Read Online Zod Wallop by William Browning Spencer - Free Book Online
Authors: William Browning Spencer
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Tate! Mrs. Tate!” Clatter of the phone being picked up again. “I’m sure she’ll be right back. She’s terribly upset. She’s afraid her son may hurt someone. You don’t think he really is dangerous, do you? I mean, be careful, Harry, these are people who have escaped from a mental institution, after all.”
“Helen—” Harry said.
The receptionist had reached Harry.
“I’ve got to go,” Harry told Helen, and he hung up the phone. He was losing his mind, no doubt about it. Where did this sense of suffocating menace come from? When, exactly, had his mind begun to crumble? It was...
It was when he had thought, in the dark, that poor Emily had spoken .
The receptionist reached out and touched Harry’s shoulder. He did not look at her hand, but it did not feel like it had the requisite number of fingers. It would have three fingers, this hand, and a sucker on the palm, a sucker with rasping, lamprey teeth.
“Mr. Gainesborough,” she said, “there is a call for you on my line.”
Her voice was disapproving, but nothing more. She was a tired, querulous old woman with an exalted opinion of her office and its authority. Following her back to the desk, it was clear that she had legs. Nothing unusual there. Most receptionists have legs.
Harry took the receiver. “Hello,” he said.
“I’m calling from the second floor!” Raymond’s voice was an octave higher than usual. “We’ve got Emily. She is safe, praise Blodkin. We are taking the service elevator to the basement and we will rendezvous with you shortly. Go to the restroom. You will find that I have already prepared a means of exit. Once you are outside, follow the wall to your left, and if my reckoning is right, we will meet shortly. Blodkin willing.”
The restroom floor glittered with shattered glass, and the metal chair that had no doubt shattered it now sat upright beneath the window, its aspect commanding and peremptory. “Hurry” it said.
Harry stood on the chair and hoisted himself through the hollowed window and into the night. Shards of glass, shaped like teeth, still edged the window and gave Harry the unsettling sensation of being swallowed. The blackness of the world he was entering did nothing to allay his fears, but he reassured himself that soon he would be safe in the company of his peers: escaped lunatics.
Chapter 8
G ABRIEL A LLAN -T ATE stood in the humid, enfolding darkness, opened her mouth wide, and filled her lungs with the obstinate air.
It was black out and any kind of horrid insect, or a bat, a rabid, shrieking bat, could bite her. A scorpion could rush out from under a cinder block and sting her. Her lungs felt as though they had been stapled flat, and any sort of venomous bite would activate her allergies and crush the last hope of a breath from her. This was all Allan’s fault. She adjusted her dress, tottered on her heels, wiped a hand over her forehead. She leaned against the cabin’s wall, supporting herself with one white-gloved hand. What a day. What a day .
When she pushed open the door, the old woman was on the phone shouting, “Harry? Hello. Harry?”
The woman, whose name was Helen, turned and saw Gabriel and said, “He had to hang up.” Gabriel walked to the couch and sat down. She fished in her purse, found the inhaler, and brought it to her mouth.
With a sigh, Helen Kurtis hung up the phone and walked over to her visitor.
Gabriel replaced the inhaler in her purse and leaned her head back so that she stared for a moment at the ceiling. She sighed.
“Poor dear,” Helen said.
Gabriel looked at her hostess and smiled wanly, thinking, God, one of these good aunt types . Gabriel hated their take-charge sympathy, as though the world were a pillow that you could fluff into shape. The world was a concrete pillow, and you had better not fluff it if you had just done your nails.
“Feeling a little better?” Helen said. “Why don’t I make us some tea?” Without waiting
“Helen—” Harry said.
The receptionist had reached Harry.
“I’ve got to go,” Harry told Helen, and he hung up the phone. He was losing his mind, no doubt about it. Where did this sense of suffocating menace come from? When, exactly, had his mind begun to crumble? It was...
It was when he had thought, in the dark, that poor Emily had spoken .
The receptionist reached out and touched Harry’s shoulder. He did not look at her hand, but it did not feel like it had the requisite number of fingers. It would have three fingers, this hand, and a sucker on the palm, a sucker with rasping, lamprey teeth.
“Mr. Gainesborough,” she said, “there is a call for you on my line.”
Her voice was disapproving, but nothing more. She was a tired, querulous old woman with an exalted opinion of her office and its authority. Following her back to the desk, it was clear that she had legs. Nothing unusual there. Most receptionists have legs.
Harry took the receiver. “Hello,” he said.
“I’m calling from the second floor!” Raymond’s voice was an octave higher than usual. “We’ve got Emily. She is safe, praise Blodkin. We are taking the service elevator to the basement and we will rendezvous with you shortly. Go to the restroom. You will find that I have already prepared a means of exit. Once you are outside, follow the wall to your left, and if my reckoning is right, we will meet shortly. Blodkin willing.”
The restroom floor glittered with shattered glass, and the metal chair that had no doubt shattered it now sat upright beneath the window, its aspect commanding and peremptory. “Hurry” it said.
Harry stood on the chair and hoisted himself through the hollowed window and into the night. Shards of glass, shaped like teeth, still edged the window and gave Harry the unsettling sensation of being swallowed. The blackness of the world he was entering did nothing to allay his fears, but he reassured himself that soon he would be safe in the company of his peers: escaped lunatics.
Chapter 8
G ABRIEL A LLAN -T ATE stood in the humid, enfolding darkness, opened her mouth wide, and filled her lungs with the obstinate air.
It was black out and any kind of horrid insect, or a bat, a rabid, shrieking bat, could bite her. A scorpion could rush out from under a cinder block and sting her. Her lungs felt as though they had been stapled flat, and any sort of venomous bite would activate her allergies and crush the last hope of a breath from her. This was all Allan’s fault. She adjusted her dress, tottered on her heels, wiped a hand over her forehead. She leaned against the cabin’s wall, supporting herself with one white-gloved hand. What a day. What a day .
When she pushed open the door, the old woman was on the phone shouting, “Harry? Hello. Harry?”
The woman, whose name was Helen, turned and saw Gabriel and said, “He had to hang up.” Gabriel walked to the couch and sat down. She fished in her purse, found the inhaler, and brought it to her mouth.
With a sigh, Helen Kurtis hung up the phone and walked over to her visitor.
Gabriel replaced the inhaler in her purse and leaned her head back so that she stared for a moment at the ceiling. She sighed.
“Poor dear,” Helen said.
Gabriel looked at her hostess and smiled wanly, thinking, God, one of these good aunt types . Gabriel hated their take-charge sympathy, as though the world were a pillow that you could fluff into shape. The world was a concrete pillow, and you had better not fluff it if you had just done your nails.
“Feeling a little better?” Helen said. “Why don’t I make us some tea?” Without waiting
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