Hell's Gate

Just as they were finishing, Intrepid came padding in for some bits of lunchmeat.
        Later, in bed, she said, “Are you sure it's safe?”
        “Positive. The portal only opens at that one time. Besides, there's Intrepid.”
        He whined from his position by the door.
        “But what do we do next, Vic? Call the police?”
        “No. They'd get curious about Jacobi.” He said it before he thought. Then he could have bitten off his tongue.
        “You think they killed him?” she asked.
        He tried to answer, could not.
        “What is it?”
        “I-” Well, he decided, it was best to get it over with. She would listen, leave. She would not want to stay with a killer. He told her swiftly, though not without emotion, conveying to her his own horror at having murdered a real, flesh and blood man.
        She did not go. She said nothing, merely accepted and understood. He felt warm hands on his chest. Then her comforting arms were around him. He tried to fight, to tell her that she would taint herself; that it would be no good; that she could never adjust to him as a killer. But she was softness, warmth. He let his sensations carry him like a roller coaster. They clutched each other to keep from falling out, riding higher and higher, growing ever more dizzy, breathless as the speed of their rollicking, rocketing love carried them faster and faster…
        He gave no thought to lizards or robots.
        It was not the time. Besides, they would not encounter the demons again until tomorrow night, twenty-four hours from now, at the witching hour of one-thirty.
        Now they were safe; or so he thought.
        He was making a big mistake.

CHAPTER 10
        
        They woke a little before nine the next morning. They might not have risen that early, except that Intrepid, who had quite obviously been awake for some time, decided to crawl onto their covers and perform his imitation of a child's rubber ball for their entertainment. When the pandemonium died down, there was no sense in pretending they could go back to sleep. They took turns calling Intrepid names and laughing at his happy responses, then took turns in the shower. He offered to let her go first, wary about the length of time a woman would take, was happily surprised when she came into the bedroom fifteen minutes later, finished.
        When he got downstairs, breakfast was ready.
        “Will you marry me?” he asked.
        She looked up from her eggs and toast, grinning. She ate like a she-wolf, the firm muscles of her tawny jaw tightening as she chewed. “Is this a proposal.”
        “Sounds like that to me.”
        “Extremely romantic. In my excitement, I am liable to spew a mouthful of eggs all over the table.”
        “Sorry I'm not the Gary Grant type.”
        They exchanged banter of that sort throughout the morning, Doris-Day-movie-talk on the surface, but easy and fun as such conversation can be between two people who have no need to impress each other. In the backs of both their minds, however, was the terror and doubt about the cellar and the things that came out of it in the early hours of the morning. It was only their ability to fill in the waiting with banter that kept them from madness.
        Victor did some heavy moving, taking the things out of a back guest room and storing them in the attic, then moving his art supplies upstairs, thankful that the heaviest pieces had come dismantled. It was odd to be engaged in domestic chores when his life might hang in the balance, when his future was totally unpredictable; but, there was nothing else to do. He had just finished putting together the heavy drafting table when Dr. West returned to check on his patient.
        He was astounded at the degree of healing on Salsbury's chest. He was perturbed when Salsbury evaded his questions about the nature of the infliction of the wound. When he discovered the bandaged arm where the vibrabeam had struck the night before, Lynda explained that he had fallen and cut it. Victor, playfully, he hoped, refused to let West look at it, joking about the medical debts he had already incurred beyond his ability to pay. The doctor left unsatisfied and suspicious, but ignorant, which was all they cared about.
        They ate a light dinner, agreed to go into town for supper and to pick up some of Lynda's clothes, a toothbrush, toiletries. It was impossible to persuade her to leave now, while