True Evil (2 page)

"You're all she can talk about."

"Is she conscious?"

"Not at this moment. We're doing everything we can, but you should prepare yourself for"—Dr. Andrews gave Alex a lightning-fast appraisal—"you should prepare for the worst. Grace had a serious thrombosis when she was brought in, but she was breathing on her own, and I was encouraged. But the stroke extended steadily, and I decided to start thrombolytic therapy. To try to dissolve the clot. This can sometimes produce miracles, but it can also cause hemorrhages elsewhere in the brain or body. I have a feeling that may be happening now. I don't want to risk moving Grace for an MRI. She's still breathing on her own, and that's the best hope we have. If she stops breathing, we're ready to intubate immediately. I probably should have done it already"—Dr. Andrews glanced at Bill—"but I knew she was desperate to talk to you, and once she's intubated, she won't be able to communicate with anyone. She's already lost her ability to write words."

Alex winced.

"Don't be shocked if she manages to speak to you. Her speech center has been affected, and she has significant impairment."

"I understand," Alex said impatiently. "We had an uncle who had a stroke. Can I just be with her? I don't care what her condition is. I have to be with her."

Dr. Andrews smiled and led Alex into the room.

As she reached the door, Alex turned back to Bill. "Where's Jamie?"

"With my sister in Ridgeland."

Ridgeland was a white-flight suburb ten miles away. "Did he see Grace fall?"

Bill shook his head somberly. "No, he was down on the field. He just knows his mother's sick, that's all."

"Don't you think he should be here?"

Alex had tried to keep all judgment out of her voice, but Bill's face darkened. He seemed about to snap at her, but then he drew a deep breath and said, "No, I don't."

When Alex kept staring at him, he lowered his voice and added, "I don't want Jamie to watch his mother die."

"Of course not. But he should have a chance to say good-bye."

"He'll get that," Bill said. "At the funeral."

Alex closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. "Bill, you can't—"

"We don't have time for this." He nodded into the room where Dr. Andrews stood waiting.

Alex walked slowly to the edge of Grace's bed. The pale face above the hospital blanket did not look familiar. And yet it did. It looked like her mother's face. Grace Morse Fennell was thirty-five years old, but tonight she looked seventy.
It's her skin,
Alex realized.
It's like wax. Drooping wax.
She had the sense that the muscles that controlled her sister's face had gone slack and would never contract again. Grace's eyes were closed, and to Alex's surprise, she felt this was a mercy. It gave her time to adjust to the new reality, however fleeting that reality might be.

"Are you all right?" Dr. Andrews asked from behind her.

"Yes."

"I'll leave you with her, then."

Alex glanced at the bank of CRTs monitoring Grace's life functions. Heartbeat, oxygen saturation, blood pressure, God knew what else. A single IV line disappeared beneath a bandage on her forearm; Alex's wrist ached at the sight. She wasn't sure what to do, and maybe it didn't matter. Maybe the important thing was just to be here.

"You know what this tragedy has taught me?" asked the familiar bass voice.

Alex jumped but tried to hide her discomfiture. She hadn't realized Bill was still in the room, and she hated showing any sign of weakness. "What?" she said, though she didn't really care about the answer.

"Money isn't really worth anything. All the money in the world won't make that blood clot go away."

Alex nodded distantly.

"So, what the hell have I been working for?" Bill asked. "Why haven't I just kicked back and spent every second I could with Grace?"

Grace probably asked the same question a thousand times,
Alex thought. But it was too late for regrets. A lot of people thought Bill was a cold fish. Alex had always thought he tended to be maudlin.

"Could I be alone with her for a while?" Alex asked, not taking her eyes from Grace's face.

She felt a strong hand close on her shoulder—the wounded shoulder—and then Bill said, "I'll be back in five minutes."

