While You Were Sleeping (2 of 4)
I closed the bedroom door behind me and took a deep breath. Okay. So. Was dead. Not dead anymore. Probably there were things I needed to do, then. Check for exits? It was never a good idea to be stuck in a house when you didn’t know the exits. Check the internet to find out what the hell had been happening in the world of late? Check that my handy non-suspicious Swiss bank accounts hadn’t been shut down, so I had money to continue living? I mean, I could steal some more money if they had, but--wait. Did I still have a warrant out on me? They didn’t keep warrants out on dead people, surely, although it wasn’t like the police would really know about my lack of living status unless they actually found my body…. Had they found my body? Was this my body, or did Piper just magic up a new body, and my old one was rotting away somewhere being…
Dead. I had been dead. Dead, dead. Passed on. Ceased to be. An ex-Trickst--Jesus Christ. That was just… I stared at my not-dead hand and wiggled my not-dead fingers. I was not panicking. Hell, why would I panic, anyway? You panicked when you were going to die, not when you came back. I’d known people who came back from the dead, lots of people, no need to panic just because this time--this time--
Okay, another deep breath. The first thing I really needed to do was check the contents of the house, because god knows some of the objects scattered around the place looked very worrying indeed.
I walked down to what seemed to be the living room, although it didn’t look like anyone had done much living in it of late. I suppose the basement should actually be called the living room, since I came back to life in it and all…. I glanced around. There were a couple of lounge chairs, one with a bunch of suspiciously shimmering fabric draped over it, and the other with what looked exactly like, and possibly was, a giant soap bubble perched on top of it. There was a mirror at the back of the room, and a dusty television with what looked like an oboe crossed with a vacuum cleaner leaning against it. A bunch of tarot cards had spilled over the floor, and a coffee table was covered in polished crystals, shells, two large twenty-sided dice and what looked like a small robotic insect lying on its back. Also, there were burn marks in the carpet in one corner, carelessly covered with a green striped rug. Hmm. What casually discarded yet possibly lethal relic to touch and/or pick up first?
I decided to not start with the mirror, not because its design looked particularly threatening, but because, while it showed a perfectly fine reflection of me in it, it showed a perfectly fine reflection of me standing up to my ankles in snow in a place that looked a bit like Alaska, and I was pretty sure that wasn’t normal. I made a mental note to find a sheet to cover the thing with, just in case it turned out to be inclined to enforce its personal vision on me. After a few more seconds of deep and intellectual consideration, I picked up the dice and rolled them, upon which they landed on snake eyes and completely failed to do anything more exciting. Maybe it was all in the technique. Or maybe Piper had taken up role-playing while I was gone.
I was just mustering up the courage to try the obocuum cleaner when the doorbell rang.
It was a very determined doorbell. Before I’d even taken one step in its direction, it was ringing again, and an equally determined voice from beyond the door was calling, “Hello?” in a tone of voice suggesting she was not going away until she’d had her say, thank you very much.
I could have ignored her. Whatever state of mind Piper was in, I was still pretty sure he’d locked the door (which admittedly wouldn’t have stopped any number of people of my acquaintance, but those sorts of people generally don’t bother with a doorbell). And it would probably be wiser to keep my head down until I had access to more information about my current situation, such as, for example, whether I was wanted by the law. Really, though, how can you get information without sources? Such as the one currently ringing the door down? Seize opportunities before they seize you, I always say.
I strolled over to the door, waited a moment, mainly to be irritating (you have to stay in practice with these things), and then pulled it open. “Can I help you?” I asked, with my very widest smile.
The woman on the other side looked entirely civilian--no costume, no guns (something flickered in my memory and was gone again), just a pantsuit and an irate expression. She’d jumped when the door opened; possibly this was not her first time trying this. She recovered herself immediately, however, and addressed me in a tone of extreme annoyance: “This has got to stop!”
I raised an eyebrow--the medium-polite version, not the “I am provoking you into a murderous rage” one, which didn’t seem called for. “If you could specify a little, ma’am...? If you didn’t want me to answer the door I suggest not ringing the bell next time.”
She gave me a look of deep suspicion. “The noises!” Ah yes. What else would one of Piper’s neighbors be complaining about? “You can’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. Clearly you are in this building and therefore you clearly must have heard the noises. If you’re not responsible for them, you know who is!”
I smiled at her, pleasantly and entirely noncommittally. “I’m quite a recent arrival, I’m afraid. Can you describe these noises for me? It may be important.”
She scowled at me. “They were just there! Just before! There was horrible squealing, like you’ve got some kind of animal in there.” Her voice rose in indignation. “And then there were the awful wailing sounds, and the shouting, and the weird laughing. It just went on and on! And this isn’t the first time!”
All right, even by Piper’s standards, that was...pretty out of the ordinary. I had a fairly good idea what she must have been hearing fifteen minutes ago (I can’t imagine the goat was happy about its fate, no matter how worthy a sacrifice it might have been), and for the hundredth time already I wondered what had been going on before I...woke up, that’s a nice neutral term for it. I didn’t let any of this show on my face, of course. Pleasant and noncommittal was my middle name. “Mm-hmm, yes. And the other times, were they the same?”
