The manitou (21 page)

Singing Rock,
but I have a homicide squad to run. The hospital has asked us to winkle out a
mad patient who’s already killed one nurse and injured a doctor, and it’s my
duty to go down there and get him out. Dead or alive, you understand, depending
on how he wants it. What did you say his name was?
Mickey
something?”

“Misquamacus,”
corrected Singing Rock quietly. “Lieutenant, I’m warning you...”

“Warn me no
warns,” said Lieutenant Marino. “I’ve been serving this force for longer than a
coon’s age, and I know what to do in situations like this one. There won’t be
no
trouble, and there won’t be no fuss. Just keep your heads
down until it’s all over.”

He opened the
office door, and the press and the TV people came pushing in. Singing Rock and
I stood amongst them, silent and depressed and frightened, while Marino gave a
tough two-minute resume of what he planned to do.

“We’re going to
seal off the whole floor, then comb the corridors with marksmen and tear gas.

We’re going to
do it real systematic, and we’re going to issue regular warnings to this nut
that if he doesn’t come quiet he’s in genuine trouble. I’m also sending three
men down in the elevator to cut him off from that direction.”

The reporters
scribbled down Marino’s plan, and then bombarded him with more questions.

Marino raised
his hands for silence.

“I’m not saying
anything else for now. Just watch how we flush him out, and then we’ll chew the
fat later. Is everyone ready, detective?”

“Ready, sir,”
said Narro.

We watched
despondently as a squad of eight armed patrolmen went to the staircase and
disappeared through the door. Lieutenant Marino was standing by the elevator
with his hand held intercom, checking for the moment when the
search-and-destroy team would reach the tenth floor. Three men – two uniformed
officers and Detective Narro – were waiting by the elevator, revolvers ready,
all keyed up for the moment to go down there and shoot it out. After nine or
ten minutes of restless waiting, there was a buzz from the men down below.

“How you doing
down there?” called Lieutenant Marino through the intercom.

There was a
crackle of static, then a voice said: “
It’s
dark. We
can’t get the lights to work. We may need some floods.”

“Are you into
the corridor yet?” asked Lieutenant Marino. “Can you see anything?”

“We’re just
through the door and we’re ready to fan out and start looking. No sign of any
trouble so far.”

Lieutenant
Marino gave the
thumb’s
up to Detective Narro and his
two uniformed buddies, and they entered the elevator and pressed the button for
10. Singing Rock and I didn’t look at each other as the doors slid shut and the
floor indicator blinked 18 – 17 – 16 – 15 – 14 and down. It stopped at 10.

“How you guys
doing?” asked Marino, into his intercom.

“We’re fine,”
came
the voice of the search-and-destroy leader. “So far
there’s nothing to report.

We’re going
through every room, one after the other, and we’re checking everything.”

“Keep alert,”
said Marino.

Detective
Narro’s voice, distorted by the intercom, said: “It’s very dark indeed. The
flashlights don’t seem to work properly. Does anyone know what’s wrong with the
lights?”

Dr. Winsome
said: “We’ve already checked. There’s no fault that we can detect.”

Lieutenant
Marino said: “They say the lights have been checked and they can’t help. Just
be careful, and hold your flashlights away from your body. You don’t want to
make yourself an easy target.”

“Christ,” I
whispered to Singing Rock, shaking my head. “They still think they’re fighting
a mad gunman.”

Singing Rock
was very pale. “They’ll find out,” he said grimly. “I just hope it isn’t too
bad when they do.”

The voice of
the search-and-destroy leader said: “I’m having some trouble here. The floor
plan of these corridors doesn’t seem to tally with the maps. We’ve been around
in a circle twice, and it looks like we’re just about to do it for the third
time.”

“Illusions,”
said Singing Rock softly. A newspaper reporter with carroty hair looked up and
said:

“What?”

“What’s your
position?” asked Lieutenant Marino. “What room is nearest to you?”

“Room Ten-Oh-Five, sir.”

Lieutenant
Marino hurriedly consulted his floor plan. Then he said: “In that case, there
should be a turning to your left, and then a right and you’re into the next
section.”

