Imola (14 page)

The report of the phone sounded distant, but with each ring came closer, louder. Jason stirred. He didn’t want another assignment this early in the morning. He’d been up most of the night writing up two others. The red numerals of the clock radio glared 7:33. Normalpeople were up by now. Normal people.

The ringing continued. He had a habit of switching off the answering machine when he was in the apartment to force himself to answer the phone. It would have been a good time to make an exception, but it was too late now. He caught the receiver midway through the next ring.

“April? What’s … Whoa. April. Calm down, you’re talking too fast. What’s wrong? Holy shit … No … I’ll be right over.”

Jason turned the knob and pushed, but the door didn’t give. He banged on it with his fist and waited. There was no sound from inside, no blink of darkness through the peephole. He swung his fist again just as the door flew open, and his fist nearly hit April in the chest.

She was in a white bathrobe, belt tied tightly around her waist. Her eyes were ringed red, and her hair was a mess.

He walked past her, stopped, and went back for a hug. A kick of his foot and the door slammed closed. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to the couch and forced her to sit. He plopped next to her. “Tell me what you know.”

April’s upper lip quivered, and she had to clear her throat twice to get the words out. “Agnes escaped from Imola last night. She killed Stuart Guerin. Cut histhroat. Cut off his … you know. Just like all of the other murders.” She burst into tears.

Jason surrounded her with his arms, but his mind launched from zero to way past sixty in three seconds. “How do you know it wasn’t Lilin?”

April bent her head up from his neck. “Does it matter?” Her voice was a near scream. “The way I feel, I’m not so sure there is a Lilin. Maybe Agnes is an incredible con artist and she’s sucked us both in.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe. But it really doesn’t matter now.”

“It does matter. Agnes and Lilin will do different things.”

April buried her head in his neck again and sobbed. “I thought we made a breakthrough. She was getting better. I was sure of it.” A rapid series of sobs took her breath. She inhaled deeply. “Why now?”

Jason thought about a previous conversation about the possibility of Lilin reacting to the therapy along with Agnes. About Stuart and his accelerating attacks. Pushing Agnes. Opening the door for Lilin. Jason whispered a curse and pounded his forehead with his fist. “I should have seen it coming.”

His mind flew through various scenarios. If Agnes was in control, her actions would be predictable. She’d probably head back to Mendocino. She’d be caught. If Lilin was running the show, she’d probably know how todisappear. To stay invisible. She’d be able to get whatever she needed, but there’d be a trail of male corpses, one for each need. And a few just for fun. He shuddered.

April looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“Just thinking. How did she get out?”

April wiped wet tear tracks from her cheeks. “The security cameras show her in a long, white doctor’s coat, swiping a card in the locks. It looked like she wasn’t wearing any pants.”

“How’d she get all that?”

“I don’t know. One of the patients is supposedly a violent kleptomaniac, but I don’t know how he’d get such sensitive items.”

“Which one are you talking about?”

“Milo. Milo McGuinn.”

“No way. The hippie vegetarian? Bells on his shoes?”

“That’s him.”

“Violent? Sorry, but I can’t see it.”

April put her right hand to her left forearm and pushed an imaginary syringe plunger. “Almost all of the patients are medicated in there.”

Jason’s eyes widened. “Was Agnes?”

“Not all the time. Just when she got depressed.”

He shook his head. “So, this Milo character. Does he know anything?”

“I don’t know. When I talked to the people there, they said he wouldn’t answer any questions. He just satthere and smiled. And get this. They said he ate nothing but bacon for breakfast.” She bobbed her head. “He had to be in on it.”

Jason stood up and walked to the window. The morning light was too bright, but it raised a dawning clarity in his mind. “No. He wasn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

He turned to face her. “It was Lilin.”

April stood in front of the couch. “How do you get that?”

“What would it take to get pilfered goods from a kleptomaniac?”

She shrugged. “Either a serious threat or some persuasive individual with something to trade.”

“From what you described of his behavior, does it seem like Milo’s received a serious threat?”

“No. But what would Agnes have to trade?”

Jason spun back around to face the window. He squinted into the distance. “Nothing. But Lilin would.”

Agnes blinked several times, each time forcing her eyes closed. She rubbed her eyes with her fists. The scene came back the same. No green walls, no Day Room, no grassy grounds with oak trees. No Imola. Instead, she stood next to a two-lane highway. Across the road was a marsh-like expanse with thigh-high weeds. A water-filled channel cut a serpentine path through the marsh and opened to a large body of water in the distance. On her side of the road, rectangular flooded fields, bounded by earthen levees, were partially full. On the banks where the water had receded, a white precipitate covered the dirt. It looked like sugar. No. Salt. She scanned her memory banks. Could it be the northern reaches of San Francisco Bay?

A car whizzed past and blew the tails of the whitecoat that hung loosely from her shoulders. She looked down. Baggy pants, several sizes too big, were cinched to her waist with a belt that was punched through well beyond the original buckle holes. The tail of the belt dangled to mid-thigh. The white coat, like the ones the doctors wore, covered the pants down to her knees.

She pulled out on the coat lapels and gazed downward. She didn’t have anything on underneath. No shirt. No bra. She released the lapels like they were hot. A badge caught her attention, pinned just above the left breast pocket. She pulled it out and twisted it. “Dr. Wilhelmina Smetzer.” She’d heard the name. She looked around again as a car blew past on the opposite side of the road.

How had she escaped from Imola, and how had she ended up here, so far from anything resembling civilization? And whose pants was she wearing? The gaps in her memory triggered a painful thought. Where was Lilin, and what had she done?

