The Children's Ward (22 page)

Ninety-one

Alicia woke from a sound sleep, her heart pounding in fear.

Had she dreamed the noise?

In an unfamiliar bedroom, disoriented, she did not know.

The room was pitch black and she was unable to see even the outline of the door, but she stared anyway so that if the door were to open she would see it.

Was there someone in the house?

Now there was no sound at all.

She tried to think of what she should do. Hide, but where? The bed was too close to the floor for her to get beneath it and the closet—assuming she could find it without making any noise— would probably be the first place anyone would look.

She had left her overnight case and purse in plain sight just inside the door. And she hadn’t bothered to wash the few dishes she had used.

It would be obvious to anyone breaking in that the house was occupied.

Where did James keep his rifle?

Would he keep it in the bedroom? She didn’t remember seeing it, but maybe…

The most likely place was the closet.

She was afraid to move. Afraid to make any noise that might attract attention.

Was there someone out there?

If she didn’t get up, didn’t look for the rifle, there was nothing else she could do except wait.

She lifted the covers off her and folded them back away from her body. Her bare legs were visible, contrasted against the dark-colored sheets.

As quietly as she could, she got out of the bed, cursing in her mind as the bedsprings squeaked.

For a minute she tried to get her bearings, tried to remember the position of the bed relative to the rest of the room.

Come on, she thought. I came into the room and the bed was to the right and the closet to the left. So it has to be…

She distinctly heard a door opening somewhere in the house.

She put her hand to her mouth, stifling a cry.

She had to get to the closet.

Placing her feet carefully, she walked toward the other side of the room, her hands out in front of her to keep her from running into anything.

Where was the wall, God damn it.

The room was so small, she should have reached the other side. She…her hand brushed against something solid.

The closet door. She felt around for the handle. And found it. And pulled it.

The closet door was locked.

No one locks a closet door, her mind protested.

Unless they have a young child in the house and they’re locking potential danger away.

She continued to pull on the door handle and then leaned on the door, resting her head against the wood.

What was she going to do now?

If the intruder was in Tessi’s room, there was a chance that Alicia could make it to and out the door before they…he…could catch her.

She was barefoot and dressed only in a flannel shirt that came only to her upper thighs.

It was dark and cold outside, and she would not be able to see. She was miles from help. If she tripped and fell…

But there was no other choice.

She did not wish to wait for him to find her in this room in the dark. Wait until her fear was so great that she would be unable to think.

She stepped carefully toward where the door should be, noting that, wherever the door was, there was no light coming in around it. That meant the intruder was also moving around in the dark.

The door knob caught her in the hip and she winced, but at least she had found it. Hand firmly grasping the knob, she put her ear to the door to listen one last time before she made her escape.

Absolute silence. Not even the hum of the refrigerator.

She twisted the knob, holding the door steady. When she felt it clear of the jamb she pulled the door toward her, holding her breath until it was open enough for her to slip through.

No light. There was no light in the house.

She tried to make out the location of the front door. There was no way she could walk slowly across that open space and calmly search for the door. She was going to run for it and she wanted to know that she was not going to smack headfirst into the wall.

There it was…a barely perceptible shade lighter than the rest of the wall.

She edged out of the bedroom, looking first toward Tessi’s bedroom and the bathroom, half expecting to see a form coming at her. But there was nothing.

For the first time since she was a child, Alicia ran at full speed, her bare feet striking the floor, her lungs straining, her heart racing…

Her hand encircled the door knob and she flipped the dead bolt.

Someone grabbed her from behind and tossed her back away from the door. Someone grabbed her and slammed her face first into the wall, breaking her nose.

She cried out, pushed up against the wall, and tried to reach behind her to grab, to fight back—

She was pulled away from the wall and lifted—

She was flying through the air fast enough that she could feel air flowing over her skin.

She crashed into another wall…and slid to the floor.

Her hand closed around an electric cord and she pulled it, trying to drag in whatever was at the end of it, hoping that whatever it was—a lamp?—would be heavy enough to do some damage.

Someone grabbed her wrist and she lunged forward, but her blows did not connect—

There was no one there.

There was no one there.

Out in the night, her scream was lost in the wind.

Nothing moved in the desert.

Ninety-two

James Wolf drove down the dirt road that led to his ranch, maneuvering among the potholes. He had driven this road so many times that he could almost steer without thinking.

It was time to talk to Alicia.

All day he had sat with the shaman, looking for guidance. Now had come the time to act.

They had to make their peace. Only bad could come of their bitterness and anger.

For himself, he could weather the storm. But Tessi was in danger and for her sake he would appeal to Alicia to end the hostility.

Though it would break Tessi’s heart, he would rather give up his joint custody than have her torn between them. She was too young to be dragged into court and made to say before witnesses which parent she preferred.

Later, when she was older, things would change. He would fight for her then and if it was right, he would win.

She would understand. It was only because he loved her so much that he was willing to give her up. To sacrifice his own interests on her behalf.

As soon as he was no longer a threat, Alicia would relax. She would no longer have to fear his influence on Tessi and maybe her hawk-eyed vigilance would cease.

