Death Dream (2 page)

The baby woke up with a squalling cry. Susan flung the useless instruction book onto the stove top and hurried into the living room. More half-unpacked crates and cartons. At least she had cajoled the moving men into spreading the carpet for them and placing the sofa and chairs where she wanted them instead of leaving them in a jumble the way they had intended to. Little Philip was squirming in his makeshift cradle, a colorful oversized wicker basket they had picked up on their honeymoon in Mexico a hundred years ago. The baby was wet and decidedly unhappy in these strange surroundings. Susan reached for the bag of diapers she had left on the sofa beside his basket.

"What's the matter?" Dan asked.

She turned to see her husband standing tensely in the kitchen doorway, biting his lip the way he always did when he was harried. His sports jacket was gone; his short-sleeved shirt looked wrinkled and soggy, his tie was askew.

Angela stood slightly behind him, looking worried, almost scared in all this confusion and turmoil.

"Did the car start?" Susan asked.

"Not yet. The damned battery must be shot. If we had driven from Dayton it would've been okay, probably recharged itself. But now it's gone."

While her hands automatically removed Phil's wet diaper, Susan said, "You'll have to find somebody who can jump it, then."

Dan shook his head. "It's not holding a charge. We're going to need a new battery."

"But they guaranteed it for as long as we own the car."

Another shake. "That means five years, max. We've had the battery since '90. I checked the warranty in the glove compartment."

He was not much taller than Susan, lean and dark with an artist's slender hands and delicate fingers. To her, Damon Santorini had the brooding seductive looks of an Italian film star or a male model. But Dan himself did not realize it, did not believe it even when she whispered it to him as they made love. It was if it did not matter to him what she or anyone else thought. He went his own way, withdrawn, alone, self-contained inside his protective shell. It was the one fault she found in him. He was brilliant, but he could not see it. He was a quiet, steady, hard-working husband and father. He took his responsibilities seriously; once he decided to do something he plowed straight ahead and nothing could stop him. There had been only one real crisis in their marriage, and they had worked their way through that. It had been painful, but they had put it behind them at last. Yet somehow, somewhere in his youth, he had built a shell of armor around his inner self that only rarely could she penetrate. She knew there was pain and anger bottled up inside him, but she had never been able to shake him out of his iron self-control for longer than the time it took to make love.

"Angie said you needed me?" he asked. His voice was usually soft, gentle. But now she heard a nervous edge in it.

She could see how tense he was. Diapering the baby, she said, "I can't make anything in the kitchen work. You need an engineering degree just to get the stove to turn on."

He broke into a grin. "Don't worry about the stove. I'll take you out for dinner. I can afford a night on the town, on my new salary."

But Susan shook her head stubbornly. "I've had enough pizza this weekend. I want to cook a meal at home."

"The stove is voice activated," he said. "It's got to be programmed to recognize your voice, then it'll respond to your voice commands. You'll get the hang of it. I'll show you later." And he turned back toward the kitchen.

"Where're you going?" Susan called.

"Got to call the yellow-pages directory and get somebody down here to start the car. Otherwise I'm going to miss my first day on the new job."

It was going to be a new start for them. A new job in a new company in a new community. At three times his Air Force salary. Dan had jumped at the chance; Susan had been reluctant, but she saw that this move meant so much to her husband. It scared her to move so far from everything and everyone she had known all her life, especially with the new baby, but she had taken her courage in her hands and decided that it was time for her to see if she really could stand on her own two feet, without family and lifelong friends surrounding her.

On Susan's insistence they had flown from Dayton to their new home near Orlando on Friday so that they would have the weekend to get settled in. But the furniture and car and the rest of their belongings did not arrive until the middle of Sunday afternoon, after a dozen angry phone calls, and the moving men told them they would be charged extra for the overtime work. Now, on Monday morning, their new house was in a jumble after a weekend of fast-food deliveries and sleeping on blankets laid out on the bedroom carpeting. Nothing seemed to be working, including the car's battery.

