Chapter 40

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Vesper sat in her expansive marble tub, a pale mauve washcloth draped unceremoniously over her eyes. The water was hot, as hot as she could bear, and the mounds of rich, sweet-smelling suds covering her oozed a pall of steam into the air. Rain pounded on the nearby window, thrashing against it in waves driven by the wild autumnal wind. The City's recent, peculiar state of Indian summer was being violently washed away. In the dim, quiet, candlelit cavern of the bathroom, the world was shut out, held at bay, and she could forget her troubles. . .at least for a little while.

She wondered dully what time it was. Perhaps, if she tried, she could manage to stay in the tub until the airing of Simon's interview with Barbara Walters was over. She didn't want to see it; she had seen a few fleeting seconds of a promotional tape the network had sent over the other day, and it had made her so queasy that she had had to make a hasty retreat to the ladies' room.

Let the old fool do what he pleases, she thought bitterly, I'm too tired to deal with him.

Recently, she had been giving a lot of thought to the Y2K bug. . .if her situation grew too dire, it might be just the deus ex machina that she needed. Perhaps, in just two short months, technology would collapse, chaos would reign, and she could discreetly disappear--or perish--in the ensuing pandemonium. Simon Waterbury, Sooner Than Never, her dealings with Takamoto. . .all of it would be consumed as society dissolved in an apocalyptic faux pas.

Of course, things could still work in her favor. Perhaps. There was a chance. A fleeting chance, but a chance nonetheless. Though the entire world had basically caught on to the fact that Simon's novel was a parable about his long-dead wife, there was still much that had to be pieced together before she was in any true danger. Quite a bit, actually. And she was sure that she would have plenty of time to make a quick exit if need be.

Ideally, no one would win the hunt, and New Year's Day 2000 would see her safe, protected, and ready for her final assault on Waterbury Publishing. Undoubtedly, Waterbury stock prices would ride a roller coaster as the millennium approached, and perhaps, just perhaps, she and Takamoto could buy up the puny percentage they needed to tip the scales and topple Simon.

She was sure that if she succeeded, Simon's shock and horror at his permanent defeat would kill him. Or, he would kill himself. A flicker of a smile passed over Vesper's lips.

The wind screamed against the side of her building. The gold-colored velvet curtains which shut out prying eyes moved uncertainly in the air rushing in through the seams of the closed window.

She raised her leg out of the sudsy water and turned on the hot water faucet with her dimpled foot. Near-scalding water gushed into the tub, and a new plume of steam rose up into the air.

The hot water felt good. It reminded her that she was still alive, still whole, still conscious.

If I live until New Year's, I will be astonished.

It was appalling to her that the entire Sooner Than Never craze had started over a year ago. So much had happened since last September. So much stress. So much worry. So much deceit and malice and violence and drama.

She had whored herself again.

She had held a mentally disturbed man prisoner in her apartment for several months.

She had dissembled, impersonated and used her body as a weapon and a tool.

She had murdered her mother.

Under the washcloth, her eyes smarted. A pang of guilt rushed over her, and sweat cascaded off of her ruddy face. Out of everything that had happened in the last twelve months, she most regretted her visit to Centralia, and her mother's ensuing flight down the cellar steps.

Vesper wondered vaguely if there was a hell. If there was, she had most certainly bought an express ticket.

She wriggled uncomfortably in the bathwater. Stop it, she thought viciously, now is no time to start worrying about the afterlife. Besides, the snaggle-toothed old crow had inflicted plenty of misery on her throughout the years. She had deserved it. Almost.

"Vesper, get out of the tub."

At first, Vesper thought she had imagined the voice. Every muscle in her body tensed and listened. Was she going mad?

"Vesper, I said get out of the tub."

She swiped the washcloth off of her face. Sweat and soap flowed into her eyes, momentarily blinding her. She rubbed at her eyes, gasping for breath, as panic engulfed her and her heart started pounding.

Someone had gotten into the loft, and caught her in the bathtub.

The jig was up.

******

Will stood at the urinal in the boxcar-sized Port-a-Potty on Zuckerman's farm in Bayard, Nebraska. A rough-looking, paunchy man in a stained yellow barn coat and a John Deere cap sidled up to the toilet beside him.

