Re-Animator (8 page)

Cain looked over. “Hello, Dr. Hill.” They shook hands across the table. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your smock and cap.”

“Sort of like Superman without the cape,” Dean Halsey noted. “Would you join us for a glass of wine?”

Cain checked with Megan, who counseled him with a barely perceptible shake of her head.

“Actually, we have some work to do. It’d be better if we got to it while we’re still fresh.”

“Why don’t you study here?” Hill suggested. “You’ll be fresher still.”

“Thanks, but . . . Chopin puts me to sleep. I’ll have her home soon, don’t worry.”

“Well then.” Hill shot to his feet. “May I, Allan, offer one last toast?”

“By all means.”

Hill raised his glass. “To Megan—my esteemed colleague’s capable, beautiful, loving daughter.”

“Why, thank you,” the dean replied.

“Megan,” Hill repeated solemnly, barely audibly, as he sat back down. “The obsession of
all
who fall under her spell.”

The young woman acknowledged the toast with a small, stiff bow, then bent and kissed her father on the forehead. Pleasantly bidding the men a good evening, Cain followed her out.

Behind them, Hill was once again stroking the knife.

CHAPTER

5

“H
e’s a lech.”

“You’re being overly sensitive, Megan. Dr. Hill is a brilliant man.”

Megan looked down into the book on her lap. “Fine, he’s brilliant . . . he’s a brilliant
lech.
I don’t like being around him.”

The living-room lights were turned off, save for the small Tiffany lamp beside the old sofa. Cain and Megan were seated beneath the lamp, reading from the same book.

“Forget Dr. Hill. Did you finish this stuff about Leptospira australis?”

“Screw it.”

“Can’t. They’re wee itty-bitty things.”

Megan shook her head, and, putting his arm around her, Cain nuzzled her on the cheek.

“Dan—”

He licked her jawline.

“Dan, please!”

Cain leaned back, throwing up his hands. “Okay, what is it?”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lower lip and said apologetically, “Look, it’s not you. It’s just a lot of little things.”

“Like what?”

“Well—like West is always in his room with the door closed.”

“So?”

“Do you ever see him? Does he ever eat?”

“Who
cares?”

“You
should! I mean, what do you really know about him?”

“Nothing except that he studied with Hans Gruber and pays for whatever he uses. He stuffed a buck in the toilet paper and two in the box of Meow Mix.”

“In the cat food?”

“Yeah. Said he needed some protein for an experiment. Anyway, that kind of courtesy makes him okay in my book.”

Megan squeezed Cain’s hand. “Don’t take this wrong, Dan, but you were raised by a spinster aunt who had the sensibilities of a nun. Your book of life experiences is slightly abridged.”

“As opposed to you, whose life has been like a lending library.”

“Sure, I’ve been around. The point is, I’ve got a sense about people that you don’t. And I’m telling you that Dr. Hill is a pervert and Herbert West probably isn’t much better.”

Cain drummed on his knees. “So what? What if he
is
a little cracked?”

Megan studied his face. “All of this was bullshit, wasn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“He bothers you too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“He bothers you, and he bothers Rufus?”

“What?”

“Rufus is terrified of him. When West comes in, he runs and hides.”

Cain snickered. “Rufus runs and hides all the time. It’s standard cat activity.”

“Yes, but not when you and I are together! Then he’s all over us, trying to get your attention.” Megan paused, looked around. “Say, where is Rufus? I haven’t seen him since we got here.”

“It’s okay. He’s around here somewhere.”

“Are you sure? I haven’t heard him. Usually he at least knocks something over when I’m here.” Rising urgently, Megan walked hunched about the room, whispering for the cat. “Here, Rufus. Here, kitty-kitty.”

Shaking his head, Cain stood and called more loudly, “Rufus! C’mon, you fat cat! Where are you, you mad animal?”

“Rufus? Heeeeere, Rufy.”

“Hey, furball, don’t you hide from me!”

Megan turned on another light and looked behind an armchair, then beneath it. Cain checked behind the drapes.

“Still think he’s just hiding, Dan?”

“Of course. He’s like Garfield, he could be anywhere.”

“Fine. You take the kitchen, I’ll check the bedroom.”

