V 02 - Domino Men, The by Barnes-Jonathan Read Free Book Online Page B

followed it inside to discover that here, too, things had changed.
    There was a small bed (unmade, strewn with blankets) a table with a coffee-stained copy of the Mirror and a wind-up alarm clock which had stopped at 12:14.  What was new was the large framed photograph which hung on the furthest wall.  It was me as a child — an old publicity shot from Worse Things Happen at Sea — buck-toothed and freckly, captured in the midst of summoning on demand another fake grin for the cameras.  For a moment, I stood and stared.  Seeing stuff from that time is like witnessing the life of a stranger, as though I’m observing events which overtook someone I’ve never met but only read about in magazines.
    I noticed that the picture had been hung slightly askew.  The cat craned its sleek head upward as though he too were staring at it and disapproving of its wonkiness.  He began to yowl.
    “All right,” I said.  “I’ll get your food in a minute.”
    I walked over to the picture and tried to readjust it, although it seemed oddly weighted and refused to settle.  Irritated, I moved it aside.
    It was then that I first started to feel that something was seriously out of kilter here, sensed the first stirrings of the worm at the center of the apple.
    Behind the photograph was a sheet of smooth gray metal.  It had no hinges or openings apart from what looked like a small keyhole, its innards filled with pincers of serrated metal.  It resembled a piece of installation art or something from a locksmith’s nightmare.  The thing was an aberration — another mystery in my grandfather’s house.
    The doorbell rang.
    The cat gave out a startled meow, ran between my legs and stayed there, quaking.  Irrationally, I felt a tremor of fear.  There was a second’s peace before the bell rang again.  I let the photograph swing back into position, padded downstairs and opened the door.
    Standing outside was the baby-faced man, Mr. Jasper.
    “Hello, Henry.”
    The sight of him there of all places was so incongruous that, for a moment, I couldn’t speak.
    “We need your help,” he said.  “Invite me in.”
    The cat followed me downstairs and now crouched between my legs, shaking in fear.  “What are you doing here?” I asked at last.
    “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”  Jasper sounded as though he was making the most reasonable request, as though this wasn’t strange in the slightest, this unwarranted intrusion into an old man’s home.  “Your grandfather put certain safeguards in place.  Here and at the hospital.  We’re going to need your help.”
    “My help?  What on earth do you want?”
    “Just let me in, Mr. Lamb.”
    “No,” I said, suddenly afraid.  “I think you should leave right now.  You’re trespassing.”
    Jasper bared his teeth in a humorless approximation of a smile.  As if at the sight of the grimace, the cat wriggled free of my legs and bounded away.
    “Have you been following me?”
    “You’ll regret it if you don’t let me in.  We’ll huff and we’ll puff and we’ll blow your house down.”
    “Go away.”  My voice shook only a little.  “I’ll call the police.”
    “Oh, Mr. Lamb.  We’re above the police.”
    Then he did something very odd indeed.  His head snapped upwards and he stared fiercely toward the ceiling.  “I agree, sir,” he said, and there was nothing in his manner that suggested he was addressing me.  “I thought he’d be better looking too.”  His eyes flicked over my body.  “Slimmer, frankly.  And cleaner .”
    “Who are you talking to?” I asked.
    Jasper smiled.  “I’ll go,” he said.  “But remember that whatever happens next, you have brought it entirely upon yourself.”
    He turned and walked away.  I listened to the click of his expensive shoes upon the pavement but soon even this was swallowed by the sounds of London (the growl of traffic, the howl of sirens, the hectic tattoo of a car stereo) and there was nothing left to