The Man Who Stopped at Nothing (1951) Page 6

  “But Dorn, there’s something you’ve, overlooked. On each plane of existence there are seven sins. You know what the sins on the lower plane are, but do you know about the ones on this plane?”

  “No. What are they?”

  “The first and most important one is not to interfere with the affairs on the plane below us.”

  “Is that right? So they made a separate sin just for me? Mighty farseeing of them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s ho way we can interfere with things on the lower plane unless we’re brought back to life, And I’m the only one that has had that happen to him. That is, Frankenstein and I.”

  Sally’s face fell. “Well, I think it ought to be made a sin, anyhow.” Limpiis was putting a wallet back into his, pocket and was picking up two bags of lye.

  “We’ll follow him,”, Dorn said. Sally brightened. “Wait a minute. You just said no one up here can interfere down there unless he’s brought back to life. That lets you out. Limpus has quit experimenting on your body.”

  Dorn’s shoulders drooped in defeat: “That’s right. What am I going to do? I’m licked.”

  “Of course you are,” Sally retorted happily. “And I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. Have some supper. Then take a walk and go to bed. We’ll clear our minds. Then we’ll wake up tomorrow resolved to settle down and lead normal lives until the call comes.”

  “What call?”

  “The final one. When Death lays his gentle hand upon our brows and we go to our eternal reward.”

  “That’s what I heard all my life. I kept it in mind and here I am just as bad off as I was before. What do you have to do to really die?”

  “There’s nothing you can do.”

  “Just wait in line, eh?”

  “Await the call.”

  “I am beginning to doubt everything, How do you know we don’t just step through another veil?

  You’ve heard of the dance of the seven veils, haven’t you?”

  “That has nothing to do with the subject.”

  “No? For all w e know, we’ve just begun. We may have six more stops yet.”

  SALLY, WATCHING out of the corner of her eye, saw Limpus leave the drugstore and disappear around the corner. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, let’s-not stand here arguing philosophy and theology. Let’s go somewhere and sit down. My feet hurt.”

  “Okay. But don’t think you sidetracked me. I saw Limpus leave the store. I let him go because I’ve got to have a little time to think this thing out—form a plan. I need a breather. I can pick him up any time I want him.”

  Sally’s high spirits continued. They had dinner in a small tea room where they went from table to table until they found two ladies who had ordered fricasseed chicken, a dish they both liked.

  Dorn sat silent and preoccupied through the entire meal, completely surrounded by the fleshiest of the two women. Sally tried several times to strike up a conversation, but Dorn answered only in monosyllables and she finally gave up, having to content herself through the rest of the meal with listening to one of the women complain about her lumbago. After dinner, they strolled down the street until they came to a small hotel. “It looks nice,” Sally said.

  “It is nice. I had lunch here every Tuesday with the Rotarians.”

  All they could find was a room with a double bed. It was comfortable enough, though, and Sally went right to sleep.

  But Dorn lay for a long time staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep.

  THEY HAD breakfast in a drugstore the following morning. Little was said. Dorn wore a grim expression, and when breakfast was over he announced: “Now to business. We’re going to visit Mr. Jan Limpus.”

  “Oh, Dorn!. Haven’t you forgotten all that? Aren’t you going to give it up? I think it’s time we had some fun. I thought maybe we’d go to Florida.”

  “It appears to me that the facilities for fun are rather restricted on this plane, but that’s beside the point. We’ll go to Florida after I get certain matters straightened out.”

  “But there’s nothing you can do.”

  “Maybe not, but I can try. Come on. Take my hand.”

  Sally shrugged in defeat and put her small hand into Dorn’s. The latter squeezed his eyes shut tight and conjured up a mental picture of the odious Mr. Linipus. Results came automatically. The wind, the feeling of endless space, the heady sense of freedom.

  The wind died.

  They opened their eyes and looked around. The same eerie setting, but now there were no cameras in evidence, no prop man grabbing a quick lunch. There was only silence and the man—Limpus—bending over a form on one of the tables. He was mumbling to himself as he worked.

