Necroscope 010 - The Lost Years 02 - Resurgence by Brian Lumley

Author:Brian Lumley
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: England, Vampires, Keogh, Horror, Fiction - Horror, Harry (Fictitious character), Horror - General, Fiction, Horror tales
ISBN: 9780812521269
Publisher: Mew York : T. Doherty, 1989, c1988.
Published: 1989-04-15T04:00:00+00:00

138

Which was why he called the wine bar at least three times a day every day, only to get the same message from B.J.'s answering machine:

'Ah'm sorry, but due tae circumstances beyond mah control, the bar has been closed indefinitely.'

Bonnie Jean's voice, her phony Edinburghian burr, but sounding oh-so-distant and seeming more dispassionate every time, as if she too were slipping away from him. That would be the real breaking point he knew. That would be when the world really fell apart If he were about to let it happen. But he wasn't.

Harry's last night at E-Branch was a restless one. He did sleep, but derived little benefit from it He was accommodated in his old room (or 'Harry's Room,' as it was now known) which opened directly into the main corridor; and about three in the morning his foggy but somehow desperate dreams finally crystalized into something that was more than a dream.

Awake, the Necroscope no longer had contact with the dead; he had all but shut them out of his life. Asleep . . . he was far more receptive.

And as for R.L. Stevenson Jamieson: well, he was very determined. And no way he was going to be ignored.

Harry? Necroscope? Man, you is hard to reach! What's with you, Harry? I mean, you gots to know I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't real important?

'R.L.? Is it you?' Harry mumbled and muttered, tossing in his bed. 'God, can't a man get any sleep around here?' At first irritated — which showed in his attitude and apparent disinterest — still there had been that in the black man's dead Voice, which went several degrees beyond urgency; so that despite the barriers that the Necroscope was tempted to erect, he nevertheless felt inclined to pay attention. Sensing this, R.L. said:

Necroscope, me and my obi has been lookin' out for you for a long time now. And I's tellin' you: man, you has enemies! You has enemies in London, and you has 'em in Scotland, too. They's been watchin' you, Harry! Just bidin' their time, watchin', and waitin'!

'Yellow men,' Harry answered, because in sleep the borders between the various levels of knowledge and being are far less clearly defined; also because 'yellow men' were on his mind in connection with the bomb.

Don't know what colour or creed they is, only that they's there, R.L. answered, and sighed his relief that the Necroscope was listening. Then, quickly continuing: Also, that maybe what they was waitin' for has come.

'Come? What are you talking about, R.L.? Maybe you'd better come again!' But Harry's attention was fully centered now.

Not what but who, R.L. told him. Him, Necroscope: the one they was waitin' for. And he's just 'bout the worst! Not just a watcher but a . . . a doer. A boss. And he's here, close and gettin' closer all the time. He came quick, tonight, right out o' the blue. And I can feel him like a fog over a swamp, reachin' out for you.

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