"Looks like your stuck here with all of the rest of us, nancy boy." The man shot a spray of tobacco juice into his urinal.

Will felt his face redden. "I'm kind of busy right now."

The man grimaced. "You and that little girlie-friend of yours aren't gonna get that prize money, boy. Everyone in a three-county radius is here, and more are coming. Shee-it, people are coming from all over the country! Why don't you just give up now and get your fairy ass out of here?"

Will finished his business, zipped up, flushed, and regarded the man coldly. "I promise you that Laura and I will be leaving Nebraska as soon as we possible can. You, sir, smell like a barn." Will edged toward the door. "And when Laura and I do win the contest, I'll find you. I'll buy up your farm and turn you and your inbred family out into the street, you bigoted asshole."

He slammed out of the Port-A-Potty with a strength that shook its flimsy wall.

Will was over Nebraska.

The night outside the restroom had the festive, scuzzy air of a down-home fireman's carnival. Two miles away, Chimney Rock stood, jutting up from the prairie, bathed in the glare of countless klieg lights. Helicopters whirred over it. In the darkness near the base of the formation, he could dimly perceive the bulky shadows of the National Guard tanks that the Park Service had called in.

Everything had been going so well. After their bout with the flu in Iowa, they had had an easy drive into Nebraska, and found Chimney Rock nearly deserted. They were delighted, the night of their arrival, to see the national press abuzz with rumors that the next clue was located at a Chimney Rock in North Carolina.

The morning after their arrival in Nebraska, the Today show had broadcast an interview with a Mr. Richard Geary (or "Dick," as Will liked to call him), of Evansville, Indiana, who had developed a theory that Sooner Than Never was really about Simon's dead wife, and that all the clue locations were related to her brief life. In all likelihood, Dick posited, the next clue was not in North Carolina, but at the Chimney Rock National Historic Site near Bayard, Nebraska, where Lily was born.

Almost immediately, the Park Service sealed off the monument, fearing that it would be irrevocably damaged by throngs of crazed treasure seekers. Will and Laura, who were convinced that the next clue lay atop the stony spire, watched soberly as miles of barbed wire were unfurled around the site, and tanks from Fort Collins, Colorado rumbled into view.

Amentus Zuckerman, the farmer whose property abutted the government lands, had capitalized on his good fortune by creating a veritable Sooner Than Never theme park in his recently harvested fields. Within hours, Zuckerman's farm included a flea market, a traveling carnival midway (complete with rides), a shooting range, and several large "mess hall" tents for treasure hunters, where he charged $ 8.95 for a hot dog and a Coke.

Nothing, from the teeming campground in Beaver Creek, to the hysteria in Chicago, to the lockdown on Bannerman Castle, held a candle to the small city which was forming on the frosted prairies of Nebraska. And there were less than sixty days until the end of the millennium.

Will walked through the throngs of people on the midway, dried cornhusks crunching under his feet. Nearby, Mr. Zuckerman had put up a makeshift drive-in, and the media had happily agreed to broadcast Barbara Walter's interview with Simon Waterbury, which had been taped live the previous week.

Will made his way through the aisles of parked cars, ignoring the occasional gasps of recognition from the people he passed. For the most part, the rest of the treasure hunters in Nebraska regarded Will and Laura in high contempt, as if they were not fellow competitors, but rather wily foes who were part of Simon Waterbury's Master Plan.

Laura came into view, sitting on the hood of their Saturn wrapped in a Raggedy Ann sleeping bag which had taken from her bedroom at home. She looked excited.

"What's going on?" Will asked dully, almost dreading the answer.

"They're here," Laura whispered, her eyes widening.

"Who's here?"

"The Takamoto guys. Yemeshigi and Hattamari. I saw them, over by the snack bar, about ten minutes ago."

Will craned his neck to look in the direction of the corn crib which had been converted to a concession stand. "Where did they go? Are you sure it was them?"

"I'm positive. I lost track of them right after I saw them."

"I thought they went back to Japan."

"Obviously, they didn't. We'll have to look for them later. We can ask them---"

A sudden roar shook the parking lot. The jumbo drive-in screen began to glow an eerie blue. Four words soon filled it:

THE BARBARA WALTERS SPECIAL

*****

Leia Freitag, Jew hypnotist, stuck her head out the window and into the pouring rain.

