Despite everything, Paul said, he was sure he didn’t make any noise. He didn’t gag, or shout, or anything. Lisa just stood there, naked, with her back to him and said, in a friendly voice, “How was that, Paul? Was it what you expected? Was it scary enough? Or should I have laid rats on him instead of flowers? I could still do that if you like. I just thought this might be more fun.”
Paul wanted to run, but he couldn’t. He could hardly stand upright as Lisa turned and came towards him. “Ferocious One,” he managed to say, “I beg you—”
Lisa laughed. “Paul, Paul,” she said, “it’s much too late for that. And why would you want to send me away? Haven’t I told you I love you? Didn’t I promise to make you rich?”
“Promise?” Paul said.
“Go to work next morning. My intuition tells me your boss wants to send you on a management training course.” She stepped towards him.
“No!” Paul shouted, and then he did jump back, out of the doorway. Finally, people were looking at him. A man on crutches stopped to stare. Paul said, “I never…I thought they just—”
“Oh, Paul. You don’t really think you got all those promotions by your own talents, do you? Trust me, darling. Let me take care of you. Let me help you.”
Now Paul ran. Pushing people out of the way, he hurtled down the stairs and out of the lobby into the street. He ran as hard as he could, pumping his arms like you see on TV (I can see him, with his cap and dark glasses, and his mouth gulping for air. Poor Paul. Poor dumb Paul).
A few blocks down he dared to turn around. Lisa wasn’t following. At least he didn’t see her. Maybe she’d taken some other form. Maybe she’d disguised herself as an old woman walking on the other side of the street. Or a cat sitting on a stoop. Or a car parked illegally in front of a pump. What did he know, after all, about Malignant Ones and their powers? It’s the kind of thing you learn in school, fourth grade sacred studies class, and then forget right after the test.
When he saw a cab, he started to hail it, then stopped. What was an empty cab doing in midtown at that time of day? Maybe that Russian-looking cab driver was Lisa. Or another Malignant One coming to her aid. But maybe it was a Benign One. A Devoted Being who had noticed Paul’s danger and jumped in its taxi to come to his rescue. How could he know? How could he know? How could he tell the difference? He took the bus.
Crammed in with shoppers and office workers, Paul wished he could just close his eyes, let the crowd hold him up, and sleep. Finally he made it to his apartment building and the fear hit him all over again. Lisa had a key. Lisa didn’t need a key. She probably could fade right through a closed window. But if he didn’t go in, where could he go? How could he live? He told me later he imagined himself lying in some corner outside the men’s room in Grand Central Station.
When he told me all this, he stopped at that point in the story. “What happened?” I said. “Did you go inside? What did you do?” He wouldn’t look at me and I knew he’d done something he thought was terrible. Finally he confessed. He said he went to the super and told him he’d smelled gas before and was nervous to go back in, and would the super check for him and wave out the window if everything was all right? “I gave him ten bucks,” Paul said. “Can you believe it? Ten bucks and maybe that thing would be there waiting for him?”
“But it’s okay,” I told him. “She wasn’t there. So he ended up with ten dollars for doing nothing.”
“I guess so,” Paul said. I’d never seen him look so low.
“And you got here safely,” I reminded him.
“Right. So now you’re in danger too.”
“Come on,” I said. “All we’ve got to do is figure out how to get rid of her.” I almost blushed, knowing how dumb that sounded.
When Paul got inside, he said, he ran all around, checking the bathroom, the closets, even the small cabinets under the bathroom sink. He didn’t know what he was looking for, he just had to look. What could he do, he thought, what could he do? I imagined him standing there, outside that tiny sanctuary of his, maybe hitting his hand against his forehead.
While he was trying to figure out what to do next, the phone rang. Paul reached out, then stopped. When the answering machine came on, he waited through his announcement. And then she was there, telling him cheerfully, “Silly Paul, why don’t you pick up the phone? You know I won’t harm you. I’ve got some wonderful ideas for later in the evening.” Then her voice sharpened. “Paul! Pick up the phone.”
Paul told me later that he had no idea how he managed to resist. His hand moved out to the phone, he stood there almost touching it, his hand shaking. He probably would have picked it up if the doorbell hadn’t rung. He jerked his hand back and ran to the door. The super stood there, looking confused. “Sorry to bother you,” he told Paul, trying to look over Paul’s shoulder. “What’s that?”
The answering machine, Paul told me later, had screeched, as if someone had run a fingernail along the tape.
Paul thanked the super, told him everything was okay, said goodbye—and then asked him please to stay there. While the poor confused man stood in the doorway, Paul got out his carryon bag and threw in some clothes, his shaving stuff, and the cat’s claw he’d gotten during his first winternight initiation.
I’ve wondered since if the super was really a Devoted One. Isn’t that what they do, help you at some crucial moment? No way to know. People always say the Benign Ones lift you gently, the Malignant Ones knock you down with a club. But Paul wasn’t thinking about anything like that. He just pulled his stuff together as fast as he could. And called me.
I still feel good about that. He called me, his fourteen-year-old kid cousin. I know I didn’t protect him, not in the long run. And I guess he didn’t expect me to save him or anything. But he needed help and he called me. I’ll always love him for that.
“Ellen!” he said when he got me on the phone. “Ellen. Oh, my God.”
I said something dumb, like, “What’s wrong?”
“Lisa,” he said, and stopped.
“What is it?” I asked him. “Is she hurt?” Dumb.
“She’s…she’s not—”
“She’s not hurt?”
“She’s not human!”
“No!” I said. “Oh Paul. Oh God.” He didn’t have to say the label. I knew. Stupidly, I said, “Is she there?”
“No. No, of course not. Of course she’s not here. She just called…I couldn’t—What can I do? I tried the Formula. She laughed at me. I got sick the first time. And then she just laughed. Ellen, what am I going to do?”
“Get over here,” I said. “Where are you?”
“Home. My place.”
“Get out of there. Right now. Come here.”
“I don’t want you getting hurt,” Paul said.
“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “I’ll protect us.” Brave talk. “Just get the train. Take a taxi from the station. Ask for Johnny or Bill. Tell them you’re my cousin. You got that? Johnny or Bill.”
“Yes.”
“Hurry.”
“Shouldn’t I do an enactment?” Paul asked.
“Do a quick one.”
“What should I do? I can’t think.”
“Um—do you have flash powder?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Okay,” I said. “How about that traveller’s amulet I gave you that time you went to Europe?”
“It’s in my sanctuary.”
“Great. Go put it on.”
Slow seconds passed while I heard Paul moving things around and cursing. Finally he came back on the phone. “I can’t find it,” he said. Panic pushed his voice up. “She must have taken it.”