Season of Passage, The (60 page)

Terry removed the pamphlet and tore it several times over. He gave the pieces back to the girl. 'You caught me at a bad time,' he said, gathering

his books.

Outside, before getting in his car, Terry checked the back seat twice, the trunk once. There was an al -night coffee shop two blocks from the library,

a place where he could study his books and be around people.

Once at the coffee shop, he took a table in a corner, far from the windows. The place was old but clean. He ordered coffee and a danish. The food

and drink came and he finished them off without realizing it. In the background, truck drivers talked with the waitresses about the lack of morality in

day care centers. Every now and then his tal red-headed waitress swung by and refil ed his cup. He read for three solid hours, skimming mainly, not

taking notes. At the end of the three hours he sat back and stretched. He decided he was wasting his time. Wel , he hadn't expected the key to

Martian possession to rest on the shelf of a Houston library.

On the other hand, he had uncovered a few interesting points. In almost every culture throughout history there had been legends of vampires. They

were usual y described the same way. It was as if mankind had a genetic nightmare about a monster that came out at night and drank human blood,

a thing that also had the ability to transform its victims into beings like itself, if it so desired.

He had also been surprised to discover that vampires general y disliked - beside the usual garlic and crucifixes -white roses and running water. The

latter was interesting insofar as Chaneen had said that running water would bind the Asurians.

Terry had gone for the books because he remembered Jennifer had been studying Dracula before Lauren had taken it from her. Yet he suspected

Jennifer's study had been of a superficial nature. Fire was only occasional y mentioned in the books as a weapon that could be used against

vampires. But what did the authors know anyway? They might have tracked down isolated supernatural happenings al over the world, but they had

never been to Mars and back. Lauren wasn't a vampire; he had already decided that much. Most legends were simply distorted by-products of

historical facts. If Jennifer's story was an accurate account of ancient events, then he already knew what had been distorted. According to Jennifer,

al he needed was a flame thrower and he would be al set to meet with Lauren and Gary.

Yet Terry had to admit part of his cynicism with the books was that they gave him no hope. They al said a vampire could be destroyed, but not

saved. As far as they were concerned, vampires were dead. And even Chaneen had not been able to bring back the dead.

You're thinking of Chaneen as if she once was a real person. You do believe in her.

That was not exactly true. He was remembering the long walks he had taken with Jennifer during the months before Lauren had awoken in orbit

above Mars. Yet the two thoughts, of the powerful Queen and the frail Princess, blurred together in his mind, and became difficult to tel apart. It

made him wonder al the more. But not whether old age had brought on Major Thompson's heart attack, instead of a sudden loss of blood. Lauren's

last phone cal had convinced him once and for al that he wasn't going to stumble upon a reasonable explanation for her behavior.

Terry suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to cal Herbert Fry. He stil had Herb's number in his pocket. Terry went to the coffee shop phone

and dialed the motel where Herb was staying. A gruff-voiced woman put him through to Herb's room. But the phone just rang and rang. Terry

immediately began to worry. He couldn't imagine Herb out late, wandering the dark streets. Herb had specifical y told him that he didn't know

anybody in Houston. Terry, hung up, dialed the motel again. The motel phone had no video. The woman at the desk answered. She sounded

annoyed when she heard it was him again.

'I just put you through to his room,' she said.

'But no one answered.'

'So what?' the woman asked. 'Maybe he just stepped out.'

'Would you know if he had?'

'Listen, bud, I just hand out the keys and take the money. What people do is their own business. I've got enough problems of my own.'

'This guy's a friend of mine. He hasn't been feeling wel . I doubt he would be out this late. Could you please just check his room and see that he's

OK? He's in number 204.'

'If you're so worried about your friend, you check on him. I don't make house cal s.'

'Give me your address,' Terry said.

Terry arrived at Herb's motel thirty minutes later. It was in an old part of town, where faded paint peeled off dusty buildings. Room 204 was on the

second floor, at the far end · of a narrow corridor that overlooked an empty swimming pool. Herb had worked on the space station at high union

wages, but either he saved every penny, or else he sent them al to his mother. Terry climbed the steps reluctantly. A grandson of his old ulcer

began to burn into the other side of his guts. The books in the coffee shop had been interesting to read and al that. But what if these creatures

real y were able to cross vast distances in the blink of an eye? He might be walking to his death.

The lights in room 204 were on. Terry knocked softly on the door. There was no answer. He knocked harder. No one responded. He tried the

doorknob. It was locked.

'Herb?' he cal ed. 'It's Terry. Let me in.'

Stil , no answer. Terry thought of Lisa Jackson. He ran to the manager's office.

The woman at the desk was as rough as her voice. Her face had as many lines on it as the leather of her raunchy cowboy boots. The fat ashtray

beside her left elbow was glutted with cigarette butts. Terry thought he could see tobacco stains in her hard gray eyes. Terry identified himself as

Herb's friend and asked for a key to room 204.

'Against the rules, my friend.' She blew a cloud of smoke in the air. He'd always hated cigarette smoke. It was no wonder he had to get drunk when

he went to bars. 'You want a key, you've got to pay for it.'

He pul ed out his wal et. 'How much? Room 204. One night.'

She sat back in surprise and then shrugged. Then she put out her cigarette and grabbed a large brass circle loaded with keys. She spoke wearily.

'You can have a look at your

gay lover if it means that much to you. Come on.'

'Thanks.'

He fol owed her to Herb's door. There he stuck out his hand for the keys and suggested that it would be better if he went first. The remark must have

confirmed in the woman's own mind that he was gay. She snickered as she handed over the brass circle. Terry inserted the key and opened the

door.

