It Lives Again Page 9

  “I’ve named them,” said Dr. Perry, looking at them fondly, moving closer to the creatures than Eugene would have liked him to be. “I suppose that’s the first necessity with a child. Probably in poor taste, blasphemous, but I’ve called them Adam and Eve. Why not?” He smiled. “I thought it was a good joke at the time.”

  Suddenly, a rattling noise; for some reason the creatures were agitated. Eugene moved back, unable to control his sense of horror and fear.

  “They know you’re afraid,” warned Dr. Forrest, looking toward Eugene.

  “I know I am, too,” said Eugene, laughing nervously. “Boy, do I know it!”

  “Your fear seems to threaten them,” said Dr. Perry.

  He turned to the infants, and as if they were already small children, he explained, “It’s all right, it’s all right now. He’s the father of one just like you. You’re going to have a new brother. He’s here and he’s safe.” He pointed to Eugene, who stood discreetly by the doorway. “And this is his father.”

  The creatures, pressing as close as they could to the sides of the cages, peered out at Eugene.

  “They’ve never seen any of their parents,” Dr. Perry told Eugene. “Probably never will. They might like to focus upon you as a father figure.”

  “Never mind,” said Eugene, smiling nervously. “I wouldn’t want to rob you of that role, Doctor.”

  Not for a second did Eugene take his eyes off these monstrosities who stared out at him from their cages.

  Suddenly there was a sharp growl from one of the cages, as if one of the infants were warning the other.

  “Now, enough of that,” said Dr. Perry immediately. “We know you can make noises. It only frightens people all the more and makes them suspicious of you. I’m not going to let you out today if you don’t behave.”

  Dr. Perry seemed to have trouble with his thick-lensed glasses. He kept fussing with them and adjusting them, taking them off, wiping and putting them back again. On several occasions he had come dangerously close to the two enclosures that housed the creatures.

  Eugene watched him, wishing again he would stay farther away from the cages. “You let them out?” he asked.

  “Only Adam, so far. And then I’m always armed. I’ve never seen them as agitated as this, though,” he said as he looked at them keenly. “Right, Doctor?”

  “I think you’re right,” said Dr. Forrest.

  “We may have to tranquilize them,” said Dr. Perry thoughtfully. He then turned to Eugene as if dismissing him, anxious to get on with his work. “You can come back to see them again. Tomorrow, if you like,” he said, turning back to the cages.

  “Great,” said Eugene, “great.” He was just as pleased to get out of there.

  As Dr. Forrest led Eugene out of the room and back up the staircase, Eugene turned and looked behind him. Dr. Perry was again dangerously close to the cages, smiling, chatting inaudible little nothings to those creatures as one would to any small child.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The room was small and boxlike; probably a maid’s room when the old mansion had been at its height. The paint was a murky white, dry, crinkling at the edges. The room itself was poorly furnished, everything makeshift. There were two small, narrow beds, more like pallets.

  In one of them, under a worn, weathered quilt, was Eugene Scott. Arms behind his head, in lieu of a pillow, he lay there, staring fixedly at the ceiling.

  Finally, giving up all pretense of even trying to get to sleep, he got up, went to the window, and looked out.

  The grounds were eerie, overgrown, deserted—and always the swimming pool in the middle, with the leaves still falling as a warm night wind blew through the giant eucalyptus trees.

  Eugene looked up. He heard something, something deep within the belly of the old building—a growl. Again, louder this time, and then all at once it was gone . . . Just silence.

  Are these creatures good or evil? Eugene wondered. His own child—was he doing the right thing, or was he being seduced by his own good intentions into something incredibly evil?

  And in another bed, hundreds of miles away in Tucson, Jody Scott couldn’t sleep, either. She stared at the walls, then across at her mother, asleep beside her in the giant bed. Jody turned away. She stared straight ahead, watching herself in the mirror.

  “Where are they?” she moaned softly. “Where are they? . . . Oh, Gene . . .” she cried, almost soundlessly.

  And much later that night, in another part of Tucson, an irate Mr. Benjamin Mallory was on the phone in a makeshift office.