There was a
brief silence, and then the voice said: “Sir – there’s no turning. I mean,
there’s no opening. This is just a blank wall here. I can’t see anything.”

“That’s
nonsense, Petersen. There’s a turning right in front of you.”

“Sir, there’s
no turning. They must’ve changed the place around since these maps were drawn.”

Lieutenant
Marino turned around to Dr. Winsome, but Dr. Winsome simply shook his head.

Lieutenant
Marino said: “The hospital people say no. Are you sure that’s ten-oh-five?”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“Well, keep on
looking. There’s probably been some kind of mistake. Maybe the suspect changed
the room numbers around.”

“Sir?”

“Well, I don’t
know! Just keep looking.”

At that moment,
there was a buzz from Detective Narro. His voice sounded oddly hoarse and
strained.

“I seem to
think we have trouble here, sir.”

“What kind of
trouble?” rapped Lieutenant
Marino.
“Did you locate
the suspect?”

“Sir – we’re
having some kind of a...”

“Narro?
You’re having some kind of a what?”

“Sir –
we’re...”

The intercom
crackled for a moment, and then went dead. For a brief moment, I heard the
mournful monotone of that wind that blew and didn’t blow at all. Then there was
silence.

Lieutenant
Marino pressed his call button “Narro? Detective Narro – can you hear me? Narro
–

what’s
going on down there?”

There was a
buzz from the search team. Marino said: “Yes?”

“Sir, we seem
to have run into something here. It’s extremely cold down here. I don’t think
I’ve ever been anywhere quite so cold.”

“Cold?
What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s cold,
sir. It’s so cold. I think we’re going to have to turn back. The flashlights
won’t work.

It’s very dark
and it’s very cold, sir, and I don’t think we can carry on much longer.”

Lieutenant
Marino jabbed the call button and shouted: “Stay down there! What the hell’s
wrong with you people? What the hell’s going on down there?”

There was
silence. For the first time, in that room full of newsmen and cameramen and
medics, there was silence. Then, almost imperceptibly we felt the floor rise
and fall like a passing wave, and every light in the room flickered briefly.
There was a strange sensation like a cloud passing over the sun, and somewhere
we heard the dull, nagging sound of a mournful wind.

Lieutenant
Marino went to the uniformed officer standing by the elevator doors. “Get that
elevator up here,” he said tightly. “I’m going down to look for myself.”

The officer
pressed the button and the elevator indicator rose up from 10 – 11 – 12 – 13 –
14.

Lieutenant
Marino tugged his police special out of his waistband, and stood by the
elevator doors ready to step in when they opened.

The light on
the indicator said 18. There was a hum, and the elevator doors slid back. There
was a horrified gasp from everyone in the whole room.

The inside of
the elevator looked like a butcher’s frozen meat store. The hacked and mangled
remains of every policeman in the squad lay in a red, hoar-frosted heap. There
were ribcages, arms, legs and torn-apart faces, all thickly rimmed with white
crystals.

Singing Rock
turned away, and I watched him turn away, and I felt as helpless and agonized
as he did.

H
alf an hour later, we sat in Jack Hughes’ office with Lieutenant
Marino and Dr. Winsome, smoking fast and drinking faster, and trying to think
our way out of trouble. This time, Singing Rock and Jack Hughes and I were
given something more than skeptical disinterest, and we told the police and the
doctors everything we knew about Misquamacus and the strange dreams of Karen
Tandy. I still didn’t know if Lieutenant Marino was prepared to believe what we
were telling him, but he had a slaughtered squad of police on his hands, and he
wasn’t in much of a position to argue.

The lights had
started to flicker more regularly now, and that odd rippling motion of the
floor was happening more and more often. Marino had sent out a call for
reinforcements, but wherever they were coming from, they certainly seemed to be
taking their own sweet time about it. Marino’s intercom seemed to be growing
fainter and less effective, and there was a persistent crackle on most of the
telephones. A young uniformed officer had been sent out of the hospital to call
for help on foot, but there was no sign of him, either.

