Sixty seconds later he reversed out of the driveway and started up the street, forced to lean forward, his visibility nil because of the storm. Plowing through shimmering black pools that covered the streets, his tires started to hydroplane, and his knuckles went white from holding the steering wheel against the pull.
"Christ," he muttered, regaining control.
In ten minutes he came to a stop under the black canopy of trees drooping over Stewart's driveway.
The house remained in absolute darkness.
Not at home?
Earl couldn't tell if Stewart's Mercedes was gone, the garage being closed up tight.
He got out of his van and ran for the front door.
A four-chime bell sounded inside, then died out in the answering silence.
Shit. Tocco usually barked up a storm whenever anyone came calling if she had Stewart in there with her. But leave her alone in the house and she would hide in the basement, never making a sound. Dog lovers said she knew enough to protect people, not belongings. Stewart had a slightly different take on the matter. "The mutt barks when I'm there so I'll come and protect her. Otherwise she's a scared wimp, and anyone could break in."
So maybe Tocco's silence meant Stewart had gone out again. Damn, he should have checked the hospital. Probably the guy went back to the sanctuary of ICU. He used the place the way lesser mortals found comfort in a tavern.
Lightning sent molten cracks through the black sky.
Earl hesitated about using his cell phone out here, never having seen anyone get their brain fried while making a call during a thunderstorm, but not willing to risk the remote chance of being a first. Before returning to his car, he turned the front door's ornate brass handle, figuring it a useless gesture.
The door opened.
He quickly stepped inside and pulled it closed behind him.
"Stewart!" he called out, fumbling for a light switch as he stood dripping on the marble floor of the foyer. He braced himself to feel Tocco's cool nose coming out of the darkness to give him a sniff. Although the dog was timid, it took only one meeting to be her friend for life. Whenever he'd visited before, once she recognized him, he inevitably got a good going over, probably because he carried Muffy's scent.
He found what felt like a row of rheostat dials and pressed. The overhead chandelier flooded the room with an amber glow.
No Tocco and no Stewart.
"Hello?" he called out again.
Absolute stillness.
Stewart must be out, but there was one way to be sure. Earl made his way to the kitchen, flicking switches as he went, and found the door to the garage.
The dark blue Mercedes glistened in the light streaming past him.
Out for a walk with Tocco? Could be. But back at the main entrance he'd seen Stewart's big umbrella in its stand as usual. Still, the leash didn't occupy its regular spot on a varnished pine coatrack.
So he'd wait, Earl decided. Stewart wouldn't be long in this downpour.
After ten minutes of sitting at the bottom of the spiral staircase leading to the upper floor, he figured hanging around any longer would be a waste of time.
But Stewart must have the dog with him, so he wouldn't have gone far, especially without an umbrella. Maybe he'd taken shelter somewhere.
He got up and went into the living room to peer out the front window, trying to catch a glimpse of the pair returning home.
The streetlights illuminated falling rain but no people or animals of any kind.
At least the downpour had started to recede. It no longer hit the glass with the force of a fire hose, and the accompanying roar had begun to diminish.
Good. If Stewart and Tocco had holed up someplace, they ought to be back anytime now. He sat on the sill to keep watch.
Over the next few minutes the rain became a gentle patter, and quiet filled the empty house, except now he could hear what sounded like faint voices.
What the hell?
He got up and walked back into the foyer.
"Stewart," he called upstairs, wondering if he'd been in his bedroom watching television the whole time and hadn't heard he had a visitor.
No answer.
And Tocco would have barked by now.
Besides, the noise, more a distant murmur than distinguishable talking, didn't seem to be coming from there.
For a second Earl thought it might be outside, and went to the front door. When he opened it only the hiss of a gentle shower filled his ears. The voices remained at his back.
Closing up, he wandered into the interior of the house and paused where the hallway met the kitchen. The murmurings came from behind a door he thought led to the basement.
Turning the handle, he pushed. Immediately faint words floated up from the darkness below. They sounded like something on a radio or from a television. Had Stewart a den down here?
"Stewart?"
He expected a response.
Again none came.
He flicked the light switches.
The blackness remained.
A blown fuse?
He began to catch snatches of what seemed to be a conversation between two people.
"Any more pain?"
"None. It's gone…"
"Do you see anything?"
"Only blackness…"
The questions were whispered, the words barely loud enough to make out. The rasping replies, more audible, seemed to come from a woman. "Hello?" he called.
Still no answer.
"Look harder! Now tell me what's there."
"You're not my doctor…"
"No, I'm replacing him tonight…"
Definitely a television left on, or a radio.
"Just leave me be. It doesn't hurt anymore…"
"Do you see anything yet?"
"Yes…"
He wanted to go down but needed a light and had no idea where Stewart might keep one. He stepped into the kitchen and, after a little looking, found a handheld spot on a charger in the pantry. The harsh white beam probed the thick blackness like a sword as he started down the steps with it, still listening to the voices.
"Do you sense yourself rising?"
"Leave… me… alone…"
"Not until you tell me what you see. Are you looking down on us yet?"
There followed what sounded like static.
"What did you say?" the whisperer asked.
"I… see… me…"
What the hell? Earl thought, and slowed to a halt halfway down the steps, unable to believe he'd heard correctly. But the conversation continued, the telltale reverberation of speakers evident now.
"What else can you make out?"
"The… bed… nightstand… pictures… all my pictures…"
"Is that your husband?"
"Yes…"
In that closed space Earl caught a whiff of a very medicinal smell that tingled the inside of his nose. A more cloying, fecal aroma joined it, causing the back of his throat to tighten. Oh, no, he thought, and started down again, the spot throwing garish shadows against the walls.
"Is he dead?"
"Yes…"
"Do you want to find him?"
"Yes…"
He rounded the bottom landing and stepped into the basement proper.
"Are you still looking down on yourself in bed?"
"Yes…"
"Let go. Allow yourself to float, escape the hospital, go high above the building. You must do this before you can see Frank…"
He swept the lamp's beam toward the sound. A miniature cassette recorder, the kind doctors often used when they dictated clinical notes, lay on the floor not far from his feet, and the tiny, slowly turning spools glistened as they caught the light. He guided his cone of light onto a small dark mound against the wall. It became shiny black fur that stood out in stark relief against a background of gray cinder blocks. He took a step closer and saw a motionless pink tongue lolling out over white fangs like a carefully placed ribbon. Farther into the darkness something much larger loomed. By reflex, he started to breathe through his mouth, and the sounds from the tape seemed swallowed by the heavy stillness of that suspended shape.