David B. Silva

THE DISAPPEARED

For Rich and Alicia, lovers of books (though they have a terrible habit of dog-earing the pages), fine coffee, needful dogs, and a competitive game of Shanghai Rummy.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My sincere gratitude to Bentley Little, a fellow traveler in this strange world of storytelling, and without whom this novel may never have been written.

My continual appreciation and wonder to Alicia Dayton, who is still willing to answer the phone no matter how many times I call her with silly questions.

For Dean Koontz, I wish there was more I could say than simply thank you. For his generosity, his guidance, his friendship, I will forever consider myself fortunate.

For Paul F. Olson, who has never stopped being there when I began to feel a little too isolated from the real world. Thank you, Paul, and please, pick up a pencil and write another story for us!

OPENINGS

In autumn, a leaf drops off a tree and flutters this way and that on the afternoon breeze, like a butterfly languidly strolling the currents. It touches down on the clear, calm surface of a pond. A ripple is brought forth. The ripple expands outward in a series of concentric rings. It is these rings that represent the true nature of time.

Time is not the linear propriety we have come to believe it is. We speak of the past as something that has come and gone and is lost except to our memories. We speak of the future as that which is yet to be. There are many pasts, many futures, each arising from the moment like ripples from a fallen leaf.

Transcending Illusions

[1]

How had it come to this?

Retreating to the safe, familiar darkness of the house.

Keeping the drapes drawn, day and night, summer, winter.

Wearing sunglasses in public to keep others from looking in, to keep her from looking out.

Fading hopelessly into the mind-numbing distraction of television, hours fading to days, days to months.

Dreaming him, missing his little-boy laughter, the sweet summer-sun smell of his hair, the mesmerizing dark brown eyes.

Giving up on him.

Such a long time now.

How had it come to this?

She didn’t want to think about it.

And that was precisely the point, wasn’t it?

[2]

Someone was knocking at the door.

Teri Knight, who was lying on the couch with a damp wash cloth draped over her forehead, opened her eyes and stared at the living room ceiling, listening. The sun had gone down. It was late evening now, seven-thirty, maybe eight. She had drawn the drapes earlier, and turned out the lights, and now there was a slit of brightness from the neighbor’s back porch light slipping through the sliding glass doors, through the far corner where the drapes didn’t quite cover, pitching a rectangular gray cast across the wall next to the fireplace. In the background, she could hear the gritty chorus of “Round Here” by Counting Crows. It seemed a thousand miles away.

Teri closed her eyes again, fighting against a headache that had come on late this morning, just before her lunch break at the post office. It had dogged her relentlessly all afternoon, through her regular postal route, through the traffic after work, through four doses, 500 milligrams each, of ibuprofen, and there was still no sign of relief in sight. Michael would have told her there was nothing she could do about it, that she just had to let it run its course, as if it were a cold or the flu. Michael would have told her to let go of it and get on with her life. But then Michael was a ghost now, wasn’t he? Or as close to a ghost as a man can get without dying first.

Michael.

In the distance, a crack of thunder exploded.

The music wandered away, voice to thunder, rhythm to rain, sweetly, innocently. Maybe it would be back. Maybe it wouldn’t. And maybe Michael had been right. Maybe she just had to learn to let go of it and get on with her life. Let the past rest in peace. If only the past wasn’t such a long stretch of road.

She didn’t know where all the miles had gone, only that somewhere along the line the miles had begun to run together, monotonously, an endless stretch of yellow dashes leading the way into the horizon. She would be forty-three in late November, wife to a man who lived on the other side of the country, a man she hadn’t seen in several years; mother to a son who had gone to the park on his bicycle one day and had disappeared off the face of the earth, a ghost of a different kind.

Such a long, long stretch of road.

Another crack of thunder exploded.

Teri felt it rumble across the floor beneath the couch. Just the storm, she thought wearily. She let out a slow, deliberate breath, feeling her headache ebb and rise, then ebb again, fighting to hold on.

Just the storm.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, burning white-hot into the back of her eyelids before leaving a trail of browns and grays and blacks. Teri winced and turned away. She wasn’t a woman who normally gave herself to nightmares. If they wanted her, they had to come get her. Lately, that was exactly what they had been doing. And just now, she thought she had caught a glimpse of something that looked like a granite headstone, its face weathered and spider-webbed with cracks, a name chiseled crudely into the stone, unreadable against a backdrop of muddy colors and a gray-white mist rolling in from somewhere in the…

in the…

past.

Another roll of thunder.

She shuddered, and sat up again, the wash cloth slipping off her forehead and dropping into her lap. It wasn’t the storm that frightened her. Storms were like out-of-state relatives, they came and went with a vengeance, but once they had moved through, life soon returned to normal. It wasn’t like that with everything. Nightmares, especially the bad ones, had a way of coming back for you. She tossed the wash cloth at the coffee table and when it fell off the far side, she made no effort to pick it up again.

Behind the roll of thunder another sound made itself evident. It took a moment before she was able to make sense out of what she was hearing, and this time there was no mistaking the sound. It wasn’t the storm. And it wasn’t the music.

Someone was knocking at the door.

[3]

When she went to investigate, Teri found a young woman pacing uneasily off to one side of the front porch. She was not a familiar face. Teri would have remembered this particular woman, whose hair was tied back in a ponytail, revealing the most striking eyes Teri had ever seen. They were pale blue, almost ghost-like, the kind of eyes that you couldn’t turn away from even if you wanted.

The woman was not alone. Behind her, looking rain-soaked and a bit out of sorts, stood a young boy, maybe ten or eleven. He appeared on the thin side and a bit pale, as if he had been out of the sun for a good long time. His hair was long and pressed against his face by the rain. From beneath his bangs, he looked up and Teri felt an instant, tugging sense of familiarity. Her hand tightened on the doorknob.

“Mrs. Knight?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” Teri said. It was unmistakable how much this boy looked like Gabe. All the way down to the clothes he was wearing: Levi’s, a black tee-shirt, a blue-and-white wind breaker like the one she had bought at J.C. Penny’s only a day or two before Gabe had disappeared. Part of a white sock was visible through a rip in the toe of one shoe, and though Teri didn’t remember the rip, she did remember those shoes. They were a generic brand that K-Mart had quit selling a number of years ago.

“I think he’s missed you, Mrs. Knight.”

“What?”

The rain began to come down in sheets. It took her back in a flash to when Gabe had been young and had come home from school one day and asked her about God. One of the kids had told him that whenever God cried, it rained. Only there was something he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand what was so terrible that it could make God want to cry? Teri had been at a loss for words. And here she was again at another loss. She looked at the woman and smiled, numbly trying to comprehend what she was apparently failing to grasp.

“He’s not a hundred percent, Mrs. Knight. He needs to sit down.” The boy moved forward and snuggled into the comfort of the young woman’s arms, his eyes half-awake and downcast, rain drops running down his forehead and jumping off at the tip of his nose. The woman switched what was apparently his walking cane from one hand to the other. “Please.”

Teri stepped inside the house, an invitation for them to follow.

The woman nodded in appreciation and took the boy by the arm. “Come on, Gabriel,” she whispered.

Gabriel.

Teri heard it clearly.

The woman called him, Gabriel.

But that was impossible. Gabriel—Gabe—had disappeared nearly ten years ago. Teri had just started working for the post office, feeling that he was old enough to be on his own after school since he had recently turned eleven. They were new to the neighborhood then. Michael had received a promotion the year before and they had bought the house some six months later. For awhile the bees were busy and the honey was sweet, as Michael’s grandmother would often say. And then one day Gabe went off on his bicycle and had never come home again.

Teri blinked, trying to find a place in her mind where such a hope against hope might exist. In that second, the boy started to sink under his own weight. The young woman caught him, and together they managed to get him into the living room and onto the couch. Teri went back to retrieve the cane, which had fallen out of the tangle and was lying on the floor near the front door in plain sight now, like an ugly secret finally out in the open. She turned it over several times in her hands, wondering what was wrong with the boy.

“He’s still a little weak,” the woman said when Teri returned. “Ten days ago he couldn’t even climb out of bed.”

Teri hooked the cane over the back of the couch. The boy, his head propped up by a pillow, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The woman gave the back of his hand a reassuring pat.

“Is he going to be all right?” Teri asked.

“He’s just a little tired.” The woman brushed the hair back from the boy’s forehead. She seemed ill at ease inside the house, glancing down the short hall toward the door every now and then as if she feared she might not be able to find her way out again now that she had found her way in.

“What’s going on?” Teri said. She backed into the wall, feeling an uneasiness of her own, as if she, too, were a stranger in this house. “Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t.”

“Please, Mrs. Knight. I know this is sudden and confusing and I wish I could sit down and explain everything. Unfortunately, I just don’t have that kind of time. You’re going to have to trust me.”

“Trust you? I don’t even know you!”

“I know you, Mrs. Knight. And I hope I’ve done the right thing by bringing your son home.” The woman brushed past her, suddenly looking older than her years, the fear naked in her eyes now. “Please, don’t make me regret it someday.”

“My son?” Teri said. “No, I’m sorry, you’re mistaken. This can’t be my son. Gabe’s…”

“He’ll probably sleep more than normal the next week or two. You’ll need to push him, to make sure he gets enough exercise and keeps building his strength.”

“Wait a minute. You’re not listening to me. This can’t be—”

“Oh, there’s something else you should know. Gabe has no recollection of where he’s been the past ten years. He believes he was in an accident on his bicycle several weeks ago and that he’s been recuperating.”

“You aren’t leaving him?”

“He’s your son, Mrs. Knight.”

“No, I don’t think you understand. Gabe disappeared years ago. This boy, whoever he is, he can’t possibly be my son.”

The woman paused in the doorway, staring out at the rain, looking wistful. “I know how long he’s been away. And I think I know how difficult it’s going to be for you to accept that he’s home again. But don’t make the effort for yourself, Mrs. Knight. Make it for your son.”

“But he’s not my—”

“Trust me. He’s Gabriel.” The woman stepped off the porch and started down the walkway. She stopped half-way to the curb and turned back momentarily, the rain washing over her face in tendrils. “He still has a chance for a normal life, Mrs. Knight. Both of you still have a chance.”

“But what am I supposed to—”

“Good luck.”

Teri cupped her elbows in her hands and leaned against the doorjamb, feeling wan and confused. She watched the woman climb into her car and pull away from the curb. A cloud of blue smoke spewed out of the tailpipe and dissipated in the rain. The car turned the corner, disappearing from sight long before the sound of its engine faded ghost-like into the patter of raindrops.

[4]

Teri stood in the open doorway, watching the way the rain washed over the neighborhood, casting everything under its gray, somber spell. The moment felt strangely dream-like, only this wasn’t a dream. If she had any doubts of that, they were quickly put aside once she made her way back to the living room. The boy had fallen asleep on the couch, curled into a semi-fetal position with the extra pillow tucked between his arms and chest.

In all honesty, she had to admit he did look a little like Gabe. If she could suspend time and put aside the fact that ten years had passed, well, they would both be right around the same age, with the same brown hair, the same build, even the same facial features. But ten years had passed. Gabe would be twenty-one. And there was something else, too. The eyes. Gabe’s eyes had been a wonderful dark brown pool that seemed wise beyond their years. But this boy, his eyes were bluish-green, flecked with gray specks around the outer edges.

Outside, the sound of the rain softened to a quiet murmur.

Inside, the music had come to an end and Teri couldn’t remember how long the house had fallen under the spell of silence. She stared down at the boy a moment longer, watching a rivulet of water run down the side of his face and disappear under his shirt collar.

Who are you? she wondered as she peeled off his jacket. She tossed the damp wind breaker at the coffee table, surprised at how the boy simply rolled over toward the back of the couch and curled up again, undisturbed. Who are you and what are you doing here?

Those questions, like ghosts, haunted Teri as she went down the hall to retrieve a towel from the linen closet. They provided the chill that ran up her spine as she stopped at the door to Gabe’s room and glanced inside. They stood next to her, reminiscing, as she looked past the dust at a room which had been preserved exactly as it had been left. She had only been in here three times since then. Once – so the police could take a look through Gabe’s things. Another time, when she didn’t think she could hold herself together a moment longer and she had come here looking for the strength to get her through another day. And finally, when she had closed the door for what she had thought would be the last time.

Now the door was open again.

Over Gabe’s bed, which he was supposed to have made that afternoon and never had, was a poster of Sly Stallone. It was from the movie Rambo II. Stallone was wearing a ragged strip of cloth across his forehead and holding some sort of gun in one hand—an M-something or other, according to Gabe. Teri hadn’t allowed Gabe to see the movie; he had just turned nine and nine was too young as far as she had been concerned. But she had allowed him to have the poster. It was a compromise that had managed to keep them both satisfied.

On the far wall, between the corner and the window, was a poster of Haley’s Comet. On top of the dresser was an army of war toys: tanks, rocket launchers, soldiers, jeeps, the same kinds of toys Teri’s foster brother had collected as a boy. And above the light switch on her right was a bumper sticker that said: I BRAKE FOR MUTANTS.

Nothing had been touched. Not even the small pile of dirty clothes he had hidden in the corner on the other side of the dresser. Standing in the doorway now, it was almost as if Gabe had been gone only a day or two. Maybe off to day camp or on a school trip of some sort.

Almost.

But then not like that at all.

She stood there, mulling over the past as if it were a script she hoped she might still be able to rewrite someday. Maybe if she hadn’t starting working at the post office. Or maybe if she had been home that day or if Gabe had done his homework before going out to play or if the park had been off limits. Maybe if she had taught him not to talk to strangers or if she had enrolled him in a self-defense course. Maybe then the story would have turned out differently.

Maybe.

Teri closed the bedroom door, and by the time she returned to the living room, the boy was awake again. She found him sitting up, looking a little tired, a little unhappy, and very much out of place.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” she said.

He shrugged, a little boy’s ambivalence.

She sat next to him and unfolded the towel, surprised to find her hands trembling. It had been a long time since she had last been called upon to dry a little boy’s hair. The smell was sweet, his skin soft and perfect. She placed the towel over his head, something fluttering in her stomach.

“You’re wet as a tadpole.”

He squirmed. “I can do it, Mom.”

[5]

“Don’t ever call me that again!”

The boy turned white as a sheet and sank back into the corner. “Sorry.”

“No,” Teri said, stunned by the ferocity of what had come out of her mouth. She touched him on the forearm. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. It’s just that…” That what? she wondered. That he had scared her? That she had suddenly found herself looking into his face and seeing Gabe’s face, as bright and precious and loving as the day he had disappeared?

“It’s my bike, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“My bike. You’re mad because I wrecked my bike.”

“Oh, no. It’s not that.”

“I didn’t mean to; it was an accident.”

“I know,” Teri said. “Your friend, she explained what happened.”

“I was unconscious for awhile,” the boy added. He had somehow taken possession of the towel and ran it through his hair a few times before dropping it back on the coffee table. Then he stared at her a moment and Teri realized that he was looking at her intently for the first time. Not only that, but he was bothered by something.

“You look different,” he said.

“Different from what?”

“From the way you used to look.”

“You mean before the accident?”

“Yeah.”

“Which was all of two weeks ago?”

“Yeah, you look… older,” he said impishly.

Teri felt herself smile with him, though a little uneasily. It had been a long time since she had taken good care of herself. First Gabe had disappeared. Then Michael had walked out. And after that, well, it had seemed harder to focus on the day-to-day matters of life, the little things like getting her hair done or shopping for new clothes.

“Two weeks is a long time,” she said, brushing the hair back from his face.

“Not that long.”

“No, maybe not.” She got up from the couch, grazing her shin on the edge of the coffee table, and stood by the folding doors that separated the living room from the family room. Before she had boxed them up and stored them in the garage, there used to be dozens of family photos covering the walls on either side. You could still see patches where the wood paneling around the picture frames had faded from the afternoon sunlight slipping in through the living room window. Some scars were forever.

“She called you Gabriel,” Teri said. “The woman who brought you here.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s my name.”

“Then what’s your full name?”

“Mom…”

Teri tensed again. “Please, just don’t call me that. All right? Not just yet.”

“Gabriel Knight.”

“And how old are you?”

“Eleven.”

“What’s your father’s name?”

“Michael.”

“What school do you go to?”

“Banton.”

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Mom…”

“Just tell me – what’s her name?”

“I don’t have a sister.”

She felt herself slump back against the corner of the folding door, the edge digging into the small of her back. Her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat, a lump that she could neither swallow nor seem to exhale.

“Okay,” she said at last, speaking in a near whisper. She clasped her elbows in the palms of her hands, and stared out the window. It had turned cold in here. She could feel the coldness burrowing into the marrow of her bones. “Let’s say you are Gabe, just for argument’s sake.”

[6]

This was what she had been able to gather so far: according to the boy, he remembered going to the park on his bicycle to play, which was something he had often done after school. He remembered fooling around on the baseball diamond, running the bases a couple of times, tossing rocks from the pitcher’s mound to the backstop, and he remembered getting a drink from the water fountain behind the little league dugout. After that, he claimed he didn’t remember much of anything. He said he had looked up at the sky one moment and the sun had been bright and well above the horizon, and in the next moment he had found himself in the hospital.

“Well, what made you think it was the hospital?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. There were these machines next to the bed, like the ones you see on TV, the ones that make that beeping sound like your heart.”

“An EKG.”

“Yeah, I think that’s it,” he said without a breath. “And I had this needle in my arm, with this tube that was hooked-up to a bag with this clear stuff dripping out. It looked like water, but I’m pretty sure it was some sort of medicine or something like that.”

He said he had fallen asleep after that, and when he woke up again there had been a woman standing over his bed. She told him her name was Miss Churchill, and that he had been in an accident on his bike and that it was going to take awhile before he would be strong enough to go home again. The boy wasn’t certain how long he had been in the hospital, but he thought maybe it had been as long as ten or eleven days.

“Was that Miss Churchill with you tonight?” Teri asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“And she took care of you while you were there?”

“She was my nurse,” the boy said. He leaned forward and a shudder went through him like some sort of spontaneous seizure. He closed his eyes and fell back again.

“A little cold in here, isn’t it?”

“A little.”

“Let me see if I can find something to warm you up.”

Teri brought a blanket out from the linen closet. She sat next to him on the couch and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. For the second time, she took in the sweet, honeysuckle smell of his hair. She smiled to herself, remembering how much of a fight it used to be to get Gabe to take a bath at night. He had always hated wasting time washing since he was “just going to get dirty again anyway,” as he had often gone out of his way to remind her.

“How ’bout some hot chocolate?”

The boy nodded without a word, and made no effort to hide the fact that he was growing tired again. He pulled the blanket up under his chin and snuggled into the corner of the couch. His eyes, those blue-green crystals of the soul, gradually disappeared behind their lids, and Teri found herself wondering if maybe something was seriously wrong with him.

When she returned with the hot chocolate, she tapped him on the forearm. His eyes fluttered open, and waif-like he cupped the mug in his hands, looking so much like Gabe that it frightened her for a moment.

“Thanks.” He took a sip, and then placed the mug on the coffee table, next to the damp towel. His hands quickly disappeared back beneath the blanket.

“What else can you tell me?” she asked.

He had never seen a doctor in those ten or eleven days, he said. It had always been Miss Churchill who had come to check on him, to bring him food, to get him out of bed and walking around the room. She told him his muscles would be weak for awhile, but that everyday, if he worked hard, they would get a little stronger. And when they were strong enough, then he would be able to come home.

“And here I am,” he said.

“Here you are,” Teri answered obligingly. He had been convincing. She had to give him that. Someone had spent a whole lot of time with him, feeding him answers, making sure he had at least an air of credibility. And he hadn’t missed a beat. It was all tied-up in a neat little package, and now all Teri had to do was decide if she was going to cut the ribbon to see if it was booby-trapped or put it aside and wait to see if it went off on its own.

“Now, I suppose, we’re going to have to figure out what we’re going to do with you, aren’t we?” she said.

“I don’t get it. What do you mean?”

“I suppose I could call someone from Child Protective Services.”

“What for?”

“Because you don’t belong here, and I don’t know where you do belong.” She plopped into the recliner across from the couch, her lungs emptying out in a rush of air. The frightening thing was that she wanted to believe him. More than anything in the world she wanted to believe him. It had been years since Gabe had disappeared and there hadn’t been a night, not a single, lonely night, when she hadn’t dreamed of him showing up on the front porch just like this. Except in the dreams there had never been a doubt.

“I do, too, belong here.”

“I don’t think so,” Teri said. She stared out the window at the rain that had turned into a lazy evening mist now. It came floating out of the sky like an apology for the earlier downpour, mystical and somehow suspended in time. “I wish you did, though. God, you’ll never know how much I wish—”

Before she could finish, someone knocked at the door.

INTERMEDIATES

You live in a house that serves as your sanctuary. It is your shelter from the water when it rains, from the cold when it snows, from the wind when it tests its lungs. You sleep there against weariness, eat there against hunger. It is a reflection of who you are and how you see your place in the world. It is all these things that constitute your perception of yourself, and yet it is not you. It is only your sanctuary.

Your body is the sanctuary of your soul. It is how you perceive the world, how you feel and taste and hear. It is your window to the sunset, to the orange-full moon, to the storm in the distance. It is the receptacle of your expectations, of your experiences, of your beliefs about yourself. But it is not you. Be careful which axioms you ask it to follow.

Transcending Illusions

[1]

Teri opened the front door and in keeping with the theme for the evening, she found two men, neither of whom she had ever seen before, standing on the porch. They were an odd pair. One man tall and heavy-set, wearing a blue suit, with a light-blue shirt and a dark tie that made her think of him almost immediately as one of those cheap attorneys you saw in television ads. In an accident? Injured at work? Don’t let the insurance company take advantage of you. Call and make an appointment today. There’s no fee if I can’t get you a settlement. The other man, who stood several feet in the background, rocked back and forth on his heels, edgy and ill-at-ease, a weasel watching with anticipation.

“Mrs. Knight?”

“Yes.” Though they had been living thousands of miles apart for some four years now, she had never initiated divorce proceedings against Gabe’s father. For Teri it had been her way of holding onto the past, a silent prayer that Gabe might still be found someday and they would be a family again. For Michael, well, he had never been one for confrontation.

“Teri Knight?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like you step back inside the house, please.” The cheap attorney pulled back the lapel of his suit jacket, and there, behind expensive lining, in a holster under his left arm, was a gun. “If you would, please.”

“What is this—?”

“In good time, Mrs. Knight. Please step back inside the house.”

Don’t be foolish, a voice sounded inside her.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“Please, Mrs. Knight.”

The man’s eyes narrowed and for the first time Teri noticed the scar above his left eyebrow. It was a thick, jagged gnarl of flesh that looked as if it might have been the brand of the Devil himself. Plastic surgery would have easily taken care of it, she thought. But that would have defeated the purpose, wouldn’t it? This wasn’t just a scar. It was a badge of honor for this man, a pronouncement to let everyone know— This is who I am and you better not tangle with me.

“Last time, Mrs. Knight. Step back inside the house.”

Teri stared at the man’s face a moment longer, trying to read past the cold, unforgiving expression, then her gaze set upon the gun again. Everything seemed perfectly clear to her in that instant. The fingers of her right hand brushed across the lock button on the door knob, then quietly depressed it as far as it would go.

“If you’ll just give me a—” She took a step back, as if to invite them in, then swung the door closed and made a break for the living room.

Behind her, she could hear the man’s voice suddenly rise into a scream. “Don’t do this, Mrs. Knight! Open the door!”

There was no way of knowing how long it would hold them. Maybe a couple of seconds, or maybe a little longer if the door had fully latched and it wasn’t one of those flimsy hollow core things that seemed to find their way into most of the tract homes of the ’60s. She had never thought about that before, and the thought was lost by the time she made it to the living room, where the boy was sitting up on the couch with wide eyes and a look of bewilderment on his face.

“What’s going on?”

“You have any other friends from the hospital? Anyone you didn’t tell me about?” At her back, she heard the thud of a shoulder being thrown against the door. It was followed closely by the sound of glass shattering against the tile floor just inside the front entryway. She heard it, clearly, sharply, and did her best to sweep it out of her mind as one frightening realization struck home with a vengeance: they had broken out the small rectangular window adjacent to the door. In no more than a second or two they were going to be inside the house.

“Come on! We need to get out of here!”

The boy froze, a mix of surprise and confusion etched like a mask into his features.

“Let’s go!” Teri screamed. She grabbed him by the shirt sleeve, forcefully, and the boy tumbled off the edge of the couch, onto the floor. He landed hard on his side, his shirt balled up in her fist. The confusion on his face turned to fear, and she realized distantly that she might have hurt him.

“Sorry.” She grabbed him under the armpits and pulled him to his feet, lifting what felt like his full weight until he was able to brace himself against the arm of the couch. In the same motion, he swept up his walking cane, and they were both on their way into the family room, Teri with one hand in the small of his back, pushing.

“Who was it at the—”

“I don’t know.”

Behind them, the lock on the front door popped, and half-a-beat later, the door slammed into the wall, sending an explosion reverberating down the hall. Whoever they were, they were in the house now.

“Out the back!” Teri said. She pushed him toward the sliding glass door, where the curtains were drawn. The room was bathed in evening shadows. A grayish cast blocked out a rectangular area of the floor. The corners were black charcoal. The boy sank heavily into the corner, breathing hard, already exhausted.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

She swept the curtains aside with one hand, and grappled blindly with the lock as she glanced over her shoulder. “Come on, come on!” The locked clicked into place and she gave the handle a tug. The door swung back several inches, and

…and there was a man standing on the other side.

He was a big man, someone who she instantly decided must have spent a great deal of his time sitting at the counter of a coffee shop, downing doughnuts and endless cups of coffee with cream and sugar. His cheeks were a doughy, Pillsbury fill and the rough landscape of his nose was coursed with bright purple veins that had made their mark a long time ago. It was an alcoholic’s face, Teri thought in that brief moment.

She managed to hold the door in place, him on the outside, her on the inside, neither of them giving an inch. It wasn’t easy, though. Not for either of them. She could already see the strain showing on the man’s face, which had turned a bright, sun-burnt red.

He shifted his weight and the opening expanded. Teri braced her foot against the aluminum frame, locked her knee, and managed to take some of the pressure off her arms. In return, the man somehow managed to curl his fingertips around the edge of the door’s sash. He anchored his weight, and she could feel him ease up slightly, preparing for one final push. If it came to that, there was no doubt in her mind that she would be the loser.

A twinge ran through her left knee, and she could feel it start to weaken.

The boy stepped in behind her, still breathing hard.

“I want you upstairs,” Teri grunted.

“In a minute,” he said. He jammed the walking end of the cane into the corner of the aluminum frame, stood on the other end and tried to force it down into the track. For a moment, it looked as if it might actually work. Then just as suddenly, the handle end slipped and the cane came shooting out, away from the sliding glass door, like a Louisville Slugger that had slipped out of the hands of a batter. It clattered against the linoleum floor and rolled into the legs of a nearby chair.

“Push with me,” she said, every muscle straining.

The boy moved in directly behind her, his foot braced against the corner, both hands on the edge of the door. Between the two of them, they were able to mount a surge, and before she even realized what was happening, the sliding glass door tore free from her grip and rode the track the full six or seven inches, before slamming full-force into the forward stop.

Glass shattered.

An ice storm of splinters came raining down all around them. Teri crouched and covered her head, defending herself against some of the fallout while her bare arms took the brunt of the sharp edges.

The door slowly rolled back in its track and came to a stop.

On the other side, his eyes white and distended, the man let out a horrible scream. He had gotten his fingers in there, between the door and the stop, and he hadn’t been able to get them out. He staggered back, holding his hand in front of his face as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Three of the fingers had been badly mangled. One was broken at the second knuckle and appeared as if it were hanging by a thin thread of flesh. If he didn’t get help and get it soon, he was going to risk losing one of those fingers.

Teri found some momentary satisfaction in that thought.

“Now upstairs!” she said.

The boy grabbed his cane off the floor, and she found herself tugging at him again, trying to keep him moving in front of her as they made their way out of the family room and into the kitchen. The house had been built in the mid-sixties. It was one of those tract homes that had seemed to sprout up out of nowhere overnight, sitting just outside the city limits in a little suburban neighborhood where everything was vanilla-flavored and cookie-cutter perfect. At this end of the house, they had the garage in front of them or the stairs that were a straight line to the office that Michael had added over the garage not long after Gabe had been born.

Teri went instinctively for the stairway.

She pushed the boy ahead of her through the kitchen archway, past the oak pantry on their left. For years she had tried to get Michael to round off the corners of the small cabinet, having barked her shins on it more times than she cared to admit. This time, though, her shins weren’t the offering. It was her left elbow, which caught the corner smack-dab across her funny bone. Teri grabbed at the tingling sensation and immediately fell back a step or two.

The boy disappeared up the stairs ahead of her.

Teri wasn’t so lucky. Just as she was reaching for the handrail, someone grabbed her from behind. In one swift motion, she found herself turned around, staring into the face of the man with the scar over his left eye. He had gotten a fistful of her blouse, and he had raised her up off her feet to the tips of her toes.

“Settle down, Mrs. Knight.”

He spun her backward against the pantry. She hit her head hard and slumped to the floor, her legs rubbery beneath her. The pantry door swung lazily open. A gray-black shadow seeped into the outer edges of her vision and Teri closed her eyes, feeling slightly disoriented.

The man motioned toward the stairway. “Get the boy,” he said. She looked up, for a moment thinking he was speaking to her, which didn’t make any sense. But then the small, edgy man who had stood in the shadows on the porch, suddenly stepped out of nowhere and started up the stairs.

Teri tried to clear her head.

“It didn’t have to be like this, Mrs. Knight. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have anything of value,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. Things had gone gray for a moment, even rippling, but they were clearing now. She sat up, catching a breath, and listening to the footsteps of the other man as he climbed the stairs.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Just leave the boy alone, all right. He didn’t do anything.”

“Wish I could oblige.”

“Please.”

“You’ll do both yourself and your son a big favor if you’ll just keep your mouth shut, Mrs. Knight. Do I make myself understood?”

“He’s not my—”

“Uh, what did I say?”

Teri stared at him, working it over in her mind. Finally, she swallowed back the rest of her sentence, hating the bitter taste it left in her mouth. She leaned back against the pantry and turned her gaze away.

“Good girl.”

Upstairs, the echo of footsteps had fallen silent. It was like a small death, not knowing what had happened up there, praying the boy was all right. Teri held onto a long breath. The sound of her heartbeat pounded against her eardrums. The man, who had been standing next to her all this time, moved to the base of the stairs, and gazed up into the darkness. The uneasy silence apparently preyed heavily on both their nerves.

“Hey, Jimmy! Hurry it up, will you?”

No response.

Behind them, the man from the other side of the sliding glass door came dragging into the room. His face was an ashen mask, eyes dull, a thin sheen of perspiration across his forehead, and a sick, twisted grimace that cut so deep into his cheeks he looked as if he were a comic book character. He held his hand out in front of him, making certain to keep it elevated. The pain had to have been something awful.

Too bad, Teri thought guiltlessly.

“You gonna be all right?” his partner asked.

The man shook his head, naked fear looking out from behind his eyes. “I don’t know, man. I think they’re worse than broke. I just don’t know.”

“Christ.”

“I gotta get back.”

“We aren’t finished here, yet.”

“I’m gonna lose my fingers, man.”

Teri caught a clear, unmistakable flash of anger pass across the other man’s face. He scowled, until he couldn’t seem to stand it any longer, then he reached out and clamped his hand around his injured partner’s wrist.

The man screamed. “Jesus, Mitch!”

“Hurts that bad, huh?”

“Like a fucking hot iron!”

“Go wait in the car, then. We’ll get there when we get there.”

“All right. All right.” The man turned away, and it was evident that whenever he dropped his hand below the height of his elbow, the blood did a mad dash for his fingertips. Apparently, an excruciating explosion of pain followed shortly thereafter, because the one time that Teri noticed this little movement, the man’s face went instantly pale. Still, he managed to drag himself out of the kitchen and disappear from sight with little more than a whimper or two. She was glad to see him go.

“Goddamn idiot,” Mitch said. His face was tight, the scar above his eye stretched taut and wide, looking as if it had been even larger at one time, maybe as thick as a shoelace. “How in the hell did you—”

Teri turned away from him. She glanced toward the upstairs darkness where she had heard something stir. Actually, she had heard more than that. They had both heard more than that. It had sounded a little like a bat against a baseball, only slightly muffled. Following that—in perfect progression, she imagined—came the sound of a weight collapsing against the wall. It made a hollow thud and rattled the china in the cupboards behind her. Then everything fell silent again.

Somewhere in the distance a dog barked.

Mitch, who was still standing at the foot of the stairs, called out anxiously: “Jimmy? What the hell’s going on up there, Jimmy? You got him or not?”

Outside, a car backfired, the shot echoing down the street and back again. Teri shuddered and felt her heart skip a beat. The dog stopped barking. The car turned the corner and disappeared into the eerie blanket of nightfall.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay put,” Mitch said, pointing across the room at her. “You hear me? Because if I come back down here and find you’ve moved a goddamn muscle…”

“I know,” Teri said. “You’ll still have the boy.”

“On the money, Mrs. Knight. On the money.” He took two or three steps up the stairway, then paused and turned back. Mistrust was suddenly alive and etched into his face, replacing that somber, all-business cast that she had nearly come to expect by now. “On second thought, you’d better come with me.”

[2]

“Jimmy?”

The top of the stairway was cast in gray shadow. It was as if the fog had moved inside and was creeping across the upper floor to greet them. Mitch stopped halfway up and wiped the back of his hand across his face.

“Christ, where’s the damn light switch?”

“At the top, on the left,” Teri said. It was the truth, though it wasn’t the whole truth. There was another switch near the bottom landing that was easy to miss if you weren’t looking closely. The man had walked right passed it.

“Keep it slow,” he said, guiding her. Teri stood one step up from him. He had the tail of her blouse wrapped in his fist, making the effort to keep her close at hand. “One step at a time. Nice and easy. You got it?”

She didn’t answer.

Behind them, the last of the kitchen light quietly fell away.

A thick darkness lay ahead.

“Jimmy?”

No response.

“That jackass,” Mitch mumbled grumpily.

They neared the top landing. Only two more steps and they would be standing at the head of a short hallway, with a door to the left and another door straight ahead. Teri took a step up, her legs weak and unsteady.

A near perfect darkness shadowed the back end of the hall. Someone had left the door on this end open, though. It was the bathroom door. A faint, grayish cast of light spilled into the hall. She thought it was probably coming from the small window over the tub.

“Where’s the damn switch?”

“On the left,” she said.

Something moved, and as she leaned toward the light switch, intending to turn it on, she thought she saw a shadow slip furtively across the gray cast.

“Hold it. I’ll get it—” the man started to say.

But if he got that far, he certainly got no further than that. Teri thought she might have heard him say the word, bitch, but she wasn’t sure, because the door on the left swung open at that moment and the boy stepped out. He brought the cane down full-force across the man’s outstretched arm.

Mitch let out a sharp, immediate yelp and pulled his arm back. “Jesus Christ!”

Even in the moment, with his free arm in apparent agony, he managed to hold onto Teri with his other hand. The boy brought the cane down a second time, striking at a ninety degree angle across the man’s forearm.

Mitch yelped again.

He stepped back, his face suddenly ashen, his eyes wide and no longer penetrating. Teri’s blouse slipped out of his hand. That was all that remained for him to hold onto and he teetered there a moment, grasping at thin air, trying to maintain some semblance of balance. Teri wasn’t going to help. She stepped out of his reach and watched the terror cross his face as he tumbled backwards down the stairs. At the bottom, he spilled bonelessly out across the linoleum and lay there without moving.

“Is he dead?” the boy asked, stepping out of the shadows. He stood beside her, his hands trembling. The cane slipped out of his grip and dropped to the floor. It made a lonely, hollow sound that Teri didn’t think she would ever forget.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, shaken. He had stepped out of the shadows, fearlessly, with the courage and strength of a man. But suddenly he was a little boy again, frightened by what he had done, and by the significance of the man lying so motionless at the bottom of the stairs.

Teri picked up the cane, and swept the boy up in her arms. She kissed him on the cheek. “Whoever you are, you did great, honey. I know it was scary, but believe me, you did great. You did everything exactly right.”

He stared over her shoulder at the man he had hit and he said nothing, and Teri couldn’t afford to stop and discuss it. She had no idea how much time they had bought. Maybe minutes. Maybe only seconds. There was no way to tell how much time would pass before the man would sit up again and clear his head, then start up the stairs. For the moment, though, she suddenly became aware of the dark outline of the other man, the one called Jimmy. He was lying on the floor off to the right, apparently another victim of the boy’s cane. She stepped over his outstretched arm.

“You’re one brave little kid, you know that?”

A stream of cold air circulated down the hall. It poured in through the sliding glass door downstairs and slipped out through the office window just ahead of them. Teri thought she had probably left the window open the last time she had been up this way. The chill slid across her arms like the cold flesh of a snake and she realized she was trembling.

That’s your fear, my dear lady.

I know.

Inside the office, the boy immediately wanted down. She sat him on the corner of the desk, and took an extra second to look him straight in the eye. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Don’t—”

“I know. I know. Don’t call you Mom.”

“You got it,” she said, giving him an appreciative tap on the leg.

She turned her attention to the phone. It was a combination phone/answering machine, black, touch tone. Almost effortlessly, the receiver fell out of the cradle and into her grasp. It was a good thing, too. She didn’t think she would have been able to find it in the darkness if she had let it get away from her. It was difficult enough trying to blindly fumble her way over the keypad. She dialed 911, raised the receiver to her ear, and realized with coldness that there was no dial tone.

The boy tugged on her sleeve.

“Just a minute,” Teri said. She tapped the cutoff switch half-a-dozen times, praying that by some fluke of luck it might actually put her through to someone, maybe an operator, maybe the police, anyone. But there were no voices on the other end, and no dial tone, either. The line was dead.

“Listen,” the boy said.

“What is it?”

“Listen.”

[3]

The sound he had heard was the sound of someone climbing the stairs.

Apparently, Mitch was awake again, though it didn’t sound as if he were feeling quite like himself just yet. Teri could hear the squeal of the handrail as he pulled himself up one plodding step at a time, stopping occasionally to catch a breath or to wait to catch his bearings. He sounded harmless from this distance, but she didn’t like the idea that he was conscious again. And she didn’t like the idea that he still had strength enough to even consider climbing the stairs.

“Mom…” the boy whispered.

“I hear him.” It had not slipped by her unnoticed – the fact that he had once again referred to her as Mom. But Teri suddenly found herself watching the walls closing in around them as if the house were a living, breathing thing and she let the reference pass unchallenged.

“The window!” the boy whispered.

“Huh?” She stared at him, still caught in her image of the house as their captor, then gradually the thought released her and she remembered a time when Gabe had been eight or nine and she had caught him climbing out this same window. It opened onto a decorative ledge across the front of the garage. Gabe had been playing Frisbee in the front yard and the disk had ended up on the roof, and he had somehow got it into his head that if he could climb out on the ledge, then he might be able to work his way around to the side of the house and up onto the roof. Teri had put a quick stop to that notion. But if they could drop from the ledge to the ground…

“Okay,” she whispered.

She took the cane out of the boy’s hands and motioned for him to get going before it was too late. Somewhere behind them—near the top landing, she thought—voices had broken out. One clearly belonged to the man who went by the name of Mitch. The other voice—a groggy, unintelligible moan—she assigned to the man named Jimmy, who had apparently fought his way up from unconsciousness and was feeling the full effects of a terrible headache just about now.

“Hurry up!”

The boy slipped through the opening feet first, then reached back to help.

“No, you go on,” she said, handing him the cane. She waved at him, backhanded, and watched as he disappeared off into the shadows on the left. For an eleven year old, the jump from the side of the garage into the ivy bed at the north corner would be a piece of cake. For someone a little older…

Teri climbed onto the desk, not wanting to think about it. She pushed the window up against its stop, as wide as it would go, wishing she had taken better care of herself the last couple of years. Cool night air blew across her face. She braced her hands against the window frame, the aluminum sash rough and pock-marked, and managed to get her left leg through the opening before someone grabbed her from behind.

“Where do you think you’re going, Mrs. Knight?”

Mitch.

“Come on, now.” He held her by the ankle, swinging her leg back and forth like an alley cat toying with its prey. “Come back in here and we’ll see if we can start all over again, all right?”

“I’m going to fall,” she said.

“No you aren’t, Mrs. Knight. I’ve got you.”

“Don’t let go. Please.”

“I won’t. Just inch your way back in. You’ll be fine.”

With surprising effort, she managed to get her leg back inside and her body turned around. She scooted across the desk and hung her legs over the front edge, her heart pounding like an African drum in a Paul Simon song. Mitch leaned in, bracing himself with an arm on either side of her.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

“Why don’t you just take what you want and leave us alone?”

“We didn’t come here to steal from you, Mrs. Knight.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Your son.”

“You mean the boy?”

“Yeah, the boy.”

“Well, he’s not my—” She had never intended to finish the sentence. Her fingers clamped around the edge of the desk for balance and in that moment, before the last word had come up from the back of her throat, she fired off a knee that sank deep into the man’s crotch.

He stumbled back, bent over, teetering on the edge of an invisible line. Her shoe, which he had been holding in his right hand, slipped out of his grasp and fell to the floor, almost unnoticed. Mitch grabbed himself with both hands, his eyes squinting, his lungs struggling to draw the next breath.

Later, everything after that would become a blur of time. Teri found herself outside, standing at the edge of the garage, looking down on the patch of ivy they had planted the first spring after moving into the neighborhood. She had never been fond of heights, but she had never been terrified of them, either. She crouched on the narrow ledge until she was able to get both legs dangling over the edge. It was mostly a matter of trust after that. She closed her eyes, said a little prayer, and pushed off.

By the time she made it to the car, the boy was already there, waiting.

[4]

This was the call generated from a phone inside the house shortly after Teri Knight and her son had escaped:

“We’ve got a spill.”

“How bad?”

“Looks like a Code Red.”

“Christ. What’s the damage?”

“Both drums were identified and temporarily contained. We were unable to maintain possession, however. Current location and status are unknown.”

“Any contamination?”

“Jeffcoat sustained trauma to the head. Kellerman mangled his hand.”

“You need a cleanup?”

“Yes. Immediate.”

“Degree of hazard?”

“Some breakage, mostly glass.”

“Are you mobile?”

“Yes.”

“Get out of there.”

“We’re on our way.”

[5]

It was after midnight.

Teri fumbled a dime into the coin slot and followed it with two nickels. The number she wanted to call was circled in red ink on a page torn out of the local phone book. It belonged to Walter L. Travis, a man she hadn’t seen in nearly four years.

She finished dialing as two young men walked past the phone booth and filed through the front door of the 7-Eleven. The boy, whom she was almost beginning to think of as her son now, waved at her from behind the foggy windshield of the car. Teri forced a smile and waved back.

They had been lucky to escape at all, and even luckier to have escaped with the car. If she hadn’t been bothered by the headache when she had arrived home, she would have taken the time to park inside the garage. That would have put the car out of reach. And if Michael, her ex, hadn’t always insisted on keeping a spare set of keys in a magnetic box in the wheel well, it wouldn’t have mattered where she had parked.

The boy had been the one who had found the spare keys, and that had been the moment when she had begun to look at him a little differently. It didn’t make any sense, of course, because Gabe had disappeared nearly ten years ago and he would be almost twenty-one now. But what about the man back at the house – Mitch? He had said that he only wanted her son. And then there were the keys. How had the boy known about the keys?

It had all been an adventure for him once they had made it to the car and they were safely out of the neighborhood. He had turned to her, his face bright, his smile alive and asked almost enthusiastically, “What now?”

“I don’t know,” Teri had said, still shaking.

“Did you see that guy when he caught his fingers in the back door? I thought his eyes were gonna pop. Jeeze, that must have hurt.” The boy climbed up on his knees and stared out the back window as if they had just finished a roller coaster ride and he wished he could go back and do it all over again. “Who do you think those guys were, anyway?”

“I don’t know that, either.”

“What do you think they wanted?”

You, Teri had thought at that moment. They wanted you.

She dropped her smile now and listened as the phone on the other end rang a fourth time. The ring was followed by a click and then the message:

Hi, this is Walt. Sometimes I’m here, sometimes I’m not. Looks like this time you’re outta luck. Leave a message at the beep.

The tape rolled another second or two, and beeped.

“Walt, it’s Teri Knight. I need to talk to you. It’s important. Unbelievably important. Um… it’s a little after midnight now, if you happen to come in before—”

“Teri, good to hear from you.”

“You’re there.”

“Yeah. Bad habit, hiding behind the machine. Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m just grateful you’re there. I’ve been driving around in circles, trying to figure out what I should do next, who I might be able to call. I’m scared, Walt. I’ve never been so scared in my life.” She gulped down the last word, her mouth dry, her throat raspy. “I need to see you.”

“Name your time.”

“Tonight.”

“How about Denny’s in forty-five minutes?”

“That would be wonderful,” she said, taking in a deep breath. She stole a quick glance at the car, where the boy was hunched over the dashboard, a Big Gulp in one hand, the other hand apparently flipping through the stations on the radio. “There’s something I should prepare you for, though. I’ve got someone with me who claims to be Gabe.”

“Jesus, Teri, you found him?”

“I don’t know. It’s more like he found me.”

There was a short pause on the other end, and she did her best not to analyze it. If she thought about it at all, she’d probably conclude that Walt was trying to decide if he wanted to believe her or not. A mother’s sorrow was like a dream. It could take you places that never really existed. Teri had been trapped in her own sorrow for a long, long time now.

“Gabe’s really back?” he finally said.

“Yeah, well, wait ’till you see him.”

[6]

Walt hung up the phone, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. In front of him, on the kitchen counter, the Chicago Tribune was open to the Tempo section. It was the top newspaper on a stack of papers from across the country: the San Francisco Chronicle, the L.A. Times, the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the San Jose Mercury News. Walt folded the Tribune into fourths and tossed it aside.

Gabriel Knight had come home.

Walt had been a lieutenant in the Juvenile Investigations Bureau when he had first been drawn into the Knight case. It had been his first day back after the death of his son, Brandon, who had battled leukemia for nearly eighteen months before finally succumbing. Walt had watched his son waste away to almost nothing in the end and then he had been handed the Knight case. Gabriel, it seemed, had done a disappearing act of his own. Maybe not as graphic, but certainly just as devastating for his parents as Brandon’s death had been for Walt.

Gabriel Knight had simply vanished. He had attended school that day, where his behavior had been nothing out of the ordinary according to teachers and classmates; and afterwards he had taken the bus home, where he left his backpack and books on the kitchen table, along with a short note that said he was going to the park. Mrs. O’Brien, a neighbor from down the block, saw him ride past her place a little after three o’clock. She made a mental note to speak to his parents after he cut the corner and left a tire track across the edge of her lawn. Jonathan Chambers, who was in Gabe’s fifth grade class, passed him on Sycamore Street a short time later. It was another two blocks from there to Kaplan Park. No one had reported seeing him at the park.

Gabriel Knight had simply disappeared.

As with most cases of this nature, Walt’s focus had first turned to the boy’s parents. Michael and Teri had been married thirteen years. From all outward appearances, it had been a good marriage. No financial troubles. No affairs. No history of child abuse. In addition, both parents had been working that afternoon, with a handful of coworkers on each side willing to substantiate that fact. There was little reason to believe either of them had been involved.

In fact, Walt had found it interesting a short time later when Teri Knight had all her accumulated vacation time to focus on keeping her son’s disappearance in front of the public eye. Besides distributing flyers, she began doing interviews, and sending out regular press releases. And when public interest began to wane as it always did in these kinds of cases, she took on the task of tracking down whatever leads the department was willing to make available to her.

Michael Knight, though still not a suspect, had been quite a different study. He had quietly done his own vanishing act, preferring to deal with the loss of his son by burying himself so deep in his work that he was rarely seen outside the office. Walt remembered thinking that the marriage was probably doomed at that point. And he remembered thinking that the chances of the Knight boy ever showing up alive again were probably doomed as well.

The case had gone unsolved.

Several years later, Walt had found himself embroiled in the disappearance of another child. This case had involved a seven-year-old girl by the name of Andrea Kennan. She had been abducted on the way to school by a man, who witnesses described as a white male in his early forties with long brown hair and eyes as black as obsidian.

Walt was one of three investigators on that case. Nearly a hundred interviews, some twenty suspects and five months later they had fished the pond dry and moved onto other waters. Andrea’s fate remained a mystery for better than two years, then suddenly her abductor resurfaced. He tried to pick up another little girl outside the Town & Country Mall. This time, though, the girl had managed to get away.

A witness jotted down the man’s license plate number.

Within a matter of hours, they had the guy in custody.

During the follow-up investigation, it came out that the man had been responsible for kidnapping and murdering at least eleven other little girls over a four-state area. Andrea Kennan, it was believed, had been his first victim.

It was that knowledge that preyed most on Walt’s psyche. For months afterward, the world felt like an ever-tightening noose around his neck. He found himself afraid to close his eyes at night, afraid of the nightmares that would take him to the cemeteries where the children roamed, lost and abandoned. No rest for the innocent. No sleep for the guilty.

Eventually, he had resigned from the department.

For a long time afterward, he had felt like one of the lost ghosts he so often dreamt about. No sense of time or place. No belonging. No sense of the world beyond his apartment walls. Then one day Teri had called. She said she had heard about his resignation, and she was wondering if he’d be interested in helping her follow up a lead in Gabriel’s case. He had already let her down once; he didn’t think he could do it again. Not if he ever wanted to sleep again. And so he agreed.

As it turned out, the lead was a case of mistaken identity. A Virginia woman thought she might have spotted Gabriel at a local swimming pool. The boy had been with a man in his late forties and a heavyset woman with a streak of gray in her hair. Walt called a friend back east, and in a couple of weeks they managed to locate the family. They were from Mexico. It had been their first trip to America. Their son, Roberto—who had been named after Roberto Clemente—was nine. Gabriel would have been nearly fifteen by then.

It was another in a long string of dead ends.

However, there had been an upside. The possibility of potentially solving the Knight case had rekindled a flame in Walt. For the first time in months, he found himself able to look past the ineffectiveness he had so often felt as a detective. It was a tiny flicker at best, but it was enough to steer him back into investigative work, specializing in missing children.

It was a flicker that he owed to Teri.

And now Gabriel Knight was home again.

The circle, at first glance, appeared complete.

[7]

Teri and the boy sat in the car outside Denny’s as Walt pulled into the parking lot. They had been waiting for a good fifteen minutes. In that time, she tried to explain to the boy that her son had disappeared a number of years ago and that because of that he couldn’t possible be Gabe.

“Then how come I’m not older?” the boy asked.

“Precisely,” she said. “You should be older, but you’re not. That doesn’t make any sense, now does it?”

“That’s because you’re lying.”

“I wish I were,” Teri said softly. She watched a blue Buick enter the parking lot and pull into a space across from them. A man in his sixties, thin and tall, wearing a long overcoat, climbed out and went around to the other side of the car and opened the door for his wife. Teri felt herself let out a breath that she hadn’t even realized she had taken in. “Why don’t you tell me about your bicycle accident?”

“I don’t remember anything.”

“Nothing at all?”

He shrugged. “Maybe some little things.”

“Like what?”

“I remember leaving the note on the table. And there were some junior high kids that got off the bus at Bascom. One of them threw a banana peel at me.” The boy grinned. “He missed by a mile.”

For a moment, she found herself thinking what a precious sight that smile was and how lucky she was to have it back in her life again. And then she caught herself, and a chill went through her. She glanced away. “Anything else?”

“I don’t know. Just little things, I guess.”

“What about after the accident? What do you remember after the accident?”

“I woke up in this room, and there were a lot of other beds in it, and the lights were down low, and I remember thinking that it must be night, because everything was so dark and everyone was asleep.”

“There were other people there?” she asked.

The high beams of another car cut across the windshield like a searchlight in the fog. Teri shaded her eyes and watched the car swing past them. It pulled into the space next to the Buick and Walt climbed out. He jiggled the door handle to make sure it was locked, walked around the other side and entered the restaurant.

“Is that him?” the boy asked.

“That’s him.”

“He doesn’t look like a cop.”

“Well, he isn’t. Not any more. He works alone now, in private practice.”

“Like Simon & Simon, right?”

She turned and stared at him, getting an eerie feeling that was hard to explain until she realized that Simon & Simon had been one of Gabe’s favorite shows. It had been off the air for years now, except for syndication, and she hadn’t given it a thought in longer than she cared to remember. But suddenly it was here at the fore again, a stark reminder of the huge gap in time that still separated her from her son.

“Are you all right?” the boy asked.

Teri nodded. “Sorry.”

Through the restaurant windows, they watched a waitress show Walt to a booth. He sat with his back to them, and said something to her that Teri assumed had to do with the fact that he was expecting two more people.

“So let’s go.”

“Not just yet.” She held him back with one hand, and watched as Walt thumbed indifferently through the menu. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was she was waiting for—paranoia wasn’t always that telling. But she thought it might be smart to wait a moment longer and make sure no one showed up behind him. She trusted Walt. Right now he was the only man she trusted. But… better safe than sorry.

After a few minutes with no one else turning up, Teri and the boy climbed out of the car. It had been raining on and off all day. Now, though, even as they were trying to walk around the puddles, she could see a patch or two in the clouds where the sky was blacker than black and Lucy was there with her diamonds, as Lennon had once sung. It was a beautiful night.

“You look silly,” he said as she tiptoed barefooted around a puddle. She had lost one shoe back at the house when the man with the scar had pulled it off. The other shoe was on the front seat of the car, stuffed into the crack between the seat and the back.

“Oh, I do, do I?”

“Yeah.” He giggled.

She took the boy’s hand, and he surprised her by not putting up an argument.

When they entered the restaurant, Walt looked up and smiled. She thought she might have roused him out of his sleep earlier, but that didn’t appear to be the case now. His eyes were bright. No bags. No redness around the edges. And his hair, which was blond and wavy and a little longish in the back, didn’t appear to be watered down as if he had done a quick job of trying to keep it in place.

“Sorry about bothering you so late,” Teri said, slipping into the booth.

“Lost your shoes, I see.”

“You noticed.”

“Hard not to.” Walt glanced at the boy. “So who’s this?”

“Who do you think it is?”

“Well, he’s too young to be Gabe.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But now I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Teri, he’d be in his twenties by now.”

“Twenty-one,” Teri said. “I know.”

Walt took another look at the boy, and before he said anything, Teri could see he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to take her seriously or not. He grinned crookedly, and behind his eyes, she knew he was busy trying to figure out the joke. “He doesn’t look twenty-one to me.”

“That’s because he isn’t.”

He grinned again, this time with less ease, and glanced out the window. “So what’s the catch, Teri? He’s what? Maybe ten years old?”

“I’m eleven,” the boy said.

“Okay, so make it eleven. It’s all the same.”

“Ask him his name,” Teri said.

“Gabriel Knight,” the boy blurted out.

“Ask him anything you like.”

“You’re serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“Come on, Teri. This is crazy.”

“I know it sounds that way, but—”

“Let me show you something.” Walt patted down the pockets of his jacket, at first the two inside breast pockets, then the right front pocket, until he pulled out a sheet of paper. “I brought something I want you to see. I thought Gabe might be interested in seeing how hard we looked for him, so I brought along one of the old flyers.”

He unfolded the paper, and flattened it out against the table. Across the top it said: MISSING! GABRIEL KNIGHT. Below the headline was a photograph of Gabe in his Little League uniform. They had printed nearly a hundred-thousand copies of this flyer. It offered a reward of $10,000 for his safe return, every penny Teri and Michael had been able to come up with.

Walt stared down at the photograph a moment, and then looked up at the boy. The photo had been taken three months before Gabe’s disappearance. He was kneeling on one knee, a bat in his right hand, and a grin across his face that was warm and playful. In the distant background, a bright patch of blue sky cut a mat around the treetops. For a flyer, the photo was unusually clear and sharp.

“Okay, I’ll grant you this much,” Walt said. “He looks like him.”

“Exactly like him,” Teri agreed. “Except for the color of his eyes.”

“Look, I know you’ve never stopped hoping,” he said carefully. “But tell me now, honestly. Don’t you see a little bit of him in every kid you come across? I mean, doesn’t his face show up everywhere? In the grocery store? At the park? And haven’t there been times when you would have sworn you saw him up ahead of you in line or in the back seat of a car that’s just passed by, when it wasn’t him at all?”

Yes, Teri thought.

Of course.

She couldn’t count the times she had spotted a boy with Gabe’s build, with his coloring, his gait. Or the times she had followed after a boy like one of those crazy women who couldn’t have children of her own. Walt was right. One-hundred percent right. For years, she had seen Gabe’s face nearly everywhere.

“Yes,” she said, suddenly solemn. “But this isn’t like that.”

He shook his head, the uneasiness back and roaming naked across his face. He stared down at the flyer again, studied it a moment, and slid it across the table toward the boy. “Kid meet Gabe.”

“I know my own son, Walt.”

“I know you think you do.”

“He knew where Michael kept the spare car keys in case of an emergency. In a magnetic box under the wheel well of the left front tire. Michael used to nag me about it whenever I’d forget and have to call Triple A. I still keep my spare keys in the same place, Walt. The boy – he went right to them. He knew right where they were.”

“How’d you know that?” Walt asked him.

“Dad always kept them there.”

“Well, there’s a safe enough answer,” Walt said, sinking back into his seat. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. If you really want to believe all this—and it’s gotta be a hoax, Teri, let me tell you that much right now, it’s gotta be a hoax—but if you really want to believe it, at least check it out first, will you?”

“That’s one of the reasons I called you.”

“Well, I don’t even want to know the other reasons.”

“They can wait,” Teri said, knowing that they probably couldn’t. “First things first. I want you to ask him whatever you think might shed some light on this thing. You ask him, and he’ll answer the best that he can. You will, won’t you?”

The boy nodded. “Sure.”

“And when you’re finished, then we’ll talk about this other stuff.”

“Are they, by any chance, related?”

“Yeah, I think they are.”

“Great.” Walt scratched at an invisible itch near his right ear, and then looked across the table at the boy as if he were hoping he might be able to find some easy way of stepping inside his head. “All right. We’ll play Twenty Questions and we’ll see where it takes us. But I’m telling you right now, this is not going to get settled tonight. Not if you’re expecting to make a convert.”

“That’s fine, as long as you keep an open mind. That’s all I’m asking, Walt.”

“That’s all, huh?” He smiled. “This all okay with you, kid?”

The boy, who had been mesmerized by the flyer in front of him, looked up and nodded numbly. “Sure,” he said, his voice soft and mouse-like. He was getting tired, Teri thought. He had that rheumy-eyed look of an old dog before it’s had a chance to lie down and take its afternoon nap. He slid the flyer across the table at Walt, and rested his head against Teri’s shoulder. So much the little boy. So much like Gabe would have done under similar circumstances.

“Okay, why don’t you tell me what you were wearing the day you disappeared?”

“I was wearing these.”

Walt glanced at her and she nodded, referring him to the description in the flyer. Levi’s. A black tee-shirt beneath a blue-and-white wind breaker. A generic brand of K-Mart tennis shoes. White athletic socks. It was all there. Just like the description.

“Odd, isn’t it?” she said.

He ignored her. “What’s your middle name?”

The flyer listed him as Gabriel “Gabe” Knight. No middle name.

“Michael,” the boy said. “After my father.”

“And your birthday?”

“April 22nd, 1974.”

That was information listed on the flyer as well. The date of his birth. The date of his disappearance. His age. His name. What he had been wearing. A brief description of his physical characteristics. The circumstances of his disappearance (which had been sketchy, since little was known beyond the fact that he had arrived home that afternoon and then left for the park). The amount of the reward. And of course, a phone number to contact. It was all there.

“All right, then. Tell me this. At the time of your disappearance, were your grandparents still alive?”

“Only Grandma Knight. She lives in Toledo, so I haven’t seen her since I was little. I got to call her, though. On my last birthday, because she sent me twenty dollars.”

A chill went up Teri’s spine. Edna Knight, Gabe’s grandmother was no longer alive. She had passed away three years ago last Mother’s Day, sometime during the night. Natural causes, according to Michael. Teri, who had always gotten along well with the woman, hadn’t been able to make it to the funeral because she had spent that day—as well as the day before—with a terrible migraine headache, something she still felt guilty about. But yes, Gabe’s grandmother had been alive then.

“His Grandpa Knight died in an automobile accident a couple of months after Gabe was born,” she said.

“How about on the other side of the family?”

“My side? I grew up in foster care.”

Walt nodded and glanced off to the parking lot, where the lights were shining off the rain puddles like tears in the darkness. Teri thought he probably wanted to say something polite, something like I’m sorry, but she hoped he wouldn’t find it necessary. That was the way things had been when she was a little girl. Some kids had it better. Some had it worse. She had made the best of it, and she had spent very little time looking back.

“Okay. What about the birthday present?” he finally asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said, appreciating the effortless change of subject. “It sounds like something she’d do. His grandmother hated shopping for gifts, especially once Gabe started to get a little older. I remember she sent him a check for Easter that year, because she made it out to me and asked that I buy him some new clothes with it. But that Christmas – I can’t remember if she sent money or not.”

“She did,” the boy said.

Walt frowned. “I’m not sure we’re making any starling breakthroughs here, Teri. I hope you realize that. I mean, it sounds convincing, I’ll grant you that much. But for anyone close to the family most of this stuff is common knowledge, right?”

