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  PRAISE FOR THOMAS TESSIER!

  RAPTURE

  "Ingenious. A nerve-paralyzing story."

  -Publishers Weekly

  "Nerve-tingling suspense."

  -Booklist

  "Truly scary."

  -Kirkus Reviews

  "Top-flight terror!"

  -Washington Post Book World

  "Shocking. As horrifying as a novel can be."

  -Rocky Mountain News

  "Superb!"

  -Chicago Sun Times

  "Completely frightening!"

  -Richmond Times Dispatch

  FINISHING TOUCHES

  "A novel of erotic cruelty... seductive and compulsively readable."

  -Publishers Weekly

  "A decidedly adult horror novel that deserves a wide audience."

  -Library Journal

  "A beguiling read through a compact yet splendidly evocative-even mesmerizingnovel of style and high entertainment."

  -Booklist

  "One of the most terrifying novels I have ever read"

  -Ramsey Campbell

  MORE PRAISE FOR THOMAS TESSIER!

  "Thomas Tessier is one of those writers who can find the unexpected poetry and subtlety in horror."

  -Peter Straub

  "Vastly talented... Tessier is a masterful practitioner of the art of dark fiction."

  -Publishers Weekly

  "Thomas Tessier is horror fiction's best kept secret."

  -Washington Post

  "Tessier is a vastly talented writer, who uses not just words, but always just the right word, to tantalize his readers:'

  -Rocky Mountain News

  "A master of quiet terror."

  -Anniston Star

  "Tessier is one of the most capable and conscientious writers to grace the contemporary field."

  -The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction

  "Tessier knows how to write a crackling good story."

  -The Tribune (San Diego)

  "Thomas Tessier is one of the genre's living masters. His novels and stories combine the visceral satisfactions of first-rate popular fiction with the aesthetic satisfaction of literary fiction at its best."

  -Bill Sheehan, author of At the Foot of the Story Tree

  "One of the very best writers of horror fiction of this generation."

  -Shadowings: The Reader's Guide to Horror Fiction

  Other Leisure books by Thomas Tessier:

  FINISHING TOUCHES

  THOMAS TESSIER

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  1. The Girl in the Very Long Dream ...........................1

  II. A Friend of the Family .......................................107

  III. Lateral Movement ..............................................143

  IV. Rendezvous with an Echo .................................205

  V. The Land of Lost Content ..................................283

  PART I

  The Girl in the

  Very Long Dream

  CHAPTER ONE

  This business with Diane was a bizarre flourish in Jeff's life. Their sessions were trivial but vaguely worrying. Should he be carrying on like this? At his age? But maybe this was the right age for such behavior to start manifesting itself. He didn't like that thought at all. Fortunately, Diane rescued him, as she so often did.

  "Honey ..."

  The voice of a teenager. She was standing with her back to him, slowly tugging a pair of tight shorts up over her girlish ass. She knew he loved to watch her, especially from behind. When they were together, she spent most of her time composing herself in pictures for him. The rest of the time, they fucked.

  "Hm?"

  "You gonna come see me again soon?"

  "Of course."

  "My folks are always out, you know...."

  He nodded, smiling as he tied his shoes.

  "Daddy's always working," she went on in that little-girl tone, her face a mild pout. "And my mother can't stand to be around the house. She's out somewhere with her friends every day."

  "I know," he said agreeably.

  "They leave me all alone here...."

  She had turned to face him, and now stood twirling her long blond hair idly in front of her breasts. They weren't quite as full as Jeff would have liked, but they weren't far off either, and he knew this could never be the ideal situation of his dreams.

  "You know I'll be back," he told her.

  "Really? Promise?"

  He was nearly a foot taller, and she had to look up at him as he stood before her. She pressed her lips with her thumb like a shy, fearful child. It always amazed him how she could invest her appearance with so much vulnerability. It was strangely moving, and he knew that was what he liked most about Diane.

  "Yes," he said. "I promise."