At least Dan had set up her computer. while she and Angela had started the unpacking he had sat himself in a corner of the kitchen and put her computer system together. Some husbands watched football that weekend; Dan Santorini sat in front of his wife's computer screen Sunday afternoon and most of the night, fiddling with the programs for hours on end.

"Angie's got to get to school, too," Susan called to her husband's retreating back.

"I know," he said with a heavy sigh.

"Don't they have a school bus?" Angie asked. "I always took the school bus back home."

"This is our home now, Angel," Dan told his daughter as he brushed past her and returned to the kitchen.

Susan said, "I'm sure they have a school bus, Angela. We just don't know what time it comes. In a day or so we'll get it all settled, you'll see."

Angela gave her mother an accusing stare. She had cried for four straight days when her parents had told her they were moving to Florida. Susan knew Angie would adjust to the move faster than any of them, but at age twelve with new braces on her teeth the tears came easily and in flood. Now she just looked angry: You've ruined my life, her stare said. You've taken me away from my home and all my friends. I'll never love you again, ever. Ever, ever.

"You'll get to school, you'll see," Susan said.

"Sure."

"In the meantime, you can unpack the dishes in the kitchen. Okay?"

Angela's pout deepened, but she said, "I guess so."

Trying to ignore her daughter's silent accusation and her own fears, Susan finished diapering the baby and got to her feet. Before she could start for the kitchen the front doorbell rang.

Now what? she wondered.

She squeezed through the packing crates and reached for the doorknob just as the bell chimed again. Susan pulled the door open. Kyle Muncrief stood there in the dazzling Florida heat, a broad welcoming smile on his tanned face, looking cool and at ease in an open-necked sport shirt and whipcord slacks.

"Hello, Susan. Thought I'd drop by to see how you guys are getting along."

Muncrief was not quite handsome, but he knew how to wear clothes well and he could be elegantly charming. He was tall, wide in the shoulders, but starting to look soft in his midsection. His hands always seemed to be in motion, reaching for some invisible object, emphasizing points he wanted to make, brushing back the shock of unruly hair that constantly tumbled across his forehead. His hair was still thick and dark, but touches of silver showed at the temples. He wore it long, down to his collar. There was something restless in his hazel eyes: something urgent, demanding. His eyes did not match the charming, easygoing smile.

"Mr. Muncrief," Susan muttered.

"Kyle. Just call me Kyle." His voice was a soft light tenor.

"Uh—come on in."

As Muncrief stepped into the chaos of the living room, Dan yelled form the kitchen, "Who was at the door?"

"Mr. Muncrief, dear," answered Susan. "Kyle's here."

Kyle Muncrief was the founder, president, and chief executive officer of ParaReality, Inc. He had personally flown to Ohio and offered Damon Santorini three times the salary that the government was paying him to lure him away from the laboratory at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base and come to work for ParaReality in the Orlando region of central Florida.

Dan popped out of the kitchen doorway like a buck private summoned by his general. "I couldn't get the car started and I don't know any gas stations to call for a jump—"

Muncrief laughed and waved Dan to silence. "I figured you'd have your hands full this morning."

"I'm sorry I'll be late."

"Not to worry. Looks like you've got plenty to keep you busy right here."

"I
hate
being late."

"It's not a problem," Muncrief said easily. "Why don't you just stay home this morning and get yourself organized a bit. Drop in at the office after lunch, okay? My personnel chief'll want to run you through the orientation routine, that's all. I'll tell her you'll be coming in this afternoon."

"And Angela's got to get to school as soon as you get the car started," said Susan.

Muncrief's eyes shifted to the twelve-year-old. She was almost as tall as her mother. "Hello, Angela. Remember me? I came to visit you back in Dayton, remember?"

Angela shied away and stood close to her mother, lips clamped tight.

"You don't have to hide from me," Muncrief said. "I'll drive you to school, if you'll let me."

"Would you?" Susan beamed at him.

"Sure. No problem."

"That would be a big help."

"It's right on the way to the office. Lord, I've been there as often as I've been at my own desk. ParaReality's put more money into that school than the county has, with all the VR teaching systems I've given them."

