The Golem Part 4

Even with all that had happened-good and bad-Seth Kohn managed to keep his head straight. Seeing Virginia, for instance, for the first time since the death of his wife, Helene, hadn't leveled the impact he'd feared. He still missed her-and still loved her-but now he knew that what he had with Judy was the best possible alternative. Helene would've wanted it, too, he felt sure, and I'd want it for her if I'd been the one who'd died. The only problem was the lingering guilt that he couldn't shake, when, in the grimmest hours, he wished he had died in her place, for he always felt he deserved it.

Providence works in strange ways, he reflected, watching acre after acre of switchgra.s.s pa.s.sing by outside the window. Or is it G.o.d?

He and Judy had left Tampa three days ago-they'd left it for good-and taken 95 all the way to Virginia. Was it sentiment that urged him to lengthen the trip by cutting across southern Virginia, not only to spend a moment at Helene's grave, but to ride the ferries again? Sentiment, or the house? But he knew that both were synoymous. Indeed, Judy was a sport, for she knew the real reason he'd needed to do this.

Had that been the reason she'd seduced him on both ferries?

It doesn't matter. It's part of a dream come true. Mine and Helene's, but Helene's not here anymore. So now it's mine and Judy's...

The house was the keystone of the dream-the Lowen House-but it had been a different house of sorts that had empowered that dream, a scary off-the-wall computer game called House of Flesh. Instead of typical s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p corridors, warlock castles, or terrorist strongholds, this game's concept invited the player into an utterly new graphical environment: an organic domain. Footpaths of skin wended through gra.s.slands of human hair; labyrinthine forests stood thick with trees of columns of muscle sprouting polyp-laden branches; cottages made of human (and inhuman) bones offered havens where the player could seek first aid...unless said cottage had been previously infected by enemy Fungiforms. These interways existed between the game's major features: the Organa-Planes. Each Plane was a level, and each level offered a different organic motif, such as the Dermatropolis, Tumor Town, Viralville, and Bronchiburg. Sublevels offered still more diversity from typical "shooting" games: Cardiac Cove, Adipose Abbey, the Synaptic Suburbs, the Labyrinth of Leprosy, etc., all of which had been created by a diabolical alien preceptor known as the Red Watcher; hence the game's none-too-thick plot: the Red Watcher dares the human race to send its most resourceful soldier (Sergeant Jake Breaker) into the fleshy conundrum in a fight for his life. Unique enemies wait in eager droves (Corpusculars, Mucoid Men, the flying Oculari, and the stomach-acid-belching Vomitor) to stop their earthy invader in his tracks. Armed with his cache of weapons (a scalpel, a bone-saw, Bacticide Bombs, and his helium-cadmium Surgical Laser), Breaker charges into the organic fray. Should he manage to survive all of the deadly levels, he must then proceed into the cadaverous maw of the House of Flesh itself where he will come face-to-face with the Red Watcher in the final clash of vein-popping and disease-flinging combat. The ultimate object? Breaker must kill the Red Watcher, or else the earth will be destroyed!

That was the idea, anyway. Seth had scripted and coded the game himself, and after bringing on several friends who were skilled in computer-generated graphics, they'd completed their beta version of the game and started submitting it to production companies. All along Seth knew that the premise (aliens coming to destroy the earth and only one bad-boy human can stop them) was about as new as the Gutenberg Bible, but he also knew that originality and new concepts weren't welcome in the gaming industry any more than they were in Hollywood. Fans typically preferred familiarity, just with new tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. So that's what Seth had developed, but he'd gone to great pains to make the graphical eye candy exceptional. At best he'd suspected that House of Flesh might prove an interesting variation for fans while they waited for the next Doom clone or Resident Evil sequel. He even thought he might make a little money, but that's where he'd been wrong. He made a lot of money.

