30
TWO SPORTING-GOODS STORES AND TWO GUN shops were within easy walking distance of the hotel. The first sporting-goods dealer did not carry the maps, and although the second usually had them, it was currently sold out. Elliot and Tina found what they needed in one of the gun shops: a set of twelve wilderness maps of the Sierras, designed with backpackers and hunters in mind. The set came in a leatherette-covered case and sold for a hundred dollars.
Back in the hotel room, they opened one of the maps on the bed, and Elliot said, “Now what?”
For a moment Tina considered the problem. Then she went to the desk, opened the center drawer, and withdrew a folder of hotel stationery. In the folder was a cheap plastic ballpoint pen with the hotel name on it. With the pen, she returned to the bed and sat beside the open map.
She said, “People who believe in the occult have a thing they call ‘automatic writing.’ Ever hear of it?”
“Sure. Spirit writing. A ghost supposedly guides your hand to deliver a message from beyond. Always sounded like the worst sort of bunkum to me.”
“Well, bunkum or not, I’m going to try something like that. Except, I don’t need a ghost to guide my hand. I’m hoping Danny can do it.”
“Don’t you have to be in a trance, like a medium at a seance?”
“I’m just going to completely relax, make myself open and receptive. I’ll hold the pen against the map, and maybe Danny can draw the route for us.”
Elliot pulled a chair beside the bed and sat. “I don’t believe for a minute it’s going to work. Totally nuts. But I’ll be as quiet as a mouse and give it a chance.”
Tina stared at the map and tried to think of nothing but the appealing greens, blues, yellows, and pinks that the cartographers had used to indicate various types of terrain. She allowed her eyes to swim out of focus.
A minute passed.
Two minutes. Three.
She tried closing her eyes. Another minute. Two.
Nothing.
She turned the map over and tried the other side of it. Still nothing.
“Give me another map,” she said.
Elliot withdrew another one from the leatherette case and handed it to her. He refolded the first map as she unfolded the second.
Half an hour and five maps later, Tina’s hand suddenly skipped across the paper as if someone had bumped her arm. She felt a peculiar pulling sensation that seemed to come from within her hand, and she stiffened in surprise.
Instantly the invasive power retreated from her. “What was that?” Elliot asked.
“Danny. He tried.” “You’re sure?”
“Positive. But he startled me, and I guess even the little bit of resistance I offered was enough to push him away. At least we know this is the right map. Let me try again.”
She put the pen at the edge of the map once more, and she let her eyes drift out of focus. The air temperature plummeted.
She tried not to think about the chill. She tried to banish all thoughts.
Her right hand, in which she held the pen, grew rapidly colder than any other part of her. She felt the unpleasant, inner pulling again. Her fingers ached with the cold. Abruptly her hand swung across the map, then back, then described a series of circles; the pen made meaningless scrawls on the paper. After half a minute, she felt the power leave her hand again.
“No good,” she said.
The map flew into the air, as if someone had tossed it in anger or frustration.
Elliot got out of his chair and reached for the map—but it spun into the air again. It flapped noisily to the other end of the room and then back again, finally falling like a dead bird onto the floor at Elliot’s feet.
“Jesus,” he said softly. “The next time I read a story in the newspaper about some guy who says he was picked up in a flying saucer and taken on a tour of the universe, I won’t be so quick to laugh. If I see many more inanimate objects dancing around, I’m going to start believing in everything, no matter how freaky.”
Tina got up from the bed, massaging her cold right hand. “I guess I’m offering too much resistance. But it feels so weird when he takes control . . . I can’t help stiffening a little. I guess you were right about needing to be in a trance.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. I’m a good cook, but I’m not a hypnotist.” She blinked. “Hypnosis! Of course! That’ll probably do the trick.”
“Maybe it will. But where do you expect to find a hypnotist? The last time I looked, they weren’t setting up shops on street corners.”
“Billy Sandstone,” she said. “Who?”
“He’s a hypnotist. He lives right here in Reno. He has a stage act. It’s a brilliant act. I wanted to use him in Magyck!, but he was tied up in an exclusive contract with a chain of Reno-Tahoe hotels. If you can get hold of Billy, he can hypnotize me. Then maybe I’ll be relaxed enough to make this automatic writing work.”
“Do you know his phone number?”
“No. And it’s probably not listed. But I do know his agent’s number. I can get through to him that way.”
She hurried to the telephone.
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