Invasion of the Body Snatchers by Jack Finney Read Free Book Online

ducked so I couldn't see her face, and began fumbling through her purse. "I'm not frightened, Miles," she said quietly, "just worried." She opened a compact and, bending close to the little dashboard light, carefully touched up the tear marks with a powder puff. "It's as though Dad were sick," she went on. "Just not himself, and-" She stopped, applied lipstick, folded her lips inward momentarily, then studied her face for a moment in her compact mirror. "Well, it's just no time for me to leave," she finished, snapped her compact shut, looked up at me, and smiled. Suddenly she leaned toward me and quickly kissed me on the mouth, very firmly and warmly. Then she opened her door and slipped out. "'Night, Miles. Phone me in the morning." She walked quickly along the brick path leading to the darkened porch of her home.
    I watched her go. I sat staring after her fine full figure, heard the tiny gritting of her shoes on the rough bricks of the path, heard her light steps go quickly up the stairs, and saw her disappear into the gloom of the porch. A pause, the front door opened, then closed behind her. And all the time I was sitting there shaking my head at myself, remembering my thoughts about Becky early in the evening. She was not, after all, turning out to be just a good pal who happened to wear skirts. Put a nice-looking girl you're fond of in your arms, I was realizing, have her weep a little, and you're a cinch to feel pretty tender and protective. Then that feeling starts to get mixed up with sex, and if you're not careful, you've made at least a start toward falling in love. I grinned then, and started the car. So I'd be careful, that's all. With the wreckage of one marriage still lying around me, I wasn't walking into another just now. Near the corner at the end of the block, I glanced back at Becky's house, big and white in the faint starlight, and knew that while I liked her fine, and while she was attractive, I could put her out of my mind without much trouble, and I did. I drove on through the quiet town thinking about the Belicecs, up there in their house on the hill.
    Jack was asleep now, I was certain, and Theodora was probably in the living-room staring down at the town, right now. Most likely she was watching my headlights at this very moment, not knowing it was me. I imagined her sipping coffee, maybe smoking a cigarette, fighting the horror of what lay just under her feet in the billiard room - and building up her nerve to walk down there pretty soon, fumble for the light, then lower her eyes to that staring waxy-white thing on the kelly-green felt of the table.
    Some two hours later when the phone rang, my bed lamp was still on; I'd been reading, not expecting I could fall asleep for a while, yet I had, right away. It was three o'clock; reaching out for the phone, I noted the time automatically.
    "Hello," I said, and as I spoke I heard the phone at the other end crash down into its cradle. I knew I'd answered at the first ring; no matter how tired I am at night, I always hear and answer the telephone instantly. I said, "Hello!" again, a little louder, jiggling the phone, the way you do, but the line was dead, and I hung up. A year ago the night operator, whose name I'd have known, could have told me who'd called. It would probably have been the only light on her board at that time of night, and she'd have remembered which one it was, because they were calling the doctor. But now we have dial phones, marvellously efficient, saving you a full second or more every time you call, inhumanly perfect, and utterly brainless; and none of them will ever remember where the doctor is at night, when a child is sick and needs him. Sometimes I think we're refining all humanity out of our lives.
    Sitting on the edge of the bed, I began to curse tiredly. I was fed up - with telephones, with events and mysteries, with interrupted sleep, women who bothered me when I only wanted to be left alone, with my own thoughts, with