Switching on the single bare bulb which lit the corridor, Megan proceeded slowly.

“Psssst. Rufus! You under the bed?”

On her way to the bedroom, Megan passed West’s room and saw an eerie light seeping under the door. It was moving and fluorescent, with a slightly yellow cast. She rapped lightly on the door.

“Mr. West, are you in there? It’s Megan.”

There was no answer, and after inquiring again, she tried the door. It was unlocked, and Megan opened it slowly.

Even in the dim light, Megan could see that the walls were covered with charts and diagrams. Most of them showed the human brain, some the brains and vital organs of other animals, including cats.

The glow itself was coming from a small refrigerator which sat against the near wall, tucked between a cot and a large lab table, partly obscured by the latter. Walking slowly around it and peering across the countless rows of chemical powders and solutions, Megan saw that a vial standing in front of the bulb was causing the yellowish tint. She also saw why the refrigerator door was open. Something was in the way.

It was Rufus’s tail.

Megan shrieked, but the first one to arrive was West, a medical kit in his hand. He threw it hotly onto the cot.

“What are you doing in my room? How
dare
you come into my room!”

Cain arrived and switched on the light; he was surprised to find Megan standing beside the refrigerator, trembling. He took a step into the room, West craning around him.

“Daniel, I
thought
I was renting a private room!”

“You are.”

Cain faced Megan. He was by nature a diplomat, but this blatant invasion of sovereignty had placed matters well beyond arbitration.

“Meg, what the hell are you doing in here?”

West shouldered his way around him. “Never mind that. Would you please leave
now!”

“Easy, Herbert, I’ll take care of this. Meg? C’mon, hon, let’s go.”

“Dan—” She began to sob. “Dan, it’s . . . it’s Rufus!”

“Rufus? Where?”

Pointing, she replied, “In the fridge!”

Dubious until he noticed the sudden timidity in West’s eyes, Cain strode over. There, stuffed flat between a jar of yellow liquid and something swaddled in paper toweling, was the cat. It was stiff and unmoving, its tail dangling from the shelf, its black coat uncharacteristically ragged.

“Daniel, I was going to show you—”

“Shut up!” Cain cut him off, bending and putting two fingers to the animal’s neck. There wasn’t a trace of life. Sniffing back tears, he rose and faced his boarder.

“What happened?”

“What do you think? It was dead when I found it.”

“That’s a lie,” Meg charged through clenched teeth. “You killed him. He
hated
you.”

“Don’t be absurd! It suffocated. It knocked the garbage over, and it got its head stuck in a jar. You weren’t home so I put it in the icebox. I certainly didn’t think you’d want to find it just lying there. And frankly, I did
not
want to stink the place up leaving it anywhere else.”

“Then why didn’t you call . . . or write a note?”

West grew agitated. “Forgive me, but I was busy pushing bodies around, as you well know. And what would a note have said? ‘Cat dead, details later’?”

“West,
please,”
Cain complained. His voice cracked with emotion, and his throat began to itch, reacting to something in the room, in the air.

“The point is, Daniel, I knew you were fond of it, and this seemed like the most sensible thing to do.”

“You’re lying.” Megan’s eyes blazed. “You killed him, I know you did.”

“That’s ridiculous, and also highly insulting, Miss Halsey. As much as I don’t care for people in my room, I care even less for unfounded accusations!”

“It
isn’t
unfounded. Rufus was afraid of you.”

“Was he? And when did he tell you this?”

“He didn’t, not in words—”

“Telepathy, then?”

“All right,” Cain interrupted, “that’s enough. We’re talking about my poor cat.” Megan turned away from them both, and Cain glanced back at the refrigerator.

Seeing Rufus still and cold, he was still unable to accept his death. Cain was an infant when his parents were killed in a car accident, and no one else close to him had ever died. He felt as he had when they’d lost the young aerobics instructor. It wasn’t like old age, where the biological machine wore down; the body had died, the system crashed, because one part had failed. It didn’t seem right or fair.

Bending to smooth down Rufus’s fur, Cain noticed the yellow liquid. He’d never seen anything quite like it, neither medicine nor bodily fluid. His hand grew still, and West hastened forward.

“Daniel, Miss Halsey—you’re both upset, and I think it would be a good idea if you left . . . now.”

