Re-Animator (11 page)

“It
what?!
West, you—murdered him?”

“Don’t be naïve, Daniel. Gruber took his life for the express purpose of testing the formula, just as I would have done for him. Unlike the people at this institution, he was a true scientist!” He snatched up the vial. “Obviously there is a geometric correlation between the dosage and the length of time the subject has been dead. This will help us to find that ratio.” He poked the needle into the stopper. “Increasing the dosage . . . 20 cc’s of reagent.”

“Herbert, you’re scatter-shooting. Let’s go!”

“No! We need the data!”

Cain shook his head and reluctantly kept his light on the body while West administered the serum. Both men looked anxiously for a sign of life, shining their beams on the subject’s lips, eyes, fingers.

After nearly a full minute, West greeted the continued stillness with a heartfelt oath.

Dean Halsey guided the Lincoln Continental down Kadath. Traffic was heavy because of the changing shifts at the Ogan plant. He punched the wheel when he got stuck behind a Rambler, then again when he was caught at a four-way light.

“I knew we should have sent for an ambulance. Remember how you loved to drive in them when we first came here?”

Beside him, Megan said nothing. She wiped away the mascara running down her tear-streaked cheeks and continued staring into her lap. Ordinarily, Halsey would have been unable to resist Megan’s tears. But this was different. He had given Hill his assurance that the “matter” of Cain and West had been taken care of, and he’d been compromised. He hated to look like a fool, but he hated even more to have his grant magnet disturbed.

He squeezed the wheel. Why did she have to fall in love with a student instead of one of the young professors? He always invited them over for dinner—with Hill, to make it look like business—and she resisted every one of them. Cain was a well-intentioned young man but naïve; he would never make money, he’d end up in research, or in some Third World sewer like Megan’s mother.

He didn’t blame himself for Diana’s leaving. A fellow professor, she’d walked out at the height of the campus protests in the sixties, offended by her husband’s conservatism and feeling that needy Vietnamese children were more important than her own daughter. The last he’d heard, Diana had founded her own version of the Peace Corps in Afghanistan, helping the beleaguered rebels.

He didn’t blame himself, but he knew what hardship the situation had caused for Megan. She’d lost her mother to activism, her friends in a succession of moves, her childhood because she’d willingly shouldered the role of housekeeper and hostess.

The intersection was blocked by an Ogan truck, so they sat out the green light where they were.

Halsey refused to look at Megan. She hadn’t cried like this for so long, and her tears brought back memories. In his mind’s eye she was seven again, and he was still teaching medicine at Conanicut University in Denver. She’d wanted a pony, and because he couldn’t afford one he’d sold his coin collection in order to buy it. She’d been so excited that she named the animal Al in his honor. He could also see her clearly when she was nine and the delivery crew had wheeled the piano in. At the teacher’s conference, Miss Ackerman had said that Megan showed musical aptitude, so he free-lanced at night proofreading medical textbooks in order to purchase a piano. It had been his own mother’s favorite instrument, and, though he could only afford a used upright, Megan made it sound like a Steinway. She titled her first composition “Al’s Song.”

Today, very little gave Halsey more pleasure than to watch Megan ride or listen to her play. Making these things possible were the right sacrifices to have made.

Their lives together had been give and take, but this time Megan would have to give. It hurt to deny her anything, but he couldn’t let her make a mistake of this magnitude. Cain was merely adequate for her before; he was dead wrong for her now. His medical career was finished, and Halsey would not have his daughter marry a nobody.

The traffic began to move, and Halsey cut out around the Rambler.

“Daddy, why can’t you understand that he loves me?”

“I do understand,” he said calmly, “but you have to understand that Daniel Cain is wrong for you.”

“Why? Because he isn’t one of those asshole snob professors you keep trying to push on me?”

“Megan—”

“Don’t baby me, Daddy! Even if you throw him out, I’ll go with him. We’re going to get married!”

Halsey felt his neck muscles tense, but he refused to yell. Megan was distraught, and, besides, he had the upper hand. He had to show magnanimity in victory.

“You’re doing no such thing. These other suitors may be . . . snobs, some of them, but they’re all stable, intelligent men.”