  “Guy doesn’t like to give up so easy—matter of pride—did it once, by golly—ought to be able to do it again—-this man Lattimore’s getting kind of worn out, though—”

  Sally’s hand stiffened—squeezed Dorn’s fingers. “He’s trying it again!.”

  Dorn grinned. “He sure is.”

  “Well, do something! Stop him! Hit him with a chair.”

  Dorn’s expression was a bit smug. “Why, you’re positively blood-thirsty this morning, my dear. You should have lived in the days of the old Romans—attended the games in the Colosseum.”

  “But he can’t be allowed to do it! It’s—it’s against nature.” .

  “Possibly. But you know yourself, we can do nothing.”

  Dorn stepped close to the table. Sally followed a bit timidly.

  “Goodness,” Dorn said, “I look terrible! I certainly haven’t been given any loving attention in this place.”

  “You should be in a grave with a tombstone over your head. Of all the indecent—”

  “I think I’d like that. It’s hot right for a man to be kicked around from pillar to post this way. But I guess mine is an exceptional case.”

  Limpus was puzzling over a mass of copper wire.

  “Look,” Dorn said; “he’s tying those four ends together. Do you think the man has the least idea of what he’s doing?”

  “Of course not. He should be put into an institution.”

  LIMPUS SECURED the wires, extended, them, and tied them to the wrist of Dorn’s body.

  He stood back and surveyed the pattern of the wires and electrodes fastened to the corpse.

  “Seems like that’s about how it was,” he grumbled. “Man’s a damn fool to experiment without keeping records. When I get that motel of mine, I’ll keep a diary. I’ll make me some peep holes into the cabins. Man owes it to himself to keep track of what’s going on.”

  Sally gasped. “He’s a moron as well as an imbecile and a maniac! He should be in a padded cell!”

  Limpus threw a switch.

  There was a flash of blue flame. He jumped back, tripped over a chair and fell backwards. His head came into violent contact with the sharp corner of a heavy steel table. There was a crunching sound.

  Limpus got up, blinked stupidly, and asked, “Where in tarnation am I?”

  There was no answer. He looked groggily about and saw a girl standing near him. She was a very pretty girl with large blue eyes, wearing a smart sport suit. Also, there was frank hostility in her manner.

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she said.

  “Me? Ashamed? What’ve I got to be ashamed of?”

  “You mean you don’t know? Prying into secrets you’ve no right to pry into. Setting yourself up as God! Trying to do His work. Such things can only end in terrible disaster.”

  A dawning came into Limpus’ bleary eyes. “You mean a thunder-bolt hit me? I’ve come to my reward?” He looked around with renewed interest. “Then where in tarnation is it? Everything looks the same.”

  Sally’s withering contempt had no effect upon him. He didn’t even appear to notice it.

  He looked at Sally again.

  “Maybe you’re it,” he said.

  “Maybe I’m what?”

  “My reward.”

&n
bsp; Limpus’ took a step forward. “Now, the Mohammedans—they claim—”

  “Stay away from me,” Sally warned,

  LIMPUS PAID no attention.

  Sally backed away.

  He kept coming.

  Then Sally, trapped in a space between a table and a large bookcase, flung up her hands in defense.

  Limpus reached out and took her in his arms.

  Sally cried, “Dorn! Dorn! Help me!”

  Limpus paid no attention. There was surprising strength in his lean form. He folded Sally to his breast and nuzzled her face with his own. Sally objected strenuously, screaming into his whiskers.

  “Let go of me, you—you repulsive old man. I hate you! You smell bad. Let go of me!”

  Limpus seemed not to hear the words. Nonetheless, a peculiar change of manner came over him. He raised his head and frowned, then looked down at Sally.

  He said, “For a pretty girl, you’ve got about as much sex appeal as a dead fish, ma’am. It’s—it’s like kissing one of those big dolls you see in toy stores. .What’s wrong with you, ma’am?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me!” Sally stormed.

  “It’s you, you big ape!”

