Part 1 (1/2)

Richard Laymon.

Alarums.

Melanie Conway is a pale and lovely violinist who has strange visions of death. When she crashes to the floor during a concert her boyfriend, Bodie, is at hand to hear her fearful premonition of disastera Penelope Conway is even more stunning than her sister but her looks frequently get her into trouble. Although she takes herself seriously as a writer, men only seem impressed by her beauty. The last thing she needs is a series of obscene phone callsa Captivated by these two alluring sisters, Bodie finds himself drawn deep into a strange mystery that is fired by s.e.x and haunted by blood.

TO KATHLEEN AND KELLY LAYMON, MY MOM AND DAD,.

WHO BROUGHT ME INTO THE WORLD AND RAISED ME WITH LOVE AND HAVE ALWAYS STOOD BESIDE ME.

- FROM ME WITH LOVE -.

E'en the Daws and Jackals trembled with Afright.

As strange Alarums, crying Chaos, bruited through the Night.

'The Portent' Henry Loveworth.

CHAPTER ONE.

Bodie fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable way to sit on the straight-backed chair. It was impossible. The chair had been designed by a s.a.d.i.s.t.

The music, too.

He could be at a movie right now. Or back at his apartment, sprawled in his lounge chair, reading a book. Instead, here he was in Wesley Hall on a chair grinding his b.u.t.t bones to powder, listening to a string quartet.

The music fairly lilted.

Boring as h.e.l.l. Doug Kershaw or Charlie Daniels, now those are a couple of guys who know how to treat a violin.

Melanie, of course, wouldn't be caught dead stomping her foot and sawing out a lively number.

She sat there as stately as a mortician, stiff-backed and prim, playing what sounded like the background score of 'Four Wimps at Tea-Time'.

Melancholy Melanie.

She looked like a poet contemplating suicide. Thin, almost cadaverous. Glossy black hair hanging to her shoulders. Big, gloomy eyes set in a face so white it seemed nearly translucent. A very long, pale, vulnerable neck. And the choker, of course - one of those velvet bands around her neck.

Bodie found her chokers very erotic. Especially when that was all she had on.

'If I unfasten that,' he had once asked, 'will your head fall off?'

'Perhaps.'

Straddling Melanie, he'd reached behind her neck to remove the narrow ribbon.

She'd whispered, 'Not yet,' held onto her ears, then said, 'Now.'

Sensitive and haunted, but not without a sense of humor.

Bodie s.h.i.+fted his position on the chair. Crossing his legs helped a little. He'd been smart enough, this time, to take a front row seat. At the last concert, he'd been so boxed in that even the small relief of crossing his legs had been impossible. He checked his wrist.w.a.tch. Ten till nine. Fifty minutes down, seventy to go. He wondered if he could survive that long.

A number ended to quiet applause, and Bodie clapped harder than anyone.

They'll think I'm truly appreciative, he thought. They'll be right. I appreciate the fact that it's over.

Melanie looked at him. Her expression didn't change. Distant, solemn and rather haughty, befitting the occasion. Bodie winked.

Melanie quickly turned her eyes away, but blushed. The color suffused her creamy neck and face. She squirmed just a bit, then stiffened her back even more than before, tucked down her chin firmly against the violin and waited, rigid, for the music to resume.

The new tune sounded much like the last one.

Here we go again.

Bodie glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch again. Only two minutes had pa.s.sed.

Don't worry, he told himself. This will end. Eventually. Then freedom. Stretch. Get the kinks out. A nice long walk to Sparkey's. A salami pizza, a pitcher of beer. Relief.

All you've got to do is hold on until ten o'clock.

Does anyone really enjoy this music? he wondered. The hall was pretty crowded. Everyone here couldn't possibly be the lover, relative, or friend of a performer. Well, plenty of them were students and teachers from the music department. They probably eat it up, the same way Melaniea She jerked as if she'd been kicked in the back, but n.o.body was behind her. She flung her arms across her face. The violin fell to her lap. The cello player to her left dodged the tip of her flying bow. She made strangled, gasping sounds. The violin dropped to the floor as tremors jolted her body.

Bodie leaped up and ran to her.

A seizure?

Heart attack? Epileptic fit?

He lurched to a stop in front of Melanie, careful not to step on the violin, and grabbed her wrists. Her rigid arms jumped and twitched in his grip as if an electric current were sizzling through them.

'Melanie!' His voice had no effect.

He forced her arms down and pinned them to the sides of her thras.h.i.+ng body. Her face was inches from his - twisted and gray, eyes rolled back so that only the whites showed. Her tongue lolled out. Spittle dribbled down her chin. Her wheezing breath was hot on Bodie's face.

Somebody b.u.mped into him. He realized they were surrounded by a crowd. People murmured to each other, some asked questions, some called out advice.

'Get back!' he snapped.

He was scared. He'd never been so scared. Melanie looked as if she were being killed - ripped apart inside or electrocuted.

'Paramedics,' said a voice behind him. 'I'll call the paramedics.'

'Yeah, quick!' Bodie yelled.