"Victor!" she called hysterically. "Victor, baby, come home!"

Chad hoppity-skipped around the living room, oblivious to Leia's consternation. "Vesper isn't Vesper, Vesper isn't Vesper, Vesper isn't Vesper. . ."

Leia pulled back into the room and turned to glare at him. "Shut up, you freak!"

Chad glanced at her briefly, and resumed his annoying sing-song.

Leia rubbed her temples. She couldn't bear this much longer.

Where was Nina? Nina had promised she would come and help Leia look for her cat after work. And now, with the storm, poor Victor might be sick, perhaps dying.

Leia stuck her head out the window again and screamed. "Nina, you cow, where are you?"

******

Nina Kellogg stood in the open doorway of the roomy linen closet, her arm awkwardly leveling the pistol she had purchased at a 23rd Street pawn shop at Vesper's head. She couldn't believe she was doing this.

"Vesper, get out of the tub NOW."

Vesper's stinging eyes finally found Nina in the dark corner. They focused on her.

A queer smile momentarily passed across Vesper's lips. Then, she laughed. . . a short, brittle, diamond-hard chuckle.

"Nina Kellogg. What in God's name are you doing here. . .and with a revolver, no less?"

Nina shifted uncomfortably. Why was Vesper so damned calm?

She cleared her throat. Her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth. "Vesper, get out of the tub. I know everything."

Vesper sighed, tossing her washcloth into the corner of the tub, extinguishing several of the freesia-scented candles burning there. She settled back under the bubbles.

"You know everything, do you?" Vesper stared up at the flecks of gold embedded in the ceiling plaster.

"Yes, Vesper, I know everything. I know who you are and what you've done. I'm taking you to Simon Waterbury."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. The answer to Sooner than Never, the conclusion of the treasure hunt, is not a location. It's a person. It's you."

Vesper glanced at her briefly, as if Nina were simply an annoying fly which had somehow made its way into her toilette.

Vesper sighed. "Darling, have you ever heard of breaking and entering? Unlawful assault? Kidnapping? You're going to rot in jail. I'll hire the best lawyers money can buy and you'll be put away. . .for years. . .with a bunch of other mannish women."

"Vesper, I don't care about your petty threats. I'm taking you to Simon Waterbury."

Vesper looked at her suddenly, as if she had just suddenly discovered Nina's presence in the room.

"How did you get in here?"

Nina was growing more and more uneasy. Why was Vesper so calm? Was she wrong? Was Chad wrong? Was this a wrong move?

She waved the gun at Vesper. "Your maid has a bad habit of skipping out to the deli on the corner to buy scratch-off Lottery cards and Necco wafers. And she leaves the door unlocked every time she does it."

Vesper sat up suddenly in the tub, shielding her bosom with her arms and a mound of suds. "I'll go with you to Simon. He's going to laugh at you and call the police. But you are not to harm Shilah in any way. Do you understand me?"

Nina was getting impatient. "I don't intend to hurt Shilah, Vesper. I don't really want to hurt you. I--"

"Just want to win the prize money. You poor, monkey-faced wretch. All you're going to get is--"

"VESPER, GET OUT OF THE TUB!" The strength and volume of Nina's voice shook the room, surprising both her and Vesper. Vesper shrank back in the tub. Her lips quivered slightly, betraying her apparent nonchalance.

"All right," Vesper said in a thin, brittle voice. "All right. I'll go with you." Nina noticed with some satisfaction that Vesper was trembling.

"Would you hand me a towel, darling?" Vesper asked in that odd, quavering voice.

"No. Stand up."

The door to the bathroom began rattling. Shilah called through it. "Ms. Shillington, are you all right? What's going on in there?"

Vesper glanced at the door. Despite the heat of the bathwater, her teeth began chattering.

"Stand up, Vesper."

"Please give me a towel," Vesper asked quietly, "please."

Shilah's pounding on the door turned frantic. "Ms. Shillington, is someone in there with you? Oh, God! Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus help us all! Oh, God!"

Nina's outstretched arm went rigid and taut. The gun was held steady. She shouted over the noise of the pounding, of Shilah's shrieks, of the wild wind outside.

