Thinner (16 page)

'Billy, there is no link.'

'I just -,

'I've talked to Leda Rossington. She says Cary is in the Mayo being treated for skin cancer. She says it's gone pretty far, but they're reasonably sure he's going to be okay. She further says she hasn't seen you since the Gordons' Christmas party.'

'She's lying!'

Silence from Houston . . . and was that the sound of Heidi crying in the background? Billy's hand tightened on the telephone until the knuckles grew white.

'Did you talk to her in person, or just on the phone?'

'On the phone. Not that I understand the difference that makes.'

'If you saw her, you'd know. She looks like a woman who's had most of the life shocked right out of her.'

'Well, when you find out your husband has skin cancer, and it's reached the serious stage

'Have you talked to Cary?'

'He's in intensive care. People in intensive care are allowed telephone calls only under the most extreme circumstances.'

'I am down to a hundred and seventy,' Billy said. 'That's a net loss of eighty-three pounds, and I call that pretty extreme.'

Silence from the other end. Except for that sound that might be Heidi crying.

'Will you talk to him? Will you try?'

'If his doctors allow him to take a call, and if he'll talk to me, yes. But, Billy this hallucination of yours-'

IT IS NO FUCKING HALLUCINATION!'
Don't shout, God, don't do that.

Billy closed his eyes.

'All right, all right,' Houston soothed. 'This
idea. Is
that a better word? All I wanted to say is that this
idea is
not going to help you get better. In fact, it may be the root cause of this psycho-anorexia, if that's really what you're suffering from, as Dr Yount believes. You -'

'Hopley,' Billy said. Sweat had broken out on his face. He mopped his brow with his handkerchief. He had a flicker-flash of Hopley, that face that really wasn't a face anymore but a relief map of hell. Crazy inflammations, trickling wetness, and the sound, the unspeakable
sound
when he raked his nails down his cheek. There was a long silence from Houston's end.

'Talk to Duncan Hopley. He'll confirm -'

'I can't, Billy. Duncan Hopley committed suicide two days ago. He did it while you were in the Glassman Clinic. Shot himself with his service pistol.'

Halleck closed his eyes tightly and swayed on his feet. He felt as he had when he tried to smoke. He pinched his cheek savagely to keep from fainting dead away.

'Then you know,' he said with his eyes still closed. 'You know, or someone knows - someone saw him.'

'Grand Lawlor saw him,' Houston said. 'I called him just a few minutes ago.'

Grand Lawlor. For a moment Billy's confused, frightened mind didn't understand - he believed that Houston had uttered a garbled version of the phrase
grand jury.
Then it clicked home. Grand Lawlor was the county coroner. And now that he thought of it, yes, Grand Lawlor had testified before a grand jury or two in his time. This thought brought on an irrational giggling fit. Billy pressed his palm over the phone's mouth piece and hoped Houston wouldn't hear the giggles; if he did, Houston would think he was crazy for sure.
And you'd really like to believe I'm crazy, wouldn't you, Mike? Because if I was crazy and I decided to start babbling
about the little bottle and the little ivory spoon, why, no one would believe me anyway, would they? Goodness, no.
And that did it; the giggles passed.

'You asked him -'

'For a few details concerning the death? After the horror story your wife told me, you're damned right I asked him.'

Houston's voice grew momentarily prim. 'You just ought to be damned glad that when he asked me why I wanted to know, I hung tough.'

'What did he say?'

'That Hopley's complexion was a mess, but nothing like the horror show you described to Heidi. Grand's description leads me to believe that it was a nasty outbreak of the adult acne I'd treated Duncan for off and on ever since I first examined him back in 1974. The outbreaks depressed him quite badly, and that came as no surprise to me - I'd have to say that adult acne, when it's severe, is one of the most psychologically bruising nonlethal ailments I know of.'

'You think he got depressed over the way he looked and killed himself.'

'In essence, yes.'

'Let me get this straight,' Billy said. 'You believe this was a more or less ordinary outbreak of the adult acne he'd had for years
...
but at the same time you believe he killed himself because of what he was seeing in the mirror. That's a
weird
diagnosis, Mike.'

