One Door From Heaven

yonder, past the county blacktop? Now look seventy yards easterly of the entrance here to my farm, and you'll damn well see a car pulled in among the trees over there."
        Preston was confused and disappointed, having hoped that the Toad's proof of a healing close encounter might be an alien artifact obviously not manufactured on this world or snapshots of strange three-eyed beings-or, if the evidence was obviously fake, then something worth a good laugh.
        "That's the sneaky junk car she used to disguise herself when first she come here, pretendin' not to be big-time movie people."
        Preston frowned. "She?"
        "Miss Janet Hitchcock, like I told you, all the way here from Paramount Pictures down in California, your stompin' grounds. She's watchin' my place so she can see who her competition is!"
        A pair of high-power binoculars rested on the windowsill. The Toad handed them to Preston.
        The binoculars felt greasy. He winced and almost cast them aside in disgust.
        "Proof, sir," said the Toad. "Proof I'm not inventin' all this whoop-de-do about Paramount Pictures, proof I'm bein' foursquare fair with you, businessman to businessman, with full respect. It's just a speck of brightness in among the pines, but you'll see."
        Curious, Preston raised the field glasses and focused on the car in the woods. Even though the vehicle was white, it was tucked among the high-skirted trees, shrouded by shadows, and not easy to see in any useful detail.
        The Toad said, "She was leanin' against the front of it earlier, watchin' to where my driveway meets the county road, hopin' she'd see who you might be."
        The woman no longer leaned against the car. Maybe she had gotten into the vehicle. The interior was dark. He couldn't tell whether someone sat behind the wheel.
        "Whatever outfit you're with down there in California, I'm sure you're well connected to the movie world entire, you go to all the same parties as the stars, so you'll recognize a true big wheel like Miss Janet Hitchcock of Paramount Pictures."
        When he located the woman, Preston recognized her, all right. She stood apart from the car, not as deep in the shadows as it was, leaning now against a tree, identifiable even in the drowned light of the pending storm. Michelina Teresa Bellsong-ex-con, apprentice alcoholic, job-seeker without hope, niece to senile old Aunt Gen, cheap slut trying to reform, guilt-racked wretch looking for meaning in her stupid sorry little life, self-appointed savior of Leilani, would-be exhumer of Lukipela, self-deluded dragonslayer, useless nosy meddlesome bitch.
        Still watching Micky Bellsong, Preston said, "Yes, it's Janet Hitchcock, sure enough. Looks like I'm not going to be able to avoid a bidding war, Mr."-and he almost said Mr. Toad-"Mr. Teelroy."
        "Wasn't ever the case I was schemin' toward that, Mr. Banks. I just wanted you to know fair enough that you had competition. I'm not lookin' for more than my story's rightly worth."
        "I understand, of course. I'd like to make you an offer before I leave today, but it's my preference, in these cases, to present the deal in the presence of the whole family, since this much money will affect all of you profoundly. Is there a wife, sir, and children? And what of your parents?"
        "Ma and Pa, they're both long gone, Mr. Banks."
        "I'm sorry to hear that."
        "And I never did marry, not that I was wholly without some good opportunities."
        Still focused on the distant woman, Preston said, "So it's just you here alone in this rambling house."
        "Just me," said the Toad. "And much as I surely am a committed bachelor, I must admit… it gets awful lonely sometimes." He sighed. "Just me."
        "Good," said Preston, turning away from the window and, with savage force, smashing the heavy binoculars into the Toad's face.
        The blow produced a wet crunch, a strangled sob, and the man's immediate collapse.
        Preston threw the binoculars on the disheveled bed, where he would be able to find them later.
        Hooked on the windowsill were several canes. He seized one that featured a bronze wolf's head for a handle.
        On his back, flat on the floor, the Toad gazed up, his hideous nose now shattered and more repulsive than before, his unkempt beard bejeweled with blood, his blotchy face suddenly every bit as pale as it had previously been