“Like who?”

“Like Michael, for instance.”

“Jeeze, Walt, you aren’t—”

“Don’t get your dander up. I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I’m just trying to make sure you aren’t wearing your blinders. People can do some pretty cruel things to each another.”

“Michael could never do something like this. Never. You know that.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort, Teri.”

“You’re grasping at straws.”

“You guys never got divorced, did you?”

“Divorced?” the boy said, suddenly alert and sitting up. “Why would you get divorced?

“We haven’t,” Teri said.

“Maybe he’s come into some money? Maybe he’s worried about losing it?”

“Mom…”

“It’s all right. Your father and I are just living apart right now. It’s nothing to worry about.” Teri pulled him back into the fold of her arms, reassuringly, and felt a warmth sweep through her like a hot August wind. It stunned her. She looked down at the boy, suddenly recognizing a truth within her. She desperately wanted it to be true. No matter how farfetched, no matter how unlikely it might be, she wanted this boy to be hers.

Walt watched the exchange. “You need to be aware of the possibilities; that’s all I’m saying. All right?”

“Sure. But not Michael.”

“I’ve put it out there; you do what you want with it.”

“I already have.”

“Fair enough.” He took a sip of water, as if he were looking for a way to swallow back his caution and move on. “What else can you give me?”

“I don’t know,” Teri said. “What else do you want?”

“How about something just between you and Gabe. Something no one else knew about. Maybe a song you used to sing, or a secret you made him keep.”

“I don’t know. Any secrets between us?” She glanced down at the boy, who shook his head and seemed suddenly quiet again, almost pouty. He was getting tired, she thought. Not unlike the little boy who could barely keep his eyes open when he stayed up late on Friday nights to watch Tales From The Darkside. God, how she wished she knew what was going on inside his head. “You all right?”

“Uh-huh.”

There was a song she used to sing to him. This had been years ago, when he had been a little tike, maybe four or five. She’d tuck him in bed at night and sing him the “Pajama Song.” Teri had heard the song from her mother, who had heard it from her mother, and it had been passed all the way down to Gabe. But it had been a long time since he had been that little. She didn’t imagine there was much of a chance that he’d still remember the words.

“I remember something,” he said softly. His eyes widened a bit. “That time I knocked over Dad’s model boat. The one he was always working on in the garage. The schooner. Remember?”

“Some sort of a sailboat, right?”

He nodded. “I knocked it off the bench and broke it, and you said you wouldn’t tell Dad because he’d be madder than hell. You made me promise that I’d never go near his workbench again. And then when Dad came home, you told him Marcus had gotten into the garage and knocked it over and it was your fault because you were busy bringing in the groceries and weren’t paying any attention.”

“Marcus?” Walt asked.

“The family dog,” Teri said.

The boy looked away. “We had to put him to sleep.”

“You remember why?”

“Because he started limping and the doctor said he had cancer.”

Walt glanced at her for confirmation.

She nodded. “Bone cancer.”

The boy nestled deeper into the fold of her arms. For a moment, they shared the same small space, the same long ago memories. Marcus had been their only dog. And that sailboat had turned out to be the only boat Michael had ever tried to build. He hadn’t been as angry as Teri had expected. Instead, he had said something about not being cut out for modeling anyway, that it took more patience than he thought he might have. That night, he tossed the boat into the garbage, tossed it out and walked away and never looked back. Walking away was something Michael had always been good at.

“Michael never knew any of this?” Walt asked.

“Not about the sailboat.”

“Interesting.” He sat back in the booth, gazing off through the window into the night, fighting some sort of internal, invisible battle. Then he looked at her, his eyes dark with reservation. “It’s gotta be a scam, Teri. There’s no other logical way to look at it.”

“Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. But I do want to believe him.”

“I know you do.” He shifted uncomfortably. “But what about the truth?”

“The truth? We aren’t hiding anything.”

“You might not be hiding anything. The kid, he’s a different story. You don’t know what he’s hiding, now do you? He shows up at your door and claims to be your son, and you know in your head that that just can’t be, because Gabe’s got different eyes, and Gabe’s got be in his twenties by now. But you don’t want to listen to your head, Teri. You only want to listen to your heart.”

“There’s more,” she said solemnly.

“Meaning what?”

“Some men showed up at the house tonight.”

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“I already think you’re crazy.”

“Good. Then I guess I’ve got nothing to lose.” She smiled, wishing she knew exactly where to start, and then she took in a deep breath, and did her best to tell him everything that had happened.

[8]

Walt had no trouble at all believing men had broken into her house. That surprised Teri. Though later, giving it more thought, it probably shouldn’t have. She should have known that kind of thing would be easier for him to understand given his line of work. But it surprised her just the same. And when she was finished, Walt surprised her again by nodding, as if everything made perfect sense now.

“And what do you think they wanted?” he asked.

“The boy.”

“Sure sounds like it, doesn’t it?”

“To you, too, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded, mulling it over in his head. “Did you call the police?”

“No,” she admitted guiltily. They both knew it wouldn’t have served any purpose anyway. Before she had given up altogether—given up on ever finding Gabe again, and given up on herself—she had made a pest of herself down at the department. Walt had borne the brunt of it, of course, though every once in awhile things had spilled over to other sections of the department. And on one occasion, she had taken her complaints all the way to the Chief of Police. Then there had been the episode at McDonald’s when she had tried to prevent a Gabe-look-alike from leaving the restaurant before she could talk to him. Someone had called the police. And once they had determined the boy was not Gabe, Teri had found herself down at the station. After that, she had won herself a reputation. And toward the end, when she would call about a lead or a sighting, they had quit listening altogether.

“Why not?” Walt asked.

“Jesus, Walt, you know why. They wouldn’t believe me if I had caught the whole thing on videotape.”

He grinned, amused. It was his first smile of the evening, and she probably should have thanked him for it. He had put up with an awful lot from her. And not only the false sightings. Twice, when Teri had felt things were moving too slowly, she had gone directly to the press. It had made him look bad, and she hadn’t cared, because the only thing that had mattered to her was getting her son back.

Somehow, Walt had found it in himself to understand that.

“No,” he said, still grinning. “I don’t suppose they would.”

“And they probably wouldn’t believe you, either,” she added, playfully, though there was a certain thread of truth to that, too. They had both lost some credibility in those circles. At times, when she thought about it, she wondered if maybe that wasn’t the foundation of their friendship. Two lonely outcasts, clinging to each other as the lifeboat goes down.

“So what do you think we should do?” she said, her tone serious again.

“I guess we should start by taking a look at the house.”

[9]

Tucson, Arizona

The lights in the house were off.

The girls had gone to bed at nine, after watching the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory on video. Marian had given up and gone to bed shortly after eleven, saying she wasn’t looking forward to jury duty in the morning. She had kissed D.C. on the forehead and said, “I hope whatever it is that’s bothering you turns out all right.”

“It will,” D.C. had said, though he wasn’t nearly as certain of that fact as he may have sounded.

“Good.”

He had been sitting alone in the darkness for more than an hour now, fingering a cigarette the way a magician fingers a coin, across the back of his hand and back, skillfully, with little thought. Marian, who was a good woman and knew her place, was accustomed to his preoccupation with work matters. In this life, with this family, he was a high-tech consultant brought into companies to solve system crashes that could cost millions if he didn’t do his job quickly and efficiently. Marian understood it was a high-stress career. She understood it meant he had to travel often. She understood it was the kind of career that required him to be on twenty-four hour a day call. She also understood it involved a great deal of discretion. What she didn’t understand, what she would never understand, was this: D.C. was more problem-solver than consultant… and he didn’t solve high-tech system crashes. He solved security crashes.

The cigarette snapped between his fingers. He added the broken remains to a small pile already sitting on the end table next to the chair, then pulled another out of the pack and continued the monotonous routine of knuckling it across the back of his hand. Waiting was the burden of the beast. It was the part of his job he hated the most… hanging in limbo, not knowing what was going on. Most of all, it was that feeling of not being in control. At times like this, he felt like the defendant when the jury’s out. It was all in their hands now.

He had been toying with the idea of a Vodka Collins to take a bit of the edge off and had finally decided to go ahead and get to it—the hell with this waiting—when the phone rang. The receiver was in his hand, the ear piece pressed against his ear, before the first ring had faded.

“Tell me something I want to hear.”

“You were right. She delivered him where you said she would.”

“You have him back?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I screwed up. I didn’t cover an upstairs window.”

A muscle near his temple twitched and then relaxed again, and D.C. forced himself to take in a calming breath. It was going to be infinitely more difficult now that they had lost the upper hand. He released the breath in a long, slow exhale, running through worst case scenarios in his mind and wondering how long it would be before word got out about what had happened. Things were still salvageable, he supposed. They hadn’t gotten that far out of hand. Not yet. But it was going to take a stroke of luck to come out of this unscathed.

“What now?” the caller, who’s name was Mitch, asked.

“Wait. He’ll surface again.”

“You want us to keep the house under surveillance?”

“Is he still with Tarkett?”

“No, he’s with the Knight woman.”

“They won’t be going back to the house. Not for a good long time anyway. Just hang tight. Something’ll break.” D.C. paused, feeling the weight of that dark, brooding uncertainty that came with the territory when things seemed out of control. “And Mitch?”

“Yeah?”

“I want Tarkett to pay dearly for this.”

“I understand.”

When he got off the phone, D.C. sat in the darkness awhile longer, still absently twirling his cigarette. The smell of raw tobacco was strong, but that was a faraway, absent observation that went by for the most part unchecked. For the moment, his surroundings stepped into the background and he lost himself in his thoughts.

Time passed in a surreal, meaningless haze.

Thirty minutes later, he slowly climbed back to the here and now, noticing first that the pile of broken cigarettes had nearly doubled. His fingers stopped their twirling and he stared momentarily at the cigarette in his hands before breaking it in half and adding it to the pile.

Enough worry for one night.

In the bedroom, he stripped naked, climbed under the sheets, and snuggled up next to Marian. She smelled of the summer-fresh scent of a baby, the way she always smelled. It was her fragrance. It was the first thing he had noticed about her when they had met at a photographic exhibit at the University of Arizona. It was still what he liked best about her.

D.C. kissed her on the shoulder, then rolled over and went to sleep.

[10]

Something didn’t feel right.

Walt was struck by that knowledge almost immediately as he rounded the corner and first caught sight of the house. It was a suburban tract home, stucco and wood. A well-kept front yard. The siding would be in need of paint in another year or two. The house sat in the middle of the block. Walt had been here more times than he could remember, though the last time had been a good many years ago now. The place hadn’t changed much. Teri had taken good care of it.

He parked down the street, near the corner. Teri, who was sitting in front on the passenger side, sank deep into her seat and stared silently up the block at the house. She hadn’t said a word on the drive over.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

It was nearly one o’clock in the morning now. Small patches of the night sky had broken through the overcast and it was getting nippy out. The boy, who was snuggled into a little ball in the back seat, had fallen asleep. Walt checked to make sure he was all right, then turned to Teri.

“You better stay here.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like the way it feels.”

“You don’t think they’re still in the house, do you?”

“No, it’s not that. But you said something earlier about the vertical window next to the front door. Didn’t you tell me they had broken that window?”

“Yeah.”

There was a street light half-a-block up from Teri’s house, on the far side. Still, a thick, secretive band of shadow had settled across the front of the house, and to Walt at least, it appeared as if the window were still intact. For a moment, though he’d never admit it to anyone, especially Teri—in fact, he was barely able to acknowledge it at all—he wondered if this might be another one of those incidents, if maybe she had let her excitement about the boy overtake her.

He felt a sharp pang of shame, and brushed the thought away.

“Did they break it out?”

“Yes.”

“I mean all the way?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry.” Walt stared out the window at the front of the house. “I just think it might be better if you stayed here with the boy. I’ll do a quick walk through, just to make sure everything’s clear, then I’ll come back and get you. Okay?”

Teri nodded. “Yeah, sure. I guess.”

“I won’t be long. I promise.”

He climbed out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He motioned for her to make sure the locks were down, then started across the street without looking back. What struck him almost immediately as odd was that all the lights in the house were off. Teri said she had grabbed the boy and left on the run. So why were the lights off? Why would these guys, whoever the hell they were, turn off the lights before they left? It didn’t make any sense.

He stopped at the top of the driveway, next to the corner of the house, long enough to listen to the night sounds. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the shrubs across the front, making harsh whispering noises. What sounded like one or two blocks over, a dog was barking at something in the night. Otherwise, everything seemed quiet, almost eerily quiet.

The front porch was saddled with a blanket of shadows, black and blacker still. Walt found the knob, tried it, and found the door locked. He pressed his hands against the window and peered in, only distantly realizing that the window had not been broken after all. Inside, an eerie, oppressive stillness seemed to huddle in the corners.

He tried the knob again, just in case.

“Dandy. Just dandy.”

Back at the car, Teri leaned across the seat and unlocked the driver’s-side door for him. Walt leaned in, taking a moment to first glance at the surroundings and assure him that they were alone and in no danger.

“Don’t suppose you have a key to the front door, do you?”

“What?”

“The door’s locked,” he said.

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I were.” He glanced up again at the surroundings, a precaution that had become habit over the years. Night had set a quiet peacefulness over the neighborhood. Overhead, the clouds had opened to the faint glimmer of a scattering of stars. It seemed like a place that had been sleeping for a good long time now, though he knew that was hardly the case. “You still want to come in?”

“Of course.”

He leaned against the car, his forehead resting against the frame just above the door. You can read a person by listening to her voice or the choice of her words, and you can read a person by the expressions that cross her face. Teri’s inner strength had always impressed Walt, especially as Gabe’s disappearance had lengthened from days to weeks and then from weeks to months. But he wanted to make sure that strength was still with her and that she was still with him.

“You sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure.”

“Good. It might help if you take me through exactly what happened, step by step.”

“Okay.” She glanced over her shoulder at the boy, who was still sleeping soundly in the back seat. “What about him? I hate to wake him.”

“He’ll be all right. I’ll lock the car.”

After thinking about it, though, Teri decided she didn’t want to chance it. If he really was Gabe, he had been gone an awfully long time, and now that he was back, she wanted to make sure she never lost him again.

[11]

“Try not to touch anything,” Walt said as soon as they were inside.

At the restaurant, he had offered to stop by his place and see if he could scrounge up a pair of slippers or something for her feet. It had been a nice offer. But since they were heading back to the house anyway, Teri had told him not to worry about it. She could get something out of the closet. Standing in the front hall now, she could feel the coolness of the tile under her feet, and secretly she wished she had taken him up on his offer. Going without shoes all evening had been annoying, especially in light of the rainfall today.

She stepped around him and felt the wall at her back as she tried to find a warm spot on the floor. Walt was transfixed on the thin, vertical window next to the entrance. As he had intimated, the window was completely intact. Teri tried to remind herself that she hadn’t actually seen the window break. She had only heard the sound, the initial impact, the sharp raining down of broken glass. Naturally, her assumption had been that they had smashed the window. But maybe that hadn’t been the case.

“Teri? Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, I heard you. Don’t touch anything.”

“Are you all right?”

“They broke it out, Walt. I would have sworn they broke it out.”

“I heard it, too,” the boy said, sleepy-eyed.

“Okay,” he said. He gave the base of the door a tap with his foot. It swung lazily toward the jamb, stopping an inch or two short, effectively choking off the outside chill. Teri felt immediately warmer. “Let me take a look.”

She had no idea what it was he was hoping to find. The window was there, fully intact. The glass—something called bottle glass, tinted green and roughly resembling the bottom of a Coke bottle—had been in style in the late Sixties and early Seventies. It wasn’t something you often saw anymore.

“Teri, can you turn on the light for me?”

“Sure.”

“And… Gabe… how about that flashlight?” Walt had brought three items out of the car with him. One was the flashlight, which he had handed to the boy and told him to take good care of. The second item was a small, plastic box, which Walt was still holding in one hand. The third item, the one that alarmed Teri when she first saw it, and still alarmed her even now, was a gun. He had tucked it into a shoulder holster, not unlike the one that other man, Mitch, had shown her earlier in the evening. Only Walt wasn’t wearing a jacket and the gun was plainly visible.

Teri turned on the nearest light.

Walt cast the beam of the flashlight across the glass of the window, up one side, down the other, experimenting with various angles. “No prints. These guys are good.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s a little harder with the green tint, but you can usually pick up a print if you catch it in the right light. It’s not likely these guys left any prints, though. I’m sure everything was wiped down. Even if we do come across a print, odds are it won’t belong to either of your friends.”

“Who would it belong to?”

“A technician,” Walt said. He turned off the flashlight, handed it back to the boy, and leaned against the wall. “Can you smell it?”

“What?”

“Come here.” He motioned her to the window and had her take a whiff. “Smell that?”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, and she knew she had come across it before, but she wasn’t sure where or when. It smelled a bit like turpentine or maybe rubbing alcohol or… no, it smelled like linseed oil. That’s what it reminded her of – linseed oil. “What is it?”

“Window putty,” he said with a grin.

“They replaced the window.”

“They sure as hell did.” Walt stuck his thumb into the putty, and left an amazingly detailed impression. “Just as fresh as fresh can be.”

Suddenly it became clear what he had been saying: no prints, technicians, these guys are good. After she had escaped, they had brought in some sort of a cover-up team to make it look as if nothing had ever happened here.

And I would have been considered a crazy woman, Teri thought numbly. No one would have ever believed me.

“A few more hours,” Walt said. “And they just might have gotten away with it.

[12]

Walt had been right.

They might have gotten away with it.

They had done an amazing job of putting things back in order. The window had been replaced. The doors were locked. The lights were all off. The sliding glass door in the family room was back on its track, the glass replaced. And the items Teri and the boy had knocked off the desk upstairs had all been returned – though not quite in perfect order. The phone was left sitting at the front of the desk instead of at the back, where she usually kept it, and the stapler was on the wrong side. But those were little things. No one else would have noticed.

As they toured the house, Teri couldn’t help but think how lucky it was that she had gone to Walt instead of the police. If they had responded at all, which was by no means a certainty; they wouldn’t have spent two minutes here before deciding it was another one of her false alarms. Where was the break-in? Why were the doors locked? The lights off? And even if they had stumbled across the fresh window putty, they would have suspected her first. She had seen that look of suspicion before. Too many times before.

Walt spent some extra time going through the office upstairs, while Teri fixed the boy some hot chocolate in the kitchen. By the time he showed up downstairs again, they were sitting at the counter, the boy sipping his drink, Teri fascinated by how pristine everything appeared after what had gone on here, and wondering what else might be in store for them.

“Anything?” she asked as he leaned against the corner.

“You’ve got the cleanest windows in the neighborhood,” he said flatly. “Probably the cleanest windows in the whole damn state.”

“No prints, huh?”

“Well, I didn’t really expect to find any.”

“Want some hot chocolate?”

“No.” He shook his head and seemed to follow his thoughts off into a wonderland of their own. Always thinking, this man. Always trying to catch an angle.

“So what now?”

“I think you better stay with me tonight.”

“Why? You think they’ll be back?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t bet against it.”

Teri sighed and thought back through everything that had happened tonight. She wouldn’t want to bet against it, either. When she closed her eyes, she still had a vivid picture of Mitch standing over her, the scar over his eye a reminder of the man beneath the suit and the polite manner of speech. She didn’t want to bet against anything he might do. It was too dangerous. Simple as that.

She sighed again, and this time glanced down at the boy drinking his chocolate milk. “Some adventure we’ve got ourselves into, huh?”

“Why are they bothering us?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s something we’re going to have to talk about,” Walt said, making it clear that he preferred to talk about it sometime outside of the boy’s presence.

“Sure.” She went to the nearest kitchen drawer, pulled out a paper napkin, and set it on the counter in front of the boy, who had distinguished himself with a thin, rather attractive chocolate mustache. “Use it.”

“Or lose it,” he giggled.

“No. You use it or I’ll use it for you.”

He giggled some more.

“I see you found yourself some shoes,” Walt said.

“Yeah.” She glanced down at her feet. She was wearing a pair of sandals, which tended to go easy on her feet after a long day of standing at the post office. They felt especially good after having gone barefoot half the night. “And guess what else I came across?”

“What?”

“The shoe I lost.”

“The one he pulled off your foot?”

“Yeah. It was back in the closet. Not quite where it was supposed to be, but close enough considering it was guess work.”

“Why don’t you show me.”

Apparently what he was hoping was that he might find a print on the back of the shoe, where the man had tried to hold on. The shoe was a vinyl pump, the first lucky break. Walt said the vinyl should hold a good print if they hadn’t cleaned it off. And that turned out to be the second lucky break.

She watched him go through the process of using the flashlight at various angles again. Then, for the first time, he opened the small rectangular box he had been carrying with him. He took out a brush, twisted it in the air until the bristles fluffed, and dipped it into a small vial of powder. He brushed both sides of the shoe, near the back, and gradually two sets of prints became visible.

“Got ’em,” she said optimistically.

“Well, we’ve got something.”

Walt covered the print on the left side with tape, pressed down meticulously, then pulled the tape up in a single, smooth motion. To Teri’s eye it looked like a beautiful print. He transferred it to a 3x5 card, then took two other prints on the other side. There were three altogether, though two of the prints appeared to be smudged and run together.

“Well, at least it’s something.”

He didn’t hold out much hope that anything would come of them. Chances were the prints belonged to a technician. Or if not a technician, then they might even be her own prints. Just to compare, he took samples from her and the boy.

“Guess that’s about all we can do here tonight,” he said, closing up the kit. “You and the kid might want to grab a few things to bring along since we don’t know where this thing is going. For now, at least, you better stay with me.”

For now? Teri thought.

How long did he think this was going to go on?

[13]

Walt cleared the stack of newspapers off the kitchen table and piled them in the corner of the living room, out of the way. “Sorry for the mess. A bachelor’s life, you know.”

“Actually, I half-expected to be wading through clothes on the floor and dirty dishes in the sink. This is nicer than I keep my place.”

“Sundays are my cleaning days. By the end of the week, it’ll take a forklift to get around in here.”

It was nearly three o’clock in the morning now. Condensation had formed in the corners of the living room window, where the cold was hovering in wait. Walt had set up an air mattress and a sleeping bag in the other room for the boy, who had almost immediately fallen off to sleep. Teri wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to sleep again. Whenever she closed her eyes, she found herself staring at that ugly jagged scar again. It gave her the creeps.

She sat in the nearest chair.

“Can I get you anything?” Walt asked. He seemed ill at ease, having his place invaded like this, though Teri suspected he wouldn’t have had it any other way. “Coffee? Diet Coke? Water? Anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Really.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“All right.” He sat down across the table from her. “Quite a day, huh?”

“I’m not keeping you up, am I?”

“No, not at all.”

“Because if I am—”

“You aren’t. Honest.”

“Well, it’s really nice of you to put us up.”

“Glad to do it.” He pulled the fingerprint cards out of his shirt pocket and tossed them on the table. Time to get down to business, Teri supposed. “So what can you tell me about tonight?”

“Not much.”

“How about the boy? What time did he show up?”

“A little after eight, I think.”

“And the woman you said he was with – what was her name?”

“Miss Churchill.”

Walt climbed out of his chair and rummaged around in a drawer in the kitchen until he came up with a pencil and a pad. “That’s the way she introduced herself? As Miss Churchill?”

“Actually, she didn’t introduce herself at all. I got her name from Gabe.”

“From the boy?”

Teri nodded, fully aware of the subtle game of semantics they were playing.

“This Churchill woman? She say anything at all?”

“Not much.”

“Anything about where the boy’s been the last ten years or why she was bringing him home at this particular time?” He sat down at the table again, immersed in making notes. “By the way, I want you to know that I’m going to have you check Gabe’s dental records tomorrow. We’ll see how they match up.”

“You still don’t believe it’s him, do you?”

Walt glanced up from his notepad, stared at her a moment in silence, then sighed and leaned back. “Neither do you, Teri.”

“Well you tell me then, if he’s not Gabe, then who is he?”

“I don’t know who he is.”

“And why would anyone do such a thing? I mean… what’s the point? I haven’t got any money. I’m not connected. What in the world would anyone want with me?”

“I don’t know that, either. But I want you to keep in mind that that kid, whoever he is, isn’t capable doing this all on his own. Someone’s behind the scenes, pulling the strings, Teri. I don’t want you to forget that.”

The mood between them had shifted, and they both seemed to realize it at the same moment. Teri sat back in her chair. Walt tapped out a handful of beats against his notepad, and blew out a breath of air.

“We’ll get a handle on it,” he said finally. “One way or another, I promise you, we’ll get a handle on it.”

She nodded and stared down at her hands, which were nervously picking at the hem of her shirt. She hadn’t had a handle on anything in longer than she could remember. Not her family. Not her marriage. Not her job. After Gabe had disappeared everything had seemed to fall apart all at once, right before her eyes. She didn’t want to let that happen again.

“She said he didn’t know how long he’d been away.”

Walt raised his eyebrows.

“Miss Churchill. She said the boy thought he had been in an accident a couple of weeks ago, that he didn’t know he’d been missing for ten years.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

Teri nodded. “He doesn’t remember anything about any accident. I keep thinking it was something she must have told him as a way of explaining where he was and what had happened.”

“Does he remember anything before the accident?”

“He remembers being Gabe.”

Walt shook his head, a smirk on his face. “And after?”

“Apparently, he woke up in some sort of medical facility.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Walt said absently. He jotted down a note, and she could see he was burning with raw curiosity now, the investigator poking at the edges of the facts to see if anything protruded from the other side. “Tell me about these other guys.”

“There were three of them.”

“Were they carrying weapons?”

“Yes. The one named Mitch—he seemed to be the one in charge—he was carrying a gun. He showed it to me when we were standing at the front door. I think he thought it would help persuade me.”

“How about the others?”

“I don’t know about them.” She flashed back to the man, his suit coat pulled back, exposing the gun. There was something odd about that. Something that had been quietly gnawing at her. “It was strange; because that was the only time I saw the gun, when we were there at the front door. He never took it out of the holster.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.” She shook her head, thinking how odd that seemed now that she looked back on it. “Why didn’t he take a shot at me?”

“Probably because he wasn’t supposed to hurt you.”

“You make it sound like you don’t think he was really in charge.”

“Oh, there’s no question he wasn’t in charge. This whole thing was orchestrated from behind the scenes, Teri.”

“How can you know that?”

“The cleanup,” Walt said matter-of-factly. He tapped another solo out on the notepad, the look in his eyes clear and focused. “This kid wasn’t supposed to be wandering off from wherever it was they were keeping him. And that’s why they showed up at your place right behind him.”

“Because they knew that’s where she would take him.”

“Exactly.”

“Home.”

“Or someplace he was supposed to think of as home.”

“Who are we talking about? Why would anyone want me to believe my son had come back after all this time?”

“I don’t know,” Walt said. “What about Michael?”

Teri shook her head. “No, I can’t imagine him doing something like this.”

“He didn’t hold you responsible?”

“For what?”

“For everything. For what happened to his son, for the disintegration of his marriage, for all of it.”

She shrugged, almost unnoticeably, and hoped Walt hadn’t caught it. She was about to tell him a lie. Michael had held her very much responsible for the breakup of their marriage. She had become obsessed with finding Gabe again, and everything else, including their marriage had been put on the back burner. What had Michael told her just before he moved out? First I lost my son, then I lost my wife.

“No, it’s got nothing to do with Michael. I’m sure of that.”

The mood had shifted again.

Walt got up and headed for the kitchen. “You sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

“No thanks.” Teri stared across the table at the notes he had been scribbling. It was impossible to make them out upside down. “Oh, I almost forgot. The guy that seemed in charge—Mitch? He had a scar over his left eye.”

“That helps.” The refrigerator door closed and Walt came around the corner with a Diet Coke in his hand. “How about the other two?”

“One guy, I think his name was Jimmy, was a nervous little weasel. Always fidgeting, rocking back and forth on his heels, that kind of thing. The other one… all I can tell you about him is that his fingers were a mess after we slammed the door on them.”

“So he’d probably need medical attention?”

“If he ever wanted to zip up his pants again.”

“That’s good.” Walt made another note, nodding absently as he did so. When he was done, he paused, then said: “Okay, here’s what I think we ought to do tomorrow. I’ve got some friends in the department. I’m going to run these prints by them and see if we come up with anything. We’ll also run Mitch and Jimmy through the department’s database and, who knows, maybe we’ll luck out and something’ll click.”

“Okay,” Teri said.

“What I want you to do is to take the boy in to see your family dentist and have x-rays taken. Have the dentist check them against his records and see what he has to say. If he comes back with a match, then we’ve got ourselves a whole new set of problems. And if it isn’t a match…”

“At least we’ll be over that hurdle,” Teri said reluctantly.

“Yeah, I guess we will.”

“You know, I’m not even sure if Gabe’s dentist is still in business.” She hadn’t seen Dr. Harding in four or five years and the last time she had been in for a visit, he had been talking about retirement.

“His records should still be around,” Walt said.

“I can’t even remember if he ever had a filling.”

“Well, why don’t we see what the dentist has to say. All right?”

“Sure.”

[14]

It was done.

Not much had gone right tonight. When things went to hell, they went to hell in full glory. But at least Mitch could go to bed knowing he hadn’t let it all blow up in his face.

He stopped outside his hotel room, feeling worst for the wear, and dug his card key out of his wallet. Earlier, he had tucked it behind the fake driver’s license and for a moment he thought he might have misplaced it. But it was there, and even though it was a struggle getting it into the slot, the card key fit.

The lock clicked.

The door opened automatically.

Mitch went in.

He took off his suit coat, hung it properly in the closet, and loosened his tie. He slipped out of the black dress shoes he had been wearing (spit shined the way he had learned in the military) and placed them side-by-side at the bottom of the closet. People didn’t wear black dress shoes anymore. Maybe occasionally to church on Sundays, though even then it was the exception and not the rule. A long time ago, the country had lost all sense of propriety. But not Mitch. When he did things in this world, he did them properly, with respect to his past and his family and his superiors. And he always respected his uniform and his equipment. That was the way it was supposed to be. Anything less might get him killed.

Just ask Amanda Tarkett.

Oh yes, just try to ask her.

She had done a very stupid thing tonight. After she had dropped off the boy, she had gone to her mother’s house. That had been her first mistake. Her second mistake had been fatal… she had taken her mother’s dog for a walk.

Mitch finished removing his tie, which he hung over the shoulder of his suit jacket, and dragged himself into the bathroom. He splashed water over his face, dried off, then stared into the mirror, into his own eyes, and wondered (almost so absently that it slipped by unnoticed) how he had found himself in this place, at this time, doing something that didn’t set well with him at all. He wasn’t thinking about Amanda Tarkett now. He was thinking about the boy. There was something about involving children…

He had never imagined that things would someday lead him so far astray.

Out in the hall, footsteps passed by.

Mitch glanced over his shoulder at the reflection of the doorway in the mirror, listened, and heard the steps gradually fade into the distance. All he wanted now was a good night’s sleep. He folded the towel, then brushed his teeth and used the toilet before pulling back the covers and finally climbing into bed.

He would sleep uninterrupted for five blessed hours, and when he would awaken again, Mitch would awaken with only one thought on his mind: to find the boy and return him.

That was the way it had to be.

[15]

It wasn’t until nearly four o’clock in the morning, with the cold night painting the windows with frost, when they finally headed off to bed. Teri slept in the bedroom, with the boy on the floor in a sleeping bag beside the bed. Walt slept on the couch in the living room.

Through the window, he could see the tiny puff of a cloud kissing good-bye to the moon, two bodies drifting apart. It had stopped raining. The moon was a huge crystal ball in the sky. If only it could tell him where this thing was going.

A chill passed through him.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

[16]

The boy was sitting on the couch, watching an old rerun of Roseanne, when Teri came out of the bedroom the next morning. It was a little after ten. The sun was already slanting above the building across the way and there were tendrils of steam rising off the asphalt in the courtyard below.

“About time,” he said, his eyes riveted to the television.

“Where’s Walt?”

“Out. He left a note on the counter.”

Teri yawned, feeling very nearly as tired this morning as she had last night before she had gone to bed. She didn’t get many opportunities to sleep in late. Then again, there weren’t many occasions when she found herself up after ten the night before. Strange events made for strange hours, she supposed.

The note, which had been written in precise, draftsman’s letters, was short and to the point: TERI, THOUGHT I’D CHECK OUT THE PRINTS. CAN YOU GET THE KID IN TO SEE HIS DENTIST? HOPE YOU SLEPT WELL. MEET YOU HERE THIS AFTERNOON. AFTER TWO? WALT. P.S. MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME.

“Did he say anything?” she asked.

“He was already gone when I got up.”

“When was that?”

“’bout half-an-hour ago,” the boy said, without much interest. Teri had to remind herself that whether he was Gabe or not, he was still an eleven-year-old, and like most eleven-year-olds he apparently had a habit of tuning in the television while he tuned out the rest of the world.

“Did you get yourself something to eat?”

A mumble.

“Gabe?”

He glanced up, a semi-vacant expression on his face, and while Teri thought it was probably a trick of the light at first, suddenly she thought she could see a thin streak of gray in his hair. It swept back from his temple, over his right ear, and disappeared into his natural coloring.

She grinned. “What did you do to yourself?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what’s that in your hair?”

“What?”

“Come here a minute.”

“What is it?”

“Just come over here.”

He stood next to her, and she angled his head so that the right side of his face was under the light. There was a gray streak, all right. It was faint, but clearly visible. It looked almost as if he had taken some ash in his fingers and run them through his hair as a joke.

“Hold still,” Teri said. She plucked one of the hairs.

“Ow! What did you do that for?”

“Look at this.” She showed it to him. “You’re turning gray.”

[17]

His name was Aaron Thomas Jefferson. He was thirty-five, black, and by far the best damn identification technician Walt had ever worked with. His training had come through the FBI, his first on-the-job experience through the Criminal Identification Section of the department. Walt had only a cursory understanding of the deltas and dots and trifurcations that defined identification points. Aaron was the expert.

“I’ve got a full load,” Aaron said without looking up. He was using black ink to trace a photographically-enlarged print onto a sheet of thin tracing paper.

“Something for the FBI?” Walt asked, making reference to the tracing.

“It’s from that double homicide last week, on the west side.”

“I think I read something about that.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had three men working on a non-suspect match and it looks like the guy might not be a local.” Aaron raised the pen off the paper, let out a breath, and sat back. “So what have you got?”

“I’m not sure.” Walt pulled the 3x5 cards out of his pocket and dropped them on the counter next to the light box. Each card was labeled. One: Teri Knight. Two: Gabriel Knight. Three: Suspect. 5/13/95. Instep of right shoe belonging to Mrs. Knight. Four: Suspect. 5/13/95. Back side of right shoe belonging to Teri Knight.

“I see you haven’t lost your training.”

“Like riding a bike.”

Aaron glanced at the cards. “Isn’t she—?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly.

“Okay. So, what am I looking at?”

“An attempted abduction.”

“Is the department involved?”

“No,” Walt said.

Aaron shook his head. “Best I can do is probably four or five days. I’ll have to handle it myself. After hours.”

“I appreciate it, Aaron.”

“Yeah, sure.” He dropped the cards back on the counter. “So when you coming over for dinner again? Tina’s been asking about you.”

“Soon,” Walt said. It had actually been several years since they had last gotten together. At the time, Walt had been going with a law clerk, who worked for the county. Her name was Rachel Burack. They had met by accident one day, when Walt was searching records for a case he was working on, and Rachel sat down next to him in search of some records of her own. The relationship hadn’t lasted. She had become impatient with the sometimes relenting way he went about his business, the way he let himself become consumed by it. And when he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—change, she had moved on. It had no longer been Walt and Rachel after that. It had simply been Walt. Walt and his clients. Everything else had fallen away.

“I’m gonna hold you to it,” Aaron said.

Walt grinned.

“I am.”

“All right. All right. I’ll give you a call, I promise.”

“Good,” Aaron said, picking up the fingerprint cards again. He tapped them against the counter. “I’ll do my best on these.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Now let me get back to work.”

[18]

Teri had outsmarted herself.

She was standing at the front door of the Evergreen Dental Clinic, a small business space located at the back corner of the West Valley Shopping Center. This was where Dr. Harding had maintained his practice for as long as she could remember knowing him. But he wasn’t here now.

Taped to the inside of the glass door was a sign that read:

Closed.

May 10th - May 24th

For Emergencies Contact:

Dr. Chittenden 555-4732

Teri’s hand fell away from the door handle. She had thought about calling first, but had decided against it, believing the doctor would be more likely to see them at the last minute if they were already in his office. Not the smartest thing she had ever done.

“What now?” the boy asked.

“Guess I better call Dr. Chittenden.”

[19]

Aaron Jefferson finished the tracing, re-photographed the print and scanned it into the computer. He set the cross hair references on the core and the axis and the computer began to run through its routine. It was as much of an opportunity to grab a bite as he was going to get today.

He fished his lunch bag out of the bottom drawer of his desk. Tuna fish. Not his favorite. His mother had turned him against tuna when he was a boy. She had always added egg and the combination had never sat right with Aaron. While there was no egg in this particular tuna fish, it didn’t matter. The taste of egg had long ago become part of his permanent association.

He dropped the sandwich back into the bag, took out a couple of oat meal cookies, and poured himself a cup of hot coffee. The photographic blowups of the prints Walt had brought in were sitting on the corner of the desk. They had come back nearly half-an-hour ago. Aaron had put them aside until he’d had a chance to look at them.

There wasn’t going to be a better chance.

Not today.

He picked up the stack and studied the first print.

Walt had taken the non-suspect latents from the back of a shoe. This set was smudged. They probably shouldn’t have even bothered with the blowup. He buried it at the bottom of the stack.

The next photo was also from the shoe. It was a good print, a plain whorl. Probably a thumb print. The big question, though, was did it belong to…

Aaron flipped to the next latent.

…to this Teri Knight or her boy.

You’re gonna owe me for this one, my friend.

He tossed the stack aside, took a bite out of one of the oatmeal cookies, and wondered if he should call Tina and let her know that he was going to be late getting home tonight. It wouldn’t be the first time, of course. At least this time, it was for Walt.

[20]

“No, I don’t have an appointment,” Teri said. She leaned against the glass wall of the phone booth and closed her eyes. “My name is Teri Knight. My son’s name is Gabriel. Dr. Harding is our regular dentist, but he’s out of town.”

“Is this an emergency?” the receptionist asked. “Did your son crack a tooth or something of that nature? Dr. Chittenden is only seeing Dr. Harding’s patients in the case of an emergency.”

“All I need is for the doctor to take a look at Gabe’s teeth and compare them to his charts.”

“I’m sorry. Dr. Chittenden doesn’t have access to any patient records. By that, I mean any of Dr. Harding’s patient records.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“What if my son did happen to break a tooth?”

“Then Dr. Chittenden would be happy to see him.”

“But he doesn’t have Gabe’s charts?”

“I don’t believe the doctor would need them in that situation.”

No, he probably wouldn’t now that Terry thought about it. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. There wasn’t much sense in stretching it out. She said a polite thanks, hung up, and returned to the car, where the boy was reading a comic book called The Swamp Thing. In the bright sunlight, she could barely see the wisp of gray in his hair.

“Any luck?” he asked.

“Nope. Looks like you’ve got a reprieve,” Teri said. “No dentist today.”

“Mr. Travis isn’t going to like that.”

“No, I don’t suppose he will.”

She slipped the key into the ignition, and entertained the thought of swinging by the house. If you had asked her why, she wouldn’t have been able to provide you with a reason. Maybe it was just curiosity. Maybe it was still a sense of disbelief. Either way, she supposed, it would be one more thing that Mr. Travis wouldn’t much care for.

“What now?”

“I’m not sure,” Teri said. “You hungry?”

He shook his head. They had eaten several hours ago at a drive-through called the Pac Out. The boy had ordered a hamburger, fries, and a chocolate shake. He had left a third of his hamburger and most of his fries. They were still in a bag in the back seat.

She started up the car, grinding the starter a bit, then looked across the seat and wondered what was going on inside him. Though he hadn’t used it much, he had kept the walking cane at his side most of the morning. It seemed to her that it was something to fall back on when he felt the need. He looked up from his magazine, his blue-green eyes surprising her as they always did.

“How about the park?” Teri said. “I’ll race you from the pool to the swings.”

“Mom…”

“Too fast for you?”

“Mr. Rogers is too fast for me.”

“Who is Mr. Rogers?”

“You know – that guy on television. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood…”

She laughed. “You’ll get stronger. Don’t worry. It’ll just take some time, that’s all.”

He nodded, not seeming to mind much. “That’s what Miss Churchill always said.”

Teri pulled out of the lot.

On the way to the park, she caught herself singing a few lines from McCarther’s Park, an early 70’s hit with lyrics that didn’t seem to make any sense. It was a song she used to sing with Gabe, and just like Gabe, the boy gradually joined in, singing about a cake left out in the rain, and a recipe they’d never have again.

If Walt could see this, Teri thought. Then he’d know.

This had to be Gabe.

It had to be.

[21]

“So no luck with the dentist, huh?”

Teri took a sip of coffee and shook her head. “No. He’s out of town on vacation. Won’t be back for another week.”

“That doesn’t help much.” Walt cleared the dinner plates from the table, dumped them in the sink and turned on the water.

On the other side of the wall, coming from the living room, Teri could hear the rise and fall of laughter from a sitcom laugh track. The boy was in there. He had picked at his meal again, a couple of bites from his garlic bread, maybe half of his spaghetti. She recalled a neighbor’s mother once lamenting that “You can’t make a picky kid eat if he isn’t hungry.” The trouble was – Gabe had never been a picky eater.

“Sorry,” Teri said, back to the subject of the dentist. “There’s not much we can do about it now.”

“I know. But it would have been nice to have put the issue behind us.”

The issue.

She had resigned herself to the fact that he wasn’t going to give up the issue. At least not until he had some hard evidence. And while that annoyed her a bit, it was also something that she greatly admired about him. Walt was a man who sought the truth. Whatever the consequences, good or bad, painful or joyous, the truth was his footing. When it came to the boy, that footing was still anchored on shaky ground. They both knew that. Teri just wasn’t as quick to concede it.

Walt stood at the sink, adding soap to the water, and she thought how lucky she was to know this man. He had been the only person in the world whom she had felt she could lean on during the worst days following Gabe’s disappearance. Michael had all but buried himself in his work. And Teri, herself, had become obsessed and distant. Walt, it seemed, had been the only level head around her.

“How about you?” she asked. “Any luck with the fingerprints?”

He turned off the water. “It’ll probably take a couple of days before we hear anything one way or the other. And like I mentioned last night, I’m not holding out any high hopes.”

“So what’s next?”

“I’ve got to go out of town, Teri. I’m sorry.”

“Now?”

“I know it’s coming at a bad time.”

“No. No. I’m the one who should be apologizing. You’ve been great, Walt. Really.”

“It’s another case.”

“I understand.”

“I want you two to stay here while I’m gone.” He paused a moment, as if he were searching for something else to add, and when it didn’t come easily, he rinsed the next plate and placed it in the rack next to the sink. “You’ll be safer here.”

“Thanks,” she said, knowing he was probably right. Then she wondered how he was going to feel about this next question. “I’d like to take him to see his doctor. You think that would be all right?”

“Sure. You worried about his strength?”

“That… and some other things.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but he’s got a streak of gray hair coming in.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I just noticed it this morning. I know it sounds silly, but it worries me. Especially with everything else that’s going on. I just want to make sure that it’s nothing serious, that he’s all right.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Don’t tell anyone where you’re staying, though. If the doctor needs to get in touch with you, tell him you’ll call him.”

Teri nodded, surprised at how easily she had come to accept this new secrecy into her life. It was frightening how much things had changed in just twenty-four hours. It was also amazing how accepting of the changes she had already become.

Walt rinsed off the last plate and pulled the stopper out of the sink. The sharp, not entirely unpleasant aroma of Lux had filled the kitchen, reminding Teri of long ago nights when she would finish up the dishes while Michael and Gabe played catch in the backyard. Walt dried his hands off on a towel, hung the towel in the crook of the handle of the refrigerator, and swept up the stack of newspapers he had brought home with him. He sat down across from her.

“How’s he doing?” he asked, in reference to the boy.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

“Has he asked about Michael?”

“Not really.”

“You still have Michael’s number?”

Teri nodded. “In my purse.”

“When I get back, I’ll want to give him a call. See if he has an inkling of what’s going on here.”

“He’s not behind this, Walt.”

“Maybe not. But I wouldn’t be doing my best for you if I took that at face value, now would I?”

She smiled.

“How about you? How are you holding up?”

“Okay.”

“Wish I could tell you what’s going on, but I’m as much in the dark as you are.”

“I know,” she said.

“It’ll all work out eventually.” He thumbed through the stack of newspapers, moved the local paper to the top, and casually glanced at the headlines. Teri watched him, realizing distantly that what she was witnessing was part of this man’s nightly routine.

“You think I should have called the police?” she asked softly.

He looked up and grinned. “A little hindsight?”

She laughed to herself.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, what’s so funny?”

“It’s just something Michael used to say.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s silly.”

“I don’t care.”

She shook her head. It was silly, and she preferred not to have to mention it because she knew it was silly. But at the same time, it was still one of those things about Michael that she had always loved, that juvenile sense of humor. “Hiney-sight. Michael used to call it hiney-sight.”

Walt grinned.

“I told you it was silly.”

“That you did,” he said. “And I should have taken the warning.”

Teri smiled, slightly embarrassed, then slipped awkwardly into a change of subject. “Why so many papers?”

“Patterns,” he said. “The bigger the canvas, the easier it is to spot them.”

“What kind of patterns are you looking for?”

“I don’t always know. Sometimes it’s a disappearance or a kidnapping that sounds a little like it might be something similar to what I’m working on. And other times it might be a personal ad or a story about someone who doesn’t remember who they are. It all depends.”

She nodded. “Looking for anything in particular right now?”

“Not really. I’ve got a case where a father kidnapped his two children. The mother has custody and she hired me to see if I could track him down. That’s what’s taking me out of town tomorrow.”

“You think you’ve found him?”

“I think I might have a lead on him. How hot it is, I won’t know until I’ve checked it out.” Walt slipped the local paper off the stack, set it aside, and began to rifle through the pages of the San Jose Mercury News. “Like all of us, this guy’s a creature of habit. First of all, he’s a diabetic, so he needs insulin and he needs a prescription to get it. Second, he makes his living as a mechanic. So he’s still maintaining some of his old contacts. That’s what makes disappearing so difficult. In order to do it right, you’ve got to become a completely new person. You can’t carry any of the old baggage. You’ve got to give up everything. Very few of us are prepared to go that far.”

“How’d you track him to the Bay Area?”

“His social security number. I had a female friend call the IRS and talk to one of their female employees. My friend went into this long story about how she and this guy were in love once and how they’d lost contact with each other, and how she was trying to track him down to see if they could maybe start things up again.”

“Isn’t that illegal? Giving out that kind of information?”

“You bet. The woman could lose her job if anyone found out.”

Teri grinned appreciatively. “Clever.”

“Whatever works, as they say.”

They fell silent a moment, Walt lost in thoughts of his own, Teri thinking briefly about how difficult it must be to track someone down once they’ve made the decision to disappear.

“Did you quit because of me?” she finally asked.

“What?”

“The department. Did you quit the department because of me?”

“No. I quit because I needed a change, Teri. That’s all, just a change.”

“Burn out?”

“More like frustration.” He collapsed the newspaper and sat back in his chair. The expression on his face was almost identical to the one he had worn the first time she had met him. Not impatience, but a sense of wanting to get on with it. “Actually, you were an inspiration.”

She smiled self-consciously, a bit taken aback.

“You were my ghost of Christmas past, you might say.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“You remember when you called that press conference and made a big stink about how the department wasn’t doing anything?”

She remembered. She remembered all too well. That was before she’d really had a chance to know Detective Walter Travis. She couldn’t have called that same press conference today. In fact, there had been a number of times when she had worried that it might have cost him his career.

“Well, you were right,” Walt said.

“What?”

“You were right. The department was in the middle of a budget crunch and after a couple of weeks, with no evidence that Gabe had been kidnapped, we were told to write it off as a runaway and get on with our other cases. You were right. And that’s why I quit. Because I was always under pressure to get on to something else.”

“I always thought…”

“It was your fault?”

She nodded.

“It was,” he said brightly. “And I thank you.”

Teri took that as the compliment it was meant to be, then absently pulled the local paper across the table and glanced at the headlines. There was something about unrest in South Africa, long after the elections, and that seemed to take up the majority of the banner. She flipped the front page and came surprisingly face-to-face with a photograph of Miss Churchill. The slug underneath read: Nursing Student Found Dead. A shudder rose up from somewhere deep inside of her.

“Walt…”

“What?”

“This is her,” Teri said. She spread the front page out across the table and flattened the crease. “See this picture?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the woman from last night, the one with the boy.”

Walt began to read from the article. “Amanda Tarkett, age 26, was found dead this morning near the underpass at Blackmore and Vine after a mugging that apparently went awry. The police have not identified any suspects at this time, though they are following up on several leads, including a possible eye-witness. Miss Tarkett was out walking her mother’s dog when the incident occurred.”

“They killed her,” Teri said, her hands suddenly trembling.

“We don’t know that.”

“They killed her.”

[22]

The voices from the next room drifted lazily through the wall, muffled and barely distinguishable. The boy pulled the sleeping bag up around his neck, watching the shadows dance madly across the wall as a car passed by outside. He had always found it difficult sleeping in a strange place, and tonight was turning out to be no exception. He closed his eyes, surprised by the fact that every square inch of his surroundings, even the carpet fibers, smelled of Mr. Travis.

He listened to the voices wander toward the back of his thoughts, gradually falling into a deadening monotone.

Another car went by outside.

He shifted, and felt himself drawn into the warmth of his own little Never-Never Land, swimming peacefully at first, deeper and deeper, drifting into the dark, and then somehow finding his way out the other side, where the dream took him by hand and led him into the nightmare. In the nightmare, he was in a Hall of Mirrors. They were everywhere and nowhere, in front of him and beside him. There was a mirror with a huge spider-webbed crack that turned his face into a collage of noses and ears and eyes, all misshapen and overlapping. Another mirror that twisted and pulled at him until his reflection was a hideous Elephant Man with no mouth and eyes as large as his head.

Somewhere in the beyond, candles burned, the light dim and flickering. He turned, and over his shoulder, a thick black shadow swept through the maze like a thunderstorm through a mountain passage, dark and dangerous, coming after him. A pair of bright, fiery eyes stared malevolently out of the nothingness.

He turned and slammed into the cold, smooth surface of a mirror, turned again, slammed into another, and realized he was caught on all sides, face to face with his own reflections. To his left, a boy: thin and growing, maybe five or six years old, with hair more blond than brown. To his right, another boy: eyes dull, face drawn and weathered, flesh loose, somehow old and young at the same time. And behind him that dark, foggy wave slithering across the floor in his direction, a clock stealing time, the gap closing, no way out, everything closing in, the walls getting larger and thicker, his fists against the glass, his mouth wide, lungs burning, nothing coming out, until

…until

…until he finally woke up screaming.

[23]

Teri heard the scream and went running, her mind filled with horrible thoughts of what might have happened. She found the boy pressed into the corner, his sleeping bag pulled up around his waist, his forehead damp with sweat, his breathing shallow.

“It’s all right,” she said. “It was only a nightmare.”

She sat down next to him on the floor and rocked him in her arms.

Walt peeked in behind her. “Everything all right?”

Teri nodded.

The boy whimpered, and she held him a little tighter. “Shhh. It’s all right now. It’s all right.”

[24]

She was up early the next morning, but not early enough to catch Walt before he had left. There was a note on the counter, weighted down with the salt shaker. It read: I wanted to get an early start. I should be back tomorrow night. Wednesday morning at the latest. Make yourself at home. Keep a low profile. Walt.

Short and to the point.

Beneath his name, he had added a phone number where he could be reached. Teri read the note twice, looking for a hint of something but not really knowing what. When she finished her second time through, she folded the note in thirds and slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans.

The boy was up by then.

She watched him come stiffly down the hall, still half-asleep. His limp was more pronounced this morning, though she chalked that up to the fact that he had just woken up and was moving without his cane. He fell wearily into one of the chairs at the counter.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I am.”

“Didn’t sleep too well after the nightmare?”

He shook his head. “What’s for breakfast?”

“How about some bacon and eggs?”

“Sure.” He toyed around with the salt shaker, trying to spin it the same way he might spin a top, and Teri couldn’t help but wonder who he really was – this boy who looked so much like Gabe. She had stayed in the room with him last night, while he struggled to get back to sleep again. It was only after his eyes had closed and his breathing had become rhythmic that she noticed his fingernails. They had all been chewed, some almost down to the quick. Gabe had always been a nail-biter.

She brought the bacon out, managed to tear off a couple of slices, and set them in the frying pan. By the time the grease was snapping, she had already broken two eggs, added a slice of mild cheddar and some mushrooms, and scrambled the whole concoction in another pan. A slice of toast and a little butter and she had just spent as much time in the last ten minutes making breakfast as she had in the last ten years.

She set a plate on the counter in front of him, and watched as he shook a few grains of salt into the palm of his hand, and from there onto the eggs.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Miss Churchill,” he said. “This way you won’t use too much.”

“Makes sense.” She leaned back against the refrigerator, her hands behind her back, the fingers curled around the edge of the counter. “You remember Dr. Childs?”

“Uh-uh.”

“He’s the family doctor.”

“I thought Harding was my doctor.”

“No, he’s your dentist. Childs is your regular doctor.”

“You aren’t gonna make me go see him, are you?”

“’Fraid so, kiddo.”

“Ah, Mom…”

“It won’t take long,” she said quickly. She could have caught herself and corrected him about calling her mom, but as unnerving as she had initially found it, she had grown to like the sound of that word. Especially when he offered it up with such little effort, as if it were the word he had used all his life when referring to her. “I promise. He’s just going to take a look at you, and maybe see if we can figure out why your hair’s turning gray and you aren’t quite as strong as you probably should be.”

“I’m strong.”

“I know, honey. But…”

But it wasn’t just the matter of his strength. It was everything: the gray hair, the cane, the color of his eyes, the wondering if he really was Gabe or if he was just some kid who happened to look like him. It was all of those. And it was none of them. Because more than anything Teri was simply worried about the boy.

“But it’s better to be on the safe side,” she finished.

[25]

She wasn’t going to play the fool a second time.

Teri called ahead to the doctor’s office and spoke with his receptionist, making certain that Dr. Childs wasn’t off on vacation or out of town or playing golf at the country club, and that he would, in fact, be seeing patients. Once she had been assured of that fact, she tried to make an appointment and when it appeared that it wouldn’t be possible until tomorrow or the day after, she politely thanked the woman and hung up.

“What did they say?” the boy asked.

“The doctor’s booked today.”

He grinned, obviously pleased with the news. “Gee, that’s a bummer.”

“Yes, it is. Now go wash your hands and comb your hair.”

“What for?”

“Because we’re going to see him anyway.”

“Do we have to?”

“Yes, we have to. Now go on.”

They arrived at the clinic a little after ten and ended up sitting in the waiting room until well past lunch and into the mid-afternoon hours before a nurse finally called for Gabriel Knight. She escorted them into a small examination room, took his temperature and his blood pressure, and promised the doctor would be in shortly. By the time the door finally swung open and the doctor walked through, Teri was half-way through an article in Woman’s Day on working out of the home.

“Well, let’s see what we have here,” Childs said with barely a glance. He sat on a stool across the room and read down the top page of Gabriel’s file. It had been a long time since Teri had last seen the doctor and she was surprised by how much he had visibly aged. He was wearing glasses now, thin, round, wire-rimmed specs that perfectly complemented a receding hairline and graying around his temples. If pressed, she would have to guess that he was somewhere in his mid-to-late fifties now.

He glanced up, peering over the rim of his glasses, and smiled warmly. “It’s been awhile, Teri.”

“Yes, it has,” she said.

“About time we got you in for a check-up, isn’t it?”

“I’ll make an appointment on my way out. I promise.”

“Good. You do that.” He smiled again, in that warm, fatherly manner, and turned his attention to the boy. “So what seems to be the problem?”

“He’s been feeling a little run down lately,” Teri said.

“Run down?”

“Actually, it’s not so much that as the fact that he seems to have lost some of the strength in his legs and arms. Especially in the morning, when he first gets up. It’s as if he just can’t seem to get going.”

“But he gets stronger as the day progresses?”

“A little.”

“Uh-huh. Has he been running a temperature at all?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Had any flu or cold symptoms?”

“No,” Teri said, somewhat unconvincingly, she feared. Guilt, like an unwanted house guest, had slipped through the door and begun to make itself at home in her thoughts. What kind of a mother am I? she asked herself. Maybe he had been running a temperature. Not today, of course. Not yesterday, either. But maybe the day before that. “You haven’t, have you, honey?”

“No, Mom.”

“I didn’t think so.” She glanced at the doctor, and noted with some relief that his expression had remained unchanged. No surprise or disgust there, just a doctor’s mask of passivity.

“Any weight loss?”

“A little, maybe.”

“Has he been eating well?”

“Not as well as I’d like. He’s been picky lately.”

“Unusual thirst or the need to urinate often?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Uh-hum,” he said absently. He flipped through a page of Gabriel’s file, and set the clipboard aside. “Well, why don’t we take a look and see if we can find out if anything’s going on. If you’ll take your shirt off for me…”

The boy, who had been sitting on the edge of the examination table, his feet dangling over the end, took off his shirt and handed it to Teri. For a brief moment, she was shocked to see how thin he had actually become. It was almost as if he were holding his breath, the skin below his ribcage pulled taut into a small hollow recess, the framework of ribs visibly pronounced. Gabe had never been this thin. Not even when he had begun his first growing spurt, around the age of six or seven.

“Just relax now,” Childs said. “This isn’t going to hurt.”

Teri watched him check the boy’s lymph nodes, the doctor staring off into the distance as his fingers first worked the underside of the jaw, then a spot just below the boy’s armpit on each side.

“No swelling,” he said absently.

“That’s good.”

“So how’s everything else been?” he asked as he pulled a penlight out of his breast pocket and used a tongue depressor to take a look at the back of the boy’s throat. “Say ah for me.”

“Ahhhh.”

“Things have been all right,” Teri said.

“Still working at the post office?”

“Yeah. It seems like forever, doesn’t it?”

He smiled politely, checked the boy’s reflexes—which to Teri’s untrained eye appeared to respond surprisingly well—and used his stethoscope to listen to the boy’s lungs. When he was finished, he sat down on the stool again and made some notes in Gabriel’s file.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, to be honest. Everything appears normal. His lungs are clear, the blood pressure’s normal, the lymph nodes aren’t swollen. There doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary going on.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think I’d like to take a urine sample and maybe a little blood, just to be on the safe side. And after that—”

“What about the gray in his hair?”

“Pardon?”

“The gray.” Teri, who had been leaning against the wall, trying to stay out of the way during the doctor’s examination, moved around the foot of the table and had the boy tilt his head to one side.

“When did that show up?” Childs asked.

“A couple of days ago.”

He took a long, thoughtful look under the fluorescent lights.

“What do you think it might be?”

“I don’t know. Is there a history of premature graying on either side of the family?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Well, I’m not sure it’s anything to worry ourselves about, Teri. Not just yet anyway. Just keep an eye on it, and if it continues to get worse or if there are any other symptoms that seem like they might be related, then give me a call and we’ll take a closer look.”

“You don’t think it has anything to do with him being tired all the time?”

“It’s not likely. But just in case, why don’t we wait and see what the test results have to say before we start speculating, all right? My guess is that whatever’s going on—and it’s probably just a virus—he’s already over the hump by now and it’s just a matter of building his strength back up.” He took possession of the clipboard again, and stood at the door with his hand on the knob. “All right?”

Teri nodded. “When will you have the test results?”

“Sometime tomorrow if all goes well. I promise I’ll call you.” He glanced down at the clipboard. “We still have your current phone number?”

“Would it be all right if I called you? Tomorrow’s looking like it might be a little on the hectic side.”

“Sure.”

“Sometime in the afternoon?”

“That should work out fine,” Childs said. He tucked the clipboard under his arm, and reached out to shake hands with the boy, who seemed almost taken aback by the gesture. “It’s nice to see you again, Gabriel. Try to talk your mother into bringing you in every once in a while for a checkup, even if you don’t think you need one. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He opened the door, and paused again. “I’ll have the nurse come in to take a little blood and help with the urine sample, and we’ll see if anything turns up. Until then, try not to worry about it, Teri. I really don’t think it’s anything serious.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“My pleasure.”

The door closed, and Teri turned to the boy, who was slipping his shirt back over his head. “Well, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About Dr. Childs.”

“He’s okay.”

“You don’t remember him, huh?”

The boy shook his head and hopped down from the table. “Should I?”

Yes, Teri thought. Gabe would remember him. But then she didn’t know if that were true or not. Especially under these circumstances.

[26]

Walt closed the door to his motel room, tossed his suitcase on the nearest chair, and collapsed on the queen-sized bed next to the window.

The drive down state had taken nearly six hours, due largely to an eight mile backup in Concord, where a semi had smashed into a small Ford pickup while changing lanes. The semi had flipped onto its side and gone for a long, helpless slide down the middle two lanes of the freeway, leaving a thirty-foot-wide skid mark. By the time Walt had made it to the front of the line, all that was left were a few scattered flares in the road. Off to the right, the semi and the pickup were both in the process of being towed away. If there had been any injuries, the ambulance had come and gone long ago.

