"No!" But it was not a word, it was a wail. Somehow from that frail body there came such a cry that it must have been audible in every room in the rest home.
Then, suddenly, her body went slack. She rolled onto her back and lay there, body symmetrical, eyes closed. Her spark was gone again.
But not far. On the wall the word was blazoned so brightly it almost blinded him:
LIAR
"I wasn't accusing," he tried to explain again. "I was just trying to figure out why Rowena could search your memory and still believe that you murdered him."
GET OUT
"All right." He went to the door and opened it. He could hear pounding footsteps and the jammering of many voices. Of course the others in the rest home had heard Mrs. Tyler scream. There was Sally Sannazzaro, rushing toward the room, a look of horror on her face.
"Sally," said Quentin, "it's all right! I didn't hurt her; I just said something that made her angry. She's asleep again."
I HOPE YOU DIE
The words covered the corridor wall like a mural. He turned and on the other side it said:
I LOVED MY BABY
"I know you did, Mrs. Tyler," he said softly, knowing she could hear him, knowing that she wasn't listening.
Sally pushed past him into Mrs. Tyler's room. Only when she had satisfied herself that the old woman was still breathing did she come back out. He was afraid she was going to beat him up on the spot.
"All we did was talk," he insisted, holding up his hands to forestall her.
"Get out," she said. "You're never coming back here, do you understand me?"
"Sally, I didn't hurt her. She called me here. She wants my help, and I want to help her. I just said something that made her angry because it was true."
Mrs. Tyler's answer fairly burned on the walls, the same word, over and over:
LIAR LIAR LIAR
"But she'll get over it," said Quentin, "and when she does we need to talk again."
"Not a chance," said Sannazzaro. "Now get out, you and your friend Bolt. You've caused enough trouble in this rest home."
"All right, I'm going."
"I've already punched the alarms to bring the police and paramedics. So you'd better go fast."
"Thanks for waiting to find out the truth before calling in the cavalry," Quentin said angrily. "I didn't violate your trust."
"My trust ended when my friend screamed. It sounded like you were tearing her apart with your bare hands!"
Quentin burned with frustration at having lost Sannazzaro's friendship so unfairly. Yet even her snap judgment of him made him want to be closer to her. Because she was the opposite of Madeleine. Instead of being exactly what he wished for, shaped to his every desire, she was completely herself, and whatever she gave him she would give him freely, as an equal. Most people Quentin knew were at least a little bit like Madeleine, trying to outguess him, trying to give him whatever he wanted to get on his good side. So he could never be sure who they really were. He might not understand Sannazzaro, but whatever she was, it was real. He wanted to reach out and shake her and shout at her until she believed him: I'm real, too. I'm as real as you are. But then, maybe he wasn't. Maybe you had to be as pure to stay in the company of good people as to survive among beasts.
Chief Bolt sauntered out of the elevator. "Anybody dead?" he asked cheerfully.
"You are, if you don't get out of here right now," said Sannazzaro. "I'll kill you myself and call it self-defense."
They got in the elevator, Sannazzaro with them. "I'm going to see you out the door and into your car and driving away."
Wordlessly they rode down. But as she followed them to the door, she thought of something else to say. "I'm going to have a guard posted at her room. Her estate can afford it and I'm going to make sure you never get in there again."
Quentin stopped just outside the glass front door, the snow blowing around him. He could hear the sirens of the approaching emergency vehicles. "Sally," he said, "I kept my word and did no harm. When you want me back here, just call me. I'll come."
Sannazzaro closed the door in his face and locked it.
Bolt was already waiting beside the car. "Get in, bonehead, we don't want to be here all night answering questions."
Quentin didn't want to stay with Bolt, but there wasn't much choice right now. There was only one car that would get him away from here before the police arrived, and Bolt had to be in it. Quentin had a hard time opening the door, trembling as he was with rage and frustration and weariness and fear at the things that Mrs. Tyler had told him, at Sannazzaro's unfairness. No, it wasn't that at all. He was trembling from the cold. That's all.
He backed the car out of the stall and headed for the parking lot entrance.
"Don't turn right, you fool, turn left!"
"But that's where the sirens are coming from."
"We don't want to look like we're running away from them, Quentin. Do we?"
"Fine, whatever, you're the cop." Quentin pulled out onto the snowy road and drove back the way he had come. They were passed by an ambulance and a firetruck. But no police. Sannazzaro hadn't called the police after all. Or else the police were slower than the others. He didn't linger to find out.
Not till they got back on the freeway did Bolt finally ask the obvious question. "Now do you mind telling me what the hell happened?"
"I should ask you, Bolt. What got into you back there?"
"What are you talking about?" said Bolt. "I didn't do anything. You were the one who got to talk to the old lady. Fill me in."
Back when they were eating chili together, Quentin had told him everything he knew up till then. But now, having seen the way he acted with Sally Sannazzaro, wondering if there might be something to Sally's belief that he had tried to smother the old lady—now Quentin didn't feel like telling him anything.
"She didn't make any sense," he said. "She was delusional. I don't know what she thought I was, but she got frightened and screamed."
"Well, since she's been a turnip for several years now, do we count screaming as an improvement or a deterioration?" asked Bolt. The wry tone was back in his voice, now. He was himself again. Or maybe he had been himself back in the rest home. How could Quentin know?
"I liked Sally," said Quentin.
"Yeah, she's a real charmer."
Quentin looked up at the freeway sign announcing the next exit. Only it didn't say the name of a town.
GO AHEAD
Go ahead?
"I got news for you, Quentin," said Bolt. "From what I know of women, Sannazzaro doesn't like you."
She did, though, for a little while.
The sign that should have announced restaurants at the next exit had also been altered.
OPEN THE BOX
"Of course, what do I know about women?" said Bolt.
The sign promising gas stations now said:
I WANT YOU TO
Go ahead, open the box, I want you to. Gee, thanks, Grandmother.
The little exit sign had also been changed.
DIE
"By the way, have you been noticing the signs?" said Bolt.
"Have you?"
"Somebody doesn't like you," said Bolt. "Can Sannazzaro do that?"
"I doubt it," said Quentin. "It's the old lady. She's a witch. Rowena's a witch. My wife Madeleine was a succubus."
For a moment Bolt was angry. "Rowena's not a witch!"
"Just think about it for a second," said Quentin. "Those words aren't going up on those signs by themselves."
"It's the old lady."
"Yes, it's the old lady. But the other stuff wasn't her. Rowena's the one who keeps her tied down to that bed. It's a war between witches, fighting over a dragon, flinging succubuses around to win the cooperation of the occasional man. Don't think for a minute that just because you loved Rowena, she isn't one of them."