Alien Upstairs (12 page)

"That's what Gerry said.” She folded her arms. “He said he'd beat Raf back here if he saw him heading home. I just hope Raf doesn't see him."

"And what were you going to do then?"

"Confront him."

Mr. Epstein shook his head. “Then I suppose we must wait."

 

They had been sitting on the floor most of the morning. Sarah had been silent, listening to tales of how things used to be, when Mr. Epstein had been a wealthy man. He had spent everything, speculating in land, something he was sure would never lose its value. He had been wrong, of course. Sarah thought of her father; he had not speculated, he had saved and relied on the pension that would eventually be his. He, too, had been wrong. The house Sarah had grown up in, up near the Adirondacks, was too far north to be saleable, and the pension was close to worthless. She thought of her parents in California. Her father's singing, the hobby he had not been able to make a career, was keeping him alive now. His resonant baritone soothed refugees in encampments, his kindly spirit lifted theirs. The Army paid him, and other entertainers, to keep things calm, to dampen the hopelessness and keep it from becoming rage.

She lifted her head at the sound of footsteps below. “I think that's Gerry,” she murmured. She got up and opened the door a bit. She waved when she saw him on the staircase. “Gerry."

He came in, looking startled when he saw Mr. Epstein. “I think he's coming. I had to hurry. It looked like he was coming back here."

Sarah helped Mr. Epstein to his feet. “Was he alone?” she asked.

"I think so. I hope he doesn't pick up anyone along the way.” He glanced at Mr. Epstein. “What are you—"

"Later, Gerry. Right now, we must be quiet, and wait."

 

A few minutes later, they heard someone coming up the stairs. The visitor was alone. Sarah saw Mr. Epstein remove his gun from his holster, and shuddered. She had not expected violence, in spite of her worries and Gerard's talk about taking Raf on; now she knew it was a possibility.

"Can't you put that away?” she whispered.

"The safety's on,” the old man whispered back. A key rattled in the lock across the hall. Without warning, Mr. Epstein pulled the door open and moved across the hall, Sarah and Gerard close behind him after a moment's hesitation. The tall man looked up, apparently startled. “Inside,” the old man said rapidly, and they pushed their way into the apartment. Gerard closed the door.

"What is this?” the tall man said. His voice was accented and gruff, not at all like Raf's. “Is this a roust, or what?"

"Just be quiet and sit down.” Mr. Epstein pointed with his gun. “You have made a mistake, Sarah. This man is not Raf Courn."

Sarah searched the strange face as the man seated himself on a cot. Except for two old wooden chairs, it was the only furniture in the room. A sink was in the corner, its porcelain heavily stained. A door was near it. She went to the door, opened it, and saw a toilet inside, then turned and surveyed the stranger once again. His hair was short and blond, almost white. His eyes were slits, not large as Raf's had been. His nose was smaller, and his mouth was pinched; the skin of his face was pale, as if he did not get any sun.

"I know it's Raf,” she said, beginning to doubt herself. She had made a mistake. She remembered his walk, and realized how flimsy that evidence was. Wanting to believe he was Raf, she had fooled herself. “I don't know.” Her voice caught on the words. “I was so sure."

"Look, sister,” the man said. “I come back here to relax in my home, and I don't want no visitors. Now you and your friends better leave."

Something snapped inside her. “Admit it,” she cried. “Admit this is all a disguise. You stole Gerry's memories, for God's sake."

"Somebody stole your brains. You're nuts.” The man removed something from his pocket, opening his coat to show Mr. Epstein he had only a bottle of whiskey. He set the bottle on the floor. “Get the hell out of my room. No old geezer with a gun is going to push me around, or some dope like you, sister, or some Polski clown like you.” He glared at Gerard's broad face.

"I'm Russian,” Gerard replied.

"Some Russky clown, then."

Sarah lowered her eyes, staring at the whiskey bottle. “I think the man is right,” Mr. Epstein said. Her vision blurred. She continued to gaze at the bottle and thought she saw something shiny near it, almost concealed by the faded, pink bedspread draped over the cot.

"Wait,” Sarah said desperately. “Lift that bedspread.” The man looked at her warily, then lifted it.

