Lifeforce by Colin Wilson Page A

reactions. His feelings seemed numb. He was certain of only one thing: that some instinctive part of him refused to believe it.
    Within five minutes, the lights of central London were below them. Fallada was saying: “Amazing things, these Grasshoppers. I’m told they can do four hundred miles an hour, and land on a two-foot space in the middle of a traffic jam.” He recognised the green light on the S.R.I. building near Piccadilly. They planed down towards the black expanse of Hyde Park. The searchlight caught the still waters of the Serpentine.
    The Grasshopper hovered, then landed without a bump. He let Fallada climb out first. Caine advanced to meet them; he saw Bukovsky and Ash behind him. Twenty yards away, they had erected canvas screens.
    Caine said: “Sorry to bother you, sir. But it won’t take more than five minutes.”
    “What makes you think it’s her?”
    Bukovsky said: “It’s her, all right. But they need you to identify her. You were the last to see her.”
    They led him behind the screens. The body was covered with a blanket. He could see the legs were spread apart, the arms outflung.
    Caine pulled back the blanket, shining the torch. For a moment, he was doubtful. The left eye was blackened; the lips were swollen and bruised. Then he saw the shape of the chin, the teeth, the high cheekbones. “Yes, that’s her.”
    “You’ve no doubt?”
    “None whatever.”
    Fallada pulled back the rest of the blanket. She was naked except for a green nylon smock and an overcoat; both were open. The body was smeared with blood from the neckline to the knees. In the light of the torch, he could see teethmarks in the flesh. One nipple was missing. Rubber shoes lay within a few feet of the body. When Fallada touched the head, it rolled sideways.
    Caine said: “She found the clothes in a cleaner’s cupboard.”
    Fallada asked: “How long has she been dead?”
    “About nine hours, we think.”
    “In other words, she was murdered about an hour after escaping from the Space Research building. What an incredible thing to happen. Do we know if there’s a sex maniac on the loose in this area?”
    “We’ve no record of one. The last murder of this type was in Maidstone a year ago.”
    Carlsen straightened up from his knees. His trousers were wet. He asked Fallada: “But why do you think he bit her?”
    Fallada shrugged and shook his head. “It’s a familiar sexual perversion. It’s known as vampirism.”
    He woke up in darkness. The luminous dial of his watch showed two-thirty.A.M.orP.M.?He reached out and flicked down the switch of the soundproofing mechanism; immediately, he could hear the laughter of his children. That answered that question; it was afternoon. He pressed the switch that controlled the blinds; they slipped upwards, flooding the room with sunlight. He lay still for another five minutes, disciplined to move. Jelka came in with a tray.
    “Here’s some coffee. How are you feeling?”
    He yawned. “I’ll tell you when I wake up.” He struggled into a sitting position. “I slept well.”
    “You certainly did.”
    Seeking the significance of her words, he looked again at his watch, and noticed the day: Thursday. He said: “My God, how long have I been asleep?”
    “I make it… nearly thirty-three hours.”
    “Why didn’t you wake me?”
    “Because you looked worn out.”
    The two children came in and climbed on the bed. They were both girls and both blonde. Jeanette, the four-year-old, got into bed and asked for a story. Jelka said, “Daddy wants to drink his coffee.” She led them firmly out.
    He stared out of the window, and wondered whether the grass was really greener or whether it was some trick of his eyes. He tasted the coffee and experienced a flood of sensual delight. For the first time since he returned to earth, he felt no residue of tiredness. Outside, the gardens and houses of the Twickenham Garden Suburb looked peaceful and beautiful in the sunlight. Now, as he rubbed