Alien Upstairs (7 page)

"What now?” Gerard asked.

"I have to orient myself.” Sarah tried to recall where Raf had gone from here while Gerard knelt on his seat and rummaged through their picnic basket, removing a sandwich.

"Can't you wait?"

"I'm hungry now.” He sat back and began to devour the sandwich.

"It must be a conditioned reflex. You see a Carvel's, and the saliva starts flowing."

"Want one?” He waved the sandwich at her.

"No. If I'm not a size seven by next week, Lita's going to be very distressed.” Sarah leaned on the wheel, draping her arms over it. “I think he went up this road about a mile or so, then turned off. But I can't be sure."

"Well, the only way you're going to find out is to try.” Gerard paused. “Did you ever stop to think that Raf might have wanted us to look for him? I mean, consider it. He knew you might want to find him. He must have figured you'd want to know what happened to your memory. And he must have known you'd tell me everything, and I'd be curious. Maybe it's a kind of intelligence test. His people are testing us, to see if we measure up and are worthy of their help.” He threw out his arms. “With us rests the fate of all humanity,” he said in portentous tones.

She tried to chuckle. “He's not making it easy for anyone to find him."

"Well, he wouldn't, if it's a test. But he has left clues. He could have covered his tracks completely, you know. He didn't have to bring you out here at all."

She rested her forehead on her arms. “It's just as likely that he wants to disappear, and that he might be dangerous. We haven't even considered that, Gerry."

Gerard was silent. Sarah sat up and took a deep breath. “Well, we've come this far,” she murmured. “We might as well see it through."

 

By noon, they were hopelessly lost on a dirt road. Sarah pulled over to the side and stopped. “I don't recognize anything,” she said. “I'll be lucky if I can find my way back to Hanover."

"I can get us back to Hanover. Don't you remember the direction?"

"You know my sense of direction. And I wasn't exactly paying much attention at the time."

"Well, go on. We still have time, there's still enough gas. I figure we can look around for another hour before turning back."

Sarah started the car and drove down the dirt road and over a small hill. There was an intersection ahead; the roads forked. Another dirt road snaked through deserted fields. She stiffened. “I think that's it,” she said. “I think that's the road. I remember those bushes there."

She turned. The road was very narrow. The land to their right rose until they were between a steep slope and rolling hills. Wild grass, uncut and turning yellow and brown, covered the earth; blue wildflowers dotted the sides of the road. She slowed the car to a crawl. They passed a shack, then a worn sign at the end of a long rut: DUKE'S ROD AND GUN CLUB. “This is the road,” she said. They bounced over a bump and up a hill. Then she saw Raf's land. It dipped into a hollow that was hidden from the road. Plants and weeds grew on the land, meeting a grove of trees several yards away.

Sarah pulled over. “This is it."

Gerard surveyed the land. “There's nothing here."

"Looks that way.” She regarded the hollow and something stirred in her mind; then it was gone.

"Do you remember anything?"

"No."

"Didn't you get out of the car and look around?"

Sarah sighed. “In the dark? You must be kidding. I guess I must have gotten out with Raf, but I can't remember any of that."

"Well, let's go.” He climbed out and Sarah followed him. She was in her old boots and a parka; Gerard was wearing a plaid lumberjack's shirt. “Don't forget the keys."

"Who's going to steal it out here?"

"You never know.” He leaned toward her. “Maybe Raf's still here. Maybe he's hiding."

"Oh, God, don't say that."

He laughed. At last she laughed, too. Adventures, she tried to tell herself, were supposed to be fun.

She locked the car and took the keys with her. They made their way through the high grass toward the trees. The ground was rocky; Sarah trod cautiously, her mind on snakes and sprained ankles. She pushed the grass aside as they walked. They came to the trees and crept down a hill toward a small stream. Dead wood crackled under their feet and leaves rustled, crunching against their soles. The air was clean and piney. Gerard settled himself on a flat rock near the stream.

"I think he led us to a dead end,” he said.

Sarah drew her eyebrows together and tried to remember her journey with Raf once more. “I don't know."

"For Christ's sake, Sarah, stop saying you don't know. I know you don't know. I don't know, either.” Gerard looked weary and disappointed. He began to pick seeds and dead leaves off his boots.