A silver console was under the bed. “It's Raf's,” she said. “It's his component, his doo-hickey. Where did you get it?"

"I was going to pawn it, sister. I put it there so it wouldn't get stole."

"You're lying.” She raised a fist, and Gerard reached for her and held her hand. “You're lying."

The man stared at her for a long time. Then he leaned back, resting his head against the wall. “My, my,” he murmured in a soft voice. “Sarah, my dear, I did not expect you to take such umbrage, though I suppose I should have.” He smiled. His eyes widened, and became those of Raf.

 

 

 

 

Eleven

 

 

Sarah settled herself in one chair while Gerard sat in the other. Mr. Epstein was staring at his revolver. “You can put that away, sir,” Raf said. “I shan't do anything reckless."

"How do I know that?"

"My goodness, can't you take my word? I do have my sensibilities, after all. I didn't try to avoid my rent, you know. I even left my deposit, plus all my belongings."

The old man put the revolver away and sat carefully on the cot next to Raf. “You caused us a lot of trouble,” Sarah said. “You don't even know how much."

"I left you money, didn't I? I thought you would be quite happy to forget me. Then you turned up at my country hideaway. That came as quite a shock. I was afraid you might find certain things. I was there, you know. I was in the basement. I had to find a way to get you out of there, so I took Gerry's memories, the same thing I had done to you earlier. I'm afraid I botched the job, I didn't mean to remove so much, but I did achieve my purpose. He panicked, and you both retreated, leaving me undiscovered."

"Then it's true,” Mr. Epstein said. “Everything Sarah told me is true."

"Of course it's true."

Sarah suddenly felt weak. She took off her scarf, realizing that the room was growing warmer. Her hands were trembling.

"You didn't cover your tracks very well,” the old man said.

"My, my. I did the best I could. I didn't expect you to look for me. I underestimated you. But then you're familiar with this town, and I am an outsider, so to speak.” He raised his eyebrows. “Whatever did you expect to find by pursuing me?"

Sarah shook back her hair. “I don't know. Some explanation, I guess. You toyed with us, Raf, you played with us. Why?"

"To amuse myself."

She gripped the arms of the chair. “To amuse yourself."

"Well, why not? I didn't deprive you of anything, and I must have provided some entertainment to you also."

Gerard rose. “I want my memories back. I don't like having blank spots in my mind."

"Why, surely. I can't say I blame you.” Raf rose, circled Gerard, and ran a hand down his back. Gerard staggered, shook his head, and sat down again. “Is that satisfactory?” Gerard nodded.

"Is that all?” Sarah asked.

Raf shrugged. “Certain things become quite simple in time,” he murmured. “You have some blank spots too, Sarah."

She shook her head. “I'll leave things as they are.” She was not sure she wanted to know what had passed between them. “I suppose you can plant false memories, too."

"I could, though that's more difficult.” Raf sat down on the cot. “I could send you all from this room with a perfectly nice set of memories that would explain your actions, while leaving you oblivious of me. It might take a little time for me to develop such a scenario. But why bother? I doubt anyone else would believe your story."

"Mr. Epstein believed me,” Sarah replied.

"But, then, Mr. Epstein is an exception."

"Some of the people at your party believed you."

Raf frowned. “Oh, some of them found my little tales and hints amusing, that's all. It's fun to imagine that something of significance has taken place, that there is something beyond the ordinary. But then the routines of life swallow one again. You three have surpassed my expectations."

Gerard was scowling. “What kind of people are you?” he said suddenly. “Why do you do this? You run around here as if you can do what you please."

Raf smiled. “My, my, Gerard. You are testy, aren't you. I'm a tourist. You have people who travel in other lands, perhaps indulging themselves with the natives."

"There's nothing here for you,” Gerard replied. “Maybe you should just go home."

Raf stared at Gerard. For a moment, Sarah thought she saw a look of pain in the large, dark eyes; it passed, and she could no longer see any expression at all. She shifted her gaze from his face and stared absently at the spots of green paint scattered among shreds of fading beige wallpaper on the wall behind him. “I don't suppose,” Raf murmured, “that there's really much left for me to learn here."