“All right,”
said Marino sourly. “Supposing
it’s
magic. Supposing
all this garbage is true. What do we do about it? How do you arrest a manitou?”

Singing Rock
coughed. He was looking tired and strained, and I didn’t know how much longer
he could keep going. The floor rose and fell underneath us, and the electric
lights
flickered
an odd blueish color. It was like
traveling by ship on a heavy swell. The remote monotonous sound of the Star
Beast’s gale added to the impression of a desolate voyage into unknown seas.

“I don’t know
how we can stop Misquamacus now,” said Singing Rock. “You can feel these
vibrations. They’re the preliminaries to the appearance of the Great Old One.
According to the legends, the Great Old One is always preceded by storms and
hideous minions. Dr. Hughes can tell you all about those.”

Dr. Hughes,
without a word, passed over a black-and-white photograph that had been taken of
his mutilated hand. He had disturbed the hospital photographic unit to have it
printed up specially. Lieutenant Marino examined it without emotion and then
passed it back.

“What do you
think could have caused damage like that?” asked Dr. Hughes. “Those are sharp,
narrow teethmarks.
A lion?
A
leopard?
An alligator?”

Lieutenant
Marino looked up.

Dr. Hughes
said: “It could have been any of those. But how many lions and alligators are
there in midtown Manhattan?”

Lieutenant
Marino shook his head. “I don’t know, doctor, and I don’t really care. I’m very
sorry about your hand. Believe me, I’m very sorry. But I’m a whole lot sorrier
about eleven dead cops, and I want to do something about it.
Redfern!”

A slight,
bright-eyed young cop put his head through the door.
“Yes,
sir?”

“Any sign of
those reinforcements yet?”

“I’ve had a
call from them, sir, on the r/t. They say they’re having some trouble getting
into the building.”

“They’re what?”

“It was
Lieutenant Geoghegan, sir, from the 17th. He said they would probably have to
break down the doors. They can’t get them open.”

Singing Rock
and I exchanged glances. It looked as if Misquamacus had sealed the hospital
off from the outside world. If there was one thing I didn’t want to be, it was
trapped in a hospital when the Great Old One made his appearance. Preferably, I
wanted to be in New Jersey, or even Ohio. I shook my last cigarette out of its
pack, and lit it with shaking hands. Again, the floor swelled, and the lights
went so low that the elements fizzed.

“Call ‘em
again,” snapped Marino. “Tell ‘em we’re desperate, and they better get their
asses in here before the whole shooting match goes up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lieutenant
Marino turned back to the meeting. He wasn’t enjoying this job, and he wasn’t
making any pretense that he did. He picked up the bottle of bourbon, poured
himself a heavy dose of it, and drank it with his eyes challenging everyone to
say it wasn’t for medicinal purposes only. He wiped his mouth with the back of
his hand and said: “Right. I want to know every way there is of destroying the
Great Old One.
All the legends, all the bunkum, everything.”

Singing Rock
shook his head. “I can’t tell you,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s nothing to tell.
There is no way of
destroying the Great Old One. If there was, he would have been annihilated
centuries ago, by those wonder-workers who were far more skillful than us. As
it was, they only managed to close the gateway through which he came into the
physical world.”

“And you say
this guy Misquamacus is opening that gateway up again?”

Singing Rock
shrugged. “Can’t you feel these ripples? Do you know what it is?”

“Earthquake?”
suggested Marino.

Singing Rock
said: “No, lieutenant. It’s not an earthquake. It’s the beginning of a huge
build up of astral energy. I imagine that, by now, the Star Beast has
negotiated terms between Misquamacus and the Great Old One, and the nexus, the
gateway, is being made ready. The gateway is made out of extraordinary energy,
and only remains open for a short while. It takes an equivalent amount of
energy to send the Great Old One back to where he came from.
Even
more, actually, because the Great Old One would be very reluctant to leave.”

“Sounds
hopeful,” said Marino, sarcastically.

Singing Rock
said: “We can’t give up hope yet. There has to be a way of containing the
situation, even if we can’t totally destroy Misquamacus.”