Thorn by Fred Saberhagen (reading like a writer TXT) 📕

under lights. The clay looked wet, and Bill was wiping his hands on a rag. It seemed he must have been working from memory; anyway there was no model in sight. “I’m going to level with you, Bill. There are reasons why I didn’t want to do that.”

      “Oh? Something private?”

      “Yes. And the truth is I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back. I want to—meet someone, in town or near town.”

      “Oh.”

      She wished he would stop saying oh. “No, it isn’t anything like that. Just someone who desperately needs help. And there’s nothing illegal or wrong about it, but at the same tune it’s very private.”

      Bill opened his mouth, but failed to utter the anticipated word. Now Judy could almost see the wheels turning over in his head. Abortion appointment? Drug rendezvous? Or a friend of Judy’s on a bad trip with some drug, or in some trouble with the law? Or simply running away from home? Bill asked: “Where are you supposed to meet this person?”

      “It’s not easy to explain. I’m sorry. Look, can you just give me a ride into town? If you don’t want to, I’ll understand and I’ll figure out some other way of getting there. I appreciate that there’s some chance of your getting into trouble here if you break the rules.” Is this really me, Judy wondered, willing to use someone in this way? She thought that for the first time she could begin to understand how alcoholics, addicts, could be as ruthless as they sometimes were. The craving— dominated.

      Bill was looking at her carefully. “It’s all right, Judy. I’ll give you a ride.”

      “Thanks, Bill. I mean it. I really do appreciate it, I can’t tell you how much.”

      Waiting for Bill to take care of a few things and grab his coat, getting ready to go out, Judy leaned against the doorframe, groping mentally.

      He, the man she sought, had been very recently in a great desert basin which contained a large city and a mass of warm air, almost hot air, fairly heavily polluted air. Names of course never came through the contact, but Judy had no trouble recognizing Phoenix. But Thorn, she perceived now, was there no longer.

      …he was coming closer, moving almost straight toward her from the southwest. His feet were running, racing at a terrible pace … four feet running, and all of them were his … this was a mode that she had never experienced before.

      “What’s wrong, Jude?”

      She opened her eyes and pushed away from the doorframe, making herself stand up straight and smile. “Nothing … maybe a little headache.”

      Bill looked doubtful. But he was holding the door open for Judy now, and she went on out. Her own feet trod again the springy needle carpet of the forest path. Two human feet, hers were, in shoes, not like … the landscape around him had been momentarily clear to Judy. It had seemed to be bright moonlight there, though from here her merely human eyes could see that tonight’s moon was only a dim crescent.

      Those distant, running feet were coming closer quickly, loping almost directly toward Santa Fe. It would be hours yet before Judy could meet them. How many hours she could not guess.

      They were in Bill’s car now, a small Buick several years old, and he was starting the engine. As he turned the key Judy at the last moment knew irrational panic that a great bomb under the hood was going to go off and turn them both to jelly. So strong was the sensation that she had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. Nothing happened, of course, and now he was driving over the rutted gravel of the parking lot toward the gate, which as usual this early in the evening was standing open. He asked Judy casually: “Where exactly are we going?”

      Her conscience would not lie down quietly. “Bill, I don’t want to get you into any trouble for doing this. Maybe you’d better not.”

      “Oh, just driving you to town isn’t all that bad. Bending the rules a little, maybe, but … oh, hell, look, Judy. You’re already in real trouble of some kind. I’d have to be blind not to see that. I don’t know if it really has to do with some friend, or if the friend in trouble is you—anyway I can see that you need help. So why don’t you just tell me where you have to go? And on the way, tell me what it’s all about.”

      “Oh, Bill. You’re beautiful.” Suddenly near tears, Judy reached to squeeze his bicep, which felt surprisingly large and hard. “Bill, the trouble is, I don’t know anything exactly yet. Just that I have to be there … maybe when I get into town, things will be clearer.”

      “How is that going to help?”

      “It’s difficult to explain.” Or maybe impossible. Once when her brother Johnny had been in the hands of kidnappers, Judy had been able to see, to locate perfectly, the house where Johnny was being held. Of course that time she had been hypnotized, by …  maybe the trouble was that this time she wasn’t hypnotized.

      “No, I don’t think I want to drop you just anywhere.” They were driving the camp road now at a brisk pace, traversing a midnight aisle of trees. “Tell me, Judy. Are you really intending to cut out from school altogether? Or do you really mean to come back tonight?”

      “I hope to be able to get back tonight, Bill. I’ve left a note in my cabin, just in case … but oh God, I hope I can get back there before anybody reads it.”

      Bill turned his eyes from the night road long enough to look at her. He whistled softly. “All right, this is very serious, I can see that. Is it all right if I ask what the note says?”

      “It says … it’s just meant to be reassuring. I’m trying to keep my parents from finding out … Bill, don’t mind me if I