The Frighteners (10 page)

It was the Grim Reaper, the same otherworldly figure that Old Lady Bartlett had tried to fight off when it emerged from the walls of her old house. Frank was frozen as he watched in the washbasin mirror. The other man was face-to-face with the Reaper, but obviously couldn’t see him. The man shuffled his feet impatiently, in a hurry for Frank to finish up and leave. But then the Reaper slowly raised his hand and slid it into the man’s chest.

The man stiffened and cried out.

In a dark and low voice dripping with silky menace the apparition said, “Don’t fear the Reaper.”

Frank turned and looked, but was too frightened to act as he watched the man clutch his chest and sink to the floor, gasping for breath. Either unaware that Frank could see him or uncaring, the Reaper still had his hand buried in the man’s chest. He twisted and squeezed as the man convulsed and died.

“Jesus Christ,” Frank swore.

The Reaper rose and turned toward Frank. Bannister quickly averted his eyes, not wanting the Reaper to know he could see him. It was then that the men’s room was filled with a blinding white light. The dead man’s transparent emanation rose out of his body. He looked around the room and then up into an endless corridor of swirling white light.

“Mom!” the emanation said, awestruck.

The man walked into the corridor, and then the light snapped off.

Despite his fear, Frank thought, There really is a corridor and it really is peaceful in there. This man . . . whoever he was . . . went happily to his reward. But who is this Reaper, and what is he doing prowling around Fairwater plucking healthy people in the prime of their lives?

Frank realized that if he escaped this room alive, he’d have to act like a man who had just seen another die of a heart attack. He looked down at the body, then, sweating, brushed right by the Reaper, averting his eyes from the creature, which twisted its hooded head to watch his progress. Frank rushed out the door and hurried across the restaurant to Lucy’s table.

She looked up and smiled when she saw him approach.

“Hi. Did you get it out?”

“We gotta leave,” Frank said urgently, sliding into his chair.

“Why? Is it that bad?”

“Is what that bad? Oh, the wine stain; no, it isn’t.”

“Because if it is, my mom has a surefire way—”

“Lucy,
please,”
Frank said. “We have to go right now. Something came up.”

She looked surprised. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll just go to the bathroom.”

She got up to do it, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into her seat.

“No!” he said sharply.

“Hey, when a girl’s gotta go, a girl’s gotta go.”

“I’ll take you to the Exxon station. Let’s split.”

“Frank? What’s wrong?”

He searched his brain for something to tell her and came up empty. Then he saw the Reaper oozing out of the wall and into the restaurant. Frank turned ashen, and he said to her, in an urgent whisper, “Don’t move . . . talk to me.”

Lucy was rattled by his strange behavior.

“What’s going on? I have to leave. I can’t go to the bathroom. Then I have to sit back down and talk to you. What gives?”

Frank didn’t respond. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the Reaper cruised the tables, looking like a cruel, blue-black pointer searching for its next victim. Nobody but Frank was aware of the creature’s progress from table to table, bending and peering into people’s faces, exuding a hideous dark glow. At last the thing moved in on Frank and Lucy’s table.

Frank said, “I think it’s a good time of year to put your house on the market.” His voice was strained by the necessity of finding something inane to discuss while keeping an eye on the approaching beast.

“My house, on the market? Frank, Ray just died. Admittedly, I could stand to move into a condo, maybe one of those new ones by the harbor. I don’t need all that space—I certainly don’t need the rowing machine—and it would be good to be away from the place that reminds me of my late husband. But why do we have to discuss it now?”

“Lucy, please.”

“Did you meet someone in the men’s room? A real-estate agent who wants to buy it?”

“No. Nobody in this town talks to me unless it’s unavoidable.”

She was totally confused by Frank’s behavior. In addition to the strange line of conversation, his body was as tense as a railroad tie and he was perspiring.

The Reaper swept in close to Lucy, pausing behind her chair, then leaned down until its cowl was right alongside her face. Frank was just able to make out yellowing eyes that appeared as cruel slits in an otherwise black and featureless countenance.

“Frank, if you want the rowing machine, it’s yours.”

