Dead Ringer Read online

delighted. "You see, Dane? You _know_ it was a nightmare,but you don't really believe it even now. Your father was an alienmonster to you--no adult is quite human to a child. And thatliteral-minded self, your subconscious, saw him after he died. So thereare alien monsters who return from death. Then you come to from aconcussion. Harding is sprawled out unconscious, covered withblood--probably your blood, since you say he wasn't wounded, later.

  "But after seeing your father, you can't associate blood withyourself--you see it as a horrible wound on Harding. When he turns outto be alive, you're still in partial shock, with your subconsciousdominant. And that has the answer already. There are monsters who comeback from the dead! An exaggerated reaction, but nothing reallyabnormal. We'll have you out of here in no time."

  No non-directive psychiatry for Buehl. The man beamed paternally,chuckling as he added what he must have considered the clincher."Anyhow, even zombies can't stand fire, Dane, so you can stop worryingabout Harding. I checked up on him. He was burned to a crisp in a hotelfire two months ago."

  It was logical enough to shake Dane's faith, until he came across MiloBlanding's picture in a magazine article on society in St. Louis.According to the item, Milo was a cousin of _the_ Blandings, whosefather had vanished in Chile as a young man, and who had just rejoinedthe family. The picture was of Harding!

  An alien could have gotten away by simply committing suicide and beingcarried from the rest home, but Dane had to do it the hard way, watchinghis chance and using commando tactics on a guard who had come to accepthim as a harmless nut.

  In St. Louis, he'd used the "Purloined Letter" technique to hide--goingback to newspaper work and using almost his real name. It had seemed towork, too. But he'd been less lucky about Harding-Blanding. The man hadbeen in Europe on some kind of a tour until his return only this lastweek.

  Dane had seen him just once then--but long enough to be sure it wasHarding--before he died again.

  This time, it was in a drunken auto accident that seemed to be none ofhis fault, but left his body a mangled wreck.

  * * * * *

  It was almost dark when Dane dismissed the taxi at the false address, amile from the entrance to the cemetery. He watched it turn back down theroad, then picked up the valise with his camera and folding shovel. Heshivered as he moved reluctantly ahead. War had proved that he wouldnever be a brave man and the old fears of darkness and graveyards werestill strong in him. But he had to know what the coffin contained now,if it wasn't already too late.

  It represented the missing link in his picture of the aliens. Whathappened to them during the period of regrowth? Did they revert to theirnatural form? Were they at all conscious while the body reshaped itselfinto wholeness? Dane had puzzled over it night after night, with noanswer.

  Nor could he figure how they could escape from the grave. Perhaps a mancould force his way out of some of the coffins he had inspected. Thesoil would still be soft and loose in the grave and a lot of the coffinsand the boxes around them were strong in appearance only. A determinedcreature that could exist without much air for long enough might makeit. But there were other caskets that couldn't be cracked, at leastwithout the aid of outside help.

  What happened when a creature that could survive even the poison ofembalming fluids and the draining of all the blood woke up in such acoffin? Dane's mind skittered from it, as always, and then came back toit reluctantly.

  There were still accounts of corpses turned up with the nails and hairgrown long in the grave. Could normal tissues stand the current tricksof the morticians to have life enough for such growth? The possibilitywas absurd. Those cases had to be aliens--ones who hadn't escaped. Eventhey must die eventually in such a case--after weeks and months! It tooktime for hair to grow.

  And there were stories of corpses that had apparently fought and twistedin their coffins still. What was it like for an alien then, going slowlymad while it waited for true death? How long did madness take?

  He shivered again, but went steadily on while the cemetery fenceappeared in the distance. He'd seen Blanding's coffin--and the big,solid metal casket around it that couldn't be cracked by any amount ofeffort and strength. He was sure the creature was still there, unless ithad a confederate. But that wouldn't matter. An empty coffin would alsobe proof.

