h.ad been in the air, a tangible evidence of Magnusson's proof, and was not a product of suggestion or sensory feedback from his own body.
'This here's the best goddamn one yet!' Richmond poised his hands above the keyboard. 'Dig it!'
'I think Magnusson's done something,' said Donnell.
Richmond snorted. 'You hearin' voices or something, man? Shit! Listen up.'
'If you hear a rumblin',
It's too late to run,
Cold iron doesn't stop me
And you ain't got no silver gun,
Then your girlfriend's breast starts tremblin'
And she screams, "Oh God! Here he comes!"
Half beast, half man, half Master Plan,
It's Harley David's son!
Aw, I'll kiss your one-eyed sister,
Hell, I'll lick her socket with my tongue!
I'm Christ-come-down-and-fucked-around,
I'm Harley David's son!'
'Now that...' said Richmond proudly. 'That's got it. What'd you say about the last one?' 'The archetypal power of good graffiti.' 'Yeah.' Richmond plinked the keys. 'Archetypal!' The main doors swung open and Laura Petit wandered in, stopped, and trailed her fingers across the gilt filigree of a table. The same slow, rippling vibration filled the room, more forcibly than before, as if it hadn't died but had merely grown too weak to pass through walls and now could enter. Audrey waved, and Laura walked toward the sofa, hesitant, looking nervously behind her. She asked something of Jocundra, who shook her head: No. 'Please!' shrilled Laura. Audrey stood, beckoned to Jocundra, and they all went into the hallway, closing the door after them. The vibration was cut off.
'Squeeze, you might have a point about the Doc' Richmond shut the piano lid and swiveled around to face the door. 'There was some strange bullshit walked in with that little lady!'
'What is it?' Audrey shut the door to the main hall.
Laura was very pale; her Adam's apple worked. 'Hilmer,' she said, her voice tight and small; she looked up to the glass eye of the camera mounted above the door and was transfixed.
Jocundra sprinted ahead, knowing it must be bad.
Magnusson's door stood ajar; it was dark inside. Sunlight through the louvered shutters striped a heraldic pattern of gold diagonals across the legs of the shadowy figure on the bed. She leaned in. 'Dr Magnusson?' Her words stirred a little something within the darkness, a shiver, a vibration, and then she saw a flicker of fiery green near the headboard, another, and another yet, as if he were sneaking a peek between his slitted eyelids. 'Are you all right, Doctor?' she asked, relieved, thinking Laura had overreacted and nothing was seriously wrong. She turned on the ceiling light.
It was as if she had been watching someone's vacation slides, the projectionist clicking from scene to scene, narrating, 'Here's grandpa asleep in his room... kinda pretty the way the light's falling through the shutters there,' click, the screen goes black, and the next slide is the obscene one which the neighbor's teenage kid slipped in as a prank. Click. Magnusson's room was an obscenity. So much blood was puddled in the depression made by his head and shoulders, streaked over the headboard and floor, that at first she could not bring her eye to bear on the body, tracking instead the chaotic sprays of red. A mild heated odor rose from the glistening surfaces. She clutched the doorknob for support, tucking her chin onto her chest, dizzy and nauseated.
'Oh, Jesus!' said Audrey behind her. 'I'll get Edman.'
Laura snuffled.
Jocundra swallowed, gathering herself. Magnusson lay on his side, his right arm upflung across his face and wedged against the headboard, concealing all except his forehead and the corner of his right eye. She switched off the lights, and the green flickers were again visible. God, she thought, what if somehow he's alive. She switched the lights back on. It was becoming easier to bear, but not much. She stepped around the bloody streaks and stopped a foot from the bed. His chest was unmoying. She knelt beside him and was craning her neck, trying to locate the wound, when his arm came unwedged and dangled against her knee. The shock caused her to overbalance. She tipped forward and planted her hand on the bed to stabilize. Blood mired between her fingers, and her face bobbed to within inches of a neat slice in his throat. Its lips were crusted with a froth of pink bubbles.
One of them popped, and a clear fluid seeped from the wound.
Laura screamed - an abandoned, throat-tearing scream - and Jocundra threw herself back and sat down hard on the carpet, face to face with Magnusson. Folds of waxy skin sagged from his