Frank couldn’t tell if the Reaper was looking at him or her. The thing was only inches away. He could swear he smelled its breath, like someone had just opened the back door to hell, beating hot and mercilessly on his cheeks.

“Prices will drop before Christmas,” he said.

“Prices? Of what? Rowing machines?”

“Of houses. I mean, the price of your house will drop. You ought to sell it.”

The Reaper moved closer to Frank then. Bannister gave the creature no indication he could see it. He kept his eyes fixed on Lucy, but he was unable to keep up an intelligent conversation. In fact, he was getting lucky if he could make one word match the next.

“You’re sweating,” she said.

Then it occurred to him. He got out of the bathroom alive—maybe—because he did what was normal for a man to do who had just seen another man collapse.

“Let me tell you the truth,” he said.

“I wish you would.”

“I saw a man collapse in the bathroom.”

“Collapse?”

“I think he had a heart attack.”

She started to get up, but he grabbed her arm.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’m a doctor. I can help.”

“It’s too late. He’s beyond your help now.”

“How do you know? You’re not a specialist in saving lives.”

“No, but the specialty I do have gives me a certain insight. He’s dead, Lucy. And I think we should leave this restaurant—now.”

The Reaper was now an inch away from Frank’s face. The creature’s breath, real or imaginary, was beating on his cheeks and eyelashes, a hot blast from the other side.

“It’s too damn hot in here,” Frank said, tugging at his collar.

Then there came another voice, Magda Ravanski’s voice.

“Mrs. Lynskey!” she said.

The Reaper pulled away from Frank and wheeled around as Magda drunkenly approached the table. Steve Bayliss was with her, looking a bit like a slave boy being hauled into Rome as booty from one of Caesar’s foreign conquests.

“Frank, who is this woman?” Lucy asked.

“William Randolph Hearst with PMS,” he replied.

“Who?”

“The managing editor of the
Gazette.”

“What a lovely séance you have going,” Magda said drunkenly. “Have you had lots of meaningful messages from your dearly departed?”

The Reaper glided up to Magda and glared in her face. If only, Frank thought, she could see him.

“I beg your pardon?” Lucy said icily.

“Watch your wallet, darling,” Magda replied. “I’ve heard that Mr. Bannister is quick with his fingers.”

The Reaper suddenly slid down into the floor and vanished.

Frank said, “He’s gone!”

“Who?” Lucy asked. “Ray?”

“No. Someone else. Some
thing
worse.” And with that, Frank leaped to his feet and ran out of the restaurant.

Magda looked triumphant. “I knew he’d run. He’s a crook and a coward, and they always run.”

Lucy glared at the woman, then snapped, “Oh, shut up, you drunken old bag.”

Eight

F
rank rushed out onto the sidewalk in front of Bellisimo’s, looking up and down to see which way the creature went. It wasn’t that Bannister wanted to
catch
the thing, which could take a life so easily; it was more that anything so horrible had to be gotten rid of, if possible, and studying it was the first step.

Automobile traffic was rare by that hour, and pedestrians had disappeared from the sidewalk. Fairwater had never been a town in which folks walked much anyway, so when the sidewalk in front of Bannister rippled up with the force of the Reaper beneath it, he was the only one to notice. He ducked behind a parked Volvo to watch.

It was the same as it had been with the carpet in the Bartlett House. Except this time the sidewalk billowed as if it were a cotton bedsheet blowing in a morning wind rather than solid concrete. And it formed into the shape of the Reaper—tall, sleek, and evil. The creature looked around, the cruel yellow slits that served as eyes scanning the deserted streets looking for victims. As its eyes passed over the Volvo Frank hunched down as close as he could get to the pavement, praying that the thing would pass over him.

Luckily, it did. Seeing no one in the vicinity of the restaurant, the Reaper began to move down the sidewalk. Bannister would later say it walked, although gliding was probably a better description. In either case, it moved swiftly down the sidewalk to the middle of the block, then cut out across the gutter, moving between a BMW and a Ford. Then the Reaper moved down the middle of the deserted street, picking up speed.

