While the Savage Sleeps (35 page)

She kept her speed, slamming the gurney into, and through, two swinging, stainless steel doors. Metal crashed against metal, producing a deafening sound. The patient reacted with a violent jerk but did nothing else. To the right of the doors hung a sign: 5
^TH
Floor Subjugation Unit.

The nurse moved into a room filled with doctors and even more nurses—a sea of white coats and vacant expressions. Kyle recognized the scene.
Lewison
, she thought,
from her earlier vision,
the one they had “parked.” He’s next.

They transferred him onto a shiny metal table. One of the doctors reached above and pulled down the hinged metal arm with the domed light. Someone flicked a switch and a giant burst of light exploded, covering the room like a neon blanket. Although the patient was looking up into the lamp, he didn’t seem the least bit affected by its blinding intensity. The pupils remained dilated—and dark.

Another nurse entered, rolling in a small and flimsy metal cart. On it, lying across a blue paper towel was a syringe filled with a brownish-colored liquid. A small wet circle formed just below the tip of the needle where some had leaked out, expanding as it absorbed into the towel.

Almost like a choreographed dance, three nurses stepped forward. They each tightened one of three heavy leather straps across the man’s chest, stomach, and legs. The one going across his stomach also bound his arms against his sides. The flesh beneath the straps ballooned along the edges, turning it bright pink; still, the patient showed no reaction, staring into the light above him, expressionless.

The nurse grabbed the syringe and held it up to the glaring light, which transformed it into a brilliant amber color. As she pushed up from the bottom, a tiny, liquefied ball began to extrude from the long slender tip. Lowering it down, eyes glued to the spit-sharp needle, she pressed the point against the skin on his arm where it plunged, deeply, disappearing into flesh. The liquid inside the syringe slowly descended downward until gone.

At first, the man showed no outward reaction.

Then everything changed.

The patient went from impassive and lifeless to an acute state of hyper-awareness. The pupils began to shrink, his eyes regaining their color, their resilience. Color returned to his face as well, and tiny beads of sweat began squeezing through his pores, growing large, then inching down his skin like raindrops sliding along a windshield.

He began to twitch.

Then, as if some external forced had grabbed hold of his body, he started jerking back and forth, rocking the table, and causing the legs beneath to skip off the floor.

One of the nurses stepped back. The patient looked up, locking eyes with her, and in that instant, he suddenly stopped moving.

Then something happened, something Kyle didn’t expect: a smile. A horrible one.

An orderly stepped forward, but he seemed to know better, avoiding eye contact with the subject. He raised his hands just above his head and slapped them together, forming a tight fist. Then, he threw them down onto the patient’s chest with a force so powerful it produced a deep, hollow thump that reverberated throughout the room.

The patient let out an intense, gut-wrenching howl that resonated.

The orderly looked over at the doctor, who nodded back at him with a restrained, approving smile. He smiled back.

Through all this, Kyle stood in the corner of the room watching everything unfold. Then, suddenly, she felt her head move to the right at a speed that did not feel natural, as if being directed toward a specific spot, to an open doorway.

Bethany appeared on the other side. She walked through it and right up to Kyle. The little girl stood for a few moments, staring, saying nothing, her expression vacant and dreary.

Without warning, the little girl opened her mouth, and a thick, muddy sludge poured out, splattering as it hit the floor, then sailing up through the air. It was the same color Kyle had seen swirling in the small child’s eyes—that putrid, greenish color. It looked like mud, and the smell was thick and foul. The sludge continued to pour from Bethany’s mouth, and Kyle could feel it oozing around her feet, warm and wet.

“
What?” she pleaded with the girl, disgusted by the thick, slimy mess now crawling between her bare toes. “What is it? Tell me!
Please tell me!
”

Bethany stared up toward the ceiling.

Kyle looked up too, then back at the girl, shaking her head quickly, confused by the gesture.

Bethany revealed a hint of a smile, then nodded and said, “Look up.”

The girl turned around and began walking away.

“
Look up?” Kyle shouted out to her. “Look up where?” Kyle had, but all she’d seen was the broad, empty ceiling.

Bethany turned around. “Today is the last day. The deadline is now.”

“
I don’t understand!” Kyle shouted back, although it sounded more like a plea for help.

Bethany turned back around and kept walking. When she got to the doorway, she went through it, disappearing upon reaching the other side.

Kyle didn’t know why, but she had a strong feeling this was the last time she would ever see Bethany Foley.

Chapter
Seventy-Nine

6623 Hunter’s Run

Faith, New Mexico

The next morning, the first thing Kyle did was reach for her notepad. The dream had jolted her awake in the middle of the night, and she’d spent at least an hour taking notes, describing as many details as she could recall. Bethany had come through for her with the information; now all she had to do was figure out what it meant.

5
^th
floor subjugation unit.
She thought about the words, ran the definition through her mind: it meant to bring under control, to make submissive.

She looked up and stared at the wall.
Submissive? Control?
Was that what this was all about? Some sort of mind control? She remembered the groans she’d heard coming from behind locked doors. Had she been wandering through some kind of human storage facility for those trapped inside themselves, people in some sort of vegetative, non-responsive state?

She remembered the orderly, how he’d slammed his fist down so hard onto the patient’s chest. The sound it made was horrific. The subject responded to it with a harsh moan, but only after getting the injection. Was it some kind of test to measure the patient’s responsiveness?

