Midnight Sacrifice (17 page)

Mandy checked the time. Breakfast officially started in less than five minutes. “Are you mad at that policeman for making you go into the army? If you hadn’t, your hand wouldn’t be injured.”

“True, and I catch myself blaming that cop even now. But I was headed in a dark direction. Joining the army turned me into a man instead of a future ex-con while I was young enough to change. God knew I needed the discipline. I needed to leave my pain behind and start fresh, where nobody knew me. At some point in your life, you have to let go of the past. I carried the anger for my parents’ deaths for almost a decade. That’s a long, long time to be mad. I don’t want to live like that anymore. I want to move forward.”

“I know what you mean.” Mandy shot him a look. All she wanted was to get through this next year. After that, she’d be relatively certain Nathan couldn’t harm her family.

And apparently, moving forward meant blathering about his emotions like he was a guest on Oprah or some shit.
Is there anything else you’d like to share about your pathetic life?
Ten months of therapy, and he was sliding into the touchy-feely zone like it was home base.

Danny carried the eggs to the dining room and lit the burner. A trio of pretty college-age girls chattered as they took a table. Two brunettes and a blonde. They were dressed for the trail in thick boots and expensive-looking synthetic pullovers in bright pink and yellow. A trio of backpacks was stacked on the extra chair.

“Coffee?”

They nodded. Three ponytails bounced. “Yes, please.” One of the brunettes answered with a flirty smile that made Danny feel
a thousand years old. “I’m Ashley. These are my friends, Victoria and Samantha.”

“I’m Danny.” He filled their cups and nodded to their packs. “Big plans today?”

“Just the usual.” The tall blonde shrugged. “We always carry extra provisions. It’s important to be prepared.”

“You never know what can happen in the wilderness,” Ashley added. “We’re always equipped to spend at least one night in the open.”

“That’s smart.” Danny smiled. He’d had survival training in the army. He’d learned the basics, but he hadn’t liked it. In fact, all those training exercises made camping about as attractive as torture. Sleeping in the open, eating bugs, and freezing your nuts off sucked. “Where are you headed?”

Victoria added cream to her cup. “We’re hiking the Klimpton trail today. We already wrote it in the book.”

“The book?”

“Uh-huh.” Victoria nodded and stirred her coffee. “The inn has a book to log your plans. That way if you get lost, they know where to start looking for you.”

“Sounds sensible.” And ominous. Just how many people disappeared in Maine? If someone in the city went missing, somebody usually saw something. Not that they’d say, but folks just didn’t go
poof
. There were security cameras everywhere.

“Do you hike?” Ashley was eying him up like he was a slice of chocolate cake. “Because you could join us. We’re here for the rest of the week.”

Danny backed away. Was this what a rabbit felt like when a hawk hovered overhead? “Sorry. I can’t. I’m helping out in the kitchen.”

“Too bad,” Ashley lamented.

“You all have a great day.” Danny made his escape. He went back to the kitchen. Mandy was filling glass pitchers with juice. “What else needs to be done?”

His hand trembled, and the familiar pins-and-needles tingle started in his fingers. Dammit. It was early in the morning for his nerves to be pulling their shit. If he were smart, he’d give it a rest. At the very least, he’d better not handle glass.

“You could cut up another melon.” She carried the pitchers toward the dining room. The smile she gave him over her shoulder made him forget any ideas of resting.

“Got it.” Melons were very durable. He grabbed a cantaloupe from the icebox, scrubbed it in the sink, and set it on the cutting board. With a knife from the block, he halved the melon and went to work slicing it. He paused every few cuts to clench his hand and give it a shake.

Mandy returned and went to check her latest batch of waffles. Danny’s gaze was drawn to the fit of her worn jeans below the tie of her apron. Mm, mm, mm.

As if she felt his stare, she glanced back at him. “You’re bleeding.”

Danny looked down. Blood ran off his left hand. Suddenly lightheaded, he averted his eyes. He put the knife down and went to the sink. A flush of cold water revealed a long slice across his palm. Mandy leaned against him and grabbed hold of his forearm to examine the cut. “That’s going to need sutures.”

