Page 13 of Creature
He finally hazarded a question. “Where arewe?”
“Portland.”
“Oh.” He knew in anabstract way that the city lay at the northern edge of Oregon. Ithad a port, he thought, and mountains nearby. A lot of trees. Asalways, he didn’t know where this knowledge came from.
Harry stood at the end of John’s bed, handsfisted on his hips. “I got some errands to run.”
John nodded.
But Harry didn’t leave. Instead he remainedrooted in place, brow furrowed as he scrutinized John. “I don’tunderstand you.”
“I’m… sorry.”
“You can talk. And feelthings. And I guess you can think okay too, right?”
Although this conversation made John uneasy,he was also gratified to have these things acknowledged. It meantHarry wasn’t viewing him as an object. “I can,” John agreedsoftly.
“Yeah. I’ve thrown you inthe trunk of a car and dragged you a thousand miles away, and youain’t complained even once.”
John sat up straighter in bed. “I’m clean,Harry. I have clothing. Beds. I’ve seen the sky! And I’m not… notalone.” That part was important. Maybe the most important of all.“Why would I complain?”
Looking grave, Harry shook his head. “Youain’t mine. You know that, right? When this job is over, theBureau’s gonna want you back. I don’t know what they’ll do with youthen.”
Although John had suspected as much, thewords were still painful to hear. He sought courage within himselfand found a small amount. “When they take me back, I’ll have goodmemories to bring with me. I didn’t have those before.” He evenmanaged a smile, hoping it didn’t look too ghastly.
“What do youremember?”
“Pain. A room somewhere.It had white tile. A metal table. Straps and chains. A man with….”He shuddered. “With knives. He told me to call himmaster, but he neversaid my name. Then there was shouting. Gunfire? More men. And thenmy cell with my patch of sunlight, and more chains and knives and…and my cell again. Then you.”
He’d never said so many words at once, andeven though he knew he was far from eloquent, Harry listenedclosely, his usually ruddy face pale and his eyes wide. When Johnfinished speaking, Harry remained silent. He’d trapped his lowerlip between his teeth.
Gathering all his bravery, John asked, “Canyou tell me what I am?”
After a pause, Harry nodded. “Yeah.” Then hesighed. “Do you know how to read?”
“I… I don’tknow.”
While John watched, Harry rummaged throughhis suitcase. He pulled out a paperback book and tossed it to John,who surprised himself by catching it easily. The lurid coverdepicted a woman in a yellow dress sprawled on a bed, unconsciousor dead. Behind her a brutish man stared at his oversized hands.But the words were more important than the image, and Johndiscovered he could read them very well. “The greatest horror storyof them all,” he recited. “Frankenstein.” Swallowing thickly, helooked at Harry for an explanation.
“Have you read it?” Harryasked. “Or seen the movie?”
“I don’t know.” If he had,the details lay in the missing parts of his memory. But he did knowone thing. “A monster?”
“Read it.” Harry put onhis jacket and a flat cap and left the room, shutting the doorfirmly.
John picked up the book and began toread.
Chapter Seven
Harry didn’t want to think about thecreature in his motel room. About John. About how, back in hiscell, John had looked like a prop from one of the Saturday matineesHarry had snuck off to see as a kid, the ones his mother forbadebecause they were the Devil’s work. But as part of that long-agoaudience—surrounded by screaming girls held tightly by theirboyfriends—Harry had imagined himself as the hero who defeated themonsters.
He also didn’t want to think about how Johnnow looked different from when he was in the cell. More human.Maybe a human who’d been ill for a long time, but now his bonescarried more flesh and his movements were stronger. His eyes lookedbrighter too, tracking Harry’s every move, and the rustiness wasfading from his voice.
Harry most definitely didn’t want to thinkabout the questions this situation raised. What was John? Whatwould become of him when this Swan guy was caught?
Fortunately Harry had plenty of othermatters to occupy his brain. He drove around Portland for a time,getting a feel for the place. It wasn’t a big city—LA could haveswallowed it whole—but it was much larger than his hometown. A wideriver bisected it, and a range of green hills rose to the west,behind the bulky brick and concrete buildings downtown. Heavy misthung in the air, making everything soft and gray. Harry wasn’t sureif he preferred it to LA’s smoggy sun, but at least it was achange.
Townsend had given him Swan’s address, soHarry stopped at a gas station to buy a map, then went for a quickpeek at the house. Reconnaissance work, right? But his delight atfeeling like a real agent dimmed when he saw where Swan lived: asweeping stone mansion with an expansive front lawn adorned with anenormous sculpture of a mermaid. Throw in a couple of palm treesand the house would have looked at home in Beverly Hills. How thehell was he supposed to impress a guy who lived in a place likethat?