Right about now, he wished he had gone with it.

Not only had the trip been a long one, but he hadn’t slept well last night. After Teri had gone off to bed, he had put things away in the kitchen and reread the story about the nursing student who had been found dead – Amanda Tarkett. There was no way her death had been an accident. That kind of coincidence didn’t happen nearly as often as people liked to believe. No, the boy’s sudden arrival and Miss Tarkett’s death were certainly both part of the same weaving.

Walt thought on that awhile, and then he tried to close his eyes and drift off to sleep. But there had been something else bothering him. He hadn’t been completely honest with Teri about why he had left the department. At times, he wasn’t sure he had even been honest with himself. There was a ghost giving chase, and it was a ghost that belonged to his past.

When he had been a boy, Walt, too, had been one of the disappeared.

It had happened shortly after his seventh birthday. His mother had won full custodial rights after a lengthy court battle, and his father was allowed to visit on weekends only. It was a fate the man decided he couldn’t live with. So one day he had picked up Walt after school, the car packed to the brim with every last possession, and the two of them had begun an odyssey across the country. Salvation Army clothes. Odd jobs. Every new town bringing a new hair color, a new name. Always on the move. Always looking over their shoulders, wondering how much longer before the Witch would catch up with them.

The Witch.

That had been his father’s name for her. “You’ve always gotta be on your toes, Walter. ’Cause the minute you relax, she’s gonna be there. And when she gets her hands on us, she’s gonna throw us both in jail and that’s where we’ll stay until the day we rot. So you be careful, you hear?”

The Witch.

Walt believed most of what his father told him, but even as a seven-year-old he didn’t believe everything. He didn’t believe he’d have to go to jail. And he didn’t believe his mother was a witch. Not the woman who used to tuck him into bed at night and read to him from The Cat in the Hat or Horton Hears A Who. That woman was his mother, and as far as Walt was concerned she would always be his mother.

At the age of sixteen, when he was finally old enough to go looking for her, he went back to his home town again, only to discover that she had died some three years earlier from ovarian cancer. She had spent the final six months of her life in a hospital bed, alone, surrounded by people who cared but who were strangers just the same.

Walt had made it back home, but he had made it back too late.

Just another of the disappeared.

Last night, he had conjured it all up again, like Black Magic, all the way up to three years ago, when he had sat at the side of his father’s death bed and forgiven him for the lost years and the loss of his mother. The trouble was… Walt had never forgiven himself. And that was the reason he had first become interested in law enforcement. And that was the same reason he had quit the force and had taken up the challenge of finding lost children on his own terms. The guilt had never seemed to let him forget.

So he hadn’t been completely honest with Teri.

And he hadn’t been completely honest with himself, either.

He stared reminiscently out the window at the Motel Six sign across the street and closed his eyes. Just a little sleep. That’s all he needed.

And then the phone rang.

[27]

Teri unlocked the car door on the boy’s side, then went around and climbed into the driver’s seat. They were both feeling a little worn down after their visit with Dr. Childs. Especially the boy, who had been terrified by the thought of some nurse sticking a needle the size of a number two pencil into his arm just to draw a little blood.

“Is it going to hurt?”

“A little,” Teri had told him. “But if you keep your eyes closed, it won’t seem so bad.”

“Really?”

“Scout’s honor.”

“Mom…”

“What?”

“You’re not a scout.”

The needle hadn’t been as big as he had let himself imagine, but it had been plenty big enough, and Teri had felt that terrible guilt of motherhood when a silent tear had slipped out of the corner of the boy’s eye and trailed down his cheek.

But that was over now, and behind them.

“What do you say to an ice cream?” she asked, buckling the seat belt.

He nodded, still a little angry at her.

“Baskin Robbins?”

Another nod, just as unforgiving.

She started up the car, the engine cold and registering its complaint with a knocking sound that Michael would have described as nothing more than a ping. It was a tight squeeze backing out. An old Toyota pickup had moved into the space on her left and there was a concrete block wall on the right. She backed out slowly, making a hard turn once the front bumper was clear.

“I’m sorry it hurt so much,” she said apologetically.

“You said it wouldn’t hurt.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” She shifted into first and started out of the lot. “It’s just that sometimes adults forget how much things can hurt.”

“Did you ever have to give blood?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did it hurt?”

“You bet,” she said, checking the rear view mirror. There was a black, late model Ford in the outside lane, maybe half a block behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t lost sight of a car in her blind spot, then turned on her signal and moved to the inside lane.

“But sometimes you just have to do things you’d rather not have to do,” she said. “You remember when you and your father drove over to Reno to pick up your grandfather’s bedroom set?”

“Yeah.”

“You remember how you got caught in that snow storm, and how your father had to get out of the truck and put chains on the tires?” She turned left at Bellows Road and moved back into the right lane. Baskin Robbins was another two miles down the road, a small shop that sat just outside the Shasta Valley Mall.

“It made his fingers hurt,” the boy said.

“But he still had to get the chains on, didn’t he?”

“It’s like the summer, when you make me mow the lawn every week.”

She laughed and glanced across the seat at him. He seemed so tiny, sitting there staring out the window. She had almost missed the fact that for a moment he had been Gabe in her mind and they had taken a trip far back in time. She wondered now who he really was, this boy. She found herself wondering even louder when he began to chew on his fingernails again.

The weather had been moody all morning, a little patch of sunshine here, a little sprinkle of raindrops there. But it was beginning to turn serious now. The sky had darkened noticeably, and off to the west, she could see a sheet of rain falling out of the clouds, all the way to the ground like a huge drape across the horizon.

“Mom?”

“What?” She checked the rearview mirror again. There was a white van keeping a safe distance not far behind, and a small foreign car—a Yugo or some such thing—in the other lane, a little further back. Traffic was light for this time of day.

“What about Dad?”

“What about him?”

“Where is he?”

And there was something else. She had come away from the doctor’s office with a feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach. For awhile, she thought it might have been something the doctor had said or maybe something he had done, some little signal he had sent that her brain had missed but her intuition had caught. Only now, she realized it hadn’t had anything at all to do with the doctor. It had been about the black, late model Ford she had noticed outside his office. It had pulled out behind her innocently enough, but it was still trailing along not far behind the white van.

That was the reason for her sense of unease.

They were being followed.

[28]

Walt answered the phone in that tone of his that could be gruff and unforgiving. He was like that most often when he felt interrupted. In this case, though, it was because he hadn’t been expecting a call, and a call unexpected was usually bad news.

“Yeah?”

“Walt?”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Mark.”

Mark Sessions worked in the computer section of the local baby Bell. Walt had met him years ago in the midst of a department tap on a suspected drug smuggler. The tap had snagged the smuggler; Mark had received a letter of appreciation from the department; and Walt had made himself a friend inside the phone company.

“What’s up?” Walt asked.

“I can’t talk long, but I thought I’d let you know that you were right. There was a call made from the Knight house a couple nights ago.”

“What time?”

“A little before ten.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear, Mark. Hold on a sec and let me get a pencil and paper.” He pulled open the drawer of the night stand and rummaged around blindly under the Gideon Bible.

“Don’t bother.”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

“You aren’t going to like this. The number belongs to a phone booth.”

“Jesus.”

“Sorry, Walt.”

“Don’t be. I should have known.” He closed the drawer, suddenly feeling tired again, and leaned back against the stack of pillows.

“It was only a block away.”

“What?”

“The phone booth… it was only a block away. At the 7-Eleven on Kirkwood. I can’t be sure of this, of course, but it looks like they linked that number to a number in Chico.”

“Another phone booth, right?”

“You got it,” Mark said. “And from there, it went down to the Bay Area. After that, it’s anybody’s guess. Sorry.”

“No need. At least that confirms what we’re dealing with.”

“If anything else comes up…”

“Thanks, Mark.”

“No problem.”

Walt hung up and gazed out the window. He watched a puff of gray-white clouds go sauntering past the Motel Six sign and disappear into the distant blue sky like one of David Copperfield’s illusions.

Illusions were showing up everywhere it seemed.

[29]

“Have you got your seat belt on?” Teri did her best to keep the calm in her voice. In the side mirror, the black Ford drifted toward the inside of the lane then back behind the white van again. It was like looking up to find someone staring at you from across the room, and it stood the hairs up on the back of Teri’s neck.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because you’re supposed to,” she said.

She pressed down on the accelerator, and the car gradually increased speed from thirty-five to forty. The white van began to fall back, shrinking in the rearview mirror, and for a brief moment Teri let herself hope for the best. It did not last long.

The black Ford crossed to the inside lane. The sky, dark and cloudy, rolled across its windshield like an old grainy movie, and beneath the gray veil she could barely make out the figure of someone sitting in the passenger seat. He shifted forward briefly; his hands on the dashboard, then sank back into the shadows again

“So where is he?” the boy asked again about Michael.

“Not now, honey.”

“He’s okay, isn’t he?”

“Please.” The tires began to pound out a sudden rhythm, and she realized the car had drifted too close to the lane divider. She made a small correction back into the outside lane, and focused once again on the black Ford.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, honey.”

The boy glanced over his shoulder out the back window. “It’s a cop, isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

The Ford slowly inched forward, trailing along slightly less than a car-length back now. An endless parade of dark-gray clouds went swimming across its windshield, like a sea of whitecaps, and barely discernible beneath them, Teri thought she caught a glimpse of the driver’s face. It was Mitch.

“Oh, my God.”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s him,” she said.

“Who?”

“That man from the other night.”

Up ahead, the stop light turned green and she said a silent prayer that it would hold. She pressed down on the accelerator and brought the speed up to just under fifty.

“What do they want?”

“I don’t know.”

In the rearview mirror, she watched the white van pull into a Chevron station on the right. The Ford immediately increased its speed, moving up along side her on the left. The light turned yellow as both cars sailed through the intersection. On the far side, the Ford switched lanes and cut in front of her.

“So what are we gonna do?”

“I’m not sure,” she said honestly. She thought she had heard a hint of fear in the boy’s voice, and she didn’t want to add to that, not even a little, because it was everything she could do to keep her own fears under control.

A light drizzle began to fall. Teri turned on the wipers. They made a maddening, rasping sound as they scraped across the surface of the glass for the first stroke or two, then settled into the steady tempo of a metronome.

Up ahead, the rear passenger-side window of the Ford slowly rolled down. She watched a black-gloved hand emerge like a vampire bat flitting out of its cave just after twilight. With the index finger in the air, it motioned toward the curb, and she knew time was quickly running short.

“You aren’t going to stop, are you?”

Teri checked her rearview mirror.

“Mom?”

“Hold on,” she said.

[30]

Walt hung up the phone, uneasy with the knowledge that whoever was after Teri, they were obviously sophisticated and very well-funded. He didn’t care much for the implications of that thought. There was a chance—a good chance, in fact—that he might be getting in over his head. Though he tried to remind himself that chance was a two-headed coin. The fact that they were sophisticated at least narrowed down some of the suspects.

All this whirled around in his head like a wind storm shifting the sands, and eventually he fluffed up the pillows and settled back for a short nap.

With the nap, came the dream.

“Write your name, Mr. Travis.”

Walt looked up from his desk. He was in the first row, second to last seat, farthest from the window that looked out across the school yard. Someone had carved the initials W.T. into the desktop, and circled it with a black permanent marker. It was not a nice thing to have done.

“Huh?”

The teacher, who was a man of about forty and stood almost as tall as the top of the chalkboard, held out a piece of white chalk. His eyes were red embers, his brow creased and stern. He was a familiar man, and Walt thought if he resembled anyone it would be his father.

“You heard me, young man. Come up to the chalkboard and write your name.”

The rest of the class all turned in their seats and waited to see what he would do.

“But…”

“Now, young man.”

“I…”

The teacher glared at him a moment, an if-looks-could-kill kind of glare. Then suddenly he slammed the palm of his hand against the board. It made a huge, terrifying noise, sharp and jarring. A cloud of chalk dust swirled madly into the air.

“Now!”

Walt climbed out of his seat, his legs rubbery beneath him. He passed through a row of strange faces, girls and boys that he couldn’t remember having ever met before. Distrustfully, he took the chalk that was presented him.

“Your name, Mr. Travis. On the board. Fifty times, if you will.”

He looked from the chalk to the huge, empty board that towered over him like a mountain waiting to be climbed. Slowly he began to write: JEFF NEWCOMER.

Giggles erupted from behind him.

“That’s not your name, Mr. Travis.”

“Yes—”

“That’s not your name!” A ruler slammed across his buttocks, nearly standing him as high as the teacher’s chin. “Now do it right!”

R-A-Y-M-O-N-D.

“That’s not right!”

Another slap across his back side.

J-O-S-E-P-H.

“No! That’s not who you are! Do it again!”

S-A-M-U-E-L.

“No! Again!”

B-E-R-R-Y.

“No!”

RICHARD BOYLE.

“Richard Boyle. Now remember that,” the teacher said sternly. “It’s Richard Boyle. That’s your name now. You understand me? It’s yours.”

“It’s yours!” the class yelled in unison, a sick delightful sound of harmony.

“It’s yours! It’s yours!”

[31]

The Shasta Valley Mall came into view up ahead on the right. The main entrance was a block away, hidden between a Carl’s Jr. that had been under construction for several months and a Bank of America branch that had been there for years. Teri didn’t think the black Ford was going to let her get that far.

“Mom…”

“Just hold on.”

She slammed her foot down on the accelerator, and gave the steering wheel a sharp tug to the right. The rear tires squealed, kicking up a cloud of blue smoke, before they finally caught and sent the car into a sideways skid.

The front end jumped the curb.

Teri over-corrected in an effort to keep the car from doing a one-eighty, and ended up making matters worse. The right front fender clipped a street light, sheering it off near the base. The impact as it came crashing down sounded like a wrecking ball taking its first swipe at an old, tired building. She barely heard it, though. The car squealed across the sidewalk, forced its way into the narrow space between a pickup truck and a telephone booth, then suddenly accelerated again. She felt the weight of her body forced backwards into the cushion of her seat. It was everything she could do just to keep her hands on the steering wheel, and suddenly she realized that even that wasn’t going to be enough.

Not this time.

It was going to take more than just holding on.

For a moment, everything seemed to slow down, ticking off the seconds in an irretrievable manner that left no doubt there would be no turning back. The car shimmied and rattled, just missed a planter box, then rammed front-grille first into the side of a parked RV.

Teri felt the steering wheel press against her breasts, and with a shudder the car settled back on its springs and came to an abrupt standstill. The engine continued to race for another ten to fifteen seconds, sounding as if it might explode, then gradually winding down again. Everything turned deathly quiet.

She unstrapped herself from the seat belt. “You all right?”

The boy smiled at her, struggling with his own belt. “That was wicked. Really wicked.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Teri said, wishing they had time to stop and count their blessings. The boy’s side of the car was bulging inward now, a strange sculpture of metal and plastic that might have been a popular piece if only it had been on display at an art gallery. “We’re going to have to get out on this side.”

She gave the door handle a tug and realized with dread that something wasn’t right. The pull was too easy. There was no resistance. She put her shoulder against the door and tried again, but the result was the same. The door wasn’t going to open.

“Just break out the window,” the boy said.

In the distance, she could see the black Ford coming back across the intersection into the mall parking lot. There wasn’t much time now.

“Mom…”

“I heard you!”

But first, she tried to roll down the window, amazed that she had the presence of mind to even think of such a thing. Like the door handle, though, something inside the trim panel had apparently slipped off its track or had become stripped of its threads. The handle dangled from the shaft, useless.

“Try this.” The boy handed her the small First Aid box from the glove compartment. “It’s metal.”

She stared at it, toying only a moment with the idea before covering her face and slamming one end of the box into the glass. Instantly, it bounced back at her. Left behind was little more than a tiny spider-webbed pattern near the heart of the window.

“Hit it harder.”

“I’m trying.” What scared her more than anything was that she might put her arm through the window and end up cutting herself on the shards of glass. There was that fear, and then there was the fear of being trapped in here.

The Ford had gotten caught in the backup of rubberneckers across the way. Through the windshield, she watched as all four doors open nearly simultaneously. A small group of men climbed out and started across the parking lot in her direction.

Teri took another swing at the window, hit it hard enough to shatter the glass this time, and after that it was only a matter of knocking away the shards from around the edges of the opening. Teri climbed through first. The boy followed close behind, catching his pant leg on the lock, then shaking loose. He fell to the ground head first, wearing half-a-grin, half-a-grimace.

The men were only fifty yards behind them now, Mitch in front, looking like a football player in a suit, only a little heavier and maybe a little slower. The others had fanned out on either side.

Teri helped the boy to his feet, and pushed him ahead of her, between two parked cars, over a small area planted with ivy, across the road, and into the southwest doors of J.C. Penny’s. It was warm inside, and she was immediately struck by the calm in here. The chaos on the other side of the doors suddenly seemed a thousand miles away. She glanced back, seeing no sign of Mitch or his friends.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know.”

They passed through the cosmetics department, past women’s clothing, and followed the tiled walkway out into the mouth of the mall. In the back of her mind, she had been thinking—more like hoping—that they might be able to blend in with the shoppers and maybe find their way out through another store. But it was late afternoon now, and foot traffic was light.

Up ahead on the left, a Gottschalks had recently moved in. Teri crossed the floor, keeping the boy in front of her. In their rush to escape the car they had left his cane behind and he was limply markedly now. Distantly, it crossed her thoughts that there hadn’t been a normal, peaceful minute since the moment he had shown up on her doorstep.

“Not much further,” she said. “Hang on.”

“I’m okay.”

Once inside Gottschalks they followed the walkway toward the women’s section in the back, Teri glancing over her shoulder and trying to convince herself every step of the way they were okay, that Mitch and his friends hadn’t seen them.

A clerk looked up from her register, and smiled.

Teri forced herself to smile back, and pushed the boy toward the changing rooms, where a heavyset woman was modeling slacks in front of the mirrors. They moved to the back stall, closed the curtains, and sat down.

“Mom, this is for girls.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Gabe. Give me a break, will you.”

[32]

Walt woke up in a cold sweat. He sat on the edge of the bed, his heart pounding faster than he ever imagined possible. He slowly rubbed his hands over his face, and stared down at them, studying the wrinkles, the pores, the hair. And gradually, the dream came back to him.

Jeff Newcomer.

Raymond.

Joseph.

Samuel.

Berry.

Oh, Jesus.

Richard Boyle.

He got up and went into the bathroom to relieve himself. When he was done, he washed his hands and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Richard Boyle was the man who had kidnapped his two children and disappeared on his wife. He was the man Walt had been hired to find, and the reason Walt was here. Only Walt had never expected to find Richard Boyle in his dreams.

[33]

“We fucking lost them!” Mitch said, barely able to control his anger. The light turned green and he made a left through the intersection on the way out of the mall parking lot. He switched the car phone to the other ear and checked his watch. It was a quarter past five. They had spent nearly two hours combing through the mall, all for naught. The Knight woman and the boy had simply vanished.

“That’s not what I wanted to hear. Where’d you lose them?”

“The Shasta Valley Mall.”

“How long ago?”

“About two hours.”

“And the boy, how did the boy look to you?”

“Okay, I guess. I didn’t get much of a look at him. Once she realized who we were, the woman kinda went ape shit, you know. She jumped the curb and ran the car into an RV. Left behind one fucking mess.”

“He wasn’t hurt, was he? The boy?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We need the boy alive, Mitch. You understand that? If something happens to him, I’m holding you personally responsible. This is the second time you’ve screwed this thing up, and quite frankly I’m running short of patience. I want the boy back, and I want him back before this thing gets any further out of hand. You understand me? Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

“All right. Now… if there was an accident, there should be an accident report. And if she abandoned her vehicle, then the police should be looking for her. Keep tabs on what they’re doing and make sure you let me know the moment they come up with anything. Have you got any idea where they’ve been the past two days?”

Mitch glanced into his rearview mirror, saw that the left lane was open, and moved into it without signaling. “No, nothing. We’re still checking out the husband, but it looks like he’s living out of state. Could be they’ve been staying with a friend we don’t have a line on yet. We’ll keep an eye on the clinic in case they turn up there again.”

“Better reinstate the surveillance on her house, too.”

“Of course.”

“Sooner or later, she’s bound to turn up somewhere.”

“Yes, sir.” It had been an easy assignment and so far he had screwed it up royally. Retrieve the boy, that was it. No blood. No unnecessary force. Just make sure that he understood it would be in his best interest to come along peacefully. Well, that wasn’t going to happen now. Mitch knew it, and the man on the other end of the line knew it.

“Sorry about the screw up.”

“You and me, both, Mitch. You and me, both.”

[34]

Nearly three hours had passed.

The boy, whom Teri had referred to as Gabe out of pure exasperation, had sulked for a short time before curling up in the corner and falling asleep. She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him. He had slept sitting up, knees to chest, his head buried in the fold of his arms, and she had noticed a mark on the back of his neck. It was a scar of some sort. Round. About half the size of a dime. Maybe from Chicken Pox.

He stirred.

Teri got up and stretched, then checked her watch and pushed aside the curtains. Traffic had picked up considerably in the women’s section. Four of the eight changing rooms were occupied and she could see half-a-dozen women and several children rummaging through the racks. A new clerk was working behind the register. She looked up and smiled like an old lost friend.

“How’re we doing back there?”

“Just fine,” Teri said.

“Need any help?”

Oh, you wouldn’t believe the help I need, she thought.

“No, everything’s fine. Thank you.”

It was another ten minutes before the clerk became preoccupied and they were able to slip out of the changing room. Out on the main floor of the mall, they crossed to the other side, made their way past a Software Etc. and a B. Dalton, past a Payless Shoe Source and a Shear Magic, and into Sears. They exited out the back of the store, onto Larkspur Avenue, which bordered the mall on the north.

No sign of Mitch.

No sign of any of his friends.

The evening sky, which was moments from sunset, was a muddy orange and brown color, streaked with perfect brushstroke clouds that seemed too well-defined to be real. Teri took in a deep breath, grateful to be out of that damn dressing room and into the fresh air again.

“What now?” the boy asked, clearly on the cranky side. She could hardly blame him, though. It had been a long, difficult afternoon and she was feeling a little cranky herself.

“I don’t know. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Me, too.”

They caught a city bus cross town to a place called Casa Lupe. The boy ate a taco and burrito plate, with beans and rice, as hearty a meal as he had eaten since his return.

Afterward, Teri used the pay phone on the corner to try to reach Walt in the Bay Area. She had hoped he might be able to suggest what she should do next, but she wasn’t able to get a hold of him. It was all up to her now. God, what a difference a few days made.

She dug the quarter out of the change release and tossed it to the boy. “How are you doing?”

“Okay.”

“Well, you’re doing better than I am, then.”

“No answer?”

“No, he must be out somewhere.”

“Why can’t we just go home?”

“Because they might be waiting for us there.”

“What about the apartment?”

That’s why she had wanted to talk to Walt, just to make sure that it would be safe to go back to the apartment. Somehow, these guys had picked up their trail. Maybe it had been at the doctor’s office. Maybe it had been at Walt’s. Maybe it had been by chance. The problem was—she had no way of knowing.

“I suppose we could go by,” she said hesitantly. She looked down at him, smiled, and pulled him into her for a hug. “Quite a mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, isn’t it?”

“It’ll be all right, Mom.”

“I hope so.”

[35]

Teri stood across the street from Walt’s apartment watching the windows and trying to decide if it was safe or not. The thing that troubled her the most was the light in the kitchen. She couldn’t remember if she had turned it off, but couldn’t image that she had left it on. It could be that Walt had come home unexpectedly early. Or it could be that someone was waiting to surprise them.

“How long do we have to wait out here?”

“As long as it takes.”

“There’s no one up there.”

“You willing to bet your life on that?”

“Yeah.”

She glanced down at him, recognizing the mix of weariness and frustration on his face, and wishing she could wave a wand and make everything better. All she could do, though, was ruffle his hair and turn her attention back to the apartment. “I don’t know. I just don’t like the idea of that light being on.”

“You just forgot it, that’s all.”

“Maybe.”

For as long as they had stood here, the apartment building had been quiet. Except for the couple on the bottom floor, who had gotten into a fight and had spent some time yelling obscenities back and forth. The husband—or boyfriend or live-in or whatever he was—had come stomping out of the apartment with a jacket slung over one shoulder and a beer in one hand. He had gone around the corner to the back side of the building, muttering to himself and that had been the last Teri had seen of him. Things had quieted down appreciably after that.

“All right,” she said uneasily. “I guess we can’t stand out here all night.”

They crossed the street in the middle of the block, Teri keeping the boy in front of her as she guardedly made sure there was no obvious danger. Around the outer edges of the courtyard, they kept under the shadows of the overhang. Near the northwest corner of the building, where the lighting was brighter, she took him to the top of the stairs, one step at a time, and paused near the landing.

“Let’s just wait here a second.”

“What for?”

“Just to be on the safe side.”

The boy picked up a twig off the ground and toyed with a black beetle that had the unfortunate luck of having crossed in front of him at just the wrong moment. Teri leaned back against the iron handrail and watched the kitchen window, half-expecting to see someone moving around inside. When that didn’t happen, she brought out the key Walt had given her the first night. She crossed the walkway to apartment B-242, and plugged the key into the lock. It toggled both directions without success. But before she had the chance to try it a third time, the door gradually swung open on its own.

“It’s unlocked,” the boy said, surprised.

“Shhh.”

Inside, the short entryway was cast in a crisscross of shadows. The kitchen was off to the right, bright under the overhead fluorescents. The living room was straight ahead, slightly off center, again to the right. Teri took a short step across the threshold and paused.

The boy stepped up behind her, his hand slipping around her wrist and holding on.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m just going to take a look. You stay here by the door.”

“I want to come with you.”

“Let me check it out first.”

At the first doorway, she stopped and slowly peered around the corner into the kitchen. It looked as if all hell had broken loose. Drawers were pulled off their tracks, utensils scattered across the floor, the refrigerator door left open. There was a pile of cereal boxes and empty soup cans, jelly jars and empty macaroni packages on the floor in the middle of the room. A three-fingered track of apricot jelly stained the walls above the countertop and the sink, and someone had squirted the ceiling with what looked like ketchup and salad dressing.

It was worse than that, much worse, but that was as much as she needed to see. She turned and started back out the door.

“We’ve gotta get out of here!”

[36]

It was getting cold out.

Walt blew into his hands to warm them, and settled a little deeper into the front seat of the car. The evening cloud cover had finally dissipated. The sky was a remarkable crisp, deep black, sprinkled with a garden of stars.

Four hours had passed since he had first arrived here. Across the street, the house had given itself to the quiet of the night. It was a small two-bedroom, Sixties tract home with a flat, gravel roof and an oak tree in the front yard. It belonged to Richard Boyle, though he was currently going by the name of B. L. Richards. He worked at a printing shop off of Fourth Street called the Ace Printing Company. He had been working there for nearly nine months, having moved into the area with his two kids from a small town in upper Oregon. That was the story he had pitched to his employer. It was the same story he had offered up to the secretary at John F. Kennedy Elementary where he had registered the kids. And it was all a lie.

Walt glanced at the clock. 10:20 p.m. He flipped on the radio, met with an instant barrage of static, and grumpily flipped it off again.

“Come on, Richard. Where the hell are you?”

He hadn’t seen Richard and he hadn’t seen the children, and that was not a good omen. It left him wondering if Boyle had somehow made him, if he had known Walt was getting close and had already pulled out of the area. A father who steals his children keeps them nearby. So if Walt’s information was correct and this was the place and Boyle was B. L. Richards, then where were the children?

There were no lights on in the house.

There was no activity.

A couple of the neighborhood kids had said they hadn’t seen Christy or Garrett, the Boyle kids, since late last week. The family had crammed into their old Datsun late one night, all three in the front seat, and had apparently driven off to run errands. Christy waved good-bye on the way down the street, but no one could remember them coming back. And no one could remember seeing any luggage when they had left.

“I thought they were going out to dinner,” one little girl said.

Walt blew into his hands again, and glanced up the street, where a dog was circling a pair of dented garbage cans. The neighborhood had been alive two hours ago, a group of boys playing street hockey, neighbors arriving home after work, a boy going door-to-door collecting for his newspaper route, a woman and her daughter out walking the family dog. Gradually, things had grown quieter, though, and now it was as if the block of tract homes had turned into something of a ghost town.

He watched the dog stand on his hind legs and knock over the smaller of the two cans. The lid fell off, rolled over the edge of the curb and wobbled to its death like the last throes of a coin that had been flipped. A loud metallic explosion of noise went echoing down the street. And not a soul stirred. Not a single person in the entire neighborhood.

That was enough for him.

He climbed out of the car and started across the street, tired of playing it safe and wasting his time. Odds were Richard Boyle had gathered up his kids and had checked out. It was that simple. Somehow he had gotten word and they had done a quick vanishing act. Heaven only knew how far they had traveled by now. Maybe all the way back to upper Oregon.

As Walt opened the side gate and made his way around back, he made a mental note to check the possibility that Boyle had taken the kids back to Oregon. People had a habit of tipping their hands, whether they were aware of it or not. That was by no means only true in poker. A tell was a tell, and upper Oregon was Boyle’s safe bet.

To Walt’s surprise, the sliding glass door opening to the back patio was slightly ajar. They had left in a hurry. He rolled open the screen door, which made an agonizing squeal, then slipped through the opening and into the house.

His eyes made an adjustment.

This appeared to be the family room. Linoleum floor. Sofa. Coffee table. Fireplace. He shuffled through the stack of T.V. Guides on the table, finding nothing of note, and wandered into the adjoining room, which turned out to be the kitchen.

It was darker here. Walt pulled a pen light out of his pocket and did a quick scan of the counter top. A stack of newspapers. A six-pack of Old Milwaukee. An overturned salt shaker. A toaster. Half a loaf of bread. An open jar of peanut butter. A sink full of dirty dishes. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but he noticed it now… the strong permeating odor of rotten food. Not only had they left in a hurry, they had left several days ago.

“Dandy,” he muttered. “Two days, three hundred miles, all for nothing.”

He turned off the pen light, returned it to his jacket pocket, and took advantage of the nearest light switch. It didn’t matter if the house was suddenly all lit up now, did it? Not unless you’re worried about alerting the neighbors. Which he wasn’t. Because he wasn’t planning on being here that long.

In the kids’ room, several of the dresser drawers had been pulled out, the clothes dumped in a pile on the bed and apparently sorted. It was much the same in the other bedroom, clothing strewed about on the floor and bed, closet doors open, a pair of tennis shoes left behind in the corner.

He picked up a matchbook from the dresser, tossed it aside, and wondered what had happened. How had Boyle been tipped? Walt sat on the edge of the bed, tapped the lamp shade with his index finger and watched the dust rise into the air like an angry swarm of bees.

He was going to have to start all over again.

From the beginning.

Social security numbers. Change of address requests. School transcripts.

“Christ.”

There was an old shirt lying on the nightstand at the base of the lamp. He tossed the shirt aside, pulled out the top drawer, and rummaged through the contents. A telephone book. Flashlight. A couple ball point pens. A cassette by the Crash Test Dummies. An old shoelace. Some paper clips. Another matchbook.

He slammed the drawer shut, then picked up a scratch pad that had been hiding under the old shirt. Someone had scribbled a note across the pad. The top page had been torn away, but underneath a faint impression had been left behind. He pulled the matchbook out of the drawer, struck a match, blew it out, and three matches later, he held the paper up to the lamp. Most of it was sadly unreadable, even after lightly brushing the match tips across the surface of the paper. But the last five letters came through remarkably clear, and Walt didn’t like what he saw.

The letters were: B-242.

[37]

Mrs. Knight, I don’t have much time… this is your son, Gabe… I’m fine, Mom… it’s not possible… Mrs. Knight, if you’ll step back into the house, please… run!… Teri, he would be almost twenty now… it’s him… I’m sorry, I’ve got to go out of town on business… let me run some tests and get back to you… I think they’re following us… are you okay, Gabe?… what now?… we sit and wait… you think someone’s in the apartment?… we’ve gotta get out of here!… run!… run!…

Teri opened her eyes with a start.

She shuddered, fingered the damp hair away from her face and sat up in the tub.

Run!…

Run!…

Gradually, the nightmare screams drifted away and she was left with the sound of water dripping off her hair into the bath, that sound and the sound of the television in the next room. They had checked into the motel late last night, and though she had slept well for the first time in several days, she had apparently drifted off while relaxing in the tub.

There was a knock at the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a bit.”

Just a bit, she thought, letting her eyes close again and settling back into the water.

No one had followed them out of Walt’s apartment. Heaven only knew how they had tracked her there, but somehow they had and Walt’s interior had paid the price. She had tried to reach him last night, to warn him about the danger of showing up at home. The manager at the motel where Walt was staying took half-a-dozen frantic messages before he finally put his foot down on what he considered her “damn nuisance calls.” Still, he had promised Walt would get the message when he came in if she would just quit calling. Teri still hadn’t heard back, though. She imagined the manager had probably gotten some twisted satisfaction out of tossing out the messages. At least she hoped that was the reason that Walt hadn’t called.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Just checking.”

God, who was the child here? Last night it had all come home to roost—the car chase, Walt being out of town, finding the apartment trashed, all of it—and Teri had very nearly become hysterical. Inside the motel room, she had sunk to the floor and started crying. The boy had cried, too. But it had been a sympathy cry and before she had even realized what was happening, he was trying to comfort her, telling her that everything would be all right.

And maybe it would.

Maybe in the end everything would be all right.

Just like he said.

Teri opened her eyes again. Television voices were arguing in the next room, sounding similar to the voices that sometimes came from the other side of the post office boxes in the lobby where she worked. She flipped the drain release with her big toe, stood up, and pulled the white motel towel off the curtain rod.

She had awakened with a minor headache this morning. It had not grown any worse, and as she dressed, she began to feel confident that it wouldn’t spiral into a migraine like so many of them did. It had been three days since the boy had arrived, three days of being on the run, and three days without a migraine. Try to understand the logic in that.

The boy, who had been asleep when Teri had gone into the bathroom, was up and dressed and watching The Phil Donahue Show. He watched her as she crossed the room, a question forming at his lips.

Just don’t ask me what we’re going to do now, Teri thought.

“Mom?”

She sat on the edge of the bed, drying her hair with a towel, wishing she had a clean change of clothes, and dreading where this introductory question was going to lead. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“What about Dad?”

“What about him?”

“Where is he?”

She ran the towel through her hair one last time, then dropped her hands into her lap and looked at him. God, if he wasn’t Gabriel, then who in the hell was he? Even with the blue-green eyes he looked like Gabe. “Come here,” she said, patting a soft spot on the bed next to her.

He climbed off what he had happily declared the night before as his bed, and moved sullenly to her side.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. But I know what I’d like to believe, and I’m going to start calling you Gabe from now on. Is that all right with you?”

“That’s my name. Gabriel Michael Knight.”

“All right, then. I want you to understand that it was hard on your father and me after you didn’t come home. We both had a difficult time coping, and for some reason I guess we both held each other responsible.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess we just missed you so much… there was this huge emptiness in our lives, and for some reason we started filling it with accusations and fears and… I just don’t know, Gabe. It was just hard to look at each other without thinking of the son we’d lost. And that just seemed to make the hurt all that much worse.”

“So Dad moved out?”

She nodded, feeling a mix of shame and guilt. “Yes.”

“Where?”

She placed her arm over the boy’s shoulders, as if she were trying to hold the last strand of her family together. He felt so tiny and fragile. “He lives in Tennessee now. In a little town outside of Nashville.”

“Will I ever get to see him again?”

“Of course, you will.”

He nodded thoughtfully. He had begun to toy with the wedding band on her finger, and Teri realized for the first time in years that she was still wearing it. Old habits were hard to break. “You think maybe we could call him?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Gabe.”

“Please?”

[38]

The morning overcast had burned off; the sun was out; and it was easily ten degrees warmer than it had been yesterday.

Walt pulled into his parking space right around the corner from the apartment. It was a little after eleven. The drive up from the Bay Area had been a good six-hour trip. He grabbed his suitcase off the passenger seat, climbed out of the car, and locked the door. Originally, he had considered packing up last night and coming home, but he hadn’t been sleeping well lately and he didn’t like the idea of possibly falling asleep behind the wheel. So instead, he had called the apartment—ten, maybe fifteen times—trying unsuccessfully to get in touch with Teri to warn her. He didn’t want her or the boy to be there alone another night. Not with what he had found at the Boyle place.

B-242.

How had Boyle been tipped?

And how had he tracked down Walt’s address?

It’s not hard to find someone who’s not hiding, Walt told himself. You know that.

The side of the suitcase slammed against the rail near the top of the stairs. He switched it from his left hand to his right, and started down the corridor, tossing around ideas for where he thought Boyle might head next. Upper Oregon, he reminded himself, and that was as far as his thoughts took him.

The door to the apartment was open.

Instinctively, he dropped the suitcase and hugged the wall. Maybe not quite as far as upper Oregon after all. He reached around the corner and palmed the door. It creaked lightly as it swung all the way to the stop, not a sound coming from inside.

He moved across the doorway and hugged the wall on the other side, taking a peek through the kitchen window. Someone had gone out of his way to make one hell of a mess in there. His angle of vision allowed him a look past the kitchen doorway, down the hall to the corner of the living room. There was an eerie stillness over the place, a kind of peacefulness after the body’s been laid to rest.

“Teri?”

No answer.

After another peek around the corner, he decided that whatever had gone on here, it had gone on some time ago. The damage was done now. All the participants had skittered back into the wood work. The apartment was empty.

He listened to the heater kick on, thought distantly that he’d probably been paying to heat the outdoors since last night sometime, and moved down the entry and into the kitchen. A small flurry of white flour kicked up from the floor vent. From there to the living room, from the living room to the bathroom and finally into the bedroom, he carefully covered every square inch of the apartment.

There was no sign of Teri or the boy.

There was also no sign of blood.

He chose that ray of hope to hold onto as he went to the back of his bedroom closet. After moving into the apartment, he had added a false wall at the far end. He ran his hand along the top inside edge of the framework, found the release, pressed it. A small side panel clicked open.

Apparently, the safe had gone unnoticed.

He fingered through the combination, pausing to refresh his memory after the second number. It had been a long time since he had first installed the safe. This was the first time he had felt a need to open it.

The door swung open.

[39]

“Michael?” Teri switched the phone to her other ear and turned away from the boy, who was sitting on the other bed and watching her with anticipation.

“Teri?” There was more than just surprise in his voice. There was something underneath, something that sounded a bit like relief. She had a hard time imagining a situation in which Michael would be relieved to be hearing from her. After they had separated, he put a bumper sticker on his car that said, I still miss my “ex,” but I’m getting closer. Meaning, of course, that he was still aiming for her. Teri hadn’t been completely innocent herself. Her bumper sticker had said, Who cares what Mikee likes?

“Everything all right out there?” he asked.

“Not exactly.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not really sure where to start.”

“The job okay?”

“Yeah.” The boy tugged at her shirt sleeve and when she turned toward him, he mouthed the words: Is that him? She nodded and he motioned for her to hand him the phone. “Uh… listen… there’s someone here who wants to talk to you.”

He grabbed the receiver out of her hand. “Dad?”

There was silence on the other end.

“It’s me, Gabe.” A long pause took breath before Michael finally said something back, and the boy—looking disappointed and more than a little dejected—handed the phone back to her. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Michael?”

“What the hell are you trying to pull? Jesus, Teri, you think I’m that stupid? You think I’m really gonna buy that this kid – what is he? Ten, eleven years old? – is supposed to be Gabe? It’s not funny, Teri. Not funny at all.”

“Just settle down, Michael.”

“Settle down? Man, nothing’s changed, has it? You’re still chasing his ghost all over the whole damn country, aren’t you? Till the day you die, you’re gonna be chasing that kid’s damn ghost.”

“It’s him, Michael. I’m really beginning to believe it’s him.”

“It can’t be him. Christ…” He let out a long, calming breath, the way he always did when he realized he was becoming agitated. Teri already knew what he was going to say next and how he was going to say it. He was going to tell her, in that almost but not quite patronizing tone of his, that she had to try to keep a perspective on things, that she was losing sight of reality here. Teri had heard it all before. After Gabe’s disappearance, it had become her husband’s marching song. And who could have really blamed him?”

“Okay,” he said evenly. “Let’s try to think this thing through, Teri.”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“It’s impossible. Gabe would be… what? Twenty? Twenty-one years old?”

“I know. And I know it sounds crazy. But it’s him, Michael.”

“What? He just showed up one day?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh, Teri.”

“Michael, he’s sitting right here. I’m looking at him. Don’t you think I’d know my own son when I saw him?”

“He hasn’t changed? Not at all?”

“No.”

“Did you ever stop to think that someone might be trying to con you?”

“Why? It’s not like I’m Leona Helmsley.”

“You own the house free and clear.”

“It’s him, Michael.” She leaned back against the headboard, feeling tired from having to defend a position that she knew was indefensible. Some things in life, though, you just had to accept for what they were. Without question. Without explanation. On faith. The boy crawled into her lap and leaned back against her chest, and she knew, as she had known from the very first, that this was one of those things. “All he wants is to talk to his father.”

“That’s why you called?”

“The one and only reason.”

“Did you tell him I’m poor as a dog?”

“No. You tell him.”

“I don’t want to talk to him, Teri.”

“Why? What are you afraid of? That maybe it’ll really be Gabe?”

“Of course not.”

“Then talk to him.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Whatever a father says to his son.”

“But he’s not… Christ, Teri. You aren’t going to drop this, are you?”

“No,” she said firmly. Though if it had been about her and Michael and only her and Michael, she probably wouldn’t have been as adamant. But this was about the boy. The boy and the man who was supposed to be his father. For that, she was even willing to turn a deaf ear to the voice inside her head that was saying, See? I told you he’d come home someday. I told you and you didn’t believe me and I was right. I was right, Michael.

“Talk to him, Michael.”

“All right. I’ll talk to him.”

[40]

Walt removed the handgun first.

It was a Ruger P-85 he had bought from one of the detectives down at the station. The frame was a lightweight aluminum alloy, matte black finish. He held it in his right hand, the trigger finger straight along the frame, the gun tilted to the side. He popped in the magazine. With the heel of his left hand, he slammed the magazine home, and retracted the slide to check the chamber. It was empty. He tucked the gun under his belt, against his back where he could feel it.

Next were the credit cards. There were five altogether: two Visa, two MasterCard, and one American Express. Each card had been issued under the name of a different cardholder. Further back was a stack of driver’s licenses. Walt removed the rubber band and thumbed through the phony I.D.s. Good enough to get him through this mess.

He pocketed the cards and I.D.s, closed the safe and weaved his way through the clutter of clothing and books and sheets on the floor. You still don’t know what the hell went on here, my friend. No, he didn’t. He could take a guess or two, though.

He was halfway down the hall on his way out when something else occurred to him. The files. He backtracked to the living room, where he had set up a small office area in one corner. It no longer resembled anything remotely like an office. The filing cabinet was lying on its side, one end braced against the footrest of a stool at the counter. All four drawers were open. One drawer was empty. The empty drawer was where he had always kept his case files.

On the floor, sticking out from beneath the corner of a yellow file folder, the message button on his phone was flashing. Walt, hoping Teri had called, flipped the folder off with the toe of his shoe, and pressed the play button.

“Things a little messy there, Travis?”

Richard Boyle.

It had to be.

“Missing a file or two, maybe? Listen, you quit snooping around in my life, you son of a bitch. I know more about you than you do about me, and I’ll make things fucking miserable for you if I have to. You understand, Travis? You better. You damn well better understand.”

Walt leaned back against the wall and swept a hand through his hair. Okay, so at least he knew who was responsible now. And he knew something else. He knew that what had happened hadn’t involved Teri or the boy.

But where the hell were they?

He kicked at a file folder on the floor and started back out of the apartment, running a possible scenario through his mind. They had come back from being out and had found the place ransacked. Teri would have assumed whoever had done it had been after her and the kid, so they wouldn’t have stayed around long, they would have left and…

…and what?

She would have tried to reach him. She would have called the motel and if he wasn’t there, she would have left a message for him. That was a place to start, at least. He might be able to talk someone down at the station into tracking any credit card uses as well. And there was always the outside chance that she might have returned home, even though he had warned her against it.

“But she won’t be back here,” he muttered to himself. He closed the door and locked it. It wasn’t likely Boyle would be back, either. Between him and whatever was going on with Teri, things were getting a little too crowded around here. He jiggled the doorknob to make sure it was locked, then picked up his suitcase and started toward the stairway.

Richard Boyle could wait.

The big question now was how Walt was going to reconnect with Teri.

[41]

Teri wrapped her arms around the boy, and he settled back into her fold while he talked to his father. It felt to her as if a lost breath had been found. She was whole again. Complete. Every breath he took went into her and out again, every heartbeat struck a chord. Absently, she combed the hair back from his forehead.

“Mom…” He pushed her hand away, a little boy’s impetuousness, then squirmed a bit and finally settled back into her fold.

“Nothing,” he said to Michael. “She’s just being a pain.”

“Don’t talk about your mother like that,” Teri said lightly.

“Well you are.”

She mussed his hair again, and yes, she supposed she was being a bit of a pain. But that was a mother’s prerogative, wasn’t it? Life didn’t offer so many opportune moments that you could afford to throw one away. And God, how nice it was to have him with her again. She did not want to lose another moment with him. Not one. Not ever.

“Mom.” The boy waved the receiver in the air. “He wants to talk to you again.”

More than half-an-hour had passed since she had put him on the phone with Michael. The maid, a woman who spoke almost no English, had come by and Teri had managed, through a hodgepodge of English, Spanish and arm waving, to convince the woman that it would be better if she came back later. Now it was getting close to check out time.

Teri cupped her hand over the receiver. “How fast can you take a bath?”

“Mom…”

“Go on.”

“I just took one.”

“When?”

He started to say something, and paused as they both realized it at the same time. He hadn’t taken a bath last night. Nor had he taken one at Walt’s the night before. And that left him with a horrible gap. When had he taken his last bath? Ten years ago?

“All right.”

He climbed off the bed, not in the least bit thrilled, and she gave him a playful swat on the behind before he disappeared into the bathroom.

She took her hand off the receiver. “Michael?”

“He really looks like Gabe, huh?”

“What do you think?”

“And you’re convinced? I mean really convinced? Not a doubt in your mind?”

“No, I can’t say that. But I am getting there.”

Michael had always been a man who liked to keep himself under control, a think-before-you-act kind of man. If you hand someone a piece of paper, ninety-nine out of a hundred people will reach out and take it, sight unseen, contents unknown. Michael, though, would catch himself and pause to think about it first. That was his caution, and if she were honest, Teri would have to admit that at times she found herself envious of it.

“What if I came out to see him? I mean… that would be all right with you, wouldn’t it?”

“Well… things are a little crazy right now,” she said.

“No, I understand. They’re a little crazy out here, too. I was thinking maybe in a week or two, after things settle down a bit.”

“Let me think about it, Michael.”

“Sure.” He paused, and finally added, “You always kept the faith, didn’t you?”

Not always, she thought. The shower in the bathroom went on, and though she didn’t recognize the tune, she heard the boy begin to sing. There was happiness in his voice that she had once thought she might never hear again.

“I did my best,” she said.

“Wish I could have been as strong.”

“We both did the best we could under the circumstances.”

“I don’t know,” Michael said regretfully. There was an unmistakable tone of guilt coming through. No doubt there had been enough guilt for the both of them.

The conversation lay dormant for a moment. He took a breath that was clearly audible, and said, “You know this isn’t possible. I mean, Gabe coming home after all this time and not being any older or anything.”

“I don’t know what’s possible and what isn’t anymore.”

“It just seems so bizarre.”

“Would it make it any less bizarre for you if aliens had brought him back?”

Michael chuckled. “I see you haven’t lost your taste for sarcasm.”

“Missed it?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Sorry. It keeps me from going insane when things start getting crazy.” She switched the phone from one ear to the other, feeling strangely disconnected and uncertain. There was a part of her that didn’t want to end the conversation, a part of her that wondered if maybe there was a chance they could be a whole family again, the way it used to be. But another part didn’t like that idea at all. That part of her didn’t think she would ever be able to forgive him for walking out on her when she had needed him most.

“Teri… what else has been going on out there? Anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I think someone’s been watching the house.” His voice fell into something just above a whisper, and she remembered that voice. It was the voice of a man who was frightened. It was the voice of a man who wasn’t sure what was going on or how to deal with it. It was a voice she had heard often after Gabe had disappeared.

“How long?” she asked.

“Just the last day or two, I think. At least that’s when I first noticed it. I woke up late last night, not feeling quite right, and I noticed this van parked across the street. There were two men sitting in it, just sitting there, doing nothing. And then this morning, they were still sitting there, like they were waiting for something to happen.”

“Call the cops, Michael.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Tell them that out in California your wife and son had someone stalking them the last couple of days and now there’s someone watching your house.” Teri rubbed her eyes, suddenly reminded of how complicated everything had become lately. “Christ, that won’t do any good. Not if they check it out.”

“What the hell’s going on, Teri?”

“I’m not sure, but whatever it is, I think it’s dangerous.” She let out a breath that seemed to take away some of the pressure, at least momentarily. “Can you sneak out through a back door?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Then do it.”

“Jesus, Teri, is it that bad?”

“Stay in a motel for a few days. Move around. Call in sick at work.”

“What are you saying? What the hell’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, Michael. I think it has something to do with the boy, but right now I’m not sure of anything. Just play it safe for awhile, okay? Will you do that?”

“Sure,” he said. There was a touch of unease in his voice now, and she was glad to hear it, because that meant he was going to take her seriously. “Where can I reach you? At the house?”

“No, I think they’re watching the house.”

“Are you sure you and Gabe are all right?”

“We’re fine.”

“I can take a flight out and be there tonight.”

“No, that’ll only make things worse.” In the background, the boy’s singing fell silent. She heard the shower go off in the bathroom and the curtain drawn back. He would be toweled off and ready to go in a matter of minutes. “Look, leave a message with Uncle Henry and let me know where you’re staying. I’ll do the same, and maybe we can get back together over the phone in another day or two.”

“You sure you don’t want me out there?”

“Not right now, Michael.” Absently, she had wound the telephone cord several times around her index finger, and like Chinese handcuffs, the cord began to tighten as she struggled to free herself. In some ways, she thought she hadn’t been free in a good many years now. Not from her nightmares. Not from her loneliness. And surprisingly, not even from Michael. “Uncle Henry’s, all right?”

“Sure.”

“Gotta go, Michael. You be careful.”

“You, too.”

[42]

“Any luck?”

“Don’t know yet.”

The man, who was tapping a pencil against the edge of the countertop, sat back in his chair and waited. They had been waiting for three days now, two men crammed into the back of a van, listening, watching, coming up empty until Mrs. Knight had finally made the mistake of calling her estranged husband.

“How long does it take, man?”

“It takes as long as it takes. Just hold your water.”

Fifteen seconds ticked by.

“They didn’t get it, did they?”

Twenty seconds.

“I don’t know.”

Twenty-five seconds.

“Jesus.”

“At least we have a lead to the uncle.”

Thirty seconds.

Finally, the phone rang. Gene, the man with the nervous pencil, sat up in his chair, and grabbed the receiver. “Did you get it?”

“We got it.”

“Great!” He copied down the phone number, hung up, and immediately dialed the CNA operator. “I need one on 916-555-3743.”

“Just a moment.” The operator disappeared momentarily, then came back on the line. “That number is listed to the Royalty Motel.”

“The billing address?”

“Yes… it’s 2399 Cypress Avenue.”

“Thanks.”

[43]

Michael Knight hung up the phone in the kitchen, crossed to the dining room and peered out through the window. The van across the street had not moved in three days. It was parked in the Halloman driveway and Michael knew that Mr. Halloman, a retired Army colonel, was in Florida visiting his sister. He wasn’t expected back for another two weeks. Michael also knew that Mrs. Bradley, who lived two doors down, had reported the suspicious vehicle the first day it had arrived in the neighborhood. The police had come to check it that same day. Afterward, they had stopped by to assure Mrs. Bradley that she had nothing to worry herself about. The van, they had told her, was there on official business.

“Just what kind of official business?” she had wanted to know when relaying the story to Michael.

It was a question still in need of an answer, but the picture was becoming clearer. It was official business having to do with him.

Michael dropped the curtain and went down the hall to the master bedroom, where he got a suitcase down from the top closet shelf. He packed two changes of clothes, some socks, underwear, a couple of white shirts, some ties, and brought along an extra suit in a garment bag.

Gabe.

Could it really have been Gabe?

After it had become evident that Gabe wouldn’t be coming home again, that something unthinkable had probably happened, Michael had learned to cope by keeping it out of his mind. Like a ghost that only comes out at night, the tragedy had never been far, but it had taken on a less vivid, less real aura over the years. He thought, in some ways, he had put it behind him.

Gabe.

Michael went out through the back door, locking it behind him and standing on the cement patio a moment to soak up the sun. The day was bright, the air crisp, the temperature holding just under sixty. It was the kind of day that once, a long time ago, he would have taken Gabe over to the park to play catch.

Now there’s an aura that hadn’t lost its realness, Michael thought as he tossed the luggage over the back fence. He followed it over, and slipped through the side gate onto Remington Drive. This was a quiet neighborhood. He had bought the house two years ago, after growing tired of living in an apartment. And he had bought it precisely for that quiet. Now, he supposed, he was going to be living in a motel room for a night or two, until he could make arrangements to get back to California and hook-up with Teri.

Teri and…

…and Gabe.

The taste of his son’s name was bittersweet, and Michael didn’t allow himself to hold onto it long. As much as he wanted to believe that Gabe had returned, there was a part of him that didn’t want to risk the hurt if it turned out it wasn’t Gabe after all. Michael didn’t think he could survive losing his son again.

Across the street, two blocks up, and half-a-mile down the boulevard, he found a phone booth and was fortunate enough to also find a quarter in the coin return. He used the quarter to call a cab, then sat on a nearby bench, and watched the faces of the children who rode by on their bikes while he was waiting. Just like he had stopped thinking about Gabe all those years ago, he had also stopped looking at the children. It had been easier to keep them faceless, to look past them without trying to find Gabe in the way they combed their hair or smiled or the color of their eyes. But he caught himself looking again as he sat on the bench. Looking… and wondering.

Jesus, could Gabe really be alive?

Was it really possible?

[44]

The Royalty Motel.

Room 216.

Time: 1:22 p.m.

The first man took the right side of the doorway. The second man took the left. Mitch, who was ten feet back, braced himself against a six-by-six pillar, and took a solid breath. No mistakes this time. No close encounters. No coming up empty. He drew his gun from its shoulder holster, raised it in a two-handed grip and glanced at the courtyard below just to make sure the situation had remained uncontaminated.

It had.

Someone had left the door to 216 partially ajar. The curtains were drawn, and there was music playing softly in the background, something that sounded as if it might have been left over from the British Invasion of the Sixties.

Too easy, Mitch thought.

He looked from one man to the other, checked the room number to be certain, then nodded. The number one man—James Jacobs, a five-nine muscle man known as J.J.—went in low. Alan Moore followed high.

The door flew open, struck the wall and was held there by J.J.

“U.S. Marshall.”

A woman screamed.

Mitch moved up, taking a position to the right of the doorway. He heard Moore shout the command, “Down on the floor! On the floor! Now!” He followed through the door. J.J. was on the left, sweeping the bathroom. Apparently the room was empty. Moore stood at the fore of the living quarters, his arms straight, elbows locked, his gun sighted off to the left. He was visibly agitated.

Mitch moved up next to him, halfway through the question—What’s the matter?—when the question answered itself. Face down on the floor, her hands locked behind her head, was a small dark-complexioned woman dressed in a white uniform in need of dry cleaning. The maid.

Christ.

Moore shifted his weight from one foot to the other. In the corner, leaning against the wall, was the boy’s cane. At least they had been here. “What do you want me to do?”

“Shoot me,” Mitch said derisively.

J.J. came up from behind. “What’s going on?”

“The maid,” Mitch said. The woman’s whole body was shaking and Mitch would later swear that as they stood there, the salt and pepper in her hair had turned decisively more salty. He touched Moore on the forearm—Moore lowered his weapon—then motioned for them to back out of the room.

They would be downstairs, around the corner, and halfway to the vehicle before the woman would have the courage to raise her head. She would see that they had gone and she would cross herself with trembling fingers and whisper a faint prayer to Jesus Christ, The Almighty.

And then she would start to cry.

[45]

Teri walked the last three blocks from the bus stop with the boy trailing along in her shadow. They slowed down half a block from the office of Dr. Childs, on a side street where they weren’t likely to be noticed. She had thought this through last night and had decided that chances were his office was being watched. That’s how Mitch and his thugs had caught up with them after their last visit. They were watching her house. And they were watching her husband. And they were watching her doctor.

She stopped and leaned against a fence post, within sight of the parking lot.

“What are we doing?”

“Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

Teri smiled and ran a hand through the boy’s hair, something that had always annoyed Gabe before but didn’t seem to bother him now. “Waiting to make sure everything’s okay and that no one’s watching the back entrance.”

“You mean like that Mitch guy?”

“Exactly.”

The boy had been getting around better today. Not perfectly by any means. But better. He had left his cane inside the car at the mall yesterday, and since that time, at least until this morning, he had done all right without it. This morning, though, he had struggled down the motel walkway, having to use the side of the building for support. Teri had nearly turned around and gone back to pick him up and carry him—and maybe she should have. But she didn’t think he would let her pick him up, and by the time she had thought it through, he had already made it to the end of the building, pushed off, and managed to get along on his own without too much difficulty.

It hadn’t been easy for him, though.

And even though they never talked about it, they both knew something was terribly wrong.

Teri stared down at him now, wondering what that something might be. She supposed part of her was still clinging to hope that Amanda Tarkett had been right when she had said that all Gabe needed was some time before he would be up to full strength again. But a deeper part, a less naive part, was already convinced there was more to it than that. Teri just didn’t know how much more.

“You all right?” she asked.

“Yeah.” His eyes seemed a little red, his coloring pale. And he’d been so quiet since talking with Michael.

“I mean…”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Okay.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to see the doctor?”

“No such luck, kiddo.”

She glanced up the quiet street. Both sides were lined with oaks, the gutters filled with leaves and twigs and wind-blown wrappers from the Bartel’s Drive-Thru a couple of blocks down. The sound of a distant train rumbled through, and a white station wagon with a woman and two small children crept down the street and turned left at the corner.

How paranoid is too paranoid? Teri wondered as she watched the car disappear. If anyone had earned the right, she supposed, it had certainly been her. But the never ending suspicion, the constant mistrust… Teri didn’t like the ease with which they had made themselves at home inside her.

“Guess now’s as good a time as any,” she said.

The boy, who had been sitting with his back against the fence, stood up and brushed off the seat of his pants.

[46]

They entered the clinic through the back door, which opened to a short hallway, offices on either side. Dr. Childs’s office was the first one on the left. Apparently, like everyone else, he liked to be the first one out the door at the end of the day.

“In here,” Teri said.

The boy pointed questioningly at the doorway.

She nodded, gave him a nudge into the room, and closed the door behind her. She had never been in the doctor’s office before, which surprised her now that she thought about it. Childs had been her doctor since, well, since college. Better than twenty years now.

Built-in bookshelves lined three of the four walls. Open spaces here and there were decorated with diplomas and honorary degrees and awards for community service. The desk was a dark, expensive mahogany. A stack of paperwork looking nearly insurmountable cluttered the desktop. The only window in the room opened to the parking lot in back. She could see the corner of the fence across the street where they had waited.

“Now what?”

“As usual, we wait.”

“Again?”

“You have a hot date this afternoon?”

“Mom…” He plopped down in the nearest chair, a swivel chair, and energetically began to pedal himself in circles.

Teri roamed aimlessly about the room. She thumbed through a couple of volumes from the doctor’s medical library, finding them either over her head or tediously dry. Then she casually shuffled through some of the papers on the desk, hoping she might come across Gabe’s file. No such luck.

“How long do we have to wait?” he asked again.

“Until the doctor shows up.”

She had not made an appointment. First, because she hadn’t been sure when she would be stopping by to see him. And second, because after the last visit, she thought it might be wise if no one knew when she was coming.

A little caution never hurt, according to Michael.

She was going to remember that.

The boy grumbled under his breath, then gave himself another spin in the chair.

Teri wandered over to the far wall, where a mix of photographs and community service awards had been mounted quite some time ago by the dust on the frames. 1990 Chairman of the Santa Clara County Health Fair. 1993 Houghton Award for Outstanding Community Service. 1980 Glazier Award for Gerontological Research. Some photographs taken at a lab somewhere, with everyone dressed in white lab jackets. And then something that caught her attention.

It was a photograph of the steps outside the library at U.C. Berkeley. She recognized it immediately. Teri had spent two years at Berkeley in the mid-Seventies. That was where she had met Michael, who was studying as an art major at the time. Standing on the steps, at the middle of a semicircle of men, was Dr. Childs. He was all smiles then, and Teri shook her head, thinking he must have used them all up that year, because as long as she had known the man, he had rarely worn a smile. Never, ever, a warm smile.

Beneath the photo, the caption read: Magical Mystery Tour. Berkeley. 1976.

“Wonder what that’s supposed to mean,” she said.

Behind her, the door to the office swung open.

