his and just disappear? Maybe his mind finally snapped. Maybe he had a stroke and forgot who he was. Wandered into the woods and fell off of one of those blind cliffs just outside of town. Drowned in those god-awful swamps. Swept out to sea by the Miskatonic. How do you know he’s still out there?”
“He didn’t just disappear. He left a message. He left a clue for us.”
“You mean the manuscript?”
“Yes! Did you read it?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t. The executors had it. They told me it was all made up. And if my father did go mad and walk out and abandon us, I didn’t want to see the evidence of it.”
“Well, I did read it, and it is not insanity. It is an accurate record of the things we faced. The things we fought. I know that for a fact because I was there. And even more importantly, that manuscript tells about a meeting your father had mere days before his disappearance. A meeting with a man—a German—Erich Zann. He is the key. If we find this man, we find your father.”
“We?”
“Yes, Rachel. I am going after Carter. I owe it to him, and I know he would do the same for me. But I’m old, and I’m weak. I can’t find him alone. If I am going to see this through, I need your help.”
“You want me to just to forget everything and go with you?”
“There’s nothing tying you here.”
She flinched, and I felt my heart drop as a wave of emotion passed over her face. What I had said was true, but that didn’t make it any easier for her, and it didn’t make the past any less painful. There was a reason she was alone in that house, with no family beyond Carter, and perhaps me, to consider. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I spoke hastily. I didn’t mean any harm.”
“No,” she said, holding up a hand to stop me, as I had seen her father do a hundred times before, “no, you’re right. You only told the truth. I think I’ll take that drink now.”
She turned and removed a decanter from a high shelf, pouring a draught of dark brown liquid. She looked at me and I nodded, so she poured a second.
“Rachel, I know the last few years have been difficult. I know that you never really forgave your father…”
Rachel spun on me in an instant. “That’s not true,” she said, pointing an accusing finger and cutting me off in mid-sentence. An awkward and uneasy silence followed. She picked up the second glass of brandy and handed it to me. “And you should know it’s not true. Growing up with my father wasn’t easy, but it taught me to be harder than most people. I never blamed him when you two went off for months at a time. I knew that it was part of his work, and I knew how important that work was. And I knew he loved me.”
“But what happened to William, that was…”
“No different,” she said, her voice quivering. “William was no man’s fool. He knew the risks, and he accepted them freely. I accepted them, too. No, Henry. I never blamed my father for what happened. But he blamed himself. If there’s been distance between us these past few years, it was his own guilt that made it, and it was his own guilt that kept it.”
We stood in silence, the ghosts of the past thick around us. I downed my drink and opened my briefcase. I removed a ream of paper and placed it on the kitchen counter.
“So that’s it, then?”
“That’s it. Just read it, Rachel. That’s all I ask. And if after you’ve read it you still think your father simply disappeared into the snows, then so be it. I just want you to give me this one chance. Will you do that at least, for an old friend?”
Rachel smiled again, and this time I sensed it was sincere. “For you,” she said, taking my hand, “and for my father, anything.”
And so we left it.
* * *
July 22, 1933
I had been awake barely a half hour this morning when there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Rachel, the same wild look in her eyes that I had seen on occasion in her father’s.
“All right,” she said,
“He didn’t just disappear. He left a message. He left a clue for us.”
“You mean the manuscript?”
“Yes! Did you read it?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t. The executors had it. They told me it was all made up. And if my father did go mad and walk out and abandon us, I didn’t want to see the evidence of it.”
“Well, I did read it, and it is not insanity. It is an accurate record of the things we faced. The things we fought. I know that for a fact because I was there. And even more importantly, that manuscript tells about a meeting your father had mere days before his disappearance. A meeting with a man—a German—Erich Zann. He is the key. If we find this man, we find your father.”
“We?”
“Yes, Rachel. I am going after Carter. I owe it to him, and I know he would do the same for me. But I’m old, and I’m weak. I can’t find him alone. If I am going to see this through, I need your help.”
“You want me to just to forget everything and go with you?”
“There’s nothing tying you here.”
She flinched, and I felt my heart drop as a wave of emotion passed over her face. What I had said was true, but that didn’t make it any easier for her, and it didn’t make the past any less painful. There was a reason she was alone in that house, with no family beyond Carter, and perhaps me, to consider. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I spoke hastily. I didn’t mean any harm.”
“No,” she said, holding up a hand to stop me, as I had seen her father do a hundred times before, “no, you’re right. You only told the truth. I think I’ll take that drink now.”
She turned and removed a decanter from a high shelf, pouring a draught of dark brown liquid. She looked at me and I nodded, so she poured a second.
“Rachel, I know the last few years have been difficult. I know that you never really forgave your father…”
Rachel spun on me in an instant. “That’s not true,” she said, pointing an accusing finger and cutting me off in mid-sentence. An awkward and uneasy silence followed. She picked up the second glass of brandy and handed it to me. “And you should know it’s not true. Growing up with my father wasn’t easy, but it taught me to be harder than most people. I never blamed him when you two went off for months at a time. I knew that it was part of his work, and I knew how important that work was. And I knew he loved me.”
“But what happened to William, that was…”
“No different,” she said, her voice quivering. “William was no man’s fool. He knew the risks, and he accepted them freely. I accepted them, too. No, Henry. I never blamed my father for what happened. But he blamed himself. If there’s been distance between us these past few years, it was his own guilt that made it, and it was his own guilt that kept it.”
We stood in silence, the ghosts of the past thick around us. I downed my drink and opened my briefcase. I removed a ream of paper and placed it on the kitchen counter.
“So that’s it, then?”
“That’s it. Just read it, Rachel. That’s all I ask. And if after you’ve read it you still think your father simply disappeared into the snows, then so be it. I just want you to give me this one chance. Will you do that at least, for an old friend?”
Rachel smiled again, and this time I sensed it was sincere. “For you,” she said, taking my hand, “and for my father, anything.”
And so we left it.
* * *
July 22, 1933
I had been awake barely a half hour this morning when there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Rachel, the same wild look in her eyes that I had seen on occasion in her father’s.
“All right,” she said,
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