The Nightworld - Jack Blaine [31]
“That’s where Nadine is, so that’s where we’re going. Unless you’d prefer to stay out here?”
I shake my head.
I lock Tank in the car and we start for the front door. Halfway up the sidewalk, Morton stops. I run right into him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He just points.
The front door is cracked open.
We exchange a look. Morton throws his shoulders back and juts his chin out. I guess we’re still going in. He touches the door with one finger, pushing slightly. It opens more. Morton stops and turns to me.
“Nick, where’s your gun?” He’s whispering in a sharp, hissing tone.
It’s in my jacket pocket. I get it out. “Here.”
“I don’t want it, I just—”
“I wasn’t offering it. I was just saying I have it.”
“Perfect.” Morton rolls his eyes. “I don’t have one, and I think we may need one. So keep it out, okay?”
“Okay.” So Morton was lying when he said he might have a gun trained on me when he first picked me up.
The interior of the house is completely dark. I follow his lead, and we make our way through a foyer, into a living room. As my eyes adjust I can make out modest furnishings, a couch, a television sitting in the corner. I don’t hear anything but our breathing.
Morton leads on, through a hallway to what looks like the kitchen. Nothing. No sign of a mess, no sign of people. He opens the refrigerator to check it out. The light shines out at us like a beacon. There is a half gallon of milk and three opened cans of Fancy Feast cat food. I notice that there is a case of the same canned cat food on the counter next to the fridge.
I wonder what happened to Nadine.
Morton looks discouraged, and I feel bad for him. I think of Gus again, waiting for his son, hoping to see him pull up in the driveway with his family. I see those women marching along single file between the two guys on the highway, and wonder whose mothers and daughters they are, and if those people are waiting for them somewhere. “Let’s keep looking,” I whisper.
We go down the back hall, past a bathroom and a bedroom. The last door is closed, and when Morton opens it the smell knocks me back.
She’s on the bed. Half her clothes are gone. The rest are askew—her blouse twisted so that the collar is over her shoulder. There’s not a lot of blood on her, but the pillow under her head is soaked and brown. There’s a single bullet hole in her forehead. Her eyes are still open. It looks to me like she was a pretty woman when she was alive. Morton just stares.
I don’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry, Morton.” He doesn’t respond. Finally I touch his elbow. “We’ve got to go.”
He shakes his head. “Not until I find Nadine.”
I’m stunned. “That’s not Nadine?”
“That’s Tessa. My assistant.” Morton looks disturbed. “She was taking care of Nadine.”
There’s a noise then, coming from the closet. I whirl and face it, pointing the gun. Morton crouches behind me. “Holy crap,” he whispers.
The door begins to rattle as though somebody is trying to get out. There’s a strange howl, and suddenly Morton is pushing past me.
“Nadine!” He wrenches open the closet door.
A creature unlike anything I’ve ever seen before leaps from the floor into Morton’s arms. I have to fight my instinct to shoot it. It is covered in weird wrinkles and has no hair. Its face looks like a cross between a bat and a demon, and its body is that of an eighty-five-year-old man with a potbelly and a tail. Morton is cradling it in his arms and crooning to it.
“Oh, my baby, oh, you’re cold. It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. Let’s find your stuff.” Morton looks around the room. He carries the creature over to the dresser and roots through the contents of a box. Pretty soon he’s pulling what looks like a tiny dog sweater over the animal.
“What is that thing?”
He grabs the box and tucks it under his arm. “This thing is Nadine. She’s a Canadian hairless cat. Very rare.” Morton snuggles Nadine close. “Let’s get that cat food from the kitchen and get the hell out of here.” Morton leaves the room without a backward glance.
We do just that. Morton finds Nadine’s cat carrier on the dining-room