Danny decided that having her soft body pressed to his was worth a few stitches, even if the sight of blood turned him into a wimp. “Sorry. I ruined your melon.”

Mandy gave him a short laugh of disbelief. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

Danny snagged a paper towel and applied pressure to the wound. “No. I don’t have much feeling in this hand.”

“Dr. Chandler should be in his office by now.” She picked up the phone and dialed. A few sentences later she hung up. “Go right over. Do you know where it is? Do you need me to drive you?”

“Yeah, I know where it is. It’s only a few blocks away. I think I can make it.”

Mandy opened a drawer and took out a first aid kit. Throwing the blood-soaked paper towel in the trash, she bandaged him up enough to keep him from bleeding all over his car. Enjoying her touch, Danny let her. When she was done, her hand lingered on his arm, and her blue eyes darkened, like she was interested in more than his cut. He leaned in, but Mandy jumped back, nearly tripping over her feet in her haste to put some space between them.

Awkward.
“Mandy—”

“You’d better go. You’re bleeding through the bandage.” She opened the door. “Are you sure you’re all right to drive?”

“Don’t worry. I’m used to doing things one-handed.”

The drive to Doc’s office took all of three minutes, most of which was spent at the town’s single traffic light. Not much time to contemplate Mandy’s skittishness. But one thing was clear. He needed to take whatever might happen between them slower.

The clinic was on a side street just three doors from the main intersection of town. The barn-red two-story was almost nauseatingly quaint, with its fresh white trim and flower boxes spilling over with purple-and-white flowers. The front door opened in to a small waiting room decorated in castoffs. Thirty-year-old chairs and tables too ugly for Goodwill but not old enough to be antiques vied for space. An old wooden teacher’s desk in the corner was empty.

A white-coated Dr. Chandler appeared in a doorway. “Come on back.” He turned and disappeared.

Danny walked down the short hallway, passing a tiny room with a desk and bookshelves. The doc’s office? Danny hesitated. A few thick volumes stacked on the shelf closest to the door caught his attention:
Sleep Disorders, Inherited Prion Diseases, Psychiatry Today, Neurological Disorders that Affect Sleep
. Heavy subjects for a family practitioner. Dr. Chandler had been researching Nathan’s disease. Had he known about the family history before December? Had Dr. Chandler treated Nathan’s uncle? Did he know who Nathan was sleeping with?

“Mr. Sullivan?”

“Right here.” Danny followed the doctor’s voice to the next doorway, which led into a small examination room. “Slow morning?”

“I don’t officially open for another hour, which is why I’m the only one here.” The doctor gestured to the usual padded table. “Let’s see it.”

Danny sat. Paper crinkled under his ass.

Doc washed his hands and donned gloves. Then he slipped on a pair of half glasses and unwound the tape. Blood started flowing as soon as he lifted the bandage. “Definitely needs stitches. How’d you do this?”

Danny stared at an eye chart on the opposite wall. “Cutting up a melon.”

“Hmmph.” The doctor hooked a stool with his foot and wheeled a small table closer. Instruments were already lined up on a sterile drape. Perching on the stool, he picked up a syringe. “I’ll numb it and stitch you up. Should heal just fine. Luckily, it’s in the fleshy part.”

“You can skip the shot. I don’t have much feeling in that hand.” Danny’s fingers, obviously unhappy with the fresh wound, twitched like they were having a seizure. “You’ll have to be careful, though; I can’t do anything about that.”

“So, you can’t feel your hand and it shakes uncontrollably.” The doctor irrigated the wound.

P, E, Z…Danny concentrated on the bottom row of letters. “Pretty much.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to handle a sharp knife?”

“Probably not one of my best decisions,” Danny admitted.

“You think?” Doc picked up his suture needle. He pointed to the thin scar that ran from Danny’s wrist to elbow. “Tell me about the original injury.”