  “What do you mean, you lost him?” he roared.

  “I lost him,” the voice explained. “I lost Davis. I had him up until the time he was supposed to give the speech, then I don’t know. He must’ve skipped. He never even showed up to make the speech.”

  “Find him,” yelled Mallory. “You hear me? Get the Dallas police to help you.”

  “I already have,” said the voice. “They have his picture. They’re watching all the airports, the bus stations, everything.”

  “They better be, for your sake,” stormed Mallory.

  “I don’t understand it,” the voice tried to explain. “We had a tail on him all the time. He must have known it. He didn’t skip away on his own. This boy had help.”

  “Of course he had help!” shouted Mallory. “Right now he’s probably with Eugene Scott, and that thing!” He slammed down the phone.

  “Stupid bastard,” he said to no one in particular.

  Gentry approached him, coming from the outer office. “Our friend is outside,” he said, smiling.

  Mallory nodded. “Good, send her in.”

  A moment later Jody’s mother, looking quite tense, was ushered into the office. Mallory got up and courteously guided her to a chair.

  “Mrs. Jenkins,” he said, “how nice of you to come. Were you able to get any rest?”

  “A little,” she answered with an anxious smile. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had to wait until my daughter fell asleep.”

  In the library of the Spanish mansion in Los Angeles, Dr. Perry, Dr. Forrest, and several other physicians and attendants who ran the establishment were sitting around a huge table, in the midst of a conference of some sort. Among them were the three nurses from the motor home, Steven, Billy, and Barbara. By instruction, these three had secretly made their way back to the old mansion from Tucson.

  Dr. Forrest was speaking. “They seemed to have rejected Mr. Scott.”

  “Yes, they have,” said Dr. Perry. “There seems to be no doubt about that. If, however, we could have the mother as well, the complete family unit . . .” He paused. “We know from Frank Davis’s testimony that these infants have a unique affinity for their own parents. They seek them out, need to be close to them. What we must do is train the parents to conduct the experiments.”

  “You want to bring the mother here?” asked one of the other doctors.

  “Exactly,” said Dr. Perry.

  “That could be very dangerous,” said the doctor. “I’m sure she’s being carefully watched.”

  “Doctor?” Dr. Perry turned to Dr. Forrest as if he wanted him to explain something.

  Dr. Forrest nodded. “Yes, she is being watched very carefully. However, we are already working on a plan that we are sure will work.”

  “How sure?” asked the same doctor cynically.

  “Reasonably sure, Doctor,” replied Dr. Forrest.

  The next day, in a shopping center on the outskirts of Tucson, in a huge new supermarket still flying the “Grand Opening” banners, Jody and her friend, Lydia, made their unhurried way through the well-stocked market.

  Each took a cart and, side by side, started casualty up an aisle.

  “And that’s all he said?” whispered Jody, leaning as close to Lydia as she dared without appearing obvious.

  “That was it,” answered Lydia just as softly. “I got a call at three in the morning, it must have been. Woke me up, scared the shit out of me.”

&nbs
p; Jody smiled in spite of herself.

  “ ‘Lydia,’ the voice said. “No ‘Mrs. Hogan,’ nothing. Just ‘Lydia.’ Oh, God, I said to myself, it’s finally my turn. I finally got it, an obscene phone call. ‘Yes,’ I said, and lay right back all ready for it. What the hell, it couldn’t be any worse than that rotten-mouthed bum I was married to.”

  Jody smiled again. She loved Lydia. What would she have done if she hadn’t met her the very first day she and Eugene arrived in Tucson?

  “So then the voice said, ‘Do you have a friend, Jody Scott?’ ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘I have a friend, Jody Scott.’ And then he said, ‘Bring her to the new Miller Brothers’ market in the Valley Plaza tomorrow at eleven o’clock.’ ”

  Lydia stopped. She looked over at Jody.

  “That was it?” Jody asked.

  “That was it,” repeated Lydia.

  They were silent, Jody thinking.

  Coming down the aisle was the bumptious-looking assistant manager of the store. Lydia spotted him a good fifty yards away.

