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Authors: Frank Herbert
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for three months now. I’ve been staying with Sarah French. Nev… Nev was a hideous mistake. That grasping little man!”
Thurlow found his throat was tight with suppressed emotion. He coughed, looked up at the darkening sky, said: “It’ll be dark in a few minutes.” How stupidly inane the words sounded!
She put a hand on his arm. “Andy, oh Andy, what’ve I done to us?”
She came into his arms very gently. He stroked her hair. “We’re still here,” he said. “We’re still us.”
Ruth looked up at him. “The trouble with that man in the jail is he has a sane type of delusion.” Tears were running down her cheeks, but her voice remained steady. “He thinks my mother was unfaithful to him. Lots of men worry about that. I imagine… even… Nev could worry about that.”
A sudden gust of wind shook raindrops off the leaves, spattering them.
Ruth freed herself from his arms. “Let’s walk out to the point.”
“In the dark?”
“We know the way. Besides, the riding club has lights there now. You see them every night across the valley from the hospital. They’re automatic.”
“It’s liable to rain.”
“Then it won’t matter if I cry. My cheeks’ll already be wet.”
“Ruth… honey… I…”
“Just take me for a walk the way… we used to.”
Still he hesitated. There was something frightening about the grove… pressure, an almost sound. He stepped to the car, reached in and found his glasses. He slipped them on, looked around—nothing. No gnats, not a sign of anything odd—except the pressure.
“You won’t need your glasses,” Ruth said. She took his arm.
Thurlow found he couldn’t speak past a sudden ache in his throat. He tried to analyze his fear. It wasn’t a personal thing. He decided he was afraid for Ruth.
“Come on,” she said.
He allowed her to lead him across the grass toward the bridle path. Darkness came like a sharp demarcation as they emerged from the eucalyptus grove onto the first rise up through pines and buckeyes that hemmed the riding club’s trail. Widely spaced night-riding lights attached to the trees came on with a wet glimmering through drenched leaves. In spite of the afternoon’s rain, the duff-packed trail felt firm underfoot.
“We’ll have the trail to ourselves tonight,” Ruth said. “No one’ll be out because of the rain.” She squeezed his arm.
But we don’t have it to ourselves, Thurlow thought. He could feel a presence with them—a hovering something… watchful, dangerous. He looked down at Ruth. The top of her head came just above his shoulder. The red hair glinted wetly in the dim overhead light. There was a feeling of damp silence around them—and that odd sense of pressure. The packed duff of the trail absorbed their footfalls with barely a sound.
This is a crazy feeling, he thought. If a patient described this to me, I’d begin probing immediately for the source of the delusional material.
“I used to walk up here when I was a child,” Ruth said. “That was before they put in the lights for the night parties. I hated it when they put in the lights.”
“You walked here in the dark?” he asked.
“Yes. I never told you that, did I?”
“No.”
“The air feels clear after the rain.” She took a deep breath.
“Didn’t your parents object? How old were you?”
“About eleven, I guess. My parents didn’t know. They were always so busy with parties and things.”
The bridle path diverged at a small glade with a dark path leading off to the left through an opening in a rock retaining wall. They went through the gap, down a short flight of steps and onto the tarred top of an elevated water storage tank. Below them the city’s lights spread wet velvet jewels across the night. The lights cast an orange glow against low hanging clouds.
Now, Thurlow could feel the odd pressure intensely. He looked up and around—nothing. He glanced down at the pale grayness of Ruth’s face.
“When we got here you used to
Thurlow found his throat was tight with suppressed emotion. He coughed, looked up at the darkening sky, said: “It’ll be dark in a few minutes.” How stupidly inane the words sounded!
She put a hand on his arm. “Andy, oh Andy, what’ve I done to us?”
She came into his arms very gently. He stroked her hair. “We’re still here,” he said. “We’re still us.”
Ruth looked up at him. “The trouble with that man in the jail is he has a sane type of delusion.” Tears were running down her cheeks, but her voice remained steady. “He thinks my mother was unfaithful to him. Lots of men worry about that. I imagine… even… Nev could worry about that.”
A sudden gust of wind shook raindrops off the leaves, spattering them.
Ruth freed herself from his arms. “Let’s walk out to the point.”
“In the dark?”
“We know the way. Besides, the riding club has lights there now. You see them every night across the valley from the hospital. They’re automatic.”
“It’s liable to rain.”
“Then it won’t matter if I cry. My cheeks’ll already be wet.”
“Ruth… honey… I…”
“Just take me for a walk the way… we used to.”
Still he hesitated. There was something frightening about the grove… pressure, an almost sound. He stepped to the car, reached in and found his glasses. He slipped them on, looked around—nothing. No gnats, not a sign of anything odd—except the pressure.
“You won’t need your glasses,” Ruth said. She took his arm.
Thurlow found he couldn’t speak past a sudden ache in his throat. He tried to analyze his fear. It wasn’t a personal thing. He decided he was afraid for Ruth.
“Come on,” she said.
He allowed her to lead him across the grass toward the bridle path. Darkness came like a sharp demarcation as they emerged from the eucalyptus grove onto the first rise up through pines and buckeyes that hemmed the riding club’s trail. Widely spaced night-riding lights attached to the trees came on with a wet glimmering through drenched leaves. In spite of the afternoon’s rain, the duff-packed trail felt firm underfoot.
“We’ll have the trail to ourselves tonight,” Ruth said. “No one’ll be out because of the rain.” She squeezed his arm.
But we don’t have it to ourselves, Thurlow thought. He could feel a presence with them—a hovering something… watchful, dangerous. He looked down at Ruth. The top of her head came just above his shoulder. The red hair glinted wetly in the dim overhead light. There was a feeling of damp silence around them—and that odd sense of pressure. The packed duff of the trail absorbed their footfalls with barely a sound.
This is a crazy feeling, he thought. If a patient described this to me, I’d begin probing immediately for the source of the delusional material.
“I used to walk up here when I was a child,” Ruth said. “That was before they put in the lights for the night parties. I hated it when they put in the lights.”
“You walked here in the dark?” he asked.
“Yes. I never told you that, did I?”
“No.”
“The air feels clear after the rain.” She took a deep breath.
“Didn’t your parents object? How old were you?”
“About eleven, I guess. My parents didn’t know. They were always so busy with parties and things.”
The bridle path diverged at a small glade with a dark path leading off to the left through an opening in a rock retaining wall. They went through the gap, down a short flight of steps and onto the tarred top of an elevated water storage tank. Below them the city’s lights spread wet velvet jewels across the night. The lights cast an orange glow against low hanging clouds.
Now, Thurlow could feel the odd pressure intensely. He looked up and around—nothing. He glanced down at the pale grayness of Ruth’s face.
“When we got here you used to
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