Free Let's All Kill Constance by Ray Bradbury

you let me know?"
    "For the pictures? I'll throw her downstairs."
    "Someone else said that. Only it was to hell instead of the second balcony. Why would you throw her?"
    "There's gotta be a reason, right? Don't recollect! And why did you say you climbed up here? And what was it you called me?"
    "Clyde Rustler."
    "Oh, yeah. Him. It just came to me. Did you know I am Constance's father?"
    "What!?"
    "Constance's father. I thought I told you before. Now you can leave. Good night."
    I went out and shut the door on whoever that was and the pictures on the wall, whoever they were.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

    DOWNSTAIRS, I edged to the front of the theater and stared down. Then I stepped into the orchestra pit, and edged to the back wall and peered though a door into a long hall that diminished into complete night and a night inside that night, where all the old abandoned dressing rooms were.
    I was tempted to call a name.
    But what if she answered?
    Far off down that black corridor, I thought I heard the sound of a hidden sea, or a river flowing somewhere in the dark.
    I put one foot forward and pulled back.
    I heard that dark ocean heave on an endless shore again.
    Then I turned, and went away up through the great darkness, out of the pit into the aisles with everyone gone, rushing toward the doors leading out to an evening sky most dearly welcome.
    I carried Rattigan's incredibly small shoes over to her footprints and placed them neatly down to fit.
    At which instant I felt my guardian angel touching my shoulder.
    "You're back from the dead," said Crumley.
    "You can say that again," I said, staring at the wide red doorway of Grauman's Chinese with all those film creatures swimming in the dark.
    "She's in there," I murmured. "I wish I knew a way to get her out."
    "Dynamite tied to a bundle of cash might do it."
    "Crumley!"
    "Sorry, I forgot we were talking about Florence Nightingale."
    I stepped back. Crumley regarded Rattigan's tiny shoes lodged in prints put down a long, long time ago. "Not exactly ruby slippers," he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

    WE rode across town in a warm silence. I tried to describe the great black sea of Grauman's.
    "There's this big dressing-room cellar, maybe full of stuff from 1925, 1930. I have a feeling she might be there."
    "Save your breath," said Crumley.
    "Someone's got to go down there to see."
    "You afraid to go there alone?"
    "Not exactly."
    "That means damn right! Shut up and ride shotgun."
    We were soon at Crumley's. He put a cold beer against my brow.
    "Hold it there until you feel it cure your thinking."
    I held it there. Crumley switched on the TV and began switching through the channels.
    "I don't know which is worse," he said, "your gab or the local TV news."
    "Father Seamus Rattigan," the TV said.
    "Hold it!" I cried.
    Crumley switched back.
    "... Vibiana's Cathedral."
    And a blizzard of static and snow.
    Crumley hit the damned TV with his fist.
    ". . . Natural causes. Rumored to be future cardinal . . ."
    Another snowstorm. And the TV went dead.
    "I been meaning to have it fixed," said Crumley.
    We both stared at his telephone, telling it to ring.
    We both jumped.
    Because it did!

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

    IT was a woman, Father Rattigan's assistant, Betty Kelly, inarticulate, going down for the third time, begging for mercy.
    I offered what small mercy I had, to come visit.
    "Don't wait, or I'm dead myself," she wailed.
    Betty Kelly was out in front of St. Vibiana's when Crumley and I arrived. We stood for a long moment before she saw us, gave a quick, half-realized wave, and dropped her gaze. We came to stand by her. I introduced Crumley.
    "I'm sorry," I said. She raised her head.
    "Then you are the one was talking to Father!" she said. "Oh, Lord, let's get inside."
    The big doors were locked for the night. We went in through a door at the side. Inside she swayed and almost fell. I caught and led her to one of the pews, where she sat breathless.
    "We came as quick as we could," I said.
    "You