  She smiled sweetly. Now he could go. She pulled on a T-shirt and accompanied him to the door. He gave her a long, lingering kiss.

  "You won't tell your parents?" he asked.

  "Not if you come back."

  "You got me."

  He winked, and left. Traffic was light at this hour, and he was soon out of Los Angeles, heading into Ventura County. How lucky he'd been to find Diane! None of his previous attempts had worked out the way he had hoped. Diane was an angel. A real find, no question.

  Still, he told himself a moment later, the whole thing was really rather silly. He turned on the radio so he wouldn't have to think about it any more.

  His telephone was ringing when he unlocked the door of his condominium. Odd-not just because of the hour, but because he rarely received calls at home.

  "Hello?"

  "Jeff? Is that you?"

  The voice was old and somewhat frail. He hadn't heard it in several years, but he knew it at once. He grasped the situation at once. A scenario he had run through his mind many times over the years was now, finally, about to be played out. He was ready for it.

  "Yes, Kitty, it's me."

  "Goodness, it sounds like you're just across the street," his aunt exclaimed.

  "How are you?" he asked, smiling.

  "Jeff, I'm sorry to call so late, but I've been trying to get you all evening and-"

  "I was out," Jeff interrupted. "In fact, I just came in the door this minute."

  "Jeff, I'm afraid I have some bad news to tell you...."

  She was obviously quite uncomfortable at having to use the telephone for this task.

  "That's all right, Aunt Kitty," Jeff said, trying to make it a little easier for her. "I expected it sooner or later."

  "Yes ... Your father ...

  "I know. I understand."

  "His heart..."

  They talked a while longer, and then Uncle Roy managed to get on the line and exchange a few words. He wanted to assure Jeff that he would make all the necessary arrangements for the wake and the funeral.

  "Will you...uh...?"

  "I'll be on the first plane I can get in the morning," Jeff said, wondering if they really thought he might pass up his own father's burial.

  Jeff reserved a seat on an early flight. Then he dialed a number in Van Nuys. Ted Benedictus, groggy with sleep, was soon alert and concerned as Jeff explained the situation.

  The only alcohol in the house was half a bottle of Scotch that Jeff hadn't touched in ages. Now he poured a large measure into a glass with some ice. He smoked a cigarette, drank, and thought.

  He hadn't been home in-what was it?-seven or eight years. His whole life was here now, in California. But his past, or at least the most important part of it, was there, on the other side of the country. He felt eager and excited about going back.

  And the best part of it was that Jeff had spent the last several hours thinking about Georgianne.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jeff drove wi
th all the windows down. The air was like warm syrup, but he didn't turn on the air conditioner, because he hated sealing himself in a car, even on a scorcher of a day like this. It was the middle of the afternoon, early May, and Connecticut was experiencing a premature heat wave. Sweat trickled down Jeffs back, sides, and chest beneath his halfunbuttoned shirt.

  It should have taken two hours to get where he was going, the town of Millville, up in the Brass Valley, but traffic and tolls had slowed him. The car, which he'd rented at La Guardia Airport, was only a year old, but it moved like a pig. One of the speaker wires must have been loose, because there were bursts of static that soon forced Jeff to turn off the radio.

  So his father was dead. Chopping wood on a hot afternoon at the age of seventy-six. The damn fool. What did he expect? Who bothered to chop wood at the beginning of May? Perhaps his father simply didn't care any more. Jeff lit another cigarette.

  The wake was tomorrow, the funeral the day after. Jeff thought he should feel sorrier about his father's death, but the truth was he didn't. It was more of an inconvenience than anything else, just about the only thing that could force him to travel clear across the country. But now that he was here, he felt a curious sense of anticipation. It might yet prove interesting, after all this time.

  Jeff and his father hadn't been close in a long time, and they had hardly communicated at all since his mother died several years ago. There wasn't any open hostility between them, but neither was there any real warmth. Father and son were alike in this regard: each was a very separate, private person.

