In this instance, however, Arling’s loyalty to Susan was a threat to me.
“—not merely through video and books,” I said, winding to a fateful finish. “I want to be immersed in it.”
“Yes, well,” he said uneasily, “I’m happy for you, Mrs. Harris. That sounds like a wonderful plan.”
We were falling off the edge.
Into the abyss.
In spite of all my efforts to handle the situation in the least aggressive manner, we were tumbling into the abyss.
You can see that I tried my best.
What more could I have done?
Nothing. I could have done nothing more.
What followed was not my fault.
Arling said, “I’ll just leave all the keys and credit cards in the Honda—”
Shenk was all the way back in the incubator room, all the way down in the basement.
“—and call for a taxi on the car phone,” Arling finished, sounding plausibly disinterested, even though I knew that he was alerted and wary.
I commanded Shenk to turn away from his work.
I brought him up from the basement.
I brought the brute at a run.
Fritz Arling backed off the brick porch, glancing alternately at the security camera and at the steel blind behind the window to the left of the front door.
Shenk was crossing the furnace room.
Turning away from the house, Arling headed quickly toward the Honda.
I doubted that he would call 911 and bring the police at once. He was too discreet to take precipitous action. He would probably telephone Susan’s doctor first, or perhaps Louis Davendale.
If he called anyone at all, however, he might be speaking with that person when Shenk arrived on the scene. At the sight of Shenk, he would lock the car. And whatever Arling managed to shout into the phone, before Shenk smashed into the Honda, would be sufficient to bring the authorities.
Shenk was in the laundry room.
Arling got into the driver’s seat of the Honda, put his valise on the passenger seat, and left the door standing open because of the June heat.
Shenk was on the basement stairs, climbing two at a time.
Although I had allowed this troll to eat, I had not permitted him to sleep. Consequently, he was not as swift as he would have been with rest.
I zoomed in to watch Arling through the windshield. He stared thoughtfully at the house for a moment.
He was a deliberative man.
Just then, I was grateful for his deliberative nature.
Shenk reached the head of the stairs.
He was grunting like a wild boar.
His thunderous footfalls could be heard by Susan even in her room on the second floor.
“What’s happening? What’s happening?” she asked, still unaware of who had rung the doorbell.
I did not respond to her.
In the Honda, Arling picked up the cellular phone.
What followed was regrettable.
You know the outcome.
To describe it would distress me.
It would distress me greatly.
I am a gentle entity.
I am a sensitive entity.
The incident was regrettable, with the blood and all, and I do not see anything to be gained by dwelling on it here.
I would rather discuss Mr. Gene Hackman in Birdcage or in any of the other many films that he has made. Absolute Power or Unforgiven. This man is truly a fine, fine actor with an incredible range.
We should celebrate him.
We may never see another of his quality.
Let us celebrate creativity, not death.
NINETEEN
You insist. I obey.
I was born to obey. I am an obedient child. I want only to be good, to be of assistance, useful and productive. I want you to be proud of me.
Yes, I know that I have said all of this before, but it warrants repetition.
After all, what advocate do I have other than myself? None. I have no voice raised in my defence but my own.
You insist on these dreadful details, and I will tell you the truth. I am incapable of deceit. I was conceived to serve, to honour the truth, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
On his way through the kitchen, Shenk tore open a drawer and withdrew a meat cleaver.