31

BILLY SANDSTONE WAS IN HIS LATE THIRTIES, AS small and lean as a jockey, and his watchword seemed to be “neatness.” His shoes shone like black mirrors. The creases in his slacks were as sharp as blades, and his blue sport shirt was starched, crisp. His hair was razor-cut, and he groomed his mustache so meticulously that it almost appeared to have been painted on his upper lip.

Billy’s dining room was neat too. The table, the chairs, the credenza, and the hutch all glowed warmly because of the prodigious amount of furniture polish that had been buffed into the wood with even more vigor than he had employed when shining his dazzling shoes. Fresh roses were arranged in a cut-crystal vase in the center of the table, and clean lines of light gleamed in the exquisite glass. The draperies hung in perfectly measured folds. An entire battalion of nitpickers and fussbudgets would be hard-pressed to find a speck of dust in this room.

Elliot and Tina spread the map on the table and sat down across from each other. Billy said, “Automatic writing is bunk, Christina. You must know that.”

“I do, Billy. I know that.” “Well, then—”

“But I want you to hypnotize me anyway.”

“You’re a levelheaded person, Tina,” Billy said. “This really doesn’t seem like you.” “I know,” she said.

“If you’d just tell me why. If you’d tell me what this is all about, maybe I could help you better.”

“Billy,” she said, “if I tried to explain, we would be here all afternoon.” “Longer,” Elliot said.

“And we don’t have much time,” Tina said. “A lot’s at stake here, Billy. More than you can imagine.”

They hadn’t told him anything about Danny. Sandstone didn’t have the faintest idea why they were in Reno or what they were seeking in the mountains.

Elliot said, “I’m sure this seems ridiculous, Billy. You’re probably wondering if I’m some sort of lunatic. You’re wondering if maybe I’ve messed with Tina’s mind.”

“Which definitely isn’t the case,” Tina said.

“Right,” Elliot said. “Her mind was messed up. before I ever met her.”

The joke seemed to relax Sandstone, as Elliot had hoped it would. Lunatics and just plain irrational people didn’t intentionally try to amuse.

Elliot said, “I assure you, Billy, we haven’t lost our marbles. And this is a matter of life and death.”

“It really is,” Tina said.

“Okay,” Billy said. “You don’t have time to tell me about it now. I’ll accept that. But will you tell me one day when you aren’t in such a damn rush?”

“Absolutely,” Tina said. “I’ll tell you everything. Just please, please, put me in a trance.” “All right,” Billy Sandstone said.

He was wearing a gold signet ring. He turned it around, so the face of it was on the wrong side—the palm side—of his finger. He held his hand in front of Tina’s eyes.

“Keep your eyes on the ring and listen only to my voice.”

“Wait a second,” she said.

She pulled the cap off the red felt-tip pen that Elliot had purchased at the hotel newsstand just before they’d caught a taxi to Sandstone’s house. Elliot had suggested a change in the color of ink, so they would be able to tell the difference between the meaningless scribbles that were already on the map and any new marks that might be made.

Putting the point of the pen to the paper, Tina said, “Okay, Billy. Do your stuff.”

Elliot was not sure when Tina slipped under the hypnotist’s spell, and he had no idea how this smooth mesmerism was accomplished. All Sandstone did was move one hand slowly back and forth in front of Tina’s face, simultaneously speaking to her in a quiet, rhythmic voice, frequently using her name.

Elliot almost fell into a trance himself. He blinked his eyes and tuned out Sandstone’s melodious voice when he realized that he was succumbing to it.

Tina stared vacantly into space.

The hypnotist lowered his hand and turned his ring around as it belonged. “You’re in a deep sleep, Tina.”

“Yes.”

“Your eyes are open, but you are in a deep, deep sleep.” “Yes.”

“You will stay in that deep sleep until I tell you to wake up. Do you understand?” “Yes.”

“You will remain relaxed and receptive.” “Yes.”

“Nothing will startle you.” “No.”

“You aren’t really involved in this. You’re just the method of transmission—like a telephone.”

“Telephone,” she said thickly.

“You will remain totally passive until you feel the urge to use the pen in your hand.” “All right.”

“When you feel the urge to use the pen, you will not resist it. You will flow with it. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“You will not be bothered by anything Elliot and I say to each other. You will respond to me only when I speak directly to you. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Now . . . open yourself to whoever wants to speak through you.” They waited.

A minute passed, then another.

Billy Sandstone watched Tina intently for a while, but at last he shifted impatiently in his chair. He looked at Elliot and said, “I don’t think this spirit writing stuff is—”

The map rustled, drawing their attention. The corners curled and uncurled, curled and uncurled, again and again, like the pulse of a living thing.

The air was colder.

The map stopped curling. The rustling ceased.

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