  The traffic on 1-95 thinned out a little after Westport, and Jeff was able to make better time. Connecticut looked unfamiliar to him, what he could see of it from the highway. He had been living in Southern California for twenty years and had no desire to be anywhere else. He had it made out there.

  The Waterbury sign appeared just after Bridgeport, and Jeff drifted into the right lane. He fell in behind a semi with its signal light blinking. He knew the exit was just ahead, although he couldn't see it, but he suddenly felt hesitant and indecisive. The truck stayed on the highway, and he followed it, passing the Waterbury exit. He cursed as he put his foot down and swung the car out to pass, but he didn't know whether he was angry with the truck driver or with himself. Now he would have to take route 63 north, the old New Haven Road. He knew it well enough, having traveled it many times. When you were in high school in the Brass Valley, New Haven was an attractive place to visit.

  He caught the beginning of rush hour at New Haven, which slowed him some more. Once he got out of the city again, he was pleased to find route 63 in better shape than he remembered it. He seemed to fly up through Woodbridge and Bethany in no time. The road was wider, and there were new buildings everywhere. Twenty years ago it had still been vaguely rural, but now it was just another stretch of suburban America.

  As Jeff approached Millville he slowed down to an almost stately cruise. Now he knew every side street, and the changes were even more glaring. A meadow that had been used as a picnic ground had given way to tract housing. High on one hill was a cluster of condominiums. The drive-in was still there, but it apparently no longer played creature features for audiences of impassioned high-school kids. Now-sign of the times-it showed three X-rated "adult hits" nightly. A little farther along, he discovered that the driving range had been replaced by a small industrial park. Across from it, two national hamburger chains had pitched their gaudy camps.

  He spotted a familiar mailbox ahead on the right. It was the same, still there, with the name Slaton painted in black on the side. Jeff had known the Slaton family well when he was in high school, and the sight of their mailbox made him smile. But then, abruptly, he pulled the car off the road and stopped. He had just noticed, a couple of yards from the Slaton driveway, a For Sale sign with the name and telephone number of a local realtor. It was a shock, and Jeff felt as if another fragment of his youth had just died within him. He got out of the car.

  The driveway, exactly as he remembered, ran about a hundred yards up a gradual slope and then swung around behind some trees to the house, which was only partially visible from the road. It was impossible to tell if anyone was there. But the bushes along the drive spilled over onto it, and weeds sprouted up through wide cracks in the asphalt. The mailbox, and even the For Sale sign, looked dirty and neglected. They had to be gone, Jeff thought sadly. Perhaps Mr. Slaton had been transferred somewhere else, and they had moved without waiting for the house to be sold. Then Jeff shook his head and smiled, realizing that he had lost track of time. By now Mr. Slaton was probably retired, the family scattered. Time to sell the house and move to a smaller place, a better climate. Yes, that was the most likely explanation. Not that it made him feel any better.

  He drove on into Millville. Many of the businesses on Main Street had changed, but the old buildings were still the same. No hint of a new skyline here. Millville was aptly named. It was an old mill town, struggling to survive in a new era. That industrial park on the edge of town was probably only a recent flicker of hope. A few of the kids Jeff had known would still be here, but most, like him, would have gone elsewhere to make their lives.

  Jeff drove through the quiet residential streets on the east side of town, and finally parked in front of a small, blistering, white Cape Cod house. Uncle Roy and Aunt Kitty came out to the front lawn to greet him. They looked fragile, but their movements were energetic, and he felt surprising strength in them as they hugged him. Still pretty sturdy, he thought. No doubt his father had been the same, right to the end.

  "How long has it been?" Uncle Roy asked as they went into the house.

  It was a perfectly natural question, but the old man immediately realized his mistake, and his wife flashed him a nasty look in case he didn't.

  "I'm ashamed to say I haven't been back here since Mom died," Jeff admitted promptly.