She wandered along the bank of the stream, wondering if it would be worthwhile to haul dead wood across the field to their car; they could use it in their stove, and the trip would not be wasted. She gazed up through the tree limbs at the sky, then left the creek and climbed up the hill. Leaning against an oak, she stared out at the hollow.

"Gerry.” She turned. “Gerry, come here."

He got up and climbed toward her, his legs churning through the underbrush. “Look.” Sarah pointed.

A small square building, made of stone and wood, was in the hollow. They climbed over the rocks at the hill's top, and hurried through the field toward the dwelling. The one-story house looked as though it had been thrown together. The roof sagged.

"Clever,” Gerard said. “You can't even see it from the road. Do you remember anything now?"

"No.” She reached for his arm. “Maybe he's here,” she said in a whisper. They stopped by the door. The windows were shuttered. Gerard looked at her and she thought she saw fear in his blue eyes.

"Well,” he said at last, “there's only one way to find out.” He went to the door and knocked. “Raf?” He knocked some more. “Raf?” he shouted again. He tried the door.

"Gerry, we can't just go in.” The door opened.

"He didn't lock it."

"Why should he, out here?"

"Come on.” Gerard entered the house, and she followed. It was very dark; even the noonday sun did not penetrate the shutters. The room before them was bare. Sarah felt the walls for a light switch, then looked for a lantern or flashlight. She circled the room.

"Raf?” she called weakly. The door creaked on its hinges and closed. She jumped. Gerard went into the next room. She crept after him and peered over his shoulder.

She squinted; her eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark. This room was as bare as the first. There were no other rooms, only a trapdoor in the floor.

Gerard went over and lifted it. “There's a basement,” he said, “and a ladder."

Sarah shuddered. “I don't want to go down there."

"I was hoping I'd find the can. I'm going outside to take a leak. Just wait here."

Don't leave me here alone, she wanted to say. She bit her lower lip. Gerard left the room and she stared at the passage below.

"Raf?” she said, trying to tell herself that he was not here. “It's only us, Gerard and Sarah. If you don't want us bothering you, tell us, and we'll go away.” She heard the front door creak, and stifled a cry. The floorboards groaned as Gerard returned.

"I don't think he's here,” she said hastily. “And there's nothing else around. Maybe we should go."

"Let's try the cellar."

"I don't want to go down there."

"Come on."

He climbed down the ladder and she followed him. It was black in the cellar, and Sarah clung to Gerard, afraid she would lose him. She felt along the wall with one hand, finding only flat damp stone.

"Do you have any matches?” Gerard whispered. “You carry everything else in that satchel."

She fumbled through her shoulder bag and found a book of matches. She tried to light one, failed, and pulled out another. “Gerry? Don't wander away.” She lit the match.

At once she felt something brush against her. She saw the red plaid of Gerard's sleeve, and thought she saw a shadow near him. The match went out. There was a lump in her throat. She swallowed.

"God,” she heard Gerard say. “Something ran down my back.” He sounded frightened.

"Gerry?"

"Sarah.” His voice rose on the second syllable. “Sarah!” He screamed it in the dark. She froze, unable to move. “Sarah!” She reached out with her hands, afraid of what she might touch, and found his arm. “I can't see. Where are we?"

"Just follow me, Gerry. It'll be all right.” She pulled him toward the ladder, helping him up, then climbed up after him.

He stood in the middle of the room. His mouth was open and his face seemed very white. She seized his hand and led him into the front room and to the door. They went outside. Gerard searched the landscape, blinking and squinting in the light, then turned to her.

"Where are we, Sarah? What happened?"

"Don't you know?"

"I was in the living room. Then it was dark, and I thought I was blind. What happened? Where am I?"

"You don't remember?"

"I don't remember a thing."

 

Gerard sat silently, back against the Toyota, while she told him of their journey. “Don't you remember anything?” she asked when she had finished.

"No. All I remember is...” He wrinkled his forehead and ran a hand through his pale hair. “God, I can't remember anything.” He shook his head. “How did we get out here? My car doesn't run that well, does it?"

"Don't you remember? You had it repaired. Bruce did the work."

"How could we afford that?"