“They’re all little Dean Halseys, which may be what
you
want for me, but it isn’t what
I
want for me!”

“Stop it, Megan! We’re not talking about a pony now, we’re talking about a lifetime commitment.”

“Exactly! And I want Dan. Whatever his faults, he’ll grow up. We’ll grow
together.”

Halsey shook his head. “I’m afraid you won’t have the chance. Mr. Cain is facing more than expulsion. He may be facing criminal charges as well. Carl says he heard Cain and Mr. West in the morgue.”

“That’s because they’re scientists, Daddy. You should sympathize with that! Whatever Dan is doing, I’m sure he has a good reason—”

“The reason, honey, is that Daniel Cain is mad. I’ve seen this happen to medical students before—good ones! Too much pressure and they crack!”

Megan pounded the dashboard. “Don’t you see, Daddy, it’s West! He’s the one who’s mad.”

“Then it’s contagious, because after what I heard this afternoon—”

“You mean Rufus?” she demanded.

“I mean that rubbish about the cat. Not only has Cain seen dead cats come back to life, he’s convinced you that you saw them too.”

“But I
did!
Rufus was dead, and then he was alive!”

Halsey swung the car into the employees’ parking lot and pulled into his spot. He punched a button, unlocking the doors, then regarded his daughter.

“You only
thought
the cat was alive. West tricked you, just as he tricked Daniel. Carl’s right. He did it so the college would give him money and resources. But he’s not getting them, and Daniel Cain is not getting them either. What’s more, Daniel Cain also is not getting you.”

“He’s already had me,” she pouted.

Halsey froze. Megan had wanted to hurt him, but she was unprepared for the utter desolation that filled his eyes. Numbly, he opened the door and stepped out, padding slowly toward the entrance, oblivious to the greeting of the guard and the orderlies he passed.

Megan snatched the keys from the ignition and hurried after him. “Daddy, wait! You don’t understand!”

Halsey paid her no attention. His step quickening, face becoming redder, gait becoming angrier as he walked, he made for the head nurse’s station. Dr. Harrod was seated there, having a snack, and he closed on her like a shark.

“Grace, what the hell are you doing here?”

She looked at him indignantly and answered through a mouthful of donut. “I’m filling in while Jan’s in the lavatory.”

“Not very well, I hear.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I just got a call from Carl Hill. Would you happen to know if Mr. Cain is on the loose in this hospital?”

“He’s in the morgue, I think.”

“You
think?
Isn’t the person at this desk supposed to
know
where hospital personnel are?”

“Allan, I’m a doctor, not a receptionist! All I know is what Mace told me when I bumped into him in the cafeteria.”

“Mace? And what was
he
doing away from his post?”

“He said something about Cain having relieved him.”

Halsey pounded the desk just as Megan ran up. Dr. Harrod noticed her bloodshot eyes, understood at once what had caused her father’s mood. Although Harrod was glad she hadn’t accepted Halsey’s marriage proposal years before, she felt badly for Megan. Her father was ill equipped to raise anything but funds.

“I’ll have that bastard’s job!” Halsey vowed, turning his back on his daughter as she ran up. “I specifically told Dr. Riley to suspend Cain and have Mace take him off the floor if he reported for work.”

“Allan, Dr. Riley has been in emergency surgery for four hours. I haven’t seen him, and I’m sure Jan hasn’t either.”

“Then he should have left word!”

“Why—is there a problem?”

“Problem?” Halsey snickered. “There’s no problem, as long as the deceased of Arkham have some
very
understanding next-of-kin.” Halsey looked down the hall. “Hold that elevator!” He turned to Dr. Harrod. “Grace, would you please page Mr. Cain and have him report to the level L security desk. And whatever you do”—he regarded his daughter—“make sure that
she
stays right here.”

“You can’t stop me,” Megan sobbed. “I followed you here, and I’m going to follow you until you listen to me.”

He turned on her, the hurt that had been in his eyes replaced with fury. “You’re going to stay
right here,
young lady. You won’t see him
or
sleep with him again!”

Several people in the waiting room turned to stare. Dr. Harrod looked down at her coffee.

“You can’t do this, Daddy. I love him!”