She looked back. A car appeared in the distance, getting larger.

Put out your thumb
.

Agnes jumped. She’d never hitchhiked. Even during her college years.

Put it out. Now
.

Her arm rose. Her thumb was limp, barely projecting from her fist.

The car slowed and went past. The brake lights flared against the low morning sun, and the car swiveled onto the shoulder, raising a cloud of dust. White lights went on next to the red ones, and the car shot backward toward her. It skidded to a stop just short of where she stood. She watched the driver lean over, the passenger door open.

Hurry. Get in
.

Agnes walked up to the open door and bent over to peek in. She remembered she was braless as her coat fell away from her chest, and she pulled her arms up to press the fabric against her chest. The driver was young, maybe ten years her junior.

“Where you going?” he said.

“Santa Rosa,” she said without hesitation. She didn’t know why it had come out, but it had. There was no deliberation.

Good girl
.

The man patted the seat. “I’m going to Cotati. I go to school at Sonoma State. I can take you that far.”

Agnes swiveled into the seat and clicked the seat belt. The driver’s jackrabbit take-off flung the door closed.

“Name’s Roger.” He held out a hand.

Agnes shook it. “Agnes.”

Don’t use your real name
.

He pointed at the name tag. “Agnes?”

She looked down, and her next inhalation caughtin her throat. She felt like she was going to cry. The next breath came easier, and she held it. And exhaled. “Would you go by Wilhelmina?”

Roger laughed. “Are you a doctor?”

She looked down again.

Ph.D
.

“Not really. I’m a psychologist.”

“A hitchhiking psychologist. That’s a good one. Out in the middle of Sears Point Road?”

Your car broke down
.

“My car broke down.”

“Where? I didn’t see a car.”

“A ways back. I pulled if off the road a bit. I’ve been walking for almost an hour.”

“It would have been closer to go back the other way.”

Change the subject
.

Agnes shifted in the seat. “What’s your major?”

He looked over and smiled. “I’m in the honors program. I get to design my own program of study. It’s called interdisciplinary studies. I’m combining biology with philosophy and ethics. With the new genetics and molecular techniques, legal and ethical problems are popping up by the bushel. I’ll probably go to graduate school after I finish. The University of Chicago has a great program. Either that or law school.”

Agnes didn’t want him to stop talking. She wanted time to speed up, the miles to fly by. She wanted out ofthe car. A trickle of sweat bubbled on her forehead. She felt dizzy, like she was going to throw up. She swallowed hard.

Not now. Get control
.

Roger looked over. “Are you all right?”

“I’m not feeling too good.”

He pushed a button, and her window whirred down. “Maybe some air will help. Do you want me to pull over?”

The breeze caught her breath, and the nausea receded. “No. Thank you.”

“Let me know if you do. I just got the car.” He patted the steering wheel. It was one of the new Volkswagen Bugs, metallic silver. An artificial flower stuck up from the dashboard, nodding with each bump like a bobble-head doll.

Agnes smiled. “I’m all right now.” She pushed her window button and stopped it when the window was an inch from the top.

They skirted the northern reaches of San Pablo Bay, crossed a small bridge, and lost sight of the water. Roger turned on a small, paved road and headed inland. “I use the back roads from here. It cuts about fifteen miles off the trip.” The road wandered between shacks, undeveloped hills, and a few scattered ranches. They picked up a slough for a short time and then left the water for good. Oak trees appeared again, with dense stands of eucalyptus. The smell of freshly cut grass came and went.

The road narrowed a little, and signs of habitationthinned. Roger guided the VW on the curvy road like he’d designed it.

Say you’re going to be sick. Now
.

Agnes looked at Roger, then at the road. She swallowed hard.

Do it. Now. Have him pull off the road
.

Agnes rolled down her window.

Hurry
.

She mopped her forehead. “I’m sorry, but I think I’m getting ill. Could you pull over? I don’t want to mess up your new car.”

Roger accelerated. “There’s a small dirt road just ahead. Can you hold it?”

Agnes nodded and put her hand to her mouth.

He hit the brakes hard and nearly slid into a ditch that guarded the double-rutted road. He was ten yards off the main road before he pumped the VW to a stop.

Agnes unclipped her seat belt and threw open the door. She staggered from the car.

Farther away
.

She walked into the thigh-high brush and crested a small rise.

Farther
.

She walked a few steps and hunched over. The Volkswagen was no longer in view. She crouched. And waited.

Take off the coat
.

Agnes hesitated. She didn’t have anything on underneath.

Take it off and kneel on it. Bend over like you’re sick
.

Agnes slipped the coat off and spread it on the dry, grasslike weeds, pressing them to the ground. She put her knees on the coat and turned to look in the direction of the Volkswagen. No movement.

A voice startled her. “Are you all right?”

Say no
.

She tried to speak, but nothing came out. She was feeling sick, for real this time.

“Agnes?”

Ask for help
.

She suppressed a retch and burped. If she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure what would come out.

Say it
.

She took in a deep breath. “Can you help me?”

Now, bend over. Hands and knees
.

Agnes fell forward, onto her hands. A light breeze gave her a chill.

She heard Roger’s footsteps crest the rise, then stop. “Are you all …”

Agnes held her position. Her breasts dangled in full view. “I need help.”

Roger walked over. His steps were slow.

Cautious?

“I have a blanket in the car.”

No
.

“No. I’m feeling better now. Can you help me get up?”

Roger didn’t move.

Agnes peeked at him. “I’m sorry. This must look really strange. I’m really feeling weak.”

The right coat pocket. Get it
.