  Aunt Kitty nodded sorrowfully and tried to smooth it over by fussing about some food. Jeff declined, saying he had eaten on the road. It wasn't true, but he wasn't hungry. He merely felt tired now, very tired. Uncle Roy brought him a cold beer that was so good Jeff drained the can in minutes, then leisurely sipped a second.

  "Let me get your suitcases out of the car," Uncle Roy offered while Jeff relaxed.

  "No. Leave it."

  "Well, later, then."

  "No," Jeff repeated. "I'm going to stay over at my father's house tonight."

  "We've got the spare room all ready for you," Aunt Kitty protested. You don't want to stay at the other house all alone."

  "That's right," Uncle Roy echoed.

  The two of them were so kind and well-meaning that Jeff hated to disappoint them, but his mind was made up.

  "Thanks, really," he said, "but it's still my house and I want to spend the night there. At least tonight. I have a lot of old junk stored there and I want to begin sorting through it."

  "Maybe tomorrow, then," Uncle Roy said quietly.

  "Uh ... you said that Dad didn't suffer. Is that right?"

  "Yes," Aunt Kitty confirmed. "Next-door neighbor, Mr. Hall-remember him? He called us right after he called the ambulance. Said he'd seen George chopping wood in the backyard. It was a hot day, just like this one."

  "We've been having a helluvan early hot spell," Uncle Roy put in quickly.

  "Anyway," Aunt Kitty continued. "Next time he looked that way, he saw George lying on the ground. He didn't wait; he called the ambulance right away, then us, and then he ran outside. He told us later that your father seemed to be gone already when he got to him."

  "He couldn't tell," Uncle Roy added. "But he said he seemed to be gone. He couldn't find no pulse or breath in him at all."

  "I'm just glad he didn't go through a lot of pain."

  "No, he didn't. Thank God for that," Aunt Kitty said.

  She showed Jeff his father's obituary in the local newspaper, and while he tried to read the brief notice she told him how good the ambulance crew was at CPR, how they'd got to the
house in seven minutes, according to Mr. Hall, and ... Jeff found himself blinking to keep his eyes open. The flight, followed by the long hot drive, was catching up with him. The beer was good, but it made him sleepier. He rose from his seat to leave.

  "1'm sorry," he said. "I guess I'm jet-lagged."

  "Sure you are," Uncle Roy said, understandingly. "Here's your dad's keys. This one's the house and this one the garage."

  "Thanks." Jeff put the keys in his pocket. "I haven't even thought to ask how Nancy is."

  Nancy Lisker was his cousin, two years older and, like him, an only child.

  "Oh, she's fine," Aunt Kitty said. "She'll be there tomorrow, in the afternoon and in the evening."

  "Good," Jeff said. "It'll be nice to see her again."

  "You know where the Butler Funeral Home is?" Uncle Roy asked. "Sure you do. The wake's there, from two to four in the afternoon and from seven to nine in the evening."

  "You come around for breakfast in the morning," Aunt Kitty told him. "Anytime'll be fine."

  "I'll call you first," Jeff said. "Uh ... is there something I should do or somebody I should see about any of the arrangements? There must be a lot of things to get squared away."

  "The wake and the funeral and burial are all taken care of," Uncle Roy said soothingly, a hand on Jeffs back. "Just get yourself a good night's sleep, and we can talk tomorrow. Dick Hudson's your dad's lawyer. He'll be at the wake, and he'll fill you in on any unfinished business."

  Jeff hugged Uncle Roy and Aunt Kitty again, and finally got away. They were fine people, but he wasn't in the right frame of mind to enjoy their company. As soon as he got in the car, he felt more awake.

  It took less than ten minutes to drive to his father's house, his house, on the other side of town. It was another Cape, but with a better yard and on a nicer street. Had it been repainted in the last seven or eight years? Probably, but Jeff couldn't be sure. He pulled the car into the small driveway, took his two suitcases out of the back seat, and went inside.