She looked a little taken aback that I wasn’t arguing with her. “Well, no,” she said more calmly. “Sometimes they were the same, but sometimes there were different things. All kinds of noises. That nasty laughing sometimes, and the animal noises. There were awful smells sometimes too. And the screaming! There’s been all this screaming at night! How am I supposed to sleep?” Her voice was rising again.
“Screaming,” I repeated, and despite my best intentions my voice lost animation as I said it. I’m no stranger to Piper’s nightmares--or vice versa, if I were going to be more honest than I generally prefer--but they used to be...quieter. Assuming it was only nightmares...and how had that situation gone on this long without somebody calling the police? My mental file of questions for Piper was getting longer by the minute. But Piper was upstairs asleep and the mark was standing in front of me, so I manufactured a slightly rueful smile. “Well, it sounds as though he may have gone a bit overboard, but on the whole he seems to be making excellent progress.” I lowered my voice conspiratorially as she gaped. “You see, Mr. Peters is one of the effects designers for my next movie.”
She blinked at me, completely thrown. “You.... Movie?”
“Oh, yes.” I cheerfully spun her a tale about the exciting new horror film Piper was working on for me, full of blood and demons and haunted houses--I even threw in a goat for good measure. Movies make for great cons; you’d be amazed what kind of ridiculous stories people will believe if they think the magical world of film-making is involved.
“Well... well.” She blinked at me, clearly thrown (and a little fascinated), then visibly summoned up her annoyance again. “That all sounds very nice, but does he have to do it here? You’ve no idea how awful it’s been. Not just for me, for the other neighbors as well. I mean, it’s very exciting, but we need to sleep, and I have guests over. Goodness knows what they’ve been thinking...”
I smiled charmingly. “I’ll see that he, ah, keeps it down in the future. He’s a genius at what he does, but he’s a bit...eccentric, and I’m afraid I haven’t been available to oversee him lately. I hope he hasn’t been unpleasant to deal with?”
She sniffed. “It’s difficult to tell. He never answers the door. I’ve only managed to talk to him once or twice.”
“Yes, he’s quite reclusive when he’s working on a project.” Unfortunately. While I hadn’t been expecting Piper to furnish the neighbors with a complete record of his activities and psychological state, it would be nice to have something to work with besides screaming and animal noises. Piper, what the hell were you doing? “Gets obsessed with his work and forgets all about the outside world, you know.”
“Yes, well. I suppose he did seem quite introverted when I talked to him.” She frowned, looking vaguely confused. “I mean, I’m fairly sure...” She trailed off, obviously trying to remember.
I repressed a smirk. Well, at least Piper’s skills hadn’t decayed. On the other hand, it was more than a little worrying that he’d resorted to brainwashing just to deal with a complaining neighbor. Not entirely surprising, though, I decided with an internal sigh. Probably no more information to be had here.... “I’m sure he did. These creative types can be so difficult,” I assured her earnestly. “But I’m sure he won’t bother you in the future.”
She looked a little placated by this. “They certainly are. Well, if you’re sure he’ll listen to you... I will have to talk to someone if this happens again...”
“Of course, of course. I’m planning to have quite a long talk with him, believe me.” You have no idea.
“I’d appreciate that. I’m glad to have found someone helpful to talk to. I hope I won’t have to return.” She nodded her head in goodbye. “Good luck with your movie.”
“It’s been a...troubled production,” I told her, “but there’ve been recent improvements.”
Having seen my visitor off, I returned to my survey of the house with slightly more urgency, abandoning the siren call of the obocuum to check the other rooms. If there was anyone, anything else in the house, it probably would have made itself known by now, but I was metaphorically damned if I was going to bet my newly acquired life on that. I’d gotten as far as the kitchen--which clearly hadn’t been cleaned for at least a month and was stocked with half a loaf of bread, three pickles, two cans of soup, a jar of peanut butter, and, for some reason, a rack full of what was apparently every spice known to man--when the second knock came.
It was a fairly gentle tapping, this time; I almost didn’t hear it. I thought about just ignoring the new visitor--I didn’t really want to spend the rest of the day cleaning up Piper’s messes (well, I was contemplating washing some of his dishes, but mainly out of self-preservation), and I didn’t think listening to another round of complaints was going to provide much new information. Obsessed Rogues make bad neighbors, film at 11.
But then I heard a small voice calling out. “Mr. Piper? I made some cookies with Daddy. If you aren’t there I’ll just leave them here, ’cept I hope that the nanimals don’t get out and eat them.” I wasn’t sure whether it was the mention of the animals or the cookies that most intrigued me (hey, I hadn’t eaten anything in a year and a half. I was hungry). Besides, my curiosity was killing me. Piper had taken time out from breaking the laws of nature to befriend small children?