'I never said it was the skin outbreak alone,' Houston said. He sounded annoyed. 'The worst thing about problems is the way they seem to come in pairs and trios and whole gangs, never one by one. Psychiatrists have the most suicides per ten thousand members of the profession, Billy, but cops aren't far behind. Probably there was a combination of factors - this latest outbreak could have just been the straw that broke the camel's back.'

'You should have seen him,' Billy said grimly. 'That wasn't a straw, that was the fucking World Trade Center.'

'He didn't leave a note, so I guess we'll never know, will we?'

'Christ,' Billy said, and ran a hand through his hair. 'Jesus Christ.'

'And the reasons for Duncan Hopley's suicide are almost beside the point, aren't they?'

'Not to me,' Billy said. 'Not at all.'

'It seems to me that the real point is that your mind played you a nasty trick, Billy. It guilt-tripped you. You had this
...
this bee in your bonnet about Gypsy curses
...
and when you went over to Duncan Hopley's that -night, you simply saw something that wasn't there.' Now Houston's voice took on a cozy, you-can-tell-me tone. 'Did you happen to drop into Andy's Pub for a couple before you went over to Duncan's house? Just to, you know, get yourself up for the encounter a little?'

'No.'

'You sure? Heidi says you've been spending quite a bit of time in Andy's.'

'If I had,' Billy said, 'your wife would have seen me there, don't you think?'

There was a long period of silence. Then Houston said colorlessly: 'That was a damned low blow, Billy. But it's also exactly the sort of comment I'd expect from a man who is under severe mental stress.'

'Severe mental stress. Psychological anorexia. You guys have got a name for everything, I guess. But you should have seen him. You should have. . .'Billy paused, thinking of the flaming pimples on Duncan Hopley's cheeks, the oozing whiteheads, the nose that had become almost insignificant in the gruesome, erupting landscape of that haunted face.

'Billy, can't you see that your mind is hunting a logical explanation for what's happening to you? It feels guilt about the Gypsy woman, and so -'

'The curse ended when he shot himself,' Billy heard himself saying. 'Maybe that's why it didn't look so bad. It's like in the werewolf movies we saw when we were kids, Mike. When the werewolf finally gets killed, it turns back into a man again!'

Excitement replaced the confusion he had felt at the news of Hopley's suicide and Hopley's more or less ordinary skin ailment. His mind began to race down this new path, exploring it quickly, ticking off the possibilities and probabilities.
Where does a curse go when the cursee finally kicks it? Shit, might as well ask where a dying man's last breath goes.
Or his soul. Away. It goes away. Away, away, away. Is there maybe a way to
drive
it away?

Rossington - that was the first thing. Rossington, out there at the Mayo Clinic, clinging desperately to the idea that he had skin cancer, because the alternative was so much worse. When Rossington died, would he change back to ... ?

He became aware that Houston had fallen silent. And there was a noise in the background, unpleasant but familiar ... Sobbing? Was that Heidi, sobbing?

'Why's she crying?' Billy rasped.

'Billy -'

'Put her on!'

'Billy, if you could
hear
yourself

'Goddammit, put her on!'

'No. I won't. Not while you're like this.'

'Why, you cheap coke-sniffing little

'Billy, quit it!'

Houston's roar was loud enough to make Billy hold the phone away from his ear for a moment. When he put it back, the sobbing had stopped.

'Now, listen,' Houston said. 'There are no such things as werewolves and Gypsy curses. I feel foolish even telling you that.'

'Man, don't you see that's part of the
problem?'
Billy asked softly. 'Don't you understand that's how these guys have been able to get away with this stuff for the last twenty centuries or so?'

'Billy, if there's a curse on you, it's been laid by your own subconscious mind. Old Gypsies can't lay curses.
But your own
mind, masquerading as an old Gypsy, can.'

'Me, Hopley, and Rossington,' Halleck said dully, 'all at the same time. You're the one who's blind, Mike. Add it up. '

'It adds up to coincidence, and nothing more. How many times do we have to go around the mulberry bush, Billy? Go back to the Glassman. Let them help you. Stop driving your wife crazy.'

For a moment he was tempted to just give in and believe Houston - the sanity and rationality in his voice, no matter how exasperated, were comforting.