"Stand up, Vesper."

Shilah screeched through the door. "I'm a-calling the police, whoever you are! I'm going to call the police!" The maid's pounding footsteps echoed down the hall.

Vesper braced herself on the edges of the tub, and pushed herself to her feet.

It was odd, Nina thought, how obvious it was, when Vesper's hair wasn't done, when her make-up wasn't perfect, when her clothing wasn't impeccable.

As Vesper stood thigh-deep in the tub, the sudsy lather of the bathwater slowly slid down her body, exposing

Her squarish Adam's apple.

Her flat but muscular chest.

Her tight and lightly haired belly.

And her not unimpressive manhood.

Vesper Shillington really was a man.

*****

Will and Laura sat huddled on the hood of their car, avid for the images appearing on the screen before them.

Barbara Walters was decked out in a stylish orangy-pink suit, and seated in an ample easy chair. Simon Waterbury, in a rather Hugh Hefner-esque smoking jacket, pajama pants, and slippers, sat on a pillow on the floor before her.

"Simon, there are just about two months left until the year 2000. The world has become fixated--no, obsessed--with your novel Sooner Than Never. One billion dollars is up for grabs to whoever finds it first. Do you think that it will be found before the clock runs out?"

Simon grinned. "I am reasonably certain."

"Do you think the winners will be your current front-runners, Will Gilbert and Laura Dial?"

A chorus of boos and catcalls rose up from the Nebraskan cornfield.

Simon grinned wider. "Mr. Gilbert and Ms. Dial are two very intelligent young people. Very intelligent. But the entire world is looking for this treasure. They have as good a chance as anyone."

Barbara shifted in her seat. "But why, Simon? Why do this? Why did you write Sooner Than Never? If the treasure is found, you could bankrupt your empire. . .one of the largest publishing houses in the country."

Simon sighed. "The world is taking itself much too seriously these days. We needed some fun. Some excitement. Some frivolity. And by God, I wanted people to start using their brains. I daresay I have made more people think in the last year than anyone else in the decade."

Barbara leaned in. "Frivolity, Simon? Fun? The National Guard has been called into the rumored site of the next clue, in Nebraska. You are costing taxpayers thousands, if not millions, of dollars. People have been arrested and injured while pursuing your clues. There are now hundreds of lawsuits against you, Simon, from the Walt Disney Company to The City of San Jose--"

"Like I said, the world needs to lighten up a little bit. Besides, if someone wins the contest, I'll be broke. There'll be nothing to sue for."

Barbara straightened in her chair, peering into Simon's eyes. "There's a rumor, which is growing quite popular, that the novel is based on the life of your wife, Lily Baker. Any truth to it?"

"Maybe there is, and maybe there is."

Barbara wriggled. "Talk to me about Lily."

Tears welled up in Simon's eyes. "The light of my life. A goddess placed on the earth. The most genuinely good person I have ever known. A person who belonged in another place and time. A shy little violet. A woman whom society turned into a star, while burning her up in the process."

"Where is Lily, Mr. Waterbury?"

"Dead."

"Are you certain she is dead? She disappeared almost thirty years ago. No trace of her has ever been found."

"She is dead, Ms. Walters. My heart knows it to be true."

Barbara paused delicately. "How, Simon? How did she die?"

Two fat tears rolled onto Simon's cheeks. "People who no longer exist thought that they were helping her, and helping me, and they killed her in the process."

"What people?"

"People who know they are guilty."

"Do you know for certain who these people are, or were, Mr. Waterbury? Were you a party to her murder?"

"I didn't say she was murdered."

"Is Sooner Than Never an attempt to identify these people, Mr. Waterbury?"

"Anything is possible in love and publishing."

"Do you know who these people are. . .or were?"

Simon's eyes twinkled malevolently. "Oh, yes. Both."

******

Nina gasped slightly. Vesper stared at her with cold, dead eyes.

"Shall I call you Sebastian Moffat? Or Christian Redding? Or maybe I should just call you by your given name: Philip Huffmann."

Vesper blinked slowly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Nina grimaced at her. "Your name is Philip Huffmann. You once worked for Simon Waterbury. You had an affair with his wife Lily and later killed her. You staged a disappearance shortly thereafter and returned later as Vesper Shillington. You are a murderer."