  * * * * *

  Dane avoided the main gate, unsure about whether there would be awatchman or not. A hundred feet away, there was a tree near theornamental spikes of the iron fence. He threw his bag over and beganshinnying up. It was difficult, but he made it finally, dropping ontothe soft grass beyond. There was the trace of the Moon at times throughthe clouds, but it hadn't betrayed him, and there had been no alarm wirealong the top of the fence.

  He moved from shadow to shadow, his hair prickling along the base of hisneck. Locating the right grave in the darkness was harder than he hadexpected, even with an occasional brief use of the small flashlight. Butat last he found the marker that was serving until the regular monumentcould arrive.

  His hands were sweating so much that it was hard to use the smallshovel, but the digging of foxholes had given him experience and theground was still soft from the gravediggers' work. He stopped once, asthe Moon came out briefly. Again, a sound in the darkness above left himhovering and sick in the hole. But it must have been only some animal.

  He uncovered the top of the casket with hands already blistering.

  Then he cursed as he realized the catches were near the bottom, makinghis work even harder.

  He reached them at last, fumbling them open. The metal top of the casketseemed to be a dome of solid lead, and he had no room to maneuver, butit began swinging up reluctantly, until he could feel the polished woodof the coffin.

  Dane reached for the lid with hands he could barely control. Fear wasthick in his throat now. What could an alien do to a man who discoveredit? Would it be Harding there--or some monstrous thing still changing?How long did it take a revived monster to go mad when it found no way toescape?

  He gripped the shovel in one hand, working at the lid with the other.Now, abruptly, his nerves steadied, as they had done whenever he was inreal battle. He swung the lid up and began groping for the camera.

  His hand went into the silk-lined interior and found nothing! He was toolate. Either Harding had gotten out somehow before the final ceremony ora confederate had already been here. The coffin was empty.

  * * * * *

  There were no warning sounds this time--only hands that slipped underhis arms and across his mouth, lifting him easily from the grave. Amatch flared briefly and he was looking into the face of Buehl's chiefstrong-arm man.

  "Hello, Mr. Phillips. Promise to be quiet and we'll release you. Okay?"At Dane's sickened nod, he gestured to the others. "Let him go. And,Tom, better get that filled in. We don't want any trouble from this."

  Surprise came from the grave a moment later. "Hey, Burke, there's nocorpse here!"

  Burke's words killed any hopes Dane had at once. "So what? Ever hear ofcremation? Lots of people use a regular coffin for the ashes."

  "He wasn't cremated," Dane told him. "You can check up on that." But heknew it was useless.

  "Sure, Mr. Phillips. We'll do that." The tone was one reserved forhumoring madmen. Burke turned, gesturing. "Better come along, Mr.Phillips. Your wife and Dr. Buehl are waiting at the hotel."

  The gate was open now, but there was no sign of a watchman; if oneworked here, Sylvia's money would have taken care of that, of course.Dane went along quietly, sitting in the rubble of his hopes while thebig car purred through the morning and on down Lindell Boulevard towardthe hotel. Once he shivered, and Burke dug out hot brandied coffee. Theyhad thought of everything, including a coat to cover his dirt-soiledclothes as they took him up the elevator to where Buehl and Sylvia werewaiting for him.

  She had been crying, obviously, but there were no tears orrecriminations when she came over to kiss him. Funny, she m
ust stilllove him--as he'd learned to his surprise he loved her. Under differentcircumstances ...

  "So you found me?" he asked needlessly of Buehl. He was operating onpurely automatic habits now, the reaction from the night and his failurenumbing him emotionally. "Jordan got in touch with you?"

  Buehl smiled back at him. "We knew where you were all along, Dane. Butas long as you acted normal, we hoped it might be better than the home.Too bad we couldn't stop you before you got all mixed up in this."

  "So I suppose I'm committed to your booby-hatch again?"

  Buehl nodded, refusing to resent the term. "I'm afraid so, Dane--for awhile, anyhow. You'll find your clothes in that room. Why don't youclean up a little? Take a hot bath, maybe. You'll feel better."

  * * * *