Since House of Flesh had hit the marketplace six months ago, it had been the country's number-one-selling computer game, and it looked like it would remain so for some time. Foreign versions would s.h.i.+p to a dozen countries this week, while movie contracts, action-figure deals, and comic book rights had already been signed. In less time than he could even contemplate, Seth Kohn had become phenomenally wealthy.

And here I am now, he thought, still almost in a daze, driving to my new house...

The place he'd bought was known as the Lowen House, built in the mid-1800s. He'd seen it only that one time over two years ago, and that had been enough, but his inspector had a.s.sured him that the house was as solid as the day it had been erected. Something about the wood it was made from. Larch, but Seth had never heard of it. And the natural wood sealant they'd used in the old days, a bodily secretion from something called a Laccifer bug. He didn't know from trees or Laccifer bugs; he only knew how to write programming code. The purchase had included a strip of land over six square miles that began a mile or so shy of the house and extended northeast nearly five more miles, to the town limits of some burg called Lowensport. The area, Mary land's southern eastern sh.o.r.e, had been economically depressed for a decade, hence the house and all that land had come cheap-less than a quarter million-but Seth had put four times that in the refurbishments and interior decor. He'd actually been quite picky about the details.

"d.a.m.n it!" Judy railed. "I'm getting swiped by something that looks like a big eyeball with metallic bat wings!" She manically flicked her b.u.t.ton, firing a salvo of the game's bizarre weapons.

"The eyeball with wings is called an Oculari," Seth said.

"My G.o.d! And it's got a saw blade for a beak!"

"Um-hmm. And guess what it's going to cut with that saw?"

More frantic clicking and sonic reports. "Holy s.h.i.+t! It's cutting down the rope bridge!"

"Don't use your Surgical Laser; the Oculari will reflect the beam with its wings," Seth amusedly advised. "Try your Ultrasound Nozzle. It'll-"

The computer emitted a deep buzz, then a splat! "It worked!" Judy celebrated. "But-No..."

After some alien squawking, there was a snap! then a viscid splas.h.!.+

Judy dejectedly closed up the portable computer. "What happened?"

"Another one of those eyeball things cut the ropes," she said. "I fell into the chyme."

"That's what happens when you grapple with a diabolic alien design," Seth said, chuckling. "I appreciate your vigor, Judy, but you'll have plenty of time to test the new levels for me once we get to the house."

"The Lowen House," she said, as if enjoying the sound of the word. "So I presume the man who built it was named Lowen, and he founded Lowensport, right?"

"That's what the Realtor said."

"So is Lowensport the nearest town, or Somner's Cove?" She diddled with her plastic cigarette which, so far, had kept her smoke-free for months. Seth had opted for cold turkey.

"Somner's Cove's five miles south and Lowensport's five miles north, I think."

"I hope Lowensport's in better shape than Somner's Cove," she remarked. They'd pa.s.sed through it after getting off the ferry. "It looked kind of seedy."

"One of my quadratic techs at Empyreal grew up there. Said Somner's Cove's like a lot of small towns. There's a good section and a bad section. The bad section's full of bars and drugs."

"We'll never be going there," Judy a.s.serted.

"As for Lowensport, your guess is as good as mine. All that matters is we're five miles from any towns or neighbors. And Salisbury's only a forty-minute drive when you start teaching again."

"Not when, if. My past might be too checkered to get hired anywhere," she muttered.

"You'll get hired somewhere," he a.s.sured her. "You'll see."

She made no reply, obviously not comfortable with the subject, but then something up ahead caught her eye. "What's this? Workmen?"

"Can't be any of the contractors I hired," Seth replied, noticing the vehicles. "Not this far away from the house."

They slowed by a gaggle of vehicles with state crests. One flatbed truck contained pyramids of stacked PVC pipe; another was a trencher with a digging blade up front that looked like a giant chain saw. But the blade was raised, the vehicle static. Close to a dozen workmen stood around, looking down with puzzled expressions.

"Looks like they stopped work for some reason," Judy said.

