Authors: John R. Maxim
Tags: #Horror, #General, #Psychological, #Suspense, #Memory, #Thrillers, #Fiction, #Time Travel
“
If I were to call a friend of mine—”
“
Absolutely not,” Corbin interrupted. “This is as far as
it goes.”
“
Then why are you even telling me?”
“
Because Gwen asked me to try to track this thing down, with her, and she thought you might be able to help us find
out whether the things I seem to remember could actually
have happened. May I ask, by the way, how much she's told you?”
“
That some very vivid ancestral memories seem to have surfaced in you, that you're understandably frightened by them, that they've contributed to some bizarre behavior on
your part, and that a nineteenth-century strumpet named
Margaret seems to have been her rival for your affections
right along.”
”
I did not say that.” Gwen reddened.
“
Which part?” Sturdevant asked. “The last?”
“
The personal part.” She glanced at Corbin. ”I don't
want Jonathan to think I told you anything personal.” Certa
inly not that they were screwing on her living room rug and Jonathan thought she was Margaret.
“
It's okay.” Corbin touched her hand.
“
It's not okay. Some things are private and should re
main so.” She looked at her uncle as if for confirmation of
the reasonableness of her position.
“
Are you looking for me to agree with you?” Sturdevant
asked her.
”
I expect you to, yes. I do have a personal life and my
affections have nothing to do with the problem at hand.”
“
I'm afraid they do, sweetheart. Margaret is why we
broke up last year. I just didn't understand it then. I do now
and I don't mind talking about it.”
“
Well I do mind, damn it. Not in front of family.”
Lesko, standing near the fountain exit, rolled his eyes as
Black Homburg raised a bony hand to the side of his face
and tried to make himself small behind a pillar. Lesko held
his breath as Corbin approached and then, incredibly,
passed him by. The ex-cop let out a sigh. Thank God for
protecting drunks and fools. Or for whatever is so heavy on the Corbin guy's mind that he hardly knows where he is. Which reminds me
...
“
Excuse me.”
“
Sir?”
“
You know how it is when you see a face and you can’t place it?
“
Yes, sir.”
“
You're a cop, right?”
Lesko sighed again. “What is it? I give off a scent?”
But he only pretended to be surprised. Cops and priests.
No matter how they dress, no matter where they are, some
body always knows.
“
Nothin’ much. Anyway, it's not him. I just wondered.”
Lesko looked away and took a step backward to show that
his interest had passed.
“
Maybe you seen him in the papers,” the bell captain
offered. “He's into a lot of sports stuff. The Olympics. That's Dr. Sturdevant.”
“
Oh yeah.'' Lesko actually did remember. “Henry,
Harry, something like that, right?”
“
Harry.” The bell captain looked toward Sturdevant’s
table and chuckled. “He was in here with Howard Cosell
a couple weeks ago. People kept going over to the table to
say hello and it was always to Dr. Sturdevant. You could
see Cosell getting all pissed off.”
“
Yeah.” Lesko smiled. “Speaking of sports, what did
the Knicks do this afternoon?”
“
Five-point favorites over the Celtics, they go down by
twenty-two. You want to make a bust, go put the cuffs on
Larry Bird. Shoot him, you get a medal.”
“
God damn it.” Lesko's face turned mean.
“
What's the matter? You bet the rent money?”
“
God damn it.” Lesko stepped farther toward the Palm Court. Black Homburg was gone.
Harry Sturdevant spread some orange preserves over a scone and handed it to Gwen Leamas. “Now,” he said,
“why are you behaving this way?”
”
I told you. Some things are personal.”
“
A man you obviously hold in high regard comes
here at your request to risk being thought a raving lunatic
by a comparative stranger, and you tell me the conversa
tion's getting too personal where you're concerned?”
“
Women do take it personally, Uncle Harry, when they
ask a man to marry them, are turned down, and then that
rejection becomes a matter for public discussion. God
knows we've discussed it enough privately.”
“
And you thought he was going to wash the same linen
in front of me.”
“
He was.”
“
Some of the reasons hurt,” Gwen said quietly.
“
Not really. No.”
Gwen was listening to his words, but her mind was replaying a montage of all the times they'd been together,
especially in bed, making love, when she was sure that Jonathan was somewhere else.
“
Margaret's been there all along, hasn't she?” she
asked.
“
Probably on and off, but yes.”
“
Why couldn't he have told me?”
“
According to you, she never even had a name before yesterday. What could he have said that you'd have under
stood?”
“
Going on three years now”—Gwen chewed her lip—
“he's been .. . he's been with me but he's been making
love to Margaret. How am 1 supposed to live with that?”
“
You're not, because it's nonsense.”
“
It's not nonsense. It happened last night.”
“
And it was only last night, you tell me, that he began
to know anything about her. Most normal people have fan
tasy sex partners from time to time, yourself, Gwen dear,
probably included. But this is nothing like that. Margaret
has been around since Jonathan was a boy. To the boy, she
was probably an idealized mother or older sister. To the
man, she became a dream lover. But don't assume he revels in private sexual romps with this creature. Jonathan hates
these intrusions, I promise you. They trouble him very
deeply. I expect he's especially troubled by his ambivalence
toward her.”
“
How do we...How does he get rid of her?” she
asked.
“
You were right the first time.”
“
Can we?”
“
Finding out who she was should help.”
“
You say that as if you believe she was real.”
“
Don't you?”
“
After today I do. Especially after today.”
“
All this happened today?” he asked.
“
Most of it in the past two hours.”