  Limpus’ arms went lax. Sally pushed him with all her strength. He teetered backwards, came to a halt against a table, stood there.

  “What do you mean, it’s me?”

  “You fell and broke your skull. You passed through the veil. You left all your low, beastly, animal instincts be hind you.”

  “I did?”

  “You certainly did, thank heaven! Now you’re nothing but a big harmless oaf. Why don’t you go away?”

  Limpus looked around the laboratory, bewildered.

  “Don’t appear as there’s any place to go, ma’am. This is where I belong. Here’s my tables, my books…”

  He glanced at the table upon which lay the still, naked form of Dorn Lattimore. “There’s even the body I was working on. Found it myself down by the road—brought it up here on my back—tried” to rejuvenate it.”

  “That’s what you should be ashamed of.”

  “But I did a good job, ma’am. Look. It’s breathing.”

  Dorn was breathing. His thin, ravaged chest was rising and falling spasmodically.

  The pale hands clenched and unclenched. The throat worked.

  “He’s opening his eyes,” Sally whispered. In cold rage she turned on Limpus. “It’s your fault! You did it!”

  Suddenly her manner changed. She smiled at Limpus, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “Maybe I was wrong,” she said, sweetly. “Maybe I misjudged you when I should be helping you get accustomed to your new plane. It’s a wonderful place, you know. You can go anywhere. See anything. You can do it in the twinkling of an eye.”

  “I can?”

  “Of course. Now, I’ll tell you .what you do. Close your eyes and think of a place. No—don’t hold my hand. I can’t go with you just now. Stand there and think of the Pacific Ocean. Think of way down deep in the water—the deepest spot there is. Think of a hole under a rock down there. Think hard—very hard.”

  Limpus said, “But ma’am…”

  It was too late. Sally smiled at the spot Limpus had occupied. But only for a moment. Soon her eyes went back to the thin form on the table. She began to cry.

  Dorn Lattimore lay on the cold, enamel-topped table trying to adjust his vision. He shuddered. The movement brought weakness and violent nausea. He closed his eyes again and fought the horror of existence. Never in his life had he been so weak, so sick, so abysmally unhappy.

  Struggling for breath, he tried to remember what had happened. But it all seemed so far away, so long ago. He had a wife named Vicky. He lay for a moment trying to remember what she looked like. A honey blonde? No. Of course not. Where had he gotten that idea? Vicky had black hair. And there was Patricia—and another daughter. What was the second daughter’s name? Dorn wasn’t sure. He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter, though. He’d find out when he got home.

  Another thing, too. He should probably keep a closer check on Felix. A check on Felix? Why? What was the need? Felix was as honest as sunlight. Where, Dorn wondered, was he getting all these wild ideas?

  Reluctantly, he forced himself to consider the present. It took will power, because he shrank from the effort involved in opening his eyes and looking around. But it had to be done.

  He realized he had no clothes, on and that he was cold. He’d have to get to his feet before he froze to death.

  By dint of pure grit he opened his eyes. All he saw was a swimming blur. Gradually it cleared as his eyes found focus.

  He lay looking at the high beamed ceiling. He turned his head, winced at the pain in his neck, and took in the laboratory. Strange, but he seemed to have recollections of this place, of how he’d gotten here. No. Not how he’d gotten here, but he remembered waking up here—wrestling with a whiskered man—putting his clothes on. He remembered getting as far as the door.

  Then—blotto.

  I seem to go around and around, Dorn thought. How many times do I have to get dressed in this place? It’s like riding a carousel. Around and around…

  HE TURNED his head still further, thus bringing a prone, still body into his range of vision. Recognition coursed through him, bringing violent shock. His teeth shattered and he lay there shivering—yet without the strength to get up and do something about it.

  The spasm passed to some extent, but he was still shaking; trembling pitifully as he twisted his head around to look again at the body.

  Certainly! That was the man he’d seen before. A wild-eyed character who’d talked-about bringing him back from the dead.