Dr. Childs, holding a folder in the crook of his arm, stepped through, clearly self-absorbed. He closed the door, turned and only then did he realize he wasn’t alone. Surprise crossed his face. He instantly covered it. “Teri? You startled me. What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d stop by and see what the test results had to say.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“You did say you wanted to see us as early as possible, didn’t you?”

He looked from her to the boy, his expression an unreadable mask, then back to Teri again. “I believe I did at that. I just wasn’t expecting you to show up in my office without an appointment.”

“Well, since we’re already here…”

“Yes, well…” He removed the folder from the crook of his arm, crossed the room, and sat behind the desk. He seemed caught in some sort of bind, as if he didn’t know quite what to say or how to say it. He tossed aside the folder, and looked at Teri with eyes that were a mix of concern and discomfort. He was going to tell her something awful, she thought. Something that would have kept her away if she’d had an inkling that it might be coming.

“I’m not sure where to start,” he said somberly. “Maybe you should sit down, Teri.”

She sat in the chair next to the boy, who had ceased his merry-go-round the moment Childs had entered the room. “I’m not sure I like the way this is starting out.”

“Let me be as straight as I can with you, Teri. Have you ever heard of a disease called Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“It’s a degenerative disease that afflicts children.” He sighed, not for the first time, and she realized she had begun to hate the sound it made. It was as if he were trying to lose himself in the air around him. “We don’t really know a lot about it. It’s a rare, genetic disease that seems to speed up the aging process.”

“Oh my God,” she said softly. She had seen a talk show on it once, now that she realized what they were talking about. Geraldo or Donahue or one of those other shows. She couldn’t remember which. These children, these tiny little children, had displayed all the outward signs of premature aging: loss of hair, loss of weight, frailty. Teri couldn’t remember what their life expectancy had been, but she thought it was somewhere around fourteen or fifteen.

My God.

It was happening again. Something hideous had come along and swept the boy up in its jaws as if he were nothing more than a paper doll, and now it was going to fly away with him. Just like it had flown away with him before. Only this time, he wouldn’t be coming back.

“I’m sorry,” Childs said.

She shook herself free from the numbness and stared out the window, fighting to hold on to what little control she had left. This close. She had come this close to having her son again, and now, like a strike of lightning, the dream was suddenly in flames. Gabe didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve any of this. She squeezed the boy’s hand.

“So what do we do?”

“First, I want to correct any misunderstanding I might have given you. Gabe does not have Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome. What he has are symptoms that closely resemble the disease.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. The bottom line, of course, is that he has begun to age at an accelerated rate. That’s why the gray and the lingering fatigue.”

“How accelerated?”

“That’s difficult to say. I’d really hate to speculate at this point.”

“Is…” A lump caught in her throat. She swallowed it back and tried not to imagine that what she had swallowed would soon begin to grow like a cancer inside her. “Is that the reason he’s having trouble building up his strength?”

“That would be consistent with what we’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh. Well… then where do we go from here?”

“I think that’s largely up to you, Teri. If you’d like, I could make arrangements to have him admitted to a hospital where we could run some additional tests. That would give us an opportunity to get a better feel for what it is we’re up against. That’s my first thought.”

“And if we decide not to do that?”

“We’re talking about his life, Teri.”

“I understand that. All I want to know is what our options are.”

“I’m not sure what to tell you,” Childs said. He tapped the tip of his ball point pen against the desk, and sat back in his chair, searching for the right words. “What seems to be going on here is that something’s interfering with Gabe’s normal cell regeneration. I don’t know what’s causing that. I don’t know if it’s something genetic like Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome, or something environmental like a virus or an unknown bacteria. It might even be something closer to cancer, where the cells simply start to mutate and multiply at an uncontrollable rate. I can do some research for you, Teri, but beyond that, it seems to me that the best thing for Gabe right now would be a hospital environment where we can keep a closer eye on him and run some additional tests.”

“I guess we need to make some decisions then, don’t we?”

“The sooner, the better, I’m afraid.”

“All right.” She stood up, glancing absently out the window at the parking lot and wondering what they were supposed to do now. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow. How’s that?”

“Don’t put it off too long.”

[47]

Walt woke up sitting on the floor, backed into the corner like a caged animal. He was sweating, the sheet wrapped around him like a cocoon, and as he looked around the room, it took a moment before he was able to recognize his surroundings. This was another motel room: small, generic, the curtains open just enough for him to see that it was dark out.

He struggled to his feet, threw off the sheet, and made his way into the bathroom, still caught somewhere in the hazy, mystical numbness that inhabited the gap between dream and waking. In the mirror over the sink, he looked like a tired old man: two days growth of beard, red eyes, sallow cheeks. Not enough sleep, he told himself as he splashed cold water on his face. Not enough sleep and too much of Richard Boyle.

He dried his face, then carried the towel into the other room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring out through the window at the night. The room was on the second floor and he could see across several blocks of city lights, bright and shimmering and almost as real as the dream he had had. He used the towel to dab at a new rise of perspiration across his forehead, then leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

The dream had been about Brandon. It hadn’t been a bad dream, a nightmare, as much as it had been a reminder that life rarely played by the rules. It was usually after such a dream that he felt the worst of his loneliness, a thick, black brume that settled over him and wouldn’t let him up.

Brandon.

Something was wrong with a God that would take a man’s child.

Something was wrong.

[48]

Mitch arrived early at the dam, parked the car outside the tourist center, and sat there a moment, taken by the moon over the lake and amazed at how quiet it was here. It was well after midnight. The halogen lights cast an eerie glow over the empty lot, and he supposed that ever since the sun had gone down, the lot had been as empty or nearly as empty as it was now. If it was privacy a man wanted—and that was certainly the case in this instance—then this was as private a place as he was going to find at night.

He closed the door, locked it, and wandered over to the concrete wall that overlooked the dam. Beneath the spillway, water gushed out in a white, frothy rage and made a mad dash down the Sacramento River. He had been here before, and though he could only hear the white water raging at this particular moment, the picture of its mad dash was clear in his mind. It was both peaceful and tumultuous, both safe and dangerous.

“You’re early,” a voice said from behind him.

Mitch turned and saw the outline of a man standing in the shadows. He was on the small side, thin, little more than five-eight or -nine. It was not the first time he had met this man face-to-face, though such occasions had been rare throughout their association together.

“So are you, sir.”

“Like minds, like deeds.”

Mitch shrugged. His throat tightened, a reflection of his unease, and he swallowed with a degree of difficulty that surprised him. The idea of being here, in this place, at this time, under these circumstances… nothing good that he could imagine could come of this. “So why are we here?”

“You don’t know?”

“Oh, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“He’s a ten-year old kid, Mitch. How hard can it be?”

“We caught a couple bad breaks, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”

“But I’ve got it right, haven’t I? You are the one responsible for tracking him down and hauling him back?”

“It’s my responsibility, yes sir.”

“And you are the professional? You’ve done this before? I’ve got that right, too, haven’t I?”

It’s never been children before, Mitch thought. But all he could say was, “Yes.”

“Seems clear enough, then, doesn’t it?” the man said softly. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. In the brief flare-up, his face came momentarily into focus: his eyes half-lidded, his coloring dark, his lines drawn. He held the cigarette without bringing it to his mouth, the tip glowing hotly in the darkness.

“You want to bring in someone else?” Mitch asked. “Is that what this is about?”

“That’s not my preference, but—”

“I can finish the job.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. What I don’t think you understand is we don’t have the time to dick around on this one. We need him under control as soon as possible.”

Mitch nodded, relief loosening its grip around his throat. The worst was over. If he were going to be pulled (or worse, if he were going to be silenced), it would have been clear by now. In his coat pocket, where he had been hiding the Servicemaster in case things had gone bad, he pulled his finger off the trigger and felt the tension ease.

“This Knight woman – she’ll keep the kid on the move.”

“I know. We’re back watching the house in case she shows up again. We had a lead through a tap on her ex-husband—the one in Tennessee—and know that she and the kid spent last night at a motel south of town. A place called the Royalty. I’ve got a man there, too. And there’s an uncle we’re still trying to get a fix on.”

The man tapped the tip of his cigarette with his index finger, effectively smothering the burning embers. A wisp of gray smoke lingered momentarily in the darkness then disappeared. “No more screw ups, Mitch. This thing’s bigger than both of us. It’ll swallow us whole and spit out the bones if we aren’t careful. You understand that?”

Oh, he understood all right. He understood that this was need-to-know only, that the bigot list was maybe a handful of people, and that even though he was operating mostly in the blind, he had seen enough and heard enough to make himself expendable if the fire ever jumped the line. He understood all right. And he didn’t like it much. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it now.

“I’ll finish it,” Mitch said flatly.

The man broke the cigarette in two and placed the pieces in a pile on the concrete retaining wall next to him. He looked out into the darkness, in the direction of the dam, where the roar of the water was like the wind racing up a canyon. “The boy’s sick,” he said softly.

“Sick?”

“He’s got a medical condition that could potentially be fatal.”

Mitch, who was rarely surprised by anything in this line of work, found himself surprised by this only because it added another element into a picture that he had thought was already complete. He leaned into the wall, and took a breath from the clear night air. “And how do we fit into this thing? Are we trying to help him or do we need him to help us?”

“Serve it up either way. It doesn’t matter much.”

“Maybe not, but I’d still like to know which one’s closer to the truth.”

“Whichever one helps you sleep better at night. All right?” the man said with a sternness in his voice that displayed his growing impatience. He took out another cigarette, but this one went unlit. Instead, he began to manipulate it, one-handed, through his long, thin fingers as if it were a coin. Down and back. Down and back. “Anything else?”

“You still want him alive?”

“He’s no good to us dead.”

“Same drop off point?”

“Nothing’s changed, Mitch. I just wanted to make sure you understood how far our dicks are hanging out on this one. And like I said, there’s a time element involved here. The kid’s sick. We need to find him before he gets any worse.”

“What about the Knight woman?”

“What about her?”

“You want her alive or dead?”

“I don’t want her at all. Do what you have to do. Got it?”

Mitch nodded without saying anything, and though the night was black it wasn’t so black that he couldn’t see the man across from him nod in return. Fair enough, then. They both understood each other now. He leaned back against the concrete wall, feeling the coolness of the night air against his face.

The man gave him a pat on the shoulder as if to bolster him, then disappeared into the darkness beyond the shrubbery. A moment later Mitch heard the car start up and make its way out of the parking lot.

Everything fell deathly still again.

In the distance he could hear the sound of the water churning at the bottom of the dam. It sounded like the rumble of thunder.

Just what kind of a storm’s brewing here? he wondered.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

[49]

The man had been born as Malcolm Winters.

In junior high, he went by the name of Raines, his personal homage to Claude Raines, the Invisible Man. It was fitting not only because of his personal fascination with going unseen and barely noticed, but also because more often than not he was absent from class. And when he wasn’t absent in body, he was absent in mind, which was a thousand miles away, fantasizing bigger than life adventures, narrow escapes from death, and beautiful women. Substitute teachers knew him as the quiet one, who sat in the back and never said a word.

There were no pictures of him in the high school year book.

In college, where he majored in political science, he was just another face in the crowd, dabbling with who he wanted to be, struggling to be who he was. He wrote occasional articles for the university paper, though. Most often under the name of Ted R. O’Bannon, though twice he used the name Red P. Covee, an anagram for “Deep Cover” that amused him endlessly. He rarely went by his birth-given name.

In his senior year, he was approached, and a short time later recruited.

From that moment on, what little left of the Malcolm Winters of old ceased to exist altogether.

In its place came a long procession of new identities: Dexter Clements, a gun runner from New Mexico; Peter J. Thompson, an investment banker from Toledo; Howard Jenkins, a real estate investor who just moved west from Arlington, Virginia; Marshal Witmer, an FBI agent; and a host of other characters, some respectable, some shady, all of them comfortable fits.

Buried even deeper beneath these various identities, he went by the name of D.C., which he sometimes explained as being David Collins, other times as Daniel Clements. In reality, it was neither of these. It was the return of the old college anagram. The initials stood for Deep Cover.

Those who worked with him realized that much of this was just a game.

And that’s what made him so dangerous.

[50]

Teri toweled off her wet hair and found herself staring into the bathroom mirror. Dark circles were beginning to show under her eyes. She looked like a woman who had spent the past several days without any sleep. Which was fairly close to the truth, she supposed.

She felt nearly as sluggish as she looked. Though her period wasn’t for another week yet, she thought she had probably started retaining water already. That made for a partial explanation anyway. Closer to the truth, it wasn’t her biology that was taking its toll. It was the stress of the past few days. Being on the run, always looking over your shoulder, not having the slightest clue of who’s after you or why… it didn’t take long for these things to start wearing a person down, and the wear on her was gradually becoming more visible.

How long was this going to go on?

She finished drying her hair, dressed, and wandered back into the bedroom area of the motel room. They were staying at a Motel Six, just off the highway, a couple miles north of town. There was a constant drone of traffic outside. Instead of finding it annoying, however, she had found it somewhat comforting, as if it helped to reassure her that she wasn’t alone in this, that there were, in fact, other people just outside the door.

The boy sat up in bed, chewing on his fingernails, transfixed by an episode of Tales From The Crypt.

“You shouldn’t be watching that,” Teri said.

“Why not?”

“You’re too young, that’s why.”

“But I’m getting older,” he said with an impish grin.

She had tried to explain it to him, the fact that he was aging prematurely, but it had proven to be a difficult concept for an eleven-year-old to grasp. Hell, it had been a difficult concept for the mother of an eleven-year-old to grasp.

“That’s not funny,” she said, more sharply than she intended.

His grin disappeared. “I was just kidding.”

“I know, but it’s not something you should be kidding about.”

“Why not? It’s not happening to you.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Teri sat down on the bed next to him, feeling both angry and dispirited. He was right, of course. She wasn’t the one it was happening to, and she would probably never know exactly what it was like to be in his position.

“Look,” she said, recouping her composure. “I know the past couple of days haven’t been much fun. And I know what the doctor said today had to be a little scary for you.”

“It wasn’t scary.”

It should have been, she thought.

“I want to grow up, Mom. I’m eleven already. I’m old enough to watch Tales From The Crypt and stuff like that.” He glanced self-consciously at his hands, which were in his lap. “You used to let me watch Tales From the Darkside. It’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not the same thing. And you know it isn’t. Besides, that’s not really the issue here.”

“Then what is the issue?”

“It’s your health, Gabe. Once you start aging, there’s no turning back. You’re going to get older much faster than most people.”

“So?”

“So, there’s no way to stop the process.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be an adult, won’t I?”

“You won’t be any bigger, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

“I won’t?”

“No, you won’t.”

“I don’t get it. How can I get older without getting bigger?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” She put her arm over his shoulder and wished she could magically make everything better. It wasn’t fair, bringing him back after such a long absence and then giving him something like this. It wasn’t fair at all. “This isn’t the same as growing up.”

“What is it, then?”

“Well, Dr. Childs seems to think that it’s something like Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome. That’s a disease that children sometimes get, and it’s something that makes their bodies grow old much faster than they’re supposed to.”

“Will I get gray hair and have to wear false teeth?”

“I’m not sure about the false teeth,” Teri said, actually finding a breath of humor mixed into the horror. In reality, she really wasn’t sure if he’d have to wear false teeth or not. But the question caught her so completely off guard that she found herself smiling without being able to help herself.

“How about wrinkles? Am I gonna get wrinkles?”

“As I understand what the doctor said, the cells in your body will start to lose some of their regenerative abilities. What I mean by that is that they won’t replace themselves as often as healthy cells are supposed to. When that happens, your body’s going to wear out a little faster than everyone else’s.”

“Yeah, but am I gonna get wrinkles?”

“Yes,” she said, the humor suddenly gone. “I think so.”

“Weird.”

“I know. It’s very weird.”

“Am I gonna die?”

“We’re all going to die, Gabe.”

“Yeah, but am I gonna die when I’m still a kid?”

“I don’t know,” she said grimly.

“I don’t want to die. Not yet, at least.” He glanced in the direction of the television, looking suddenly as if he were balancing the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

Maybe Tales From The Crypt wasn’t such a big deal after all, she thought solemnly.

“Mom?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What happens after we die?”

[51]

A small desk lamp cast a circular light over the console and the jumble of folders beneath Gabriel Knight’s patient records. Childs stared at the bank of monitors displaying the last cell sample taken from the boy, then sat back in his chair and wondered what was going on.

It was not Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome as he had told Teri. But it was something similar, something potentially even more devastating to the boy’s body. As he might expect to find with a case of progeria, minor signs of aging had already begun to appear. The boy had visibly lost some of his body fat, especially around his abdomen and his buttocks. It seemed apparent that his skin had begun to lose some elasticity as well. It wouldn’t be long before his internal organs began to suffer. Maybe only a matter of months.

The boy was aging.

He was aging at an alarming rate.

Just how fast, though, Childs couldn’t say. It was going to take more time before he’d be able to hazard a guess with any accuracy, and he wanted to be sure. He wanted to be sure about how fast it was happening and what was causing it to happen.

It just didn’t make any sense.

There had never been any previous symptoms. At least nothing telltale. In fact, nothing even remotely suspect for that matter. So why all of a sudden was this happening? What had triggered the change? And just as important—what was it going to take to reverse it? Was that even possible? And if it wasn’t, then what was it going to take to prevent the disease from getting worse?

He wasn’t sure if they could prevent it from getting worse.

No, it just didn’t make any sense.

He searched out a pencil and a pad from the top drawer of his desk, and wrote a quick note to himself: Is it possible that antisense oligos or oligo subunits might have accidentally integrated themselves into healthy DNA?

He dropped the pad on the desk, searching for any other possible explanations that might come to mind, and then the phone rang. The call was from Teri. He had given her the number to call in the case of an emergency.

“I didn’t really expect to catch you this late,” she said softly. She sounded as if she might have been crying.

“Well, I’m glad you did. What can I do for you?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I was just feeling a little frightened by things.”

“That’s certainly understandable under the circumstances, Teri.”

“Is he going to be all right?”

“I wish I could tell you not to worry, but quite frankly, I’m not sure how this thing is going to play out. As I told you earlier, there are definite signs of premature aging beginning to show themselves. Can we halt it? I just don’t know.” He leaned heavily against his elbows which were resting on the console. “Once again, I want to encourage you to consider having Gabriel moved into a facility for observation. I think that would be the most prudent way of approaching this situation. At least until we have a better picture of what’s going on and how we might deal with it.”

There was silence on the other end, except for some background noise that sounded as if it might be a passing truck. Absently, he caught himself thinking: She’s in a phone booth somewhere.

“Teri?”

“I’ll think about it. I promise.”

“Please do.”

“How soon do you need to know?”

“The sooner the better, for Gabe’s sake.”

“All right.”

Childs hung up, then thought about it a moment longer. She wasn’t going to submit the boy to observation. Sometimes you got a feel for these kinds of things and that was the feeling he was getting now.

“Damn it, any how,” he muttered.

Then he took another look at the boy’s cells.

[52]

Teri hung up the phone, feeling as if she had been teetering on the edge of a huge hole that had finally opened wide enough to swallow her altogether. The doctor had sounded more than a little concerned. He had sounded frightened. And that had given Teri a fright of her own, a fright she could have done without.

She stepped out of the phone booth, glanced down the street, and turned in the opposite direction. It was cold out tonight. The sky was clear, the air crisp. The city lights cast a dim wash across the night that made the stars seem farther away than usual. But then, everything seemed farther away tonight.

The boy was waiting two blocks over, in the magazine section of a 7-Eleven. She went in, fighting back tears. The right thing, she supposed, would be to let them place him under observation. Anything else, and she wouldn’t be fit to be his mother, would she?

No, you wouldn’t, Teri thought as she spotted Gabe and went over to stand at his side.

But…

But she just got him back. And…

And she didn’t want to lose him again.

Not for a second.

Not to anyone.

Oh, God. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve this.

[53]

“Well?”

“We got it, but it’s a phone booth.”

“Where at?”

“The corner of Lake and Masonic.”

“Better have someone check it out, just in case.”

“I’ve already got someone on it.”

“Have them check out the motels in the area, too. You never know, she might have been foolish enough to call from a booth not far from where she’s staying.”

“You got it.”

[54]

“Walt? This is Teri.”

The answering machine was lying on the floor, at an angle, on a stack of file folders not far from the phone. The message light had been flashing furiously when Walt had first arrived back at the apartment. It was a solid red light now, and that meant the first of his messages had begun to play.

“If you’re there, pick up, please.”

He grabbed the machine off the floor and made a place for it on the counter between the living room and the kitchen. After a short pause, the message played on uninterrupted.

“I’m not sure how to go about getting back in touch with you. We went by the apartment not long after it was trashed. I wanted you to know that we’re both all right. I need to get together with you, though, and I don’t want to leave anything on the tape that might give away where we’re staying. I’ll call back, I guess. Maybe that’s the best thing to do, to just keep calling back until we connect. Hope everything’s all right with you. Sorry about what happened to your apartment, Walt. I never meant for things to get this far out of hand.”

The message ended.

Walt let out a long breath, feeling a sense of urgency and an inability to do anything about it. The pressure had been mounting for a long time now, maybe as long ago as Brandon’s death. Only recently it had seemed to come to the surface, like a deep bruise that marked the spot long after the pain was gone.

“Hey, chump. Guess who?”

The second message started up. The voice was instantly recognizable.

Richard Boyle

“Didn’t think you could duck out that easy, did you? Been with you all along, chump old buddy. Know where you stayed last night. Know what you had for dinner. And I know why you’re back in your apartment this morning.”

That was interesting. Because Walt wasn’t sure exactly why he had come back. Part of it, he supposed, was that he simply resented the idea of letting Boyle force him out of his own home. The more Walt had thought about that the more it had eaten at him. He didn’t want Boyle thinking he had won. He didn’t want to give the man that simple pleasure. Not for a minute.

But there was more to it than that. Walt had also come back knowing that there was no other way that he’d be able to reconnect with Teri. He had hoped that she would either call or stop by and he could put this other matter aside for awhile. And, of course, she hadn’t let him down, had she?

“You’re back because of her, aren’t you?” Boyle taunted. “Just couldn’t get along without the little lady and her kid. You see? I know more than you ever imagined. Your move, Sherlock.”

The message ended, almost too abruptly for Walt’s taste.

He stared down at the answering machine, feeling like a little boy who couldn’t lie. Caught you, young man. Caught you red-handed and dead to rights. No sense trying to deny it. You came back looking for your friend, didn’t you? You know you did, so don’t you go trying to give me any excuses now.

Then, mercifully, the next message stepped in to silence the chatter.

“Me again,” Teri said, rather evenly. “Guess you’re not there. I’ll call back, I promise. It’s almost ten-thirty now. I’ll try to give you another call in an hour or so. Hope everything is all right there.”

Not exactly all right, Walt thought. But it could be worse.

He listened to three more messages, all of them from Teri and not another word from Richard Boyle, thank you, thank you, thank you. Must be my clean living, Walt thought as he reset the answering the machine and wandered back into the kitchen.

There was nothing left to do now, just wait. Her next call would eventually come, not exactly like clockwork but close enough, and when it did he was going to be here, waiting.

It was the least he could do.

He never should have left in the first place.

Not with Teri and the boy in as much danger as they were.

[55]

Richard Boyle didn’t know which he liked more – the fact that he had turned the tables on that Travis chump-ass, or the idea that he was finally going to get even with Sarah for putting the chump-ass on his tail in the first place. There was a certain satisfaction in both, he supposed as he watched the little woman change lanes several cars ahead of him. The fucking bitch was long overdue for a lesson on wifely respect, ’cause it was wrong, just straight out wrong, the way she had been making his life so damn difficult of late. A woman’s gotta know her place.

Boyle changed lanes, cutting behind a white Volvo and reducing his speed.

You could beat the crap out of a woman and she’d be scared right enough, scared so’s maybe she might toe the line a little tighter for a while. But sooner or later she’d forget how bad it hurt. Either that… or she’d begin to like how bad it hurt. Nope… the only way to make an impression that stuck was to mess with her head. You keep the bitch off balance, always looking over her shoulder, never knowing when you might show up on her doorstep, then the fear’s got her all the time. It don’t ever let go. And comes the time when she can’t even hear the phone ring without peeing herself.

Up ahead, the little woman stopped at a red light. She adjusted the rearview mirror, and spent a moment checking her makeup, before sitting back in the seat and waiting for the light to turn green. She looked good, Boyle thought. Better ’an she ever looked when they was married. Some mornings she’d wake up looking like she’d spent the night out back with the dogs. A woman should know to take better care of herself than that.

The light turned green.

Boyle shifted out of neutral into first, a puff of blue smoke exploding out of the tailpipe. Just a little game of cat and mouse was all. Something to make sure the little ex never forgot he was around, that he was watching. Didn’t want her to forget that. Nope. Not for a moment.

[56]

Walt had been puttering around the apartment for better than an hour, only half-aware of what he was doing as he straightened things up. He had been pleased to hear that Teri and the boy were all right, though it still bothered him that he had left them unguarded. It also bothered him that Teri had sounded more and more anxious with each message.

He finished in the kitchen, replacing the sugar canister on the counter next to the flour, then wandered back into the bedroom, where it seemed Boyle had enjoyed himself to the extreme. The phone was still on the floor, peeking out from beneath a pillow, and just as Walt was reaching for it, it rang. He snapped it up immediately.

“Yeah?”

“Walt?” It was Teri.

“Thank God. You sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s okay here. We’ve been moving around from motel to motel, trying not to leave a trail.” There was a pause on the other end, and he thought he could hear her take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m so sorry about what happened to your apartment.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Teri. In fact, it didn’t even have anything to do with you and the boy.”

“It didn’t?”

“No, it was Richard Boyle, the guy I went down to the Bay Area after. Apparently, he found me before I found him. He’s the one who trashed the place.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a mean son of a bitch, that’s why.”

“And you’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Walt leaned back against the wall and toed distractedly at the edge of a manila folder on the floor. He managed to get the flap open and folded back. It was a case report. He thought they had all been removed, but here it was, the one that had been left behind. He glanced down at the title page and immediately focused on the name: Richard Boyle. The man had taken all the case files, except his own. Interesting.

“I went by to see Dr. Childs again. I told you about the first visit, didn’t I? That he wanted to do some additional testing?”

“No.”

Why would he have left his own case file behind?

“Then I didn’t tell you about what happened after the visit, either, did I?”

Why? Walt wondered. With the tip of his shoe, he tried unsuccessfully to flip the title page back, before what Teri had been saying to him gradually came home full force. He looked up.

“No. What’s going on, Teri?”

“It’s been crazy.” She went on to tell him what Childs had said in their first visit, and how they had run into Mitch and his friends outside the doctor’s office when they were leaving. She told him about the accident and about hiding out in the mall and about showing up at the apartment and finding the mess there. Then she told him about how they had dropped by to see Dr. Childs a second time and how they had gone in the back way. All of that came out of her matter-of-factly, then suddenly she choked and the words had to fight their way free. “He says there’s something wrong with him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dr. Childs—he seems to think there’s something wrong with the boy.”

“What exactly did he have to say?”

“Apparently, Gabe’s got this disease that’s something like progeria. I think the medical term is Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome. At least that’s what the doctor says. And what it does, well, I’m not completely sure what it does. But what happens in the end is these children, their systems, they start aging much faster than they’re supposed to.”

“They grow old?”

“I think it’s fairly rare. At least that’s the way I understand it.”

“And the boy has it?”

“That’s what the doctor said.”

“He’s certain?”

“Yeah. He seemed to be.”

“Oh Christ, Teri, I don’t know what to say. I mean…” Walt closed his eyes, wishing there were something that would come to mind, something that could take away the sting she had to be feeling. He had never been any good at this kind of thing. And he had never felt any clumsier than he did at this moment. “Did the doctor say anything else? I mean anything about a cure or maybe a way they could delay the effects?”

“No. I didn’t hear anything like that. He wanted to keep Gabe under observation, though. Just to be on the safe side.” Her voice fell to just above a whisper and Walt thought she was close to tears. “I’m scared, Walt. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to lose him. I just got him back.”

“I know.”

“I want to do what’s best for him.”

“You will, Teri.”

“I love him so much.”

“I know you do. And believe me, he knows it, too.” Walt sank to the floor, wishing they were face-to-face and not talking over the phone like this. “We need to get together, Teri.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Any place you’d like to meet?”

“Somewhere public. I’m feeling a little paranoid these days.”

“You’ve earned the right. How about the plaza outside City Hall, the west side, with the statue and the fountain? You know where that is?”

“I think so.”

“In an hour?” Walt asked. He glanced at his watch. It was already a little after three in the afternoon. That would give him enough time to finish straightening up the apartment and maybe stop off to get something for dinner tonight before he had to meet her. The apartment was still the safest place for them to stay until things settled down again.

“Yeah, that sounds fine.”

“Good, I’ll see you then.”

“Thanks, Walt. I don’t know who else I could have turned to.”

“See you around four.”

He dropped the receiver back in its cradle, and dug the rest of the phone out from beneath the pillow. He grabbed the lamp off the table next to the door in the same swoop, and placed them both back on the night-stand, where he had kept them in easy reach since the first day he had moved into the apartment. The bed sheets had been torn off the mattress and scattered around the room as if a tornado had picked them up and toyed with them before dropping them back to earth again. He tossed the blankets off to one side and gathered up the sheets and pillow cases for the laundry.

There were two things gnawing at him as he carried the sheets into the living room and dropped them at the foot of the entryway. First was Dr. Childs. He had never met the man, of course, but Walt didn’t like the idea that Mitch and his friends had showed up right outside the good doctor’s office. And he didn’t like the sudden diagnosis, either. It just didn’t feel right. So try as he may—knowing that Teri trusted in the man—Walt just couldn’t seem to bring himself to feel the same way.

The other thing doing some gnawing was the case file Walt had found on the floor in the bedroom. Boyle’s file. That hadn’t been an accident. Boyle never would have left it behind unless he had wanted it found.

Walt made his way back into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway long enough to wonder how things had suddenly become so complicated. Because if life was anything, it was complicated. Anyone who believed different had to be sleepwalking. Just make do, he told himself. Things will settle down again. He stood the dresser up and maneuvered it back against the wall where it belonged, and wondered once again why Boyle had left his case file behind.

Some things just didn’t make sense.

[57]

Teri hung up the phone and leaned against the side of the booth. She had used the middle booth in a line of five at the Sun Country Bus Depot. Through the glass, she watched a Greyhound bus pull out of the station, turn into the nearest lane of traffic and disappear down the avenue.

The boy was sitting on a bench across from the telephone booth, where she could keep a watchful eye on him. He hadn’t been doing his best today. He was running a slight fever and feeling a little sluggish, and some of that sluggishness had come through loud and clear in his behavior. Having him sit in a bus station, inhaling noxious fumes while she made her phone call, wasn’t going to help matters any.

Teri forced a smile and waved to him.

He waved back, halfheartedly.

Almost instantly at that moment, she realized something that had been brewing inside her for several days now. She was beginning to hate all of this. She hated being on the run and the loneliness it left her feeling. And she hated dragging the boy around from place to place as if they were homeless and had nowhere else to go. Above and beyond all that, she didn’t like what they were doing to Walt.

You aren’t doing anything to him.

Yes, they were.

They were dropping all their problems in his lap like a sack of hot potatoes. Here, I don’t know what to do with this. See what you can do. It felt… slimy. Though maybe it only felt that way because she didn’t like depending so heavily on anyone, much less someone she cared about. That was something Teri thought she had overcome after Michael had moved out. But here it was, back again, like a dirty little secret that just won’t die.

No, she didn’t like any of this.

And yet… what could she do about it?

[58]

Boyle climbed out of the car and crossed around the back of Sarah’s Volvo to the driver’s door. The bitch had already gotten out. She had glanced around, looking almost directly at him—in fact, right through him, it seemed—and then had crossed the parking lot and disappeared inside one of them beauty parlor places, this one called Jenny’s.

Boyle pulled a knife out of his pocket, pressed a button, and the blade flipped open. He stuck it into the door lock, jiggled it a bit, without success, and realized she hadn’t locked the car. That was just like her. Never took proper care of things. Never. Didn’t have no appreciation for how expensive things were. He opened the door and climbed in, the scent of her strong and pleasing.

“Miss me, babe?” he said to her ghost. “Oh, I bet you did. Bet you missed me something awful.”

He checked the glove compartment, nosing around for the sake of nosing around. There wasn’t much there. Registration. Proof of insurance. Some maps. A bottle of Mydol. “Jesus, woman, you haven’t changed much, have you? Thought you were supposed to be going through some sort of growth ex-per-i-ence.”

That was the line she had used the night she had asked him to move out. Something ’bout how she was growing and changing and a bunch of crap like that, and how he was still the same old Richard Boyle she had married, hadn’t done no growing at all and probably wasn’t ever going to do none. He’d beat the living daylights out of her that night, put the fear of the fist in her, and for a long time afterward things had settled back to the way they had always been. Then some damn lawyer got his hands on her, and before Boyle realized it, he’d been locked out of the house.

You don’t lock a man out of his own house.

You just don’t do that.

Not unless you want trouble.

Boyle stuck the working end of the knife into the passenger seat and ran the blade across the upholstery, first one way, and then the other. “How’s that for an ex-per-ience, bitch? Huh? That good enough for you?”

He did the same thing to the back seats, then took a photograph out of his shirt pocket and set it up on the dashboard where it wouldn’t be missed. The photo was of Garrett and Christy. It had been taken at the old place, in the living room, the night that Garrett had graduated from the sixth grade. The kids were sittin’ in front of the fireplace, smiling like they’d just lifted a couple of candy bars from the corner market. Their mama was supposed to be sittin’ next to them, but that part of the picture was lying in the trash where it belonged.

“They’re mine now. Ain’t it a kick how things come around?”

The kids… they were up in Oregon for the time being, staying with a friend of their grammy ’til he could move ’em out of state, maybe down to Arizona or New Mexico. Cops had been all over the place after he’d taken ’em, but it hadn’t lasted long. They had what an old fisherman would say was the smarts of a large-mouth bass… if the bait ain’t right in front of ’em, they ain’t gonna notice it. Things had quieted down some since then. The kids would be okay where they was, as long as he didn’t leave ’em there long. In the meantime, their mama had a little something to remember them by.

“An eye for an eye, woman. You took my life; I take yours.”

Boyle climbed out of the car, closed the door, and glanced across the parking lot at the big picture window across the front of the beauty parlor. In the glare of the sun, he couldn’t see past the lettering that advertised a month-long perm special. It didn’t matter none. He’d delivered the message. Next move was hers. She just better make sure it was a move she could live with.

[59]

Teri had never spent much time at the plaza outside City Hall, though she had passed by it on a number of occasions on her way to the police department. She had passed by it, but she had never really paid it much attention.

The plaza was open and airy and a step-down from the government buildings that surrounded it on all sides. The light-colored stone forming the outer walls and the walkway made for an uneven surface that was intriguing to the eye. Young junipers lined the east and west sides. In the middle, stood a huge fountain with water running over the edges in a clear, perfectly-formed sheet. A statue of one of the city’s founding fathers stood at the edge of the fountain. The plaque at the base of the statue read: Dedicated to Horace Gunthurman. 1917. If a little knowledge is dangerous, where is the man who has so much as to be out of danger?

Maybe he wasn’t a founding father after all, Teri thought as she read the inscription. Maybe he was the town librarian or someone like that.

She sat down at the edge of the fountain, just outside the afternoon shadow of the statue. Gabe sat down next to her. In her mind, he had finally crossed that invisible line from being “the boy” to being her son. This was Gabe, and she believed in him as much as she was ever going to believe in him. Blue-green eyes and all. He smiled, still feeling a bit sluggish. Teri held the back of her hand against his forehead, and thought it felt cooler out here in the cool air and the slight breeze.

“Mom…”

“Just checking.”

He squinted at her, and shaded his eyes from the sun. “When’s Mr. Travis supposed to be here?”

“At four,” she said.

“What time is it now?”

She checked her watch. It was twenty-five minutes after three. If they had waited for the next bus, they would have arrived a little after four, and Teri had been worried that she might miss their connection with Walt. In that case, better late than never might actually have proven to be dangerous. She hadn’t wanted to take that chance.

“We’re a little early,” she said.

The plaza was deserted, except for two men in business suits who were sitting on a bench across the way. She glanced in their direction and made note of the fact that they didn’t seem to be doing anything. They didn’t seem to be sitting there for any other reason than to be sitting there.

(and maybe to be watching)

She did a slow check of their surroundings, feeling a sway of relief to find that no one appeared to be guarding the exits. Still, uneasiness had settled in around her and she didn’t like it much. She stood up, stretched, and started to stroll around the edge of the fountain.

“Mom?”

“Just stretching.”

“How much longer?”

“It’ll be awhile yet.”

Across the way, one of the men stood up, then sat down again. They looked like little soldiers, waiting for orders, waiting for the next move in a deadly game of cat and mouse. Teri didn’t like it. She didn’t like the feeling that was growing inside her, either.

“Gabe?”

He glanced up from the water, where he had begun to set ripples into motion with his hand, one after the other.

“What do you say we take a little walk? It’ll make the time go faster.”

“Sure.” He pulled his hand out of the water, shook it off, and hopped down from the edge of the fountain. It was as lively as he had been all day and Teri silently prayed that he was finally feeling better. “Where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know. Where would you like to go?”

“How about…” He did a little spin, one-hundred and eighty degrees, his arm stretched out like a compass needle, and when he stopped, he was pointing directly at the men on the bench. Only they weren’t sitting on the bench now. They had stood up, like two curious wolves, and were beginning to pace.

“…there,” Gabe said.

“How about if we try this way instead?” She took him by the arm, none too gently, and pushed him ahead of her around the fountain toward the opposite exit. It seemed as if she had been pushing him in one direction or another from the moment he had shown up on her doorstep, and she hoped he would indulge her awhile longer without too much of a fuss.

“Where are we going?”

“Let’s make it an adventure.”

She glanced over her shoulder. There was no more pretending about who they were or why they were here. The two men had stopped their pacing and had watched for a moment, and now they were suddenly in a full sprint. They quickly closed half the distance between them and her, and she realized with a complete sense of terror that there was no way she was going to be able to out run them.

“Mrs. Knight!”

In a panic, Teri shoved Gabe to keep him in front of her.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“He’s not a friend; I can tell you that.”

“Please, Mrs. Knight!”

They made it to the stone steps at the far end, where they had originally come down. Gabe grabbed onto the railing and pulled himself up, two steps at a time. Right behind him, Teri kept her hand in the small of his back. She thought she could hear herself whimpering, and silently cussed herself for not being stronger when it was most needed. Sometimes it seemed as if she only had so much strength left to draw upon.

“Mom?”

“Just keeping moving, Gabe. Please.”

“But, Mom…”

Hearing the disturbing tone in his voice, Teri looked up and was surprised to discover two more men standing at the top of the stairs, the sun their backdrop. They were dressed in dark suits, white shirts, ties, and sunglasses, and they were standing side by side. The exit was completely blocked.

The man on the left took the first step down and pulled a badge out of his breast pocket. “FBI, Mrs. Knight.”

“What?”

“Your lives are in danger. We’d like you to come with us, if you would.”

[60]

Walt glanced up from Boyle’s file at the clock on the night stand and was surprised to see it was already a quarter to four. He had picked the file up off the floor with the intent of putting it away, but then he had sat down on the bed and started thumbing through the pages.

It surprised him to discover that the initiating date on the file was May 27th of last year. That was the anniversary of his father’s death. In all the turmoil, Walt had somehow never made that connection before. He supposed that was because he had still been dealing with the death at that time. Even though two years had passed by then, he still often found himself regretful of things never said, questions never asked. The third anniversary was coming up shortly. He made a mental note to visit his father’s graveside. It was the least a son could do. No matter what the relationship they might have had together.

Sarah Boyle. She was Richard’s ex-wife, the one who had made the initial inquiry about hiring Walt to find her children. The police, she had said, had been of little or no help. They hadn’t seemed the least bit interested, she said, and Walt understood that better than most. He had been part of it in his own time.

Richard Boyle was a man she never should have married. She was young, she said, and not as wise as maybe she should have been. Perhaps even more telling was the fact that her parents had taken such an immediate dislike to Richard. That had been all Sarah needed to love him all the more.

What they said about love being blind, well, that was truer than most such sayings. At the ripe old age of twenty, Richard had already done his fair share of prison time. He had been convicted of auto theft on two separate occasions, and once for manslaughter when a fight broke out at a pool hall and he struck the man over the head with a cue.

Richard Boyle was not the kind of man young girls dreamed about marrying one day. But Sarah had married him anyway. And they had two children and more fights than Ali and Foreman combined. And gradually, what little love there had been between them—if any at all—had worn away completely, leaving nothing more than a raw and mutual hatred.

From love to hate.

From family to kidnapping.

Jesus.

Walt closed the file and carried it into the living room where the filing cabinet sat in the corner. He had been on the case for nearly a year now and his trip to the Bay Area had been as close as he had come to putting it to rest. He was going to have to start all over now. And Sarah Richards was going to have to carry on awhile longer without her children.

It was always the innocent, it seemed, who suffered the most.

He closed the filing cabinet and grabbed his keys off the counter. A little luck with the traffic lights, and he could still make it to the plaza a couple of minutes ahead of Teri.

[61]

“FBI?” Teri inquired, only partially comprehending what was happening.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Did Walt send you? Walter Travis?”

“Would you come with us, please?”

She glanced back at the two men—who had caught up with them now—wondering if this was everything it appeared to be. Appearances could be deceiving; her last foster mother had liked to say. But it felt right, and maybe more than that, Teri was tired of running, tired of hiding. Maybe this was going to be the end of it.

“Please, Mrs. Knight, we don’t want you exposed any longer than necessary.” The agent tucked his badge back into his jacket, and smiled. “We have a car waiting for you. If you’ll just follow me.”

Gabe looked up with concern. “Mom?”

“It’s okay,” she said.

They followed the agents up the steps and across the square in front of City Hall. At the far end, on First Street, three cars were parked at the curb. The engines were already running. One of the agents opened the back door and assisted Teri into the middle car. Gabe sat in front, the driver on one side, another agent on the other. All three cars pulled away from the curb in perfect formation.

“Where are we going?” Teri asked.

“Where you’ll be safe,” answered the agent to her left.

“Someone’ll have to tell Walt.”

“It’s been handled.”

“Is he going to meet us there?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, that’s good to know.”

“I’m sure it is.”

She glanced out the window at the scenery rushing by. They were heading north, through the downtown section, past the Farmers Market and the Prescott Pavilion and McKinley Park. She watched an old woman dressed in rags, pushing a shopping cart down the street, and a Yellow Cab without a fare pass in the opposite direction.

“Where did you say we were going?”

“Somewhere safe, ma’am.”

“And where did you say that was?”

“I didn’t.”

An almost spontaneous unease swept through her. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right at all. She sat forward in her seat and studied the car in front. It was a late model Ford, black, like the others, carrying California plates. There appeared to be two men riding in the vehicle, both in the front seat.

Why don’t they have government plates? she wondered.

She turned and studied the car bringing up the rear, and suddenly it became all too clear to her. These weren’t government cars. And these weren’t FBI agents. And they sure as hell weren’t here to make sure that she and Gabe were kept safe. This all came rushing at her in a wave of realization. And the clincher, if she had needed such a thing, had been this: Mitch was driving the follow-up car.

“Oh, my God.”

The man sitting to her left stared out the window, unimpressed, no reaction one way or the other. The man to her right, however, turned and grinned.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Knight.”

“This is kidnapping, you know. You’re taking us against our will.”

“Do you know there’s a warrant out for your arrest? It seems after your little accident at the mall the other day, you forgot to go back and get your car. The cops are looking for you. How’s that for ironic?”

“You’ll never get away with this.”

“Yes, we will. That’s the whole point.”

The car turned west on Grove Street and made its way through an old section of town where there were a number of abandoned commercial properties for lease or sale. Teri glanced back to see if Mitch was still trailing behind. He was.

“Why are you doing this? What do you want with us?” A surge of panic rose like bile at the back of her throat. She swallowed it back, knowing it would soon come up again.

“Just settle down and relax, Mrs. Knight. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Then why don’t you let us go?”

“Sorry, can’t do that.”

She made an abrupt and feeble lunge across the man’s lap at the door handle. He caught her short and easily shoved her back into the seat, making little effort to be gentle about it. For several days to come, her arms were going to be showing dull, discolored bruises as an aftereffect.

“Stay put, Mrs. Knight.”

“Let us out!”

In the front seat, the car phone rang, and the driver picked it up. There was a short pause before he answered, “She’s a little hysterical at the moment.” Then another pause, before the driver called over the seat, “He wants to know if you think we should sedate her.”

“How much further?”

“Another five miles or so.”

“Nah, she’ll be all right.”

It was the idea that there were only five miles left that suddenly sent her panic out of control. Teri lunged for the door again. The man pushed her back even more forcefully than before, and she struck out at him with her left hand, dragging her nails across the left side of his face and drawing blood. He let out a groan, and grabbed her wrists.

Teri screamed, and lashed out with her feet.

“Mom!”

The man to her left, the one who had earlier seemed so disinterested, suddenly wrapped his hands around Teri’s arms just above the elbow. “I’ve got her,” he said, his voice straining under the effort.

The driver glanced distractedly over his shoulder. “Christ, just sedate her, will you!”

It was at that moment that Gabe made a grab for the steering wheel. He managed to get both hands wrapped around one side, the driver trying to fight him off and keep an eye on the road at the same time. The car swerved sharply to the right, went up onto the curb, barely missed a light pole, and struck a mail box before swerving back into the street again.

Gabe held on, one hand directly over the other, knuckles white.

Teri had been tossed to the floor. She found herself sprawled across the feet of the man on her right. When she looked up, she could see where he had hit his head against the roof. He was bleeding badly now. His eyes glazed over. A trail of blood chartered new territory down the side of his face. He slumped forward, unconscious.

The car cut across both lanes, sideswiped a pickup truck parked at the far curb, then swung back again.

From somewhere behind, the sound of a horn blared.

Teri fought to keep her breath as the man slumped forward the last few inches and finally collapsed on top of her. And then, like a roller coaster ride at Great America or Six Flags Magic Mountain, the car did something that felt strangely like a corkscrew. The hood and left front end slammed against the pavement and the car exploded into the air…

…the outside world rolled all the way over, a full hundred and eighty degrees…

…time both expanded and contracted…

…sky blue went flying past the side window…

…the right side of the car touched down and took off again…

…and finally, the Ford came to an exhausted landing, upside-down on its roof.

It swayed from side-to-side a moment, creaking and moaning, sounding as if it were animate and somehow in agony. When it finally came to rest, the only sound left was a soft chorus of weakened voices.

Teri found herself with her knees braced against the man’s chest. He was still unconscious and still breathing, though shallowly. She sat up, feeling a bit woozy, and discovered a trail of blood running down the side of her face. She wiped it away and raised herself up, struggling to regain her bearings. The Ford shifted slightly, and she could see the sidewalk rise and fall like a wave just outside the window. Broken shards of glass littered the inside, gathered in puddles here and there where the roof had formed convenient pockets. Someone in the front seat moaned.

“Gabe?”

“Mom?”

“Are you all right?”

“I hurt my arm.”

She found him huddled in a corner near the dashboard on the passenger side. He was curled into a ball, his arm bent at an odd angle and held gingerly against his body. It was clearly broken.

The driver, who had used his seat belt, was strapped in and hanging upside-down. The roof had collapsed against the top of his head. He was semiconscious by all appearances, bleeding heavily from several lacerations. The other man hung half-in/half-out of the passenger side window, his seat belt in a clump next to the reading light. On a glance, Teri thought he was probably dead.

“Can you move?”

Gabe nodded, tears in his eyes. “But it hurts.”

“I know, honey. But you’ve got to try.”

The windshield had blown out completely, which may have explained the scattering of glass shards everywhere. Gabe sat up, keeping his injured arm as immobile as possible. He looked at her, his eyes dark and lost.

“Come on, take my hand.”

He reached out in unmistakable pain.

Their fingers touched.

“That’s it. Keep your eyes on me, all right?”

Teri helped him over the mangled legs of the dead man, trying to occupy his attention as much as possible. After that, he seemed to take on a strength of his own. Ahead of her, he ducked and went through the gap created by the missing windshield, crawling and still managing to keep the pressure off his bad arm somehow. Teri followed a step behind, unaware of the gash she had opened in her right leg as she dragged it across a shard of glass sticking out of the window frame.

The hood of the car swayed upside down a foot or so off the ground, smoke billowing out from both sides. A sliver of daylight crept in through an opening up ahead on the right. Gabe had already crawled out and disappeared. She could hear him calling to her now.

“I’m coming,” she said. She slid on her belly, feeling the heat of the pavement against the palms of her hands, and when she emerged on the other side, it was into the warm face of sunlight. The feeling of freedom, which was as powerful and as exhilarating as anything she had ever felt, lasted only seconds.

Mitch was standing over her.

“Put her in my car.”

“How about the boy?”

“No, keep them separate.”

The man aided Teri out from beneath the vehicle, pulled her to her feet, wordlessly, then took her by the arm to another car and placed her inside. He set the locks. She slumped back into the seat, trapped all over again.

A small crowd had gathered around the outer edges of the accident, curious and uncertain about what was happening. For a few brief moments, she held out the hope that maybe she still had a chance here, that maybe someone would realize what was going on and step forward to help. But the one time a middle-aged man did step forward, he was met by one of Mitch’s men, who flashed a badge. The man quickly backed off.

Mitch climbed into the driver’s seat. Another man opened the door and climbed into the back with Teri. She felt a trickle of blood slide down her forehead and over the bridge of her nose. She closed her eyes. Things were beginning to float now, dipping in and out of clarity.

“What did you do with my son?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“But his arm—”

“We’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”

Mitch glanced over the seat, first at Teri, then at the man beside her. “Everything under control back there?”

“No problems.”

The car pulled slowly around the accident, and she could see the smoke still spewing out from beneath the overturned vehicle. A black river of oil and gasoline flowed aimlessly across the street and into the gutter. The pungent odor was nearly smothering.

The forward car remained parked at the curb. As they passed by, she saw Gabe in the back seat, between two men. He was crying. He looked up, streaks running down his cheeks. I love you, Teri mouthed. He took a swipe at his tears, then the car turned the corner and he disappeared from sight.

Teri sank back into the seat.

Almost absently, she felt the prick of a needle enter her arm. She didn’t care anymore. What was the use? The car rounded another corner, then another. She began to lose all bearing of where they were.

It didn’t matter.

She had already lost the only person who mattered to her.

Buildings rolled by, monotonously, facelessly.

The motion of the vehicle rocked her gently in its arms.

Somewhere in the distance a siren sang out a sad and lonely song.

Teri closed her eyes.

[62]

Apparently there had been an accident somewhere on Grove Street. Traffic had been detoured over to Old 44, across to Sweetwater, then back to Market. It had been stop-and-go for nearly three miles before Walt was finally able to slip onto a back street and work his way over to the City Hall parking lot.

He was nearly fifteen minutes late by the time he arrived at the plaza.

Teri and the boy were nowhere to be found.

The plaza, which was usually teeming with office workers from the surrounding government buildings during the lunch hour, was completely empty now. Walt sat on the edge of the fountain, the soft, whispery sound of the water at his back. He checked his watch, then checked it again a minute or two later.

This didn’t feel right.

They should have been here ahead of him, waiting.

This didn’t feel right at all.

Two women came strolling down the steps, side by side, chatting between themselves. One was in her mid-fifties, the first hint of gray highlighting the sweep of hair over her right ear. Her eyeglasses were thick bifocals. The other woman was younger, maybe in her late thirties. She was wearing a dark gray overcoat and had her purse inside, slung over her shoulder.

Walt approached them. “Excuse me. I was wondering if you might have seen a woman and her son here earlier?”

The younger woman shook her head. “Sorry. This is the first chance we’ve had all day to get out of the office.”

The older woman eyed him with suspicion.

Walt nodded and started away. “Thanks anyway.”

He spent another forty-five minutes at the fountain, pacing on and off, wondering if he had been unclear when he had told Teri what time to meet him. His greatest fear, of course, was that something terrible had happened and that it might not have happened had he been here on time.

Eventually, he decided the best thing to do was to head back to the apartment and wait for another call.

Maybe they had missed the bus.

Or maybe they had gotten caught in traffic like he had.

Or maybe they had simply stopped off somewhere.

There were a thousand possibilities, a thousand things that might have gone wrong. Most of them were perfectly innocent. It was the others, though, that Walt didn’t want to think about. It was the others he feared the most.

[63]

When Teri woke, she found herself in an alleyway between a Wells Fargo Bank building and an old abandoned bar that had once been called The Brewery. The sun had gone down. Twilight had given way to nightfall. The alley was a patch quilt of shadow and light, of faint outlines and buried figures.

She pushed the cardboard boxes off and sat up against the side of the brick building. Her mouth was dry, her throat a little raw, and she could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. The pain was on the right side of her head, just above her ear. It hadn’t started to throb yet, but she was familiar with these things and she knew it wouldn’t be long before it did.

The alleyway was littered with garbage, mostly scraps of cardboard and old food wrappers that had somehow escaped the dumpsters at the far end. A swirl of cool night air kicked up. She watched a newspaper flap its wings and fly past her. She could hear the rush of air past her ears, and somewhere far away there was the soft drone of traffic, people coming and going, never knowing there was a woman in the back of this alley who had lost her way.

Except she had lost more than that.

Teri had lost her son.

She tried to stand up, felt woozy, and fell back again. The world wasn’t exactly spinning, but it was doing a fairly decent interpretation of both ends of a teeter-totter. Perspiration broke out across her forehead. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, and tried to swallow a deep breath. Whatever they had injected her with, the breath felt as if it were part of a miserable winter cold, scratching and kicking, trying to hold on as long as possible.

She was going to have to be patient; that was all.

Just patient.

The cool night air turned cooler.

Teri closed her eyes and tried to regain both her presence of mind and a little strength. Nausea was stirring inside her belly like a bubbling witch’s brew, hot and sour and frightening. The headache began to throb full force, pounding against the inside of her temples.

This one’s going to be a migraine, she thought.

Her stomach lurched. She bent forward, and the lunch she had eaten hours before came up with a vengeance. When it was done, she slumped back against the brick work and closed her eyes.

The migraine began to recede.

[64]

D.C. pulled the Lumina into the parking lot of the Davol Research Institute and found an empty space not far from the front entrance. The Institute was set back several hundred feet from the street, secluded behind a wall of dogwood, European white birch, and sumac. D.C. climbed out, stretched, and wondered if the morning overcast was going to burn off before the afternoon rolled around.

The building was a lone wolf, located on the outskirts of town, not far from the airport. It had been built in the early ’80s and remodeled once in 1994. Three stories high, steel beams, dark-gray reflective glass, it was modern and brooding and a marked contrast to its natural surroundings. The area had once been mostly farm land, but gradually it had begun to give way to commercial zoning as the airport expanded and brought more people into the region. Half a mile down the road, the American Fixture Company had built their headquarters in 1988. They remained to this day the nearest neighbor.

Inside, the lobby was open and breezy, with a marble tile floor. There were two elevators off to the left, and a grand stairway under a chandelier on the right. D.C. walked past the receptionist’s desk without stopping. She looked up and smiled. “Good morning, sir.”

“Morning, Jenny.”

He took the stairs two at a time, adding a little pull to the effort by way of the mahogany banister. At the top landing, he turned left and made his way down a short corridor to the conference room at the end. Mitch was already there, waiting.

D.C. closed the door and leaned against it, his hands behind his back for support. “Is he back in the fold?”

“As of last night.”

“Good. And his mother?”

“We set her loose.”

“Any problems?”

Mitch, who had been leaning back in his chair, with one leg crossed over the other, sat forward. “Nothing we didn’t handle.”

“Nothing like what?”

“There was an accident. The boy grabbed hold of the steering wheel. The car flipped. Anderson didn’t make it. Zimmerman and Wright were banged up pretty good, but they’re gonna be all right.”

“And the boy?”

“He broke his arm.”

“Christ. I told you we needed to keep a low profile on this thing.”

“Hey, I had the clean up crew there in fifteen minutes.” Mitch climbed out of his chair, and paced back and forth in front of the line of windows on the north side. You could see the faint background of the distant mountains behind him. “They got in and out in no time. Except for a handful of bystanders, it never happened. No one else knows about it.”

“Was the Knight woman injured?”

“She had some cuts and bruises, mostly around her eyes and scalp.” He paused and made a sour face. “We had to sedate her. I told you that would be a possibility, remember?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. As long as there’s no chance of her tracing anything back to us.”

“No, we’re clean on this one.”

“What about the others?”

“They’re already out of the area.”

“And Anderson?”

“Clean up took care of him.”

D.C. nodded. “I want you to stick around for awhile.” He pulled a white business envelope out of his jacket and tossed it across the table. “A little something for your troubles.”

Mitch picked it up. He tapped the edge a couple of times, nodding and looking undecided. Then he opened the envelope and fanned through the bills. “How long?”

“Until things settle down. That a problem?”

“Not for me.”

“I want you to keep an eye on the woman.”

“Mrs. Knight?”

“Yeah.” D.C. stared absently out the window. He should have been feeling a sense of relief, but he wasn’t. Instead, it was more a sense of having awakened a sleeping beast. Things were going to be tricky for awhile. “And be careful about it, all right? The only thing more dangerous than getting between a grizzly and its cub is getting between a mother and her child. She’s not going to let go of this for awhile, not without a fight. Remember that. Never underestimate an angry mother.”

Mitch nodded, noncommittally. “Anything else?”

“Just keep an eye on her.”

“You got it.”

[65]

Walt answered the door, and was both surprised and relieved by what he found.

It was around one in the afternoon, and he had spent most of last night and all of this morning puttering around the apartment, trying to keep himself busy while he waited for Teri to call. Waiting wasn’t a far cry from dying, he had decided. They could both be agonizing, and they both involved a painful degree of uncertainty. It was the uncertainty that annoyed him the most.

Sleep had come a little after two last night, while he watched the end of a movie called Don’t Talk to Strangers. He didn’t remember how the movie had ended. In fact, he didn’t remember much about it at all. There had been other things occupying his thoughts. More specifically, he had been worried about Teri and the boy.

Something had happened.

Something terrible.

He awakened several hours after nodding off, the television still flickering its images across the living room walls. An infomercial, something having to do with a super absorbent mop, was at the midpoint and an 800 number was on the screen, with a dollar amount in smaller type in the upper right-hand corner. Walt came awake, one eye open, then rolled over and drifted off again. It had been like that all night.

Teri still hadn’t called by the time he finally crawled out of bed, a little after ten this morning. He had decided to give her until two. Then he was going to take to the streets looking for her. Waiting was a death of its own, and he had struggled with it all night. That was long enough. He needed to do something, anything, to make the waiting less painful.

Though that was all mute now.

Teri was standing in the doorway.

She wasn’t alone. She was in the company of two police officers, neither of whom Walt recognized. It had been nearly three years now since he had last worked for the department. Situations changed. No doubt some officers had retired and headed for the countryside. And others had surely come on as new recruits. Nothing in life was ever static. So it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t recognize these two.

“Mr. Travis?”

“Teri? Are you all right?”

“They’ve got him,” she said, her voice caught between something of a whisper and something hollow. A white bandage slanted across her forehead, dotted by a red spot where blood had soaked through. Both cheeks were spattered with cuts and scratches. Thick, dark circles underlined her eyes, giving her what Walt’s aunt had once referred to as “raccoon eyes.”

“They’ve got Gabe.”

She pulled away from the female office, and fell into Walt’s arms. No tears. Just a need to be held by someone she trusted.

“It’s all right,” he said. “We’ll get him back.”

He helped her into the living room, onto the couch, and brought a pillow out of the bedroom for her. He did this while trying to calm the ugly self-accusations tearing at his insides. If only he hadn’t been late yesterday. If only he had left a few minutes earlier, just a few minutes, just to be on the safe side.

Teri closed her eyes.

Walt went back to the officers, who were waiting patiently in the doorway.

“Is she going to be all right?” the woman asked.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Has this ever happened before, sir?”

“No, of course not.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?”

“No reason, sir.” But of course, you didn’t ask questions like that for no reason. “It’s just that we found her this morning, walking along Locust Street, looking pretty banged up. We thought she might have been assaulted or something, but she kept insisting that her son had been kidnapped.”

“Yes, last night, apparently. I was supposed to meet them at the plaza near City Hall, but I got there late, and they were already gone.”

“And by them you mean?”

“Teri and her son.”

“Gabriel Knight?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever met her son, Mr. Travis?”

“Yes, of course.”

The woman glanced down at her notebook again. “Gabriel Knight? Is that right?”

“Yes,” Walt said, instantly wishing he could catch it and reel it back in. Apparently, they had believed Teri when she had told them Gabe had been kidnapped. They had believed her, and they had followed up, and they had come across some interesting background information.

“Are you aware that she reported him missing almost ten years ago?”

Yes, of course, Walt thought. But he only thought it. He didn’t say it. Because if he had said it, it would only have served up more questions. And then questions on top of questions. And eventually it would have all lead back to how he had worked for the department, and how he had worked on the Gabriel Knight case. And how, my dear man, did he intend to explain all that?

“No, I wasn’t aware of that.”

“I think you might consider getting your friend some counseling, Mr. Travis.”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I’ll mention it to her.”

“You do that.”

The officer presented him with a business card and suggested he call if he needed anything else. Walt accepted it without comment. He turned it over several times in his hands, glancing only cursorily at the name—Officer Debra J. Pettitt—before thanking her for her trouble and tucking it into his pocket. Neither of them carried any false illusions. The card would be lucky to make it past the first trash can.

