Free The House of Doors - 01 by Brian Lumley Page A

the road and brought his car to a halt in the car park midway between the spurs.
    “I should very much like to go with you,” said Varre as they all got out of the car. “This is my first time here.”
    “By all means,” the Minister told him. “But as you’ll discover, there’s not a lot to see.”
    Gill said, “We’ll go up in the first car, if that’s okay? The sooner she gets this shoulder seen to the better.”
    “Fine,” Anderson told him, holding back a sigh of annoyance. He gave Turnbull a nod. “Jack, you go with them.”
    The three narrowed their eyes against a cold wind, followed the threads of cable receding dizzily away up the steep slope and looping between the lift’s pylons. The whole setup was. distinctly utilitarian; the Castle wasn’t yet a tourist attraction, and not likely to be for a long, long time. They got into the stationary car and fastened their belts, and up above chains started rattling as the car gave a lurch and a sway and commenced its ascent.
    Midway, the number-two car passed them on its way down. It contained four Americans, conversing in less than boisterous tones, all round-eyed and obviously still in awe of what they’d been looking at. They wore lapel badges which proclaimed them members of SCOPE.
    “SCOPE?” Turnbull looked at Gill quizzically. “Sounds somehow military?”
    Gill shook his head. “Society for the Correlation of Paranormal Experiences,” he said. “But I agree, it gives the wrong impression. So does ESP, for that matter.”
    “Paranormal experiences?” Turnbull didn’t attempt to conceal his bewilderment. “Ghostbusters, up here?”
    Gill shrugged. “Apparently the American vice-president’s cousin is a member—or something. Someone pulled some strings, and that’s a fact. Anyway, they’re listed amongst this week’s VIPs. A dozen of them.”
    Getting out at the landing stage, Gill escorted the girl through the wicket gate in the high perimeter fence. Turnbull entered with them but remained at the gate while Gill took the girl to the first-aid post—a marquee which reminded Turnbull of nothing so much as a field hospital.
    Inside the marquee a muscular, short-cropped paramedic type was waiting for them. He introduced himself and got right on with it. “I’m a physiotherapist”—he smiled at Angela—“when I get the chance, anyway. But I’ve been up here for three months now and you’re my first case. I’ve been hoping one of the cable cars would crash!”
    While he spoke he sat her down in a chair, took her right arm and extended it horizontally. “Can I see the shoulder?” he said. “Please don’t say no or I’ll get the sack! Sir, will you open her parka?” He must take Gill for her husband or something. Gill thought: What’s a joker like you doing in a nice place like this ? But he did it anyway. “And the blouse—just the top button.” Again Gill obeyed. Angela said nothing, just sat there white and hurting.
    The medic’s hard fingers slid gently under the collar of her blouse onto her shoulder and worked there, exploring the bones. He shook his head, frowned, said, “Nothing broken, anyway. One or two things are a bit out of line, that’s all. Ma’am, can you lean forward just a little?”
    Her arm was still extended, held there where he grasped her wrist. As she tentatively leaned her weight forward he turned her wrist sharply and her shoulder made an audible click ! She cried out, slumped down in the chair, and the medic stopped smiling and clowning, gently folded her arm and laid her hand in her lap. “Done,” he said. “I hope!”
    “Ah— oh!” she said. But there was more surprise than pain in her tone. She slowly rotated her shoulder, then glanced at Gill and smiled. He saw small tears in the corners of her eyes and felt an unreasoning urge to hit the medic on the nose. If he had, he knew the man would probably break him in half—but he wanted to anyway. It was a peculiar feeling, an emotion