Homing (9 page)

Martin handed him the vial that still sat on the counter running the length of one of the emergency room's walls.

"Amazing stuff. It seems to work much faster than anything else we've got."

Ellen Filmore stepped forward. "What is it?"

Martin smiled wryly. "It doesn't even have a trade name yet. Right now, they're still identifying it by the chemical compound, and I'm not about to try to pronounce it." He winked at the nurse. "We're calling it 'that new stuff UniGrow made for bee stings." Real scientific, huh?"

"Works for me." Ellen chuckled. "Maybe that's what they should market it as. Then us docs could speak the same language as the patients." She inclined her head toward the vial that was still in Carl Henderson's hand.

"Can you get me some of that?"

"I don't see why not," Henderson replied. "If it's in the catalog, there won't be any problem at all. If it's not, it might take a little doing."

Ellen Filmore shrugged. "Even if it's not on the general market yet, I want to know all about it. If push comes to shove, I Can try to get us in on the final testing phase. If we're going to have any more stings like Molly's, epinephrine just won't cut it."

Henderson nodded. "I'll see what I can do." His eyes shifted back to Dr. Martin. "Can Molly go home?" he asked.

Paul Martin shook his head. "Not a chance," he replied.

"we've just given her a pretty strong dose of a brand-new drug, and I'm not about to let her out of here until I'm sure there aren't any side effects." He turned to grin at the little girl. "Sorry, but I'm going to have to stick you in a private room tonight, without anything except a television, a VCR, and a whole stack of movies."

Molly's eyes brightened instantly. "Do you have Bambi?" she asked. "I love Bambi."

"I think we just might," Martin replied. "And if we don't, I bet you could talk your dad into going out and renting it for you."

Molly's grin wavered as her eyes flicked toward Russell. "He's not my dad, he's-"

"I'm her stepfather," Russell said. "And I think we can probably produce a copy of Bambi." He slipped an arm around Karen's waist. "What do you think about a honeymoon in San Luis Obispo?" he asked. "I know it's not Paris

"It'll be perfect." Karen smiled. "And I know just where we'll stay-the Madonna Inn!"

"Perfect," Russell agreed. "I've always wanted to have an excuse to stay there, and this is it." He leaned over and kissed Molly. "Thanks, Princess. I don't know how you managed it, and I'm sorry you're stuck in the hospital for the night, but you've pulled it off. The wedding is now perfect. Your mom and I don't have to deal with that huge Party at the farm, and we get to have a honeymoon at a place we've always wanted to go. I owe you, and so does your mom. Before we go home tomorrow, we get you a present. So start thinking about what you want, okay?"

Molly, finally certain that neither her mother nor her stepfather was angry at her, nodded happily as an orderly began wheeling her toward the room in which she would spend the night.

Her leg was beginning to ease and the pain of the sting was almost gone.

She had no idea how close to dying she had come.

* * * * * * * * * *

a nightmare.

It had to be a nightmare, and in a few more minutes she would wake up.

She would be in her bedroom in Los Banos, and through the thin wall she would hear the sound of Elvis Janks and her mother having their usual quarrel while they tried to treat their hangovers with coffee.

The darkness would lift, and she would get the covers untangled from her arms and legs, and she would look up and see the light of morning flooding through her bedroom window.

But as her mind slowly floated up through the dark waters of sleep, no trace of light appeared to brighten the blackness around her, and as the realization that what she was experiencing was far worse than any nightmare could be, Dawn Sanderson began to feel hope fading away.

She had no idea how long she'd been in the blackness.

No idea whether it was hours or days, Perhaps weeks?

She had no way of knowing.

Time no longer had any meaning for her Should she try to scream?

She remembered that she'd tried that before.

How long before?

She didn't know.

A sob wrenched her body, but it was a nearly silent sob.

