effect on me that Susan has had, and I certainly didn’t think Jill would be able to come so close to breaking away from me.
Which reminds me of some unfinished business. I must find a dilapidated hotel called the Hollywood that, according to Jill, is on Foster just outside of Little Philly, and I must gain entrance to the boarding house next door, and I must have a talk with the woman who has been plaguing me more than Kellem has.
Now that I think of it, Kellem has done nothing since the time the police visited the house; and come to that, why am I so certain Kellem arranged for the visit? It might have been the old woman’s doing, or maybe something completely unrelated. Maybe, with one thing and another, I’ve cut my own throat, without the need for Kellem to do anything at all; that would be true irony. But still, why would she need to be so subtle when all she would have had to do is command me to do something and I would have been required to obey, just as
Just as Jill is.
By my lost grace, could it be? Is such a thing possible?
THIRTEEN
pur·pose n. 1. The object toward which one strives or for which something exists; goal; aim. 2. A result or effect that is intended or desired; intention. 3. Determination; resolution. 4. The matter at hand; point at issue.
The church bells, unusual for a Friday, finally stopped several hours ago. I think by now it must be Saturday morning. March has all but ended, but it still feels like mid-February; I’m tempted to take this as a personal affront.
Once more, now, I am feeling well and fit, as if the trials of a week ago had not occurred, save for the wounds of experience, which bring strength, not weakness. I found a telephone and spoke to Jill in the hospital, and wished her a speedy recovery. They do not, she said, have any idea what happened to her, but she says she’s doing well. They were concerned that she had attempted suicide at first, but not any more. She expects to return home within a day or two.
I can relax now, and consider the impossible, and prepare for exertions to come, for there may be some. The notion does not frighten me. If I am correct in my surmises (why do I want to say surmisi?), then I will still carry out the visit I had intended to make, only I will do so with a different purpose. This, I think, will happen tomorrow.
If I am right, then I can leave this place, and never need to worry about Kellem again. Perhaps, even, Susan will come with me; I should like that very much. But I dare not broach the subject until I have some reason to believe I will escape this peril.
Before, the notion of opposing Kellem was unthinkable. Now, all of a sudden, I can not only consider it, but I have, indeed, been thinking of little else for the past several days, even to the point of failing in my duty to this machine. The notion fills me with an excitement such as I have never felt; one that is not unmixed with fear, but is no less strong for that.
I am not weary, but sleep is, nevertheless, coming on. Tomorrow, more will occur.
I have this odd piece of paper in front of me. I read it, and I wonder if I have been made a fool of. I hope not. I think not. Unless something happens to change my mind, I will assume not.
When I left the house it was early in the evening, the full moon had not yet risen, and I was greeted by the aftermath of a freezing rain; one of those ambiguous signs that either says, “It will be colder soon,” or, “It will be warmer before too long.” For the time of year, it ought to be the latter, but I am not convinced. But it makes the streets and sidewalks just as slippery either way, and everywhere I saw the flashing lights of tow trucks doing their job and policemen too busy to look for the likes of me.
In spite of the fact that I walked all the way-tread-ing, as it were, on thin ice-it was still early when I found the hotel, every bit as ugly as I’d been told, with red brick and a cracked glass door next to a revolving door that bore an “out of order” sign that seemed very old. I looked at the other doors that were a part of the same structure, and one of them had, drawn in chalk, a circle with a dot in the middle of it. Inside the door, a public hallway, were three mailboxes. I recognized the name on number two.
There were three doors on the landing at the top of the long, narrow stairway. The one I wanted was not difficult to identify; it was in the middle and had a number on it, albeit hanging upside down from one nail. It also had her name above the door in glittering letters.
I knocked upon the door and waited.
There was the sound of shuffling feet, and the door was opened as far as the security chain would permit. I found myself regarding a pair of dark eyes cast into an old, weathered face poured from a mold I’d seen many times in many places. The eyes regarded me, widened, narrowed, then appeared to consider. I had the feeling that I’d been recognized.
After a moment the door closed, the chain slipped off, and the door opened again; apparently she realized that such devices are neither sufficient nor necessary. She supported herself with a wooden stick in one hand, the other gripping the door.
Her voice was sharp and brittle. She said. “You must be John Agyar.”
“Yes,” I said. “Good evening.”
She nodded, watching me carefully.
I said, “Are you going to invite me in?”
“No.”
“Ah. Then we must converse this way?”
“I have nothing to say to you. What have you to say to me? I’m too old for threats to mean anything.”
“I’ll bet you say that to all the guys.”
“Only for as long as it’s been true. What do you want?”
“I thought you could tell me my future.”
She snorted. “My crystal ball isn’t here. What do you want?”
I shrugged. “I dislike standing by the door. Can we meet somewhere?”
“Do you think I’m so foolish?”
“Au contraire, as my friend the ghost likes to say. I believe you are wise enough to take precautions, and intelligent enough to know what precautions to take. As it happens, I have no desire to harm you in any way; but I am wise enough not to expect you to believe me and intelligent enough to invite any reasonable alternative.”
She stared at me for a moment more, looking me dead in the eye as if to tell me I could do nothing to her, which may even have been true. Then she nodded. “There is a cafe in the hotel downstairs; I’ll meet you there.”
“I’ll wait for you outside.”
She snorted a little. “Very well. I will see you in a moment.”
I returned to the street and found a dark place to await the redoubtable lady and keep an eye out for the police, just in case she thought to call them on me. I decided that I liked her; I hoped I wouldn’t have to kill her.
Twenty minutes later she came out of the door, helped by two walking sticks. She was heavily muffled against the weather, wearing a dark wool coat and a matching hat and scarf, thick woolen mittens with little metal clasps attaching them to her coat sleeves, such as children wear so they don’t lose their mittens. I suspect that she had made most of the items herself.
She looked around for me and I stepped up next to her. She didn’t jump; she just scowled and said, “Come along.” She didn’t have much trouble walking in spite of the icy sidewalk, I suppose because of years of practice and the shortness of her steps. A boy of about eighteen was spreading salt on the sidewalk as we walked by, but it hadn’t started working yet.
