Part 8 (1/2)
”Gabriel?” I whisper, stepping toward him. What have I done?I whirl to look at the man in the long frock coat. I stare intently at him, waiting, waiting, until finally he blinks.
”You're awake!” I accuse.
”What happened to Gabriel?” If possible, the man looks even more shaken than I feel.
”I a.s.sumed you knew what you were doing. ”
”Does it look like I know what I'm doing?” I snap. I look down at the clock in my hands, then squint and shake my head. Faint letters have begun scrolling across the bottom of the face, but every time I try to focus on them, they s.h.i.+mmer and rearrange themselves to spell out gibberish. He hesitates, then says slowly, ”You don't... no idea . .”
He runs a hand over his mouth, stares at me. Finally, he pieces together a full sentence.
”You really don't know what you've done, do you?” he asks, and there is a darker, more desperate note in his voice now. He steeples his long fingers, presses them to his lips, and eyes me doubtfully, as if waiting for something. I stare at him. Finally, he steps back and sighs.
”The minute is up. The power has pa.s.sed. I suppose the damage could be worse” But it sounds as though he doesn't even believe himself.
”What are you talking about?” I wrap my arms more tightly around the clock and he gives me a half smile, as if too weary to complete the effort.
”Oh no, young lady. You are mistaken. I don't want that clock anymore.”
”You did just a minute ago. You seemed ready to kill us over it!”
”Yes,” the man agrees.
”But that was a minute ago. That is now ... merely a clock” He tilts his head to one side, adding, ”I think your professor will be disappointed. And now”-he straightens up, smoothes the front of his coat-”I must be going. And so should you.
”And with that he's gone. No puff of smoke, no dazzle of lights. Just a sudden and complete winking out of existence.
”Tam?” A weak voice from the couch pulls my attention away from the now empty corner of the room. Gabriel is blinking up at me.
”What happened?”
”You're alive,” I say, and to my intense embarra.s.sment my voice wavers and cracks. I set the clock down on a spindly-legged table next to me and then walk over to the couch, sinking down beside Gabriel. His head has fallen back and his eyes are closed. At least his nose has stopped bleeding.
”Are you okay?” I ask. At this he opens his eyes, looks at me.
”Once I did this bar crawl on St. Patrick's Day. Ever do one of those?” I shake my head.
”Right. Well, I threw up beer for hours. Hours. Green beer.” I wince.
”At the time I thought the only thing worse than throwing up beer was throwing up green beer in the back of a cab” He glances at the clock again.
”But that was nothing compared to what I just felt” He straightens up and puts his good hand on my knee for a second.
”Let's get out of here. I've had enough of 1899.” I nod, then stand and pick up the clock again. A soft rhythmic ticking is coming from it.
”You're taking that?” Gabriel looks at me from the couch.
”Why not? It's just a clock now. You heard him” Gabriel approaches warily but finally takes my hand and closes his eyes again. This time I keep my eyes open.
Colors and light blur past me in a dizzy kaleidoscope. Why can't I, Mama? I hear a petulant voice say, but I never do hear the response because a man is laughing. You will burn as a witch for all eternity, someone else says in a cold, precise voice, and then cutting across anything else that voice might have said is the long and lonely sound of a train whistle. All sound speeds up and I have to close my eyes because I can't close my ears, and then suddenly I feel cool wood pressing against my skin and I open my eyes again. I am lying on the floor, sprawled in Gabriel's arms. Obviously, he's still not feeling that well, because the expected innuendoes are not forthcoming. Instead, his eyes remain closed and his skin has taken on a faint gray tinge. From this vantage point, I can see that Aunt Rennie and Uncle Chester aren't too into mopping the floor. Aunt Rennie and Uncle Chester! I untangle myself from Gabriel, leap up from the floor, and rush to the window. Dusk seems to have fallen and with it a light rain. The streetlamps of Was.h.i.+ngton Square Park are blazing, and yellow taxis, some with their off-duty lights blinking, swish past. Here and there people shake open black umbrellas while others just run past, wet shoes slapping against the pavement, books or newspapers covering their heads. I turn and look at Gabriel and find that he is sitting up, looking at me. Looking at me differently. As if he's afraid of me.
”Why did that happen?” I ask finally, my voice unnaturally loud in the stillness.
”Why was I able to touch the clock and you weren't?”
”I don't know, Tam,” he says at last, and his voice is heavy.
”Yes, you do,” I insist.
”There's something you're not telling me. Something you're hiding.” He holds up both hands and spreads his shaking fingers wide.
”I don't know, Tam. I don't know why you felt nothing when you touched it. I don't even know what that thing is” His eyes travel to the clock still cradled in my arms. I shake my head.
”It's nothing now. You heard the man. The power has pa.s.sed, whatever that means.”
”Wait, what? What are you talking about?”
”You know,” I insist and then stop, frowning.
”Did you ... what do you remember?”
”My hand. Burning off. And then you touched the clock and then nothing after that.” I think back to the quiet of the room after I lifted the clock from the wall.
”You froze,” I say wonderingly. So I try to repeat the conversation, if it pa.s.ses for that, as best I can for Gabriel, finis.h.i.+ng with ”And then he said the power has pa.s.sed and he disappeared.” Throughout my monologue, Gabriel keeps his eyes on the clock. When I finish speaking, he nods slowly, then says, ”Maybe that explains why once again I can tell you that that is just a clock. It's not what your professor wants. Anymore.
”We stare at each other and then both of us s.h.i.+ft our gaze to the painting above our heads. I frown. Only two people are depicted in the room now, one man and one woman. They are still standing in the same places, but the woman is wearing a deep blue dress the exact shade of a twilight sky and her face is turned away from the wall- which is now empty.
”Gabriel,” I gasp.
”It's gone.
”There is a small and heavy silence and then we both head to the kitchen without a word. After some searching, I dig out a copper skillet and examine the contents of the ancient-looking refrigerator. Since Aunt Rennie and Uncle Chester left only five days ago, I decide the enameled white bowl of eggs that I find in the fridge must be reasonably safe. And the block of cheese on the top shelf has only a few sprouts of grayish-blue mold, which I manage to sliver off with a knife before proceeding. While Gabriel wedges bread into the toaster that looks as if it hasn't been cleaned in three years, I grate the remaining cheese and beat the eggs into a yellow froth. Soon enough I'm sliding thick wedges of omelet onto Aunt Rennie's eggsh.e.l.l china plates.
”So,” I say, spreading b.u.t.ter on the toast, ”what do I do with this clock?” Gabriel shovels some eggs into his mouth and chews for a long time, long enough so that I think he's avoiding my question.
”Who is this guy?” he demands finally.
”A professor at NYU. His name is Alistair Callum. I told you this already.”
”Tell me again,” Gabriel says, leaning across the table until I'm forced to meet his eyes. I blow on the tea I made since I couldn't find any coffee and taste it. It's still scalding hot.
”Okay” I hold up one hand, begin ticking off facts.
”He came into the store. He bought a book on the local history of the area.
Everything seemed fine. Then he asked me if I could find something for him as he had heard that we often found things for people and-”
”How did he know about that?” I shrug.
”Remember Angus Pinkerton? He has that antiques store-you know, the guy we used to think looked like a damp rabbit?”