As she came fully awake, she waited for the familiar searing pain in her arms. They were tied above her head, the rope from which she hung cinched so tight that if she bent her knees at all, her feet lifted off the floor of her prison and her arms felt as if they were being torn from her shoulders.

This time, though, the pain seemed to have disappeared.

For a brief moment of unutterable joy Dawn thought she must have been released from her bonds. But as she tried to move her naked body, she felt her bare feet lift off the floor With a terrible sinking feeling Dawn realized what had happened.

She wasn't free of the rope at all Rather, she had simply lost all feeling in her arms and hands.

As that realization seeped through her consciousness, she also became vaguely aware of a new pain.

A terrible cold, deep within her, that seemed to be emanating from her numbed shoulders.

Why?

Why had this happened to her?

Every time she'd awakened from those periods of sleep that seemed to bring neither rest nor escape, she'd tried to put what was happening together in some way that made sense.

All she'd been trying to do was escape!

And the man had seemed so nice. It wasn't like he'd tried to drag her into the car All he'd done was offer her a ride. And she'd only taken it because he didn't really seem to care if she went with him or not.

He'd bought her a cup of coffee, and she started feeling funny.

And the next memory she had was of coming slowly awake in the blackness, her arms on fire not only from being held high above her head, but from the chafing ropes she'd been able to feel around her wrists.

She'd screamed-screamed as loudly as she could until finally her vocal cords had given out and all that would emerge from her throat was a rasping gasp.

The door had opened while she was screaming, and for a few seconds she'd been able to look into his face.

The friendly grin he'd worn when she first met him was gone. His lips were twisted into an ugly sneer, and his eyes were glazed over with that same strange look he'd had just before she passed out.

"It won't do any good, " he told her "It never does.

Then the door closed, and despite what he'd said, Dawn kept screaming until her voice gave out.

She'd seen him twice more.

He'd opened the door, stood staring at her for a few moments, saying nothing at all, then closed the door again, plunging her back into the terrifying darkness.

She clung to the few images she'd caught when the door was open.

A basement.

She was in a basement, with concrete walls, and heavy beams supporting the floor above.

But that was all she knew.

She'd heard him, though.

Sometimes, when she woke up, she heard him outside her dark prison, muttering softly, as if talking to someone.

She never heard another voice, though, and finally decided he was talking to himself.

Now, as she hung in the darkness with the terrible cold in her shoulders seeping inexorably into the rest of her body, hunger began to gnaw at her belly, and the terrible thirst she'd been feeling rose up in her parched throat once again. She tried to lick her lips, tried to summon up at least enough moisture to slake the terrible dryness, but her tongue felt like a thick pad of cotton in her mouth, dry and swollen, threatening to choke her Slowly, very slowly, the truth began to sink in.

Dawn Sanderson was dying.

That's what the cold meant.

She could no longer feel her arms and hands because they had died, and now the cold of death was creeping down into the rest of her body as well.

How long would it take?

Would it end in a few minutes, or would the terror and agony of the darkness stretch on to eternity?

Would she even know when she'd died?

Tearlessly, soundlessly, Dawn Sanderson began to cry.

Then, out of the silence beyond the confines of the darkness, she heard something.

It was him-he was in the basement again.

Dawn listened, praying that the door would open, and that this time, instead of simply staring at her he would hold a cup of water to her lips, let her dampen them at least, even if he wouldn't let her drink.

The sound drew closer Whistling.

He was whistling softly, and then she heard something else.

A scraping, as if a drawer had opened or something had been dragged across the concrete floor Unconsciously, Dawn found herself holding her breath in the darkness, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

Would the man come back again, to stare at her?

To taunt her?

To do to her whatever he had intended when he brought her here?

But when the attack finally came, it was so unexpected, and so terrifying, that a new scream was wrenched from Dawn Sanderson's exhausted vocal cords.

Her feet!

Something was on her feet!

At first it was only an odd tickling, but within a few seconds the tickling turned into a red-hot burning, a searing sensation that felt as if her feet and legs were on fire.

