House Haunted by Al Sarrantonio Page A

very still, looking into his eyes. Her hair was almost the color of cherries. She let his hand go so that he could touch her. There was a perfect mole on her right shoulder. He wanted to kiss her. She looked into his eyes. “Soon, Jan,” she whispered, a moan. “Soon you will have me.”
    She vanished beneath him.
    Someone struck Jan roughly, on the back. He was on the lumpy bed in a stuffy back room of the Kolno Inn. He was pulled away from the bed and turned around, then pushed back, feeling the lumps of the old mattress under him.
    The man who had pushed him now held him with his hand on Jan's chest and sat down next to him on the bed. It was the man in the trench coat. Behind him, to either side of the window, stood the two uniformed policemen. They looked tired; one of them yawned into his hand.
    The man in the trench coat took his hand off Jan's chest and flipped open a small notebook.
    â€œYou are Jan Pesak?” he asked, matter-of-factly. Jan said nothing.
    The man in the trench coat looked down at him; when he spoke he sounded almost bored. “I can make one phone call from downstairs,” he said quietly, “and it would be very hard for your mother indeed.”
    He looked at Jan dispassionately.
    â€œI am Jan Pasek,” Jan said.
    The man in the trench coat wrote something in the notebook and then closed it, putting it into his pocket. He studied Jan's face for a moment. He, too, looked as though he wanted to yawn.
    â€œYou caused me great inconvenience,” he said, and then he swung his fist in a high arc over the bed and hit Jan squarely on the nose.
    Jan felt an explosion of pain followed by numbness. Another blow struck his face. Dully, he looked up to see that the two uniformed cops had moved to the bed. The man in the trench coat stepped back. The uniformed men began to beat him methodically, raining blows on his ribs and stomach. He tried to roll into a fetal position. They struck his head and legs. One of them pulled him to the floor between them, and they began to kick him.
    Through the curtain of torment that was lowering him to unconsciousness, Jan heard the man in the trench coat tell them to stop. He heard the word “dinner.” Turning his head, he saw through one nearly closed eye the man in the trench coat leave with one of the uniformed men. The other sat on the bed, trying to light a cigarette with an uncooperative lighter.
    Jan attempted to sit up. The uniformed cop put his lighter aside on the bed. “Feel like fighting?” He laughed, dipping his boot toe into a sore spot in Jan's side, rolling him over onto his back.
    Jan felt another deep push of pain in his side and then blacked out.
    When he awoke they were carrying him through the lobby of the hotel. Edward, the proprietor, had another sandwich of sausage and bread in his hand. He turned his face away from Jan as he was dragged through the front doorway, his shoes scraping over the flagstones outside. Jan caught a glimpse of the roses through nearly closed lids. He could smell the flowers; their sweetness was mingled with the odor of his own blood.
    He was carried a long way. They had not been able to get their big car down the road to the hotel and so had had to walk. They dumped him once on the way, to rest. Jan heard one of the cops grunting, the other making fun of him for being out of shape.
    â€œYou would be, too, if you relied on using your head instead of your fists,” his partner replied. The other mocked him in return until the man in the trench coat told them to stop bickering.
    They dragged him to the town square, near the statue, where a dark sedan was parked at an angle. The blind woman was still in her accustomed spot. She cocked her head up and smiled at Jan as he was taken past her.
    â€œYou found your way to the hotel?” she said, giggling throatily, but Jan didn't know whether she spoke to him or the policemen.
    He was thrown into the backseat of the car. One of