A Dark Matter by Peter Straub Page B

hillside, except it’s too low to be a real hillside. You want us to be looking up. Spencer, did you really go to West Point?”
    Mallon laughed in surprise. “I did, yes, Hootie, I did. I’m proud to be able to say that.”
    “But didn’t you say that you went to the University of California at Santa Cruz?” asked the Eel, now looking indignant instead of impatient. “Where you met the guy who wrote Love’s Body?”
    “Is there some reason we are dicking around like this?” Hayward asked.
    “You doubt him?” asked Meredith, so pale that she seemed almost bloodless.
    “All these questions,” Mallon said. “Let’s save that spirit for when we can really use it. Don’t waste energy in the doubt game.”
    “Why does doubt have to be a game?”
    “Eel, don’t you see …” Meredith was unable to speak above a whisper.
    Mallon silenced her with a glance. “Doubt undermines good energy. Above all, Eel, you don’t want to doubt me. Right now—a moment from now—we are going to walk into this stupendous meadow together, and we must be united, one force, because none of this is going to work unless every element in our chain, down to the molecular level, is directed unswervingly at our common goal. We have to be like a laser beam, guys—to smash through the consensus perceptual level, that’s what it takes. Do you think you’re here by accident?”
    When he looked around at his circle of followers, fixing each one with his stare, Spencer Mallon appeared, if only to Howard Bly, to be a couple of feet taller than anyone else.
    “Keith, are you here by some kind of random selection? Brett, are you?”
    Hayward shook his head. “Uh uh, no way.”
    Milstrap said, “Whatever you say, boss.” Balanced on one leg, his hand on his hip, Milstrap was completely restored to his unpleasant self. Hootie wondered what had gone wrong with him, and how it had been set right so quickly.
    “You two, Meredith, and the kids here, you bring us into balance—get it, Eel?”
    The Eel swallowed.
    “Know what I studied at West Point? Among other things, chemistry . This may amaze you, Eel, but at heart I am a scientist. At Santa Cruz, besides philosophy I studied psychology. Also a science . Data, data, data—you spend thousands upon thousands of hours doing research with lab animals, and then you interpret your data. The second I heard about the four of you, I knew you’d be perfect for this experiment of ours.
    “And now, Eel, if you and your friends are ready, if all of us are ready, we will walk into our meadow and find our perfect valley. I’ll tell you what, prove I’m right—you show me where it is.”
    With considerably more mockery than the first time, he swept his arm toward the meadow, inviting Eel to demonstrate the perfection of his research methods. This was going to be as much an experiment as those involving the sun reflectors and wooden boxes that marched down the right side of the meadow.
    “Hell, I’ll do it,” said Dilly. He strode up to the nearly waist-high concrete barrier that marked the end of Glasshouse Road, swung his shopping bag over the barrier, then slipped over it one leg at a time. Following closely behind him, Boats vaulted over, bag and all.
    “Come on, Eel,” said Dill. “Let’s show him where it is.”
    Clumsily, the Eel swung over the concrete wall. Even more clumsily, Hootie came after, and while he was brushing concrete dust off his shirt, Mallon leaped atop the barrier, then jumped down, all in one graceful gesture. He extended a hand to Meredith, who settled her blue-jeaned rump on the top of the barrier and swung her legs over in tandem.
    Keith Hayward tried to imitate Mallon’s effortless agility. He nearly fell off the barrier, but caught himself in time to jump down. Brett Milstrap went over in the style of Dilly-O, one leg at a time, but less nimbly. He muttered, “Scraped the family jewels.” When Boats and Keith Hayward started to laugh, Hayward cut himself off