“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Several. He took a deep breath and lit another cigarette; the fingers of his right hand trembled. “It’s okay, I thought I’d pulled a muscle for a second is all.” He imitated a laugh.
“My story. Let’s see. There was a father. He was a writer who published twenty paperback pulp westerns. He lived in Louis L’Amour’s shadow. We got by, but his career wasn’t much in the way of a living. My uncle Aaron sort of subsidized us with the store he owned-owns. I worked in his store from the time I was four or five.”
“Hard labor?”
“Aaron’s a great character. He makes everything an ordeal. Sees life as a very narrow path.”
“True grit?”
“The truest. He’s been more of a father than uncle. He was proud of my father-sold his books in the store. He saved a complete set for me, but I expect they’re dust by now.”
“Were you close to your father?”
“I guess. He died of lung cancer when I was a small boy. Then a few months later my mom died, too. I was at the store one day, and there was a freak accident with a horse that kicked her, knocked her out, and she froze to death right there by the barn. So I stayed on with Uncle Aaron. When I was sixteen, I moved into a cabin he’d built.”
“College?”
“College. This man with a lot of money and power had a cabin-hell, a log mansion he called a lodge-near our place. His boy fell into the water, and I was there and got him out, and so to show his gratitude, the boy’s father paid my college fees. I found out later that the National Human Resource Foundation, which awarded me a full scholarship, was his. So the McMillans rewarded me with a degree. Good swap for a few minutes in cold water.”
“Jack McMillan? The oil man?”
Paul nodded.
“Paul, he’s the richest man in America, isn’t he?”
“Well, I’d say he’s right up there with the top ten or so. I don’t think paying for my education was a drain.”
“Was he… I mean, did he pull strings for you, after?”
“My career?” He tried to keep the edge out of his voice.
“I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“I never traded on our relationship.” Until recently, anyway. “He’s repaid me a hundred times over for something I would have done for anyone. I asked him to let me follow my own path. I didn’t want to owe him my life.”
“Your history’s certainly a lot more impressive than mine. I met Captain Kangaroo once.”
“See, you’re one up on me.”
“I only have three people to compare you to, but you’re definitely in the top fiftieth percentile.” She lifted the covers and peeked in. “Well, you old cowpoke, ready for another swing around the dance floor?”
Paul had to fight hard to gain consciousness, and as he moved into a state of awareness, he realized that he’d been drugged. His perception was way off, and he couldn’t move his arms or legs. He could make out the shape of someone standing beside the bed. A dark hood shrouded the features.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Who do you think?” Martin said as he moved into Paul’s field of vision.
“Martin?”
“It’s one of my names. It was Martin Fletcher you condemned with false evidence.”
“No, I saved your life. The others wanted to-”
“You had Barnett, Hill, and Thorne Greer help you. You put the drugs and money in the wall behind the bookshelf while I was away. Like a thief in the night. And because I went to prison, the Company wanted me silenced. So my wife and son were murdered. I escaped alone, and I remained alone to be eaten by this cancer of pain.”
Paul felt Sherry beside him.
Martin stepped closer. “So it is true. You set it up.”
“No,” he lied.
“Ask them…” Martin stepped back to allow Paul to see that Barnett and Hill were across the room. They were standing at attention. “Tell my old adversary what you told me,” Martin commanded them.
“It’s true, sir,” they said. “You killed us.”
Martin stepped away from the bed and pulled his hood back. The face was familiar… it was the face of Paul’s father as he had looked in the hospital. The skin was withered parchment-yellow and had patches of mold on it. “It was dishonest. You have brought this on all of them. It’s on your head. You are hereby condemned. I have opened the gates of hell for you.”
Paul’s mind was on fire, and the pain was blinding, excruciating; he knew, even through the agony, that this would last for eternity.
Paul screamed himself awake. As he opened his eye, he realized that Sherry’s bed was on the top of a tower and she was gone. He sat up and looked down to discover that the structure, hardly larger than the bed itself, was a good eight or nine hundred feet in the air and was made from ancient bricks set in crumbling mortar. He looked down in horror and realized that the tower was breaking apart as it reacted to the breeze, swaying. Then he realized that there were other towers at different levels. The closest was lower by thirty feet or so. Laura and his children were standing on it, huddled together. They swayed close together and then away at intervals. He knew he could jump, but if he did, the towers might both collapse. He thought that they would collapse soon anyway. They moved like cobras being charmed, and bricks were falling from them as they moved. As his tower tilted crazily and snapped in the middle, he jumped. He caught the edge of his family’s tower and realized that they weren’t even on it, but on a third, farther away. The tower he had been on collapsed, and he watched the bricks scatter silently. They fell, and a dust cloud grew as the debris hit. He tried to pull himself up but the platform slipped and swayed. Laura swung her own tower toward him and grabbed his arm. Then she, Reb, and Erin pulled him up and onto the final platform. He hugged them, and the tower tilted crazily and collapsed. They fell screaming toward the ground. He tried to flare out and fly, but he was falling too fast. And he couldn’t reach out to them. Somewhere inside his thoughts he knew he was dreaming.
He jerked awake in Sherry’s bed, holding on to her tightly. “Laura! Laura… I’m sorry!” Then he realized that this wasn’t Laura but Sherry.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. No, I’m not all right. I’m dying.
“You were yelling ‘Laura.’ ”
“My wife. Ex-wife.”
“Should I be jealous?”
Paul got out of the bed slowly and pulled on his pants awkwardly.
“Leaving?” she asked. “Please don’t leave.”
He sat down on the bed and kissed her tenderly. “I’m just not accustomed to sharing a bed. Besides, I have to get some work done.”
“Are you sure? I was planning breakfast in bed,” she said as she looked at the clock. “I can fix it now. It’ll be light soon.”
“Can I have a rain check?” He pulled on his shirt.
“Sure. I reckon I could stomach at least one more night of pure excitement beyond a human’s pleasure measure.”
33
Reid was snoring. Laura had lain awake for what seemed like hours before she took any action other than closing her eyes and trying to ignore the rhythmic sound. She nudged him and applied pressure until he rolled from