By the time Walt made it back to the living room, Teri had already drifted off to sleep. He brought a blanket out from the linen closet, unfolded it, and covered her. Then he plopped down in the chair across the room and watched her. He watched every breath go in, every breath come out, and he promised himself he would never let another bad thing happen to her.

[66]

Paranoia was new to Michael Knight.

That thought came to him in crystal-clear clarity as he walked off the plane and crossed the tarmac to the airport terminal. Just inside the doorway, a small crowd of people had gathered, waiting to greet arriving friends and relatives. He looked at each of them, directly, in the eyes, wondering if maybe this one might be waiting for him, if maybe that one might have a gun.

Paranoia was not comforting. It did not make for polite conversation with strangers. But ever since he jumped the backyard fence back in Tennessee and headed down a side-street in as stealthily a manner as he could muster, the paranoia had been following him relentlessly just the same. Somewhere behind him, sitting in a van, people had been watching the house.

Were they still watching? Michael wondered now, as he passed through the crowd and searched for an Avis or a Hertz or a Budget Rent-A-Car. Were they still watching the house or were they now watching him?

He had spent that first night in a hotel, trying to decide if Teri was drawing him into one of her “tricks of the mind” as he had come to thing of them, or if through some incomprehensible quirk of events, Gabe really was back, alive and well, and not a day older. It had been another shade of the paranoia, he supposed now, looking back on it. In the end, paranoia or no, Michael had decided to do something he hadn’t done in years. He had decided to trust his instincts. After all, what did he have to lose? Even if it was all an elaborate fantasy playing out in Teri’s head, at least he could put his mind at ease. Maybe, at the same time, he could even aid Teri in finding the help she needed. He owed her that much.

The next day, he called into the office sick. Janyce, his secretary, had gone over the week’s appointments with him and they had shifted things around to the point where he felt he could probably steal a week without any major projects suffering.

“I hope you’re feeling better soon,” Janyce had said in the wrap-up.

“Me, too,” Michael responded.

“If anything should come up—?”

“You can reach me here at home,” Michael said, surprised at how quickly the lie had come to mind, how easily it had tumbled out of his lips.

He hadn’t had the same success in getting a flight out of town, though. That had been anything but easy. The attendants of the only major carrier had been on strike for nearly two weeks, and the day before, the mechanics union had joined them. Everything at the airport had ground to a standstill. It had taken him another day to arrange for a commuter flight to take him to Chicago. From there, he caught a flight to San Francisco and from San Francisco – where he had wasted another four hours – he finally caught a second commuter flight, this one into Northern California.

And here, at long last, he was.

[67]

Gabe woke up disoriented and feeling lousy. He had drifted in and out of wakefulness for hours, only dimly aware of his surroundings or the new cast on his arm. What had happened yesterday seemed faraway and dream-like. He remembered the accident, however. And he remembered seeing his mother in the back window of the other car. The expression on her face had been something like that of a woman being burned at the stake. It had been that horrible. He didn’t think he would ever forget that image of her.

He sat up and saw that he was alone. Someone had dimmed the lights, and a dull hazy cast hovered over the room like a late morning fog. He had been placed in what appeared to be the middle bed in a line of maybe ten or twelve that stretched from one end of the cavernous room to the other. More important, though, he remembered this place. He had been here before. This was where he had found himself after the bike accident, the one that hadn’t been an accident at all, according to his mother.

Gabe fell back against the pillow, suddenly aware of the plaster cast wrapped around the lower part of his right arm, between the wrist and the elbow. It smelled chalky, a little musty, not unlike the plaster leaf molds he had sometimes made at summer camp. There wasn’t a mark on the cast, not a smudge of dirt, a slight indentation.

In the second grade, he had bent a finger back while playing wall ball and everyone had thought it was broken because it had swelled up so badly. Then the x-rays had come back and the doctor said it was just a strain and not to worry. But this was the first time Gabe had actually broken a bone.

He pulled the covers back and climbed out of bed. Someone had taken his clothes while he had been sleeping. He was dressed in his under shorts now, and a hospital gown. Cool air slipped through the long slit in the back and whirled around his legs like cotton candy spinning around the inside of a glass box. He reached back and tried to gather in the flaps as he followed a pattern of diamonds, black on white, across the floor to the only door exiting the room.

The door was painted a dull navy gray. It was made of metal, and there was a small observation window just above adult eye level. On his tiptoes, it was still too high to see through.

Gabe gave the handle a jiggle. It was sloppy loose, with enough play to make him think it might fall off in his hands. But the door didn’t open. Apparently, it was locked from the other side. They had kept it locked the last time he had been here, too. Except when Miss Churchill was in the room.

“Hello?”

No response.

“Anybody out there?”

Another jiggle of the handle, and a lonely echo came back from the other side, like a ghost trying to tap out a message in Morse Code.

“Hello? Anybody?”

Gabe leaned against the door a moment, frustration building, and when he pushed away, he slammed the heel of his foot into the metal surface. It made a hollow, reverberating sound. He kicked it again, again with the flat of his foot, again with no response from the other side.

After a while longer, he retreated back to his bed.

He sat there, brooding, and staring endlessly at the door.

Sooner or later it had to open.

[68]

“He keeps that up and next thing you know they’re gonna have to put a cast on his foot,” the man said lightheartedly. He was sitting in a small room, with a bank of video monitors across the wall in front of him. The lights were out. The screens cast a dull, gray mood into the room. Work shifts usually ran a maximum of four hours, anything longer and the cast of the screens had a tendency to wear heavily on the eyes. When the eyes got tired, the mind got tired, and that was when you missed things.

“They oughta cast his whole damn body,” his partner said, placing an eight of hearts on a nine of spades and turning up his next card. It was a king, and there was nowhere to play it, so he buried it in the middle of the deck and turned up the next card. This one was a little better. A seven of spades.

“How do they do that?”

“What?”

“Cast your whole body? I mean, what do you do if you have to take a leak?”

“Catheter,” his partner said, without looking up. He cleared a column and went searching through the deck for a king to drop there.

“Ugh!”

“You said it, man.”

On the monitors, the boy plopped back into bed, looking restless and unhappy. He was fully awake now, and unless they gave him something to help him sleep again, he was going to be pacing like a caged animal the rest of the day.

“I think we’re going to have to order up some nourishment for the little guy.”

“You better clear it first.”

Off to the left, the only door leading into the small room swung open and D.C. poked his head in. He was a man who liked to keep an eye on things, a coach who would much rather play the game himself if he were still as sharp as he had been when he was younger. Not to imply that he was old. That would be misleading. He was in his late thirties by appearances, his hair dark brown, his eyes intolerant, his face a mask that gave away nothing. Beneath the facade, he was a much older man, intelligent and no-nonsense, often cynical.

“How’s the kid doing?”

“He just woke up; looks a little restless.”

“Have one of the nurses bring something down for him to eat.”

“Sure thing.”

D.C. took a quick glance at the monitors, his face expressionless. When he wasn’t looking straight at you, you wanted to keep an eye on him, to watch for the dangerous undercurrent that always seemed to be on the verge of breaking out. He nodded, apparently satisfied with whatever he had seen, and started to pop back out of the room. Before the door closed, he stopped and added this: “Oh, and put the fucking cards away, will you?”

[69]

Michael’s paranoia had not receded much. In fact, as he gradually made his way down the street where he used to live when he and Teri and Gabe had still been a family, the paranoia began to rise in his throat again like the bile from a stubborn case of the flu.

The house came into view on the right, and he could see almost immediately that there were no lights on inside. Even if someone had been in the back bedroom, there would have been a soft glow detectable through the entryway window. Not this time, though.

He pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine and sat there a moment, debating if he should even bother getting out and knocking on the door. When he rolled down the window, the car filled with crisp night air. A chill snaked down his spine, and Michael opened the door and climbed out. He closed the door softly and made his way up the walk.

Teri had done a nice job of keeping things up. The lawn was beginning to look in need of a mowing, maybe, but that was the nature of a healthy lawn. In the corner, he noted how the junipers had overgrown the sedum, and in the shadowy night casts it appeared that Teri had replaced the ivy bed with white rock. Less maintenance, he supposed. It was strange being back.

On the porch, he cupped his hands and tried to peer into the entryway through the window next to the door. The other side was a jigsaw puzzle of light and shadow, indecipherable except for the fact that everything inside seemed still and quiet.

“Come on, Teri. Be home. Make this easy.”

That was still the hope, of course – that Teri would open the door and invite him in and sitting on the couch, he would find some ten-year-old neighborhood kid who had been drawn into Teri’s fantasy without even knowing it. Then Michael would send the poor kid on his way and help Teri to see how she had turned her pain into a happy ending, only it had all been in her mind. And then he would help her to get some counseling. And that would be that. It would be over. Gabe’s memory would be preserved, as it rightfully should, and that… would be… that.

Michael stepped back and gave the door a rap.

It wasn’t going to be that easy, he knew that.

Nothing ever was.

He knocked again, then turned and glanced across the street, where a dog had begun to bark somewhere in the distance. When he had parked in the driveway, the neighborhood had seemed almost preternaturally quiet, and because of that he had only absently noted the black Olds parked at the curb across the street. But now, with the streetlight at a different angle, Michael realized he was not alone. There were two silhouettes in the front seat of that car. Men, he thought at a glance.

The house was being watched.

He was being watched.

Michael turned back to the door and knocked a third time. Mostly for show this time, but also for the opportunity to take control of the sudden rush of adrenaline that was coursing through his body. Teri’s fantasy had not been a fantasy after all. In an instant, that realization came to nestle in his thoughts as if it had always been there, never questioned. He might have been able to rationalize Teri’s phone call, might even have been able to rationalize the van in Tennessee, but there was no rationalizing these two guys. Not here. Not at this time of night. Coincidence, overwhelming coincidence, was the nourishment of fools.

He didn’t bother to knock a fourth time. Instead, Michael found the needed strength to make his way back down the walk to his car. He rolled the new Taurus, the only car they had available at Budget, down the driveway and swung the rear end in the direction of the black Olds, stopping maybe six or seven feet short. Then he shifted out of reverse and into drive, and he watched in the rearview mirror as the Olds was gradually reduced to a mere dot in the distance.

As he rounded the corner, Michael became aware of the pounding in his chest. Maybe a little paranoia had its place.

[70]

It was nearly two full days before Teri was able to return to the here and now. She had slept most of that time, curled into a fetal position, tossing and turning and fighting with her dreams.

Walt drew the drapes in the bedroom to keep the daylight out, and he did his best to tiptoe around the apartment so he wouldn’t disturb her. The one time she emerged from the bedroom, hungry, he sat her down at the counter in the kitchen and made her a plate of bacon and eggs and toast. She wasn’t really hungry, though. She picked at the food with her fork, until she started to cry. Then Walt held her in his arms and tried his best to comfort her.

“I let him get away again,” she said, her eyes red and swollen.

Walt still didn’t have the whole picture, but he knew enough to know she had done everything she could have done. “It wasn’t your fault, Teri.”

“I should have known better. Why would the FBI be involved?”

“Hey, we’re taught to trust a badge.”

“But I’m not a little girl. I should have questioned them. I should have insisted they wait for you.”

“It’s over,” he said, doing his best to soothe her. He felt completely incompetent, a man trying to shine a bright light over the mouth of a deep, dark hole. What he didn’t understand until much later was that sometimes you have to let the hole completely engulf you before you can find your way out again. “It’s in the past. You can’t change that.”

Teri went over and over how she had let the boy slip out of her grasp and how much she hated herself for allowing that to happen. She would cry, then sniffle awhile, then talk awhile longer, then cry again. And Walt learned to listen without saying anything. That’s all she seemed to need. Just someone to listen.

She never did eat more than a forkful or two of her breakfast. It turned cold after awhile, and the eggs turned runny. Gradually, the conversation—what there had been of it—died out and it seemed there was nothing left to be said.

Teri stared emptily across the kitchen, her fingers working at the edges of her napkin. “I think I’ll go back to bed.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I can put some coffee on?”

She smiled numbly. “No. But thank you for listening.”

Walt returned her smile, a hesitant, awkward turn of the corner of his mouth, and he watched her climb out of her chair and shuffle back down the hall to the bedroom and close the door behind her.

That had been yesterday morning.

And now Teri was up again.

She came down the hall, still looking a little on the tired side. Two days of tossing and turning, of nightmares and sweats, had not been good to her. Her hair was a rat’s nest, twined and clumped and all out of sorts. Her eyes were still dull from sleep, though beneath them, the dark rings were gone now. She yawned, placing the back of her hand over her mouth, and leaned against the nearest wall.

“How are you feeling?” Walt asked.

“So-so.”

He nodded. “Hungry?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“What would you like?”

“Anything. It doesn’t matter.” Teri yawned again, and ran a hand through her hair, flattening it against her scalp. “What time is it?”

He had to check his watch. “A little after two.”

“Another day wasted, huh?”

“I wouldn’t call it wasted.” He got up and went into the kitchen. The breakfast dishes from yesterday were still in the sink, where he had simply forgotten about them. He turned the water on and let it run, waiting for it to make the long trip from the heater through the pipes. So many things hadn’t gotten done the past couple of days. In a way, he had been sleeping as much as she had.

Teri came up and stood in the kitchen doorway. “I’m ready now.”

He glanced at her.

“I’ve done my crying, and I’m done feeling sorry for myself. I want my son back.”

He smiled. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

[71]

“Where do we go from here?” Teri asked. She brought a cup of coffee to the table and sat across from Walt.

“After the bad guys, I guess.”

“And how do we do that?”

“First off, we have to figure out who the hell they are.”

She nodded. She was beginning to feel better now. After he had made lunch and she had showered and cleaned up, she had taken a few extra minutes to sit down and close her eyes, to try to gather up whatever strength she could find inside herself. Walt had been right about what had happened. It was in the past, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. The future, however, was still in the making, and that was something she wasn’t going to let herself forget.

“Have any guesses?” he asked.

“I don’t know who they are,” she said. She took a sip of coffee, which had been the last of a pot that Walt had made earlier. It was bitter and only lukewarm. “But they’re tied to Gabe somehow. They’re the ones who took him the first time; I know they are.”

“You have any ideas why they might be interested in him?”

“No, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Okay,” he said, looking away. He picked up the pencil he had brought with him to the table and tapped an absent meter against the yellow legal pad underneath. “What do you know about Dr. Childs?”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. There’s something about that man.”

Teri had known the doctor for twenty, maybe twenty-five years, ever since she had first met him at a community health clinic, where he volunteered his time on weekends. That had been long before he had started his own private practice, and long before Gabe had even been born. “I don’t know. I know he’s a good doctor.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why him? I mean, why not this Mitch guy? He’s the one who’s showing up everywhere.”

“Mitch is just a stooge. There’s someone else behind this.”

“I’ve known Childs a long time,” Teri said, feeling suddenly uneasy. She took another sip of coffee, trying not to let herself runaway with the idea that the doctor might actually be involved somehow. There weren’t but a handful of people you could trust in your life, and you desperately wanted to make sure one of those was your doctor. If you couldn’t trust your doctor…

“I don’t want to leave any avenues open,” Walt said.

“I know. And I understand that. It’s just that…” It was just that what? Suddenly it was hitting too close to home? In her mind, she had always imagined that the source of their trouble was someone or something out there, some external, faceless enemy that had picked them at random. This, though, wasn’t like that at all.

“He may not have anything to do with it at all,” Walt said. “But we’ve gotta make sure.”

She nodded, knowing he was right.

“So why don’t you tell me what you know about him.”

“Like what?”

“Like how you first met,” he said evenly. He appeared only mildly interested, but that wasn’t the case here at all. At least not in Teri’s eyes. Walt had done this before. He knew how to keep an even tone in the conversation, how to listen without spooking the person who was doing all the talking. It had all been part of his job at one time.

“It was the first time I ever thought I was pregnant,” she said. “Michael and I were going together, and I had missed my period. We were both in college then, and the chance that I might be pregnant… neither one of us was ready for that. We talked about it and talked about it, and it was like running into a mine field. You think you have everything under control and then suddenly there’s this out of nowhere explosion and all your dreams start disappearing out from under you. It was…”

She stopped and realized how long ago that had been and how fresh it still seemed in her mind. Some things become part of who you are whether you invite them in or not. “I ended up at a health clinic off campus.”

“And Childs worked there?”

“He volunteered there.”

“Doing abortions?” Walt asked matter-of-factly.

“No, of course not,” Teri said. “This before Roe versus Wade. Abortion was still illegal back then.”

“That didn’t prevent them from happening.”

“It wasn’t that kind of clinic.”

“Were you pregnant?”

She cast her eyes downward at her coffee cup and shook her head. “No. We had Gabe four years later, after both of us were out of school and Michael was working for Henry & Patterson.”

“You left the Bay Area and moved up here?”

“There was a group of us, a bunch of friends who always hung around together. After college we decided to stick together if we could. Back then, communal living was a pretty common thing. So we all kind of migrated up here.”

“And you lived together?”

“For awhile,” she said. She finished the rest of her coffee, and got up to return the cup to the kitchen sink. “Then some of us got married and moved into our own places, and others got jobs that took them out of the area, and some just lost interest and drifted away like lonely clouds in the sky.”

“How did you hook up with Childs again?”

“When I got pregnant with Gabe we started asking around about a good general practitioner. It was all part of that getting back to nature thing we were trying so hard to do at the time. I was planning on using a midwife for the birth, and after that I wanted to take my baby to a good family doctor, a Marcus Welby type, like they had back in the Fifties, someone who might actually make a house call once in awhile.” Teri finished washing out her coffee cup and placed it in the rack next to the sink. For a moment, she gazed out the kitchen window at the apartment across the way, letting the color of her thoughts melt into the creamy caramel color of the building. “Someone mentioned to me that Childs had set up a practice in the area. So three weeks after Gabe was born, I took him in to see him.”

“What was Childs doing up this way? Did he ever say?”

“I don’t remember exactly. Something about wanting to get away from the city.”

“Like everyone else, huh?”

“Yeah.” Teri broke away from the window and came back and sat down at the table. Her thoughts drifted through the last time she had spoken to Childs and what he had told her about Gabe’s aging. Then magically, they drifted to the night when she had put Gabe on the phone to talk to his father. It was the only time she could remember Gabe lighting up with a smile.

“I’ve gotta call Michael and tell him what’s happened,” she said suddenly.

Walt dropped the pencil and stretched. “Maybe he already knows.”

“No, we talked to him the other night on the phone. He didn’t know anything. I had to convince him it was really Gabe.”

“You called him?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Gabe wanted to talk to him.” And then something suddenly occurred to her, something she had nearly forgotten. She slumped back in her chair, and felt all the energy drain out of her as if it were one final breath before dying. “Oh, my God.”

“What? What is it?”

“I just remembered. That thing Childs mentioned, that Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome. Gabe’s aging process—it’s speeding up.”

[72]

For a time after that, nothing more was said. Nothing more needed to be said. The implication was like a dark secret suddenly exposed to the light of day. Out in the open, it was perhaps more manageable, but that didn’t make it any less monumental. Time had become of the essence now.

A sense of despondence quietly settled over Teri like a dark thunder cloud, and she nearly let herself sink back into the abyss of the last couple of days. That would have been easy for her. So easy. All she would have had to do was close her eyes, and let the sleep come. But instead she got up and stood at the living room window. She gazed out over the city lights, watching the traffic patterns glow, and thinking how huge the town had grown the past fifteen years.

Gabe was out there somewhere.

And he needed her.

When she came back to the table, Walt took out his pencil and they made a list of things they needed to get done, people they needed to talk to. The list went on for nearly three pages, one item, one line. And they agreed to get started on it the next morning.

It was a little after midnight when Teri finally went off to bed.

Tomorrow was going to be the day she started looking.

And she was going to keep looking until Gabe came home again.

[73]

Mitch watched the lights go off in the upstairs apartment. He opened his notebook, checked his watch, and made this entry: 12:27 A.M. TRAVIS APARTMENT. LIGHTS OFF.

It was getting cold out. The sky was clear and according to the weatherman the temperature was supposed to slip below forty tonight. He closed his notebook, stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat, and leaned against the corner of the building, deciding to wait awhile longer. A couple more minutes of enduring the cold and he could assure himself they had truly retired for the night. Always better to be on the safe side.

Mitch blew some heat into his cupped hands, then folded his arms across his chest, and watched a brown tabby emerge from the row of shrubs across the walkway. The cat let out a hungry meow and weaved back and forth between Mitch’s legs before he picked her up.

“What are you doing out in the cold, huh? Somebody lock you out?” He scratched behind her ear, absently enjoying the deep resonance of her purr, while he watched the apartment.

Two of a kind, we are, huh? Out late like this.

Except cats were known for their independence and now that Mitch thought about it, however briefly, he realized he had never been what you might call independent. Divorced. No children. Nothing had worked in his life until he had enlisted in the military in his early twenties. From that day until this, he had thrived on being told what to do next. As long as there was someone willing to hand down the orders, Mitch had his place in the world.

Maybe they weren’t two of a kind after all.

“Still, it’s too cold for man or beast,” he said, absently.

He went to return the cat to the ground and the sudden movement sent the tabby into a surprising frenzy. She let out a wail, scratched him across the back of the hand, and struggled to free herself from his grasp. Mitch let out a wail of his own, and wrapped his hand around the cat’s neck.

“Jesus, you little bastard! Jesus Christ Almighty! Why’d you go and do that!”

In one swift motion, he flung her across the walkway. She struck a six-by-six support beam, let out another screech, and fell to the ground, dazed. Mitch checked his hand. The scratch had drawn blood.

“Jesus.”

The tabby climbed drunkenly to her feet, shook her head, then wandered back into the maze of shrubbery.

“Jesus Christ, you little bastard!”

He sucked blood from the wound and spit it out, hating the coppery taste it left in his mouth. Enough. That was enough for one night. He took another drink of blood, spit it out, and started around the corner on slightly shaky legs.

The car was parked on the other side of the street, half a block down. As Mitch made his way along the sidewalk, images from the accident the other day floated back to him like lost, soulless ghosts. Though he had lost one of his men (something he had experienced only twice before, both occasions under hostile circumstances), it wasn’t the accident that had troubled him. It was knowing that it could have been prevented if he had done his job right in the first place. The first night – the night he had gone to the Knight house after the boy – that should have been the end of it. Right there, right then. There never should have been an accident. There never should have been a death.

He arrived at the car, climbed in, and sat there a moment.

The street was deserted. There had been a brief shower earlier in the day, and the sheen of standing water was a mirror to the street lights all the way down the block. A Mercedes passed by, its tires wading noisily through the puddles.

Night… the time of dark secrets and faceless people, Mitch thought remotely.

They had come upon Walter Travis as much by accident as anything, which—if a man were to be honest with himself—was the way most things happened in life. The world was not nearly as organized or purposeful as we liked to fool ourselves into believing. Chance, Mitch had long ago come to realize, played a bigger role than any of us cared to admit.

In this instance, someone apparently knew someone, who knew someone else, who knew someone in the local police department. And that someone was familiar with the Knight woman and her background. He was also apparently familiar with Walter Travis, an ex-cop. Mitch didn’t have the full story—as usual, the less he knew the better off he was—but apparently there had been some sort of past relationship between the two of them.

So someone had gambled on a tap, and the tap had paid off.

It had been as simple as that.

Mitch started up the car, looked over his shoulder, saw there was no traffic, and pulled out into the lane. It was nearly one in the morning now. He’d have to be back here again around seven or so, in case one of them happened to be an early riser. How long this was going to go on, he didn’t know, but he hoped it wouldn’t be much longer. This was not the kind of assignment that made him eager to get up in the morning.

He passed a thin man in his late fifties, uneven beard stubble, gray hair, ragged clothes that were a couple of sizes too large. The man walked as if he had no bones. His arms dangled lazily, his knees seemed to buckle with each and every step. Without looking up, he raised his right arm into the air and flipped Mitch the finger.

Night… the time of dark secrets and faceless people.

[74]

In what he thought was mid-morning—there was no clock in the room—Gabe busied himself with a hand-held video game. It was a poker game and it was one of a dozen or so games that had been brought in the day before. They had also brought in a color television set. It was somehow rigged to the Cartoon Network. There were only so many hours of cartoons a kid could watch.

The poker game beeped and a new hand was dealt: two fives, a king, a queen, and a seven. No chance for a flush or a straight. Gabe balanced the game on one leg while he pressed the necessary buttons to keep the two fives.

He was gradually growing used to the cast on his arm. There were three things, though, that the cast had made difficult. The first was eating, which was fine as long as he didn’t have to cut meat or open a milk carton. Last night, Miss Tilley—she was the woman who brought him his meals and had brought him the games—had to return with a second milk after he spilled the first one all over the bed. It hadn’t been much fun trying to use the bathroom, either. Mostly it was a matter of working out the logistics, though there had been some trial and error and a little embarrassment as well. And finally, it was like wearing a lifejacket to bed. The cast was always in the way, always taking up space. It was impossible to find a comfortable position.

Gabe hadn’t slept well last night. Not well at all.

Another beep from the game and three new cards were dealt: a five, an ace, and a ten. That left him with three fives, a decent enough hand. He pressed a gray-colored button, cleared the screen, and was about to draw a new hand when a knock came at the door.

He looked up.

The door swung open, and Miss Tilley stepped through, balancing a stainless steel meal tray in one hand. “Lunch time.”

“Already?”

“It’s been four hours since breakfast.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after twelve,” she said. She placed the tray on a bedside table, removed the cover from the plate, and a cloud of steam rose into the air. Lunch today was meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and corn. There was a wheat roll off to one side, and a carton of milk that she immediately opened for him. “Hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Well, you need to keep your strength up, Gabriel.”

“Why?”

Miss Tilley was not Miss Churchill. She was an older woman, heavyset, with bright blue eyes that were always averting his gaze. As uneasy with him, he believed, as he was with her. The truth was… he just didn’t like her very much. She had given no reason to like her. And there was something cold and disturbing about her.

“You sound like you think we’re fattening you up for the kill,” she said.

“Are you?”

“Don’t be silly.”

Gabe stared down at his lunch a moment, and used his fork to toy with the mashed potatoes. “When do I get to go home?”

“Not for awhile I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, but when?”

“It’s not up to me when you go home or when you eat your meals or when anything around here happens. I don’t make the decisions.”

“Yeah, but when do I get to go home,” Gabe whispered under his breath. He tried the meat loaf, which wasn’t as dry as the chicken had been last night. A little ketchup wouldn’t hurt. Neither would some salt.

He took another stab at the mashed potatoes and watched Tilley use her keys to unlock the top drawer of the medical cabinet just left of the door. She brought out a short rubber hose and a syringe, which she placed on a stainless steel tray. She carried the tray and its contents around the foot of the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to take some blood.”

“From me?”

“Yes. From you.” She placed the tray on a bedside table, and went about unlocking a nearby drawer and pulling out some cotton swabs and Band-Aids.

“I’d rather not, thank you.” Gabe could only recall a couple of occasions when someone had drawn blood from him. His earliest memory was of an incident in the third grade, when he had been drinking too much water according to his mother, and she had grown worried about something she called diabetes. His grandmother had apparently had it and his mother thought maybe he did, too. It turned out that he didn’t, which made it hard for him to understand why he’d had to go through all the trouble of having that huge needle stuck in his arm. More recently, Dr. Childs had drawn his blood. Gabe wasn’t going to go through that again. And he especially wasn’t going to go through it for Tilley.

“Don’t be obstinate, Gabriel.”

He pushed his lunch tray aside. “I don’t have diabetes.”

“This isn’t about diabetes.”

“Then what’s it about?”

She picked up the rubber hose, stretched it, and seemed to take delight at the sound of it snapping back to size again. “Give me your arm, Gabriel.”

He shook his head, then pressed his elbow against his side and locked it in place.

“Gabriel!”

“I don’t want to.”

“Listen, young man, I don’t have the patience for this kind of behavior. Do you understand me? If you want to make this difficult, we’ll make it difficult. But either way, we’re going to draw blood and we’re going to do it now.”

He shook his head.

“Give me your arm!” She reached out at him like an old witch reaching out at a child’s youth. Her thin, cold fingers wrapped around the inside of his elbow.

Gabe pulled his arm free and fell back against the bedside table. His lunch tray flipped. Corn niblets scattered across the floor like a thousand frightened insects scurrying for cover. The tray landed with a loud, reverberating clang, and by the time the sound had finally reached its conclusion, the expression on Tilley’s face had transformed into a hideous Halloween mask.

“Why you little monster!”

He hadn’t meant to knock the tray over. It had just happened. If she would just leave him alone…

She started around the foot of the bed, her face flushed with anger, one hand gripping the rubber hose as if she were trying to squeeze the very life out of it.

Gabe backed into the farthest corner. “Stay away!”

“Not until I get some blood out of you, young man.”

A chair was pushed into a nearby opening, effectively cutting off an avenue of escape. A cart was pushed into another opening, narrowing the room half again as much.

He grabbed at a plastic bottle sitting on the counter, caught it, and flung it in her direction. It struck her on the right forearm, bounced off, and fell to the floor with a hollow echoing sound that reminded him of just how lonely and empty this place had become. What he might have done next, he would never know. The only door in or out suddenly burst open and two men, dressed in street clothes, came rushing through, their faces a mix of amusement and threat.

“About time,” Tilley said, visibly relieved.

“He’s only eleven. We thought you could handle him.” The first man through went directly at Gabe. He swept him up around the waist and tossed him over his shoulder as if he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. “Where do you want him?”

“On the bed.”

They pinned him down to draw the blood, and by the time the job was finished, a black, ugly hatred began to smolder somewhere deep inside him. He watched Tilley gather up her things, her demeanor subdued, her actions officious again. She was back in charge now, her lips pursed in that prissy little manner of someone who knows she’s won.

“Maybe next time you’ll make it easier on yourself,” she said on her way out.

The door closed.

Except for the cartoon on television, the room fell quiet again.

Gabe fell back into his pillow, tears welling in his eyes. She had placed a cotton swab and a Band-Aid over the puncture wound to help stop the bleeding. He stared at it a moment, then tore it off and threw it at the overturned tray on the floor.

Never before in his life had he hated someone so much.

[75]

Now that they were both on the same team, they had to see if they could get on the same schedule. Last night had been a troubled night for Teri. She had slept so much the past couple of days that she found it difficult to close her eyes and return to that state of dreams and drifting. Instead, she had tossed and turned most of the night, and this morning she had been up and about by six.

Walt, on the other hand, had had no trouble at all falling asleep. He had snored on and off for several hours last night, the sound so penetrating Teri could hear it vibrate through the wall between the living room and the bedroom. And then this morning, he hadn’t even opened his eyes until a little after ten.

For awhile, they behaved as if they had been married for a good number of years. Teri busied herself in the kitchen, putting together a breakfast of pancakes, canned fruit, and coffee, all the while trying to suppress her mounting irritation. He should have been up earlier. There were only so many hours in a day, so many days in a week. How much of it was he going to waste?

When Walt finally emerged from taking a shower and getting dressed, he sat down at the kitchen table and poured himself a cup of coffee. “How you feeling this morning?”

“Antsy,” she said.

“Sorry. Guess the last couple of days finally caught up with me.”

The days had caught up with her, too, only a little sooner; and when it had been her turn, Walt had shown nothing but patience. Teri had to remind herself that he had been patient about a lot of things lately. Certainly more patient that she had any right to expect.

“How about some pancakes?” she asked.

“Sounds great.”

It was nearly noon by the time they left the apartment. Walt gave her a ride into town, where she stopped at Enterprise Auto Rental and got herself a ’93 Ford Taurus. It was a nice car, dark blue, though the interior had a funny smell she couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t the smell of a cigarette, she thought, but something more like that of a pipe. Though that wasn’t quite it, either.

Teri finished checking out the Taurus, and walked over to where Walt was waiting for her. “Everything looks fine.”

“Great,” he said, glancing across the street at a bus that had just pulled up to the curb. It sat there less than ten seconds, then pulled away again, leaving a cloud of black exhaust to linger in the air awhile longer. “Six o’clock, my place, right?”

“Sure,” she said, suddenly far away in her thoughts.

“What?”

“Nothing. Sorry.”

“You still upset about the Childs thing?”

“I wouldn’t call it upset exactly.” She had called Dr. Childs this morning, shortly after Walt had sat down to breakfast. She had called him because Walt had convinced her it was the only way they could get a quick read on the doctor. Instead, it had only served to muddy the waters. Childs had again urged her to consider placing Gabe in a medical facility as soon as possible, and he had seemed as concerned as ever, maybe even more concerned than the last time they had spoken. But as she was hanging up, he had said something that had struck her as odd and she hadn’t been able to put it out of her mind. He had said: “You call me, Teri. I know it’s been nice having him back, but he needs medical attention.”

How did he know?

How did Childs know that Gabe had been away? And why hadn’t he said anything earlier? He had never said so much as a word about Gabe being only eleven. Not a word.

“What would you call it then?” Walt asked.

“I just can’t imagine that he could be part of this.”

“Well, we don’t for sure that he is. Not yet.”

Teri nodded, still troubled. “You sure we should meet back at the apartment?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I just thought maybe that was how they knew we would be at the plaza. That maybe the phone was bugged.”

Walt grinned. “I thought about that, too. It’s not bugged, though. At least not anymore. I checked it out a couple of nights ago. Besides, these guys aren’t interested in us anymore. It was Gabe they wanted. Now that they’ve got him, I’d be amazed if they were willing to risk a tap. What would they have to gain?”

“As long as you’re sure.”

“I’ll tell you what, just in case, we’ll stay off the phone. How’s that?”

“You’re the boss,” she said.

“Good. Then don’t worry about it.”

“Six o’clock.”

“Six o’clock.”

She watched him disappear into traffic, then went back and sat in the Taurus a while, letting the old memories stir. This was going to be a trip into the past and she wasn’t sure if she was going to like it or not. You can remember fondly, she had heard somewhere. But you can’t go back. Of course, this wasn’t about nostalgia. It was about Gabe.

The first name on her list was Peggy Landau.

Teri remembered her as the quiet one. She was always hovering around the outer edges of the group, a little field mouse who worried about being accepted, but who was too shy to ever feel comfortable enough to become involved. She had been a thin, waif of a girl. Her dresses were all long flowing, flower prints that kept her hidden. When she smiled, it was a child’s smile, all innocence and sweet summer smells and soft breezes. Teri had never known her as well as she would have liked, and wasn’t that the way life always seemed to be?

Peggy was one of a handful from the old commune who still lived in the area. Her house was out in the country, south of the city limits, where it would be another twenty years before the urban sprawl caught up with her. Teri drove right past the house and had to turn around and come back. It was set back from the road, a country charmer with a front porch and white picket fence. Not much different from the kind of place they had all dreamed about when they were still in college.

She knocked, and stared out across the field on the other side of the street. Mount Lassen stood majestically in the distance, a white cap of snow against a blue background. At least someone had found her dreams.

The door opened only a crack, and a women with bright blue eyes stared out.

“Peggy?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know if you remember me or not. It’s Teri…” She had started to say, Teri Knight, but that hadn’t been her name back then. It had been Teri Cutler in those days, sometimes even Teri Cutler-Knight, though that had come only after Michael had first proposed to her. She finished, “Cutler. Teri Cutler.”

The crack in the door widened slightly, and a smile of recognition seemed to grow on the face of the woman on the other side. “You’re kidding? Teri? My God, how long has it been?”

“Too long,” Teri said. It had been some twenty-odd years since they had last seen each other. In fact, if she were called on it, she probably couldn’t even remember exactly when their last time together had been. After she had married Michael and they had moved into a place of their own, they had seen less and less of the others. Over the years, Teri had come to believe that was the nature of most relationships. They came and they went. Some remembered, some forgotten.

“Well, come on in. Don’t stand out there like a stranger.”

The front room was the parlor. Across from the picture window that looked out over the fields to Mount Lassen, stood a wicker sofa with bright, floral-print upholstery. There were huge potted plants on either side, standing nearly six feet high. Teri thought they might be paradise palms, but she wasn’t sure. She had never had much of an interest in plants and shrubs.

“Can I get you anything?” Peggy asked.

“Oh, no thank you.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“No, that’s all right.”

Peggy sat on a wicker chair at the other side of the Shaker-look coffee table, covered with old copies of Mother Earth News. Her bare feet, dirty and scarred, stuck out from beneath the hem of her dress. It was a granny dress, similar to what she had worn all those years ago. A patch quilt pattern, empire style, with the tie just beneath her breasts.

She smiled, appearing genuinely pleased by Teri’s presence. “This is so incredible. I saw Judy a couple of months ago, over at the Farmers Market. First her, and now you. Really incredible.”

“Judy’s still in the area?”

Peggy nodded. “She married a cop. Can you believe that?”

“No,” Teri said uneasily. Going back was a strange and uneasy odyssey, she decided. As ridiculous as it sounded, because they had all undoubtedly changed over the years, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking how much Peggy had changed. Not in her trappings, of course, because those hadn’t changed at all. But the wallflower was gone now. Her smile was genuine and easy, and seemed more open than Teri remembered.

“They’ve got a three-year old girl,” Peggy said. “And they just bought a new house in the Henderson subdivision.”

“That’s a nice area.”

“Yeah, they must be doing all right.”

“How about you?” Teri asked, trying to be tactful. “Are you doing all right?”

Peggy smiled. “Better than ever.”

“You live alone here?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. There wasn’t the vaguest hint of regret or sorrow in her voice, and it occurred to Teri that her friend had learned something about herself since their last get-together. Peggy was no longer on the outside looking in. She had quit coveting those around her, and she had learned to be happy with herself. It was a lesson Teri wasn’t sure that she, herself, had learned.

“It’s my own little corner of paradise,” Peggy added.

“It is beautiful here.”

“I like it.”

“Especially the view.”

Peggy nodded. “So… how about you? You and Michael still together?”

“Separated,” Teri said.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No need. It was the right thing at the time.” There was more to it than that, of course. But Teri wasn’t in the mood for stirring it all up again. Once the sediment started rising, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to keep her emotions under check and her thoughts clear. So she sidestepped the issue as best she could and left Michael there for some other time, maybe some other occasion that wasn’t quite as awkward. In his place, she asked Peggy about the house plants and the furniture and about what had been going on in her life all these years. They reminisced about the old times, about how naive they had all been, and how the world had turned out to be even scarier than anyone imagined, and how the good times seemed dimmer and more dreamlike than either of them cared to admit. There was still an aura, as Peggy put it, about those times, even though it had faded over the years. Some of the faces had faded, too, she admitted.

“Have you seen any of the others?” Teri asked.

“Not in years.”

“Me, neither. Funny how easily people drift apart, isn’t it?”

“The cycle of life,” Peggy said, philosophically.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

They had come full circle now, and Teri had enjoyed the journey more than she had ever imagined she would. But it was drawing down to the end, and it was time she got to the reason she had come here in the first place. “Do you remember Dr. Childs?”

“From the clinic?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure, I remember him.”

“You ever see anymore of him?”

“Not since college,” Peggy said. She shook her head, a sly smile working its way into her expression. “Now there was an odd duck if ever there was one.”

“Odd duck?” Teri said. She had never heard anyone refer to Childs as an odd duck before. In fact, she couldn’t recall having ever heard anyone speak ill of him at all. This was going to be interesting. “How so?”

“Oh, you know, him the good doctor and all.”

“I’m sorry. What am I missing?”

“Genesis?”

Times had been different back then. And they had been young. And what they had put in their bodies hadn’t mattered much as long as it swept them away for awhile and eventually brought them back again. Some, like Mark Bascom, didn’t even care if it brought them back. He died of a heroine overdose in ’71, and Teri had always thought that his death had been the death of the group. Things had never seemed quite as carefree or spontaneous after that.

Genesis, though… Teri had forgotten about that stuff. It was something they were into for about six months during her senior year. Like LSD, it came in a convenient little sugar cube and sent you out into new, uncharted territory every time you took it. She had tried it three, maybe four times altogether, and had quit after that because it always seemed to leave her with a headache that hung on longer than the trip itself.

“Yeah?” Teri said, still not making the connection.

“Where do you think it came from?”

“From you.”

“Where do you think I got it?”

“Childs?” Teri asked. It was almost too incredible to believe. They were talking about the man who had been her doctor for most of her adult life, the man who had given vaccinations to her son, who had set Michael’s arm after he broke it playing racquetball, who had done the biopsy on the lump under her left breast and had assured her repeatedly that it was benign. Sweet Jesus, what was she hearing?

“I went by the clinic every Friday afternoon,” Peggy said flatly. Her smile was gone now, and her bright blue eyes seemed as if they had faded a bit. She stared past Teri, out the window into the countryside. “He’d give me enough to pass around for a week or so, no charge. Said he’d rather have us using something he knew was safe than something off the street.”

“You never told anyone?”

“It was the only reason you guys let me hang around,” Peggy said. “If I would have told you, you would have gone to him yourselves. You wouldn’t have needed me then.”

It stung to hear that, though Teri knew it was true. They would have gone to Childs directly, and Peggy would have quietly faded into the woodwork, and no one would have missed her one way or the other. She would have become the remnant of a bad trip, a memory better forgotten.

Peggy said something about how lucky they were to have made it through those times alive, but Teri didn’t hear the words. She only heard the sound of Peggy’s voice. It was a sound that she knew she’d probably never hear again, even as she was leaving and they were both saying how nice it had been to see each other and wouldn’t it be nice to stay in touch from now on.

Teri thanked her again, and made her way down the walkway, through the white picket fence and out to her car. When she looked back, the front door had closed. Peggy had disappeared back inside, out of the sun and away from the past. It was a place that Teri thought she wouldn’t mind being herself. Sometimes, maybe most times, the past was best left in the past.

[76]

The Garden Restaurant, which was a quaint, family-owned place, sat on the south side of town, just off the river. The cobblestoned patio, beneath a canopy of vines and flowers, overlooked a huge bend where the Sacramento River lazily flowed past, almost without making a sound. Sunlight seeped through the canopy, casting a warm, amiable blanket over the area.

D.C. folded back the front page of the Chronicle Sporting Green, and folded the paper again to make it more manageable. The Warriors had lost. Nothing new there. That had become one of the few things he knew he could count on these days. Everything else seemed to be playing against the odds.

He took a sip of water, and glanced across the river at a small, private boat dock where high water had drawn a line half-a-dozen steps above the surface. It wasn’t unusual to find him here in the early afternoon, after the lunch crowd had thinned and the din of conversation had settled. Beyond the fact that Cecelia had been difficult this morning and he could hardly wait to get out of the house. The Garden provided one of his few respites when he was here in Northern California.

He had married Cecelia in 1972, when they had still been living in the Bay Area. She had been his first love, he supposed, though love was probably the wrong word. D.C. had never married for love. There were five wives in five different states, and he had never married any of them for love. Instead, he had married because it was part of the charade, another form of false identification, like a fake passport or a phony driver’s license. Only these were his assumed families.

D.C. looked up from the newspaper and watched a familiar face cross the patio in his direction. The man’s name was Jonathan Webster, and though D.C. had not been expecting him, he was not surprised to see him here. Washington had a way of keeping tabs on you even when you thought you had long been lost in the bureaucracy.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” D.C. asked, setting aside the newspaper.

The man pulled out a chair and sat across the table from him, his thoughts masked behind a pair of Eagle aviator sunglasses. “Just a friendly visit between associates.”

“Your visits are rarely friendly, Webster.”

The waiter arrived with lunch – a burger and fries, set in a bed of lettuce, parsley, and two dill pickle halves. D.C. rotated the plate, sat up, and reached for his napkin.

“May I get anything for you, sir?”

Webster shook his head and waved the man away. He had always been a man of few words. Tightly wound, with an undercurrent that rarely erupted, he had mellowed over the years, if one could believe that. In his mid-sixties, the years had been good to him. A little gray in the temple. Maybe four or five extra pounds, but no more. He had always been a presence, and the years hadn’t changed that.

“Not hungry?” D.C. asked.

“I caught a late breakfast.”

“Eating on the run, that’s not good for your system, you know.”

“I’ll try to squeeze in some fries and a burger a little later.” The man glanced across the river at the distant horizon, searching for something more than the local sights. D.C. had dealt with him on two previous occasions, both under similar circumstances – because someone in Washington had suddenly grown uneasy.

“I hear things are getting a little sticky,” Webster said.

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Doesn’t matter. I heard it.”

“Well, you heard wrong.”

“Did I?” Webster raised his eyebrows, knowing what they both knew – that he had heard things exactly the way they were, that things had become sticky. For awhile, maybe even dangerously sticky. “You’ve been with this one a long time, haven’t you?”

“Let’s not go down Memory Lane, all right, Web? What are you doing here?”

“You’re making people nervous. When people get nervous, they call me.”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s under control.”

Webster grinned, part amusement, part warning. “Look, I don’t want to quibble with you, my friend. I don’t have the energy or the interest. Six months from now, they’re going to throw a little dinner for me, tell me something stupid like how strange it’ll be at the office on Monday when I’m not there, and set me free. Me and the misses, we’re going to do a little traveling. Maybe Europe. Maybe the Caribbean. Wherever the muse sends us. The good life, you know? It’s long overdue, and I don’t want to jeopardize it. You understand me?”

“What are they nervous about?”

“What are they always nervous about? Exposure.”

D.C. took a bite of his hamburger, washed it down with some beer, then sat back in his chair and tried to look behind the sunglasses of the man sitting across from him. The operation, code named Karma, had been initiated in a joint effort between the Department of Defense and the Central Intelligence Agency during the late Sixties, early Seventies. Primarily a research project, things had grown considerably more complicated since then.

“The boy’s aging,” D.C. said bluntly.

“When did this start?”

“Just recently.”

“How fast?”

“We aren’t sure yet. Maybe ten or twenty times normal.”

Webster nodded, and looked past him, lost in a moment of consideration. “Not exactly what we had in mind is it?”

“Not exactly.”

“Maybe I better have a drink after all.” He ordered a beer and downed it in three or four tosses. It was the first time D.C. had seen the man take a drink and it left little doubt in his mind that alcohol was this man’s beverage of choice. He dropped the mug to the table with a loud knock, and looked across at D.C. “So… what now?”

D.C. stared back him a moment, then said, “Gee, I don’t know. You think we oughta flip a coin? Heads we tank the whole thing so some ass-wipe in Washington can sleep a little better? Tails we hang in a little longer and see what happens?”

“It’s not that cut and dry.”

“Never is.”

“I wish it were, but it’s really not.”

“Hey, that’s why you get the big bucks, Web. You understand all the nuances, all the ins-and-outs.” D.C. leaned forward, fighting the urge to grab the man by the lapels and shake him until his marbles finally fell into place. Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he grasp any of this? The boy was turning into an old man. “Look, all I need is—”

D.C.’s pager went off. It sent a vibration rippling across his side that very nearly brought him out of his seat. He would have thought he’d be used to it by now. He turned it off, checked the number, and pushed back his chair. “Got a call I better take.”

“Then by all means take it.”

“Give me a couple of minutes.”

“No rush. I’ve got all afternoon.”

On his way inside, he heard Webster call the waiter over and order another beer. Now, two beers for most drinking men didn’t amount to much, but he hated to think what it might set loose in this one. It was something to keep an eye on, D.C. silently told himself. Maybe even what a man might refer to as a tell.

He took a bit of delight in that knowledge as he went out to the phones and back again. And as he sat down he immediately noted that except for some suds at the bottom of the mug, Webster’s second beer was already history.

“Anything important?” Webster asked.

D.C. shook his head, and lied. The page had come from Mitch. He had called to say that the Knight woman hadn’t done much of anything the past day or two. She was still hanging around the ex-cop’s place. He had wanted to know if he needed to continue watching her. To which D.C. had answered with an emphatic yes. “Just a friend wondering if we could get together tonight for dinner.”

Webster nodded lazily. “If I call back to Washington and convince them to continue to support this Karma thing a while longer, I’m going to need some assurances from you.”

“Like what?”

“For one, that you’ll manage to keep a handle on this thing. The boy is back under our control, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And what about his mother?”

“She’s staying with a friend.”

“She hasn’t gone to the police?”

“No.”

“You keeping an eye on her?”

“Twenty-four hours a day.”

Absently, Webster spun the mug in one hand, stirring the suds at the bottom. “And how long until we have something concrete on this aging thing?”

“You know I can’t give you anything definite on that.”

“Well, what are we talking about? A couple of weeks? A couple of months?”

“Months,” D.C. said. He spooned some ice cubes out of his water glass, popped them into his mouth, and began to chew. “Maybe longer.”

“I can tell you one thing right now – you don’t have any longer than a couple of months. If I can’t offer up something concrete by then, they aren’t going to give a damn what you or I think about Karma’s potential. They’re going to shut it down and walk away and be grateful their backsides didn’t get singed. That’ll be the end of it. Right then and there. You got it?”

“Hard not to.”

[77]

Aaron was in a hurry. He came out of the building, both hands tucked into his pockets, and took the steps as if he were Gregory Hines in a Broadway musical. It was lunch hour, only he’d gotten himself caught up in a database search and now he had less than twenty-five minutes left.

“Aaron!”

He glanced over his shoulder, hoping it hadn’t been his name he had heard. But no such luck. Walt was crossing the commons, hurrying to catch up with him. Aaron tried to wave him off. “Hey, man, not now. I’ve only got half a lunch hour.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

“Are you gonna talk?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“Then try to keep it to a minimum, will you? This is supposed to be my down time. I just want to get a bite to eat and maybe pick up a newspaper.”

“Things that bad in the dungeon?”

“Hey, to you, it’s Criminal Identification.”

Walt grinned. They crossed the street at the light, cut around an elderly woman who was walking hand-in-hand with a little girl of maybe five or six, and followed the sidewalk up Reed Street. They were heading to the French Deli, another two blocks up. It was always Aaron’s first choice when he was pressed for time.

“So?” Walt said.

“So what?”

“So you come up with anything yet?”

“Your guy’s name is Mitchell Wolfe. He’s a freelancer, mostly for the CIA. I don’t know where he came from. I don’t know what kind of background he’s got. But I’ll bet you a pastrami sandwich that he’s got himself a horde of phony I.D.’s, including a couple of passports under different names. You’re tangling with a pro, Walt. You damn well better be careful.”

“What the hell’s he doing out here?”

“That’s your job, man. I’ve done mine.”

They crossed with another light. On the other side of the street, set back into the corner of the Bank of America Building, was a small newspaper stand run by an elderly man by the name of Ronnie Tortelli. He had lost a leg in the Second World War and had only recently managed to finagle a new artificial limb out of the V.A. He swept a local newspaper off the top of the stack and held it out to Aaron.

“Running late today,” Tortelli said.

Aaron took the paper and slipped him a dollar bill. The daily was fifty cents, but Aaron had been paying Ronnie a dollar a paper for as long as he could remember. There weren’t too many good, honest people left in this world. Tortelli was one of them.

“How’s the new leg?” Aaron asked.

Tortelli knocked on it twice. “Still holding me up.”

“Catch you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here. Same time, same station.”

Aaron glanced at the headlines, which seemed to cover everything from the President’s decision to reopen migration talks with Cuba to the county’s reluctant admission that its 1.2 billion dollar computer acquisition of three years ago had been a huge mistake. He folded the newspaper in half and slapped it against his thigh as he was walking. “I don’t know why the hell I read this crap. It’s always the same stuff.”

Walt wasn’t interested. “Look, have you got an address on this guy?”

“I told you; he’s a freelancer. I’d stay away from him if I were you.”

“How about a city or a state?”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, man.”

“Come on, Aaron. You gotta have something you can give me. We’re talking about a little boy who’s been kidnapped. How about a photograph?”

“I’ll put it in the mail for you.”

“Great. What else?”

“You could try calling up the CIA and asking why they’ve got one of their men running around out here in the middle of Smalltown, America.”

“Yeah, and we both know what they’d say, don’t we?”

“Yeah. They’d tell you that they’ve never heard of Mitchell Wolfe.”

“So why waste the time?”

“It was just a suggestion.”

The two men weaved their way through a sudden crowd of pedestrians moving in the opposite direction, and when they came out on the other side, they had to backtrack past a jewelry store and a five and dime to get to the deli. This week’s special, painted in bright red letters across the front picture windows, read: Italian Meatball Sandwich, Only $2.95.

“Here’s where I get off,” Aaron said.

“Why don’t we make it my treat?”

“I’m not sure if I feel comfortable taking money from a dead man.”

“Hey, I’m not dead yet.”

“No, not yet,” Aaron said. He held the door open and Walt passed through. “But you’re gonna be if you keep after this Mitchell character.”

[78]

Teri drove across town on automatic, her mind a thousand miles and twenty-years in tow. She would have preferred to have put those years aside, out of mind, for now. Especially the sound of Peggy’s voice recalling how she had always been made to feel like an outsider. But the voice haunted her as she turned onto Highway 44 and made her way back into town.

By the time she had reached the McDonald’s on Cypress, the voice had softened a bit, though she knew it would be a long time before she would be able to reconcile the woman she was today with the woman she had been twenty years ago. It would be even longer, she supposed, before she would be able to reconcile Childs. Walt had been right. All those years, and she had never really known Childs at all.

On any other day, she would have bought a salad and milk, but she ordered absently and when she sat down at the table, she realized she had a fish fillet, fries, and a soft drink on her tray. Teri ate them without thought, wondering instead about Childs… who he was, what part he might have played in Gabe’s disappearance, how this was all supposed to tie together and make some sort of sense. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t seem to make any sense of it at all.

After lunch, she gave thought to calling Walt, realized she had no way of reaching him, and decided instead to visit the next name on her list. She pulled out of the parking lot, onto Cypress and turned right.

Across the street, one block back and unnoticed, Mitch turned the key in the ignition, checked over his left shoulder for traffic, then pulled onto Cypress to follow her.

Not far behind him, and equally unnoticed, Richard Boyle started up his own car.

[79]

Michael got up, crossed the room, and turned the volume down on the television set. The television was on in the background. It was tuned to a daytime soap opera called The Days of Our Lives, but there was a Vagisil commercial on now. Since he was between calls anyway, it was as good a time as any to check the parking lot again.

He pulled back the corner of the curtains and peered across the motel lot at the dark blue Ford parked next to the dumpster. It had been parked there for the past day-and-a-half, since shortly after he had checked into the motel, and with each passing hour, Michael was feeling more and more like a caged animal.

The curtains dropped back into place.

Michael went back to the bed, sat down, and took up the pad of paper and pen he had been using. Late last night, while watching Letterman mug his way through a Top Ten List, it had occurred to him that maybe the best thing to do at this point in time was to make a list of his own. He had started with all the people who had been their friends or acquaintances at the time that Gabe had disappeared.

It turned out to be a longer list than he had ever imagined, and he was embarrassed to find that while his mind was able to bring forth an extended line-up of faces, it hadn’t done nearly as well with the names that went with them. Even so, the list had eventually filled out two pages.

This morning, he had begun looking them up in the telephone book, one by one, putting aside those names without a listing, calling those who were still living in the area, scratching off those whose numbers had been disconnected.

He had quickly learned two things. Ten years was a long time. People he had once considered close friends were strangers now. While he had been away, their lives had marched merrily onward through divorce and re-marriage, through step-children and graduations, through promotions and layoffs. The world did not stand still. Not for a moment. Not for anyone.

And he had learned something else. He had learned that almost all of Teri’s old friends had eventually drifted away. Not for any specific reason, or at least not a reason they could find it in themselves to express. But, as he heard time and time again, just because “life goes on.”

Those were the same words he had expressed to Teri the night before he had left. “Life goes on, Teri. We’ve both got to face the fact that Gabe’s not coming back. It’s going to eat us alive if we don’t accept it.”

Michael heard these words echo in his mind, and looked down at the list of names on the pad of paper in his lap. He circled the next name to call, then picked up the phone and dialed the number.

[80]

Her name was Cynthia Breswick, though back in the old days everyone had called her Cindy (and sometimes Flower). Her maiden name was Kutras. She had come to Berkeley from somewhere in Southern California, on family money that had always seemed easily accessible in those days. She was intelligent and happy and easygoing, and she had liked to make bracelets and necklaces and sell them on the streets. In her last year at Berkeley—she had dropped out at the end of her junior year and moved north with the group—she made a perfect 4.0, then burned her grade slips and sent the ashes to her parents. Cindy did not get along with mommy and daddy. They were successful professionals, who lived and breathed their work, and Cindy was an only child, who had spent most of her childhood fending for herself. It had made her a strong woman, but it had also left a hole somewhere inside her. She had always been in search of the perfect family. No one had ever told her that there was no such thing.

What Teri remembered most about Cindy was the stark contrast. Intellectually, she was an independent free-thinker, someone who could hold her own with a professor in a debate on situational ethics. Yet emotionally, she was a little girl, always in search of someone to take care of her. For the most part, she had been able to keep the two in balance and properly separated, but every once in awhile, she would let herself get swept away by a professor who seemed to fulfill both of those needs at once. Those had always been the dangerous times, the times when Cindy had been a little girl lost.

Teri knocked on the front door and stood back. The house was a beautiful Italian-style villa, built in the 1920’s. The front courtyard was cobblestone, with a small lawn surrounded by a knee-high hedge and several flower gardens. Standing in the doorway, the house seemed enormous, and Teri marveled at how dramatically Cindy’s life had changed since their days together at the commune.

The Palladian doors opened, and Cindy stood there, not at all the person Teri had expected to find. She was wearing a peignoir set, with a negligee underneath and a long silk robe hanging freely from her shoulders. Her hair, which had been honey-brown in the old days, was champagne blond now, cut short and permed. In her free hand, she was holding a wine glass, half-full.

“Yes?” she said.

“Cindy?”

There was a moment when her expression was an empty slate, left completely in the dark. Behind those eyes, though, she must have been searching her memory. It had been a long, long time after all, and Teri had changed, too. More, in fact, than she would ever want to admit. “Teri? Teri Cutler? Is that really you?”

“Hi, Cindy.”

“Oh, my God.” Cindy stepped through the door and gave her a warm hug. There was the smell of wine on her breath. It mingled in sharp contrast with the scent of a perfume that Teri didn’t recognize, and she wondered briefly if the contrast in fragrances was anything like the contrasts that had played prominent in Cindy’s past. “Well, come in, come in.”

She showed Teri past the dining room, which was off to the left, and into the living room. It was huge and airy and full of light. There was a piano in one corner, an incredible marble fireplace in another. Cindy motioned to her to sit in the nearest easy chair, which was done in a warm, white velvet.

“I was just thinking about you the other day,” Cindy said.

“Really?”

“Strange, isn’t it?” She sat on the sofa, which was covered in damask, crossed her legs and stared across the open space between them. It was almost as if she were trying to see inside Teri, to see if she was the same person she had been all those years ago. But that wasn’t what she was doing, and Teri knew it. She was sizing her up, that’s what she was doing.

She took a dramatic swallow of her wine and pinched her face in a smile that required an effort. “So what brings you around after all these years?”

“It has been a lot of years, hasn’t it?”

“Definitely.”

“Almost a lifetime ago,” Teri said flatly. She didn’t think she liked this woman sitting across from her. Cindy Kutras, she had liked, even when she had been a fragile little girl following a new professor around like a lost puppy. But Cynthia Breswick, there was no lost little girl in her. The alcohol, Teri suspected, had drowned that little girl a long, long time ago. What was left was…

“I know what you’re wondering,” Cindy said.

“Oh?”

“You’re wondering what happened to me.”

That thought had, in fact, crossed Teri’s mind. She thought she knew a little bit already, and she thought it went something like this: Cindy had found herself a man who liked to treat her more like a daughter than a wife. He liked to think for her and to take care of things for her and even spoil her. And in her mind, Cindy liked to think of him, not as her husband, but as her daddy, the one she had always been looking to find. And for a good many years this arrangement had worked well for both of them. But eventually things had changed, and now Cynthia wasn’t sure who she was or how she had managed to end up like this.

Hence, the booze, Teri thought.

“Well, it’s not what you think.”

“No?”

“Well, maybe some of it is.” Cindy grinned and took another dramatic swallow from her glass. It was empty now. She held it up against the daylight shining through the windows and gazed at it as if she couldn’t believe there was no wine left. Then she climbed off the sofa and moved across the room to the bar.

“But not all of it,” she added, pouring herself another glass.

“What happened, Cindy?”

She chuckled, and made her way back to the sofa, where she plopped down and immediately returned to her glass. “Cynthia. It’s Cynthia these days. And I don’t know what the hell happened. That’s what makes life so interesting, isn’t it? No matter how smart you think you are, you never really know why anything happens. It’s all a game of guessing.”

She fell silent a moment, staring into the marble fireplace as if it might hold some magic answers for her. But apparently there were no answers, and when she looked up again, she raised her glass and took another drink. “I’m sorry, I should have asked. Would you care for something?”

“No, thank you.”

“You’re so quiet. I don’t remember you that way.”

“That was a long time ago,” Teri said.

“Oh, yes. People do change, don’t they? Nothing stays the same for long.” Her gaze went wandering back to the fireplace again, like a moth that can’t stay away from the flame. This flame was made of old memories and bad dreams, Teri thought. And sometimes it could be dangerous. And sometimes you still couldn’t keep yourself from wandering back. It was just too mesmerizing.

“I lost my son,” Cindy said quietly. “It happened a long time ago, and I suppose I should have learned to live with it by now, but I haven’t. I’m not sure I ever will.”