Noticing the many eyes upon them, Dean Halsey recomposed himself and bent closer to Megan. Under cover of Dr. Harrod’s announcement, he said in a rough whisper, “I don’t care! You’re my daughter, and you’ll do as you’re told—if not for your own sake, then for that of Mr. Cain.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you do what I tell you, things will go much easier for Mr. Cain. If not—”

He didn’t have to finish. Megan’s shoulders slumped, and Dr. Harrod came from behind the desk. She took Megan lightly by the arm.

“Sit down, Miss Halsey.”

Megan sat in a swivel chair and watched as her father hurried down the hall. Her lower lip quivered. “It’s blackmail,” she whimpered. “My own father—blackmailing me.”

“University deans and professors are very good at that,” Harrod said, offering Megan her coffee. The young woman shook her head, and Harrod took a sip. “I know what you’re going through, but Mr. Cain will be up soon, and we can discuss it then.”

“Why bother? Daddy doesn’t understand. He just won’t let go!”

“Daddies are very good at that,” Harrod said sagely.

Megan stared helplessly as her father scuttled down the corridor toward the elevator. Half rising, she yelled suddenly, “Don’t blame him, Daddy! It’s West! It’s all West!”

CHAPTER

8

T
he two men stood in the dark of the room, staring down at the spotlighted corpse. The big John Doe lay still, his lantern jaw and powerful hands unmoving. The dragon tattoo on his right arm seemed more alive than his own stiff limbs.

“We’ve failed!” he sighed.

West slapped the corpse roughly. “He failed, not I!”

“That doesn’t matter right now. Come on, let’s go. Someone will be coming any minute!”

Even before he’d finished uttering the warning, Cain heard the announcement over the loudspeaker.

“Mr. Daniel Cain, please report to the security desk, level L.”

“Oh, God.”

Cain looked at the inanimate body. He deserved what he got. Any number of things could have explained the cat, the brain. How could he have been so stupid? In his eagerness to want to believe, he had blundered into disaster.

“Cover him up,” Cain said with disgust. “Let’s go.”

West stood staring at the corpse, studying it. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. John Doe looked like a biker. Was there too much dust in his lungs? Drugs in his veins? Gas fumes—had they done him in?

“I said let’s go!”

“All right!” West snapped, grabbing the sheet and tossing it over the body. “I just don’t understand. It should have worked!”

Cain helped him straighten the sheet, neither man noticing the fingers of the corpse’s right hand flick once, then again.

“The girl’s brain had been dead longer, and that came back.”

The entire arm twitched.

Cain had no desire to discuss the matter. All he wanted was to get home and get stoned. And call Megan, if he could find the courage. He hadn’t seen her all day and wasn’t sure he wanted to hear how she couldn’t marry him now that he was on the verge of being kicked out of school.

Cain heard the popping and felt the spray of blood on his neck at the same time.

“What the hell?”

Turning, he saw the corpse sitting up on the table, its joints snapping as they defied rigor mortis. Its arms were stretched rigidly before it, speckled with blood which was gushing in violent spurts from its mouth; the eyes, open wide, were glazed and dry.

West’s eyes ignited with delight. “Do you see, Daniel? Do you
see?”

“I see—”

West slapped Cain hard on the back. “Didn’t I tell you it would work? Quick, the recorder!”

Cain pulled it from his pocket, fumbled to turn the device on. “Time?”

“Ten thirty-four forty-eight.”

Cain murmured the time, then described what was happening as, groaning, the corpse slid from the table and staggered several stiff-legged steps. It bent slightly, momentarily, to its right.

“Astonishing!” West blurted. “It’s aware of the broken rib!”

“Does it feel pain?” Cain asked.

“Impossible to tell. We’ll have to do specific tests. Come on,”

With Cain at his heels, West slowly approached the naked zombie. He was crouching slightly, his hands open in a calming gesture. The corpse regarded him for a moment, then snarled. Blood spattered over West’s glasses.

“Easy . . .” West said. “We want to help you.”

Turning slowly toward the table, the zombie suddenly grabbed it and, with superhuman strength, threw it across the room. Then it grabbed the nearest body and did likewise, the corpse bouncing off the wall like a rag doll. Another table followed, sending the young medics to the floor.

“Shit!” Cain swore. “What’s wrong?”