Gently Pat removed herself from his embrace.
"I do know. I've wondered the same thing. Did Mark and/or Kathy unwittingly do something to stir the thing into life? Obviously Mark has information he's keeping from us. But it won't do any good to nag him about it, he's as stubborn as his father. Shall we go and view the damage?"
"It's pretty bad," Josef warned.
Pat tried not to show how shaken she was by the extent of the destruction. Kathy's room was the worst; every small breakable object in the place had been smashed. But the trail of breakage ran from room to room, and down the stairs.
Kathy and Mark were in the dining room. Mark was fingering a deep gouge in the wall. A small but heavy bronze statuette, a copy of the Michelangelo David, lay on the floor. Mark picked it up and weighed it in his hand.
"It must weigh about ten pounds," he said.
Pat leaned against the wall. "I hate to think what the kitchen must look like," she said.
"It went thataway," Mark agreed, indicating the fragments of a crystal bowl that lay in the doorway.
"Not funny," Pat snapped.
"No, I mean it. The living room is intact-didn't you notice? It came down the stairs, into the dining room, and… Let's see."
A short, rather dark hall connected dining room and kitchen. There were no windows, only doors leading to the basement and the back stairs, and to a series of cupboards.
Squaring his shoulders, Josef took the lead. They looked over his shoulder, with surprise and relief, into a sparkling, untouched kitchen.
At first no one could think of an appropriate comment. Mark was, of course, the first to recover himself.
"It decided nobody was home," he said. "So it went to our place…"
"Theories, theories," Josef muttered.
"Well, there's plenty it could have broken here," Mark said.
The statement could not be denied. The canisters containing sugar, coffee, flour and so on were of clear glass; the electric clock hung insecurely from a single nail; and a collection of antique plates was suspended on brackets along the walls. The cupboard doors were closed, but that, Pat imagined, would have been no problem for the poltergeist, and no doubt the shelves behind the closed doors were crowded with glassware and dishes.
"It means something," Mark muttered. "What?"
"It means I don't get to work today," Josef said. "Kathy, we've still got most of the cartons left over from the move. Let's pack the breakables that have survived, and your clothes. We'll go to a motel again tonight. Tomorrow I'll rent an apartment in the District."
"But-" Mark began. He stopped with a gulp and a start. Pat looked sharply at Kathy, who met her eyes with a candid stare. She was, as usual, standing so close to Mark that they might have been Siamese twins, but if she had jabbed Mark in the ribs she had done it very neatly.
"The boxes are in the basement," Kathy said gently.
"Uh," Mark said. "Okay. I'll get them."
He went out, followed by his shadow. They returned with an armful of boxes, and Kathy said, "I'm going to pack my clothes. Mark?"
"Huh? Oh, sure. I'll help you."
As soon as Mark and Kathy had left, Josef reached for Pat's hand.
"You have to tell him now, Pat. I can't leave you in that house. If you think Mark will object to our living in sin, we can get married right away."
"I can't," Pat said agitatedly. "It's confusing. There are too many problems. All my things-and the animals-"
"The dog can go to a kennel for a few weeks, till we find another house. We'll smuggle the damned cat into the apartment, if you insist-"
"Josef, you're moving too fast. I can't decide." Then she saw his face, and remorse swept over her. "Oh, my darling, I don't mean that; I've no doubts about that. It's simply a matter of logistics. Give me a little time."
"I'm sorry." He smiled at her, and her heart thumped. "We'll work it out, Pat. Take all the time you want."
But there wasn't time; she knew that as well as he did. The alternative to the hasty decision he had urged was the unbelievable situation they had faced too long already.
For a while they worked in companionable silence, Josef handing dishes to Pat, who wrapped them in newspaper and stowed them away in the boxes. The monotonous, meticulous task ought to have been soothing; but her mind continued to flutter incoherently from one problem to the next. Close up the house… what would Nancy say? And the other neighbors? Rumors were sure to circulate… Jud hated kennels, he grew morose and melancholy if he was away from Mark… Mark. How would he take the news that she intended to marry Josef Friedrichs? The answer came only too readily. Mark wouldn't take it well. He needed time, not only to rid himself of his prejudices against Kathy's father, but to grow accustomed to the idea that his mother was a person, with needs of her own. He had to be consulted in the decision, not just notified of the grownups' wishes. He thought he could solve the case… His ego would be assaulted on every possible level by what Josef had proposed.
Suddenly Pat jumped to her feet, dropping a cup. Fortunately it fell on top of a half-filled box and the newspapers kept it from breaking.
"What's the matter?" Josef looked at her with concern.
"Mark," Pat said. "He and Kathy, up there… He didn't argue with us. He's helping her pack, and he hasn't mentioned lunch."
Comprehension lighted Josef's eyes. As Pat pushed through the door and ran along the hall, she heard him close on her heels. He did understand Mark. Their minds worked rather similarly, allowing for the difference in age. That was probably a hopeful sign. But at that moment Pat forgot her personal concerns in a more urgent matter. What was Mark doing up there in Kathy's room? She would have laid odds that he was not helping her pack.
She pounded up the stairs, with Josef close behind. Together they made almost as much noise as Mark could have made. But the two young people did not hear them until they burst into the room. They had other schemes afoot.
They were sitting close together, at Kathy's desk. A sheet of blank paper lay on the desk top, and Mark's hand, holding a pencil, was poised above it.
Mark jumped several inches as his mother flung the door open. The pencil jabbed into the paper, tearing a hole, but Pat was infinitely relieved to see that there was no other mark on the virgin surface.
"What the hell are you doing?" she shouted.
"Nothing." Though visibly shaken, Mark tried, simul taneously, to put the pencil in his pocket and hide the paper.
"You were trying that-that automatic writing," Pat exclaimed. "How dare you! Of all the stupid, dangerous-"
"Well, we have to do something. He came through once before. I thought maybe if we gave him another chance he'd say something that-"
"You-horrible-" For once Pat was so angry that she moved faster than her son. Her hand shot out, avoiding the hand he lifted, as if in anticipation of a blow, and snatched at the paper. She had nothing particular in mind; she only wanted to claw at something, crumple it, crush it between her hands… Better a blank sheet of paper than Mark's face.
Then she realized she was not the only one who was reaching for an object on the desk. A small white hand slid swiftly but surreptitiously toward something half hidden by the sheet of paper.
Pat's calloused hand slapped down hard on Kathy's fingers, and the girl let out a squeal. Pat snatched up the book Kathy had reached for.
Even in her rage and fright she knew that the book was no ordinary object from a library or bookstore. The cover felt slick and damp under her fingers.
She stepped back and for a moment or two they were silent, staring at one another and breathing hard. Josef looked in bewilderment from his beloved, whose infuriated face was barely recognizable, to his daughter, whose big blue eyes filled with tears as she nursed her stinging fingers.
Luckily for Josef, he did the right thing. After a baffled moment he stepped to Pat, put his arm around her shaking shoulders, and included his darling daughter with Mark in an all-inclusive scowl.