Then he thought of Hopley turning the Tensor lamp so that it shone savagely up onto his face. He thought of Hopley saying
I'd kill him very slowly - I will spare you the details.

'No,' he said. 'They can't help me at the Glassman, Mike.'

Houston sighed heavily. 'Then who can? The old Gypsy?'

'If he can be found, maybe,' Halleck said. 'Just maybe. And there's another guy I know who might be of some help. A pragmatist, like you.'

Ginelli.
The name had surfaced in his mind as he was speaking.

'But mostly, I think I've got to help myself.'

'That's what I've been
telling you!'

'Oh - I was under the impression you'd just advised me to check back into the Glassman Clinic.'

Houston sighed. 'I think your brains must be losing weight, too. Have you thought about what you're doing to your wife and daughter? Have you thought about that at all?'

Did Heidi tell you what she was doing to
me
when the accident happened?
Billy almost blurted out.
Did she tell you that
yet, Mikey? No? Oh, you ought to ask her ... My, yes.

'Billy?'

'Heidi and I will talk about it,' Billy said quietly.

'But don't you -'

'I think you were right about at least one thing, Mike.'

'Oh? Good for me. And what was that?'

'We've gone around the mulberry bush enough,' Billy said, and hung up the telephone. But they didn't talk about it.

Billy tried a couple of times, but Heidi only shook her head, her face white and set, her eyes accusing him. She only responded once.

It was three days after the telephone conversation with Houston, the one in which Heidi had been sobbing accompaniment in the background. They were just finishing dinner. Halleck had put away his usual lumberjack's meal -three hamburgers (with buns and fixin's), four ears of corn (with butter), half a pint of french fries, and two helpings of peach cobbler with hard sauce. He still had little or no appetite, but he had discovered an alarming. fact - if he didn't eat, he lost more weight. Heidi had arrived back home following Billy's conversation - argument - with Houston pale and silent, her face puffed from the tears she had cried in Houston's office. Upset and miserable himself, he had skipped lunch and dinner ... and when he weighed himself the next morning he saw that he had plummeted five pounds to 167. He stared at the figure, feeling a coldly fluttering swirl of moths in his gut.
Five pounds,
he thought.
Five pounds in one
single day! Christ!

He had skipped no more meals since then.

Now he indicated his empty plate - the clean corn cobs, the remains of the burgers, salad, french fries, dessert.

'Does that look like anorexia nervosa to you, Heidi?' he asked. 'Does it?'

'No,' she said unwillingly. 'No, but

'I've been eating like this for the last
month,'
Halleck said, 'and in the last month I've lost just about sixty pounds. Now, would you like to explain how my subconscious managed that trick? Losing two pounds a day on an intake of roughly six thousand calories per twenty-four hours?'

'I ... I don't know ... but Mike ... Mike says-'

'You don't know and I don't know,' Billy said, tossing his napkin into his plate angrily - his stomach was groaning and rolling under the weight of food he had dumped into it. 'And Michael Houston doesn't know either.'

'Well, if it's a curse, why isn't anything happening to me?'
she shrieked at him suddenly, and although her eyes blazed with anger, he could see the tears that were starting up in them.

Stung, scared, and temporarily unable to control himself, Halleck shouted back:
'Because he didn't know, that's why!

That's the only reason! Because he didn't know!'

Sobbing, she pushed her chair back, almost fell over, and then fled from the table. Her hand was pressed to the side of her face as if she had just come down with a monstrous headache.

'Heidi!' he yelled, getting up so fast he knocked his chair over. 'Heidi, come back!'

Her footsteps didn't pause on the stairs. He heard a door slam shut - not their bedroom door. Too far down the upstairs hall. Linda's room, or the guestroom.

Halleck was betting on the guestroom. He was right. She didn't sleep with him again during the week before he left home.

That week - the last week - had the consistency of a confused nightmare in Billy's mind when he tried to think about it later. The weather turned hot and oppressive and surly, as if dog days had come early this year. Even crisp, cool, double-knit Lantern Drive seemed to wilt a bit. Billy Halleck ate and sweated, sweated and ate ... and his weight settled slowly but surely through it all. At the end of the week, when he rented a car and left, heading up Interstate 95 toward New Hampshire and Maine, he was down another eleven pounds, to 156.