The Face

hopeless.”
        “Hopeless,” Fric agreed, but he was thinking less about other people than about his own circumstances.
        “If you came to me or Mrs. McBee, however, we’d drop anything we were doing to run and see those big greasy freaks because we know you can be taken at your word.”
        This statement immensely heartened Fric, and he sat up straight in his chair. Into his mind crowded all the things about which he wanted to tell Mr. Truman-Mysterious Caller stepping out of a mirror and flying through the attic rafters, spirits trying to come through the telephone cord and into your ear when you pressed *69, guardian angels with strange rules, child-eating Moloch, the Los Angeles Times with the story of his kidnapping-but he hesitated too long, trying to put all this stuff in order, so it wouldn’t gush out of him in one hysterical torrent.
        Mr. Truman spoke first: “Fric, until I can troubleshoot it and figure out what needs to be repaired, this voltage-flow problem in the alarm system has me concerned.”
        The security chief’s words might as well have been the three-pronged hook on a fisherman’s well-cast fly, so firmly did they snare Fric’s full attention. The phony voltage-flow story again.
        “Nothing’s going to happen, but I’m a worrier. Your dad pays me to worry, after all. So until this is fixed, I’d rather you didn’t sleep alone on the third floor.”
        An edgy quality in Mr. Truman’s eyes suggested that he himself had seen big greasy ETs, or expected to see them shortly.
        “I’d like to set up camp for the night in the living room of your [499] suite,” he continued. “Or you could come down to my apartment, sleep in my bed, and I’d move to the sofa in my study. What do you think of that?”
        “Or I could sleep on your sofa, and you wouldn’t have to give up your bed.”
        “That’s thoughtful of you, Fric. But I’ve already changed the sheets on my bed in case that was the option you chose. Now if it turns out I changed them for no reason and used up an unscheduled set of linens, I’ll have to answer to Mrs. McBee. Don’t put me in that position, I beg of you.”
        Fric knew that Mr. Truman wanted the sofa for one reason and one only: He intended to be stationed between the entrance door to his apartment and the bedroom in which Fric would be sleeping, not because Fric might fall down a set of stairs while sleepwalking, but because maybe some thugs would break down the apartment door and try to get to Fric, in which case they’d have to go through Mr. Truman.
        Something was going on, for sure.
        “All right,” Fric said, worried but also pleasantly excited. “I’ll come to your place, and you can have the sofa. This’ll be great. I’ve never stayed overnight away from home.”
        “Well, you’re not exactly going to be away from home.”
        “No, sir, but I’ve never been in your apartment,” Fric said. “Not even before you came here. It’s unknown territory, like the dark side of the moon-you know?-so this is like a totally real sleep-over.”
        While he should have been brooding about how to avoid being kidnapped and killed, Fric instead found himself thinking that if they stayed up late, maybe they could make s’mores and sit on the floor by candlelight and tell ghost stories. He knew that this was a stupid idea, everything from the stupid s’mores to the stupid ghost stories, but the thought delighted him, anyway.
        Consulting his wristwatch, Mr. Truman said, “It’s almost eight [500] o’clock.” He got to his feet and began transferring dishes from the table to the stainless-steel cart on which he’d brought them. “I’ll haul these to the kitchen, then we’ll get you set up at my place.”
        “I’d like to go up to the library and get a book,” Fric said, though he actually wanted to pee in the potted palm.
        Even in the security chief’s apartment, with a former cop standing armed guard, Fric wasn’t too keen on the idea of using the bathroom, where there would be mirrors. You were seriously vulnerable when you were peeing.
        Mr. Truman hesitated, glancing toward the windows, at the night, the rain, the fog.
        “I always fall asleep reading,” Fric pressed.
        “All right. But don’t take too long, okay? And once you’ve got the book you want, come straight to my apartment.”
        “Yes, sir.” He headed toward the exit from the pool room,