She jerked her legs up, pulling her knees up to her chest. Now her whole weight was suspended from the rope tied around her wrists, and she heard a popping sound as her right shoulder dislocated. A scream built within her, and she could feel the agony in her throat as her larynx protested Against this latest abuse.

The burning in her feet scorched its way up her legs, and then she felt something else.

Something warm, something slimy, oozing down her legs and feet, then dripping off her toes.

Blood!

Panic seized Dawn. She thrashed Against her bonds, struggling to escape her unseen attackers, but a few seconds later the terror and agony overcame her once more and she dropped back into blessed unconsciousness.

And while she slept, her attackers continued their work, slowly devouring her a few cells at a time.

sunlight flooding in through the window woke Karen, the light The sheer white curtains were drifting softly on a breeze that caressed her face.

A week. six days A week since she had married Russell, and since they had brought Molly, fully recovered from the bee sting, back from San Luis Obispo.

But only this morning-this perfect June morning-had she actually awakened and known instantly where she was, and felt as if she truly belonged.

She stretched, then relaxed back into the cosiness of the bed for a few moments, luxuriating in the sounds and smells drifting in from the open window, gazing contentedly at the patch of turquoise-blue sky, untarnished by even a hint of the smog she had finally become inured to in Los Angeles.

She rolled over to look at the clock.

Already six.

Russell would have been up for at least an hour, meeting with Kevin and Otto in the tack room to plan the day, then setting about the earliest chores.

Molly and Julie would be up, too, their horses already turned out to pasture, the stalls cleaned, and the rest of the animals fed and watered.

It was all starting to work just the way she'd hoped it would, even after those first few days before the wedding, when everything had seemed to go wrong, and she began to think their two families might never be able to meld into one. Since she and Russell brought Molly back from the hospital, though, everything had gone much more smoothly. Part of it, of course, was simple logistics: The family was all under one roof now, except for Otto, who was back in his own house, where-as far as Karen was concerned-he could make himself as unpleasant as he wanted, and pay for it with loneliness. At least he no longer had every day and night to poison the atmosphere in what he still insisted on calling "Paula's house."

It was Paula Owen's house no longer. Every day, Karen felt it become more and more her own. When they'd arrived, of course, she felt as if she'd stumbled into a nightmare reenactment of Rebecca, with Otto only slightly miscast as Mrs. Danvers. But Russell had encouraged her to make the house her own, and, tentatively, she began to make small changes, adding her possessions, rearranging furniture.

At first, she was fearful of hurting Kevin's feelings by changing the house from the way his mother had set it up, but all he'd said so far had been complimentary, and the day before yesterday he even asked her if she'd help him pick out some new things for his room, waiting until his father was out of earshot to confide that "Mom had some funny ideas about what kind of stuff I should like." When her eyes moistened as she thanked him for making her feel so much at home, he'd flushed scarlet and hurried out.

But it was enough. It was her house, and her family, and Otto wasn't going to be able to poison the atmosphere, no matter how hard he tried.

Even Julie had almost stopped complaining about the change in her life. Part of it, of course, had to do with her horse. She was spending more and more time with Greta, and with Kevin, too, who was teaching her how to ride the big mare.

On the other hand, Julie still was barely speaking to Otto, and apparently wasn't about to try to bury the hatchet with the old man.

Karen finally rolled out of bed and began running through a mental inventory of the contents of the refrigerator as she took a quick shower, toweled her hair dry, then dressed in what was becoming her standard daytime costume: jeans, and one of the shirts Russell had been about to consign to the thrift shop when he'd begun cleaning Out the closet in their bedroom to make room for her clothes- By the time she made it downstairs, she had already decided on omelettes, stuffed with the last of the ham left over from the wedding reception, and some of the green onions she'd spotted in the garden earlier in the week, which she hoped would be ready for picking this morning Or did one pull onions? Well, pick or pull, who cared?