An Old Friend Of The Family (Saberhagen's Dracula Book 3), Fred Saberhagen [best large ereader .txt] 📗

    Most likely the knocking at the door was that of Judy herself; the girl had uncharacteristically forgotten her key for once. In her slow progress toward the front hall, Clarissa paused to switch on some lights. A quarter to five, and the sun should not be down yet, but the day outside the windows was as dark as night, and there a heavy snowfall in the air, a regular blizzard in fact. Andrew was probably going to be stuck in the city again tonight, for once not on account of business reasons.

    She flicked the outside lights on before looking out through the small viewer built into the front door at eye level. Just outside stood a man that Clarissa had never seen before, a rather rough-looking individual in workman’s clothing, heavy jacket and wool cap. He was big and heavy, dancing a little in the cold, rubbing one exposed, blue-stubbled cheek with the back of a work-gloved hand. In his other hand he bore a long, wood-shafted tool of some kind, resting the butt end of it on the ground like an operatic spear. The upper end had been wrapped in plastic and Clarissa could not make out what it was. Across the man’s face the falling snow made multiple streaking blur, like a white beard.

    He’s come to tell me of an accident. Judy has been hurt. That was the first thought that came into Clarissa’s mind. Simultaneously she knew there was no logical basis for this sudden fear; it was one of those chronic, baseless ones that seemed to intensify as one got older. But her knowledge did not ease the sharpness of it much.

    Pain twinged now in Clarissa’s chest. Gripping her robe tightly about her with one hand, she turned the bolt back in the lock and opened the door a crack, leaving the heavy chain fastened at eye level.

    Seen without the mild distortion of the viewer’s lens, the man outside impressed her at once as bluff and hearty. He was really enormous, and his blue shadow of beard reminded Clarissa somehow of her husband’s.

    He smiled at her in reassurance. “Hi, missus.” His voice was deep and she found it confidence-inspiring. “My truck’s stuck out here on the highway. Okay if I come in and use you phone?”

    “Oh.” Relief that there had been no accident washed through Clarissa, fluttering the pain. She smiled back, squinting into the narrow blast of frigid air that came in through the open door. “Of course,” she said, and reached to move the chain. “Come in.”

* * * * * * *

   The drug store Judy was bound for stood just across Sheridan Road from the Shores Motel, in a small shopping center that seemed to have sprung up as unplanned as a patch of weeds amid the elegance of wealthy suburban housing surrounding it to north, west and south. As usual for the time of day, northbound traffic on Sheridan was heavy, and the southbound, Judy’s lane, was light as she turned off the highway into the shopping center’s parking lot. The snow was very thick, but it had not yet completely reconquered even the edges of the road since the last fall had been plowed away. A lot of places would probably have closed down early today, so that people could get started for home. Daddy wouldn’t have started home early, though; he never did.

    Getting out of her car, Judy squinted through driving snow toward the bright lights of the motel across the road. She wondered if Dr. Corday’s room had been in the back or the front, upstairs or down. She had never even known its number.

    Last night in her bedroom he had warned her, not to be careful, but to be brave. The police now seemed to think that the danger to the family was over, and they had withdrawn their listening post. But he hadn’t talked like that at all. Anyway, Gran needed the medicine, and who else was going to get it for her?

    The man ahead of Judy was buying cigarettes. Another woman was already waiting for a prescription to be filled. When Judy had handed in her scribbled paper, and it was her turn to wait, she wandered back to the front window. There she looked past magazine racks and jugs of colored water, through steamed glass that made the motel lights gigantic blurs.

    A thought that had been coming and going in her mind all day returned now with sudden force. What if he came to her room again tonight? He might very well. They certainly had plenty of things in common, problems at least, that they needed to talk about.

    He was old, very old, she had no doubt of that. But his age had different quality than that of any oldster Judy had ever met. It carried no weakness. Was he older than Granny Clare or not? The question seemed meaningless, like answering whether Chinese jade was more important than baseball. It was unimaginable that he should ever have to send someone out for a prescription.

   Next to the drug store was a specialty dress shop with a wedding gown in its front window. On her way back to her car with Gran’s medicine in her pocket, Judy saw this, and the thought of buying a long white nightgown crossed her mind. Her sleepwear now was all girl’s things, teen-aged cuteness, plaids and animal designs. It was time for—something different.

    As she unlocked her car door, the electric signs across the highway glared an intense loneliness at her through the blizzard. Where was he now, this moment? For just a moment she thought she was about to discover him waiting for her inside the car.

    She didn’t realize just how bad visibility had become until she got behind the wheel and tried the headlights, and