After he'd gone, Alex took Grace's clammy hand in hers and bent to kiss her forehead. She had never seen her sister so helpless. In fact, she had never seen Grace close to helpless. Grace was a dynamo. Crises that brought others' lives to a standstill hardly caused her to break stride. But this was different. This was the end—Alex could tell. She knew it the way she had known when James Broadbent went down after she was shot. James had watched Alex charge into the bank just seconds ahead of the go-order for the Hostage Rescue Team, and he had gone in right behind her. He saw her take the shotgun blast, but instead of instantly returning fire at the shooter, he'd glanced down to see how badly Alex was hurt. For that concern he'd caught the second blast square in the chest. He wasn't wearing a vest (he'd taken it off upon learning that the HRT was going in), and the shotgun chopped his heart and lungs into something you saw behind a butcher's counter.
Why did he look down?
Alex wondered for the millionth time.
Why did he follow me in at all?
But she knew the answer. Broadbent had followed her because he loved her—from a distance, true, but the emotion was no less real for that. And that love had killed him. Alex saw tears falling on Grace's cheeks—her own tears, numberless these past months. She wiped her eyes, then took out her cell phone and called Bill Fennell, who was standing less than thirty feet away.

"What is it?" he asked frantically. "What's wrong?"

"Jamie should be here."

"Alex, I told you—"

"You get him, goddamn it. This is his
mother
lying here."

There was a long silence. Then Bill said, "I'll call my sister."

On impulse, Alex turned and saw him standing near the nurses' station. He'd been talking to Dr. Andrews. She saw him disengage from the neurologist and lift his cell phone to his cheek. Alex leaned down to Grace's ear and tried to think of something that would reach the bottom of the dark well where her sister now dwelled.

"Sue-Sue?"
she whispered, simultaneously squeezing the cold hand. Sue-Sue was another nickname based on a middle name—a family tradition. "Sue-Sue, it's KK."

Grace's eyes remained shut.

"It's me, Sue-Sue. It's KK. I'm back from Sally's. Wake up, before Mama gets up. I want to go to the carnival."

Seconds dilated into some unknown measure of time. Memories swirled through Alex's mind, and her heart began to ache. Grace's eyes stayed shut.

"Come on, Sue-Sue. I know you're playing possum. Quit faking."

Alex felt a twitch in her hand. Adrenaline surged through her, but when she saw the frozen eyelids, she decided that the twitch must have come from her own hand.

"Kuh…kuh,"
someone coughed.

Alex turned, thinking it was Bill or Dr. Andrews, but then Grace clenched her hand and let out a sharp cry. When Alex whipped her head around, she saw Grace's green eyes wide-open. Then Grace blinked. Alex's heart soared. She leaned down over her sister, because though Grace was only thirty-five, her eyes were almost useless without glasses or contacts.

"KK?"
Grace moaned.
"Iz zah wu?"

"It's me, Gracie," Alex said, rubbing a strand of hair out of her sister's cloudy eyes.

"Oh, Goth,"
Grace said in a guttural voice, and then she began to sob.
"Thang Godth."

Alex had to clench her jaw muscles to keep from sobbing. The right half of Grace's face was paralyzed, and drool ran down her chin whenever she struggled to speak. She sounded exactly like Uncle T.J., who'd died after a series of strokes left him without a shred of his old identity.

"Wu…wu have tuh thave Jamie,"
Grace gargled.

"What? I missed that."

"Havuh thave Jamie!"
Grace repeated, struggling to rise in the bed. She seemed to be trying to look behind Alex.

"Jamie's fine," Alex said in a comforting voice. "He's on his way here."

Grace shook her head violently.
"Wissen! Havuh wissen!"

"I'm listening, Sue-Sue, I promise."

Grace stared into Alex's eyes with all the urgency in her soul.
"You—have—tuh—thave—Jamie…Gay-Gay. You thuh…onwe…one ooh can."

"Save Jamie from what?"

"Biw."

"Bill?" Alex asked, sure she must be wrong in her translation.

With painful effort, Grace nodded.

Alex blinked in astonishment. "What are you talking about? Is Bill hurting Jamie in some way?"

A weak nod.
"Ee wiw…thoon ath I'm gone."

Alex struggled to understand the tortured words. "Hurt Jamie how? Are you talking about some sort of abuse?"

Grace shook her head.
"Biw—wiw—kiw—Jamie's—thole."

Alex squinted as though trying to decipher some coded text. "Bill…will…kill…Jamie's…soul?"

Grace's head sagged in exhaustion.

"Gracie…Bill isn't my favorite person. You've always known that. But he's been a good father, hasn't he? He seems like a basically decent man."