This time there was a little girl on the doorstep. She was Hispanic-looking, with untidy black hair, scuffed sandals, and a faded blue dress. She looked young, maybe seven or eight at most. And she did indeed have cookies, a whole paper plate full of them.
She looked up at me with interest. “Hello. Are you a visiting?”
I looked at her with equal interest. “You could say that. I think I’m staying here for a while, anyway.” I leaned down a little, so we could talk better. “My name’s James. What’s yours?”
“Marie. I’ve got some cookies. Is Mr. Piper here now? He should eat them.”
“Piper’s asleep right now; I think he’s been working too hard.” Or just hard enough, depending on how you look at it. After all, I can’t argue with the results. “It’s nice that you made him the cookies, though. You do that a lot?”
“Only now. ’Cause Daddy makes things with me since he’s better. It’s fun. I think he should eat more cookies ’cause he’s not very fat.”
I silently agreed. Piper’d been a little on the thin side for the last few years, granted, but the guy I’d left upstairs was edging towards skeletal. “I think you’re right,” I told her. “He’s never been a very good cook.” Which was true. Apparently growing up rich does something to your abilities in that area. “Does your daddy know you’re over here?” I asked, manufacturing an appropriately concerned look.
“I said to him I was going. He was giving Mummy cookies so she would be happy to him ’cause she was having the cast cut off her arm. That’s why we made the cookies, but we make things a lot now. I give things to Mr. Piper sometimes to say thank you and ’cause he’s nice.”
“He is,” I agreed, and felt a real smile tugging at my mouth. Apparently Piper hadn’t changed entirely. ”Why did you want to thank him, though?”
She smiled back at me, and then leaned forward like--well, like a kid with a very important secret. “’Cause Daddy’s more nice now. And he can’t drink bad things ’cause they make him go sick. So he makes things with me to say sorry to Mummy.”
He can’t drink things because they.... “I...see,” I said slowly. No, some things hadn’t changed. But.... “Marie, how did you meet Piper?”
The smile vanished, and she answered reluctantly. “When Daddy got mad and Mummy broked her arm. He came in the house.” She hesitated and then added, “I thought he was scary like Daddy ’cause he was mad but he was nice after.” She frowned deeper and stared down at the cookies.
I kept my voice gentle. “And after that, your daddy didn’t get mad anymore? You’re sure?”
“No. He’s nicer and he makes things. But he can’t drink things that make him mad. They make him feel icky and go bleurgh.”
“Good,” I said, and surprised myself a little how much I meant it. “I’m glad Piper helped you out like that. He’s a good person to have around when--” you’re in trouble, I started to say, and revised to “--you have a problem. Did he come over after that?”
“Only sometimes. I came over here to say hello. And he showed me the animals he has! Are they here still?”
And there were the animals again. I resolved to be careful about exploring the basement. “I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I haven’t seen any animals around.” Well, except for the goat. I wasn’t going to discuss the goat. “Did he have a lot of them?”
She looked disappointed. “I don’t know. There was a bird but I only saw it once. And a goat! But I liked the dog! I heard it talk!”
Of course she had. Couldn’t Piper just keep a rubber chicken like a sensible person? “Really?” I said, pitching it to sound impressed and interested.
“It said hello. And it laughed at me.”
Somehow, I was pretty sure that wasn’t the result of an overactive imagination. “It liked you?” I suggested cautiously.
She considered this. “I don’t know. It laughed a lot. I heard it sometimes.”
“Weird laughing, check,” I said, mostly under my breath. Maybe the dog had gone away. I hoped the dog had gone away; I wasn’t in the market for a pet sidekick. “Well, I haven’t seen the dog, Marie; what did it look like?”
She gave me a slightly-confused grin. “Like a dog!”
I grinned back, kind of enjoying this. Kids this age are cute--in small doses, and when they aren’t messing with my cons. “A big dog?” I suggested, positioning my hands to give her the idea.
“Yeah. It was a big dog.” She bit her lip, obviously trying to improve on this unhelpful description. “It was brown and its ears went up.”
“Did it growl at you? Or ever try to bite you?” A little advance warning would be nice, if Rover was still hanging around.
She shook her head. “No. It didn’t look mad.”
I thought about the state of the house, and the state of Piper, and I couldn’t stop myself from asking: “Did it look happy?”
“Yeah.” She peered at me, looking confused. “I didn’t see it too much. Mr. Piper wouldn’t let me stay. Is he going to wake up soon?”
Yes, because I’m going to go upstairs and shake him. I sighed, setting the fantasy aside. For the moment. “No, I don’t think so. He’s really, really tired, so I’m letting him sleep.” I held out my hand expectantly. “If you want to give me the cookies, I’ll tell him you brought them for him when he wakes up, okay?”
She considered that seriously, and nodded, carefully surrendering the plate of cookies to me. “Okay. But you can’t have them, because they’re not yours.”
I solemnly assured her that Piper would receive her cookies, and waved her goodbye. After shutting the door, I turned around and studied the plate for a moment. “White knight,” I muttered. It came out more affectionate than I meant, somehow.