She sighed. “The coins. Don't you remember the coins? You remember Raf, don't you?"

"Sure. He's the guy upstairs, the one who's crazy."

"Listen, Gerry, maybe you'd better tell me what you do remember."

He rested his hands on his knees. “I can recall Raf. I remember his party. I remember going to work this week. I can't remember much about yesterday. Today's Sunday, isn't it?"

She nodded.

"We got up. But I don't remember coming here.” He frowned. “Wait, I think I see something. We drove to Hanover. Yeah, I see that. But I don't remember why."

"Do you remember our fight?"

"What fight?"

Her hands became fists. She thought of the fight, wondering if she wanted to bring that up again. She thought, We can go home, we can forget this, I can tell Gerry a story and make him believe it. Her shoulder muscles were tight. She was suddenly convinced that Raf had been in the house in the hollow. Her drafty apartment now seemed the safest place in the world.

Then she heard Gerard moan. “What's the matter with me?” he said sadly. “I never forget anything, not this way. Is there something wrong with me, Sarah? Am I going crazy?"

She would have to tell him. She could not leave him like this. Her neck was stiff; she reached up and rubbed it with one hand.

She said, “I'd better start at the beginning. Just listen. Maybe you'll start recalling things.” She began to relate her tale to Gerard. He winced as she told him of her assignation with Raf. She told him of the coins, Raf's disappearance, her own memory lapses, and the car at St. Anne's.

When she finished, he said, “That's the craziest story I ever heard."

"Except that I can prove it. We hid the coins under a loose board at home, and I can show them to you. Our car's here. Raf's gone.” She paused. “You remember everything except things to do with Raf."

Gerard rubbed his head. “I can't believe it."

"It's true.” She gazed at him resentfully. “If you hadn't insisted on coming out here, this wouldn't have happened. But you just had to come. It was your idea, whether you remember it or not.” She closed her mouth. This was no time for an argument.

Rising, she held out a hand. “Come on, Gerry. Let's fill the tank and go home."

 

Mr. Epstein was on the back porch, installing a lock on the door. Sarah closed the garage doors and crossed the stony grassless yard, Gerard trailing her. Mr. Epstein looked up as they climbed the three steps to the small back porch.

"Gerry,” the old man said. “I was hoping I'd get hold of you. Mrs. Ritter's been complaining about her kitchen sink again. The faucet's dripping. I think she needs a washer replaced."

Gerard nodded. “I'll go up now and check."

"Oh, you don't have to go right away."

"It's all right.” Sarah noticed a flatness in Gerard's voice. He went inside and unlocked their back entrance. She was just about to follow, then turned back toward the landlord.

"At last,” Mr. Epstein said. “Come on out, Sarah, I'll show you how it works.” He shot the bolts. “See, you need two keys for it, same as the front. Try it."

She tried the lock, and, after a bit of nudging, it opened. She handed the keys back and the old man gave her two envelopes. “Your set, and Gerard's. I wanted to get one of those new systems, with palm-print screens, but I'm not rich, and this isn't an enclave."

"Mr. Epstein,” Sarah said, and hesitated.

"What is it?"

"You haven't heard anything from Raf Courn, have you? The guy on the third floor."

"What should I have heard?” A cool breeze ruffled the old man's white hair.

"I don't know, but he mentioned something to me last week about going away for a bit, or maybe moving."

Mr. Epstein's brown eyes searched her face until she looked away, feeling as though the old man was reading her mind. She felt guilty and obvious. “He is a strange man, isn't he? I suppose it's too much to expect that he'll stay here, a man like that. But he hasn't told me anything. He's paid up until the end of the month, and he paid his security deposit, and as far as I'm concerned, he still lives here. Do you have any reason to believe otherwise?"

"Oh, no,” Sarah said quickly.

"Well, I'm not about to rent the place and charge double. I don't do that sort of thing. And I don't think he's going to leave all those furnishings, not to mention his deposit.” The old man began to put his tools away. “You know, Sarah, I've heard strange stories about that man. I rented to him, frankly, because I couldn't afford not to—he gave me his deposit in gold—and because there were no complaints about him, just odd stories. I have no right to judge my tenants. You haven't heard any odd stories, have you?"