Herb was alone in the room. He lay asleep on the bed beneath the blankets, his eyes closed. Every light in the room was on. Terry crossed to his

side and shook him gently. Herb did not wake up. A plastic bottle containing red capsules stood on the bedstand near Herb's head. There was also

a nearly empty water glass. For a moment Terry thought Herb had caught a cold and was taking antibiotics. Lauren had once prescribed similar-

looking pil s for Terry when he had been il . He picked up the bottle and studied the label. Unfortunately, the pil s were not penicil in, but

phenobarbital. Herb was not sleeping. Half the bottle was gone. Terry touched Herb's neck. Herb was dead.

I should have cal ed. I promised him I would.

'Is he a stiff?' the motel manager asked at his back.

'What?' Terry whispered.

'Did your friend go and kil himself? Horseshit, yes, he did. With those pil s there. Man, this is the third one this year. These faggots and their drugs.

Got to cal the police now. You'l have to fil out the papers. Don't go thinking I wil . I've got enough problems of my own.'

'I'l fil out the papers,' Terry said taking hold of Herb's cold hands. 'But I'd appreciate it if you cal ed the police. I'd like to be alone with him for a few

minutes.'

The woman paused at the door. 'Do you know why he did it?'

Terry swal owed thickly. 'He was afraid of the dark.' While waiting for the police to arrive, Terry found an open Bible resting under the blankets

across Herb's chest. It was turned to Psalms. Terry read several of them aloud to ¦Herb. He was stil reading when an officer tapped him on the

shoulder and asked if he would mind coming down to the station to answer a few questions. Terry said fine. At the station he fil ed out papers that

asked for his name, address, and phone number. He also had to explain his relationship to the deceased. He told them he had met Herb for the

first time that afternoon, interviewing him for a possible article on the return of Project Nova. Terry explained that Herb had appeared upset over the

recent suicide of Lisa Jackson, who had been a friend of Herb's aboard Space Station One. The sergeant in charge nodded sympathetical y. He

appeared satisfied there had been no foul play, but he asked Terry if he would mind hanging around until they got the results back from the autopsy.

A coroner was presently on duty in the lab. The sergeant thought it would only be a couple of hours. Terry said al right. At least at the police station

he was around other people, and they carried guns.

Terry ended up being the one to contact Herb's parents. The sergeant traced them through NASA. Terry woke up the mother and father in Chicago

at four in the morning. You must be mistaken, they said, our boy would never kil himself. They thought it was a crank cal , but then the sergeant took

the phone from Terry's hand and confirmed the bad news, only to shove the phone back on Terry a moment later. The mother began to cry. Terry

was sorely tempted to tel her that her son was simply another victim of an ancient curse. But he said nothing. He had to save the world. He couldn't

have the sergeant locking him up for a few days.

The results of the autopsy took six hours to come back. It was nine o'clock before Terry left the police station. The coroner's report stated that

twenty-nine-year-old Herbert Fry had died from a self-induced overdose of phenobarbital. Great, Terry thought, feeling cranky by then. He could

have told them that. Six hours wasted sitting on a wooden bench while the plague of aliens swept across the globe.

In the light of the bright new day, Terry drove to a park where he used to go with Jennifer and Lauren. It was a huge park - half a mile across - and

had a duck-fil ed lake in the center. He bought a tal glass of lemonade at a concession stand and found a bench. He took off his shoes and

massaged his feet in the grass and watched as young mothers appeared with blankets and babies and talked about what a fine day it was going to

be. He, too, was happy for the sun.

He was thinking.

Kratine said that the reawakening of his curse was inevitable, and Chaneen had not argued the point with him. She in fact admitted to its power, yet

she promised her children she would return to stop it. Regrettably, she did not say anything about the length of her return visit, and Jennifer was

dead. But was it possible - given that the basis of his analysis was far from a reasonable possibility - that by sacrificing her life, Jennifer believed

she could halt the spread of the possession that infected Lauren? In a sense Jennifer had simply copied Rankar. Then again, Rankar had not

committed suicide. He had been murdered, and try as Terry might, even moving in the stratospheric circles that he presently was, he could not see

how pouring gasoline on oneself and striking a match could help anybody. Terry feared that in taking the form of a child, Chaneen had lost the bulk

of her cosmic perspective and

magical powers. Certainly before the Nova departed, Jennifer had had no clear recol ections of the Garden, only tormenting nightmares of Kratine.

There was another possibility. Jennifer had only kil ed herself after she had finished her story, and she had left her story out for him to find. Perhaps

she felt she had fulfil ed her purpose by describing in detail the nature of the beast that would come from Mars. Terry could only wish she had left

behind a secret chant that could invoke the Fire Messenger.

Then there was what he considered the most likely explanation of her actions. Jennifer had kil ed herself because at heart she had not changed

from her Chaneen days. She was stil incapable of hurting others, even an enemy, especial y when the enemy came clothed in the body of her

beloved sister. Terry could relate.

What came next? What did he think?

I'm probably going to have to kil them.

Terry checked his watch. It was close to ten, which meant it was near eight o'clock in California. Military people started work early. There would be

someone at the phone at Edwards. Terry walked to the neat red brick rec center at the center of the park and closed himself in a phone booth,

disengaging the video transmission. A minute later he had reached the officer he'd spoken to the previous day. The guy was in a better mood.

'I'm sorry, Mr Hayes,' he said. 'Didn't Dr Wagner cal you? She and Major Wheeler left last night.'

'Last night?'

'Yes, sir. They snuck out under the cover of dark. I shouldn't have been so abrupt with you yesterday. Word had already leaked out that they were

here. The base has been surrounded by reporters since yesterday.' The man chuckled. 'We stashed them in the back of a supply truck

and drove them right past the people at the gate. They were grinning from ear to ear. I've never seen two people so eager to be free. Frankly, I can't