  “Oh, God,” she said, “here he comes. I’ve been here three times since it opened, and every time I come in this ass of an assistant manager tries to put the make on me. There must be a sign on my back,” Lydia sighed, “saying I’m divorced and desperate.”

  “How did he know you were divorced?” Jody asked suspiciously.

  “Oh, well,” said Lydia evasively. “I had to cash a check, and you know, to do that they ask you all kinds of things.”

  “Yes, yes, I can just imagine.”

  “Hi, Lydia.” The man smiled from a few steps away.

  “Mike,” Lydia said, almost shyly, “this is . . .”

  Mike interrupted. “I know Mrs. Scott.” He looked at Jody. “Would you follow me, please?”

  Jody, too surprised not to, followed the man across two aisles, heading for the office of the store, as Lydia looked on in surprise.

  As they neared the office, the manager appeared, coming down the steps from the office.

  “Mrs. Scott?” he said, as if making doubly sure.

  “Yes,” said Jody.

  The manager handed her the phone. “For you,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said, and then into the phone, her heart beating wildly, “Hello?” She was sure it was Eugene. Somehow he’d arranged all this, found this method of getting in touch with her.

  “Hello,” the voice said back, a flat voice, not Eugene’s. Oh, no, she thought, her heart falling. It’s not Eugene. It’s probably some newspaper reporter who had found out she was here.

  “Listen carefully,” the voice said. “Is anybody around?”

  Jody looked. The manager was back in his office.

  The assistant manager was gone, too, back talking to Lydia.

  “No,” said Jody.

  “Good,” said the voice. “I can only tell you once. If you want to see your husband and child, do exactly what I tell you. Do you understand?”

  “Oh, yes,” pleaded Jody. “Oh, yes. What should I do?”

  “All right,” said the voice. “Tonight at eight o’clock go to . . .”

  Jody was driving. Her mother was next to her in the passenger seat. Jody couldn’t help smiling in spite of herself at how easily her mother had fallen for it.

  “The movies, what’s playing?”

  “That’s Entertainment, Part Two, Mother.”

  “Oh, perfect, perfect, just what you need. I wanted to see that myself.”

  The theater was just ahead, one of those multiples, with three or four theaters in the same building.

  They parked the car. A weekday night, a slow night for the movie business, plenty of parking places.

  They headed for the theater ticket window. Her mother insisted on paying.

  “Mother, please.”

  “No,” said Mrs. Jenkins. “My treat.”

  “All right,” said Jody. She smiled to herself. She actually felt a little lightheaded, so excited at what she was about to do.

  Watching as her mother bought the tickets, she felt for the roll of bills she had hidden in her handbag.

  Let her pay. I’ll probably need all the money I can get, she thought.

  Crossing the lobby, Mrs. Jenkins stopped to ask Jody, “Do you want some candy?”

  “No, Mom.”

  “I think I’ll get a little something.”

  Jody smiled again, remembering as a child sharing candy with her mother at the movies.

  “Ready,” said Mrs. Jenkins, the package of Crystal Mint Life Savers already open, the first one, round and clear, with the famous hole, disappearing into her mother’s pursed mouth.

  Mrs. Jenkins sat enthralled, watching the screen. It was the sequence featuring Fred Astaire, Jack Buchanan, and Nanette Fabray singing a number called “Triplets.”

  Jody was watching a small, lighted clock just to the left of the screen, with the name “Bogle Brothers Jewelers of Tucson” engraved around the edges. Ten minutes after eight, it read. Jody wasn’t listening to the music coming from the screen. She heard only the voice she had heard on the phone earlier today, over and over again.

  “At eight-fifteen, slip out the fire exit on the south side; at eight-fifteen, slip out . . .”

  Suddenly panic seized Jody. Could the theater clock be wrong? Squinting in the darkness, she checked her own watch.

  Eight-ten. Oh, thank heavens, she thought.

  “What’s the matter?” whispered her mother.

  “Nothing,” said Jody. She started to get up.