Vesper stared at her dully. "How do you know all of this?"

"I have my ways." Nina threw her a towel. "Dry yourself off, and then we're going to see Simon."

Vesper climbed out of the tub, sloshing water on the few candles which remained lit, and then, quick as a cat, reached for the nearby light switch and plunged the room into darkness before Nina realized what she was doing.

"Vesper? Vesper! Turn on the light."

There was no sound. No movement. Vesper was somewhere in the humid darkness, ready to pounce on her.

Nina's knees began to shake.

"Vesper, God damn it, turn on the light!"

The bathroom door suddenly sprang open with a mighty crash. Nina dimly perceived the outline of a human being through the steam, and heard the gun go off before she realized she had fired it.

With a quiet, animal-like whimper, Shilah fell to the floor.

In the light which spilled in from the hallway, Nina saw Vesper, crouched on the floor by the tub. Vesper's face contorted with rage.

"You. . .inhuman. . .monster! You filthy cow! You cow-bitch!" Vesper jumped to her feet, and lunged across the room at Nina.

Suddenly, Nina's portly body slammed into the cool marble floor. Vesper had tackled her, with a blinding force and ferocity. The gun slipped from Nina's hand and skittered away across the floor into the shadows at the corners of the bathroom.

Vesper leapt to her feet and ran across the room to the window, screaming hysterically. She tore at the heavy velvet draperies until she yanked the rod out of the wall. The gold velvet pooled at her feet.

Nina had never heard such screams. . . they rose and fell like the howls of the insane.

Nina lurched to her feet as Vesper wrapped her hands in the folds of velvet and punched both of her fists through the window glass. Repeatedly.

"Help!" Vesper screamed out into the wild night. "Oh, God, someone help me!"

Nina dove across the room towards her. Vesper, minx-like, slid out the broken, jagged opening in the window.

Nina cursed herself. There's a fire escape. She's going out onto the fire escape.

*****

"What does the future hold for you, Simon? After Sooner Than Never?"

Simon, who now lay sprawled across the cushion on the floor, sighed. "Perhaps I'll write a book. Or publish some that have been growing dust for several years. Get myself into some trouble. Stage a pretty revolution, perhaps. Die."

Barbara looked uncomfortable.

"We all die, Ms. Walters. Sooner or later."

*****

Vesper stood on the narrow fire escape, wrapped in a tangled mass of bloody velvet curtain. The wind and rain whipped her hair ferociously.

She screamed into the night. "Heeeeeelp! Heeeeelp! Rape! Fire! Heeeeeelp!"

She began to descend the steps of the fire escape, trying to ignore the dizzying vista below her. Her loft was six flights up. If she slipped, she'd break her neck.

She glanced over her shoulder at the window. Nina was struggling through it, her squarish hips catching on shards of jagged, broken glass, which buried themselves in her ample flesh.

Vesper sobbed and drew the velvet curtain tightly around her. A light had come on in the building which abutted hers.

"Help me! For God's sake! Help!"

Nina had finally made it through the window. Vesper, who had reached the first landing on her perilous trek down the steps, glanced up at her. The cow looked as though she were going to be sick.

Vesper shrieked again and daintily sped down the stairs, her left hand clinging to the rain-soaked brick wall of her building.

Nina began advancing down the fire escape at a quick clip. Suddenly, her feet went out from under her. She slipped, grabbed frantically at the railing, and reached only air. She toppled forward and twisted to the side, her black tennis shoes squeaking on the rain-soaked metal grating.

Then, she was gone.

At first, Vesper didn't know what had happened to her. She glanced around expectantly, thinking that Nina was about to land on her head and squash her.

In an instant, Vesper her a clattering crunch in the narrow, concrete alleyway which ran between the buildings. Then, all was silent except for the wind, the rain, and the sound of her own sobs.

A man's face poked out of a window in the building across the way.

"Jesus Christ, lady, what's happening out here?"

Vesper sobbed and screamed, her rain-matted hair plastered to her face. "My name is. . . my name is Vesper Shillington. Please call the police. There's been a terrible accident. Hurry!"

The man looked at her quizzically, and disappeared from the window.

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