Mr. Epstein exhaled loudly. “I would think you'd have laws,” the old man said, “some sort of restriction on what you can do. What kind of society is it that has no laws or principles? Or don't we count for anything?"

"Oh, there are restrictions.” Raf's voice had changed again; it was low and toneless. “There are rules."

"You haven't done much harm yet,” Mr. Epstein continued, “but—” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “You might, if you remain. You might even cause harm to yourself. Apparently you didn't realize, for example, that you'd be conspicuous by renting this place with gold. The people in buildings like this usually barter for their rent."

"And making your car's engine disappear,” Gerard said. “That caused a problem."

"And the letter didn't even have a city typed on it,” Sarah said.

Raf sat up. He stared at her so intensely that she had to avert her eyes. “What letter?"

"The letter you got. We went and picked it up. Somehow it got into the system with no point of origin listed."

"What did it say?” He was on the edge of the cot now, as if ready to leap at her. She shrank against the chair. “What did it say?"

"Something about a search, and being almost ready, and you going along.” She held the arms of the chair. “It was signed M."

Raf rose quickly and went to the window, looking up at the sky. He put his hands on the sill. Sarah thought she saw his right hand tremble. He crossed the room and sat down again. He bowed his head for a moment, then put his hands on his knees and leaned forward.

"I assume you all want something from me,” he said, “or you wouldn't be here. Well, what's it to be? More money, I suppose. That seems to be everyone's primary interest here. I can supply you with quite large sums."

Sarah tried to calculate how much she could request; enough for Gerard to open a bookstore of his own, another sum to migrate to a region farther south, something to live on while the business was being established, something for taxes and bribes. Raf's mouth twisted as he watched her; it was as if he could read her mind. She shuddered; maybe he could. He would buy them off and disappear again, probably for good. The mystery would remain. The money was beginning to seem less important. She grimaced; her mother was right, she had no practical sense at all.

Mr. Epstein cleared his throat. “I can't speak for Gerry and Sarah,” he said, “but I'll tell you what I want. Money means little to me now. I had it once and lost most of it, and restoring wealth to me at my age won't matter much; I have little time left to enjoy it. I want something else."

"My, my,” Raf said. “There are limits on what I can do, sir.” Sarah glanced at the old man, feeling as though they were natives trying to fleece a tourist.

"If you can take, you can give.” Mr. Epstein sat up and straightened his neck. “I want to see your world. I want to see what's beyond. You've traveled here. You can pay me back with a journey. Unless, of course, you're an imposter."

Raf smiled. Sarah folded her arms across her chest; there was something threatening about the smile. “Be careful of what you say, sir,” Raf said. “I haven't much of a world to show you."

"I've made my request. Either you can do it, or you can't."

"Others have made that request.” Raf's voice was flat. “Oh, yes, I have been here before, many times.” He glanced at Sarah and Gerard. “I suppose your jobs will prevent you from accompanying us on this junket."

"I don't have a job now,” Sarah said. “I got fired.” She looked at Gerard. “I'll go.” She tried to smile. She suddenly felt as though she was being manipulated, pushed along a path against her will.

Gerard said, “We'll both go. We'll take a chance. If we didn't, I think we'd be wondering about it for the rest of our lives. Why not?” His voice shook a little. “We'll go."

"Very well,” Raf said. “We'll go. We'll go now. We'll drive out to my country place. There is no point in a delay, is there?"

Sarah shook her head.

"You made your request,” Raf went on. “Just remember that. You chose. I very much want you to keep that in mind. I'm only obliging you."

 

They had left Gerard's Toyota at home and driven out in Mr. Epstein's car, filling it with fuel before leaving. As they crossed the field to Raf's stone house, Sarah found that she was neither curious nor afraid, only anxious. She imagined herself going into the house: Raf would tell them it was all a joke, and they would have a good laugh over their own gullibility before going back. She would feel very silly, but relieved.

Raf led them into the house and down through the trapdoor, guiding them with a flashlight through the dark, damp tunnel. They reached the end of the tunnel, and the wall slid aside.