Grace gripped Alex's hand and shook her head. Then she hissed,
"Eeth a monther!"

Alex felt a chill. "He's a
monster
? Is that what you said?"

A tear of relief slid down Grace's paralyzed cheek.

Alex looked at the anguished eyes, then turned and glanced over her shoulder. Bill Fennell was still speaking to Dr. Andrews, but his eyes were on Alex.

"Ith Biw coming?"
Grace asked in a terrified voice, trying in vain to twist in the bed.

"No, no. He's talking to the doctor."

"Dogtor—duthend—know."

"Doesn't know what?"

"Whuh Biw did."

"What do you mean? What did Bill do?"

Grace suddenly raised her hand and gripped Alex's blouse, then pulled her head down to her lips.
"Ee kiwd me!"

Alex felt as though ice water had been shunted into her veins. She drew back and looked into Grace's bloodshot eyes. "He
killed
you? Is that what you said?"

Grace nodded once, her eyes filled with conviction.

"Grace, you don't know what you're saying."

Even with a partially paralyzed face, Grace managed a smile that said,
Oh, yes, I do.

"You can't mean that. Not literally."

Grace closed her eyes as though gathering herself for one last effort.
"You…onwe one…ooh can thop im. Too…wate…fuh me. I urd…dogtuh…out thide. Thave Jamie for me…Gay-Gay. Pleath."

Alex looked back through the glass wall. Bill was still watching her, and his conversation looked as if it was winding down. Alex had always known Grace's marriage wasn't perfect, but what marriage was? Not that Alex was any authority. She had somehow reached the age of thirty without tying the knot. After years of badge groupies and badge bolters, she'd finally accepted a proposal, then terminated the engagement three months later, after discovering that her fiancé was cheating with her best friend. In matters amorous, she was a ridiculous cliché.

"Sue-Sue," she whispered, "why would Bill want to hurt you?"

"Thum-one else,"
Grace said.
"Wuh-man."

"Another woman? Do you know that for a fact?"

Another half-paralyzed smile.
"Uh—wife—knowth."

Alex believed her. During her engagement to Peter Hodges, a feeling very like a sixth sense had told her something was amiss in their relationship. Long before there was any tangible clue, she'd simply known there was betrayal. If she had possessed the same instinct about conventional crimes, she'd already be an SAC instead of a hostage negotiator.
Correction,
she thought,
I'm a common field agent now.

"If Bill wants to be with another woman," she said, "why doesn't he just divorce you?"

"Muhn-ey…dum-me. Would coth Biw miw-yens…tuh do that. Five—miwyen…may-be."

Alex drew back in disbelief. She'd known that Bill had been doing well for some years now, but she'd had no idea he was that wealthy. Why in God's name was Grace still teaching elementary school?
Because she loves it,
she answered herself.
Because she can't not work.

Grace had closed her eyes, seemingly drained by her efforts.
"Tew…Mom…I tho-we,"
she said.
"Tew huh…I be waiting fuh hurh…in heaven."
The smile animated the living half of her face again.
"If—I—make it."

"You made it, honey," Alex said, balling her free hand into a fist and holding it against her mouth.

"Well, look at this, Dr. Andrews!" boomed Bill Fennell. "She looks like she's ready to get up and out of that bed."

Grace's eyes snapped open, and she shrank away from her husband, obviously trying to use Alex as a shield. The terror in her eyes hurt Alex's heart, and it also thrust her into full-defense mode. She stood up and blocked Bill from coming to the bedside.

"I think it's better if you don't come in," she said, looking hard into her brother-in-law's eyes.

Bill's mouth dropped open. He looked past her to Grace, who was literally cowering in the bed. "What are you talking about?" he asked angrily. "What the hell's going on here? Have you said something about me to Grace?"

Alex glanced at Dr. Andrews, who looked confused. "No. Quite the reverse, I'm afraid."

Bill shook his head in apparent puzzlement. "I don't understand."

Alex probed his brown eyes, searching for some sign of guilt. Grace's fears and accusations were probably the product of a dying woman's hallucinations, but there was no doubt about the reality of her terror. "You're upsetting her, Bill. You can see that. You should go downstairs and wait for Jamie."

"There's no way I'm going to leave my wife's bedside. Not when she might—"