999_ Twenty-Nine Original Tales of Horror and Suspense - Al Sarrantonio [327]
“Yes,” replied Case. “He is here.”
“How did he die?”
“Chironex fleckeri.”
Trawley stopped feeling at the crypt and turned around to him. She couldn’t see him, his face was a darkness.
“That’s Latin,” she said softly.
“It’s the venom of the sea anemone. They discovered a vial of its dregs in his hand. Here. On this spot. The venom paralyzes the vocal cords, and then the respiratory system, and in an hour the victim is dead from suffocation.”
Trawley put a hand to her neck. “Oh, how horrible.”
“Yes.”
“Why would he choose such a painful way to die?”
“God knows.”
She stared at his silhouette for a moment, then turned again to look at the crypt. “Bizarre design. You said the house dates from 1937?”
“Yes. But this was here first. Before. There was once another house on this site.”
“Is that so?”
“Edward Quandt tore it down and rebuilt.”
“But he left this crypt untouched?”
“He did.”
“And who was buried here then?”
“Or what.”
Once again she turned her head to his voice. She could see him more clearly now, though his eyes were still shadowed and hidden.
“I’ve found mentions in his diary of something,” Case said quietly. “Some overwhelmingly cruel and malevolent …” He paused, as though searching for a word; then said “… presence.”
In the hush that followed, a fragment of plaster broke loose from a wall. It trickled to the floor. Case turned his head to the sound, listening; then after a moment turned back to look at Trawley. “Do you sense something, Anna?” he asked her.
“Why?”
“The way you’re staring.”
“You seem so familiar to me.”
“Really?”
“Yet I know we’ve never met,” Trawley mused.
“Perhaps in some other lifetime,” said Case.
“Exactly. But past or future?”
Trawley turned again to look at the crypt, then she shivered and started to button her sweater as she faced around again and looked down. “Let’s go back. I’ve caught a chill,” she said.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
He tilted the flashlight’s beam to the ground just ahead, and together they exited the chamber and slowly walked back toward the steps leading up.
“Do you really believe in past lives, Dr. Case?”
“Need we really be so formal?”
“Very well,” she said. “Gabriel.”
“Good.”
“Do you believe?” she repeated.
“I agree with Voltaire.”
“Who said what?”
“That the concept of being bom twice is really no more surprising than being bom once.”
She turned her head. His face was still shrouded in darkness, yet now she could see him much better.
“Hey, Terry!”
“You called, my dove?”
“Yeah, come in here a second, wouldjya?”
Freeboard was sitting at a desk in the library working with a small electronic calculator and a stack of recent real estate statistics. She wore thick-lensed reading glasses. Dare was in the Great Room in front of a stereo cabinet reading an album cover as Artie Shaw’s “Begin the Beguine” warmed the air. “What is it?” he called out. “Too loud? Do you want me to turn down the music?”
“No, I like it. Just get in here a second, Terry, would you?”
Dare placed the album down and approached. He wore jeans, a camel sweater and new white tennis shoes. He reached the desk and looked down at the Realtor. She continued to work at the calculator.
“You’re all fresh-eyed and loathsomely alert,” he remarked.
“Took a snooze. God, this Case must be getting to me, Terry. I dreamed I left my body and went traveling.”
“To where? Some construction site?”
“Very funny. I dunno. Someplace dark. A dark box.”
“Could be worse. So what’s up, my dear? What’s on your mind?”
“Today a holiday or something, Terry?”
“Why?”
“You tried calling anybody?”
“Don’t the phones work?” he asked.
“Yeah, they work,” she replied, “but I can’t get anyone to answer.”
“Don’t be silly. How on earth would they know who was calling?”
She looked up at him dismally for a moment, then returned to her work. “You can be such an asshole at times.”
“It’s a gift.”
“I’ve called the office nine times now,” she told him, “and the phone just keeps ringing and ringing. No service, no voice mail, no nothing.” She nodded her head toward a telephone receiver that lay