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bedroom, laid her between the sheets and told her to try to sleep. All
useless: there was a maniac in the house, running wild, laughing and crying at
the same time. Trevor Jordan came and went, slamming doors, rushing here and
there - pausing to touch himself, to touch Harry, Penny -
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Brian Lumley - Necroscope 5 - Deadspeak and then laughing again. Laughing like
crazy, like mad. Mad to be alive!
Penny, too, once the truth sank in, once she believed. And for an hour, two
hours, it was bedlam. Stay in bed? She dressed herself in Harry's pyjamas and
one of his shirts, and . . .
danced! She pirouetted, waltzed, jived; Harry was glad he had no neighbours.
Eventually they wore themselves out, almost wore the Necroscope out, too.
He made plenty of coffee for them. They were thirsty; they were hungry; they
invaded his kitchen. They ate ... everything! Now and then Jordan would leap
to his feet, hug Harry until he thought his ribs must crack, rush into the
garden and feel the sunshine, and rush back again. And Penny would burst into
a fresh bout of tears and kiss him. It made him feel good. And it disturbed
him. Even now their emotions were no match for his.
Then it was afternoon, and Harry said: 'Penny, I think you can go home now.'
He had told her what she must say: how it couldn't have been her body the
police found but someone who looked a lot like her. How she had suffered
amnesia or something and didn't know where she'd been until she found herself
in her own street in her own North
Yorkshire village. That was all, no elaboration. And no mention, not even a
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whisper, of
Harry Keogh, Necroscope.
He made a note of her sizes, Möbius-tripped into Edinburgh and bought her
clothes, waited while she frantically dressed herself. He had forgotten shoes:
no matter, she'd go barefoot.
She would go naked, if that were the only way!
He took her home - almost all the way, only breaking the jump for a final word
of warning on the rolling moors - via the Möbius Continuum, which was
something else for her not to believe in. And he cautioned her: 'Penny, from
now on things will be normal for you, and eventually you may even come to
believe this story we've concocted for you. Better for you, me, everyone, if
you do believe it. Most certainly better for me.'
'But . . . I'll see you again?' (The realization of what she had found, and
what she must lose.
And for the first time the question: did she have the better of the bargain?)
He shook his head. 'People will come and go, Penny, through all your life.
It's the way it is.'
'And through death?'
'You've promised me you'll forget that. It isn't part of our story, right?'
And then the rest of the jump, to a street corner she'd known all her life.
'Goodbye, Penny.'
And when she looked around . . .
As a small child she'd followed the rerun adventures of the Lone Ranger.
Who was that invisible man . . .?
Back at the house near Bonnyrig, Jordan was waiting. He was calmer now but
still radiated awe and wonder, which made him look beautiful, fresh-scrubbed,
newly returned from a holiday in the sun or a swim in a mountain stream. All
of these things. 'Harry, I'm ready any time you are. Just tell me what I must
do.'
'You, nothing. Just don't shut me out, that's all. I want to get into your
mind, and learn from it.'
'Like Janos did?'
Harry shook his head. 'Unlike Janos. I didn't bring you back to hurt you. I
didn't even bring you back for me. It's still up to you. If you don't like the
idea of me going in there just say
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Brian Lumley - Necroscope 5 - Deadspeak so. This has to be of your own free
will.' Very significant words.
Jordan looked at him. 'You didn't just save my life,' he said, 'but returned
it to me!
Anything you want, Harry.'
The Necroscope sent his developing Wamphyri thoughts directly into Jordan's
head, and the other cleared the way for him, drew him in. Harry found what he
wanted: it was so like deadspeak that he knew it at once. The mechanism was
easy, a part of the human psyche.
Mental in action, it was purely physical in operation, a part of the mind
people - most people - haven't learned how to use. Identical twins sometimes
have it, because they come from the same egg. But discovering it wasn't the
same as making it work.
Harry withdrew, said: 'Your turn.'
For Jordan it was easy. He already was a telepath. He looked inside Harry's
mind and found the trigger which the Necroscope had pictured for him. It only
required releasing.
After that, like a switch, Harry could throw it any time it was required.
And: Try it,' Jordan said, when he'd withdrawn.
Harry pictured Zek Föener, a powerful telepath in her own right, and reached
out with his new talent.
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He (no, she)
was swimming in the blue warm waters of the Mediterranean, spear-fishing off
Zakinthos where she lived with her husband Jazz Simmons. She was twenty feet
down and had lined up a fish in her sights, a fine red mullet where it finned
on the sandy bottom and ogled her.
Testing . . . testing . . . testing,' said Harry, with more than a hint of dry
humour.
She sucked in salt water down the tube of her snorkel, triggered off her spear
and missed, dropped her gun and kicked frantically for the surface. And she
trod water there, coughing and spluttering, staring wildly all about. Until
suddenly it came to her that the words could only have been in her head. But
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