Part 13 (1/2)
Adam could only stare open-mouthed. Crank or no crank, there was no way Howards could know that. He had told no one, he had never mentioned it. He had not even hinted at the strange visions he experienced as he waited to die in the sea.
”I'll make it brief,” Howards said, stirring his gla.s.s of red wine with a finely manicured finger. ”And then, when you believe me, I want you to do something for me.”
”I don't know-”
”I was on holiday in Cairo with my wife and two children. This was back in '59. Alex was seven. Sarah was nine. There was a fire in the hotel and our room was engulfed. Alex... Alex died. Sarah and my wife fled. I could not leave Alex's body, not in the flames, not in all the heat. It just wasn't right. So I stayed there with him, fully expecting rescue. It was only as I was blinded by heat and the smoke filled my lungs that I knew no rescue was going to come.
”Then something fell across me-something clear and solid, heavy and warm-and protected me from the flames. It took the smoke from inside me... I can't explain, I've never been able to, not even to myself. It just sucked it out, but without touching me.
”Then I was somewhere else, and Amaranth was there, and they told me what a lucky man I was.”
Adam shook his head. ”No, I'm not hearing this. You know about me, I've talked in my sleep or... or...”
”Believe me, I've never been to bed with you.” There was no humor in Howards's comment.
How could he know? He could not. Unless...
”Amaranth saved you?”
Howards nodded.
”From the fire?”
”Yes.”
”And they took you... they took you to their place?”
”The streets of Paris and then a small Cornish fis.h.i.+ng village. Both filled with people of good fortune.”
Adam shook his head again, glad at last that there was something he could deny in this old man's story. ”No, no, it was London and Italy and then America somewhere, New York I've always thought.”
Howards nodded. ”Different places for different people. Never knew why, but I suppose that's just logical really. So where were the d.a.m.ned when you were there?”
”The d.a.m.ned...” Adam said quietly. He knew exactly what Howards meant, but he did not even want to think about it. If the old man had seen the same thing as he, then it was real, and people truly did suffer like that.
”The unlucky, the place... You know what I mean. Please, Adam, be honest with me. You really must if you ever want to understand any of this or help yourself through it. Remember, I've been like this for over forty years.”
Adam swirled his wine and stared into its depths, wondering what he could see in there if he concentrated hard. ”It was an island,” he said, ”in a big lake. Or a sea, I'm not sure, it all seemed to change without moving.”
Howards nodded.
”And they were crucified. And they were burning them.” Adam swallowed his wine in one gulp. ”It was horrible.”
”For me it was an old prison,” Howards said, ”on the cliffs above the village. They were throwing them from the high walls. There were hundreds of bodies broken on the rocks, and seagulls and seals and crabs were tearing them apart. Some of them were still alive.”
”What does this mean?” Adam said. ”I don't know what to do with this. I don't know what to tell Alison.”
Howards looked down at his hands where they rested on the table. He twirled his wedding band as he spoke. ”I've had no family or friends for thirty years,” he said. ”I'm unused to dealing with such... intimacies.”
”But you're one of the lucky ones, like me? Amaranth said so. What happened to your family? What happened to your wife and your daughter Sarah?”
Howards looked up, and for an instant he appeared much older than he had claimed, ancient. It was his eyes, Adam thought. His eyes had seen everything.
”They're all dead,” Howards said. ”And still those things follow me everywhere.”
Adam was stunned into silence. There was chatter around them, the sound of Howards's rings tapping against his gla.s.s as he stirred his wine, the sizzle of hot plates bearing steaks and chicken. He looked at Howards's down-turned face, trying to see if he was crying. ”They follow you?” he gasped.
Howards nodded and took a deep breath, steeling himself. ”Always. I see them from time to time, but I've known they're always there for years now. 1 can feel them... watching me. From the shadows. From hidden corners. From places just out of sight.” His demeanor had changed suddenly, from calm and self-a.s.sured to nervous and frightened. His eyes darted left and right like a bird's, his hands closed around his wine gla.s.s and his fingers twisted against each other. Someone opened the kitchen door quickly and he sat up, a dreadful look already on his face.
”Are they here now?” Adam asked. He could not help himself.
Howards shrugged. ”I can't see them. But they're always somewhere.”
”I've not seen them. Not since I dreamed them.”
The old man looked up sharply when Adam said dreamed dreamed. ”We're their sport. Their game. I can't think why else they would continue to spy...”
”And your family? Sport?”
Howards smiled slightly, calming down. It was as if casting his mind back decades helped him escape the curse he said he lived under in the present. ”You ever heard Newton's third law of motion? To every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”
Adam thought of Alison and Jamie, and without any warning he began to cry. He sobbed out loud and buried his face in his napkin, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his fingers into it, pressing it hard against his eyes and nose and mouth. He could sense a lessening in the restaurant's commotion as people turned to look and, soon after, a gradual increase in embarra.s.sed conversation.
”And that's why 1 have to ask you something,” Howards said. ”I've been asking people this for many years now, those few I meet by chance or happen to track down. Amaranth doesn't disturb me; they must know that no one will agree to what I ask. My asking increases their sport, I suppose. But 1 continue to try.”
”What?” Adam asked. He remembered the certainty, as he floated in the sea, that Alison was dead. It brought a fresh flow of tears, but these were silent, more heartfelt and considered. He could truly imagine nothing worse-except for Jamie.
”Deny them. Take away their sport. They've made you a lucky man, but you can reject that. If you don't... your family will be gone.”
”Don't you f.u.c.king threaten me!” Adam shouted, standing and throwing down his napkin, confused, terrified. The restaurant fell completely silent this time, and people stared. Some had a look in their eyes-a hungry look-as if they knew they were about to witness violence. Adam looked straight at Howards, never losing eye contact, trying to see the madness in his face. But there was none. There was sorrow mixed with contentment, a deep and weary sadness underlying healthy good fortune. ”Why don't you do it yourself! Why, if it's such a good idea, don't you you deny them!” deny them!”
”It's too late for me,” Howards said quietly, glancing around at the other patrons watching him. ”They were dead before I knew.”
”f.u.c.k you!” Adam shouted. ”You freak!” He turned and stormed out of the restaurant, a hundred sets of eyes scoring his skin. He wondered if any of the diners recognized him from his fifteen minutes of fame.
As the restaurant door slammed behind him and he stepped out into the street, the sun struck his tearful eyes, blinding him for a moment. Across the pedestrian area, sandwiched between a travel agent's and a baker's shop, a green door liquefied for a second and then reformed. Its color changed to deep-sea blue.
Before his sight adjusted, Adam saw something clear and solid pa.s.s through the door.
”So?” Alison asked.
”Fruitcake.” He slid across the plastic seat and hugged his son to him. Then he leaned over the food-strewn table and planted a kiss squarely on his wife's mouth. She was unresponsive.
”The angels, then?” She was injecting good cheer into her voice, but she was angry. She wanted answers, and he knew that. He had never been able to lie to his wife. Even white lies turned his face bloodred.
Adam shook his head and sighed, stealing a chip from Jamie's tray and fending off his son's tomato-sauce retribution. He looked up, scanned the burger bar, searching for strange faces that he could not explain.
”Adam,” Alison said, voice wavering, ”I want to know what's going on. I saw the look on your face when you were on the phone with him yesterday. It's like you were suddenly somewhere else, seeing something different, feeling something horrible. You turned white. Remember that time you tried some pot and couldn't move for two hours and felt sick? You looked worse than you did then.”
”Honey, it's just that what he said reminded me of the crash.”