On such a day as this, it was difficult to maintain a belief in the living dead.
Hilary sighed and said, “So how do we find out if he’s here, watching us?”
“There’s no way to be sure.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
Hilary looked down the street, which was mottled with shadow and light. Horror cloaked in sunshine. Terror hiding against a backdrop of beautiful palm trees and bright stucco walls and Spanish-tile roofs. “Paranoia Avenue,” she said.
“Paranoia City until this is over.”
They turned away from the street and walked back across the macadam parking area in front of his apartment building.
“Now what?” she asked.
“I think we both need to get some sleep.”
Hilary had never been so weary. Her eyes were grainy and sore from lack of rest; the strong sunlight stung them. Her mouth felt fuzzy and tasted like cardboard; there was an unpleasant film of tartar on her teeth, and her tongue seemed to be coated with a furry mold. She ached in every bone and muscle and sinew, from her toes to the top of her head, and it didn’t help to realize that at least half of the way she felt was the consequence of emotional rather than physical exhaustion.
“I know we need to sleep,” she said. “But do you really think you can?”
“I know what you mean. I’m tired as hell, but my mind’s racing. It’s not going to shut off easily.”
“There’s a question or two I’d like to ask the coroner,” she said. “Or whoever performed the autopsy. Maybe when I get some answers I’ll be able to take a nap.”
“Okay,” Tony said. “Let’s lock up the apartment and go to the morgue right now.”
A few minutes later, when they drove away in Tony’s blue Jeep, they watched for a tail, but they were not followed. Of course, that didn’t mean Frye wasn’t sitting in one of those parked cars along that tree-lined street. If he had followed them from Hilary’s house earlier, he didn’t need to trail after them now, for he already knew the location of their lair.
“What if he breaks in while we’re gone?” Hilary asked. “What if he’s hiding in there, waiting, when we come back?”
“I’ve got two locks on my door,” Tony said. “One of them is the best deadbolt money can buy. He’d have to chop down the door. The only other way is to break one of the windows that faces on the balcony. If he’s waiting in there when we come back, we’ll know it long before we set foot inside.”
“What if he finds another way in?”
“There isn’t one,” Tony said. “To get in through any of the other windows, he’d have to climb to the second floor on a sheer wall. and he’d have to do it right out in the open where he’d be sure to be seen. Don’t worry. Home base is safe.”
“Maybe he can pass through a door. You know,” she said shakily. “Like a ghost. Or maybe he can turn into smoke and drift through a keyhole.”
“You don’t believe garbage like that,” Tony said.
She nodded. “You’re right.”
“He doesn’t have any supernatural powers. He had to break a windowpane to get into your house last night.”
They headed downtown through heavy traffic.
Her bone-deep weariness undermined her usually strong mental defenses against the pernicious disease of self-doubt, leaving her uncharacteristically vulnerable. For the first time since seeing Frye walk out of the dining room, she began to wonder if she truly had seen what she thought she had seen.
“Am I crazy?” she asked Tony.
He glanced at her, then back at the street. “No. You’re not crazy. You saw something. You didn’t wreck the house all by yourself. You didn’t just imagine that the intruder looked like Bruno Frye. I’ll admit I thought that’s what you were doing at first. But now I know you aren’t confused.”
“But … a walking dead man? Isn’t that too much to accept?”
“It’s just as difficult to accept the other theory–that two unassociated maniacs, both suffering from the same unique set of delusions, both obsessed with a psychotic fear of vampires, attacked you in one week. In fact, I think it’s a little easier to believe that Frye is somehow alive.”