"Yeah, but-oh, I know what they're doing," Seth remembered the notice from the comptroller's office and the state department of agriculture he'd received weeks before. "I get the tax breaks for letting the government harvest the switchgra.s.s. What those guys are doing is laying an irrigation line out to all the fields, and some of it's on my land."

Judy craned her neck as they pa.s.sed. "Looks like they're at a complete standstill. Maybe they hit a rock, or a gas line."

"Couldn't be a gas line 'cos there are none. In this neck of the woods everyone uses heating oil in the winter. And it couldn't be a domestic water line, either, because there aren't any."

Judy gave him a stalled look. "Uh, the Lowen House does have running water, right?"

"Well, sure," Seth said with an odd smile. "Just no domestic water lines."

"What!"

"Hey, honey, this ain't the big city. Our house has filtered and conditioned well water, and we've got a septic tank and leech field for, uh-"

"Wells? Septic tanks?" She seemed astonished. "I didn't know they had those things anymore."

"Remote houses do. Public works isn't going to spend all that time and money running water and sewer lines to one house. We're out in the boonies now, baby. That's how it is."

"I can hack it," she eventually conceded, but then snapped her eyes to him. "But...you don't mean there's an out house, do you?"

Seth laughed hard. "For a college professor you sure don't know much about how the world works. We have regular toilets, showers, and running water just like everyone else in twenty-first-century America. It'll be fun...and don't worry, you won't miss any of your TV shows. We've got satellite with something like five hundred channels and DSL Internet."

Judy seemed more content now. "Sorry, I keep forgetting, I'm the one who wanted you to move here more than you even did. The farther I am away from that d.a.m.n G.o.diva shop at International Mall, the happier-and thinner-I'll be. I'm so sick of big cities..."

"It's the change we both wanted-"

"And needed, but...Where is the place?" She squinted at the map. "We should be there now."

Seth's hand clenched her thigh. "Honey, we are."

The road opened to an unpaved court, and before it sat a wide, two-story house that at first appeared black.

"Wow." Judy leaned forward to peer. "It's different from the pictures you showed me. It looks old, but in a good way. I expected something more run-down."

"There'll be nothing run-down about it when you consider the cost of the interior renovations. Three cheers for House of Flesh. But there was no reason to do anything on the outside except res.h.i.+ngle the roof. Putting siding up over the natural exterior seemed stupid. If I did that, it'd look like a regular house. And besides, it wouldn't..." His words fell off.

"It wouldn't be the same image that you shared with your wife." Judy knew.

Seth faltered. What could he say?

Judy hugged him. "I've told you a million times, I'm not jealous of Helene. I think it's wonderful that this was the dream house you two wanted."

"It's our dream house, too," he said in a lower voice. "Yours and mine."

"It looks unique the way it is..."

"And the lancet doorways are original. Kind of European, which seemed odd since I think this area was populated by loggers and woodsmen back in the old days."

"The windows and shutters are pretty cool, too," Judy noticed, for they were in a similar but narrower lancet configuration. "It's like part mansard house and part beam house."

They spotted myriad tire tracks in the front gra.s.s, no doubt from the private contractors Seth had hired for the refurbishments, but the last of them had finished days ago. He presumed the movers had come and gone as well. Only one vehicle sat parked in the court-an old blue Pontiac two-door. Seth slowed to a stop, and just sat a moment to let the overall image of the place sink in.

A wide roof with a very low angle seemed to press down on the dark wood of the house. Most of the outer structure was built from rafters. If anything the house seemed a trifle too low for two stories. The high-impact windows had to be custom-made for the lancet frames, and Seth had replaced the old slat-style s.h.i.+ngles with composite s.h.i.+ngles that looked similar. When he shut off the Tahoe, a twinge throbbed in his gut-part excitement, but part something else.Yes, sir, it really is a long way from Tampa now... Judy was beaming as she gazed at the edifice.

