IT SEEMED LIKE GODS SHOULD travel in style. A chariot, a glowing golden barge, maybe a flying carpet. Knacke should at least have sent a limo.
I went by bus. It was slow and I had to transfer downtown for the line that went out to the airport. I sat way in the back. Most of the trip I had my face pressed to the frosty window. Snow was coming in, wild gusts like flights of ghostly birds.
The lights of traffic, of the stores and houses we passed, seemed cold, like the rays of the moon, which give no heat.
We crossed the Broad Street bridge and I got a glimpse of the river, way below us. A stream of shiny blackness flowing due north. Right here, I thought. This is the spot where Lissa had taken her life. An old bum waved as we went past. I thought it was Scratch at first, standing guard. Only, he had to be at Knacke's place already.
My stop was the second from the end. Two old ladies were at the front of the bus. They were going to the airport, but not to travel. I figured they worked there as cleaners on the night shift.
The doors wheezed open and I climbed down. Going from the baked heat of the bus to the windy winter air, I felt a shock. All the way across the city, I'd been drifting in and out of a daze. Now I was wide awake, tongues of fear licking at my heart.
Everything except Knacke's house was closed up and dark. At his place, the windows were all bright and cheery, like this was Christmas Eve and he was expecting family any minute.
My finger stopped about an inch from the doorbell. I took a few deep breaths, getting myself ready for the fire dogs, for Knacke's bogus welcome. I closed my eyes and thought of Relly. I figured when this was all over, he'd understand why I came there. And maybe he'd want to thank me somehow.
Expecting an explosion of yapping and growling, I pressed the doorbell. Nothing happened. I did it again, leaning in close to listen. No cheesy chimes, no crazy barking.
Just for a minute, I thought I had the address mixed up. Great, I come to the rescue and can't find the right house.
I rapped my knuckles on the storm door.
A jet came pounding down out of the sky. The lights raked across Knacke's front yard. In the brilliant flash I saw a smoking black lump. Then the darkness rushed back.
Was it for real? Was it human? Now the fear was like a savage mouth that had swallowed my heart whole.
I went toward the burned heap in the lawn. I smelled something that made my stomach lurch upward. I managed to keep from throwing up, but just barely.
It was a dog in the front yard. And it had been burned like a huge overdone roast beef.
Suddenly, a car came ripping down the road. The headlights swept the yard and caught me like I was a prisoner trapped while making a jailbreak.
"Let's go!" a voice boomed. "Now! Get in the car." It was Frankengoon, loud as a police bullhorn. "Move!"
I did as I was told.
Frankengoon was behind the wheel. Scratch was in the back seat. "Your precious little friend has taken off. Mr. Knacke's gone after him."