His desk was a cluttered pile of leaves, strewn helter-skelter as if by a hurricane
wind. Roman Baines pilfered through them, searching for something, although at this time
he had forgotten what. The clatter of footsteps from the hall was welcome--a rescue from
the storm here on his desk. A rather shaggy head and shoulders peered into his office and
smiled a ragged-but-all-American smile.
"There's a call for you, Roman," he said. "It's about books."
Roman rose and crossed to the door, heading to the press office.
"I've never spoken with this person before. They sound nuts," the younger man
said.
"Have we ever had a call from anyone who wasn't?" Roman asked, his mustache
turning upwards in a smile.
He stepped into the office, picked up the phone, and smiled over at the young man.
"Yes? This is Roman Baines."
"Yes. Hello, Mr. Baines," the voice on the other end of the line said softly. "You
sell books?"
"Yes, of course," Baines replied.
"Bring me some books, Mr. Baines," the voice said, crackling.
"May I ask which ones you would prefer?"
"Just bring the books!" The voice unhinged itself momentarily, then, calming,
added: "Your assistant, Mr. Byrd, has the address. I need your promise of personal
delivery."
"Might I ask why?" Roman asked.
�Stop asking so many questions, Mr. Baines. Give me your word."
�Yes," Roman answered carefully. "I give you my word. Personal delivery."
The line went dead. Roman replaced the phone on its receiver.
�That, Jay, has to be the weirdest call I have ever received. I don't know whether
to laugh this person off, or worry for our safety. At any rate, I'm certainly curious. And
I'm afraid I'm about to become a very dead cat."
"Are we actually going to deliver the books?"
Roman scowled at him for a moment, his mind in turmoil. Then he nodded slowly.
"Yes, Jay, we are. They gave you an address?"
Jay nodded: "Out in the boondocks."
�Well, tell Marty to clear her afternoon tomorrow. The bigger troupe we are, the
better."
The following afternoon, the three crowded into Roman�s white Yugo, armed only with
books and the lonely light of a cigar. The sky was a piercing blue, drawn together with
gray lines of cloud. The evening held promises of rain.
Driving seemed to last forever. Two hours passed, running like molasses down the
road with them. The sun began to paint the gray clouds purple and orange until the rain
began to fall in sheets.
The wipers barely worked, rubbing the windshielf with the unruly sound of rubber
on glass. Roman grated his teeth on his cigar, eagerly concentrating on the rain-strewn
road ahead. It was getting harder and harder for him to see. They seemed to be lost in the
rain.
�There should be a dirt road somewhere up here on the left,� Jay said, leaning
forward from the backseat.
�Yeah, but who can see?� Roman asked around his cigar.
Through the rain, all the landscape looked the same--cotton fields and tobacco and
dried-out corn, all in rows of snowy gold and gray. And every field seemed to have a road
winding through it, its end cloaked somewhere in the distance with mist and rain.
�Maybe that�s it,� Marty piped up from her silence in the passenger seat.
Coming up on their left was a dirt road a bit wider than the others. It didn�t seem
well-traveled. Any ruts in the road were quickly washed away by the driving rain.
This choice seemed as good as any, so Roman pulled the Yugo into the red clay
mud.
The road seemed to twist and turn forever in the gray pillars of rain. They passed
a few trailers, their lights warm in the cold, surrounded by the carcasses of cars and
tractors. A dog barked in the distance, the only voice in the rain.
The Yugo skidded on the clay, bathing its sides in a red-orange spray. Ahead, the
road split in two around a huge sycamore.
�Now what?� Roman asked.
�It doesn�t say,� Jay answered.
Marty reached over and locked her door.
Outside, the wind began to pick up.
�I suppose we could go back to one of those trailers and ask directions,� Roman
said hesitantly.
�I�ll go,� Jay ventured.
�We�ll be waiting,� Roman said.
Marty tightened her grip on the armrest of her door. Something inside her roiled.
Something was bad--she didn�t know what, but it blew in as Jay opened the door.
His leg only got halfway out the door before teeth gnashed at his ankle. He jerked
back into the Yugo, slamming the door. The car rocked as a huge dog clawed hungrily at
the back window.
Marty released a small shout.
Jay locked his door. He was taking no chances.
�Well, I guess that gets rid of that idea,� Roman said.
�Now what?� Jay asked.
Marty sat silent, staring into the rain.
�I guess we�ll drive until we see a house.� Roman said, �We�re bound to find
something eventually. If nothing else, we�ll get further away from that dog.�
Ahead, a house loomed in the darkness. It was Victorian; skeletal white
gingerbread in the rain and mist. Lights burned in all the windows, but no shadows moved
in them.
�That must be it, Roman,� Jay said from the backseat. �They said it was big.�
A chill ran down Marty�s spine.
Wind blew the dead vines of last spring�s wysteria cross the windows of the house
like a veil.
Roman pulled the Yugo into the crude driveway. The rain turned into a soft
pepper and the wind died to a whisper.
�I hope they don�t have a dog,� Roman said, attempting humor. No one laughed.
The ground was soft beneath their feet and squished as they walked. Red mud
welled like blood in the yard, flowing across the dying grass. They crushed leaves as they
crossed to the door, loud against the silence of rain and wind.
Roman was the first up the concrete steps to the screen door. Jay and Marty
followed him, weighed down by loads of books. Roman rapped on the door three times
but there was no reply from within.
�Now what?� Jay asked.
�Yeah, can we go back to the car now?� Marty asked.
�Wait. I�ll try again,� Roman said.
He knocked a bit too hard, and the door creaked open.
�Maybe if I called them. Surely someone is here,� Roman said. �They really
wanted those books!�
Roman�s calls were answered by a loud meow and the skitter of paws on linoleum
as a large calico cat entered the room. She loped across the room and rubbed up against
the door as if inviting them in.
Roman stepped into the house. Surprised, Marty and Jay followed.
�Well, they�re cat people. They can�t be that bad,� Roman growled as the rain was
swallowed by the closing of the door.
The interior of the house was aglow with candles and warmth. The calico led
them from room to room, almost dancing, her step was so light. Everywhere, there was
pine and white walls laced with a mellow, comforting scent of cinnamon and smoke.
They traveled in a circle through the house, finding themselves in the kitchen.
Across from them there was a gold refrigerator, which was suddenly the center of the
cat�s attention.
Marty and Jay set down their books.
Outside, the wind whipped the eaves.
�Hungry?� Roman asked the cat.
The cat meowed again.
Roman approached the refrigerator. There was a note addressed to him posted on
it. He peered over his shoulder at Marty and Jay with a bemused smile and pulled the note
from the fridge.
�Yes, Mr. Baines. This is the right house. Thank you for coming. Follow
Amber....�
As if on cue, the cat meowed again. This time her voice was as raspy as the wind
gathering in the leaves outside.
�We�re supposed to follow the cat,� Roman said, smiling.
Marty and Jay decided to leave their books in the kitchen as they followed Roman
and the cat through the house. The cat seemed to them to be wandering aimlessly, but
Roman followed her as if her purpose were perfectly clear.
Finally, they came to an old door of weathered pine which seemed different from
the rest of the hosue. The cat began to yowl up at them, desperate for them to open the
door. With no small amoung to caution, Roman opened the door and began to descend a
steep stairwell into the darkness below. Amber purred up at him, her eyes two glowing
disks.
Marty and Jay descended after them, the whistle of the wind the last sound as they
closed the heavy door.