"I certainly appreciate your help, Mr. Muncrief," said Dan.

"Kyle," he repeated. "No need to be so formal. Just call me Kyle." Pointing his finger like a pistol at Angela he said, "Come on, Angie. I'll drive you to school. You ever been in a convertible? I've got the top down."

"It's all right, honey," Susan told her daughter. "Go wash your face and Mr. Muncrief—Kyle—will drive you to school."

"All the other kids will wonder who your boyfriend is," Muncrief joked.

Angela headed reluctantly toward the bathroom.

"Nice kid," said Muncrief.

Dan was biting his lip again. "I've got to find a gas station."

"I've got jumper cables in the trunk," Muncrief said. "I can get you started. Come on. If you need to, you rent a car for a day or two. The company'll cover it."

Uncertainly, Dan said, "Well, if the damned battery will hold a charge long enough I can drive Angie and get to the office."

Muncrief waved a hand at him. "Don't worry about it. You stay home this morning and help get things sorted out here. It's okay."

Susan wanted to tell Dan to go on to the office and get out of her way. She knew her husband would be much happier going to his new job than helping to straighten out the mess of their new home. But she didn't think it could be right to spurn Mr. Muncrief's offer.

Dan muttered, "Okay . . . thanks."

"Come on, let's get your car started."

The two men went outside.

Angela came back, actually smiling despite her braces. "It's a brand-new car, Mommy! I saw it through the bathroom window. It's all shiny and its top is down."

Susan realized that there were no curtains on either of the bathroom windows yet. She shook her head and took a deep breath. So much to do.

Fifteen minutes later, Dan's old Honda was growling and rattling on the driveway as Muncrief and Angela waved from his Jaguar XJS convertible. It was forest green, Susan saw from the living room window. Dan came back inside.

"Kyle's a thoroughly nice man," Susan said.

"Yeah. Looks that way."

"I've got to feed the baby. You want to start unpacking the stuff in here? Most of it goes in the bedrooms."

"Okay," he said absently.

"You look worried."

Dan's dark brows knit together. "Well, Jace is expecting me this morning."

"Oh, Jace!" she said. "He can wait a few hours. It won't kill him."

"I guess not."

"You could phone him and tell him you'll be in after lunch."

"Nah. He never answers the phone."

"Then he'll just have to wait for you, for a change."

Dan nodded unhappily.

Susan picked up the wicker basket with Philip in it and headed for the kitchen, knowing that it would be better if she weren't in the same room with her husband for a while.

On the broad sunny boulevard heading toward the school, Kyle Muncrief identified the different kinds of palm trees lining the streets for Angela's benefit.

"Those over there are royal palms. See how tall and straight they are?"

"They all look the same to me," Angela said.

"Oh no, palm trees are as different as people. You'll get to recognize the differences in a little while."

"It's awful hot here in Florida."

"I think it's very nice here," Muncrief said. "It's just that you've been living in a place that's a lot colder. You'll get used to the weather here. You'll love it, you wait and see."

"I guess."

"You can swim all year 'round."

"I don't know how to swim."

"Don't know how to swim? Well, I bet by the time the school term's finished you'll be swimming like a little dolphin."

Angela said nothing.

Muncrief glanced down at her. "Do you like to play games. Angie?"

"Some."

"I know some terrific games for good little girls. I bet you'd love to play the games I can show you."

CHAPTER 3

Dan felt a twinge of surprise as he pulled his rattling old dark blue Honda—with its new battery—onto the parking lot in front of the ParaReality building at half-past one in the afternoon.

For a company that's going to put Disney out of business the place did not look like much. Just a single-story cinderblock building, painted a faded yellow. And the lot was almost empty. It's not a holiday, he told himself. He recognized Muncrief's Jag sitting in the slot closest to the front entrance but there were only eight other cars in sight, all big four-door sedans, several of them bearing the stickers of rental or leased autos. Dan noted that Muncrief's parking space was covered by a thin roof of corrugated metal and the top of his convertible was still down. The other cars were out in the blazing sunshine.