  “Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “I’m fine,” whispered Jody. “I’m just going to the ladies’ room.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Mrs. Jenkins offered.

  “I won’t forget to wash my hands,” Jody said, smiling. “Please, Mom, watch the movie.”

  She started up the aisle. There were only a few other people in the theater, their faces lit by the light coming from the screen.

  Two rows from the back, Jody saw him, sinking low in his seat as he saw her coming up the aisle. There he is, she thought, squashing a smile. It was Gentry. She didn’t know his name, but she knew who he was. She’d seen him almost constantly the last few days, wherever she went. Today in the supermarket, tonight when her mother was buying the candy, standing by the water fountain, making believe he was having a drink of water.

  As Jody passed him, Gentry turned and watched her. Then he got up and moved to the end of the row. From this point he watched her enter the ladies’ room. Satisfied, he sat down in the end seat and turned back toward the screen.

  Inside the ladies’-room door, Jody paused. Then, quietly, she reopened the bathroom door and looked out. There he was! She could see the back of Gentry’s head sitting in the end seat, watching the movie.

  Quickly, noiselessly, she was out the door, heading for the fire exit to her left. There she eased up on the handle and the door sprang open with what seemed a deafening clang. She turned, holding the partially opened door. Gentry was still there, looking straight ahead, watching the movie.

  “Thank God,” Jody sighed. She eased the door just enough to let herself out and closed it quietly behind her. Then she stepped carefully into the dark alleyway.

  Suddenly a shriek! A terrible shriek! She looked up, terrified. It was a car! As a shiny black sedan pulled up directly beside her, the door was thrust open.

  “Get in,” a voice instructed evenly.

  Jody paused only an instant, momentarily losing her nerve.

  “Come on,” the voice demanded urgently.

  The fire door behind her burst open. Jody, terrified, jumped into the car.

  Out of the door came Gentry, yelling, “Stop!”

  The car, lights out, pulled out into the night. The frantic Gentry ran down the alley in pursuit, trying to get the plate number, the make of the car, anything.

  Too late! The car was gone; turning left at the corner, it disappeared into the night.

  Gentry ran back toward the theater.
At the exit door he ran headlong into a young usher who had come over to see who had left the fire-exit door open.

  “Where’s a phone?” shouted Gentry.

  “Hey,” said the usher, “you can’t come in here.”

  “Outta the way, kid,” said Gentry, pushing the youth aside. “Where’s the phone?”

  “Over there,” said the usher, moving aside and pointing to the pay phone on the far wall. This guy means business, he said to himself.

  Minutes later, Mrs. Jenkins appeared in the lobby. Calmly she looked around, found what she was looking for, and started across the carpeted floor.

  Gentry was on the phone, frantically explaining to his boss when he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He turned, startled.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Jenkins, Jody Scott’s mother.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, “I know.”

  “Who are you talking to?” came Mallory’s irate voice from the receiver.

  “Mrs. Scott’s mother,” Gentry said into the phone.

  “Put her on,” roared the voice from the receiver.

  Mrs. Jenkins, smiling, took the phone offered to her by Gentry. “Yes,” she said, “Mr. Mallory?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the voice, suddenly very polite. “Mrs. Jenkins?”

  “Yes, it is,” she answered. “It’s all right, Mr. Mallory. I put it in her handbag before we went out tonight . . . There’s one thing about Jody, Mr. Mallory,” said Mrs. Jenkins with a smile, “she never could fool her mother.”

  At the edge of town, the shiny black sedan pulled up to a pump at a busy Phillips 66 station. A long-haired young attendant approached the car on the driver’s side. “Fill it up?” he said.

  “I got her. This is her,” said the driver of the shiny black sedan.

  The attendant looked closely at Jody Scott, as if someone had showed him her picture and he was now making sure she was indeed the same Jody Scott.

  Satisfied, he said to her simply, “Go into the office. Pretend you’re buying some cigarettes or something.” Then he moved to the back of the car and began filling it with gas.

  Jody, confused, looked over at the driver of the car. He stared straight ahead, as if he hadn’t heard a word the gas-station attendant had said.