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

anger or in fear. The implacable man who had made them all prisoners, whose name apparently was Gliddon as the girl called Helen had said, seemed to be making his rounds like a doctor in a busy clinic, going from one treatment room to the next.

      At least none of the patients were screaming. Yet.

      Judy, to control her own fear, concentrated as much as possible on something else—on that hurrying approach that only she could sense. He was coming, in an onrush that seemed utterly tireless. The difficulty remained, though, that Judy could not tell how far he had yet to come. With a great effort she tried to communicate her own fear and need to the one approaching, and after a while it seemed to Judy that his speed had become greater still. But no words, no plans could be exchanged, and she could not be sure. The landscape around him was still all wild and empty, she could perceive that much … but where were his running feet? Abruptly Judy realized that he was now wingborne.

      A bright light against her closed lids startled her. She squinted open her eyes to see Gliddon, now without his mask, looking down at her over a small lantern. His face was more ordinary than she had imagined it. In one hand he carried a casual, half-smoked cigarette.

      His voice was not unkindly. It might even fit the doctor she had imagined. “Let’s see, your name is Judy Southerland, as I recall from your ID.”

      “That’s right.” Her own voice came out pleasingly strong. “I think you’d better untie my hands.”

      “Now just try to have a little patience, Judy. I didn’t ask you to come here, you know. What are you people doing here, anyway?”

      “I … any answer I give to that is going to sound pretty silly.”

      “Try the true one on me. That’ll save time and trouble.”

      “I—no, I don’t have to tell you anything at all. Except that you’d better let me go. Help is going to be coming for me.”

      The man set down his lantern carefully on the floor. Then without changing expression he drew back his arm and hit Judy open-handed across the face. Never in her whole life before had she been struck like that. Now she understood what was meant by the old expression about seeing stars. A moment later she tasted blood. And her tongue had become an odd, paralyzed lump that in a moment was going to hurt badly. It started to hurt.

      She tried moving her jaw, and was a little surprised to find that it still worked. Then, speaking carefully around her tongue, she said: “You’re going to be sorry you did that. Oh God are you ever going to be sorry.”

      Perhaps her sincerity made a momentary impression on the man, for he seemed to hesitate. Then he took a puff on his cigarette, and reached out to grab Judy by the hair. She saw what was coming, and uttered a little shriek. “All right! All right, I’ll tell you the truth, if that’s what you want. Don’t blame me if it sounds completely crazy.”

      Her hair was released. “I’m listening.”

      “I just talked Bill into giving me a ride. Then we ran into these other two by accident. I have no idea what they were doing out this way. But our car was already stuck down there when they came along.”

      “I see. It was your idea for Bill to drive you out here.”

      “Yes.”

      “Why? You just like to take rides in the middle of the night? On roads like that one? If you just want a peaceful place to screw, you don’t have to drive out of town this far.”

      Judy was silent. A hand rested on her head, and here came the cigarette again, toward her face. She yelped. “Wait! I’m going to the Astoria School, you see. Up in the hills on the other side of Santa Fe.”

      The approaching fire paused. “That’s nice, tell me more.” Judy could feel in the man’s hand on her head that he was enjoying this.

      “It has a bearing. Wait. Well … one of the girls there was saying that her brother had been out this way recently, deer hunting, and there were some people living here in the old buildings.” Judy stalled there. Invention had flagged, because of the way Gliddon was looking at her.

      This time the cigarette came all the way. And it didn’t withdraw until she had screamed, twice. “Deer hunting in the spring,” the man said then. He let her go, and leaned back against the wall, looking at her thoughtfully while she sobbed.

      “You know what I think I’m going to do?” he said at last. “That young guy who gave you the ride, as you say. I haven’t talked to him yet. I think I’ll bring him in here and talk to him. As soon as either one of you tells me another funny story, I’ll pop out one of his eyes. I have a way of doing it with my thumb, just like this.” Gliddon demonstrated in mid-air. “Then we can talk some more about deer hunting in the spring, and I’ll take out the other. I’ll use him up a little at a time—”

      “All right, all right! We know about the painting. I mean I know about it. Bill doesn’t know a thing.”

      Her interrogator sighed. It was an angry sound, but Judy realized, slowly and with fearful relief, that the anger this time was not at her. Gliddon stared at the adobe wall for a time, as if he were looking into the distance. Then his attention came back to her. “You were all at one of Del’s parties tonight, right?”

      Judy nodded agreement. She had no real idea of what she was agreeing to, only that agreement was the expected answer, the believable answer, the answer that would at least postpone more pain.

      “I thought so. At Ellison’s house in Santa Fe?”

      Judy read the question as well as she could, and nodded her head again.

      “Yeah, I thought so.