And what about that shot? He’d reacted violently to it, even began to shake and writhe. It was as if he’d started coming back to life, going from unresponsive and catatonic, to awake and explosive. He’d frightened the nurse just by smiling at her, and for a brief moment, it appeared that
he
had turned the tables, making
her
the submissive one. Even while bound by the heavy leather straps, he was still able to strike fear in her.

It was the smile: that menacing, eerie smile.

A switch went on in Kyle’s head. She remembered her earlier dreams, about the violence, the blood. That syringe with the brown liquid. Something in it must have been powerful enough to alter the patient’s mental state. She’d seen it before, once during that dreadful blood match, and again, when all the patients got loose, killing each other, as well as the medical staff. They all had that same intense look in their eyes.

The deadline is now.

Bethany’s words still echoed in Kyle’s head as she threw on her clothes and rushed toward the living room. Cameron was already gone. On the table was a note:

Gone into town. Back in a bit. Make yourself comfortable
.

-- Cam.

She spotted Bentley lying on his side on the kitchen floor, legs splayed, snoring, his barrel chest rising and falling with each labored breath. He opened his eyes to glance up at Kyle, smacked his lips, and within seconds was fast asleep again. Her presence was no longer a cause for alarm, but it didn’t elicit much excitement, either. She decided she’d live with that.

Kyle grabbed her car keys and moved outside—although she wasn’t sure why—then glanced around, taking in a whiff of fresh morning air, trying to decide what to do next.

Then the words came back to her—the ones that had come straight from Bethany’s mouth, her parting message:

Look up.

Kyle did, but again saw nothing. Look up where?

On pure impulse, she jumped into the car and drove toward town. As she did, something began to happen: the closer she got, the stronger the vibrations became. Kyle’s mind felt like a homing device aimed at its intended target, her grip on the steering wheel becoming so tight, her knuckles were turning white. Sweat formed on her forehead, and the nervous apprehension felt like it was chipping away at her. She turned onto Main Street, then to Oakdale. One more block and she’d be in the center of town. That was where she needed to go; she had no idea why, but something was drawing her there, pulling her in like a giant magnet. Something awaited her, something important.

Kyle turned the corner and instantly knew that she’d arrived. She stopped the car, got out, then moved to the middle of the intersection. Her frame of mind had shifted; she could feel it. In a trance-like daze and blocking oncoming traffic, she hardly cared. A few horns blew while other people shouted—still, she didn’t budge, standing steady, immovable. Then she looked up, just as Bethany had told her to do.

And she saw it.

That was it.
That
was where she needed to go.

Chapter
Eighty

Old Highway 10

Faith, New Mexico

Every road seemed to lead back to the Foleys—yet each time Cameron went there, it was like driving right into a brick wall.

Or banging his head against one.

Now, after everything that had happened within the past twenty-four hours, he was more convinced than ever that the answers he needed were still hiding there.

Kyle, too, had seemed to feel that the Foleys were at the heart of the mystery. It all came back to that family, and still, nobody could figure out why.

It was time to begin listening to his heart instead of his mind. It was time, Cameron decided, to go back to that house.

* * *

Cameron had barely put his car in park when he saw curtains yank open in Della Schumacher’s second-story window. Within a few moments, she was at his side. Lately, she’d fancied herself an integral part of the investigation. Cameron fancied her a nuisance.

“
Had the place
staked out all day, sheriff,” she said, trying to keep pace with him as he walked toward the Foley house. “Subjects haven’t returned since their original visit, but not to worry. I’m still surveilling. Gonna keep a 5150 on the perimeter.”

“
5150’s the code for someone who’s mentally ill,” Cameron said, hands on his hips while staring up at the house.

She jabbed the heel of her hand into her forehead as if she’d known it all along. “Of course. What in the world was I thinking?”

There’s no telling
, Cameron thought, then said, “Della, when those two men came poking around at the Foley place, where exactly did they go?”

Della placed two lanky fingers beneath her chin and fluttered them back and forth, as if it were helping her think. She stared down at the ground a few seconds longer, then back up at Cameron. After all that, she replied, “Everywhere.”

“
More specifically?” Cameron asked.

She pursed her lips. “Well … they didn’t go inside the place … that much I know. Mostly stood over there for a real long time.” She pointed toward the rear of the house where an open field lay. Beyond that was a small creek flanked by an old well pump and plenty of dry scrub brush. The area appeared as far removed from all the action as one could get.

Follow the trail, Cam,
he told himself.
Look beyond the obvious.
His eyes refocused, fixed on the area as he moved toward it.

“
They was up to no good. I can tell when someone’s up to no good,” Della shouted out to him, then appeared crestfallen when he didn’t respond.

Cameron remained intent as he continued moving forward. He was onto something.

The well’s pump clicked, startling him. He drew his attention to it, then at the vacant house, then back at it again. He knelt down to get a closer look. Immediately, as if being hit by a thought, he turned his head and gazed at the creek, no more than a hundred feet or so away. He stood straight up, looking at the waterway as if it had taken on a whole new meaning.
Water,
he thought,
water that feeds right here
.

He moved forward again. Reaching an area with heavy brush, he let his gaze drop down toward the ground. Everywhere around him, mustard weed poked up through the ground, making it difficult to see beneath it.