You won’t.

Because it won’t let you.

“I’m sorry,” Teri said. “I know how you must feel.”

A muted smile rose and fell across her face, and she shook her head. “No, you don’t. You might think you do, but trust me, you don’t have the slightest idea.”

“I lost my son, too,” Teri said evenly.

Cindy looked up. For the first time, her eyes seemed to clear a bit. She looked as if she were peeking out from behind a veil of hidden secrets, as if she had suddenly found a reason to come out into the sun and let herself be seen. And she also looked shocked. “Cody was seven.”

“Gabe was eleven.”

“He went out to play one afternoon, in the front here. We didn’t like him playing in the garden or on the lawn, so he used to go across the street and play at his friend’s house. He…” She swallowed back the rest of the sentence, as if it were bad tasting medicine. The wine glass in her hand looked heavy now. She placed it on the glass end table next to the couch, and tried again to finish the sentence, this time in a near whisper. “He never came home.”

“When was this?” Teri asked.

“March of ’85.”

“Oh, my God,” Teri said softly. She put a trembling hand to her mouth. Gabe had disappeared that same month, that same year. Perhaps it meant nothing at all, but if that were true, then this had to be the coincidence to end all coincidences.

“What?” Cindy asked. “What is it?”

“That’s when Gabe disappeared. March 27th, 1985.”

The color, what little there had been, drained out of Cindy’s face, and she reached for her glass of wine again. She took a sip this time, only a sip, but her hand was shaky and she was a long time getting the sip down. When she was done, she lowered the glass to her lap and held it in both hands, as if she feared she might spill what remained if she weren’t careful.

“That’s not an accident,” she said softly.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Why us? Why our children?”

“I don’t know,” Teri said.

A mild state of shock hung over her friend a moment or two longer, then her eyes seemed to clear a bit and the color gradually came back to her face. She took a deep breath. “Is that why you’re here?”

Teri shook her head. “I’m sorry, Cindy. I didn’t know you even had a son.”

“Someone should have noticed,” she said numbly. “I mean one of the detectives or someone. They should have seen the pattern. They should have checked it out. And someone should have told us.”

She was right, of course. Teri wondered briefly why Walt or someone else in the department hadn’t said anything to her. Two disappearances in the same month. Two little boys. Someone should have noticed. Someone, Teri thought, hadn’t been doing his job.

“Did you give up looking?”

Teri nodded, ashamed to admit it.

“Me, too,” Cindy said. “About three years ago. I woke up one morning and realized I just couldn’t go on living like that. It never stopped. I was always checking faces, hoping and praying that I’d find him riding his bike on the sidewalk or playing catch at the park. He was always the next face, the next phone call. I just couldn’t handle it anymore.”

A deep breath filled her lungs, slowly escaped again, and it was as if she had just emptied herself of a lifetime of shame. She put aside the wine glass, and smiled weakly. “I’m glad you came by.”

“I’m glad I did, too.”

For a moment, it seemed there was nothing left to talk about. It was strangely out of place to think of bringing up the old days now. They had died a death of their own, Teri supposed. Long before either of the boys had disappeared.

“I’m not going to drop it,” Teri said finally.

“You know they’re dead, though. After all these years.”

She nodded slightly, hating herself because she knew Gabe wasn’t dead and she didn’t like playing the charade. At the same time, though, she didn’t want to risk getting Cindy’s hopes up, either. There was no way of knowing for sure if Cody was alive or not. It had been ten years now. Gabe had come home, Cody hadn’t. The thought of anyone having to go through the pain of losing her child twice was more than Teri could stomach. She didn’t want to be responsible for that kind of pain. She didn’t want to fuel the flames only to have to smother them again later.

“I’d still like to know,” Teri said.

“I guess I would, too.”

[81]

After awhile, the conversation drifted into private thoughts, and Teri finally made an effort to excuse herself. She was late for a meeting, she said, and even though it had been great seeing Cindy again, she had better get moving.

Cindy walked her to the door. “Like I said, I’m glad you came by.”

“Maybe we can have lunch sometime?”

“That would be nice. I’d like that.”

There was one more thing Teri needed to ask. The answer was already a given, she assumed, but she wanted to make certain anyway. “Oh, before I go, I was wondering something.”

“What’s that?”

“I was wondering if Dr. Childs happened to be your doctor?”

“Yes,” Cindy said. “Why?”

“Oh, I just found out he had a practice up here, and I was thinking about switching, that’s all.” Teri stepped outside, onto the porch and appreciated the warmth of the sun slanting in against her back. “Was he Cody’s doctor, too?”

“Yes. Since birth.”

[82]

There was only one person aware of the procession, and he was at the very back, driving a Mercury and chewing on a toothpick. He pulled into traffic, the fourth of four cars, finding the idea of this being a scene out of It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World amusing enough to bring a smile to his face. This car following that one, that car following the one in front and finally, here he was at the very back, following them all. Definitely amusing.

There was one vehicle with which he was unfamiliar – the car directly in front of him. It had California plates, and he had already put in a trace. The information would be coming back shortly, and that would probably be enough to place the guy in some sort of context. In the meantime, he supposed it was most likely Michael Knight, the woman’s husband. Word was out that the guy was back in town again.

In the middle of the procession, of course, was Mitchell Wolfe. Now there was a pathetic excuse for a man. Divorced. No kids. Never kept a non-military job in his life. Basically a screw-up. The kind of guy who needs to be told how to take a piss or he’ll never unzip his pants. Dangerous, though. He was one of those thrill-seeking types who enjoyed finding himself in a pot full of boiling danger. Thrived on it, in fact.

And then at the very front, little miss Knight herself.

What a fucking line-up, the man thought.

He thought back to It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World again, at the very beginning when Jimmy Durante takes in his last breath, dies, then literally kicks the bucket (which goes bouncing off one rock after another all the way down the canyon wall). What a scream!

What a scream, indeed.

[83]

The car windows were rolled down a couple of inches on both the driver’s side and the passenger’s side. There was a cool, gentle breeze drifting through, and still it felt stuffy, almost muggy inside. Walt rolled his window down further and tried to settle into a new position that wasn’t so uncomfortable. He leaned back against the door and stretched his legs across the front seat. It felt good to move his muscles.

The car was parked on a side street, adjacent to the small parking lot at the back of the good doctor’s clinic. Walt had called earlier on the pretext of bringing in his son, who, he said, had fallen out of a tree in the backyard and may have broken his arm. Yes, Dr. Childs was in. Yes, they could probably squeeze the boy in for x-rays sometime after three. But if it appeared at all serious, he should consider taking his son to the emergency room at Glenn General.

Nearly three hours had dragged by since then.

It was getting late.

Walt flipped on the radio, listened to fifteen or twenty seconds of the local news, then flipped it off again. The thing that had been bothering him since his meeting with Aaron was this: why? If this Mitchell character was freelancing for the CIA, then why was he interested in Gabe? How on earth could an eleven-year-old kid do anything that would matter to the CIA? And if Mitchell wasn’t working with the CIA, then who in the hell was he working for?

Across the street, the back door of the clinic opened.

Walt sat up.

Two women stepped out into the dim halogen light over the parking lot. Childs followed close behind. He locked the door, and the three of them chatted casually on their way out to their cars. The women were apparently pooling, because the one dressed in a white nurse’s uniform climbed into the driver’s side, and her companion climbed in and sat across from her. Childs started up his own car, the engine sounding sticky, and began to back out. As the others drove off, he stuck his arm out the window and waved good night to them.

At the street, before finally turning west, he seemed to debate which direction he wanted to take. It was a couple of minutes before six. Twilight had begun to lower its dark blanket over the landscape. Childs moved out of the parking lot apparently in no particular hurry.

“And we’re off,” Walt said to himself.

He started up the car, pulled out into the street, and followed along a block or so behind. Not only was Childs in no particular hurry, he seemed to go out of his way to take a number of back streets. He stayed just above the speed limit, backing off only once when a patrol car passed going the other direction.

What a wuss, Walt thought.

There was a short stop at the Holiday Market, and Childs came out pushing a cart with two bags of groceries. By the time the doctor finally arrived home, it was a quarter past six.

Walt parked across the street. He took down the license plate number of the doctor’s Buick, and made a note of the street address. It was getting late now. He had promised to meet Teri at the apartment at six. Although that was already a lost cause, he didn’t want to make it any worse. The last time he had been late to meet her… well, that had turned into something of a disaster, hadn’t it?

“Home again, home again,” he said out loud, haplessly.

He hoped Teri had had better luck than him.

[84]

Forty-five minutes later, after a Swanson Hungry Man dinner of chicken, corn and mashed potatoes, Childs emerged from his house, carrying his briefcase. Twilight had surrendered to the wholeness of night. The stars were out in full force, unspoiled by the usual haze hovering over the cityscape. A sliver of moon shone above the distant mountains like an afterthought to a perfect sky.

He stopped at the corner of the garage and gazed up to the heavens, amazed at how beautiful and infinite the night could be. Sometimes it was frightening to think how small and insignificant we human beings really were. For a moment, he wondered if we had any real control over our lives at all, or if we were simply puppets acting out a scripted tale of life and death.

Not without a fight, he thought.

He threw the briefcase in the back seat of the Buick, backed out of the driveway, and thirty minutes later, only a few miles away, he pulled into the parking lot of the Devol Research Institute.

[85]

Lunch hadn’t settled well with Mitch. He had pulled into a small Mexican drive-through and ordered himself a couple of tacos and a burrito, and they had gone down just fine. But as the day had worn on, they had begun to come back at him.

He went out to the car and rummaged through the glove compartment until he came up with an old box of Mylanta II Chewables buried under a map. The doctor had recommended them after a long bout with stomach acid. Mitch had gone in worried that he was having some sort of gallbladder problem, but much to his relief it had only been a bad case of gastritis.

He closed the glove compartment, sat back in the seat, and popped two of the tablets into his mouth. They were dry and powdery, and left a funny taste that wasn’t much different from the taste this day had left. It had not been a good day.

Around noon, Travis had driven the Knight woman down to a small car rental place off Cypress. They had parted company shortly thereafter, and Mitch had stayed with the woman throughout the entire day. She had not seemed like the cornered, dangerous mother D.C. had painted her to be. Instead, she had done something Mitch’s grandmother used to do: she had gone visiting. When Mitch had been growing up, his grandmother had often taken him visiting. She would take him to see how the Matthews were doing, and maybe take some fresh baked bread over to Molly Jenkins, or drop off some quilting material at Miss Winter’s, who had never married. It was one place of visiting after another, morning till night. As that little boy, Mitch had been just as bored tagging along with his grandmother as he had been bored tagging along with the Knight woman today.

The two tablets finally disintegrated.

Mitch locked the car up, and headed toward the laundry room where there was a Coke machine in the corner next to the utility closet. In two days, he had learned his way around this apartment complex far better than he had ever intended. It was quiet here, not much coming and going. Most of the renters were middle-class working stiffs, who put in their eight hours then came home and plopped down in front of the television set.

The Coke machine was out of Cokes, so he got himself a Sprite instead. He guzzled down half of it in a single tug, washing away the chalky film that coated his mouth from the Mylanta tablets. A huge belch came up from the depths, and instantly his stomach began to feel better.

Outside the laundry room, he paused long enough to finish the Sprite then toss the can into a nearby flower box. The Travis apartment was upstairs, across the commons. Mitch made his way around the outer edges, silently hoping Travis and his guest would retire early tonight so he could get back to the motel before Letterman. Across the way, a woman yelled to her husband that dinner was on. The husband yelled back that he was in the bathroom and he’d be out when he was done doing his business.

Then surprisingly, out of nowhere it seemed, Walter Travis came strolling around the corner.

“Evening,” Mitch said.

“Evening.”

The two men passed, Travis barely glancing up from his thoughts. Mitch turned and watched him climb the stairs. It had never occurred to him before, but suddenly he found himself wondering about the man’s relationship with the Knight woman.

Boyfriend, he decided. Has to be a boyfriend.

Mitch stopped at the corner, leaned against the wall and stared up at the apartment window. The lights were on in both the kitchen and the living room. Like it or not, he had the feeling that tonight was going to be another long one. He took out his notebook, marked down the time, and noted that W. Travis had just arrived home.

[86]

By the time Walt arrived at the apartment it was thirty-five minutes after six and he was feeling appropriately guilty about being late yet a second time. He closed the door behind him, and immediately saw Teri sitting on the couch in the living room. The sight brought him a quick exhale of relief. At least she was home, alive and well.

“Sorry I’m late.”

She looked up. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face streaked. She sniffled, touched a handkerchief to her nose, and tried on a smile that was part embarrassment, part surrender.

“What’s the matter? What happened?” Walt sat next to her on the couch, and she melted into his arms, her body an emotional wafer in danger of crumbling. He held her and did his best to comfort her, feeling all the while hopelessly inadequate.

“I’m sorry,” she said eventually, wiping her eyes with the crumpled tissue.

“No need,” he said. “So what happened?”

A sad smile passed across her lips, then quickly disappeared again. “He wasn’t the only one, Walt. Gabe wasn’t the only one.”

“The only one?”

“There was another boy. I went to see some of my old friends today, like we talked about.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And one of them, Cindy Breswick, she had a son by the name of Cody, who was a little younger than Gabe. This was the first I’d ever heard about it. I didn’t even know Cindy had a little boy. And then today she told me that she had lost him. He had just disappeared one day.” Teri’s eyes began to fill with tears again. “And… and I asked her about it… and she told me how he’d just gone across the street to play… and… and he had never come home again. Just like Gabe.”

“When was this?” Walt asked.

“That’s the scary part. Both boys… they both turned up missing in the same month. March of ’85. The same month. Both of them.”

“Cody Breswick,” he said, remembering.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

“I’d almost forgotten,” he said honestly. “But, yes, we knew.”

“Why didn’t you do anything?”

“We did the best we could at the time, Teri. Believe me, no one took it lightly. We had a huge debate in the department about whether or not there was any kind of a link between the two cases. It was just that most of us—and I admit, I was one of them—felt there just wasn’t enough evidence to make that connection.”

“Didn’t anyone think it was a little unusual? Two boys in the same month?”

“Of course we did. That’s why we had the debate.”

She shook her head in disbelief. She had stopped crying now, and he could see that she had managed to replace her tears with something a little closer to anger. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though he would have found it a little more palatable if the anger weren’t directed at him.

“We might have solved this thing years ago, do you realize that? I mean, who knows how many other children might have been saved?”

It was a good point, one that Walt tried not to think too long about. There were some things in life you simply couldn’t change. It didn’t matter how much you wished you could, once the card had been turned it was yours. This card had been a particularly painful one. They had missed an important link, and it might very well have cost some children their lives.

“Jesus, Walt, I trusted you!”

“We just didn’t know,” he said quietly. His throat tightened, and when he swallowed it was as if he were swallowing a lump of burning coal. “There were two others after Gabe and Cody.”

“What?”

“A couple of weeks later. The same thing. They went out to play and never came home again.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“The department soft-pedaled it. They were afraid things would get out of hand, that people would panic and vigilante groups would start popping up everywhere. Some innocent people were going to get killed if that happened. And no one wanted that. So the department kept the wraps on the second two disappearances.”

“They didn’t do any investigating at all?”

“Of course they did. They just kept it quiet. They put together a task force of – I can’t remember exactly, but I think there were eleven, maybe twelve detectives. And there was nothing to go on, Teri. These guys worked around the clock for the next six months, and they couldn’t come up with anything. Not a license plate number. Not a witness. Nothing.”

“And no connection between the boys?”

“No,” Walt said regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “So am I.”

They both fell silent for a time after that. Teri stared vacantly out the window, across the city lights, into the darkness beyond. She had stopped crying, and Walt didn’t think she was still angry with him. But she was mournful—they were both mournful—and that wasn’t going to go away for a good long time.

[87]

He came crawling up out of the depths like a salamander out from beneath a rock. His eyes fluttered open, caught a faint glimmer of light, and shut again. In that glimpse, he realized he didn’t know this place, and he didn’t know what he was doing here.

A sound came up from his throat, raw and dry.

He rolled onto his side.

A deep, spiraling soreness dug into the muscles of his legs, feeling—oddly enough—both good and bad at the same time. It made him momentarily aware of its presence, like a knock at the door, and then the soreness gradually evaporated as if it were a visitor who couldn’t stay.

Somewhere far away, a rhythm tried to draw him even further out of his sleep. He listened to it, briefly, wondering what it was that made a sound like that. Then bit by bit it slipped away from him and he found himself drifting back into the silence that had already kept him for so long.

It was safer here, more comfortable.

No bright lights.

No loud noises.

Just peacefulness.

Quiet.

Comforting.

Peacefulness.

[88]

The phone rang half-a-dozen times before Teri gave up.

“Not there?” Walt asked.

She shook her head and slumped back against the couch. She had been trying to reach Michael for the past two hours, getting nothing more than that irritating ring at the other end that went on and on, unanswered.

“Worried?”

“A little,” she said honestly. A lot had happened the last few days, and she had wanted to catch Michael up on everything. Even more than that, if she were going to be honest with herself, she had silently held out the hope that Michael might volunteer to fly back and help out for awhile.

“Is there someone else you can call? Maybe someone who could check on him and make sure he’s all right?”

“No, no one I can think of. We haven’t exactly kept in touch the last few years.” Michael had left because he felt like he had not only lost his son, but he had also lost his wife. And to a large extent, he had been right. Teri had never missed a beat. She had gone right on looking for Gabe, barely noticing Michael’s absence. But it hadn’t been because she didn’t love him. She did. Even to this day, she felt she loved him. It had simply been a matter of priorities. That’s why she had let it happen, and that’s why they had never gotten a divorce. In the back of Teri’s mind, she had always thought that once Gabe had come home again, then Michael would eventually follow him back and things would return to the way they had been before.

“I might be able to get someone from the department to call back there tomorrow,” Walt suggested. “Maybe have a patrol car stop by and check his place.”

“Have them check with his office. When I talked to him the other day, Michael said someone had been watching the house. I told him to spend a couple of days at a motel just to be safe. Maybe he actually listened to me.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” she said softly.

“Hey, what are friends for?”

[89]

Dr. Timothy Childs, who had been stooped over a microscope the last thirty minutes, sat up and stretched his arms. The effort wasn’t enough to satisfy the stiffness that had taken control of his body, though. He stood up, arched his back and stretched again, letting out an audible groan this time. When it had happened was hard to tell, because in his head he was still a young man, but sometime over the years his bones had grown into the bones of an old man. Less flexible. Noticeably more defiant. And nearly always cranky.

He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then put them back in place, and grabbed the empty Styrofoam cup off the counter next to the microscope. It was a few minutes past eleven, the lab quiet with the blanket of night. It would remain that way until well past seven in the morning when the receptionist would be the first to drive into the parking lot and the sounds of the back door heavily creaking open would mix with the beeps of the alarm pad as she pressed the keys. Her high heels would echo sharply off the hollow walls downstairs, and if he were still here at that time, he would be able to hear them as clearly as if they were marching right down the hall outside the lab. But for now… the building had given itself to the night, and Childs supposed he liked it that way.

He poured himself his third cup of coffee, added a single packet of sugar, took a sip, and felt some of the tension ease out of his body. Anything to keep going a little longer, to keep him from having to go home to an empty house and a lonely bed.

As he passed by his desk on his way back to the microscope, he absently ran his hand across the photograph of his wife, Audrey. It was a habit he had acquired shortly after her death. An act of appreciation for the better times in his life, he supposed, though he tried not to allow himself to dwell upon it any longer than necessary.

The photo had been taken just before they had gone ballroom dancing while on their cruise to Alaska last year. She was wearing the white-and-pink floral gown she had bought especially for the occasion. Her eyes seemed not at all to reflect the pain she had been going through in her battle with cancer at the time. They were bright, even hopeful. It was the way Childs wanted to remember her, the way she was before the cancer: resilient, confident, optimistic, and incredibly beautiful.

The hole her death had left had gradually consumed more and more of him as the months had passed. A cancer of its own, it had begun metastasizing to other parts of his life, sending his thought processes on wild manic-depressive swings through the darkness of suicide to the elation at the potential breakthroughs of his work and back again.

Home had become a reminder of the times he would never have again.

Childs sat on the stool again, his energy mildly recharged.

The quiet of the night moved silently in around him.

And that was just fine.

[90]

“Know what’s wrong with this shitty world?” Richard Boyle asked.

The bartender, a heavyset man in his late fifties who had heard it all before and had little appetite for venturing down this particular road again, looked at him over the top of his glasses without answering.

“Everyone thinks they’re fucking untouchable. That’s what’s wrong.” Boyle finished off his fifth beer, and slammed the mug down against the counter with a gleam in his eyes that dared the man to say anything about it. “They think they can send you to hell and back and… you… you’re just gonna take it. Like a fucking Twinkie. You’re gonna let ’em suck your insides dry without doing nothing.”

It had been nearly a week since Boyle had last shaved, a little longer since he had taken a bath. There was a dark desperation in his face that had been taking form there since early childhood and though it was often masked by the man’s meanness, it was not invisible. He looked up from his glass, one eye slightly off-center, both eyes dead to the alcohol, and winked.

“One more,” he said.

The bartender thought about it, decided it wasn’t worth the hassle, then poured him another tap.

“You wanna survive; you don’t let nobody get the best of you. Nobody. You see?” Boyle took an indulging swig from the mug and dropped it back to the counter, not as heavily this time, though a wave of suds made their escape over the rim of the glass. “My wife, she’s gonna learn that lesson real well. So’s that shithead of a detective she hired. They’ll see.”

The bartender nodded noncommittally, paying Boyle as little mind as he did most of the drunks who came in here with their stories of misery and promised revenge.

“Know how to hurt a man so’s he feels it?” Boyle asked.

No response.

“You get after the thing that’s ’portant to him. That’s what you do.” Boyle grinned and bobbed his head in perfect agreement with himself. Yup, that’s what you do. You get after the thing that’s important to him. That’s what he was gonna do. Because that was what worked. Hit ’em where it hurts, his daddy used to say.

Boyle finished his drink, mumbling incoherently into the mug before laying his head down to rest against the counter. His thoughts drifted lazily through the alcoholic fog that had become his companion and he gladly drifted with them.

[91]

The phone was ringing.

A shudder rattled through Walt’s body, and he opened his eyes, finding himself already sitting up on the living room couch. The room was washed in dark shadows, made all that more ominous by the ill-defined glow of the city lights slipping in through the window.

He got up and fumbled his way into the kitchen, half-blind from sleep. He was still yawning as he leaned against the wall and brought the receiver to his ear.

“Walt? It’s Sarah Boyle. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“What time is it?”

“A little after midnight. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. What’s up?”

“Richard’s in town.”

“What makes you think that?” Walt came fully awake with the stark realization that he had never told her about the episode at the apartment the other night. He should have called her immediately and warned her that her husband was back in the area, and that he might be dangerous.

“He took his anger out on my car yesterday.”

“Oh, Christ. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. But I’m staying with a friend for awhile.”

“Good idea. You’ll be safer there.”

“The police finally seem to be showing some interest.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah, miracles never cease.”

A moment of silence fell into the gap between them and Walt kicked himself for not having called her right away. “I’m sorry I’ve had such a hard time tracking down the children, Sarah.”

“Any new leads?”

“I can tell you that until a couple of days ago, he and the kids were living down in the Bay Area, under the name of B.L. Richards. I didn’t miss him by much. My guess is he’s probably just passing through on his way to somewhere new, and he’s probably got the kids with him. Whatever he’s up to, we’ll have to start all over again from scratch.”

“What about Garrett and Christy? Are they all right?”

“I asked around and the neighborhood kids seemed to think they were doing just fine.”

“Thank God.”

“He’s making mistakes, Sarah. He’s getting arrogant and he’s making mistakes and eventually that’s what’s going to lead us to him.”

“I hope so.”

“Trust me.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

“Sorry about calling so late.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You want my friend’s number?”

“Sure. Let me grab a piece of paper.”

Sarah gave him the number where she could be reached, and said, “Okay. Well, I guess that’s all.”

“I’ll call you if anything comes up; I promise.”

For a while after the call, Walt tried to get back to sleep again. But every time he closed his eyes he kept thinking about how he should have called Sarah as soon as he had heard Boyle’s voice on the answering machine. When that thought wouldn’t let go of him, he finally pulled back the blanket, got up off the couch, his muscles stiff, and turned on the nearest lamp. The shadows that had owned the room quickly scurried back into the corners.

It was seventeen past two.

He wandered down the hall, used the bathroom, and splashed some water on his face. If he was going to be awake, he might as well be fully awake. On his way back, he stopped outside the bedroom door and wondered how Teri was doing on the other side. He had seen her angrier, especially in the early months after her son’s disappearance, when it had appeared that he had simply vanished and no one had a clue as to how or why. But Walt had never felt her anger before. Not like tonight. What had hurt most was that she had been right. They should have seen the pattern. If they had, they might have been able to save some children.

“I’m sorry, Teri,” he whispered into the door. “You’ve got to know I’m sorry.

[92]

The name of the store was After A Fashion. It was a small boutique in the Town and Country Village near the corner of West Lake and Lassiter. Teri only occasionally came by here, and most often that was to browse through the bookstore at the other end. She couldn’t recall having ever noticed the boutique before.

It was the kind of place she imagined she would want for herself if she were ever to go into business. Intimate and modest. A small, eclectic selection of styles (were the Sixties coming back?). And the atmosphere not so much that of a store as that of spending an afternoon over at a friend’s, rummaging through her closet. It had a nice feel to it.

A bell over the door rang as Teri stepped through. There was no one behind the counter. In fact, there was no else in the store, at least not up front. She sidled over to the casual wear and pulled out an adorable outfit with a smocked, high-waist skirt made with a two-tier flounce.

“I’ll be right out, if you need any help,” a voice called from in back.

“No hurry. I’m just looking,” Teri said. She checked the price. $65.00.

“I’m sorry. Things have just been crazy this morning.” The woman came bouncing out, her eyes bright, her smile wide, and Teri recognized her immediately. Judy had always been a fireball, full of energy and laughter, the kind of woman you enjoyed being around. Time had treated her well. She hadn’t aged a day since Teri had last seen her.

“Teri?”

“Hi, Judy.”

Her smile grew even wider. She opened her arms and gave Teri a hug that immediately closed the gap of time that had grown between them since they had last been together. There weren’t very many people you met in your life who could do that. It had been twelve, maybe fifteen years since Teri had seen her, and yet instantly it felt as if it had only been yesterday.

“My Lord. It’s so wonderful to see you again,” Judy said.

Teri didn’t want to let her out of the hug, but she did, reluctantly. “You, too.”

“How long has it been?”

“Too long,” Teri said. Yesterday she had visited with Cindy and thought how much the woman had changed, how much—no doubt—they had all changed. But that wasn’t as true today. Because somehow, Judy had managed to hold onto the essence of the old days. She hadn’t changed much at all. “We never should have let it get away from us like that.”

“Life does that, doesn’t it? Just keeps us on the run all the time. Always busy, never seeming to get anywhere.”

Teri smiled, thinking that was probably true for most of them, but she wasn’t sure it was true in Judy’s case. “I like your boutique.”

“Do you? Eddie—he’s my husband—he says there’s not much money in it. And he’s right. He’s always right. But I like this place. I really do like it.”

“I can see that.”

The bell over the door rang, and a young woman with a little girl in tow entered. The woman smiled courteously, and wandered off to the other side to browse through some hand-knitted sweaters.

“Just yell if you need any help,” Judy said.

“Thank you.”

Teri shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling like an imposition. “Well, I don’t want to take too much of your time.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I heard you had a little girl.”

“Yeah, she’s three. Her name’s Genevieve. You think that sounds stuck-up? Eddie’s mother says it sounds like some prissy European duchess.”

“No, I like it.”

“Yeah, me too.” Judy pulled a black jumper with a pink cotton T-shirt out from the nearest rack and studied it absently. “At least I didn’t name her Moon Shadow, huh?”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that when she gets older.”

“She better.”

Another customer came in. She looked to be someone who had shopped here before. She was wearing a stretch, twill jumper with mock belt buckle and an acrylic knit T-shirt with padded shoulders. It was a 90’s twist on the 60’s revival that had only recently come into style.

Judy put the outfit she had been studying back on the rack, and smiled at the woman. “Let me know if you need any help.”

The woman smiled in return, without saying anything.

“It’s getting busy.”

“We have our moments.”

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Teri said. “I just wanted to see you, and see how you’ve been doing. Find out if you’ve been in touch with any of the old crowd.”

“A few. Most everyone scattered, you know.”

“Did they?”

Judy nodded, browsing through the rack as if she were looking for something for herself or maybe something she could put aside for when Genevieve was older. “Oh, yeah. Jack moved out to Boston to run a restaurant with his brother. I haven’t talked to him in over a year. And Jeremy followed Michelle out to Chicago. They got married and had a little girl who must be twelve or thirteen now.”

“You’ve kept track of everyone?” Teri said.

“Most everyone.”

“How come I never heard from you?”

“I sent you a card when your son disappeared,” she said, looking up, surprised. It was very nearly a look of accusation, and Teri felt herself immediately fighting off the guilt. “And I called, maybe half a dozen times. I always got your answering machine, though. You never called back.”

Teri remembered those calls now, though only vaguely. There had been literally hundreds and hundreds of calls for several months after Gabe’s disappearance. People offering their condolences. Psychics claiming they’d had a vision. Cranks that seemed to always call in the middle of the night with something sick to say. After a couple of days, she had quit answering the phone, and Michael had taken over the duty of listening to the messages.

“It was a terribly difficult time,” Teri said, guiltily.

“I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been to lose your son like that.”

“I’m sorry I never called you back.”

“It’s all right,” Judy said. “I understood. I just wanted to let you know that my thoughts were with you.”

“That was nice of you.”

She smiled, modestly. “You ever miss the old days?”

“Sometimes,” Teri said. It wasn’t often, though. The music usually brought it back for her, when she’d hear I Ain’t Marching Anymore by Phil Ochs or Here Comes the Sun by Richie Havens or Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell. The world had been a different place then. Time had moved slower. Life had been bigger and brighter, somehow. If she had it all to do over again, she’d do it exactly the same. But she didn’t miss those days, not really, and how odd that seemed.

“I still long for them,” Judy said.

“Do you?”

“I guess what I miss most is the feeling of family we had.”

“Me, too,” Teri said. She thought how crazy the circle of life could be. The little girl she had once been was hardly more than a dream now, another spirit belonging to someone else’s past. And it wasn’t much different when she thought back to those high school and college years, either. The memories were fond, but they were memories pasted in a photo album, and sometimes when you flipped through them, it was hard to recognize yourself. She remembered the sense of family, though. That had never left her.

“What happened to us?” Teri said.

“I don’t know. I guess we changed.”

“It feels like a waste, doesn’t it?”

“Sometimes.”

The young woman and the little girl walked by, on their way out. They paused briefly at a rack near the front window, then the bell rang again and the woman held the door open for her daughter.

“Thanks for coming,” Judy said.

The woman smiled.

The door closed.

Judy pulled out a two-piece jacket dress, black with turquoise, and padded shoulders. She held it up, pressed against her body. “What do you think? Too simple?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. I like simple. But I like elegant, too.” She replaced the outfit and nodded to herself, as if she had finally come to a decision of some sort. “How about if I get you some phone numbers and addresses?”

“The old gang?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll never know how much that would be appreciated.”

“Maybe we could throw a reunion one of these days? What do you think? You think anyone would come?”

“It worked for Woodstock.”

Judy smiled. “Yeah, I guess it did, didn’t it? I’ll be right back. Just give me a second. My address book’s on the desk.”

“No rush.” Teri wandered across the room and browsed through a rack of sweat suits, finding a pink shirt with kittens on it and a matching plaid design that went great with gray sweat pants. It came in a medium or a large junior. She took out the large and held it up, thinking it looked better than anything she had bought for herself in a long, long time. The price was a very reasonable thirty-five dollars. It would be the least she could do, she thought, after all the help Judy had offered.

Then her pager went off.

Walt had given it to her this morning on his way out the door. He had picked it up over a year ago, he said, so his clients could get hold of him on the spur of the moment. This was only the second time he had actually used it, though.

Teri glanced down at the strange vibration at her hip. The phone number where Walt was calling from was listed at the top of the black box. It wasn’t a familiar number. She turned the pager off, and carried the outfit she had chosen over to the cash register.

Judy came back a moment later with her address book waving in one hand. “I never realized how many of us came up from the Bay Area. Did you know there were almost thirty of us?”

“No,” Teri said, surprised at the number. It had never felt like that large of a group. Now, looking back, she found it rather amazing that they all got along as well as they did. If the years had taught her anything, they had taught her that relationships were infinitely more complicated than you ever imagined they were.

“Listen, Judy, I’ve got a page. I was wondering if you had a phone I could use?”

“Oh, sure. It’s in the back, right around the corner, on your right.” Judy handed her the address book. “Here, why don’t you take this with you? There’s paper and pencils in the upper right hand drawer of the desk. Go ahead and pull out whatever names and addresses you need.”

“You’re a blessing, Judy. And I want that outfit on the counter.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to. It’s a nice outfit, especially the kittens on the shirt.”

In the back, Teri pulled out a chair and sat down at the desk. She dialed the number on the pager, and waited for someone to pick up the other end.

“Walt’s Fake and Bake. We fake it, you bake it.”

“You better have something more than that to say.”

“Well, if it isn’t little Miss Sunshine.”

“Walt, I thought you were only going to page me if it was something important?”

“This is important. I needed to make sure the pager was working.”

“Well, where are you?”

“In a phone booth across the street from the clinic. Our Dr. Childs, being the true conscientious professional that he is, has been conducting business as usual all morning.”

“Nothing new then, huh?”

“Nope. Sorry. How ’bout on your end?”

Teri picked up the address book and turned it over in her hands. “I’m still at the boutique. Judy’s given me a good list of phone numbers, though. I think I’ll head back to the apartment and call from there.”

“No more fears about the place being bugged?”

“No, I think you were probably right. They got Gabe. That’s who they really wanted.”

“We’re going to find him this time, Teri.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

“And it isn’t going to take ten years, I promise.”

[93]

Michael slept in late, until almost ten, before he finally talked himself out of bed and into the shower. It was a long time before the water turned warm. The shower was short and perfunctory. Afterward, fully awake, he went across the street to have breakfast at a little coffee shop called Molly’s.

On his way, it was everything he could do not to look across the lot at the dark blue Ford. He listened intently for the sound of the engine starting up, and then for the sound of the tires against the blacktop as the car inched its way along just a few short yards behind him. But those sounds never came, and it wasn’t until he was sitting in a booth in the coffee shop that the Ford finally pulled out of the motel lot and parked half-a-block down the street, just at the edge of his line of sight.

He knew then, without a doubt, that when the time came, he would have a way of losing them. That little piece of knowledge, like coming out of the doctor’s office with the news that it wasn’t cancer after all but just a meaningless little cyst, made his breakfast one of the most enjoyable in memory.

He tipped the waitress an extra two dollars, then returned to his motel room, not caring if the dark blue Ford was on his heels or still parked at the curb half-a-block back. He had told himself, nearly promised himself, that today would be the day, but suddenly that didn’t seem as urgent as it had just a short time ago. When the time came he would know it and escape would no longer be a problem.

Michael set the bolt lock behind him, took up the list of friends and acquaintances he had started yesterday and sat on the edge of the bed. The list had grown nearly two pages long as one lead had taken him to another. By now, though, most of the names had been scratched off. No one in their old circle of friends had a clue as to Teri’s possible whereabouts. In fact, no one seemed to have had much contact with her at all over the past five or six years. She had just drifted away, as it had been described to him time and again. Michael understood perfectly well what that was like.

He folded back the top page of the pad and took a long look at the scribbling underneath. As new names had occurred to him, he had added them at the bottom, and as he looked at the list now, he realized most of the added names belonged to people neither he nor Teri had seen in years. These had been their friends back in their college days.

At the top of the list was Peggy Landau.

Michael dialed the number he had found in the phone book, then leaned back against the headboard and listened as the other end of the line rang three times before being picked up.

“Hello?” It was a man’s voice.

“Yes. I was wondering if I could speak with Peggy Landau, please.”

“Who is this?”

“My name is Michael Knight. We’re old college friends.”

There was a pause on the other end, and as sometimes happens in life, Michael suddenly had a very clear, very intuitive impression of who he was talking to and what had happened. He did not want to believe it for a moment, though, and instead tried to push it out of his mind.

“N-i-g-h-t?” the voice asked.

“With a ‘k’,” Michael said. “You mind telling me who I’m speaking with?”

“This is Lieutenant Sterns. Can you give me an address and phone number where I can reach you?”

Michael explained that he was from out of town and that he was currently staying at a motel. Uneasiness squirmed its way into his voice and his throat tightened up as he gave the man the motel’s address, the room number, and the telephone number. Then he closed his eyes and asked a question of his own, the words barely audible out of his mouth. “What’s this all about, lieutenant?”

“Your friend’s had an accident. I’m sorry.”

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Why else would you be there, answering the phone?”

“There could be lots of reasons, Mr. Knight. Why did you assume she was dead?”

“Just tell me… she is, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She is. I’m sorry.”

The air emptied out of his lungs as if he had been hit in the gut with a football, and he fell back against the headboard, trying to catch enough air to take another breath.

“Mr. Knight?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“You want to tell what you were calling about?”

[94]

Walt had known it would be wearisome. That was the nature of the business. Any kind of investigative work requiring a stakeout was going to be wearisome. You had to like cramped spaces and eating on the run and listening to talk radio. You had to live and breathe and sleep on someone else’s schedule. Your time was their time. He had always found it to be like that, and this instance was proving to be no exception.

Childs had left the house a little after seven-thirty this morning and had arrived at the clinic just before eight. He had taken a different route this morning, down Fremont and over to El Camino West. And wasn’t that an unusual thing for a man to do? Most people tended to stick to their routines. Still, Walt cautioned himself not to read into it.

The car windows were down, a lazy afternoon breeze filtering through.

Walt glanced up from his newspaper, looked at the back door of the clinic, and went back to reading about USAir Flight 427 that had crashed outside of Pittsburgh. It had been a quiet morning at the clinic. Maybe half-a-dozen patients had come through. The last had been a woman who had appeared to be in her early sixties and in fine health. She had left nearly twenty minutes ago and no one else had come or gone since.

It was one-fifteen now.

Walt dropped the paper again, giving debate to the idea of running around the corner and grabbing a hamburger at the Bartel’s Drive-Thru. He thought if he hurried he could make it in a little under ten minutes, over and back. But of course, as soon as he rounded the corner, Childs would come bounding out of the clinic, climb into his Buick, and be off and running. Wasn’t that the way it always went?

“Come on, doc. Take me to your leader.”

If there was a leader.

The truth of the matter was he had no way of knowing at this point. There was little doubt that Childs was involved somehow. The question was: how big was his role? Was he the guy at the top or some flunky in the middle?

The back door to the clinic slowly swung open.

Walt sat up, feeling an instant surge of adrenaline.

“’Bout time.”

Childs emerged, carrying a briefcase in one hand. It was the same briefcase he had brought from home this morning, and Walt wondered if it meant that the doctor’s day at the clinic had officially concluded. Childs crossed the lot and climbed into his Buick.

Walt rolled up the windows.

“Come on, make it worth my while, you turkey.”

He had no idea how worth his while it would actually turn out to be.

[95]

Teri sank back on the couch, feeling tired. Her neck ached. She had slept on it wrong last night and gradually throughout the day it had grown stiffer and stiffer. It didn’t help that Gabe had been out there somewhere, on his own, for nearly five days now.

“Uh-huh,” she said, switching the phone from one ear to the other.

She was talking to Peter Brenner, one of the old college gang. She’d had a crush on Peter once, in her sophomore year before she’d met Michael. It had never gone anywhere. Peter had had his eyes on Drew. They were married now, with four children, two boys and two girls. Their first daughter, Kala, as Teri had just learned had become one of the disappeared in April ’85, less than a month after Gabe’s disappearance. Kala had never returned home.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying to get this straight in my mind. Where were you and Drew living when Kala disappeared?”

“That was about a year after we first moved to Houston.”

“And you hadn’t been back this way?”

“No,” Peter said. “Still haven’t. Drew’s parents are out here and we’ve kind of settled in like natives. Except for that Southern drawl, which I think we’ve both come to envy.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“It has been. Everything except for Kala.”

Teri hadn’t told him yet about Gabe, and she wasn’t sure she was going to. You never put it completely out of your mind when you lose a child. One way or another, it was always with you. But some days were better than others, and it sounded to her as if Peter and Drew had managed to handle their loss as well as any two people could under the circumstance. She didn’t want to pop that bubble. And she didn’t want to add any false hopes to it, either.

“You ever see anyone from the old days?” she asked.

“No, not really. Drew and Judy write back and forth, but that’s about it.”

“Who’s your family doctor?”

“Oh, well, there’s someone I guess we still see. It’s Childs. You remember him from college?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“He’s got a clinic out here.”

“Really?”

“It’s a small, general practice that he set up shortly after we arrived.”

“Were you a little surprised to see him out there?”

“Amazed. He said he had some relatives here and had decided the old saying was true: there was no place like home.”

Teri’s pager went off, sending a tingling vibration into her hip. She glanced down at it, wondering briefly if something was up or if Walt was just testing her again. She shut it off.

“I’ve got a call I better take,” she said.

“Sorry you missed Drew. I know she would have loved to talk to you.”

“Well, maybe next time.”

“That would be nice.”

“Peter, one more thing before I go.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you take all your kids to Dr. Childs?”

“Sure do.”

[96]

The phone rang and Walt grabbed it immediately. “Teri?”

“Is everything all right?”

“You’ll never guess where I am.”

“Where?”

He turned and looked out across the gateway. A businessman, dressed in a dark blue suit and carrying a briefcase, passed by. He was followed by a couple of teenage boys who stopped at the newsstand across the way and leafed through the current issue of Playboy.

“The airport,” Walt said.

“What are you doing there?”

“Believe it or not, I’m on my way to Chicago.” He shook his head, and glanced down at the ticket in his hand. It was a 3:30 flight to O’Hare. Absently, he tapped the corner of the document against the metal face plate of the phone. “Ever been to Chicago?”

“No.”

“Me, either. Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“What’s going on, Walt?”

“I’m not sure exactly.” He glanced across the way at the seating area, where Childs was reading a newspaper and waiting for the boarding call. “Childs knocked off early this afternoon and now he’s on his way to Chicago. I just thought I’d go along for the ride, that’s all.”

“He’s got another clinic in Houston.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I just got done talking to an old friend of mine. Apparently, Childs followed them out to Houston and set up a clinic there. He’s been taking care of their kids, Walt. And their oldest one, a girl by the name of Kala – she’s been missing almost as long as Gabe.”

“Christ.”

“I’m beginning to hate this man, Walt.”

“Me, too.”

“He’s been stealing children all across the country and for heaven only knows how long he’s been getting away with it.” She sounded as if she might break down and cry. There was a long pause, then a deep breath. “We’ve got to stop him.”

“We will.”

“No, I mean now. We’ve got to stop him now.”

“Teri, we don’t know enough. Not yet.” Walt stuffed the ticket back into his pocket and checked to see if Childs had moved. He hadn’t, though he had set the newspaper aside and appeared a little anxious all of a sudden. “We still don’t know where he’s keeping Gabe.”

“Well, it’s got to be somewhere local.”

“Not necessarily. For all we know, he could be holding him anywhere in the country. In Houston or Chicago. Anywhere.”

There was complete silence on the other end.

“Teri?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, clearly unhappy.

“Hey, listen to me. I know this is hard, but you’ve got to hang in there. We’re getting closer to him. I’m telling you, his time’s running out, and sooner or later he’s going to lead us right to Gabe. But you’ve got to be patient.”

“I’ve been patient.”

“I know you have, but you’ve got to be more patient. You understand? If we spook him now, we’re risking our only connection to Gabe, and I know that’s not what you want.”

“Of course not.”

“Then hang in with me, all right?”

“I will.”

“Good.” He glanced across the boarding area and noticed that Childs was standing in line now. It was still twenty minutes to take-off. “They’re starting to board. I better get going. Are you gonna be all right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” He pulled the ticket back out of his pocket, searching for something else to say, something that might help her to hang in there a little longer. But what was there to say? She had been going through this roller coaster of a nightmare for ten long years now. She knew the turns, the ups and downs, and far better than him, she knew how to keep herself on track. “Oh, there is one last thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Your friend, the one who gave you the lead to Houston, did she have anyone living in the Chicago area?”

“Let me check.”

The boarding line stretched around the outer edges of the room. It was going to be a full flight. Walt watched Childs move forward in line, one step at a time, like a good little soldier. That’s what you are, isn’t it? he thought. A little soldier, following orders.

Teri came back on the line. “I don’t know if it’s the Chicago area or not, but Jeremy and Michelle are in St. Charles.”

“Great. You better give me their address and a phone number in case I need it.”

[97]

They landed at O’Hare twenty minutes late due to a strong head wind. Childs didn’t leave his seat the entire flight, and seemed in no particular hurry to get off once the plane had touched down. He calmly collected his briefcase from the overhead storage compartment and stood in line like everyone else.

It was after one in the morning by the time they were both out of the airport. Childs rented a new Buick and took I-90 westbound past Rolling Meadows, Schaumburg, Barrington and into Elgin, where he exited at Route 25 and drove south into a place called St. Charles. Walt followed along behind, trying to stay awake, in a Ford Taurus.

They ended up on the east side of town off Route 63 on Kirk Road. It was primarily an area of corporate and industrial parks, places like the Coca Cola bottling plant and the DuPage Airport and the Norris Cultural Arts Center. At the very outskirts, set well back from the street and hidden behind a wall of trees and shrubbery, was a building called the Devol Research Institute.

Childs pulled into the lot and parked near the front entrance.

Walt passed by, not wanting to be noticed. He circled the block twice, then came back and stopped near the mouth of the long driveway. A scattering of lights gave shape to the building in the distance. In front, parked under the only light in the lot, Walt spotted the rented Buick. It wasn’t likely the good doctor would be going anywhere soon. He was probably going to spend the night here.

“Which means I need a place to stay,” Walt muttered to himself.

[98]

“How have things been?” Childs asked.

“Fine, sir.”

“Any changes?”

“No, sir. None.”

He stood at the back of the elevator, admiring the woman’s near-perfect form. Her name was Pam, or more formally, Pamela Sergeant, and she was thirty-seven years old. She had been running this facility for nearly ten years now, overseeing a full-time, skeletal staff of four. Three of those under her watchful eye maintained the monitoring system, the fourth served as the receptionist and public liaison. Four times a year, for a period of two weeks, a team of lab technicians were brought in to work upstairs. It was Pam’s job to supervise them, and to make sure the Institute kept an overall low profile, while they continued to collect and preserve project data.

“Everything set for tomorrow?”

“As always.”

The elevator came to a stop at the basement level. The doors slid open and there was a long dark hallway in front of them, the only source of light coming from two seventy-five watt bulbs over the doorway at the far end. “After you, Dr. Childs.”

“No, please.”

She nodded, officiously, and led him down the hall to the far door, where she fumbled with the ring of keys dangling from the belt of her skirt. She had used one of the keys to enter the elevator, another to access the basement, and now she used a third key to unlock the door. She stepped aside.

Childs stepped through.

On the other side, three more doors walled the small square room. Pam glanced questioningly at Childs, who pointed to the door on the right. The face plate on the door said: KARMA SIX. She sorted through her key ring, came up with the right key, and unlocked the door.

“No changes at all, huh?” Childs asked as he stepped through.

“None,” she said.

The room was long and narrow, with a line of beds on each side. Not all the beds were occupied. In fact, most of them were stripped of their sheets and buried beneath a blanket of shadows, clearly indicating that they were empty. But of the seven that were occupied, all seven had been occupied for a good long time now, and they were all occupied by children.

Childs stopped at the foot of the first bed, glanced over the chart, then hung it over the frame again. The girl in the bed was eight years old. Her name was Rebecca Wright and she had been eight years old for nearly ten years now. She had also been comatose.

He went to her bedside and pulled the covers back, exposing her legs. Even with the daily routine of manipulating and messaging the muscles, the legs had lost some of their mass.

“She’s stabilized at fifty-five pounds,” he noted.

“Yes, she has.”

“That’s remarkable when you think about it.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yes.” He dropped the bed sheet back in place, and checked the girl’s pupils as a matter of routine. There was no reason to believe there would be any change and of course he found none. Still, after what had happened with the Knight boy, he had cautioned the staff at each of the centers to keep a closer eye on any changes in a child’s condition. No one wanted to take anything for granted.

“All it would take is a couple of weeks of physical therapy and strengthening and she’d be up and around, almost like new.”

“That is remarkable,” Pam said.

“Yes, indeed. You’ve done a fine job here, Pam.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He moved down the line of occupied beds, one at a time, going through the same routine of first checking their charts, then their pupils. No change. Not a single hint of change anywhere in the room. It had been this way for years now.

The comas had swept through nearly half of the participants of the research study in less than a month. It had taken that long to link the protracted unconsciousness to the administration of an experimental drug called AA103. Use of the drug had been halted immediately.

At first, Childs had thought the mishap would prove to be the end of the Karma Project. But he had managed to convince D.C. that they had nothing to lose by monitoring the children another six months. As it turned out, it was a lucky thing they hadn’t scrapped the study after all. In those six months, not a single child, not one, had demonstrated a single sign of growth or aging. It was the result they had been chasing all along and suddenly they had it. Somehow, they had managed to halt the aging process. The only glitch, and it was still a glitch to this very day, was that they didn’t know exactly how they had done it.

At the last bed, Childs nodded and dropped the bed sheet back over the boy’s legs. The children had always been well cared for. Their fingernails and toenails were clipped, their hair groomed, their bodies washed. They were fed a high-protein, vitamin-rich solution that helped them maintain their body mass, and there wasn’t a child in the study who wasn’t within five or six pounds of what was the natural weight for his age and height.

“Ever wonder what would happen if one of them came out of the sleep?” he asked casually. He stopped just outside the room and waited as Pam locked the door again behind them.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, sir.”

“We have a room full of ageless children, Pam. As far as we can tell, they’re ageless because the coma has somehow suspended a process which modern science has always believed was unalterable. Have you ever wondered what would happen to that process once the coma ended?”

“No, sir. I can’t say that I have.”

“I hadn’t, either. Not until recently.”

[99]

“Wake you?”

Teri opened an eye to the clock on the nightstand. She groaned and rolled over on her side, away from the luminous dial. “No, I’m always wide awake at one-thirty in the morning. I like to get up early so I don’t miss anything.”

“Sorry,” Walt said. “I just thought I’d better check in.”

“Where are you?”

“In a dumpy motel on the outskirts of St. Charles.”

“St. Charles?” Both eyes opened and Teri sat up on one elbow. She wiped away what little sleep was left. “I just talked to Michelle tonight. It’s the same thing, Walt. Just like the others. They had a baby girl. Her name was Rebecca. She was eight years old when she disappeared.”

“It keeps getting more interesting, doesn’t it?”

“We’ve got him, Walt. Everywhere this guy goes another kid disappears.”

“We’re definitely getting there.”

“Jesus, what more do you want?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, his voice quietly subdued. “I guess I’m feeling a little confused about what went on with you and our good doctor back in your college days. Was that all he was to your group of friends? Just the guy who volunteered at the off-campus health clinic?”

“No,” she said, finally coming fully awake. She had forgotten to tell him about her conversation with Peggy the other morning. “No, there was more to it than that. I didn’t know this until a couple of days ago, when I was talking to Peggy. There was a drug that was going around then… I mean, well, there were lots of drugs that were going around, but this one was different. It was called Genesis, and it was something of an hallucinogen, something along the lines of LSD if I remember correctly.”

“You’re lucky you still have a brain, you know that?”

Oh, Teri knew it all right. She knew it better than most. Michael Jacobson hadn’t been so lucky. They called him Michael the Second because he joined the group a few months after Michael the First. Teri had married Michael the First. After they had married, they had decided to have children, and once they had made the decision to have children they had quietly moved out of the drug scene, giving up everything from Genesis to LSD to pot.

Having children wasn’t their only reason for quitting, though. Several weeks before, Michael the Second had taken the kind of trip that very few people ever came back from. He had come back from it, but he had not come back all the way. As far as she knew, he was still swimming in a world of nightmares and twisted images. The last she had heard he was staying at Agnew State Hospital. That had been before it had changed to the Agnew Developmental Center. To this day, as far as she knew, Michael the Second was still a faceless soul, one of the disappeared, living in a strange alienated world that belonged only to him.

“Yeah, I know,” she said sadly. “Anyway, what’s important is that Peggy told me Childs was the only supplier for the drug.”

“For Genesis?”

“Yeah.”

Walt fell suddenly quiet on the other end of the line. Teri reached for the lamp behind the clock on the night stand. The room brightened. It felt like an old sweatshirt, soft and familiar, and she realized she had begun to feel comfortable here.

“You know what this probably means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Teri, this guy wasn’t trying to help you enjoy a little recreational mind tripping. He was using you. You and your friends, you guys were all guinea pigs. That’s how this whole thing got started.”

“My God,” Teri said softly. She took in a breath that felt cold and foreign, and expelled it as quickly as she could. The next breath came a little harder. “And whatever it was he did to us, we passed it on to the children.”

“It looks that way.”

“How could anyone…” The thought fell away naturally, because there was no sensible way to finish it. Some things, some people, simply defied understanding. It wasn’t bad enough that this man had kidnapped their children; he had somehow managed to poison them as well.

Except that wasn’t the entire truth, now was it? If she were going to be honest with herself, there was a point here where she needed to take responsibility for her own misdeeds. The late Sixties and early Seventies had been her playground, a time of naiveté and taking chances. It was Woodstock and Easy Rider. Don’t trust anyone over thirty. And bumper stickers that said: Tomorrow is canceled due to a lack of interest. She had played recklessly and with abandon, as had Michael and most of their friends. And now it was Gabe who was paying the price.

So, yes, she hated what Childs had done—what he was still doing—but there was little saving grace for her own actions.

“What do we do now?” Teri asked.

“Take a look in the bottom drawer of the nightstand and see if there’s a phone book in there. I want you to look up the Devol Research Institute. See if they happen to have a local listing.”

The phone book was buried beneath a stack of old Time magazines. Teri dug it out and spent a minute or two thumbing through the yellow pages, wondering in the back of her mind where Walt had stumbled across the name Devol. “What do you want me to look under?”

“You better try the white pages.”

“Devol? Right? D-e-v-o-l?”

“Yeah.”

When she couldn’t find it under Devol, she tried Devole, and then finally Devoule. The results were all the same. The closest she came was Devon’s Dry Cleaning off Hartnell Avenue. “Sorry, I can’t find anything even close. A research institute, you said, right?”

“Just to make sure, after you hang up will you do me a favor and call the operator and see if maybe she has a listing?”

“Sure.” She opened the top drawer of the night stand and rummaged through the books and old magazines until she came up with a pencil and a piece of paper. On the paper, she wrote DEVOL RESEARCH INSTITUTE in bold, block lettering. “So what’s this place supposed to be?”

“It’s where we ended up after our flight. Childs went straight there, like a spaniel to water. There’s not much to see from the street. It looks like just another business building from the outside.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Now there’s a story for the papers. Idiot private eye tails suspect halfway across the country while the suspect attends a seminar on the proper filing of Medicare forms. God, it better be more than just a business building.”

Teri grinned, and it struck her how lucky she was to have this man on her side. He had, indeed, just flown halfway across the country for her. How many people did she know who would do that for her? Only one that she could think of.

“Go to bed, Walt.”

“Why? Am I starting to sound crabby?”

“Definitely.”

[100]

Teri did as she had promised.

After she hung up, she called directory assistance and told the operator that she needed a number for the Devol Research Institute in the 9-1-6 area code. The clickety-clackety patter of computer keys sounded in the background.

“Could you please spell that?”

“D-e-v-o-l,” Teri said.

“I’m sorry. I have no listing for the Devol Research Institute.”

“Could it be an unlisted number?”

“As I said, I have no such listing.”

“In other words, you can’t tell me.”

“That’s correct.”

Teri stewed for awhile after she had hung up. She got out of bed, went into the kitchen, and rummaged through the refrigerator for something to eat. But she wasn’t really hungry. She was upset. And when she couldn’t find anything that would satisfy the upset, she headed back to bed.

She was on the verge of falling asleep again when something occurred to her that was so obvious she had almost overlooked it. Of course the number was unlisted. If there had been no such number at all, no such place as the Devol Research Institute, the operator would have said so. But since the number was unlisted, the operator was in the position of having to protect that fact.

Of course!

Two calls later, Teri had learned that there were no listings for a Devol Research Institute in either the Houston area or the St. Charles area. Since she knew there was an institute in St. Charles and certainly had reason not to conclude there might be one in Houston as well, it was a short leap to suspect there might also be one here in the local area. And if that were true, then Gabe had to be somewhere close by.

That little piece of knowledge renewed the sense of excitement inside her and for awhile, unable to sleep, Teri was forced to do some reading before finally turning off the light. She rolled over, her eyes still wide open, and gazed through the thin veil of the bedroom curtains, out into the night sky. A picture of Gabe floated to the fore of her thoughts and she said a little prayer to God that tomorrow would be the day she would be reunited with her son.

Gradually, sleep began to overtake her.

Teri closed her eyes, a moment of pure tranquility settling over her.

Then she heard a noise from the living room that brought her completely awake again.

[101]

“In the sixties, endocrinologists began to understand the true nature of chemical messengers in assisting the release of hormones in the body. It wasn’t long after that, that we were able to synthesize these chemical messengers and thus trigger specific hormonal reactions. Somatostatin, which inhibits the pituitary growth hormone, is an example of these messengers. Today, we can already see synthetics playing a role in everything from diabetes control to fertility drugs.

“More recently, as we’ve come to discover the role that our genes play in the natural process of aging, we have to wonder how much longer it will be before similar synthetics will be used to artificially trigger the functions of these genes. It is not outside the realm of possibility that by the end of this century we will be able to manipulate the on/off switches responsible for the onset of aging.

“We may, in fact, actually be able to cease the human aging process.”

Dr. Timothy Childs

University of California, Berkeley

1975

[102]

Michael took a sip of coffee and watched the movement on the other side of the frosted glass window that separated the lieutenant’s office from the rest of the second floor. It was well past one o’clock in the morning. He had been here better than three hours, after Lieutenant Sterns had dropped by his motel room and asked him to come down to the station for questioning.

Michael placed the coffee cup back on the corner of the lieutenant’s desk.

The office door opened and Sterns came in with a typed transcript of their interview. He pulled a stapler out of a desk drawer, stapled the pages together, then handed the transcript to Michael and sat down.

“Okay,” he said, exhausted and rightfully so, Michael imagined. Not only was the hour late, but when they had first arrived at the station, the temperature in the office had been hovering near the mid-eighties. The lieutenant had turned on the fan, which sat on the filing cabinet in the corner and was still swinging from side-to-side trying to create some semblance of relief. “Read it over and sign your name at the bottom of the last page and we’ll call it a night. Fair enough?”

Peggy’s death had not yet been ruled an accident or a murder, though the lieutenant had implied that until the coroner’s report came out he would most likely be treating it as an accidental overdose. Michael had wanted to tell him everything… all about Teri’s first call, about talking to a boy whom he had come to believe was Gabe, about arriving unexpectedly in town, about the people watching Teri’s house and the people who had been watching him the past day or two. He wanted to tell it all, but realized how bizarre it would sound and managed to keep most of it to himself. Peggy was just an old friend, he had said. Someone he hadn’t seen in years and thought he’d call since he was in town for a visit.

Michael read through the relatively short statement, beginning to end, asking only if he could change the wording where he had said something to the effect that it wouldn’t surprise him if Peggy were still into drugs after all these years.

“I don’t really know if she was or she wasn’t,” Michael said, feeling more cautious than he had when they first began their conversation. “Isn’t it enough that I mentioned her drug use back in college?”

“Go ahead and cross it off if it makes you feel any better,” Sterns said wearily. “Just initial next to the change.”

Michael crossed out the sentence in question, initialed it, then signed at the bottom and handed the statement back.

“How long are you planning on being in town?” the lieutenant asked.

“I don’t know,” Michael said. “Until I can track Teri down, I guess.”

Sterns nodded again, though Michael wasn’t sure if the lieutenant had actually heard him. He slipped the statement into a manila folder, thoughts apparently preoccupied by other matters. “You going to stay at the motel?”

“No, it’s not the best part of town. I think I’ll look for somewhere else to stay tonight.”

The lieutenant took a business card out of the middle drawer of the desk and handed it to him. “Give me a call and let me know where you’re staying, all right?”

“Sure,” Michael said, glancing down at the card. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

[103]

Someone was in the apartment.

Teri was sure she had heard the front door close. She pulled back the bed sheets and sat up, her heart frantically racing a track in her chest. She grabbed her robe off the foot of the bed, tied the sash around her waist, and went to the bedroom door to listen.

“Time to get up, little missy.”

A whisper.

A man’s voice.

Close.

The bedroom door was unlocked. Teri reached out, her hands trembling, and engaged the lock, then took several absent steps backward. It wasn’t Walt, she knew that much. And she didn’t want to think who it might be. Only that it might be no one at all, just the sounds of a strange apartment.

“Little miss—ssie,” came another call, and there was no mistaking this for the creak of an old floor board or the wail of a hot water heater.

