The Hellfire Club

Hey, this clown can't hear me. He drank most of that bottle of vodka, remember? That guy's out cold. But even stone-cold sober, he wouldn't be able to hear either one of us.

I miss you.

That's why I'm here.

Nora began to cry. I need you.

Honey, the person you need is Nora. You got lost, and now you have to find yourself again.

I don't even have a self anymore. I'm dead.

Listen to me, sweetie. That pile of horse manure did the worst thing to you he could think of because he wants to break you down, but it didn't work, not all the way. Forget this dead business. If you were dead, you wouldn't be talking to me.

Why not? You're dead, too.

You're not as easy to kill as Dick Dart thinks you are. You're going to get through it, but to do that you have to go through it. It's hard, and I wish it didn't have to be this way, but sometimes you have to take an awful bitter pill.

The form facing her in the chair, one ankle on the opposite knee, had been gradually coming clearer in the darkness, and now she could make out his plaid shirt open over the flash of a white T-shirt, the vertical red stripes of his suspenders, his work boots. His close-cropped white hair glimmered. She fastened on his beloved, familiar face, the clear eyes fanned with deep wrinkles and the heavily lined forehead. Here was Matt Curlew, her strong capable steady father, looking back at her with a mixture of tendene ss and authority which pierced her heart.

It's too much, she said.

You can come through. You have to.

I can't.

He folded his hands together on top of his raised leg and leaned forward.

Okay, maybe I can. But I don't want to.

Of course not. Nobody wants to go all the way through. Some people, they're never even asked to do it. You might say those are pretty lucky people, but the truth is, they never had the chance to stop being ignorant. You know what a soul is, Nora? A real soul? A real soul is something you make by walking through fire. By keeping on walking, and by remembering how it felt.

I'm not strong enough.

This time, you get to do it right. Last time you got half as bad as this, you closed your eyes and pretended it didn't happen. Inside you, there are a lot of doors you shut a long time ago. What you have to do is open those doors.

I don't understand.

Just let yourself remember. Start with this. Remember one summer when you were nine or ten and I taught you all those knots? Remember doing the half hitch? The slipknot?

Tying knots when she was ten years old? The present Nora had never been ten years old.

You were sitting on that stump in the backyard, the one from the oak that fell down during that hellacous storm.

Then she did remember: the smooth white surface of the stump, her tomboy self fooling with a length of rope she had unearthed in the garage, her father wandering up to ask if she wanted to learn some fancy knots. Then the pleasure of discovering how a random-seeming series of loops magically resolved into a pattern. She had badgered him for weeks, showed off at the kitchen table, impressed various boys, absorbed by one of those childish fascinations which last a season and then disappear for good.

I remember.

What was the best one? You used it to tie up Lobo.

The witch's curse?

The guy who taught it to me called it the witch's headache. Probably has a dozen names. If you tie it right, nobody who doesn't know the trick can ever undo it. From what I can see, your friend Dick Dart tried to put a witch's headache on your wrist, but he doesn't know as much about knots as he does about cosmetics.

Nora looked down at the complication on her wrist, as solid as a bracelet and intricate as a maze. Something about the pattern was misshapen.

You can get out of that contraption in a couple of seconds. You see how?

Nora tugged here and there with her free hand, gently loosening the web, then slowly drew the end of the rope from under a strand, unwound it from around her wrist, and passed it beneath another strand. The knot sagged into a series of loops from which she could easily slide her hand.

Now tie it all back up again with that stupid mistake where he missed the choke.

But I can get away!

You're not done yet, honey. You have to stick with this animal for a while, then you'll be able go through with what you have to do.

I don't know what you're talking about!

I wish I could guarantee you it'll all turn out the way it should, but can anybody ever promise that? Don't worry about the knot - it'll tie itself, and miss the choke, too.

I suppose you think this is easy.

Nothing about this is easy. Go all the way through it, honey. This time go all the way through.

Nora watched the rope slither twice around her wrist, create a loop, wind around, slip beneath a strand and through the loop, miss the essential hitch, and tuck itself into the web. When she looked up, her father said, I love you. Sunshine. You're one hell of a girl.

Help me, she said, but the chair was empty.52

Faint gray light touched the edge of the curtains. The last time she had looked at them, she had seen darkness, so she had slept. Dart had planned a busy day, and she was supposed to stop him. She could not stop Dick Dart. A thick membrane made of transparent rubber surrounded her, stealing her will, robbing her of the power to act. Within the membrane, she could do no more than follow orders and utter occasional remarks. Matt Curlew had come to her in a dream and shown her that Dart couldn't tie the witch's headache, but he knew nothing about the membrane.

Dart lay on his side, turned away from her. Experimentally, she put her hand on his shoulder. He rolled over to face her, his bloodshot eyes gleaming. 'Need an early start today. Get any sleep?' His breath smelled like burning tires.

'A little, I guess.'

He sat up and pulled her wrist onto his broad thigh. 'Don't suppose you made any little efforts to untie that knot while I was out.'

'I touched it, that's all.'

'Ooh, Nora, you excite me.' He giggled. This knot, you try to get out of it, it tightens up on you. Called the devil's conundrum. Watch this.' He tugged at a strand, passed it beneath another, and the knot dissolved. 'Need two hands to make it work. If you try it, you'll cut off most of the circulation to your hand.'

If you tied it right, that is, she thought. Inside the bubble, she made a ghostly smile.

He looked at his watch. The first thing I want you to do is pack everything in your suitcase, leaving out one of the new T-shirts and jeans. I have to fix your face and hair. Then we're going to keep our eyes on the parking lot.' He patted her face. 'If I say so myself, I improved your looks about a thousand percent. Don't you agree? Don't you have to admit that your rescuer from Durance Vile is a genius?'

'You're a genius,' Nora said.

Dart jumped out of bed and spun around. 'I'm a genius, I was born a genius, I always will be a genius, and I have never done anything wrong! Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for a man who can truly be said to be one of a kind, the great one, the maestro, Mr RIIICHARD DART!'

He flapped a hand at Nora, and she clapped twice.