Nightworld

Manhattan

Bill Ryan sat stunned before the TV in Glaeken's study. He'd turned on the show to see if the sight of his old colleague would shock Nick back into the real world. Instead it was Bill who had received the shock.

No sunrise on Friday? It seemed impossible, but Dr. Harvey Sapir was a world-renowned physicist from Columbia University.

"Nick," Bill said, turning to the younger man. "What's going to happen? You've been coming on with all sorts of predictions lately. How's all this going to turn out?"

Nick didn't answer. His vacant gaze remained fixed on one of the curlicues in the wallpaper design.

Bill closed his eyes and tried to keep from shouting in frustration. Nothing was right. Especially Nick. Because every time he looked at Nick he was reminded of all the people who had suffered because they were close to him, because he'd cared for them. His parents, little Danny Gordon, Lisl, and now Nick. All of them either dead or mad. And to what end? To isolate him? To make him doubt himself? To make him afraid to get close to anyone, or care for anyone again?

Hello, down there! he thought, looking out the study window at the Sheep Meadow hole, a dark splotch in the afternoon light. Guess what? It's working.

What the hell good was he? Of what use was he to Glaeken? If anything, he was a Jonah. Why did the old man keep him around?

Answerless questions. Glaeken wasn't even home. He was somewhere in the building helping Jack's friends move into the deserted apartments. Bill would have liked to help—the physical activity might do something to dispel this lethargy weighing upon him—but someone had to stay with Nick. And Bill felt responsible for Nick.

The doorbell rang.

Strange, he thought as he headed for the door. You needed a key to get up here. Who'd come this far and then ring the bell?

He was startled when he saw the woman standing in the atrium.

"Carol! I didn't know you were coming."

Bill's lethargy was swept away in the flood of warmth that gushed through him at the sight of her. Already his spirits were lifting.

"Neither did I," she said. "Glaeken sent me up."

Immediately he knew something was wrong. He looked at her more closely and saw how prominent were the lines in her face. Carol had always looked younger than her years, but today she showed every birthday.

"Come in." He glanced out into the atrium as she passed. "Where's Hank?"

"Who knows?"

"Want to talk about it?"

"Yes," she said, then quickly shook her head. "No. I mean…" She sat down on the couch. "Oh, Bill, Hank's acting so strange I don't know what to say or what to do."

She told him about the abrupt change in Hank's personality, about the hoarding, the lists, the other obsessive behavior.

"You're obviously upset," he heard himself say. "Have you tried to talk to him about it?"

Without realizing it, he had slipped into his old priestly, family-counselor role. He pulled back from it. This wasn't a parishioner, this was Carol. Someone he knew. No, not just knew, but—he could admit it now—loved for almost forty years. It was silly to try for emotional distance where Carol was concerned. He'd never make it.

"Sure I've tried," she said, "but it's like talking to a wall. Is he having a breakdown, do you think?"

Bill sighed. "I don't know if 'breakdown' is the right word. He's not behaving irrationally—in fact, what he's doing makes a lot of sense self-preservation-wise. He's frightened and stressed-out, like most everybody else."

He felt the depression begin closing in again.

"I know that. And he's not doing anything terrible, not hurting anybody. He's a good man. Really. But he's got this crazy look in his eyes."

"Do you love him, Carol?"

The words slipped out and immediately he wanted to call them back. He began to tell her she didn't have to answer, then realized that she knew that. So he let it hang. The question had plagued him since his return to the city a few months ago. He wanted to know, damn it.

"Yes. In a way. Not like I loved Jim. Nothing like that. But he's a good man, gentle and kind—at least he used to be kind. Now he's just…I don't know."

"Why did you marry him?"

He couldn't believe he was asking these questions. But here in the darkening room, with Carol becoming a silhouette against the dying light outside, he felt he could. Should. He didn't reach for a lamp. That would break the mood set by the half light.

"I guess I was lonely, Bill. When I came back to New York, I knew no one. Mostly, I wanted it that way. I wanted a fresh start. I didn't want to go back to Monroe and look up old friends. Too much time had passed. They'd just remind me of Jim and the life we had there. And they'd want to know where I'd been all these years, they'd want to know why I left, and they'd want to know about…the baby. I didn't want to talk about any of it. It would be too much like reliving everything. I wanted to create a new Carol."

"I can understand that. Perfectly."

"Can you?"

"Sure. I did it myself in North Carolina. Even changed my name to Will Ryerson. But for different reasons. Strange, isn't it? We were a thousand miles apart but we were both trying to remodel ourselves, and at just about the same time."

"Well then maybe you can understand how lonely it can be. At least you have your religious beliefs—"

Bill shook his head slowly. "Had. Had my beliefs. They're gone now." Like just about everyone or everything else in my life I've cared about. "But go on. Please."

"This isn't an easy city to build relationships in. Not if you're my age and unconnected. You get hit on by younger men who think you're an easy mark who'll be so grateful for the attention you'll hop into bed with them right off, or you're pursued by older ones who've already got a couple broken marriages behind them and think nothing of trying a third, or others who are simply looking for someone to take care of them. That's why Hank was so refreshing."

"What was he looking for?"

"Nothing. He was self-sufficient—a lifelong bachelor who knew how to take care of himself. He wasn't on the make, and neither was I. So we wound up feeling very comfortable with each other. No pressure. Just companionship—real companionship."

Bill made no comment. He'd heard far worse reasons for marriage.

"Companionship led to a…um…closer relationship, which led to us moving in together. After a while we decided to make it legal." A soft laugh in the growing darkness. "Not the stuff that makes for a hot romance novel, but it worked for us. Until now."

"I wish I had some brilliant advice for you, Carol. All I can say is…" the words tasted bitter on his tongue…"hang in there a little longer. If Glaeken can buy us some time, Hank will probably come around. If Glaeken fails…well, you just might be very glad you have all that food."

"'Hang in there,'" she repeated. "It won't be easy, but that's what I was going to do anyway. I owe him that. I just needed a little pep talk." Suddenly she stiffened and turned to look out the window. "My God, it's almost dark! I'd better get going."

She shot to her feet and Bill rose with her. It seemed like the day had just begun.

Carol started for the door. Bill followed. She was reaching for the knob when Glaeken opened it and stepped inside. Jack was with him.

"Carol?" he said. "You're still here?"

"Yes, I'm late. I've got to hurry. It's almost sunset."

"It is sunset," he said. "You can't go out now. You'd never make it to the other side of the Park, let alone to your apartment."

"But I've got to go. Hank will be worried."

"Call him," Glaeken said. "The phones were still working last time I checked. Tell him you're all right and you'll be safe here tonight."

Bill guided her back to the phone. He empathized with her distress at being cut off from her home, but try as he might, he could not douse the gleeful elation that sparked within him at the prospect of having her near all night.