Haunted (36 page)

He smiled at the screenful of words, knowing that if he kept going at the current rate, he'd be on over the hump in less than a week. In fact, he realized as he tore back into the keyboard, the manic phase was perhaps already in its first stages. As hard as it might be on his body, it felt really, really good. By the time he finished the book a few weeks--or sometimes only a few days--later, he'd look about five years older, but in a month or so, about four of those years would disappear. He didn't begrudge the book the other year: the devil always demanded his due.

After this latest confession, Joanna had told him the same story about Melanie as Georgie had and every time he remembered it, he lost his train of thought. Just like now.

So call her! His fingers remained poised above the keys. Thank her for her selflessness and get her out of your system! Stop wasting time, Masters!

He didn't want to give in and call her, though, so he tried to concentrate on the book. But it didn't work. Melanie did something nice and you should acknowledge that. It’s the only polite thing to do. Call her, say thank you, and hang up. Then: No! You broke clean, keep it that way.

Now he watched his hand pick up the phone, and sat helplessly by as his fingers pushed her number, evil fingers with minds of their own. He listened to the phone ring and smiled as her answering machine granted him a reprieve. The machine was the answer: he could thank her without having to actually speak with her.

The machine beeped at him. "Hi, Mel, this is David. I just called to say thanks. Throw Meat Blaisdell out and come back to me! Ignoring his thoughts, he said he hoped she was well, and that he and Amber were fine, then hung up.

Okay. Write! But it still wasn't working because he missed her and she'd done something that made him think they might have a chance together.

It wasn't sex--between the continuing wet dreams and Theo's constant attempts to seduce him, sex wasn't high on his list of priorities. He'd turned down several invitations from the real estate agent in the last ten days, though he had agreed to see her two nights from now, when Amber was again spending the night at Kelly's. But he wasn't at all sure he was looking forward to the liaison. Theo and her claws were, perhaps, more than he could handle. But you have to give it a chance. You have to get Melanie out of your system.

Heaving a sigh, he decided he needed a Pepsi, then remembered that Minnie was out there and decided maybe he didn't. It was ridiculous, being a prisoner in his own office, but if he so much as stuck his head out, she'd grab his ear and twist it with a barrage of words.

He'd decided to fire her at the end of the week, but thought he'd give her a chance to earn some extra money first--and let's be honest, save myself some trouble--asking her to wax the floors and generally get the house in shape before a regional magazine came to do a piece on him and the house. He didn't think it would be a smooth move to mention "The Jerry Romero Show." If he did, he'd never be rid of her. Standing up, he stretched his arms in the air, then reached down to touch his toes. He did it again, then did a few waist twists before bending his neck backward and forward until his stiff muscles started to relax. The phone rang as he was about to sit down. Melanie? He turned the sound up on the machine and waited.

"This is Keith Shayrock returning your call. If you want to make an appointment, please call between--"

"Dr. Shayrock?" David said, snatching up the phone. "I wasn't calling about an appointment. Well, not a medical appointment..."

Shayrock cleared his throat. "You have me at a disadvantage. I'm afraid you left your number but not your name. Do I know you?"

Good thing he’s not a shrink, he’d want to commit me. "I'm sorry, no, you don't know me--“

"I buy my supplies from American Med--"

"I'm not selling anything," David interrupted, afraid the man was getting ready to hang up on him. "Craig Swenson suggested I call you. My name's David Masters."

"Oh!" Shayrock's voice warmed. "I know who you are, at least, Mr. Masters. What can I do for you?"

"I'm researching a book and Craig thought you might have some information I haven't been able to locate."

They spoke briefly and, as David hung up, pleased that he would be visiting Shayrock the next day, someone pounded on his door. Minnie, you insufferable monstress!

"Mr. Masters! Open up!"

"Eric?" he called, surprised.

"Let me in!"

Quickly, he crossed the room and unlocked the door. Eric was a mess, his hair and eyes equally wild. "Eric? What happened?" Eric entered, Minnie on his heels. David stopped her with a gentle hand. "That will be all, Minnie."

"But--"

"Why don't you call it a day? Yes, call it a day and go on home." He gently but firmly shut the door in her face, turned the lock, and looked at Eric.

"He wants his head!" the boy cried loudly. "He needs it and it's in here!"

"What?" David asked in confusion.

"The captain. Captain Wilder, in the lighthouse. He wants his head. It's in here. He wants it now!"

"Shhhh!" David glanced at the door, certain that Minnie was eavesdropping, then grabbed Eric's arm and pulled him to the other end of the room. "Don't say another word," he ordered, as he directed him to the chair next to the desk.

"But--"

"One more second." David switched on the stereo and the room filled with the brilliant sounds of Verdi's Requiem Mass. Not even Minnie would be able to hear them over that.

"Okay. Now you can talk."

"He wants his head!" the boy repeated excitedly.

David shook his head. "I don't understand. Start at the beginning."

"I went to the lighthouse to fix the lock, and--"

"I thought we were going to do that together. It's not safe--"

"I needed to go alone so I could figure out what's going on. It's safe."

David held his tongue, knowing that what Eric said was true. Besides, he didn't really want to see that headless monstrosity again--he'd only said it out of prudence. "What happened?"

"The captain told me he wants his head."

He doesn't have a mouth, he can’t tell you anything. David felt the beginnings of a hysterical giggle building. "He told you?"

"In my head," Eric explained, looking at David as if he were a total imbecile.

Embarrassment blessedly killed David's impending snicker.

"You said that the captain's a leftover. How could he communicate with you?"

"He was. He isn't anymore."

"I don't understand."