Teri fell back on the bed, and grabbed at the phone with a sudden loss of motor skill that knocked the receiver off the cradle. The receiver did not reel in easily, but slammed first off the bed frame, then off the night stand before she was able to regain control of it. She tapped out a desperate 9-1-1, and raised the phone to her ear.

She was suddenly breathing heavily, and for a moment all she heard was the sound of the air entering and exiting her lungs. It was the sound of someone just beginning to lose her breath.

“Come on! Come on! Come on!”

No answer.

Teri hadn’t taken her eyes off the door, even as she had dialed. Now, as she hammered out the numbers again, she thought she could see the brass door knob beginning to turn and the sight sent a wave of dread through her body.

“Little miss—ssie.”

The voice was not one she recognized. That piece of information swirled around inside her head, compared itself with the voice of Mitch, and then concluded she really couldn’t be certain one way or the other. Teri held her breath and listened to the phone. The reality—that there was no dial tone—took a moment before it sank in like a heavy stone upon her chest. There was no dial tone. The phone was dead.

“Time to get up, little sleepy-head.”

This was followed by what at first sounded like a huge explosion. Teri’s body did the rattle of a marionette and she let out a whimper that felt shameful. He had brought his fist down against the hollow-core door like a hammer. She dropped the phone

“Gonna let me in, little miss—ssie?”

No, I’m not going to let you in.

There was an aluminum-sash window into the room, covered by a thin veil of curtains that did little to keep the sunlight out during the day. Teri had opened and closed the window several times since she had begun her stay here, and she knew outside was a two story drop to a concrete walkway below. She looked from the door to the window, back again, and found herself unlatching the window and gazing down at the cold, chalky concrete below.

Behind her, the man’s fist came down against the door again, sending a wave of thunderous hot air rolling across the room like an earthquake. Teri felt it pass through her. She recoiled and briefly considered the window again.

“No way to treat a guest now is it?” he said.

It was his foot that came down against the door next. He had wound up for this one, she imagined, because the door splintered around the molding and made an ugly sound that reminded her of a bone breaking.

He tried the knob again, unsuccessfully. Then, drunkenly, sloppily, added, “Almost together again, dearie.”

Teri started for the lamp on the night stand, on the far side of the bed, closest to the door. One final kick and the door exploded into the room, nearly torn completely from its hinges. In the doorway, like an image out of a nightmare, stood the silhouette of a man whose entire body seemed to be venting rage. His glowering eyes narrowed. He swung his arm across his body and slammed his fist sidelong into the door, and didn’t flinch when Teri knew it must have hurt. A cut opened across the back of his hand. Blood began to gush forth in a crimson tide.

“Together at last.”

There was a moment of paralysis in Teri’s mind when she realized this was not the man she had expected, nor was it a man she knew. His eyes, which had narrowed at first, now seemed to grow larger. She shook herself free of the paralysis and wrapped her hands around the cool ceramic base of the lamp. In one swift motion, as he crossed the distance between them and reached for her, Teri swept the lamp off the night stand and swung it.

The motion startled him slightly. He tried to pull back and the lamp caught him across the face with little force. The shade collapsed and left a mark where the metal frame had scratched him on the cheek. It turned bright ruby red almost instantly, and Teri thought how close the color of blood matched the color of his eyes.

“Jesus! You little bitch!”

The man’s face flared. He swung wide with a closed fist and his knuckles brushed past Teri’s face so close she could feel the air current across her ear. She fell back against the wall with a heavy thud. The back of her head took the brunt of the impact.

A moment passed, maybe two, but no more than that, then Teri drifted dreamily into a wistful, ethereal duskiness. She smiled, drunkenly, and let herself be drawn all the way into the darkness.

[104]

When she awoke, only a scant few seconds later, Teri found herself on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge, the man hovering above her. He grinned through tobacco-yellow teeth and let out a laugh that smelled sour from whiskey. “Welcome back, little missy. Couldn’t bring yourself to miss this part, eh?”

He was tugging at something, and for a moment Teri thought—rather crazily she was soon to realize—that he was trying to make the bed with her on it. He gave another tug. Then Teri rose the final wave up from her blissful reprieve and realized it wasn’t the bed sheets he was tugging at… it was her panties.

She managed to position her knee between herself and the man’s chest, feeling a bit dull all the same and wondering distantly how she had put herself in this position of fending off a complete stranger. For a moment, he seemed to brighten with her resistance, his lips curling back into an odd mutation that was part grin, part sneer. Then Teri flexed her leg and brought her foot up solidly against the man genitals.

A huge sour breath poured out of his mouth, followed closely by a coarse, throaty groan. He fell back against the wall, both hands clutching at his crotch.

Teri rolled off the side of the bed, landed on her feet and was out of the bedroom faster than she had ever imagined possible. She stumbled her way down the hall, hands pushing against the walls, keeping her from losing her balance. In her mind, she quickly made the decision to go for the front door. Surprisingly, though, the man was right behind her, moving with care now, in obvious pain, but moving just the same.

She rounded the corner and followed her instincts into the kitchen.

Behind her, realizing she had trapped herself, the man stopped in the doorway. He was bent over and breathing hard, his face flushed an angry red. “When I get done, bitch, it’s gonna take ’em a month to piece you back together again.”

His left hand was pressed flat against his belly, as if he were trying to keep his intestines from spilling out. A knife materialized, seemingly out of thin air, in his right hand. He raised it to eye level and the light from down the hall glinted off the cold steel blade like the last light of her life.

The man took an unsteady step forward, still clutching his belly.

Teri didn’t wait for him to draw closer. She went first for the knife drawer on her left and when she realized she wouldn’t have enough time to get the drawer open and a knife out, she instinctively grabbed for the freezer door at the top of the refrigerator. The door popped open in a surprisingly fluid motion, swung on its hinges with Teri’s weight behind it, and landed flush against the man’s forehead.

The impact sent him reeling back several steps, and toppled him over. The back of his head slammed heavily into the linoleum floor. He groaned, semi-consciously.

Teri moved forward, stepped on the wrist of the hand that was holding the knife, and tried unsuccessfully to force the knife free. Every breath was deep and heavy, the air barely enough to fill her lungs. Tears began to fill her eyes.

“Come on, you bastard, just let go of it!”

He groaned again, then his eyes—which had been clamped shut in a grimace that she didn’t think she would ever forget—suddenly shot open again. He reached up to grab her leg.

Teri pulled back and landed a kick to the left side of his face. The man’s head slammed into the linoleum floor again, then bounced back up and Teri delivered a second solid kick, this one landing flush against the man’s nose. The tears that had been collecting in her eyes suddenly broke free and poured down her face. She pulled back a third time, preparing to deliver one last kick, then slowly became aware that the man was no longer moving.

The stillness of the night, long and breathy, hot and weary, settled onerously over her.

Teri balanced her weight evenly between the foot that continued to rest firmly against the man’s wrist and the other foot, which was planted solidly on the linoleum floor now. She choked back the next wave of tears without moving, too frightened to disturb the strange, dreamlike stillness that had taken her under its spell.

For a long time, shapeless ghosts became her thoughts and she gave herself to them freely. When she was finally able to go to the neighbor’s for help, she was only distantly aware that she was still in her robe and panties and that the morning sun was only a few short hours away.

[105]

Sleep, as fitful as it was, did not come until late in the morning, long after the police had left and Teri had found herself once again alone in the apartment. She curled up in Walt’s bed, staring through the thin curtains at the orange-red colors pushing their way above the horizon, and tried unsuccessfully to expose the photographs in her mind to enough light so they would fade from her memory.

The man’s name had been Richard Boyle, and she had killed him. The back of Boyle’s head had struck the floor one too many times, harder than Teri had imagined possible, and in the end he had been left with a pool of thick, dark blood circling him like an angry aura.

“Just desserts,” an older officer had muttered somewhere in the tangle of distant conversations that had taken place afterwards. Teri had nodded numbly, suffering a chill that had entered her body and held her in its cold hands since shortly after she had gone to the neighbors. She was lucky to be alive; she knew that. And maybe a Bible-thumping, eye-for-an-eye brand of justice had taken place just the way the good Lord would have wanted it. But then why did she feel so damn horrible inside?

“We’d be happy to give you a ride if you’d like to stay somewhere else tonight,” another officer had said. This was long after the body had been removed, long after all the photographs had been taken and the events of the evening had been recounted time and time again. The chill had not let go of her still, and it was the only tie keeping her from drifting away completely. So easy it would have been to simply close her eyes and sail off on the cloud of melancholy that was surrounding her.

“I’ll be all right,” she had heard herself say from faraway.

I’ve already done my running, Teri thought now. She closed her eyes against the sunrise taking place just outside the bedroom window, and the sleep came and took her far, far away this time. She would not wake again, until early evening.

[106]

Walt parked near the picnic tables not far from where the youngest children were swinging on swings and building castles out of sand. Across the park, near the baseball diamond, Childs sat in the bleachers, shading his eyes against the afternoon sun. In his company this afternoon was a woman who appeared to be in her mid-to-late thirties, her hair cut short in front. She was wearing a modest, gray pants suit that seemed oddly out of place here at the park on a sunny day.

Walt climbed out of the car and moved over to sit at one of the tables. An old oak tree provided a canopy of branches and leaves, blocking out all but a few tiny patches of sunlight. Behind him, a little girl screamed with delight as she came down the slide and was caught at the bottom by her mother. This was the way it was supposed to be, he thought. Children building their sand castles, delighting in their rides, not a care in the world. Children weren’t supposed to have cares. Those were for the adults, for the ones who had forgotten what it was like to be children.

He noticed a pair of initials carved into the corner of the picnic table. D.E. Nothing else. No postscript about love. No misshapen heart. No giant plus sign connecting the initials to another pair of initials. Not even a hint as to whether a boy or a girl had done the carving, though Walt assumed it had been a boy. It seemed like the kind of thing a boy would do without thinking. Some hot summer afternoon when nothing was going on and no one else seemed to be around, the knife had come out almost unconsciously an hour had passed.

He looked up and watched Childs nudge the woman next to him and point across the park to the snack bar. A piece of plywood had been set into place over the window, like a storm shutter, and painted in crude white lettering across the front was the announcement: CLOSED FOR WINTER. Congregating near the building was a small group of teenagers, just hanging out as kids were prone to do. A girl with beautiful brown hair, an oversized sweatshirt and a nose ring, laughed loud enough that Walt could hear her from across the park. The boy next to her reached into his shirt pocket and offered her a cigarette. She nodded and they passed it back and forth for awhile.

It was the group of teenagers that had apparently piqued Childs’s interest.

In the bleachers, the woman asked the doctor a question. He nodded and offered her a hand as she climbed to her feet. She made her way down the stands one cautious step at a time, still curiously out of place, then strolled across the park toward a small grassy area near the restrooms.

Two of the kids broke off from the group. They backpedaled off the gravel and onto the grass, talking casually, then turned and started in Walt’s direction. Another kid, wearing a plaid shirt over a black tee-shirt and looking to be no more than thirteen or fourteen, broke away. He raised his hand and pointed apologetically toward the restrooms, nodded and started in that direction.

Almost immediately, the woman appeared to take notice.

She tucked her hands into her pockets and moved across the grass toward the walkway. It was an angle designed to take her directly across the path of the young man.

Whatever it was, it was going down.

Walt stood and stretched and wandered over to the barbecue pit. The two kids, who had been the first to leave the group, passed in front of him, one of them rattling on zealously about some group called the Cranes.

The woman stepped onto the walkway, turned and brushed past the boy. It was a snap of the fingers, just like that, and then it was over. As near as Walt could tell, all she had done was put her hand on the boy’s shoulder and whisper something. What she had whispered was anyone’s guess.

The boy displayed no outward acknowledgment, good or bad; he simply stayed on course to the restrooms, with barely a break in stride. The woman stayed to a course of her own. She circled around the perimeter of the park, and rejoined Childs in the bleachers.

What the hell was that all about?

After several minutes, the boy emerged again from the bathroom and stood at the entrance, looking confused. He shaded his eyes against the sun, glancing across the grass to where his friends were still huddled together, talking. And then he did a curious thing. He turned and went the other direction.

That put Walt in a sudden quandary.

He watched the kid disappear behind the foliage at the far side of the park, then glanced at the bleachers and noted that neither Childs nor the woman had budged an inch from where they were sitting. Whatever or whoever they were waiting for, they were still waiting. And that left Walt with a decision. Follow the boy or join the wait.

He cut across the picnic area, around the outer edges of the ball field and slipped out through the wall of oak leaf hydrangea at the far side. The boy was crossing the street half-a-block up. His hands were jammed into the front pockets of his jeans, which were at least four inches too large around the waist and held up by nothing more than a length of rope. His head hung low as he shuffled along in no apparent hurry. He did not appear to be a boy with a mission.

Walt kept a safe distance back.

At the next corner, the boy turned right and continued on his odyssey through the suburban territories. If you followed half-a-dozen regular kids walking down the street, this one would blend in seamlessly, a chameleon with all the right colors, all the right moves. He was invisible if you weren’t looking, reticent if you weren’t listening. He was a thousand other kids, a single faceless child. All of these and none of these.

So what was really going on?

They moved in make-believe tandem three blocks down, two blocks over until the boy stopped outside a small, cubby-hole-of-a-store set back from the street. It was shouldered on one side by a coffee shop called Mimi’s and a Coin-Operated Laundromat on the other. The boy raised his head and read the sign over the store. It read: The Book Mark. New and Used Books. Buy or Trade.

This was where he had come.

He sat on a reading bench outside the bookstore, his hands out of his pockets and clasped behind his head. He crossed his legs in front of him and stretched and stared off into the endless blue dreams of the afternoon sky.

Walt crossed the street and got himself a window table at a place called The Sandwich Shop, where he could keep an eye on things without looking conspicuous. He ordered a slice of lemon meringue pie and a Diet Coke, then sat back and watched.

A few minutes later, a girl, who looked to be a couple of years older than the boy—maybe sixteen or seventeen, it was so hard to tell these days—came down the same street, in the same direction. She was dressed in jeans with holes in the knees and an oversized sweat shirt with the sleeves rolled up above the elbows. Sunlight glistened off a string of four earrings dangling from her left ear.

She stopped and looked up at the sign over the bookstore, the one that said: The Book Mark. As the boy had done before her, she seemed satisfied that she had found her way to the right place. She sat on the bench opposite him, curled protectively into the little space afforded.

As far as Walt could tell, they exchanged not a glance nor a word nor any other form of communication that might indicate they knew each other. They sat like two strangers sharing a park bench out of necessity, neither liking nor disliking the need. And perhaps that was what they were. Two strangers sharing a bench.

It was another fifteen minutes before the third one came along. Walt hadn’t recognized the girl from the park, and he didn’t recognize this second boy, either. The kid sat between the other two, his arms folded defiantly across his chest, his gaze faraway and out of touch.

Walt finished his pie. He wiped his mouth and downed the last of the Diet Coke. This was beginning to get interesting. Three kids, all in their teens, parked on a bench outside a bookstore, waiting. Waiting for what?

Childs, of course. They’re waiting for the good Dr. Childs to come and pick them up and take them back to the Devol Research Institute. That’s what they’re waiting for. Only they don’t know it, do they? That’s what the laying-on of hands and the whispering was all about. It was the Pied Piper piping. And now the children are all in a line, waiting to follow the music wherever it takes them.

He crumpled up his napkin and sat back in the booth. It was only a couple of minutes more before Childs and the woman finally showed up. The good doctor was punctual if nothing else. He pulled up to the curb and without a word, the three kids climbed off the bench and into the back seat of the car. Nothing to it. It was that easy, that quick, that inconspicuous.

Slick was the word that came to Walt’s mind as he watched the car pull out into the street again.

The man was slick.

[107]

The empty elevator car, which had been parked on the top floor where all the lab work was being done, started its slow descent toward the basement. It would take several more days before all the test results would be completed. By then, Childs would be back in California. In fact, he had a ticket on the redeye heading out tonight. Pam would be faxing him the prelims as soon as they were available, and if there were any surprises—which he had no reason to expect—then she would express the samples. That had only been necessary once before, when they had first tried AA103. Nothing even remotely as intrusive had been introduced into the study since.

The lab was fully equipped, though it had not always been. Most of the money had poured into the project in the mid-Eighties, after the incident with the AA103. The abrupt comatose states brought about by the experimental drug had initially been thought disastrous. People in the CIA and the DOD were in a panic, fearing that if the project were exposed the entire government might fall. But then an interesting thing had happened. The subjects, while still comatose, had stopped aging. It was the result Childs had been after all along. Only he had stumbled across it accidentally and didn’t clearly understand why or how the natural process had been interrupted. Hence the money came pouring in. Find the answer and everything else would work itself out.

He was still looking for the answer.

The upstairs lab was primarily a biochemistry lab, though there was also a seldom-used bacteriology component. The blood and urine samples were already in testing. Some of the blood had been inserted into a special glass tube, then placed in a centrifuge and spun at a rate of several thousand revolutions per minute, separating the blood cells from the blood serum, which remained at the top of the tube. The serum went into little plastic cups next, then into an automatic analyzer that measured the color by shining lights through the sample plus a reagent solution. Other blood samples were given a flame photometer test for certain elements such as sodium and potassium. The examination of the liver cell samples under an electron microscope would come later.

As the elevator neared the halfway point of its descent, everything was moving along smoothly, all on schedule. The routine examinations on all three subjects had been completed in a little more than forty-five minutes. In addition, Childs had already debriefed and reprogrammed the subjects, which was and always had been the trickiest element of the entire operation. The past five years, they had developed a system of hypnotic and subliminal commands in conjunction with a virtual reality simulator that actually reconstructed a powerful false memory in the minds of the subjects. They had spent the afternoon, the entire afternoon, at the park. That would be their only memory of their afternoon activity. Everything else would be masked. It was a remarkably effective system.

Before virtual reality had been an option, the use of drugs and hypnosis in combination had served in a similar role. While the doctor had not been able to substitute a false memory, he had been able to erase any memories the subjects might have had of being at the lab. It was a process that left them not quite knowing what had happened. They simply closed their eyes at the park and when they opened them again, two hours had passed. In the place of those two hours sat a blank spot. No explanation.

The elevator arrived at the basement. The counterweight set, the car settled onto the buffer, and the doors opened. Childs escorted the three teenagers into the car. They were the walking dead, fixed gazes, expressionless, going through all the motions and only distantly aware of their surroundings. He pressed the button for the first floor. The elevator doors closed.

Pam was waiting in the lobby for them. She checked her watch as the doors opened and the four passengers stepped out. “Right on schedule.”

“Couldn’t have gone any smoother,” Childs said.

“The lab’s got everything?”

“They’re already doing the work up.”

They went out through the back entrance, where the Buick was waiting. The kids climbed into the back seat. They would be back at the park, innocent and safe for another three months, in less than the usual two hours. Childs closed the door behind the girl.

“I think I’ll go straight from the park to the airport,” he said. “No sense in hanging around here twiddling my thumbs for the next three hours. Maybe they’ll be able to get me on an earlier flight out.”

“I’ll fax you the prelims tomorrow.”

He paused a moment, the driver’s side door open. He looked across the top of the car, a wistful longing in his eyes. “You know, we’ve been doing this for I don’t know how many years now. I sure as hell wish we could get over that last little hurdle.”

“We’re getting closer.”

[108]

“For many years we believed that aging was a process beyond our control. There was only so much punishment the body could take, we believed, before it lost its ability to renew itself. Death, we believed, was inevitable.

“I’m here to tell you tonight that we may very well have been wrong.

“Please, let me explain.

“The most interesting development to come along in recent years has been our increased understanding of the nature of a genetic disease called progeria. More specifically Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome. This is a degenerative disease which afflicts children. By the age of ten or twelve they begin to demonstrate many of the signs of old age. These signs may include gray hair, baldness, loss of body fat, and atherosclerosis, which refers to the fatty deposits lining the arterial walls. While the cause of progeria is still unknown we have discovered that its victims demonstrate a dramatic reduction in the number of times their cells are able to regenerate themselves.

“We know that progeria is a genetic disease and therefore we can now conclude that the aging process is a genetically-controlled process. If we’re able to learn to identify and manipulate the gene or genes that trigger this process, then there’s no reason to believe we won’t be able to delay and perhaps even permanently suspend the aging process.

“This is not idle speculation, ladies and gentlemen.

“This is, in fact, quite achievable. Perhaps even as early as the end of this century.”

Dr. Timothy Childs

Commission on Death and Dying, 1982

[109]

Beep… beep… beep… beep…

Cody Breswick heard the beat of his heart on the ECG machine before he heard anything else. It made a sound like the old Pong video game his father had shown him at the San Francisco Exploratorium the last time they were there. Beep. Beep. Beep. A steady, almost monotonous sound that called him up from the black, murky waters where he had been floating aimlessly for longer than he could imagine.

The ring finger of his left hand twitched, then fell motionless again.

Air escaped from his lungs in a short, sharp burst.

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry and what little saliva he could gather together wasn’t enough to coat the inside of his mouth much less the inside of his throat. It felt raw and burning when he tried to swallow.

He moaned.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

At the edge of the darkness, he could see the first bluish-purple glow of a sunrise. There was light out there somewhere beyond the darkness, beyond the black, formless landscape. He sensed it more than saw it, but it was there all right, gradually drawing in the surrounding darkness the way a Black Hole draws in the light. The black sky turned dark blue… turned light blue… turned white-orange… turned

…turned bright and illuminating, a burning, sparkling sun.

His eyelids fluttered open against the light, and he was startled by the intensity. He blinked back the glare several times, felt his eyes water, and raised his hand to shade his eyes against the brightness. Overhead, a small fluorescent lamp cast its gaze over his pillow and halfway down the bed.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The machine making that rhythmic sound stood against the wall, next to the bed. Across a screen near the top, a graph line moved from left to right, spiking synchronically to each new beep. Cody didn’t know exactly what it did or how it did it, but he thought the beeping had something to do with his heart. Small round bandages on his chest and wrists and ankles were connected to long wire leads that seemed somehow to join him to the machine.

He tried to move his legs. They felt as if they were cased in concrete. A dull throbbing pain went spiraling up his calves and through his thighs. His right arm, which lay in some sort of contoured half-cast, strapped across the biceps and forearm, spasmed then fell still again. There was a needle protruding from beneath several layers of medical tape across the inside of his elbow joint. The needle ran into a tube, the tube ran into a machine that sounded as if it were gnawing on something, and above the machine someone had hung two bags of clear liquid from a metal stand.

“Mom…”

He glanced to his right, beyond the machinery, and realized he was not alone in this room. There was a girl in the bed to his right. She looked as if she might be a year or two older than him, her hair blond-brown, her fingernails unpolished and long. She took in a shallow breath and her chest expanded briefly then fell back again. Cody wondered distantly if she were dying.

“Mom…”

It was scary here. Beyond the girl, there was another bed, another girl. And beyond her, another bed still. Each of the beds had its own overhead light, its own staff of machines. It brought to mind images of a hospital, though this seemed as if it were one step beyond the hope of a hospital, a place where they brought the hopeless to die.

“Mom…”

He called out another half-a-dozen times before the door finally opened and a woman he didn’t know walked through. She seemed as surprised to see him as he was to see her. And though later he would wonder about his mother and why she wasn’t there, initially he didn’t care that the woman wasn’t his mother. Initially, all that mattered was that someone had finally arrived.

Someone who wasn’t hooked up to a machine.

[110]

There had been no early flights out of O’Hare and Childs had ended up hanging out at the airport for nearly three hours before his eight o’clock flight was ready to board. The plane landed a little after ten, Pacific Daylight Time. It took him another thirty minutes to retrieve his luggage and make it to his car, which was parked in the overnight lot half-a-mile from the terminal.

By the time he made it home, he had begun to feel the effects of the trip. He dropped his suitcase in the entryway and headed for the wet bar in the living room, where he poured himself a Vodka Collins. There was a slight chill in the house, though he preferred it a little on the cool side and didn’t have the energy to bother with the thermostat, which was mounted on the wall at the other end of the hall.

Instead, he collapsed on the couch.

It had been a long haul. Not just the trip and the flight home, but everything that had happened over the past twenty years: the first administration of Genesis, the disappointment when it hadn’t appeared to have had any effect, the follow-up with the children just in case, then the mishap with the AA103. A long journey and Childs still wasn’t sure how far he had come.

D.C. had instructed him to dispose of the AA103 and all his research notes shortly after the comas had started to crop up. If the public ever found out, he had said, all hell would break loose. The entire government would be in danger. Of course, that had been before they discovered the other side effect: that the children had stopped aging. By then, D.C. had already supervised the burning of the notes and the disposal of all ten vials of the drug.

Childs had been devastated. He had naively allowed himself to believe that he had been part of something important, so important that the CIA and the DOD had wanted him on their team. That was the only way he had been able justify what he had done. It had been for the good of the country, for the good of mankind. The end truly would justify the means.

Not all the AA103 had gone down the drain. Childs had not been able to bring himself to dispose of all of it. Shortly after the first child had fallen ill, he had set aside a single vial, replacing it with distilled water. He was perhaps naive, but he wasn’t stupid. He realized that once word got out about what had happened things in Washington would heat up and eventually he would feel the pressure. So he had covered himself.

He took another swipe at his drink.

AA103.

How close could a man come to uncovering the key to aging and still not quite figure it out? All he had to do was take a look at any of the dozens of sleepers scattered around the country. In ten years, not a single child in the group had grown older. Not a single child. Not a day older. They had all beaten Old Man Time’s ticking clock, and they had done it because of him. And now the only thing that remained between him and history was understanding the connection to the AA103.

How close could a man come?

He gulped down the last of the Vodka Collins and nearly missed setting the glass on the coffee table. There was a quote he had picked up in college, though he couldn’t remember who had said it. It was this: I was never afraid of failure; for I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest.

“Not so me,” Childs said, knowing that the fear of failure had been a harbinger perched upon his shoulder for as long as he could remember. It was always there, always whispering calamities in his ear, rarely letting him sleep the dreamless night, rest the wakeful morning. And it had only become worse since Audrey had died.

“Not so me.”

The phone rang.

It startled him, and Childs barked the shin of his right leg against the coffee table as he sat up. It hurt something awful as he limped into the kitchen and grabbed the receiver off its cradle. “Yeah?”

“You’re back?” Elizabeth said, surprised. Her last name was Tilley. She was in her late-fifties, and she had an extensive background in nursing, which was how Childs had first met her back in the days of the off-campus clinic near Berkeley. They had been together, professionally, ever since. If there was anyone in the world he trusted, it was Elizabeth. She was his adviser, his confidant, the only person who had truly shared his vision all these years.

“Just got in,” he said.

“I left a message on your answering machine.”

“Yeah?”

“Another sleeper woke up today.”

“Jesus.” Childs pulled out the nearest chair and sat down. Earlier, he been willing to succumb to the numbing effects of his drink, but he came fighting back now, suddenly wide awake and clear-headed. It hadn’t been a fluke after all. When the Knight boy had come out of his coma, his eyes a different color, no one had been sure what to make of it. Now, it was beginning to look like another effect of the AA103. “Which one?”

“Cody Breswick.”

“How old was he?”

“According to our records, almost eight.”

“And when did he go under?”

“Two days before the Knight boy.”

“Incredible.”

“You think they might all start coming up?”

“I don’t know. I wish I understood what the hell was going on.” Childs ran a hand across his face. He hadn’t had a chance to shave this morning. He wasn’t one of those guys who had to shave twice a day or otherwise risk walking around with a ragged five o’clock shadow, but the stubble was beginning to irritate him now. He needed to clean up. More than that, he needed a good night’s sleep.

“You monitoring all his vitals?”

“Of course.”

“Anything out of the ordinary?”

“As far as I can tell, he’s as healthy as the day he went under. We’ve already started him on physical therapy and we did a complete blood work up. No surprises so far. The kid’s eating like he’s trying to fill a hollow leg.”

“I can’t believe this,” Childs muttered. He let out a breath that felt cool against the inside of his throat, and wondered if he might be coming down with a cold. Things had been stressful lately. That wasn’t something he liked to admit. He preferred to think that over the years he had learned to roll with the punches when things got to be a little overwhelming. Sometimes, though, you fooled yourself without realizing it. “Okay, I’ll be in first thing in the morning. Is he sleeping now?”

“Like a baby.”

“Good, then first thing in the morning, okay?”

“He’s your patient.”

[111]

Teri was asleep by the time Walt arrived home. She had learned, without intending to, how to sleep lightly these past few days. As soon as the front door opened, she was sitting up in bed, the covers already thrown back. Walt came down the hall, whispering her name. If she hadn’t recognized the voice she might very well have jumped him, and someone might have gotten hurt.

“Walt?”

He pushed the bedroom door open. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Teri stepped out from behind the door, the Webster’s New World Dictionary in her hand. “Jesus, Walt, you nearly scared me to death.”

“Sorry.”

“You’ll never know how close you came to being sorry.”

She returned the book to the top of the bureau, next to the manila envelope that had come in the mail for her this afternoon. It was addressed to Teri Knight, written in a bold, almost childlike scrawl that slanted downward, left to right. The address under her name, written in that same crayon-like scrawl, had not been her home address. The address had been Walt’s.

Teri had opened the envelope apprehensively, curling back the corner of the flap and peering in as if she were afraid something might leap out at her if she weren’t careful. But it had only been a letter and some newspaper articles. The letter had been written by Richard Boyle, someone she had since come to know better than she had ever intended.

For a moment, now, Teri had two simultaneous debates vying for her attention. The first was whether or not she should tell him about what had happened here last night. The second was whether or not she should show Walt the contents of the envelope. She decided, rightly or wrongly, against both. It was late now. They were both tired. There would be plenty of time to tell him about Richard Boyle, his deeds and his death.

Teri moved the dictionary to cover the envelope and went to sit on the edge of the bed. A yawn came crawling up her throat. She held her hand over her mouth.

“What time is it?”

“A little after midnight.”

“You just get in?”

“Yeah.”

“How did it go?”

“He’s still doing it,” Walt said. He sat next to her, his eyes bright, his voice bubbly, a little boy who had just discovered that tomorrow’s Christmas. “Whatever he did to Gabe, he’s still doing it. I saw him pick up a group of teenagers, drive them back to the Institute for a couple of hours, then return them to the park again. And these kids, they were like the walking dead. Eyes glazed over. No reaction to their surroundings. He’s got ’em programmed somehow. That’s how he gets them to the Institute and back again without anyone taking notice. The damn kids don’t even know what’s going on.”

And neither do the parents, Teri thought. She wondered how long Childs had been picking Gabe up and dropping him off again before whatever it was that had gone wrong had forced the doctor to keep him permanently. And beneath that, she wondered what kind of a parent could have been so blind to such a thing?

“And you think that’s what happened to Gabe?”

“Of course, it is.”

“It might have been going on for years,” she said, her body still tight, still feeling the aches and pains from last night’s struggle. “Maybe all of Gabe’s life. And I never did anything to stop it.”

“You had no way of knowing, Teri.”

“I should have known, though. I should have seen a sign or something. He’s my son. Maybe if I had kept a closer eye on him, if I hadn’t been working, or maybe if…”

“Shhh,” Walt said. He took her into the fold of his arms and she stared vacantly across the room at the hall light seeping in through the open door. “That’s enough of that. None of this was your fault, you hear me? You can’t let him off the hook that easily, Teri. He’s the one who has to take responsibility for what happened to Gabe. Not you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Maybe.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“We still don’t know where he is, do we?” she said softly. “Gabe, I mean.”

“Maybe not the exact location, but at least we’ve got some leads.”

“The Institute?”

He nodded.

“It’s not registered anywhere,” Teri said.

“What?”

“The Devol Research Institute. I checked. It’s not registered.”

“I guess I would have been surprised if it were.”

“So how are we supposed to find him?”

“The same way we found the building in St. Charles,” Walt said. “We’ll sit at the good doctor’s curbside tomorrow and follow him around all day, and the next day and the day after that, and we’ll keep following him around until he takes us where we want to go.”

“That easy?”

“That easy.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

[112]

“We’re getting close, my friends.

“HGH. Human Growth Hormone. We’ve been using this hormone for some time now, most notably to assist the growth potential of children whose physical development is lagging behind the norm. It has proven to be quite effective within this given context. However, we’re coming to believe that HGH may actually have a much larger role to play within the arena of human aging.

“For example, we’ve recently learned that most people, when they enter what we’ve come to think of as our twilight years—the sixties, seventies and eighties—these people stop producing HGH. More important, when we give these same people regular injections of the Human Growth Hormone some interesting things begin to happen. They begin to increase bone density. They increase muscle tone. They lose an average of twelve percent of their body fat. And they find they have recharged energy levels.

“In essence, ladies and gentlemen, we’re able to chart an array of specific, measurable changes in these population groups that indicate something remarkable is going on. It appears that HGH, administered to the elderly, might actually bring about a process of age reversal.

“These people get younger.”

Dr. Timothy Childs

Bay Area BioTech Conference

June 1989

[113]

Walt was already awake when the alarm clock brought Teri out of her sleep at a couple minutes of six the next morning. She found him in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee, waiting for the toaster to finish its business with a slice of bread.

“Morning.”

“How long have you been up?” she asked, plopping down at the table, wishing she’d had another three or four hours. It didn’t come easy anymore, a good night’s sleep. The nights had started growing longer after Gabe had first shown up on her doorstep, and then again when they had taken him from her, and then, she supposed, one more time after the incident two nights ago with Boyle. The nights kept getting longer and the mornings shorter.

“I don’t know. Not long,” he said quietly. The tone of his voice struck her almost immediately as slightly foreign. He sounded as if he had slipped beneath a wave of sadness and the undertow was carrying him further out into the muddy waters.

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at her, something frighteningly unfamiliar behind his eyes, and looked away. “I thought I had put it all behind me. But now…”

“What is it, Walt?”

“It’s not important. Really.”

Teri stared at him without saying a word.

“It’s just something that surprised me, that’s all. It’s personal. It doesn’t have anything to do with you or Gabe.”

“I can sit here all day if I have to,” Teri said.

Walt flashed a crooked smile, then took it back. “My father. He died three years ago, alone in a hospital in Nevada, at the age of seventy-three, after a bout with pneumonia. We didn’t get along terribly well, and I guess somehow, over time, I came to think of myself as not really having a father. I hadn’t seen him in eight or nine years.”

“I’m sorry,” Teri said.

“Today’s the third anniversary of his death. I guess I’m a little surprised it still comes after me.” The knob on the toaster popped and Walt took possession of the bread almost the second it appeared out of the furnace. He dropped it on a plate, slapped on some butter and strawberry jam, and carried it over to the table. “Here, a little something to get you going. You look like you need it.”

“Thanks.”

“You want some coffee?”

“Black?”

“Coming up.”

She took a bite of her toast and dropped it back on the plate. She really wasn’t that hungry. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” he said flatly.

For the second time, she considered showing him the envelope that had arrived in the mail yesterday. It seemed ever more pertinent in light of the anniversary of the death of his father. Though there was a time and a place for everything, and in the end she decided to put it off a little longer.

“What do you think Childs does with them?” she asked abruptly.

“I don’t know,” Walt said. He placed the coffee cup in front of her and sat across the table in a chair that usually held a stack of newspapers. “It’s got something to do with some research project, I suppose. Probably something to do with aging.”

“I keep thinking about what he told me.”

“What was that?”

“About Gabe getting older.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got to remember who we’re dealing with, Teri. This guy’s been using children as guinea pigs for the past twenty years. I’m not sure you should put too much credence in anything he’s said, especially anything about Gabe.”

“But if he was telling the truth…” She let the thought trail away, and it wasn’t because the thought had come to her incomplete and wanting.

“What?”

“If he was telling the truth, then that would mean… it would mean Gabe was dying.” It was out there now, plain to see. Ignore it or fear it or try to make do.

Walt didn’t say a word.

“And there’s something else,” she said. “Childs might be the only person in the world who can save him.”

[114]

Childs came out of the house, checking his watch. He dug into his right front pocket, pulled out his keys, locked the front door, and started down the walkway. He had parked overnight at the front curb instead of in the garage where he usually kept the car.

It was ten past eight.

Walt and Teri had been parked across the street, half-a-block up, for over an hour. She had found herself an oldies station on the radio and a song called Breakdown by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers had just come on as Childs emerged from the house.

Walt tapped her on the forearm and pointed. “We’re on.”

She turned off the radio and buckled her seat belt. Between the coffee and the cold morning air, Teri had finally come fully awake and alert. Added to that now was a sudden rush of adrenaline. “About time. I was beginning to wonder if he was taking the day off.”

“Me, too,” Walt said, starting the engine.

They pulled out, went down the block a couple of houses, then pulled into a driveway and turned around. Childs was making a right hand turn, two blocks up, by the time they were headed in the right direction.

“Don’t lose him.”

Walt grinned. “I won’t.”

He had warned her that she was going to have to be patient, that Childs might not lead them anywhere except to the office and back. And not just today, but tomorrow and maybe the day after and maybe the day after that as well. It could turn out to be long and arduous, he had said.

But instead, Childs took them on a sight-seeing tour through a maze of neighborhoods and twice around the business district, something he wouldn’t be doing if he were going to the office or downtown to the mall or over to the Holiday Market to pick up some groceries. Even a careful man didn’t waste his time worrying about being followed if he were only making a trip to the market.

“What’s he doing?”

“Making sure no one’s following him.”

“He’s not going to the clinic, is he?”

“Nope,” Walt said.

“You think we hit a jackpot first coin in the slot?”

“That I do.”

It was almost nine by the time Childs finally pulled into the entrance of the Devol Research Institute. Walt slowed down out front and watched the Buick make the long straight line down the driveway to the parking lot. The sprinklers had come on sometime earlier. The landscaping glistened and there were a number of small puddles in the road that seemed to explode under the weight of the car’s tires.

“You were right,” Teri said, feeling a strange sense of dread settle over her. It was almost as if she had come to a fork in the road and deep in her heart she knew that neither of her options would take her to where she wanted to go.

“Lucky guess.”

“You think Gabe’s inside somewhere?”

“He’s in there, all right.”

“Can we get him?”

Walt pulled back into the street and accelerated. “Not yet. We have a little research to do first.”

[115]

Mitch, who had pulled over to the side of the road in front of a trash bin, watched the Pontiac Sunbird slow down outside the entrance to the Institute. This was not a good thing. Not a good thing at all.

Odd as it might sound, he had grown to admire Mrs. Knight. She was one tough woman, stubborn and dogged. He still had some bruises to prove it. But what she didn’t seem to realize was that she was putting herself into the kind of jeopardy that could get her killed. She wasn’t supposed to know about this place, and now that she did, something was going to have to be done about her.

The Sunbird pulled back into traffic and started down the street, gradually accelerating until it disappeared into the horizon. Mitch watched it go with a feeling of dread, the kind of thing that sometimes settled over him when he knew things had gotten out of hand.

No sense following them any further. Not now. All bets were off now that they had found their way this far.

He waited for an opening in the traffic, and drove down the street, talking to himself before pulling into the Institute entrance. D.C. was not going to be pleased with this new wrinkle. He was a man who preferred that things went smoothly. When they didn’t, when the clamps got a little too tight, you couldn’t trust being around him, because you never knew what he would do. And this… this… he wasn’t going to like at all.

That was too bad for Mrs. Knight.

[116]

When the door opened, Gabe was watching Huckleberry Hound and absently scratching under the lip of his cast. He looked up, fully expecting to see Tilley step through, a slick smile on her face and a man or two behind her, just in case things got a little out of hand. That seemed to be the way things had shaped up around here. There were only two reasons that door ever opened. First, if she was bringing him a meal—and it wasn’t meal time, he knew that much, because he had just finished eating a tuna fish sandwich and a bag of potato chips for lunch. Or second, if she was here to take another stupid sample.

The worst of the sample taking had taken place yesterday. He had learned not to put up a fight when she was after blood. It didn’t hurt as much if he just closed his eyes and let her take what she wanted to take. But it hadn’t been his blood that she had wanted yesterday.

“We’re going to take another sample,” she had said, matter-of-factly. “And this one’s going to be a little different from the others. I don’t want to have any trouble out of you, do you understand? You can make it easy on yourself by just relaxing and keeping your eyes closed. If you do that, you’ll hardly even notice what’s going on.”

It hadn’t been that simple. Nor had it been as horrific as he had imagined after that little speech of hers. When he felt the first pin prick over his right lower ribs, he realized she had given him some sort of a shot.

“You rest for a few minutes and I’ll be right back,” she said. When she returned, she pinched him just below the ribs, complaining to herself that he was all skin and bones and they were going to have to do something about that. “How does that feel?”

“Tingly.”

“Good.”

She had him close his eyes again. Seeing the needle, she said, would only make the pain seem worse than it actually was. It hurt just the same, even without seeing the needle. Maybe that was because what he did see was enough to scare him half to death. Tilley had taken a knife and cut a slit into his side, just above his lower ribs. She was twisting and turning a needle in there, hunting around for just the right prize the way you hunted for the biggest stuffed bear at one of those crane-like vending machines you see at carnivals.

Gabe snapped his eyes shut.

“There,” she said, a moment later. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

He looked down and saw a Band-Aid covering the damage. It was one of those children’s Band-Aids, the ones with the bright colors and shapes, as if that could somehow make what had happened less horrifying for him. It didn’t. It made it worse, in fact. Because suddenly he had a longing to be home again, with his mother, where there were no needles, no antiseptic smell, and no stupid witch posing as a nurse.

God, how he hated this place.

Then late last night, he had rolled over in his sleep and the soreness had suddenly brought him awake. He had peeled back the Band-Aid and discovered a small black-and-blue circle where Tilley had pinched him. The slit underneath, where the needle had gone in, was barely visible.

So the worse of Miss Tilley’s taking had come yesterday.

And now, as she was stepping through the door, Gabe wondered what she was here to take from him this time.

[117]

D.C. followed fifteen or twenty feet behind as the man took his mid-morning walk along the paved trail that meandered alongside the Sacramento River. There was a hillside to their left, topped with a line of expensive Mediterranean-style houses. Patches of shade fell randomly across the path, just often enough to bring relief from the overhead sun.

D.C. picked up his pace until he was directly behind the man, then pulled a gun from beneath his jacket and placed it against the small of the man’s back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Webster? You’re going to shut down the whole project.”

Webster stopped without turning around, and though he appeared not the least bit unsettled by the gun in his back, D.C. drew a certain degree of pleasure from having placed it there. “How nice of you to join me. It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“You think so?” He shoved the barrel of the gun a little deeper into the man’s flesh. “You think Peggy Landau is enjoying it as much as you?”

“Landau? She a friend of yours?” Webster said softly. “Or one of those extra wives you have stashed all around the country?”

“You know who the hell she is. You’re the one who had her killed.” They stood in the middle of the path, alone for the moment, though that wouldn’t remain the case forever. D.C. nudged the man in the direction of a bench next to the river, and motioned for him to sit down. “What are you doing? Sending up a fucking flare so everyone in the world will know what’s going on?”

Webster grinned. It was a grin that D.C. had seen before, a grin that he had come to despise almost as much as he despised the man himself. “The flare was only meant for you, my friend.”

“Why?”

“Are you aware that your Miss Landau died of an overdose?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“They haven’t decided yet if it was an accident or not, were you aware of that as well?”

D.C. couldn’t believe it. “You’re setting me up? That’s what this is all about?”

Webster shrugged half-heartedly and gazed out across the slow current of the river. Someone passing by might look at him and think what a kindly old gentleman he must be, and how much he must be enjoying his retirement out here, taking in the peaceful sounds of the water. “It’s just a little insurance, that’s all. Just a little incentive for you. I wouldn’t want you to worry about it, but it is something for you to keep in mind.”

“This is on your own, isn’t it, Webster? The agency doesn’t even know you’re out of your fucking head, or you’re out here running around killing people, does it?”

“No, to be perfectly honest, they think you’re the one who’s out of his head. And you’re the one who’s running around killing people.”

[118]

“I need to make a stop,” Walt said.

They were on their way back to the apartment after visiting the Building Department at the County Offices, where they had picked up the blueprints to the Institute. Walt had seemed draggy the last thirty or forty minutes, not tired so much as self-absorbed. He had been distant and uncommunicative, and Teri had wondered if maybe he knew something that she didn’t, if maybe it had something to do with Aaron Jefferson.

They had bumped into Aaron on the steps outside the County Offices. It was the first time she had ever met the gentleman. He was tall and thin and had a smile that came easily. It left you feeling as if you had been friends most of your life.

For the most part, they exchanged small talk, Aaron mentioning something about a proposed change in the structure of the department, Walt remarking on how easy it had been to get the set of blueprints. The exchange had been short and affable. It was after they parted and they were on their way to the parking lot that Walt mentioned that Aaron was the man who had run the fingerprint checks on her shoe.

“Did he find anything?” Teri asked, not remembering if they had discussed the results or not. So much had happened the past week; it was hard to keep track of it all.

“Nothing important,” Walt said, and then he had fallen uncharacteristically silent. He climbed into the car, turned on the radio and lost himself somewhere in the lyrics of Neil Young’s The Needle and the Damage Done. For a man who purported to abhor the Sixties, wasn’t that a little red flag going up? Teri let it flap in the wind, without making an effort to extract any kind of explanation. If he had something on his mind that he wanted to talk about, she told herself, then sooner or later it would come out on its own. As long as he understood that she would be there to listen…

The stop Walt had wanted to make was at the Hillcrest Cemetery, off Remington Drive just north of the city, overlooking a small agricultural valley nestled in the foothills. They parked out front, next to the Hillcrest Chapel.

“My father’s buried here,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt. He sank back, his hands suddenly wrapped around the steering wheel, and stared out across the graveyard, a man who had seen his share of ghosts in his life. “So’s my son.”

“You want me to wait?” she asked.

“No, you can come.”

They got out. He locked up the car and waited for her to join him. A gentle afternoon breeze kicked up, whistling through the trees, stirring the souls of all the ghosts that made their residence here.

“My father’s greatest fear was dying,” he said solemnly as they walked through the huge ironwork gate. “I never understood that.”

“A lot of people fear death.”

“I don’t.”

As strange and as stark as that might have sounded, Teri didn’t doubt it in the least. In fact, she thought she might even understand it. She had felt much the same way after Gabe had disappeared, especially after she reached the point of giving up her search for him. After that, whether she lived or died hadn’t mattered much. Death, she decided, was something you feared when you had a reason to live. Her reason had gone the way of the wind.

“My father died a thousand little deaths in his life. Every time he changed a name or quit a job or moved to a new town. Each and every one of them, they were all little deaths and it never occurred to him he was even dying.”

They came upon the gravesite, which was at the far end of the third row, just out of the shade of an old oak. It was marked by a marbled headstone set flush in the ground, the grass long and unkempt around the edges. There was a small bouquet of yellow daffodils above the name on the marker.

WILLIAM JACOB TRAVIS

1919-1992

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

Walt knelt and crossed himself, then brushed away the debris that had collected around the chiseled-out letters. Underneath a matting of oak leaves and pine needles, he stirred up a red-ribbon bow, faded and pinkish and curled at the edges. He stuffed it into his pocket.

“I hated him as much as I loved him, you know. He was that kind of man.”

Teri stood back, silent, not knowing what to say. She wished now that she had opted to wait in the car. She was out of place here, a voyeur catching a glimpse of a moment best left private.

“We moved around a lot when I was a kid; I ever tell you that?”

She shook her head.

“That was because we were running most of the time.” He sat back on his haunches, then raised his eyes to the sky, which was still overcast, though you could catch a patch or two of blue trying to battle its way through in the distance. “Oh, Christ, what we do with our lives.”

Teri placed a hand on his shoulder.

He covered it with his own.

“Ever wish you could go back and start all over?”

“Sometimes,” she said.

“Me, too. I’d live in a small town, in an old Victorian. Maybe go to the same school all my life. Come home to mom baking cookies, the smell in the house warm and delicious. I’d play catch with dad when he got home, talk about the Giants, oil up my mitt, make plans to go down to the creek and do a little fishing. So many things would have been different.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Guess I’m making an idiot of myself, huh?”

“We all wish things could be different, Walt.”

He nodded and made a face. It was something he already knew, and something she imagined he had already tried to deal with on numerous other occasions. The way a childhood could follow you around the rest of your life, though – that was frightening. There was no escaping the little boy, was there? He was your conscience, your memory, your teacher, your student.

Walt finished a silent prayer, crossed himself, then moved to the adjacent plot and kneeled again. The marble headstone marked the grave as follows:

BRANDON KINLEY TRAVIS

1976-1985

Sweet Dreams and Ice Cream

You Left Too Soon

Walt’s son.

He climbed back to his feet. He brushed off the knees of his slacks where they were grimed with gravel and loose blades of grass. He looked at her, almost apologetically, then leaned over and picked up the bouquet of daffodils. A bright yellow ribbon formed a bow around the middle. Beneath the bow was a card. He opened the card and read it twice before handing it to her.

She accepted it reflexively. The card said: There’s nothing quite like family, is there? Sorry to hear of your daddy’s death. It was signed: Richard Boyle.

Walt shook his head. “Bastard’s sure enjoying himself.”

Teri fell silent.

If she hadn’t felt the voyeur before, she felt the voyeur now.

[119]

Michael pulled into a McDonald’s off Cypress and found himself in a drive-through line of five or six cars. He rolled down the window and hung his arm over the door. The sky was clear, the sun bright, the outside temperature nearing ninety. He had been running the air conditioner most of the morning and realized now that he had lost sight of how hot the day had actually become.

He had lost sight of quite a few things lately, he supposed. Not the least of which was how far he had drifted from most of his old college friends. After Peggy’s purported overdose, Michael had started calling as many of the old crowd as he could track down. He didn’t really know what he was looking for, only that it was too much of a coincidence that Peggy’s death had come when it had. So he did some calling and was surprised to find that Teri had spoken to many of these same people only a few days before.

She had made some small talk and had asked about their children and somehow the conversation had always seemed to work its way around to Dr. Childs. Listening to them talk about her calls, Michael had slowly begun to piece together a little of what Teri was after and what she had apparently discovered. There were other children in this group that had disappeared around the time that Gabe had disappeared. And in one way or another, all of the children had been in contact with Dr. Childs.

That was as much as he knew at the moment.

No one had heard back from her.

The line of cars moved forward and it became Michael’s turn to order, which he did: a Quarter Pounder with cheese, the meal, Super Sized with a Diet Coke. He wasn’t as hungry as he was thirsty, but it there was no telling how long it would be before he might get a chance to eat again.

He finished placing his order, and glanced in his rearview mirror at the car behind him. A Chevy minivan. A woman was driving; the back seats were loaded with half-a-dozen kids. She moved up behind him and rolled down her window, her face drawn and haggard. There was another car behind the minivan, a Honda Civic it appeared to be, from this angle it was hard to be sure.

Michael was getting fairly adept at knowing who and what was in the vicinity.

They were no longer following him (whoever they had been). That had stopped the night he had walked out the back door of the police station after his interview with Lieutenant Sterns. Michael was staying at a run-down motel off Market Street now, with all the amenities that such accommodations afforded: lumpy bed, rust-stained toilet, broken television, and a smell that he didn’t even want to venture a guess as to its origin.

But he could look out his window at night without seeing that dark-colored Ford sitting across the lot like a vulture waiting for the last throes of death to kick in. And that was all the peace he needed to sleep through the entire night. A comfortable bed and a clean bathroom weren’t necessities at this point. They could wait their turn. With a little luck, it wouldn’t be that long.

He listened to the idle of the engine, thought about the last time he had talked to Teri over the phone, and wondered for the thousandth time how they had come to find themselves in this bizarre situation. It’s what happens when you learn not to trust anyone, he supposed. First you quit trusting strangers, because any one of them could be the one who has walked off with your son. Then you begin to lose trust in the police, who either seem indifferent or incompetent. And finally you begin to lose trust in each other. That’s what got you here. You lost trust in Teri and she lost trust in you,

and…

He finally arrived at the pick-up window. Michael paid a young high school girl with braces that looked terribly uncomfortable, then accepted his burger, fries and drink, and drove out of the lot.

He knew exactly where he was going. And he knew exactly what he was going to do when he got there. What he didn’t know was if it would lead him to Teri.

[120]

Tilly apparently wasn’t after another sample after all.

She stepped through the door and asked Gabe how he was doing today. All right, he told her, having learned never to offer anything more than absolutely necessary. You never knew what the crazy woman was going to do. She could be your grandmother when she wanted. Or she could be Nurse Ratched, depending on the kind of mood she was in or if you happened to say the wrong thing.

She did not move all the way into the room as was her usual routine. Instead, she stood by the door, her hands clasped behind her. “Got a surprise for you,” she said.

Gabe didn’t say a word.

“How’d you like to have a roommate?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On who it is.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, it really isn’t up for debate. Like it or not, you’ve got yourself a little playmate now.”

She wheeled in a boy who looked as if he might be nine or ten years old. He was pale and on the thin side, had blond hair and a spattering of light freckles across the bridge of his nose. His eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, taking it all in, making no secret of his fear and confusion. Tilley wheeled him over to the first bed on Gabe’s left, and helped him out of the chair and into the bed.

“He’s still a little weak,” she said. “But he’ll get stronger.”

His name was Cody, and he was neither nine nor ten. He was eight. After Tilley left, they talked for awhile and he told Gabe that he didn’t remember how he had gotten here, only that he had gone to the park to play. He tried not to cry, but eventually lost the battle, and tears filled his eyes. He missed his mommy, he said. And he didn’t like it here. And he wanted to go home again.

Gabe missed his own mother.

And he wanted to go home, too.

[121]

“It’s the same scenario,” Childs said, doodling absently on the calendar pad on his desk. There were two other participants in this meeting. One was a muscle man by the name of Mitch. The other man Childs knew only as D.C., though he suspected this man—who had been his primary contact almost since the very beginning—was a man of many names. They were names you didn’t want to know, because when you started to know too much about these guys, you made yourself dangerous to them, and dangerous men lived short lives.

“What about the others?” D.C. asked.

“What about them?”

“You tell me. Are they all going to start coming up?”

“There’s no way I can answer that.”

Mitch stood in the corner, his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. It was the same position he had taken up every time he had been in this room. He coughed into his hand and crossed his arms again, not saying a word. He had said more than enough already, Childs supposed.

D.C. was perched on the folding table, next to the copy machine. His hands were curled around the edge, elbows locked, knuckles white, and he was swinging his legs through the air as if he were trying to pick up speed. He was not terribly pleased about anything he had heard this afternoon.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I never imagined any of them would wake up,” Childs said.

“Well, they did. And now we’re going to have to figure out what the hell we’re going to do with them, aren’t we?”

“All we need is a little time.”

“How much time?”

“Six months, eight months, maybe a year. Both boys are beginning to show signs of aging. They’ll die naturally if we just wait it out.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Knight won’t mind waiting,” Mitch said.

“She is a problem, doc. No matter what we do.”

“I know,” Childs said, leaning back in his chair. He studied the ceiling, which had a dark gouge over the conference table where two years ago the janitor had crushed a spider under the handle of his mop. “We could transfer the kids to another facility until things settle down. Maybe Houston or St. Charles.”

“The two boys?”

“Yeah.”

“What about the sleepers?”

“We could move them all.”

“How soon?”

“It won’t be easy, not with the sleepers. They’ll need special care. I’d have to make some arrangements.”

“How soon?”

“Maybe two weeks.”

Mitch grunted. “Like I said, I’m sure Mrs. Knight won’t mind waiting.”

“Then for Christ’s sake just get rid of her!” Childs said, surprising everyone in the room, including himself. For a moment, his entire body shook. He looked away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just that…”

“We can’t kill off everyone,” Mitch said.

“I said I didn’t mean it.” He leaned against the desk for support, doing his best to deal with the mix of frustration and guilt roiling up inside him like an angry thunderhead. This had never been the way he had envisioned it. Never. “Amanda Tarkett was more than enough killing for all of us.”

“She was an accident, you son of a bitch.”

“Gentlemen, please,” D.C. said. “Let’s try to stay on subject, all right? We’ve already got plenty on our plate here. No need to toss in the playground insults.”

The pencil Childs had been holding suddenly snapped in half. He stared at the two uneven pieces, the cylinder of graphite exposed beneath jagged yellow edges, then tossed them at the wastepaper basket next to his desk. One piece bounced off the rim and fell silently to the carpet. The other hit home, making a hollow, clanging sound.

“Done?” D.C. asked.

“I hate this,” Childs said.

“I know you do.”

“It’s a fucking nightmare.”

“So let’s see if we can find a way out of it. All right?”

Childs nodded, wearing the lost and lonely face of a man who wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

[122]

Teri went into Walt’s bedroom after the manila envelope that had arrived in the mail yesterday. It was sitting where she had left it on the bureau, under the dictionary. She pulled it out, thought about the name at the bottom of the letter – Richard Boyle, and thought how much the bastard must have been enjoying himself. Well, he wasn’t enjoying himself now, was he? She took a deep breath and held it. For a moment, her encounter with Boyle came back to her again, vivid, so fresh that she could smell the alcohol in the air. She had managed to keep it down for two days now, and she had promised herself not to let it up again until long after Gabe was back home and safe.

Teri eased the breath out, and forced her attention back to Walt.

Following the visit to the cemetery, the trip back to the apartment had fallen under the cast of a thick, self-conscious silence. She had witnessed a private moment in the life of a private man, and she had wanted him to know that she understood how difficult his childhood had been. But the moment had never seemed quite appropriate and as soon as they had arrived home, Walt had gone to bed, saying he felt as if he might be coming down with something. He slept through the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening.

Teri found it a little more difficult to sleep. She busied herself with a casserole for dinner—the recipe had been on the back of an elbow macaroni package—and tried not to give too much thought to what had happened. But she had been doing quite a bit of that lately and it was getting more difficult all the time.

Now, standing at the bureau, she wondered for the hundredth time if showing Walt the manila envelope would make matters better or worse. The contents included Xerox copies of old newspaper articles taken from several local newspapers. The articles spanned a period of almost twelve years through the late Fifties and early Sixties. Altogether, they went into a detailed account of Walt’s childhood – his parents’ divorce, how his father had kidnapped him, the towns where they had been spotted, the names they had used, the changes they had made in their appearances. The articles ran all the way through the death of Walt’s mother in 1965, and after that they came to an abrupt end.

What a nightmare, Teri thought.

How could a father do such a thing to his son?

There was one additional item in the envelope, this from only a few years ago. It was a Xerox copy of the minutes of a Board of Supervisor’s meeting dated March 13, 1991. Under the subheading Personnel Matters was a short one-sentence statement highlighted in yellow. It read: With the recommendation of the Police Commission, the employment of Detective Walter L. Travis shall be terminated with full disability pay as of the last day of the last pay period of this month.

He hadn’t quit the department.

They had asked him to leave.

[123]

“No,” Walt said, standing at the living room window, looking out across the valley. A thin band of twilight colors edged the distant mountain tops. A few more minutes and nightfall would own the sky. “I didn’t quit. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it’s not the kind of thing a person likes to slip into the conversation.”

Teri listened, suddenly hating herself for having put him in this position.

“And yes, I had some psychological problems.”

“I don’t care about that. I just want you to know that I understand.”

“Really? Then you’re doing better than I am, because I don’t think I understand.”

“It must have been hell – what you’re father did to you.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“The past haunts us all,” Teri said.

He turned away from the last sliver of sunset, his face expressionless. “I suppose you would know that better than most, after everything you’ve been through.”

“I was just worried about you,” she said.

“No need. I’m all right.”

“Guess I should have known that.”

Walt’s face was drawn, though he managed to find room for a slightly self-conscious smile. It wasn’t the tragic smile Teri had half-expected to see. Instead, it was a break in the ice that had seemed to form between them earlier in the day.

“Yes, you should have,” he said.

Teri managed a smile of her own. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

[124]

“What we need to do is get the two kids moved out of here as soon as possible. If the Knight woman starts nosing around—and I think we all know she’s going to do just that—then we damn well better not have her kid in the basement, yelling for his mommy.”

“We can move them into a motel in the morning,” Mitch said.

“And then move them out to Houston from there,” Childs suggested.

D.C. studied the doc, looking for anything that might indicate what was really going on inside the man’s head. He had watched Childs swing from one mood to another like a chimpanzee trying to find a vine that might support him. The man had finally gotten himself under control again, but as far as D.C. was concerned he was running out of vines.

“How long will it take?”

“To get them to Houston?”

“Yes,” he said sharply. “To get them to… Houston.”

“The same day, if there’s a flight going out.”

“Tomorrow?”

Childs nodded.

“Then why don’t we do that.”

“What about the others?” Mitch asked.

“Well, since we can’t move them all—”

“How about a little sleight of hand,” Childs said. “We could leave them right where they are. No one’s likely to stumble across them in the basement, anyway. But if we fix up the first floor… maybe move some equipment down, bring in some monkeys and rats, pay a few indigents to let us draw blood, that kind of thing… maybe that’s all we would need to put her off for another week or so.”

“Might work,” D.C. said. He pulled a single cigarette out of a pocket and as he sat there thinking, he fingered the cigarette across the back of his hand and back. Between the Knight woman and the kids waking up—not to mention the pressure from Webster—he had already decided that things had gotten too far out of hand. The question was: what should he do about it?

Somewhere down the road—not far down the road, either—they were going to have to shut this thing down. All of it. The operations in Houston and St. Charles and Reston. The operation here. It was his guess that the only person in this room who didn’t understand that was Childs.

“It would probably take two, maybe three days at the most to get it set up,” Childs said. “And it would buy us enough time to work out a more permanent solution.”

