Read The Long Sleep for Free Online Page B

excited. They'd have been whooping if they had known that he wasn't tucked in bed with Allison, exhausted from lovemaking. The three of them entered the den and this time they closed the door all the way.
    He remained in the library for a few minutes, then returned to the hall and sidled down to the den door. But the heavy oak door was too thick to permit eavesdropping. What were they saying in there? What had they planned for him? Why? Well, whatever the hell they were doing, they didn't have his best interest at heart. It hardly mattered whether or not he knew all the details or even the main intent. They were not humanitarians.
    Noiselessly, he returned to the second floor bedroom. He found well cut, expensive streetclothes in the closet, and he slipped into them: knitted slacks, a blue silk shirt, a lightweight rayon jacket that had never come off any department store rack.
    He sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook Allison's shoulder until she stopped mumbling, opened her eyes, and yawned at him. “What is it? Hmmm?”
    “We're going away now,” he said. He tried to remain calm, tried not to consider the possibility that he'd lost his mind.
    “Away?” she asked.
    “Whisper,” he said.
    “Why are we going away?”
    Looking at her closely, he fancied that he could see the effects of some drug in the circles around her eyes, although she was otherwise fresh and healthy.
    She didn't like the way he was staring at her. “What are you doing? What's wrong?”
    “Get dressed while I explain.”
    “It's that urgent?”
    “Yes. Hurry.”
    She did as she was told, although she was obviously confused by his story of sinister plots and faceless men. When he was done, she took both his hands in her hands. “Joel, I think this was a bad dream. Just a nightmare, darling.”
    “It's true.”
    She touched his face. Her fingers were cool. “You did have a head injury. I don't want you to feel I'm being—”
    Her tone precluded his getting angry, for she was only concerned about him, nothing more. “If I fell off the garage roof,” he said, interrupting her to save time, “where's my head wound?”
    She was startled by the question.
    “Well?”
    “I . . . I don't understand.”
    He went to the window and opened it. “Come here.” He held her up so she could touch the hologram screen which was now showing a very realistic, three-dimension night scene complete with moon and stars. The traffic on the highway was preceded by headlights.
    She was stunned by the revelation. “But what in the world does it mean?”
    “I don't know. But I do know we aren't going to find out until we're away from here.”
    Clutching his arm, leaning on him for support, she said, “I'm scared, Joel.”
    “Me too.”
    He kissed her. He was pleased that implicit in her statement was a willingness to do whatever he wished. She had adjusted to the bizarre situation much faster than he had expected she would.
    “What now?” she whispered.
    “Do you have any money?”
    “Quite a bit in my purse.”
    “Good enough,” he said. “We may need it when we get away from here. We might be in another country; we might be a long way from home.”
    “But why?'
    “I keep asking myself the same question,” he said. “So far, I can't find an answer to it.” He kissed her again. Then: “Stay close behind me. Once we're out of the house, we can decide what to do. With money, we aren't helpless.”
    “Uncle Henry's no villain, though,” she said, still worrying at it.
    “Are you sure you have an Uncle Henry?”
    “Of course! There may be deception here . . . illusions . . . But that's part of the truth. Uncle Henry's real. And so is his Galing Research—and our marriage. I don't understand the faceless man.
    That's incredible! And the window . . . But the rest of it isn't a lie, Joel!”
    She unsettled him, for he was more ready to accept an entire fraud, no matter how fantastic it might be, rather than have to explain half of one. But in