“It was an IED explosion. The hand was crushed under a pile of debris. Broken bones, shrapnel, lots of nerve damage. For while it was iffy that I’d even get to keep it. The surgeon at the veteran’s hospital did a hell of a job putting it back together. I had a nerve graft about ten months ago, but it didn’t take.”

Doc was quiet for a few minutes. Danny was keeping his gaze averted, but in his peripheral vision he could see the doctor sewing. He tied another knot.
Snip.
“That should do it.”

Danny glanced down at his palm. Seven neat black knots closed the cut in his palm.

The doctor bandaged his hand. “Keep it dry. Come back in five days and I’ll remove the stitches.”

“Thanks. What do I owe you?” Danny rubbed his forearm. The cut didn’t hurt, but the pins-and-needles sensation had expanded from his fingers to his wrist. Soon those pins would turn into bayonets and spread up to his elbow.

“Pain?” Dr. Chandler frowned at the bandage.

“Some. Sometimes I get a stabbing sensation when it’s too cold or too hot or I overuse my hand. I guess the gash is making it worse.”

“Call me if you need pain medication.”

“Thanks, but I’m not a fan of drugs.” Narcotics aggravated his PTSD. “Rest usually helps.”

The doctor led the way back to the schoolmarm desk. He lowered his tall, lanky body into a cheap office chair. He typed into the computer and printed out a bill. Fluorescent light glinted off silver threads in his dark hair as he bent over the keyboard. “Give me a minute. My receptionist isn’t in yet. I’m a lot slower than she is at this.”

Danny pulled out his wallet to pay the bill. The total was laughably small. “That’s it?”

“Small town, you know.”

Danny paid. “While I’m here, I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Nathan Hall.”

Doc’s face tightened from friendly into suspicious. “You know I can’t talk about a patient.”

“Of course not,” Danny said. “But you can give me some general information about Campbell’s Insomnia.”

Scowling, the doctor crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. “Lesions form in the thalamus of the brain. That’s the area that regulates sleep. Afflicted people develop severe insomnia, gradually losing the ability to sleep at all. Coma and death follow within a year or two.”

All textbook information Danny already knew. “How quickly is the person completely incapacitated?”

“Depends on the individual,” the doctor said.

“But case studies show that the person’s mental state is affected long before the body shuts down. Dementia hits hard during that period. So, an afflicted person could be mobile and potentially dangerous for a long time.”

The doctor’s lips pursed with annoyance. “The disease is very rare. There aren’t enough cases to make generalizations.”

“But people with Campbell’s can have violent hallucinations that drive them to bizarre behavior.”

“It’s not my specialty. I really wouldn’t know.”

“So you have no idea how long Nathan could be dangerous?” Danny pressed.

“No. I really can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“In this case, it doesn’t really matter, does it? I’ll see you in five days, Mr. Sullivan, if you’re still in town. Don’t feel the need to stay, though. Any doctor can remove those stitches.” The doctor put his hands flat on the desk and pushed to his feet. The conversation was over.

Danny walked toward the door. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Anger, cold as his stainless steel instruments, flickered in the doctor’s eyes. “Some people in this town have been through hell. There’s no need to drag them down to the next level.”

“I’m just trying to find a killer.”

“Don’t forget that those with good and bad intentions often end up in the same place.”

With that send-off, Danny made his exit. His injured hand twitched as he started the engine. A compact SUV was parked at the curb behind the Challenger. A woman dressed in scrubs got out and walked into the clinic. Dr. Chandler’s nurse?

He turned the wheel to pull out onto the street. Pain shot into his elbow. He clenched his fist and steered through a turn. There was no point rushing back to the inn. He wasn’t going to be any more help to Mandy today. Why would she want anything to do with him? Not only was he was useless to her at the bed-and-breakfast, he was still doing the one thing she had asked him not to do. He was still trying to find Nathan. But Danny couldn’t let it go. If he could just accomplish one thing, meet one goal head on, maybe he could move forward. Quitting definitely wasn’t going to help.