“All right, then why don’t we give it a try?”

[125]

Outside the grounds of the Devol Research Institute, Walt pulled the Sunbird off the road and into the shadows. He looked across the seat at Teri and raised his eyebrows questioningly. “You sure you want to do this tonight?”

“I want my son.”

“I know you do. But that’s not what I asked you.”

“Yes, tonight. I want him tonight. No more waiting. They’ve had him long enough. I’m not letting them have him another moment.”

“Another day or two and we’d have a much better idea—”

“Tonight,” she said firmly.

“All right.” He leaned back and brought the blueprints out from behind the passenger seat. He slid the rubber bands off each end, unrolled the plans, and used his flashlight as a weight to pin the top against the dashboard. “Let’s take a look at these. How about a little light?”

Teri took the flashlight out of her backpack, turned it on and held it over the plans.

The building was three stories plus a basement. There was an open receptionist’s area when you first went through the front door and two elevators off to the left. Only one of the elevators went down to the basement level. Upstairs appeared to be mostly office space, including a myriad of small cubicles, a couple of conference rooms, and a huge open area that was labeled “The Lab.” The intended use of the basement appeared less certain. Labeled as “Storage,” it appeared to be well wired, with an unusual array of electrical outlets. At the back of the building, sat a loading dock, and next to that, a set of glass double doors. The only other way in or out besides an upstairs window would be what looked to be an emergency exit, next to the only staircase in the building.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“My best guess would be—if they have him, they have him in the basement.”

“How do we get down there?”

Walt pointed to the back of the building, at the emergency exit. “See the stairwell? That’s the only way down unless you want to walk through the front door and try the elevator.”

“And what if he isn’t in the basement?”

“Then I guess we’ll take a walk upstairs.”

[126]

Childs had found his way back to the lab, glad to be out of the presence of his quote—associates—unquote. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them; he had never actually liked them. And he had never actually doubted that their feeling for him was mutual. But sometimes when people were forced together in a common goal—or what might appear to be a common goal—it was necessary for the personalities involved to overlook some of the petty quirks of the other group members. And yes, it sounded like a group therapy session, but that was the dynamics of interpersonal relationships. You learned to tolerate your differences.

He pulled out the most recent sample of liver cells taken from the two boys. The first sample belonged to Gabriel Knight. He placed it into the specimen chamber of the electron microscope, positioned it, and turned to the control panel. When he finally brought up the visual, he compared it to a visual display of the cells taken when the Knight boy had still been comatose. There was a marked difference. The mitochondria, which had been round and smooth and resembled the basic form of a grape while the boy was comatose, now looked something more like a raisin. It was shriveled and misshapen. And instead of dividing every five to six days, it teased you, threatening to divide but never quite getting around to it.

There was no denying the evidence. Somehow, through an interaction that Childs still did not fully comprehend, the AA103 had served to keep the Knight boy both comatose and ageless for a good number of years. But suddenly, without an obvious trigger, that causatum had mysteriously shut down. More than that, it appeared the process had actually reversed itself. The body was making up for lost time, so to speak. It was aging at such an alarming rate that before long the boy’s physical maturation might very well overtake his chronological maturation. And after that…

Death, Childs thought glumly.

He pulled out the liver cell sample of the Breswick boy, and exchanged it in the specimen chamber. It was mostly a matter of confirming what he already knew at this point. He had given some thought to the possibility that the DOD might be interested in this new wrinkle, this premature aging. But in his heart, he knew that was more dream than reality. It didn’t take a genius to realize that things were rapidly drawing to a close around here.

D.C. wasn’t the kind of man who would tell him that, of course. He wasn’t the kind of man who would even hint at it. But the writing on the wall was an easy read. Too many things were beginning to go wrong. It was easier—and probably smarter in the long run—to shut things down before they got too far out of hand.

Childs positioned the specimen, and turned his attention to the control panel. It was frightening how quickly everything had seemed to spin out of control. A lifetime of work was on the line and they were ready to scrap it. Just like that. No second thoughts. No regrets.

What an ungodly waste, he thought.

[127]

They had made their way around the perimeter of the Institute property, staying close to the fence where the shadows were darkest. There was a sliver of moon out tonight, just enough to cast a grayish tint over the landscape. It was that grayish tint that served as their eyes.

At the back of the building, they kept low and moved along the line of shrubbery until the last twenty or thirty feet, where they were forced to scamper across an opening. Walt held Teri’s hand all the way. They reached the emergency exit door, Teri breathing hard on one side, Walt scanning their surroundings on the other.

“So far so good,” she said.

“That was the easy part.” He grinned at her, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Great. Now you tell me.”

It was a matter of picking the lock next, and it took him less than thirty seconds to do it. She watched him, amazed at how simple he made it look. The lock popped. He turned the knob slowly, then opened the door a crack and waited.

“What—”

“Shhh.” He waited for another five count, then motioned her on through, and entered right behind her. Inside, a short hallway faced them. At the far end, the darkness was spotted by a couple of overnight lights in the receptionist’s area. Off to the right, just as the blueprints had shown, was the stairway that was supposed to take them down to the basement. What the blueprints hadn’t shown was the locked door that blocked access to the stairway.

“Christ!” Walt ran the palm of his hand over the surface and Teri could see that the door was made of metal. It was painted an ugly navy gray that contrasted sharply with the large black lettering. The lettering said, simply enough: STAIRWAY.

“Can’t you pick it?”

“Yeah, but it’s a mortise lock. It’ll take a little longer to play around with the cylinder.”

“I’ll cancel our dinner reservations.”

“You do that.”

It didn’t take as long as Walt had led her to believe. Maybe a minute-and-a-half. Two minutes at the most. He worked with it intensely, then suddenly whispered, “Got it!” and fought a moment longer before Teri heard the dead bolt slide back from the strike plate. The door swung out.

“I’ll see if I can get our reservations back.”

Walt pulled the flashlight out of his backpack, and they started down the stairway.

[128]

“That guy really is an asshole,” Mitch said.

“I know. Even worse, he’s a skittish asshole.” D.C. swirled the ice around the bottom of his cup of Diet Coke, then finished the drink. The cubicle where they were talking sat in the middle of a maze of cubicles on the third floor. The only light on in the room was the Luxo fluorescent lamp above the desk. “He’s going to panic and do something stupid one of these days.”

“How’d you ever hook up with him anyway?”

“It was a long time ago. I like to think I’ve grown a little wiser since then.”

Mitch let out a huff. He stood at the corner of the cubicle, leaning against a divider, his arms crossed, all business. You never had to guess with Mitch, and you rarely had to keep an eye on him, the way you had to watch Childs all the time. Some men you could trust, some you couldn’t.

“Things are getting tight,” he said, just before biting down on an ice cube.

“I know.”

“We’re going to have to do something about this mess before it gets so far out of hand we can’t bring it back under control.”

“You have something in mind?”

“I don’t know. I guess if I thought I could get away with it, I’d be tempted to try taking our asshole doctor out of the picture entirely and see what we’re left with.”

“Scrap the project?”

“The project’s already dead. The guy’s been working on this thing for twenty years and he still doesn’t have a fucking clue about what’s going on.” D.C., who had finished the last of the ice, tossed the cup aside and sat up. He felt tired, a little from stress and a little from the fact that he still hadn’t had dinner. “And with this Knight woman and her friend poking around—Christ, this thing’s a bomb waiting to go off. And we’re sitting right on top of the damn thing.”

“So?” Mitch prompted.

“So, I wish I knew what the hell to do about it.”

“I’ll take him for a ride, if you’d like.”

“Thanks, but we’d still have a room full of sleepers to worry about.” He paused, anticipating that Mitch might make an offer to take care of the kids as well. That would be the kind of tell that would worry him, D.C. thought. Because it was one thing to be all business, and quite another thing to be a fucking loon. If Mitch had mumbled a single syllable about handling the kids, he might very well have stood up and shot him right on the spot. Bang, you’re dead. One less psycho in the world to worry about.

The man, however, made no such offer.

“Are your hands dirty?” Mitch asked.

“No, of course not.”

“And the agency?”

“Everything’s clean. Why?”

“I don’t know; it just seems like maybe the easiest thing to do would be to get up and walk away. Leave the whole thing sitting in the doc’s lap.”

“He’d squeal.”

“Anything to back him up?”

“No. I’m not aware of anything.”

“Well, then.” Mitch shrugged, enjoying the scenario. “Mrs. Knight stumbles onto the scene, she finds the doc here with her kid and a whole room of other kids just like him, and who’s she gonna point her finger at? Hell, the only way they found this place is by tailing Childs.”

“And everything’s in the name of the Institute. He’s registered as the President of the Board of Directors on all the paperwork. It just might work.” D.C. rocked back in the chair, running it through his mind in case there was something he might be missing. You had to be careful with something like this. Overlook one small detail and you could find the whole thing blowing up in your face. “It does have a sweet sense of irony about it, doesn’t it?”

[129]

The room was completely dark except for the gray cast of the four video monitors mounted across the back of the console. Just at the periphery of the man’s vision, the nearest monitor reflected the slow, sweeping movement of the camera over the receptionist’s area on the main floor. The screen flickered and the picture changed. This camera was mounted near the ceiling above the basement landing, just outside the elevator. It did a slow, deliberate sweep across the open space.

Jake, who was working alone tonight, briefly glanced up from his checkbook then returned to the task of trying to find the one-hundred and forty-seven dollars and thirty-six cents that was missing from his account according to his current bank statement. He’d had this problem with the bank before, though it had always been a couple of dollars here, a couple of dollars there. That kind of difference wasn’t worth the time or effort to track down. But a hundred-and-something dollars, that was real money. You could make a down payment on a fine stereo system with that kind of money. He wasn’t going to let it slide. The bank had some explaining to do.

The nearest monitor flickered and changed pictures to the room with the two boys. The youngest boy was asleep. The other kid, the Knight kid, had settled back and was trying to read a Christopher Pike book with his cast across the top of the page to keep it from turning.

The far monitor flickered and the camera swept across the lab where Dr. Childs was hunched over a console, his glasses sitting on top of his head. He sat back, ran his hands down his face, then sat forward again, apparently refreshed enough to continue.

The right middle monitor flickered and the picture from the loading dock changed to the room in the basement where the sleepers were housed. Jake glanced up again, and started back to his checkbook when he thought he caught a movement at the corner of the screen. He sat forward, pressed a button, and froze the monitor at that location.

“What’s this?”

At the lower right-hand corner, two adults emerged from out of camera range. They moved only a step or two into the room and stopped, side-by-side, their backs turned away from him. He wasn’t sure who they were, but he thought one of them might be Elizabeth Tilley, who tended to make her rounds at odd hours, whenever it seemed to convenience her.

“Come on, turn around now. Let’s see your faces.”

The woman, who was standing on the left, suddenly sank into the man’s arms. That was something Jake had never seen between the doctor and his assistant. Not that he would know if anything were going on. He only came in for a couple of hours a night. It wasn’t as if he were privy to anything.

Finally, the man turned toward the camera, where his face could clearly be seen. He was not Dr. Childs. And he was not one of the other two who were always hanging around, either. This guy… he was a man Jake had never seen before.

“Oh, Christ,” he said, reaching for the phone. “Oh, Jesus Christ Almighty, we’ve got one.”

[130]

“My God,” Teri whispered. She could barely believe her eyes. They were standing just inside the door of a room that was maybe thirty by sixty, looking out across two rows of hospital beds. Half of those beds were occupied, and all of the occupants were children. “What has he done?”

She sank into Walt’s arms, overwhelmed. “How could he—”

“Shhh,” Walt said, giving her a hug. “I know it’s horrible, but we’ve got to keep moving, Teri. We don’t have time.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She did her best to buck herself up. It was just that—

“You take that row, I’ll take this one.”

She nodded. There were four occupied beds on her side. The first two were empty and cast in a thick, neglected shadow. There was a small fluorescent lamp above the third bed. Its light fell over the soft face of a little girl who looked to be ten or eleven years old. Teri stopped and held the girl’s hand, amazed at how tiny and delicate her fingers were. How old was she really? And how long had she been here? And who were her parents? Had they searched for their daughter the way Teri had searched for Gabe? Of course, they had.

“Teri!” A sharp whisper of admonition from Walt.

“I’m sorry.”

She went down the row, one bed at time. Gabe was not one of the occupants, thank God. This was where he had been, though. She had no doubt of that. He had slept here in this cold room, maybe in one of these darkened beds, a tube going into his arm to feed him, another coming out to drain him. No love. No mother. No father.

Oh, Gabe, I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.

“He’s not here,” Walt said.

“What are we going to do?”

“Keep looking.”

“No, I mean about these children. We can’t just leave them here.”

“Teri, we can’t take them with us, either.”

She knew that, of course. Though it was something she did not readily want to admit to herself. She had already let Gabe down, how could she do the same to all these other children?

“We’ll make a report,” Walt said. “Tonight. As soon as we get back, all right?”

Teri nodded.

“All right?”

“Yes,” she said.

And then the door behind them opened.

[131]

Gabe sat up in bed, leaning on his cast. He thought he had heard something coming from the next room, something that had sounded like voices. Cody, who had been asleep for a good long while, stirred uneasily.

“Cody!”

“What?” he moaned, one eye opening reluctantly.

“Listen.”

[132]

“Excuse me, you folks lost?”

Teri Knight looked as if she might clutch her heart and fall over dead right there. Her mouth opened, her eyes widened, her coloring went instantly white. Walter Travis, on the other hand, hardly seemed surprised. He pulled the woman to his side, and shined his flashlight in Mitch’s face.

“Get rid of the light,” D.C. said.

Obediently, the man turned it off and dropped it to his side.

“No, I think I better take that,” Mitch said.

The man passed it handle-first, no resistance. Folks tended to be cooperative when they had guns pointed at them. D.C. had learned that years ago, and it was just as true today as it had been the very first time he had tried it. Mitch frisked both of them, finding a nice little Ruger P-85 strapped under Mr. Travis’s left arm. He took possession of it, along with both of their backpacks, and stepped back again.

“So, now that we’ve checked your luggage, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” D.C. asked.

“Where’s my son?”

“And you are?”

“You know who the hell I am.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Teri Knight. My name is Teri Knight.”

“Well, Teri Knight, if he’s not here, then it’s my guess you’re probably looking in the wrong place. Maybe the mall would be a more likely place. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I want my son,” she said firmly.

“We don’t always get what we want, Mrs. Knight. Though, I suppose it never hurts to ask.” This was as true for him as it was for her, of course. D.C. had not wanted to find himself in this position. It wasn’t going to make Webster happy, him with his blunt warnings. Nor was it going to make walking away from the Institute any easier. “Why don’t we take a little walk?”

He took them upstairs to a small office on the second floor, using the elevator this time. There was only one door. Plenty of windows. No way out unless they were tempted to try a swan dive into the rock walkway below. Not as secure an environment as D.C. would have liked, but secure enough to hold them until he could decide what to do next.

Things are getting exciting now!

[133]

“Did you hear it?” Gabe asked.

“Sounded like someone talking,” Cody said, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. He sat up in bed, looking a little younger and a little more fragile than he had when he had first been wheeled in by Miss Tilley.

“Exactly.”

“You think it’s Tilley?”

“Did it sound like her?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think it was my Mom,” Gabe said, hoping that just saying it out loud didn’t jinx the possibility it might be true. “Mom and Mr. Travis.”

“Who’s Mr. Travis?”

“He’s a friend of hers. A detective.” Gabe threw off his covers and climbed down from the hospital bed, the tail of his gown hooking on the side railing until he pulled it free. The floor felt cold against the bottom of his feet. He went after his slippers. “My Mom said he used to work for the police.”

“Really?”

“No lie.”

“Maybe he came looking for us?”

“Bet he did,” Gabe said. His slippers had somehow made their way underneath the bed, all the way to the other side. He found the right one first, underneath the box top to the Monopoly game Tilley had brought in when he had first arrived. He leaned against the edge of the bed, balancing on one foot, and managed to get the slipper over his toes and hooked across the back of his heel. Then he went about finding the other one.

“What are you going to do?”

“Maybe I can get their attention.” The left slipper was stuffed into the corner between the bed frame and the wall. Gabe dug it out, got it onto his foot, and went to the door. He pressed his ear against it.

“Hear anything?”

“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. It was completely silent on the other side, not even the restless sound of the ocean, like you heard when you held a sea shell to your ear.

“Maybe they left already.”

That’s what he was afraid of… they had come downstairs to check on something and they hadn’t seen the door, or if they had, they hadn’t imagined anyone would be on the other side, and they had left without checking to make sure.

Gabe slammed the palm of his hand against the cool, smooth metal surface, and heard it echo on the other side. Someone had to have heard that. It sounded as if a cannon had gone off. Someone had to have heard it.

Another slam, harder this time.

“What are you doing?”

“Help!” The word resonated at the back of his throat. “Help! We’re in here!”

[134]

“It seems like every time I turn around, I’m asking this question again,” Teri said, sitting on the edge of a desk. The fear that had screamed its lungs out downstairs was quiet now, subdued by the knowledge that at least for the moment they were out of danger. It didn’t prevent the queasiness from churning in her stomach, though. That fear might not settle for several more days, assuming the two of them were afforded several more days.

“But here it goes again,” she finished. “What do we do now?”

“Try to find a way out,” Walt said evenly. “Any suggestions?”

“Don’t look at me. It was everything I could do just to get us in here.”

He grinned, and Teri had to admit that she didn’t know where the humor had come from. It was something she wouldn’t have had two weeks ago, before Gabe had come back. She might have cried then, or she might have grown tired and lain down and fallen asleep. But she wouldn’t have been able to laugh. Not in the best of circumstances.

“Can you pick the lock?”

“They took my backpack with my tools.”

She hopped down from the desk and pulled out the middle drawer. A tray had been built into the front span. It was filled with pens and pencils, rubber bands and paper clips, old pennies and a couple of letter openers. She plucked out a paper clip.

“How about this?”

He looked up from the lock. “You’ve been watching too many movies.”

“Okay.” She dug around a moment longer and brought out one of the letter openers. It wasn’t anything fancy. Not one of those engraved ivory-handled things or even an antique sterling pewter opener. Just an everyday straight-and-narrow stainless steel letter opener. That was all. “What about this?”

“No,” he started to say. Then he caught himself. “Well, let me take a look at it.”

Teri passed it to him.

He turned it over in his hands a couple of times, as if he were trying to get a feel for what it might actually be able to do. “Even with the tapered end, it’s too big to pick the lock,” he said thoughtfully. “But then, picking a lock isn’t the only way through a door, is it?”

“It isn’t?”

“You better hope not.”

[135]

Jake put aside his checkbook. There was too much going on tonight, and D.C. had told him no more screwing around. He hated the idea of losing more than a hundred dollars to the bank, but he hated the idea of losing his job even more. He could always pull out his checkbook and have another go at it tomorrow.

The nearest monitor flickered from the room with the sleepers to the room with the two boys. One of the boys was sitting up in bed, his face pale, a pillow pulled into his lap. The other boy was barely visible out of the corner of the camera. Jake sat forward. It appeared the kid had gotten out of bed and moved to the door. He was pounding against it with his good arm, his hand coming down again and again and again.

Jake flipped an audio switch.

“Help! We’re in here! Please! Help!”

He flipped it off again.

Christ, what next?

He sat back again, and moistened his lips, which had begun to chap a couple of days before. The question he had to wrestle with was this: would this be something D.C. would need to know? He didn’t think so, though he had to be careful. He hadn’t made a report when Amanda Tarkett had taken the kid out of the room for the first time, and everyone knew how that had turned out. Sometimes the little things you didn’t think mattered much mattered more than you could ever imagine.

Still, Jake didn’t think this was one of those. At the very worst, the kid might scream himself raw. He certainly wasn’t a threat to break out. Not with that door. It was as solid as they came. Even screaming the way he was, it was debatable that anyone might actually hear him from the other side.

The monitor flickered and changed to a view of the lab, where Dr. Childs was hunched over the console of his electron microscope. Jake let the image change without trying to freeze it. He would keep an eye on the basement whenever it came around, but he wasn’t going to bother anyone about some kid throwing a tantrum. It was hardly grounds for an emergency.

The monitor flickered again, from the lab to the conference room on the second floor this time. All was quiet.

[136]

The door opened on the other side of the room, and Childs looked up from his work, disappointed to find that he hadn’t escaped D.C. after all. The man came through with Mitch at his side, where he seemed to have been permanently attached.

“Got a problem,” D.C. said, pulling out a nearby chair and plopping down. “That Knight woman and her boyfriend showed up. We’ve got ’em downstairs, locked in an office.”

“Oh, Christ.”

D.C. glanced at Mitch and they were like two hungry vultures contemplating their next meal. Jesus, Childs thought. They want to kill them. He looked from D.C. to Mitch, trying to find something in there that might assure him he was wrong. But these eyes—they had lied before, many times before, and effortlessly. They had learned to keep their secrets.

“You aren’t thinking about—”

“Lighten up, doc. We aren’t going to hurt anyone.”

“Not unless we have to,” Mitch added.

Childs looked at him, then said, “Your fangs are showing, Mitch.”

“All right, kids, break it up.” D.C. slid his chair up against the side of the console. He braced an elbow on the beige corner and leaned against his arm. “Listen, I don’t know how to say this except straight out: it’s over, doc. It’s been one hell of a roller coaster ride, but it’s time to get off now.”

Childs slumped back in his chair. He had known this was coming, he had prepared for it, but all the same, after twenty years, after coming so close… “All I wanted was to find a way to keep people from aging.”

“Hey, we gave it a good shot.”

He looked up from his muse, hating the faces that met his gaze. These guys—they were idiots. They didn’t understand any of this. Not a single, solitary word of it. Mitch with his folded arms and that crooked little scar over his eye. D.C. with that cocky little grin and his who-gives-a-fuck attitude. It was just a game to them, a chance to play cops and robbers. They didn’t appreciate any of it.

“Hurts, huh, doc?” Mitch said, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Childs glared at him.

“Listen,” D.C. said. “We’ve got to clear out tonight.”

[137]

It certainly helped to be on the right side of the door. In this case, the door swung into the room, which meant the hinges were on the inside and accessible. Where there were hinges, Walt had learned years ago, there was a way out.

He muscled the pin out of the middle hinge, using the tapered end of the letter opener. The pin popped with sudden surprise. It glanced off the door, fell to the carpet and rolled under a nearby chair. The door shifted instantly and slanted off center to the left. Walt caught it and wrestled it aside.

“Bring along the Scotch tape and a handful of business cards, will you?”

“Already got ’em.” They had found the business cards in the top right-hand drawer of one of the desks. A single card placed over the lens of a camera and secured with a little Scotch tape was as good as a can of spray paint.

“Where now?” Teri asked, sticking close to him as they moved down the hall.

“Back to the basement,” he said. “That’s where they’ve got Gabe.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because they moved us out of there as fast as they could.”

Teri could have sworn the stairway had been on the other side of the building, behind them. But apparently she had turned herself around. Up ahead, she saw a gray metal door blocking the end of the hall. Like the door downstairs, it was marked with a sign that said: STAIRS. Above the sign was the number: 2.

Walt held her up. “How ’bout we take the elevator this time?”

“Only one of them goes to the basement.”

“You remember which one?”

“No,” Teri said, amused by the thought.

“A lot of good the blueprints did.” He pressed the down button and within fifteen seconds the doors to both elevator cars opened simultaneously. “Your choice.”

“Eenie—Meenie—Minie—Mo.” She pointed to the car on the right. “I’ll check this one.”

The other car turned out to be the one that could take them where they wanted to go. Walt called her over, the car doors closed, and he used a clip he had broken off the cap of a ball-point pen to pick the basement lock.

“You’re getting pretty good at that.”

“I’m getting lots of practice.”

[138]

“So we’re really clearing out tonight?” Mitch asked as they came out of the lab on the third floor and started down the hallway to the elevators.

“Unless you’ve got a better idea,” D.C. said.

“What about our company downstairs?”

“The Knight woman and her buddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s just leave them.” He checked his watch, wondering how long it would take to clear everything out and still make it to the airport tonight. He could always have the agency arrange for a private plane. Only that would alert Webster, and he didn’t want that bastard to know what was going on. Not until after the fact, when the dust had settled and it was too late for him to stick his nose into it. “We’ve got other things to worry about.”

“Like the good doctor?”

“Does he worry you?”

“You know someone’s going to eventually track him down.”

“So.”

“So the first thing he’s going to do is start pointing fingers.”

“Yeah.”

“And the first finger he points, he’s going to point at you.”

“And what do you suggest I do about that, Mitch?”

“I’ll take care of him for you, if that’s what you want.”

D.C. stopped outside the first elevator car and momentarily stared at Mitch, both amused and—if he were to be honest—a bit intrigued. “You really got it in for the guy, don’t you?”

“Just trying to cover your ass.”

“Jesus, Mitch.” He reached out to press the down button, his mind toying with the idea of giving Mitch the go ahead to handle the doc in whatever fashion he deemed necessary. It might be easier on everyone that way. Just walk away and never have to worry about looking over his shoulder to make sure the Karma Project wasn’t coming back to bite him. He toyed with that a moment, and then his mind went to the DOWN light illuminated over the elevators and made a jarring new connection. Someone was in the elevator, going down.

“Where’s Tilley?”

“She went into town to pick up supplies.”

“Christ! Someone’s in the elevator!”

As part of the building’s security system, emergency in-house call boxes had been situated on every floor, directly across from the elevator shaft. D.C. dug his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and grabbed the receiver off the hook. It was the first time he ever had to use the system. There was dead silence on the line.

“Come on!”

Finally someone picked up.

“Jake.”

“Override the basement elevator. Now! Do it now!”

[139]

Jake reached across the console to the elevator control panel and depressed the red, emergency STOP button, which activated the terminal stopping switch. He had already begun to suspect that something was wrong. The monitor on the far end had flickered from the receptionist’s area to a black screen and Jake had been fiddling with the contrast when the phone had rung.

“Got it,” he said.

“Great. Send the car back up to the third floor.”

“Will do.”

[140]

Somewhere between the first floor and the basement, the elevator car made a strange winding-down noise, like an engine shifting into a lower gear. It shuddered violently, and came to an abrupt stop. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered and went out momentarily, then slowly climbed back to full strength again.

“What’s happening?” Teri asked.

“My fault. We should have taken the stairway.”

“You mean they’ve shut us down?”

“Looks that way.”

“Can’t you override it?”

“Not likely. Not from in here.”

Walt took a look at the control panel anyway. There wasn’t much to play with: the emergency override button, the basement key lock, the buttons for the lobby and the two floors upstairs. He toyed with the panel face plate and almost had it off when the car suddenly shuddered and began to rise.

“Now what?”

“I think they’re inviting us back.”

“Great.”

[141]

Gabe had flailed with his good arm against the door until he was silly with exhaustion. He sank against the wall, catching a breath and glancing across the room at Cody, who was sitting up in bed, looking horrified.

“We’ve got to… do something,” Gabe said, panting.

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

When Tilley had brought Cody in on the wheelchair, she had folded the chair and left it leaning against the next bed. Cody worked himself a little higher on the mattress, pulled the covers off and swung his legs around.

“What are you doing?”

“I wanna help.”

[142]

There had been a sound, a little like the cargo hatch of a 747 snapping shut, and then the DOWN light over the elevator had suddenly gone off. D.C. waited anxiously until the UP light finally illuminated several seconds later.

“Got ’em!” he cried.

“Nice job.”

“When they show up, take ’em back to the lab and keep them there along with Childs. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.”

“Where are you going?”

“It’s time to start shutting things down.” The doors to the second elevator opened. D.C. entered. He pressed the button for the lobby and stood at the back of the car, his hands curled around the rail. “Don’t do anything until I get back. Got it?”

Mitch nodded.

The elevator doors closed.

D.C. sank back into the corner, feeling hopped up, his adrenaline keeping every muscle taut and on edge. It was all going to come crashing down soon, anybody’s guess who’d be left standing and who wouldn’t.

Hold on, Karma, ’cause the ride’s just beginning.

[143]

Enough was enough.

Childs had turned away from the console and watched D.C. and Mitch leave the lab, knowing that it might very well be the last time he ever saw either of them again. It had all come to a head now. There was no sense in trying to save what he had already accomplished. It was lost. Forever. A life’s work. Just like that.

The door had closed and Childs had scrambled to his feet. He went to the cabinet at the far end of the lab, unlocked it, and removed the only vial of AA103 that remained. He set the vial aside, and removed the tray of test tubes at the back of the cabinet, and slid open the false back wall. Behind it, set into the wall of the building, was a combination safe he’d had installed several years earlier. He opened the safe and removed its contents, which included: fifty thousand dollars in cash; a Visa, MasterCard and American Express, all made out in the name of William Devol; some obsolete research notes, which he tossed aside; a California driver’s license in the same name as the credit cards; a medical board certification and license to practice; two diplomas; and a set of car keys.

“Okay, what else?”

He took his wallet out of his back pocket, and emptied it of everything except the sixty-seven dollars in cash. No sense throwing away good money. He was going to need every penny he had if he wanted to start over again. Into the wallet went the credit cards and driver’s license. The wallet went back into his pocket.

At the door to the lab, Childs stopped and checked the hall both ways. Mitch was standing outside the elevators at the other end. He was leaning over, apparently tying a shoelace. Childs stepped out of the room, guided the latch bolt silently into the strike plate, and hurried to the stairwell. His keys got him through the door, down the stairs, and through the exit door on the first floor, then out into the great open spaces behind the Institute.

It was cold out. The night sky was clear, the air crisp. A sprinkling of stars could be seen just beyond the haze of the city lights that hung over the entire valley. Childs filled his lungs with the fresh air.

A good night to start a new life, he thought.

Then he started on his way.

[144]

“Is there anything we can do?”

“Nope,” Walt said nonchalantly. “I think we’re along for the ride on this one.”

A bell rang, and the light over the elevator doors moved from left to right one number, signifying that they were at the second floor now, still rising. He moved away from the control panel to the back of the car, next to Teri. She reached out and took his hand.

“Scared?” he asked.

“A little.”

The bell rang again before he could reassure her everything was going to work out all right. The elevator car lugged, and settled back into place. For a moment, nothing else happened and it was as if all the anticipation had been for naught. Then gradually the doors opened to the third floor.

Mitch stood on the other side of the hall, leaning against the wall. In his hand, he held a gun. On his face, he wore a smile that let them know just how much he was enjoying himself. “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”

“Nice to see you again,” Walt said.

“I know I’m tickled.” He waved the gun at them, an invitation to exit the elevator. “Why don’t you two join me?”

They did.

[145]

Gabe helped Cody into the wheelchair, and went back to the door to see if there was a way they might be able to pick the lock or break out the window. Something. Anything. Back home, he could pick the door between the garage and the kitchen with nothing more than a paper clip. All he had to do was jiggle it around in the lock a few seconds and before he knew it—click!—the door was open. This lock, this door, they were a different story.

“How about this?” Cody said, coming up behind him. In his hand, he held a tongue depressor, maybe four times the size of a Popsicle stick.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Out of that drawer over there.”

Gabe shook his head. “Too big.”

“Then what about this?” he said, bringing out the biggest q-tip Gabe had ever seen. It wasn’t anything like the q-tips his mom kept in the bathroom cabinet at home. It was maybe twice that size, and as thick as a water-swollen strand of spaghetti.

“Maybe,” Gabe said, taking it in hand. He flexed it between his fingers to see how brittle it felt. You go sticking things into a lock, you don’t want them breaking off in there. Once that happened, you might as well forget it. He had learned that lesson the first time he ever tried to use a toothpick. “Let me try it and see.”

He tore the cotton off one end of the q-tip and slipped it easily into the key way. Gabe gave it a jiggle, first to one side, then to the other, adding just a bit of pressure with his forefinger. It felt like a good fit, he thought. He jiggled it again, added a little more pressure, and cursed himself when it suddenly snapped off. Half-an-inch of the q-tip was now lost just inside the cylinder case. It was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to do.

“Damn it!”

“What’s the matter?”

“It broke off.”

“Oh.” Cody looked down, disappointed. “So, what are we supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe we could get someone to open it from the other side?”

“I don’t think they can hear us from the other side.”

Gabe cast a glance around the room, looking for something, an idea, anything that might draw attention, even Tilley’s attention. If they could just get someone to open the door, then…

“A fire,” he said suddenly. “If we can start a fire, a small fire, then they’ll have to open the door.”

There was no shortage of combustible material in the room. Cody stripped the covers off the nearest bed, while Gabe went through the cabinets and pulled out the Kleenex and tongue depressors and sterile gauze pads, anything and everything he thought might burn. They piled all of it high in the middle of the room, then pulled a fluorescent lamp off the wall and ran it over to the pile.

“Think it’s hot enough?” Cody wondered.

“I think so.”

Gabe got down on his knees, stuffed the Kleenex tissues into the tight space around the bulb, and added some bedding on top of that. He stood up and backed away.

“How long you think it’ll take?”

“Not long.”

After a few minutes, when nothing had happened, he conceded that the bulb probably wasn’t hot enough after all. “We need something to get it started, lighter fluid or gasoline, something like that.”

He went searching again, and this time, in the corner of a cabinet, he came across a bottle labeled: Isopropyl. A yellow warning notice cautioned that the contents were highly flammable. He removed the cap, and gave it a sniff. Instantly, his eyes watered. It was alcohol. Isopropyl was alcohol. Perfect.

He sprinkled a couple of Kleenex tissues with the liquid, tossed them onto the fluorescent bulb, then stood back and waited. When nothing happened, he tried pouring the alcohol directly onto the lamp itself. Almost instantly, the bulb exploded.

Gabe covered his face and turned away. When he turned back, he saw a brown-black circle gradually appear in the middle of one of the bed sheets. It had a raven iris that opened like a fissure in the earth. Cotton-thread edges disappeared into the black rift.

First it was one circle, then it was another, then another, then a whiff of smoke began to rise and it was no longer a question of if they could get someone’s attention, it was a question of how long it would take.

[146]

The nearest monitor flickered and Jake felt something tighten in his throat.

The two kids had started a fire inside the room. He watched as the smoke thickened into a dark, angry cloud and began to run the line of the ceiling in all directions. Within seconds the hungry gray mass seemed to consume nearly every square inch of the room.

“Come on,” he said, anxiously waiting for the overhead sprinklers to kick on. He didn’t think the fire itself was going to pose much of a problem. But the smoke could be a different matter. It had already dropped a thick curtain over the picture on his monitor. Behind that curtain, in faint outline, he could see the two boys huddled on the floor, next to the supply cabinet.

He watched until the sprinklers finally kicked on, then he crossed to the far end of the room, and pulled down the handle to the fire alarm mounted on the wall. Instantly, the quiet halls, the vacant rooms, the entire building erupted into the deafening rattle of a bell.

“That should wake up a few people.”

He went back to the console, sat down, and rolled his chair to the left, where a bank of override switches had been built into the panel. He started at the top and threw the switches for all the exits, the elevators, the stairway doors, the offices, the labs, every room, every lock in the building that he had the power to control. When he finished, he checked the monitors and was stunned to discover the two kids were still trapped. For some reason, the door to their room had failed to open.

“What the—”

He tried the switch again, once up, once down, and when that didn’t work, again, once up, once down, and finally another half-a-dozen times before giving up the futile effort. There was only one way that door was going to open. He would have to go down there himself and open it manually.

He was on his way out, keys in hand, when D.C. showed up.

“You the one who set off the alarm?”

Jake nodded, and motioned toward the far monitor, which was little more than a dark-gray hue now. “It’s the room with the two boys. The override’s jammed. I can’t get the door open. I’m going down to see if I can do something with it.”

D.C. sat at the console, and quickly scanned all four monitors. “Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Just keep going after you’ve got it open, understand? I’ll watch things here until the fire department shows.”

He nodded and went out the door without a word. He didn’t tell D.C. that he’d had no intentions of returning anyway. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night. Not ever. The line had finally been crossed. He had been willing to accept that this was a research facility, that the sleepers were being monitored with the hope they would someday awaken. But twice tonight the monitors had caught someone pulling a gun. That had been enough. The fire had been too much. At $6.50 an hour, he could just as easily be playing night watchman at one of the industrial complexes, cruising around in a car, flashing his spotlight into the shadows, and listening to music on the radio. This had never been what you would call a dream job.

Jake crossed the floor to the elevators, entered the basement car, and waited for the doors to close. It was the first time he had ever stopped to wonder if someone were watching his movements the way he had always watched everyone else’s.

[147]

Teri was the first one into the lab. She stepped inside the door to the left and turned to wait for Walt, who had kept himself like a shield between her and Mitch from the elevator all the way down the hall.

“How you doing?” Walt asked as he entered.

“Fine,” she whispered.

“Never a dull moment, huh?”

Mitch directed them to the far side of the room, against the windows, and had them face outward. He sat on the corner of the nearest desk, picked up the phone, dialed a number and hung up again after he couldn’t get an answer.

“Christ.” He mumbled something about the doc not being there.

“Trouble in paradise?” Walt asked.

In the reflection in the window, Teri watched Mitch stand up and start to pace back and forth in front of the desk. He looked like a worried man, and that worried her, because she had always thought of him as having everything under control. She didn’t like the idea that something might be going wrong. When things went wrong, people got hurt.

Walt was watching him, too. Only he was watching him for a different reason. Teri didn’t immediately realize this, but when the fire alarm suddenly went off, Walt went off with it. He turned and closed the distance between the two of them in less than a second. Mitch never had a chance to use his gun.

Teri turned and screamed. “Walt! Don’t!”

But by then, they were already grappling.

Walt smashed his fist into the man’s jaw and Mitch went flying over the desk backwards, Walt on top of him. The gun jarred loose and bounced around on the carpet only a brief moment before they were on it again, each man trying to take sole possession.

Teri moved away from the windows, a hand to her mouth to hold back the scream that was trying to force its way up from her throat. She had stepped forward momentarily when the gun had bounced free, but she had been too slow and now she was backed against the electron microscope with nowhere else to go.

“Please!”

Mitch landed an elbow to Walt’s face. His head snapped back, and Mitch met him with another shot to the face, this one so loud that Teri cringed. Walt rolled over, momentarily dazed, blood flowing out of his nose and a cut over his right eye.

The gun was within Mitch’s grasp now. He climbed slowly to his knees, breathing heavily, then to his feet, blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth. He bent over to pick up the gun, wrapped his fingers around the handle, and…

…and Walt rammed him from the side, full-body, full-force.

They tumbled over a chair, and it was Mitch who was the first one standing. He slammed a foot into Walt’s side that rolled him over twice. Walt grabbed for his ribs and curled into a ball, in obvious pain.

“Don’t!” Teri screamed. “Please, don’t!”

Mitch, who was bent over, his hands braced on his knees, trying to catch a breath, looked up at her. His eyes were pure black, cold, empty. This was a duel to the death, she realized bleakly. He was not going to stop. Not until Walt was dead. And if he couldn’t kill Walt, then he would die trying. It was all… right… there.

“Please?”

He shook his head and bent over to pick up the gun, and this time Walt rammed him going the wrong direction. Walt hit him low, around the waist and it looked like a perfect Sunday afternoon tackle. He nearly picked him up off the ground and the force of the hit drove Mitch backwards across the room, Walt’s legs pumping, Mitch trying to get his feet planted, both men moving straight at the window.

Mitch went through first. The back of his head slammed into the window, shattering the glass and opening a hole big enough to drive a car through. Walt went through right behind him, his hands still wrapped around the man’s waist.

It happened that fast.

And then it was over.

Teri heard a faraway scream that only later she would realize belonged to her. She went to the window, and looked down at the two dead men. Walt’s neck had been broken, his head twisted back at a hideous angle, a bone protruding out the front.

She closed her eyes and turned away.

[148]

D.C. had finally shut down the fire alarm, and had gone out to the lobby to check to see if any trucks had shown up. It was getting down to the final few seconds now. Once the trucks started arriving and the fire crews started going through the building floor by floor, then all hell was going to break loose. Sooner or later they were going to stumble across the room in the basement with the sleepers.

The parking lot was empty, except for a pair of tail lights in the distance, on their way out the long drive. D.C. watched them momentarily, wondering whose car they belonged to, then he went back to the control room to check the monitors one last time.

Downstairs, in the basement, Jake had finally gotten the door open. A wall of smoke came pouring out and immediately filled the basement landing. The monitor flickered, this time inside the room with the two boys. They were huddled together, behind a gray screen of smoke, appearing for all he could tell, lifeless.

Another flicker and D.C. found himself watching the last few seconds of the fight between Mitch and Walter Travis. The two men, wrapped together like twine, went sailing out the third story window, a couple of idiot martyrs bent on giving themselves to the afterlife. Foolish men did foolish things.

D.C. hovered over the monitors, his arms braced against the console, and realized the end had finally arrived. He stood, and searched the surroundings, trying to recall if there was anything he needed to take with him. But there was nothing left but trouble here.

He turned the light off on his way out of the room, a habit that was strangely metaphorical. Behind him, the middle monitor flickered, and Jake showed up on the screen, carrying Cody Breswick in his arms. He carried the boy out of the room, over to the stairwell and set him down. Cody took in a spastic breath, then another, and his eyes opened slowly.

Jake went back to look for the Knight boy.

[149]

Teri was on her way down the stairwell between the first floor and the basement, when she encountered Cody. The boy had made it to the mid-landing and he was lying on the floor, too weak to go any further. His face was covered with soot, his blue eyes shining like diamonds in the coal.

“Cody?”

He nodded.

“Oh, my God,” she said. She knelt and gave him a hug meant for all the children just like him. Those who had made it. Those who had not. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you’re still alive. Are you all right?”

He nodded again, his eyes clearing.

“Where’s Gabe? Do you know where Gabe is?”

“Downstairs,” he said.

“You stay right here. And when I get back, I’ll help you, all right?”

“All right.”

She discovered Gabe sitting on the last step, just before the basement landing. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. There was the streak of gray in his hair that had seemed so devastating before, and now seemed only to signify that the circle had finally been closed. They were together again.

Teri shook him gently by the arm. He opened his eyes and smiled. An incredible rush of relief filled her lungs. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey, Mom.”

“Think you’re finally ready to come home?”

“I don’t know,” he said, grinning. “It’s only been ten years.”

CLOSINGS

Sleep comes in cycles. It weaves in and out of your experience like a ribbon in the wind. Weariness, exhaustion, boredom, routine, all these call it forth and send it back again, hunkering in the corners of your dreams. Sleep is the way you rejuvenate your body, refresh your mind, change your perspective. It is a necessity, no less important than the food you eat, the air you breathe.

Death is the sleep of the soul. It is a necessity for your renewal, for your expansion. Do not cower in the shadows when death comes knocking. Greet it eye-to-eye with a hardy handshake and know that it comes like sleep in cycles.

Transcending Illusions

[1]

Teri never saw D.C. again.

Several months later, after she had learned more about the Karma Project and its history, she called CIA headquarters in Washington. She asked to speak to an agent, any agent, and when one came on the line, she gave the man a brief background on the project, how it had unfolded, the people who had died, and how there were now some eighty-seven children scattered around the country, their lives permanently scarred by what the CIA had done.

It was when she brought up the name D.C. that the agent first began to protest. Until then, he had been patient with her, listening without comment, neither confirming nor denying anything she had said. But that tactic quickly shifted once she had tossed D.C. into the mix. The agent adamantly denied that any D.C. had ever worked for the CIA in any capacity whatsoever, past or present, and suggested several times over that she was obviously mistaken about the man’s connection with the agency.

Teri grew exasperated to the point of finally interrupting him. “Look, let’s not waste my time, all right? I’ve only got a few minutes and you need to know exactly what I have in mind. So pay attention.”

The man on the other end grew quiet again.

“If I don’t receive notice within one month that this man is no longer involved in the CIA or any CIA sponsored activities, I will immediately go to the press. I will sit down with them and I will share everything I know about the Karma Project and every piece of documentation I have in my possession. You following this?”

“Yes,” the agent answered quietly.

“You get notice to me within the next thirty days that D.C. is out in the cold and the issue becomes mute. My documents will be destroyed, and you won’t have to worry about Karma embarrassing the agency or the country. You got it?”

“If you’ll just let me—”

“Don’t waste my time.”

She gave the agent a post office box in Reno, Nevada, where he could contact her, and then she hung up. Her hands were shaking, her heart pounding. It was the most frightening thing she had ever done, and the biggest bluff she had ever played. Once the receiver was back in its cradle and she was out of the phone booth, walking down the street again, Teri felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. For eighty-seven children, it was already too late. Their lives had been shattered. But maybe it was early enough to prevent any future children from a similar fate. She could hold out that hope, at least. However dim it might be.

Four weeks later, a newspaper article arrived at the Reno post office. It was forwarded to another box at another office, and from there to another box, under yet a different name. By the time Teri held it in her hands, the news had been old: Malcolm Winters, a man in his late thirties who traveled and was often away, according to his neighbors, had hung himself from a chandelier two weeks before. He was survived by his wife of seven years and three children. He had been despondent lately about money problems, according to the article, which also went on to detail some four other women who were claiming to also be married to the man.

Across the top of the article, written in red ink, were the initials: D.C.

A red line had been drawn through the initials, diagonally, top to bottom.

[2]

Michael finally connected with Teri after she had rescued Gabe from the Devol Institute. He had spent that day staking out the offices where Dr. Childs ran his practice, and that night staking out the house where Dr. Childs lived. But Childs had never shown up at either place, and well past midnight, Michael had returned to his motel room, disappointed and wondering what to do next. The following morning, Lieutenant Sterns called and invited him back to the station under the pretense of another interview.

Teri and Gabe were there waiting for him.

Ten long years had passed, and their family was finally whole and back together again.

It was only for a short while.

[3]

The truth began to set in less than forty-eight hours later.

Michael and Gabe had spent most of the day miniature golfing and at the movies. Later, they stopped by the house to pick up Teri and the three of them went out to dinner together. After dinner, Gabe grew tired. He went off to bed late in the evening, and Teri and Michael sat across from each other at the kitchen table.

Teri nursed a cup of coffee as she tried to fill him in on most of what had happened over the past week or so. She chose her words carefully, keeping them reined in and under control. It was going to be the very last part of the story—the epilog, so to speak—that was going to hurt the most. And there was no reason she could think of to rush the pain.

Teri took a sip of coffee, and got up to pour herself another cup. Michael had listened patiently, without rushing her, and she had been grateful for that. It had, to a large extent, she supposed, kept her from breaking down and crying. “More coffee?”

“No, I better not. I’ll be up all night.”

She stared down at her empty cup, debating. Last night had been a light sleep, lots of tossing and turning; breezy, unremembered dreams; the sounds of the house bringing her up; her exhaustion taking her down again. It would be nice if her dreams could keep her in their fold tonight. She left the coffee cup on the counter and returned to the table.

“So what are we dancing around?” Michael finally asked.

Teri looked at him, seriously, not knowing how else to skirt around it. Her voice was soft. “I don’t think it’s over. I think Gabe’s got something similar to Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome.”

She explained as much as she knew, and Michael took the news like a trooper, barely a reaction. He suggested they have him tested, since they were relying primarily on the word of Childs and neither of them had reason to trust anything the man said. Especially as it related to Gabe. Teri agreed. She called Cindy to let her know what they were going to do, in case she wanted to have Cody tested as well.

At first, Cindy balked at the idea. She was still whirling from the shock of finding Cody alive, and Teri suspected she hadn’t even had a chance yet to deal with the fact that Cody was the same age today as he had been when he had disappeared. When you looked at him, there wasn’t a hint of what was going on inside his body. He appeared as healthy and as precious as the day he had been born.

But looks could be deceiving.

“He’s the same age, Cindy. How do you think he got that way?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it wasn’t by the love of God.”

There was a long pause at the other end. Then Cindy said, “Maybe it was, though. Maybe that’s exactly what it was. The love of God.”

After that, it felt like an uphill battle. Teri did her best to try to convince her friend that she had nothing to lose, that neither of them had anything to lose. But that wasn’t entirely true, and they both knew it. There was something to lose. There was Cody. And there was Gabe. In the end, Cindy said she needed to talk it over with her husband. They both needed to think about it, that it was not something to be taken lightly.

The next morning, to Teri’s surprise, her friend called back and reluctantly agreed to have Cody tested, too.

[4]

After a barrage of doctors and batteries of tests, Teri finally admitted two things to herself. First, that Childs hadn’t lied after all. The physicians and specialists all agreed that Gabe’s cells were not regenerating the way normal, healthy cells regenerate. It was a classic indication of Hutchinson-Gilford Syndrome, they said. After which, they went into long explanations that all boiled down to the same thing: Gabe was aging prematurely, and as with most cases of progeria, he probably wouldn’t survive his teens. The news in Cody’s case was equally as grim.

Teri was devastated. The next few days, she fell into a funk that had her sleeping long hours throughout the day and struggling on and off with a barrage of headaches throughout the night. Michael helped out with most of the duties around the house – cooking the meals, doing the dishes, mowing the lawn. More important, he spent a great deal of time with Gabe. For both of them, it was time long overdue.

Several days later, Teri bounced back. She went to Michael one night after Gabe had gone off to bed and told him that she didn’t know what they were going to do, but they were going to do something.

“Like what?” Michael asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Search for a specialist, I guess.”

Michael looked at her, entertaining a thought he didn’t seem to want to share.

“If you have any suggestions…”

He glanced away.

“This is Gabe we’re talking about, Michael. Your son for Christ’s sake.”

“I know that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’ll be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.”

“Just say it, will you.”

“What about Childs?”

“Oh, Jesus.” Teri was stunned. She shook her head, and climbed up from the couch. “Jesus, Michael. How could you even think such a thing? I mean—he’s the cause of all this. He’s the one who did this to Gabe in the first place. How could you even—”

“He’s the only one who knows what’s going on inside Gabe. He may be the only one who can put a stop to it. I don’t think he could make it any worse. Do you?”

She shook her head again, and ran a hand through her hair. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you.”

“Just think about it, Teri. Will you? At least give it a chance.”

It was not an idea that deserved a chance. Not from her way of thinking. Not so soon after all that had happened. And for a while, Teri not only hated the idea, she hated Michael for bringing it up. But what she hated even more was that he was probably right. This wasn’t about Dr. Childs. It was about Gabe. And if that’s what it was going to take…

[5]

There were four branches of the Devol Research Institute nationwide: Houston, Texas; St. Charles, Illinois; Reston, Virginia, and the local branch. In those four facilities, a total of eighty-seven children, not including Gabe and Cody, had been discovered. All of them had been comatose.

Seventy-four of the children were returned to their parents, who had to assume the responsibility of caring for a child they thought had been dead for better than ten years. Thirteen of the children were placed in state care facilities, some because efforts to locate their parents had failed, others because the parents no longer proved to be capable of providing care.

Over the next few months, seven other children would come out of their comas.

[6]

Six Months Later

The Last Day

They left the house around ten-thirty. Gabe was dressed in the same dark blue suit Teri had bought for him for Walt’s funeral shortly after that last night at the Institute. Michael did the driving on the way over. Teri didn’t know if it had been the right thing or not, but she had been the one who had made the funeral arrangements for Walt. She had purchased a plot for him at the Hillcrest Cemetery, next to his father and son. Maybe in death they could find the peace that had eluded them in life.

Gabe sat in the front seat between her and Michael on the ride over.

All three of them were quiet.

It was a beautiful fall day, the sky blue, the temperature in the mid-seventies, a few degrees higher than normal for this time of year. They walked hand-in-hand-in-hand down the row of tombstones, past a family mausoleum, past a cinerarium to the end of the third row where the oak tree was now barren of its leaves.

Teri, who had brought a bouquet of roses with her, stood in silent prayer.

Gabe looked up at her, his eyes trying to see what was going on inside her heart. A little piece of her was dying, she thought. That was what was going on.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

She let him take the roses from her hands and place them at the base of the gravestone. Michael, who was standing behind her, placed his hand over her shoulder for comfort.

Gabe looked up. “You think we should say something?”

Everything she had to say was in her heart. Thank you, Walt. Thank you for helping me bring Gabe home again. Thank you for beating back your own demons long enough to be there for me. And my apologies, because I should have known. I should have tried to help. It was all right there.

“He knows,” she said quietly. “He knows.”

[7]

There were only two things that had needed to be done today. The first was their visit to Walt’s grave. As much as it had taken out of Teri, it was nothing compared to what was yet to come.

Michael drove on the way back from the cemetery. Gabe sat in the back this time, quiet as a mouse. What Teri wouldn’t have paid for the chance to know what was going on inside his head.

The aging had become less theoretical and more physical the past few months. He had lost nearly fifteen pounds, much of it from his face and arms. The streaks of gray had become more prominent, especially over his ears. He had broken his right arm twice since getting the cast off from the automobile accident. The first break had been a re-break; the second had been several inches higher. Both had happened while throwing a baseball with Michael. They didn’t play catch anymore.

When it became apparent that Gabe’s aging was accelerating at an alarming rate, Teri pulled Michael aside again and together they agreed that it was time to see if they could find Childs. Though luck did play its part, finding him was not as difficult as Teri had thought it would be. The key was something that had been bothering her for months. She couldn’t understand the name: the Devol Research Institute. Where had that come from? Why hadn’t it been called the Childs Research Institute? It was something that bothered her endlessly over the span of several months, and then she woke up one night with the answer. Dr. Timothy Childs was an alias. The man’s true last name was Devol. It made perfect sense.

She checked the California AMA membership list and discovered there was only one Devol practicing in the state. His full name was William Devol and he lived and practiced in a little town east of Sacramento called Placerville. Teri had been through there several times in her life, always on the way to Reno to play the slots or catch a show. Placerville was a five—maybe six—hour trip down the state, almost all freeways.

She was surprised to find that he had set up a nice little family practice there. Out front, a sign hung from a four-by-four redwood post, his name routed into the wood: William Devol, M.D. And under that: General Practitioner. He practiced out of an old house that had been converted, bedrooms to examination rooms, living room to waiting room, dining room to office.

When Teri entered, she was greeted by the comforting smile of a receptionist. “I was wondering if I could see the doctor today?”

“Certainly. Have you been in before?”

“No.”

The woman, who was in her late forties and had one eye slightly off center, handed her a clipboard with a pencil and several forms. “If you’ll have a seat and fill these out. The doctor is busy with another patient now, but he should be available shortly.”

Teri filled out the form, which included a brief medical history and some insurance information, using the name Jennifer Cunningham. The receptionist, who was apparently a nurse as well, took her temperature, her blood pressure, weight, and asked about the purpose of her visit—”Headaches,” Teri told her—then had Teri wait in the second examination room.

“Dr. Devol will be in shortly.”

“Thank you.”

He came through the door several minutes later, reading her chart and introducing himself without even looking up. “Miss Cunningham, I’m Dr. Devol—”

The color fell out of his face, though he managed to maintain his composure far better than she ever would have imagined. He snapped her Cunningham file closed, put it aside on the counter, and sat down.

“You never cease to amaze, Teri.”

“The feeling’s mutual, believe me.”

“So what can I do for you?”

“Not for me, for Gabe.”

“It’s getting worse?”

“Yes,” she said, holding on. She wasn’t sure exactly when she had started to lose her grip. Maybe when Walt had died. Or maybe when she first realized Gabe’s health was getting worse. But being here in this room with the man who was largely responsible for everything that had happened…

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

“I want my little boy back.”

He wasn’t sure he could do anything, he said. But he was willing to take a look at Gabe and at least talk about the options. The key word: options. It slipped past her when she first heard it, but later that night when she was in bed, reading an Ed Gorman mystery, that word came to mind again. Options. That was a word meant to muddy the waters, she thought. It was his subtle little way of saying there were some things they could try but nothing he would be willing to bet on.

Eventually, they did try some things. Childs placed Gabe on a vegetarian diet, limiting his caloric intake and increasing his vitamins. In addition, he setup a regiment of growth hormone shots, using a derivative he had recently developed. And finally, he tried a synthetic version of the original Genesis drug, without the hallucinogen. It was this synthetic version that showed the most promise, somewhat inhibiting Gabe’s aging process, though falling short of halting it altogether.

Childs felt there was a good chance it might eventually provide the answer.

But time was running out.

Gabe was growing weaker.

[8]

Michael pulled the car into the driveway and parked. They sat there in silence, Teri not wanting to move because getting out would take them one step closer to what lay ahead. Just the thought of it left her feeling angry. It was what Childs had referred to as their “last great hope.”

She glanced over the seat at Gabe. “How’re you doing?”

“Okay,” he answered.

Michael took her hand, again for comfort. “How about you?”

She smiled emptily and started out of the car.

Childs was waiting for them inside the house. He had spent the morning setting up the medical equipment in Gabe’s room. Everything was ready, he said as Teri came through the entryway. She nodded, asked him to give her a few minutes, and directed Gabe into the living room. They sat on the couch together, the afternoon sun slanting through the sliding glass door. It was a warm day. Gabe peeled off his jacket and sat back.

“Come here,” she said. He moved next to her and she wrapped her arms around him, thinking distantly how tiny he felt, wondering how much weight he had lost. “Scared?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Not scared,” she said. “Just sad. I’m going to miss you.”

“It won’t be forever.”

“I know.” She kissed him on the top of his head, and they stared silently out the window until Michael came into the room. He asked Gabe how he was doing, and like a trooper, Gabe said, fine. Michael picked him up and they spent a few minutes talking, Gabe looking even more fragile in his father’s arms.

And then it was time.

Gabe’s room had been refurbished, accommodating a new hospital bed, an ECG machine, and in the corner, playing sergeant at arms, a thin metal IV-stand. Childs stood off to one side, out of the way.

Michael carried Gabe into the room and dropped him playfully on the bed. Gabe bounced and let out a laugh. “You like that, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you, too.”

It was Teri’s turn next. She gave him a long, hard hug, not wanting to let go, even though she knew what they were about to do was the right choice, the only choice. It was going to save his life.

“You’re choking me, Mom.”

“Sorry,” she said, pulling away. She smiled and tried to keep the smile from turning to tears. “I guess it’s time, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” he said.

Teri pulled a chair next to the bed, took Gabe’s hand in her own, and nodded to Childs. A few short minutes later, Gabe closed his eyes and fell into a restful sleep. Minutes after that, he received a dose of AA103 and slipped effortlessly through his dreams and into a coma.

The last thing he said was, “See you in a blink.”

Teri held his hand and cried and refused to leave his side until late the next morning.

[9]

How had it come to this?

Hovering over his bed every morning.

Spending nights at the University Library, scouring through medical texts, looking for the last piece of the puzzle.

Trading shifts with Michael, pleased that some of Gabe’s weight had returned, wondering how much longer until they would get to wake him up.

Turning him, moving him, stretching his muscles, reading him stories.

Not much longer.

Still, how had it come to this?

She didn’t want to think about it. There wasn’t time to think about it.

And that was precisely the point, wasn’t it?

[10]

December 4th, 1981, the Central Intelligence Agency and the Department of Defense, under Executive Order 12333 were required to comply with H.H.S. (Health and Human Services) regulations regarding the protection of human subjects. Both agencies had in the past and continue through the present to conduct and support biomedical and behavioral research.

Among other things, these regulations stated:

“Except as provided elsewhere in this or other subparts, no investigator may involve a human being as a subject in research covered by these regulations unless the investigator has obtained the legally effective informed consent of the subject or the subject’s legally authorized representative. An investigator shall seek such consent only under circumstances that provide the prospective subject or the representative sufficient opportunity to consider whether or not to participate and that minimize the possibility of coercion or undue influence. The information that is given to the subject or the representative shall be in language understandable to the subject or representative. No informal consent, whether oral or written, may include any exculpatory language through which the subject or representative is made to waive or appear to waive any of the subject’s legal rights, or releases or appears to release the investigator, the sponsor, or the institution or its agents from liability for negligence.”

Meet the Author

David B. Silva’s short fiction has appeared in The Year’s Best Horror, The Year’s Best Fantasy & Horror, and The Best American Mystery Stories. In 1991, he won a Bram Stoker Award for his short story, “The Calling.” His first collection, Through Shattered Glass, was published by Gaunlet Press in 2001. In 2009, Dark Regions published his collection of eleven new stories and one reprint, In The Shadows of Kingston Mills.

In addition, he’s written eight novels, including The Disappeared.

He lives a subdued life in the surreal city of Las Vegas, where there are many stories still to be told…

Bentley Little says: “Combining the deft characterization of vintage Stephen King with the literary subtlety of the best of Ramsey Campbell, David B. Silva has for years been turning out stunning fiction that has never gotten the audience it deserves. In my opinion, he is one of the best damn authors working today.”

About the Author

Dark Regions Press has been publishing since 1985 and is an award winning press. We specialize in Horror, Fantasy, and Science Fiction. However our favorite niche is Horror. We have published such renowned writers as Bentley Little, Kevin J. Anderson, Michael Arnzen, Elizabeth Massie, Jeffrey Thomas and many others. Dark Regions Press has had many Bram Stoker Award nominations and four award-winning short story and poetry collections.

Visit our website for more exciting books.

Copyright

This eBook edition published 2011 by Dark Thriller.

http://www.darkregions.com

©David B. Silva 2010

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Editor and Publisher, Joe Morey

Cover and interior art © 2010 by Wayne Miller

eBook Created by Stephen James Price

http://www.GenerationNextPublications.com

Content

David B. Silva
THE DISAPPEARED

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

OPENINGS

INTERMEDIATES

CLOSINGS

Meet the Author

About the Author

Copyright