“Tyler? Tyler?” Abe’s voice.
She opened her eyes. She was sitting on the floor, someone holding her from behind, her head down between her knees. She felt dizzy and nauseated. People were whispering. Raising her head, she saw Nora crouched at her side. Nora squeezed her hand. It was numb as if shot with Novocaine.
“You’ll be okay,” Abe said from behind. That was him clutching her shoulders. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get you out of here.” His hands slid under her armpits, and he lifted her. She glimpsed Dan’s body again before Abe turned her away. No, not his body. A wax figure. But Dan.
Abe’s firm hands guided her toward the stairs. “I’m okay,” she muttered, shaking her head. He held her upright and loosened his grip, but stayed behind her as if prepared to stop another fall. “I’m okay,” she said again. He came around to her side, and took hold of her upper arm.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His eyes looked sad and worried.
“I…” She looked back. Nora and Jack stood next to Abe. Down the corridor, several in the group were staring at her.
“We shouldn’t have come,” Nora said. Her face was drawn with misery. “Tyler, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you…Jesus, who would’ve thought…?” Her chin started trembling, and tears filled her eyes.
Tyler squeezed her hand. Then she rubbed her own forehead. The skin felt cool and damp. “I want to get out of here,” she mumbled.
She thought, I’m going to throw up.
She started down the stairs, Abe hanging onto her arm. “Hurry,” she said. Four steps from the bottom, she lunged free of his grip and raced down. She dashed across the foyer, past the rabid-looking stuffed monkey, and yanked open the door. Glaring sunlight blinded her. The porch reeked of decayed wood. She hurled herself against the railing, leaned far over it, and vomited onto the brown grass.
“Some folks can’t take it,” Maggie said. “We get them every so often. Most’ll just drop out of the tour along the way, but I’ve had maybe a score faint on me, one time or another. They ain’t always women, neither. I’ve seen big, burly fellows keel over like they’d been poleaxed.” She grinned. “Just figure you got a little extra excitement for your money.”
She closed the curtains. “That’ll conclude our tour for this morning, folks.” Gorman stepped aside to let her pass. He followed close behind her. Over her shoulder, she said, “Now don’t forget to visit our gift shop downstairs, where you can purchase your illustrated booklet on the history of Beast House and choose from our assortment of souvenirs.”
At the bottom of the stairs, she swung her cane to the left. “Just down the hall there.”
Glancing that way, Gorman saw a wooden sign a short distance up the corridor. It read Souvenirs, and pointed to an open door. He hesitated while Maggie limped outside and several of the tourists stepped around him. He intended to visit the gift shop, but he didn’t want to lose Tyler and the others.
An interview with Tyler would be marvelous. Beast House is not for the squeamish. This young lady from our tour group actually passed out…
He stepped to the threshold. Tyler, along with her three friends, was already out near the ticket booth, heading away. Maybe he could catch up with her at the motel.
He went to the gift shop, and was vaguely relieved to find others inside. Behind the counter stood the gawky, grim-looking fellow who’d taken the tickets and introduced Maggie. As the man rang up a sale, Gorman reached into his pocket and switched off the cassette recorder.
He certainly hoped it had picked up all of Maggie’s spiel. It should’ve worked fine, he assured himself. After all, it was brand new and identical to the one he’d discarded.
He should check the tape, however, as soon as possible. If, for some reason, it hadn’t operated properly, he would have to repeat the tour. He hoped to avoid that.
For the others, the displays must have seemed like grotesque curiosities—the work of a disturbed imagination, a sham to draw tourists. Gorman, however, knew better. For him, the mutilated mannequins seemed no less real than Brian’s body impaled on the fence.
Brian.
Pausing by a shelf of ashtrays and plates, he glanced around at the cashier.
That old geezer, certainly, would be incapable of sticking Brian up there. The same went double for Maggie. Only someone with extraordinary strength could have accomplished that feat, or taken him down again. These two might very well, however, be accomplices. According to the diary, the beast had lived with Elizabeth Thorn for a period of time before she allowed it to slaughter her family. Perhaps Maggie, now, was its mistress. Something to think about.
Wandering among the display tables and shelves, Gorman loaded his arms with souvenir items: a strip of six color slides showing the front of the house and several of the murder scenes; half a dozen picture postcards; the glossy eight-by-ten-inch booket rich with text and photos; a shotglass with a gilt sketch of the house; a coffee mug sporting a color rendition of the house and the legend beast house—malcasa point, calif; a plastic back-scratcher with the same legend along its shaft and a white hand with claws for raking the itch; finally, two bumper stickers—beware of the beast with a hand at each end, claws dripping red blood—and I LOVE BEAST HOUSE with an illustration of the building. Gorman had grinned when he picked up that one.
He browsed the shop for a while longer, but found no more items relating specifically to Beast House. He carried his load to the cashier. Without a word or smile, the man started ringing up the items. He looked frail and oddly prim with his gray workshirt buttoned to the throat, but he’d obviously neglected to shave that morning. His chin was spiky with gray stubble. Gorman cleared his throat to conceal the sound of switching on his recorder. “Have you worked here long?” he asked.
“Long enough.”
“Have you ever seen the beast?”
“Nope.”
“Do you believe it actually exists?”
“You took the tour,” the man said without looking up.
“Yes.”
“Them folks didn’t die of the whooping cough.”
You wouldn’t know, of course, what became of the three bodies I happened to notice behind the house last night? What, he wondered, might the fellow say to that?
“Comes to twenty-nine dollars sixty-eight cents.”
Gorman paid cash. He watched for a receipt, but the tape was still curling out of the cash register when the man crinkled up the top of the loaded bag. “May I have the receipt, please?”
“I got no use for it.” He tore it loose and slapped it down on the counter.
Gorman hurried out of the house. Squinting against the brightness, he looked for Tyler and her friends. They were nowhere in sight.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Shall I take you back to the motel?” Abe asked.
Tyler, slumped in the passenger seat with her knees propped against the dash, shook her head and slowly unwrapped the stick of Doublemint Nora had given her. “I don’t think so,” she murmured. “I don’t think I want to be alone.”
Abe felt helpless, looking at her. He wished he could make her misery go away. He wanted to hold her gently and tell her it would be all right, but he knew that only time could blunt the shock and sorrow.
“Hey,” Nora said, “why don’t we head over to the beach? I always feel better at the beach when I’m low.”
Tyler folded the chewing gum and put it in her mouth. “I’d like that.”
“My trunks are at the motel,” Jack said.
“We’ll just walk on the sand.”
“I think I might like to swim,” Tyler said.