"I have no time just now for a long discussion. That is why my colleagues and I invested a large amount of time in preparation, making the tape for you to watch." The dark eyes burned at Radcliffe, and he got a sense of patience beginning to wear thin. "I strongly advise you to watch it."
"All right," said Philip in a small voice. At the moment he was overwhelmed by the feeling of being a small child, foolishly stubborn in his rebellion.
In another moment he and June were once more side by side on the cheap sofa, facing the small television set, and now Graves turned it on, along with the adjacent VCR. After another moment of grim silence, he put on his broad-brimmed hat and stalked away; they heard the jail-door clash of the grillwork slamming shut behind him.
Over the next hours and days the unmasked couple appeared and disappeared, usually one at a time, sometimes together, generally at night. How that oddly matched pair might be spending the bulk of their time, whether they remained in the area, or where else they might go and for what purpose, remained a mystery to their prisoners. Always, when they wanted to come in, they tapped at the door first, demonstrating at least a pretense of courtesy. Once Connie, who seemed determined to be different, came in through a window on the side of the building where there was no door.
Constantia—as Graves preferred to call Connie—was more often than not observable somewhere in the vicinity of the mobile home. Though Graves was certainly not given to shouting orders or enforcing discipline, Philip continued to be certain that he was in command. All the others, including Connie, did as they were told.
As soon as Graves had again stalked out the door, doing his impatient executive bit, squinting against the desert sun even with his whole face shaded by his broadbrimmed hat, the captives began a second session with the videotape. But this try lasted only about five minutes.
At that point Philip and June, both pretty well worn out, fell asleep sprawling fully clothed on the sofa, leaving Graves-on-tape to deliver his vital lecture to closed eyelids and unhearing ears.
When they awakened, several hours later, they rewound the tape, which had long since spun to its conclusion, as thoroughly ignored as most television screens at any given moment. Then they took turns showering in the little bathroom, and dressed in fresh clothing from their bags, which had remained unopened since being brought in.
"Looks like we may be here for a while," June sighed.
"It does." That was a depressing thought.
Once more they were impressed with their captors' eerie thoroughness when they opened drawers and saw that some spare clothing, of medium quality and in the proper sizes, had been provided. Men's and women's jeans and T-shirts, and a change or two of underwear and socks. Even gym shoes and moccasins. Radcliffe tried on the larger pair and looked at June soberly. "They fit."
One of the female masked guards knocked tentatively on the bedroom door and asked permission to come in. She seemed satisfied when told that the provided clothing fit. "Good. We weren't sure we'd be able to bring your own things along."
"Thanks," said Philip, bemused.
"Told you, we're not out to do you any harm. Did you watch the tape all the way through?"
Philip wanted to yell that he wanted to hear no more about the goddamned tape. He considered saying that he had watched it—but then decided not to make false claims. There might be some gem of information buried in the video that he would then be assumed to know.
At last he fell back on the truth. "Have to admit that we gave up on it again." He didn't admit how quickly the collapse had come. "We were falling asleep on the sofa. Now that we've had a little rest, well try again."
The rubber mummy mask nodded solemnly. "You'd better watch it. Really. Think about the ideas it presents. Nothing else is going to make sense until you accept that." And the watcher strolled away.
June was trying on the women's shoes. "Phil. They fit. Everything fits. They even know our sizes."
Radcliffe could find nothing to say.
Hours passed, while Mr. Graves and his cohort kept on persistently trying to brainwash Radcliffe into accepting their mad tale. As Graves himself was absent most of the time, the others continually urged Philip to absorb the story from the videotape. This was a persistent but patient effort, and no one pretended to be surprised that Radcliffe considered it mad. They cheerfully acknowledged that he would need some evidence before he gave it credence.
Eventually he and June, fully awake, did see the tape all the way through.
No, this wasn't any joke. Whatever the original motive, duration and intensity had taken it out of that category. Some kind of a crazy cult, then, even though these people were missing the aura of fanaticism that Radcliffe presumed all hard-core cultists must exhibit. And they had worked long and hard and skillfully to get the Radcliffes in this position. But still neither victim could imagine what they hoped to accomplish by their kidnapping.
Approximately at sunset, Graves was back.
Phil was ready to confront him. Things couldn't go on like this. "Mr. Graves, you said it isn't ransom you people are after."
"Correct."
"Then what? I mean, what do you want from me?"
"Again I must ask you: Did you watch the tape all the way through?"
Philip drew a deep breath. "Dammit, we have. We've seen the whole thing. It's quite a story, I'll give you that. I'll also admit that we've learned some fascinating details about the French Revolution. And we're up to date regarding your theories on some other subjects."
"So. Your reactions? Conclusions?"
"Okay, let's discuss. On the tape you keep talking about someone who bears my name, and is evidently supposed to be my ancestor. There's a kind of family tradition about him, and I can't prove that anything you say about this other Philip Radcliffe is wrong. But I still don't see what all this has to do with June and me being—"
Graves's voice had suddenly acquired a sharp bite. "The tape is not solely or even chiefly concerned with the French Revolution. Do you agree?"
"Well…"
"The tape presents an incomplete history of that epoch, but it does much more. That is the whole point of its existence. The historical relevance of that material to your own situation is its raison d'etre."
"The business about vampires. One of them in particular, who's out to get my family, for some reason. Yes, of course I understood that."
"Yes, of course. 'For some reason.' " Graves mouthed the words as if they tasted strange. "Evidently you understand the message of the tape, but you do not believe it."
"I…"
"It seems to me that you are remarkably more stupid than your ancestor of two hundred years ago—and you, madam?"
June was adrift in anger and confusion. "Well…"
"I see." Graves, as if confirming some unfavorable estimate, nodded at them both in turn. "Instead of wasting my time on tape, on attempting a reasonable, logical approach, I should have listened to certain of my advisers, who… but never mind that. It is too late to change our approach now.
"Your reaction to the business about vampires, as you call it, has been to turn off your brain. Instantly you recognize the serious discussion of such a topic as a symptom of madness, and your own minds are still locked closed." Graves uttered a small hissing noise, a disturbingly reptilian sound. "Well, at least you are watching the tape. I still have no time to argue with you. No energy to waste on demonstrations. Pray watch it all over again."
He turned his gaze on June, and she nodded. "We will," she breathed.
"Good." Graves's look softened somewhat. "I realize that you find yourselves in a difficult situation. But once you accept the essential information the tape contains, your own position will be much clearer."