Cain retrieved the vial. “What the hell’s this?”

“That
is none of your business.”

West’s indignation surprised him. “If it’s in my house, it’s my business.”

“I think not.” He sneered at Megan. “Just as it’s none of
my
business that you’re sleeping with Dean Halsey’s daughter.”

“You bastard!” she snarled.

West ignored her. Grabbing the jar from Cain, he slipped it into his pocket and wagged a menacing finger. “You know, Daniel, I would not want to see a fellow student, especially one as promising as yourself, be thrown out of school, out of the profession, on moral grounds.”

“Really? Well, for your information, I think Dr. Halsey just might understand.”

West smiled mirthlessly. “You may be right. But the question is, are you sure you want to find out?”

Cain stiffened. “Are you
threatening
me?”

“A rather facetious charge, wouldn’t you say, from someone who entered my room uninvited and went through my private belongings?”

Cain looked at Megan. West had him checkmated, and there was no point continuing the discussion. He took the young woman’s hand.

“Touché,” he muttered. “C’mon, Meg, let’s take Rufus and get out of here.”

West stepped in front of Cain. “Truce?” he pressed quietly. Cain nodded glumly. “Then I’ll take care of the animal. It’s the least I can do.”

“I think
we
should do it,” Megan countered.

“I believe Daniel has been through enough tonight. Why force him to endure this as well?”

Megan turned to her fiancé. “Dan?”

He sighed. “Herbert’s right. I’d rather be alone with you right now than with poor Rufus.”

Thanking him, Cain left, tugging Megan behind him. She lingered a moment, her eyes locking briefly with West’s; she felt a chill, something that had nothing to do with Rufus but with West himself. Despite his neat appearance, he seemed dirty;
virulent
was the word that came to mind.

Slipping her arm around Cain’s waist, she walked with him out into the cool October night. As they strolled beneath the old streetlamps and past even older buildings, Megan thought about what West had said—that Dan’s career might be ruined if her father learned what they were doing. She wondered if marriage might not be the answer to that, as well as to the problem of what to do with Herbert West. In the distance, a cat wailed; and though she knew it wasn’t possible, Megan could have sworn it came from the house.

The cry ripped through Dan’s sleep. He woke instantly and sat up, heart racing and eyes wide.

“Rufus?”

The shrill wail came again, and Cain swung from the bed. Pulling on trousers, he grabbed an old wooden Louisville Slugger and edged down the hall.

There’d been bats when he first moved in, but they hadn’t returned since he poisoned the few he’d found in the attic and nailed their carcasses to the outside wall. Bats might be blind, but they weren’t stupid.

Still, that hadn’t sounded like a bat. The cry was too loud, too deep, too ferocious. He checked the bathroom, poked the baseball bat against the metal grate of the ceiling ventilator. Nothing moved, and he continued edging down the hall.

“Herbert! Herbert, you hear that sound?”

When his roommate didn’t answer, Cain rapped on the door.

“West? West!”

The shriek came again, this time from downstairs. It was followed by West’s muted snarls.

“Vile . . . vile . . . thing!”

Cain put his cheek against the closed door. “West? What is that? What’s going on?”

West screamed then, and Cain hurried down, stumbling in the darkness. Rising quickly, he bumped into the hooded light, which swung wildly. In the bursts of light, he saw West squirming against a wall in the corner, something dark and ugly clinging to his back. Cain walked tentatively toward him, past a bridge table covered with chemicals and beakers. He saw West’s eyes go wide.

“Cain,
get out of here!”

“Herbert, what the hell is it?”

Just then a black object, vaguely round, rose behind West’s neck; there was a flash of white, and West yelped. Whatever it was had bitten him—and also, apparently, punctured his pride.

“Cain—quick, get it off of me!”

Cain lunged forward, West turning and presenting his back. Cain still couldn’t make out what the object was, but it squealed horribly when he clubbed it. The head craned back and bared its fangs. West seized the opportunity to fill his fists with the creature and tug it off. He hurled it, stiff-armed, across the room; the mass landed hard against an old highboy, behind which it quickly disappeared.

West scrambled to his feet and grabbed an old croquet mallet.

“Shit, Cain,
get
it!”