  But now this character needed to be brought back from the dead himself. His body was sprawled near a table-leg, his neck turned at an impossible angle. Obviously the back of his skull had been crushed by sharp impact.

  Did I do that? Dorn asked himself. Did I kill the man? Am I a murderer?

  By dint of superhuman-effort, Dorn pushed his legs off the table. The rest of his body followed, but he could not control it; and he went into a heap on the floor.

  He iay there for a time, breathing heavily, suffering the agony of the damned. Then, grimly, he went about getting to his feet. It took him several minutes to pull himself up and across the table, half prone, half erect.

  I’ve got to get some clothes on, he told himself. I’ve got to get warm. His teeth were chattering, his body trembling violently. It seemed that even the marrow of his bones was as cold as the arctic wastes.

  He made a valiant effort to reach the chair upon which his clothes lay. He pulled himself the length of the table, but from there on the going would be more difficult. Ten feet of open floor intervened. Ten feet. A thousand feet. A chasm a thousand feet deep. He’d need ropes and heavy boots—and help.

  It was too damn much trouble. He collapsed to the floor and lay there. For a while his teeth chattered. Then he had a dream about a girl—a honey-blonde. He warmed up some then and it wasn’t so bad.

  FIVE MEN, obviously unaccustomed to the rigors of outdoor life, staggered, waddled, and crawled through the hilly north woods. They were a motley crew. Tall, short, fat, thin, but they had one thing in common. They all had money coming from one Dorn Lattimore.

  In order to collect that money, it seemed that either Mr. Lattimore or Mr. Lattimore’s body had to be turned up. They were not men to be easily shunted away from what they had coming—so they had another thing in common: the determination not to go home until they had found a body.

  Matthew Torp seemed to have assumed leadership. He took off his hat, wiped his broad, bald head, and peered through the trees. “You sure wouldn’t think country could be this wild only sixty or so miles from a big city.”

  “You’re telling me,” Tom Wilson grumbled. “A man’s got to earn his money and then come out here and crawl around in mud and brambles in order to collect it. Fine thing.”

  Mort Diehl was beginni
ng to lose heart. “I got a hunch we’re wasting our time. After all, the State Police looked and they couldn’t find no body. They ought to be better at hunting than we are.”

  Torp snorted. “They collect their dough whether they find Lattimore or not. We don’t. That may make some difference. Then, too, I don’t think those boys are so eager to get their nice uniforms all dirty. They’re probably sitting in their cars on the road waiting for the corpse to walk out and thumb a ride.”

  “I think this is kind of silly,” Sam Ferguson said. “A waste of man-power. Why don’t we spread out and cover more territory?”

  Diehl and Wilson were against this.

  Diehl said, “And get lost? Pretty soon we’d be hunting for each other. I got no hankering to wander around in these woods alone.”

  “That’s right,” Wilson added, “Let’s just keep going. We ought to bump into something before long, even if it’s only the mountain.”

  “We’ll try and travel in a circle,” Torp said. “That way we won’t get too far from the road. We’ll keep coming back to it.”

  “We don’t know where the hell we are, so we’ll probably travel hi a circle whether we want to or not,” Tom Wilson said. He was the gloomiest of the group. “I only got fifty dollars coming from Lattimore. I don’t know whether this is worth it or not.”

  “Add a little service charge for collecting,” Torp suggested. “Let’s get going.”

  THEY LUMBERED through the woods—Torp like a great bull moose breaking tracks in the denser growth for the rest of them. They traveled for an hour without comment, Then Wilson dropped to a rock, slumped forward and wiped his streaming face.

  “This is all I can take. I’m quitting.”

  Torp came back to look down on him with scorn. “Giving up, huh? Yellow, huh?”

  Wilson flared. “I’m not yellow. Only sensible. I know when I’m licked. I’m going over to that house yonder and ask for a drink of water. Then I’m going to try and find my way home.”

  The question came in concert, “What house?”

  “Right over there in the trees. Can’t you see it?”

  Torp looked and said, “For Chrisake! Why didn’t you tell us there was a house over there? You…idiot!”