"I think that's the Realtor's car there," he said. "Same one he was driving more than two years ago when I got him to show us the place." Seth tensed when he'd said that. The "us" meant him and Helene, not him and Judy. I'm overreacting! he yelled at himself. She didn't even catch it.

In fact, she was already out of the car, slowly approaching the house in something like awe. It pleased Seth very much to see that she had no reservations about this appreciable change in their lives.

She was practically jumping up and down. "Come on! I've got to see the inside!"

"You go on ahead," he said. "I need to talk to the Realtor but I'll be right there."

She jogged toward the dark, squat house.

"Perfect timing, Mr. Kohn," said the awkward man who limped forward. This was Mr. Croter, who wore a thread-bare light-blue suit that must've been twenty years old. Worse than his attire, though, was the Elvis-like hairstyle s.h.i.+ning with tonic. A few missing teeth showed when he smiled and shook hands.

"How are you, Mr. Croter? I take it all the work's finished?"

"Inside and out, and I just know you'll approve."

"Thanks for supervising the work," Seth added. "With my company and all, plus the sheer turmoil of moving, it was impossible for me to get up here earlier."

"It was a pleasure." Croter chuckled. "And so were those generous checks you kept sending. By the way, I've read about you recently. Congratulations on your success. My son is crazy about your House of Flesh game."

"I'm glad to hear it, and I'm happy to say it's still the top-selling game in America."

For a moment, Croter seemed sheepish. "Actually, Mr. Kohn, I hate to ask but..."

"But what?"

Croter slipped a copy of the game out of his briefcase along with a silver pen, and reluctantly asked, "Marc, my son, he'd have a fit if I didn't get your autograph. Would you mind terribly..."

"I'd love to," Seth said, grinning. It was something he'd done a lot lately, yet the notion was still weird to him. Only famous people signed autographs. He quickly signed the box with an inscription, then returned it. But I guess I better start coming to grips with the fact that, in my field, I am famous...

"Wonderful, wonderful. Thank you so much. It's quite a treat for an area like this to have a celebrity moving in."

"I don't know about the celebrity part," Seth chuckled, "but thanks."

"I'm dying to show you the interior." Croter squinted toward the porch, where Judy approached the front door. "Oh, I see your wife's changed her hair color. It looks very nice."

d.a.m.n, Seth thought. "That's my girlfriend, Judy Parker. My wife-the woman you met a long time ago...died."

Croter faltered. "Oh, Mr. Kohn, I'm terribly sorry-"

"It's all right," Seth cut him off. "Let's go-" But before he could say the word "inside," dust rose around the court as a white car pulled in.

"Who's this?" Seth murmured.

"Looks like a state seal on the car."

From the vehicle a stocky, short-haired man disem-barked. He wore a white b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt and tie with jeans and work boots. Gravel popped as he came up to them.

"Either of you Mr. Seth Kohn?" he asked.

"That's me."

"I'm Ernest Hovis from the Mary land Department of Agriculture. I've got a crew about a mile south; we've been laying the irrigation lines as per your agreement with the tax office, and-"

"Yes, my girlfriend and I noticed on the way up, but it looked like they'd stopped working," Seth said.

"Well..." Hovis's face took an expression that was a meld of amus.e.m.e.nt and confusion. "They stopped working, all right. They ran into...an obstruction."

"That's what we figured," Seth told him. "What, a bunch of big rocks or roots?"

Hovis paused. "Uh, no..."

"Well what was it?" Croter urged.

Hovis cast the odd expression directly at Seth. "I don't know how to tell you this, Mr. Kohn, but the digging crew ran into a boat."

"A boat?" Seth asked in disbelief.

"Yes, sir. There's a boat buried on your property."

Seth's eyes turned to slits. "A...boat. You mean a rowboat, right, or a canoe?"

Hovis smiled in his own befuddlement. "We haven't been able to dig much out yet, Mr. Kohn, but it appears to be a steamboat of considerable size."

Seth stared. "A steamboat. You're kidding me, right?"