"I don't either, not exactly, but I know that's why you can see him. Anybody could see him now, Mr. Mas--David." Eric gazed steadily at David. "He showed me a doll. In my mind," he added quickly. "It's head was gone. He needs it."

David opened the desk drawer and pulled out the bags containing the two effigies. He held up the broken one, though it was half-hidden in the reddish dust. "This doll?"

Eric nodded. "Most of him got out when it was broken."

"What do you mean?"

Eric shook his head, his frustration obvious. "Captain Wilder was a rerun until the doll was broken. He was in the doll. Most of him."

"Him? You mean his soul? His spirit was in the doll?"

"Yes. But not all of it. He needs me to break the head so he's all put together again."

They’re coming to take me away, haha, hehe, hoho...

The giggle grew and freed itself in a little hiccup. David swallowed. "And did he tell you where the head might be?"

"In there." Eric pointed at the trunk containing the papers.

"I've been nearly all the way through it, Eric. There's nothing in there but papers. I would have seen a doll's head."

"It's in there," Eric insisted. "Underneath."

David rose and crossed to the trunk. "Let's see." Carefully, he bent and lifted out the last few papers, a bare half-dozen. "That's it. There's nothing else in here."

Eric squatted down next to the tall box. "Tap the side, right where the bottom is."

David did, then looked at Eric.

"This is where you tapped," Eric said, pointing at a spot about a foot above the floor.

"It has a false bottom." David said in amazement.

"I think the others do, too." Eric patted the box around the outside, then reached in and felt around.

The other five cartons lined the opposite wall and David glanced at them in wonder.

"There!" Eric whispered triumphantly. "It's open."

He lifted out several dolls, each wrapped in unbleached muslin, and handed them carefully to David, one at a time. Gently, David satisfied his curiosity by partially unwrapping them, and saw that two were feminine. One had a noose around its neck, though both appeared to be in perfect condition. The third was a detailed likeness of a portly balding gentleman with white sideburns and Ben Franklin glasses. David smiled as he placed the dolls one by one in his file cabinet.

"That's all," Eric said.

Hearing that, David locked the cabinet. He glanced at the two bagged dolls he'd been keeping in the drawer, and moved to put them in the cabinet too, but Eric crowed triumphantly and David turned to look. The boy held up a little china head, complete with whiskers and an old time sea captain's hat.

David held his hand out and, reluctantly, Eric handed it over. The masculine face was perfectly executed, with a hawk nose and deep-set eyes beneath bushy eyebrows. The expression looked hearty, perhaps even friendly. "This is beautiful."

"We have to smash it, just like the rest of the doll is smashed."

"We can't--"

"We have to!" Eric's words rang out forcefully.

"Look, I need to see--let's take it to the lighthouse together. I need to understand this better. I need to see it."

Eric considered. "Okay. He won't mind. We need to hurry. He hurts."

Immediately, he walked to the door, opened it and strode into the hall. David, suddenly giddy with excitement, followed, pulling the door closed behind him.

Body House: 3:23 P.M.

Minnie watched David Masters’s and Eric Swenson until they had run nearly a third of the way to the lighthouse, then returned to Masters' office. She hadn't heard much of the conversation, thanks to that damned opera music, but it was something about dolls and that old story about the headless ghost. The retard was about out of his mind over it and Masters had caught his madness.

Gingerly, Minnie tried the door and, just as she'd suspected when she'd clandestinely watched them race from the room, the writer had forgotten to lock it.

It was about time! She tiptoed into the room, absently rubbing her hands together as she surveyed her surroundings.

The music played on, rising and falling as a herd of female cows, probably wearing metal bras and horns on their heads, caterwauled in some foreign language. Minnie moved quickly to the open crate and bent over, peered into it, but saw nothing. "Damn!" Suddenly, she jumped as the caterwauling turned practically into screams.

"Damn!" she spat again, then went to the hi-fi and pushed a button. Nothing happened. She tried another, squinting to read the tiny print, to no avail. She needed her reading glasses, but didn’t want to waste time digging them out of her purse back in the kitchen, so she just kept trying until, finally, the hollering ceased. "That's better," she muttered as she noticed a painting of a gas station hanging on the wall.

She whistled air through her teeth. "Crazy writer.” She crossed to the file cabinet because she'd distinctly heard him open and close it while the music was low. "Damn!" It was locked.

Glancing briefly at the bookshelves, hissing in disgust at some of the pornography there, she pulled one book down. It was titled The Book of Erotic Wisdom. "Filth!" She flipped a few pages, pausing to study a drawing of an Oriental couple doing it. The man's thing was the size of a tree stump, and it had veins. It was stuck in the woman's thing, which was stupid because nobody could take the pain of a thing that big. She turned the page and found a picture of a native carving of a fat, squatting woman with huge bosoms. A head was sticking out of her thing.

"Disgusting!" These pictures were even worse than the ones in the stained glass and they proved to her that David Masters was a sick man and his daughter should be taken away from him.

She put the book back, and indulged in rubbing her hands together again before she picked up one called Jung On Sex and Death.

Several more obscene books later, she realized time was passing quickly and she approached the desk. The best stuff would be inside, and she tried several drawers, but they wouldn't open. The sick bastard had thought to lock them, just like he had the file cabinet.

"What are you hiding, David Masters?" She scanned the desk top and, near the computer monitor, she noticed a couple of plastic bags. "Urn hrnm."

Delighted, she picked up the first, but it was a filthy thing, full of red dust and a broken doll. That couldn't be what they were talking about, could it? She picked up the other bag, and gasped as she caught sight of the male figurine inside it. It was all in black, with jet hair and beard, and it seemed to glare at her. It had to be one of the dolls from Lizzie's collection--and that meant it was worth a fortune.