of rats but not rats, all of them clawing and biting. They were all over him, pulling him down. He went to his knees. He let go of the beast he was holding, and he pounded at the others with his fists.
One of them bit off part of his ear.
Wickedly pointed little teeth sank into his chin.
He heard himself mouthing the same pathetic pleas that he had heard from Ross Morrant. Then the darkness grew deeper and an eternal silence settled over him.
PART ONE
Wednesday, 7:53 A.M.-3:30 P.M.
Holy men tell us life is a mystery.
They embrace that concept happily.
But some mysteries bite and bark
and come to get you in the dark.
A rain of shadows, a storm, a squall!
Daylight retreats; night swallows all.
If good is bright, if evil is gloom,
high evil walls the world entombs.
Now comes the end, the drear, Darkfall
CHAPTER ONE
I
The next morning, the first thing Rebecca said to Jack Dawson was, “We have two stiffs.”
“Huh?”
“Two corpses.”
“I know what stiffs are,” he said.
“The call just came in.”
“Did you order two stiffs?”
“Be serious.”
“
“Uniforms are already on the scene,” she said.
“Our Shift doesn't start for seven minutes.”
“You want me to say we won't be going out there because it was thoughtless of them to die this early in the morning?”
“Isn't there at least time for polite chit-chat?” he asked.
“No.”
“See. the way it should be… you're supposed to say. “Good morning, Detective Dawson.” And then I say. “Good morning, Detective Chandler.” Then you say. “How're you this morning?” And then I wink and say—”
She frowned. “It's the same as the other two, Jack. Bloody and strange. Just like the one Sunday and the one yesterday. But this time it's two men. Both with crime family connections from the sound of it.”
Standing in the grubby police squad room, half out of his heavy gray overcoat, a smile incompletely formed, Jack Dawson stared at her in disbelief. He wasn't surprised that there had been another murder or two. He was a homicide detectives; there was
“Better put your coat back on,” she said.
“Rebecca—”
“They're expecting us.”
“Rebecca, last night—”
“Another ward one,” she said, snatching up, her purse from the top of a battered desk.
“Didn't we—”
“We've sure got a sick one on our hands this time,” she said' heading for the door. “Really sick.”
“Rebecca—”
She stopped in the doorway and shook her head. “You know what I wish sometimes?”
He stared at her.
She said, “Sometimes I wish I'd married Tiny Taylor. Right now, I'd be up there in Connecticut, snug in my all-electric kitchen, having coffee and Danish, the kids off to school for the day, the twice-a-week maid taking care of the housework, looking forward to lunch at the country club with the girls…”
Why is she doing this to me? he wondered.
She noticed that he was still half out of his coat, and she said, “Didn't you hear me, Jack? We've got a call to answer.”
“Yeah. I—”
“We've got two more stiffs.”
She left the squad room, which was colder and shabbier for her departure.
He sighed.
He shrugged back into his coat.
He followed her.
II
Jack felt gray and washed out, partly because Rebecca was being so strange, but also because the day itself was gray, and he was always sensitive to the weather. The sky was flat and hard and gray. Manhattan's piles
