Part 5 (1/2)

17.

Clay had his reasons for wanting to go back to the Atlantic Avenue Inn before they set off. One was to retrieve his portfolio, which he'd left sitting in the lobby. Another was to see if they couldn't find some sort of makes.h.i.+ft scabbard for Alice's knife-he reckoned even a shaving kit would do, if it was long enough. A third was to give Mr. Ricardi another chance to join them. He was surprised to find he wanted this even more than he wanted the forgotten portfolio of drawings. He had taken an odd, reluctant liking to the man.

When he confessed this to Tom, Tom surprised him by nodding. 'It's the way I feel about anchovies on pizza,' he said. 'I tell myself there's something disgusting about a combination of cheese, tomato sauce, and dead fish* but sometimes that shameful urge comes over me and I can't stand against it.'

A blizzard of black ash and soot was blowing up the street and between the buildings. Car alarms warbled, burglar alarms brayed, and fire alarms clanged. There seemed to be no heat in the air, but Clay could hear the crackle of fire to the south and east of them. The smell of burning was stronger, too. They heard voices shouting, but these were back toward the Common, where Boylston Street widened.

When they got next door to the Atlantic Avenue Inn, Tom helped Clay push one of the Queen Anne chairs away from one of the broken gla.s.s door-panels. The lobby beyond was now a pool of gloom in which Mr. Ricardi's desk and the sofa were only darker shadows; if Clay hadn't already been in there, he would have had no idea what those shadows represented. Above the elevators a single emergency light guttered, the boxed battery beneath it buzzing like a horsefly.

'Mr. Ricardi?' Tom called. 'Mr. Ricardi, we came back to see if you changed your mind.'

There was no reply. After a moment, Alice began carefully to knock out the gla.s.s teeth that still jutted from the windowframe.

'Mr. Ricardi!' Tom called again, and when there was still no answer, he turned to Clay. 'You're going in there, are you?' Tom called again, and when there was still no answer, he turned to Clay. 'You're going in there, are you?'

'Yes. To get my portfolio. It's got my drawings in it.'

'You don't have copies?'

'Those are the originals,' Clay said, as if this explained everything. To him it did. And besides, there was Mr. Ricardi. He'd said, I'll be listening. I'll be listening.

'What if Thumper from upstairs got him?' Tom asked.

'If that had happened, I think we'd have heard him thumping around down here,' Clay said. 'For that matter, he would have come running at the sound of our voices, babbling like the guy who tried to carve us up back by the Common.'

'You don't know that,' Alice said. She was gnawing at her lower lip. 'It's way too early for you to think you know all the rules.'

Of course she was right, but they couldn't stand around out here discussing it, that was no good, either.

'I'll be careful,' he said, and put a leg over the bottom of the window. It was narrow, but plenty wide enough for him to climb through. 'I'll just poke my head into his office. If he's not there, I won't go hunting around for him like a chick in a horror movie. I'll just grab my portfolio and we'll boogie.'

'Keep yelling,' Alice said. 'Just say Okay, I'm okay,' something like that. The whole time.'

'All right, but if I stop yelling, just go. Don't come in after me.'

'Don't worry,' she said, unsmiling. 'I saw all those movies, too. We've got Cinemax.'

18.

'Im okay,' Clay shouted, picking up his portfolio and then putting it down on the reception desk. Good to go, Good to go, he thought. But not quite yet. he thought. But not quite yet.

He looked over his shoulder as he went around the desk and saw the one unblocked window glimmering, seeming to float in the thickening gloom, with two silhouettes cut into the day's last light. 'I'm okay, still okay, just going in to check his office now, still okay, still o-'

'Clay?' Tom's voice was alarmed, but for a moment Clay couldn't respond and set Tom's mind at rest. There was an overhead light fixture in the middle of the inner office's high ceiling. Mr. Ricardi was hanging from it by what looked like a drape-cord. There was a white bag pulled down over his head. Clay thought it was the kind of plastic bag the hotel gave you to put your dirty laundry and dry cleaning in. 'Clay, are you all right?'

'Clay?' Alice sounded shrill, ready to be hysterical. Alice sounded shrill, ready to be hysterical.

'Okay,' he heard himself say. His mouth seemed to be operating itself, with no help from his brain. 'Still right here.' He was thinking of how Mr. Ricardi had looked when he said I shall stay at my post. I shall stay at my post. The words had been lofty, but the eyes had been scared and somehow humble, the eyes of a small racc.o.o.n driven into a corner of the garage by a large and angry dog. 'I'm coming out now.' The words had been lofty, but the eyes had been scared and somehow humble, the eyes of a small racc.o.o.n driven into a corner of the garage by a large and angry dog. 'I'm coming out now.'

He backed away, as if Mr. Ricardi might slip his homemade drape-cord noose and come after him the second he turned his back. He was suddenly more than afraid for Sharon and Johnny; he was homesick for them with a depth of feeling that made him think of his first day at school, his mother leaving him at the playground gate. The other parents had walked their kids inside. But his mother said, You just go in there, Clayton, it's the first room, you'll be fine, boys should do this part alone. You just go in there, Clayton, it's the first room, you'll be fine, boys should do this part alone. Before he did what she told him he had watched her going away, back up Cedar Street. Her blue coat. Now, standing here in the dark, he was renewing acquaintance with the knowledge that the second part of homesick was Before he did what she told him he had watched her going away, back up Cedar Street. Her blue coat. Now, standing here in the dark, he was renewing acquaintance with the knowledge that the second part of homesick was sick sick for a reason. for a reason.

Tom and Alice were fine, but he wanted the people he loved.

Once he was around the reception desk, he faced the street and crossed the lobby. He got close enough to the long broken window to see the frightened faces of his new friends, then remembered he had forgotten his f.u.c.king portfolio again and had to go back. Reaching for it, he felt certain that Mr. Ricardi's hand would steal out of the gathering darkness behind the desk and close over his. That didn't happen, but from overhead came another of those thumps. Something still up there, something still blundering around in the dark. Something that had been human until three o'clock this afternoon.

This time when he was halfway to the door, the lobby's single battery-powered emergency light stuttered briefly, then went out. That's a Fire Code violation, That's a Fire Code violation, Clay thought. Clay thought. I ought to report that. I ought to report that.

He handed out his portfolio. Tom took it.

'Where is he?' Alice asked. 'Wasn't he there?'

'Dead,' Clay said. It had crossed his mind to lie, but he didn't think he was capable. He was too shocked by what he had seen. How did a man hang himself? He didn't see how it was even possible. 'Suicide.'

Alice began to cry, and it occurred to Clay that she didn't know that if it had been up to Mr. Ricardi, she'd probably be dead herself now. The thing was, he felt a little like crying himself. Because Mr. Ricardi had come around. Maybe most people did, if they got a chance.

From west of them on the darkening street, back toward the Common, came a scream that seemed too great to have issued from human lungs. It sounded to Clay almost like the trumpeting of an elephant. There was no pain in it, and no joy. There was only madness. Alice cringed against him, and he put an arm around her. The feel of her body was like the feel of an electrical wire with a strong current pa.s.sing through it.

'If we're going to get out of here, let's do it,' Tom said. 'If we don't run into too much trouble, we should be able to get as far north as Maiden, and spend the night at my place.'

'That's a h.e.l.l of a good idea,' Clay said.

Tom smiled cautiously. 'You really think so?'

'I really do. Who knows, maybe Officer Ashland's already there.'

'Who's Officer Ashland?' Alice asked.