The creature was so graceful, it could almost be flying. No feet seemed to touch the cold evening asphalt, yet the thing moved along as fast as a steadily moving car. Feeling it was safe to do so, Frank came out of his hiding place and started following the thing.

The Reaper swept along the street effortlessly, cape billowing, exuding the evil blue-black light that seemed almost liquid. Frank ran steadily at first, then had to begin sprinting in order to keep up. Before too long he was running as fast as he could, yet the creature kept pulling away from him, its otherworldly light becoming fainter and fainter in the distance.

Then, suddenly, it stopped, as if it had come to an invisible traffic light. It froze like a monument in the middle of the deserted street, then looked left and right as if deciding which way to go. Frank’s footfalls on the deathly quiet pavement suddenly were as loud as thunderclaps.

“Oh, my God . . .” He swore to himself when he realized it. He froze, too; then, as the creature whipped its head in his direction, he dived behind a parked Honda.

Frank huddled down behind the rear bumper, afraid for a time to peek. When at last he worked up the courage to do so, he saw the Reaper moving toward the three-story Federal Bank of Fairwater building, a heavy red-brick structure designed to resemble a much smaller version of the Federal Reserve Bank. The Reaper picked up speed and then ran right through the brick wall.

Bannister jumped out from behind the Honda and ran quickly down the street. He came to the spot where he saw the creature go through the wall and pulled to a halt, out of breath. The thing had marched into the most secure building in Fairwater and no alarms had gone off! Frank leaned against the brick, panting hard, feeling like a man facing a firing squad.

Then the brick next to him buckled out as if a blister had formed in it and was growing a foot per second. The Reaper morphed out of the wall, his cape and cowl at first formed of brick that had suddenly become as pliable as plastic wrap. Frank held his breath and froze as the creature stood there, looking around. Amazingly, it didn’t see him—or if it did, it didn’t consider him worth killing. Without a sound, the Reaper glided across the street, moving with amazing speed.

Frank watched, relieved, as the creature went through the wall of the Museum Medical Associates Building, a three-story stucco structure filled with the latest in medical equipment. Suddenly lights went on all over the building and Frank swore he could hear the whirring of equipment that had just turned itself on. He took shelter behind a battered Volkswagen van, plastered with Grateful Dead and “Jerry Lives” stickers, and watched.

Within seconds, the Reaper exited the building, a few yards further down the sidewalk. The second the thing was out of the building, the lights and whirring stopped. Again the Reaper looked around—Bannister was sure then it was looking for victims, but so far it had chosen two buildings that were closed at night. The restaurant had plenty of potential victims in it, and the Reaper had chosen one—as well as given long looks at many others, including Frank and Lucy. Where would the Reaper turn next?

Frank had his answer in a moment as the creature’s narrow yellow eyes seemed to blaze extra bright when they focused on the banner, visible down the street, announcing the Egyptian exhibit. The creature suddenly took off in the direction of the museum. In a frightening burst of speed, it shot across the street and vanished around the corner.

“My friends,” Frank gasped. He got out from behind the VW and ran after it.

With the crowd of dignitaries firmly in her thrall, Janet King stood before an ornate, sealed coffin. As was common practice in ancient Egypt, a likeness of the deceased was carved in the lid of the stone sarcophagus. This one clearly bore the remains of a beautiful woman who had the misfortune to die in her early twenties. Her coffin stood vertically on a plinth set in the middle of a gallery.

The crowd gathered around it, with museum curator Amos Osborne still on the outside of the circle. He had not entirely recovered from his encounter with Stuart and, while outwardly calm, kept the fingers of one hand wrapped about Frank Bannister’s business card.

“This is Queen Merytaten from the eighteenth dynasty, or about fourteen hundred
B.C.
,” Janet said. “In order to better understand ancient burial practice, we have conducted a number of scientific tests that weren’t available to Egyptologists even a decade ago. We have, for example, managed to extract live DNA from her tissue . . .”

There were several “oohs” from the audience.

“That’s right, we found still-intact DNA in her intestines and managed to compare it with the DNA of modern humans. It’s interesting that we got a ninety-nine-point-nine-seven-five percent match. In other words, this Egyptian queen who lived thirty-four hundred years ago was just like you or me.”