But before he would agree to relinquish Tessi, even for a day, he would try somehow to get through to the other Alicia.

He could still remember the first day he saw her.

She was standing with two other girls, laughing as they tried to coax a ground squirrel to
come after a piece of candy.

The sun was pale compared to the color of her hair and the light in her smile. Her face was open and eager as she held the candy out to the squirrel.

Looking at that beautiful face, he would have taken poison from her hand. He envied the squirrel.

She looked at him and smiled. His heart was lost.

Now when she looked at him, it was with venom.

Maybe he’d never told her how badly he was hurt when they had parted. True, he had left her that second time, but the city was choking the life out of him and he had to go.

Maybe if he told her about the times he was ready to go back to her…

He parked the truck in front of the house, and sat for a moment, listening to the pings of the engine as it cooled down. The house was dark and he thought that he should have come sooner so that he would not have to awaken her.

He found the extra house keys above the furthest kitchen window. He inserted the key in the deadbolt and was surprised to find it unlocked.

That wasn’t like Alicia at all.

He unlocked the second lock and pushed open the door, stepping into the dark and reaching for the light, suddenly feeling that something was not right.

Alicia was face down on the floor.

He went to his knees at her side, turning her over and putting his ear to her chest. He listened for a long time.

He took her wrist and sat back on his heels, looking at her bloodied face. He thought she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

He knew what they would think.

They would think that he had killed his ex-wife. The animosity between them was too well known for him not to be the likely suspect. Whether they eventually found whoever had done this, for awhile, at least, Tessi would know that her father was suspected in her mother’s death.

Tessi. Who would take care of her if he was in jail?

He got to his feet, looking with sorrow at the body of his first love.

He had to go and get Tessi. He would take her out of the hospital and out of the country before someone found Alicia.

He knew he was taking a terrible chance.

If they discovered Alicia before he could make good an escape, his attempted flight would be viewed as proof of his guilt. Everything depended on his being able to make it to California and Tessi before Alicia was found.

It would be Maria who would find her.

That saddened him. Maria was a decent woman and it would be a terrible thing for her.

But it gave him until Monday morning.

He loaded boxes of food, some clothes, and two five-gallon cans of gas into the back of the truck and then tied the tarp down over it.

He drove without headlights until he reached the main road. There was no traffic this time of night and no one saw him leaving the ranch.

He accelerated and drove into the darkness.

He did not look back.

SUNDAY

Ninety-three

On the first day of her vacation, Mary Aguilar was up early.

During the night, she had awoken, disturbed by her dream about the children’s ward. She had heard them, heard what they were saying, and had woken up to fix things in her mind.

Now she had forgotten.

Busying herself in her morning routine, she hoped it would come back to her. She didn’t like to think that she was getting to an age where remembering something as simple as a dream would be so difficult.

By seven o’clock—the time she normally was on duty—the bed was made, the apartment tidied, the laundry was in the wash, and a coffee cake was baking in the oven.

Mary poured a second cup of coffee and sat down at the table, a little at loose ends.

None of her neighbors were likely to be interested in coffee and cake this early on a Sunday
morning, and she’d stopped taking the newspaper years ago when she’d decided that it glorified human misery. It was hours before the stores would open for Christmas shopping, and in any case, the presents for her married sister’s family were already bought and wrapped, and waiting for their traditional Christmas Eve gathering.

She had nothing else to do but sit and think.

That dream. It was exactly the same dream as she had been having, down to the last detail, except that
this
time she had heard what they were saying.

It was a short dream, lasting less than a minute, and she had sometimes dreamt it more than once a night.

It took place in the ward. Smoke hung in the air like a thick layer of fog and tiny flames licked the walls. It wasn’t what she thought a fire would be like; more of an aftermath than a conflagration.

Abigail was in the middle of the room, un-bothered by the heat and smoke. She was alone at first, surveying the ravaged room with a look of delight and wonder.

Then Russell was there, no longer in his wheelchair but still unable to walk, slouched in a corner, clinging to a blistered wall.

He was yelling at Abigail, without speaking.

Yelling
inside
his head.

“Why did you kill them, Abigail, why did you do it?”

Abigail laughed.

Mary spoke the words aloud so that she would not forget them: “Why did you kill them, Abigail, why did you do it?”

Shaken, Mary sat in her warm kitchen, the smell of coffee cake replacing the stench of smoke which had stung her nostrils as she remembered the dream. Her hands trembled.

It was just a dream, she told herself. Just a dream come of an overactive imagination and fatigue.

She got up and took the coffee cake out of the oven, burning her finger where the oven mitt had worn down over the years. She ran cold water over the burn and, though her nursing training had taught her otherwise, put it in her mouth, running her tongue over the tender spot.

It was just a dream but she did not want to be burdened with it alone.

Dr. Logan had said that if Mary remembered what the children were saying, to let her know.

Telling someone would ease her mind.

It was awful early on a Sunday morning to be calling the doctor.

Because she knew the hospital operator, she was able to call and get Dr. Logan’s home telephone number. She wrote it on a pad and just to be sure that she wouldn’t forget, she wrote the words:

Why did you kill them, Abigail, why did you do it?

With one last glance at the clock—it was only seven-thirty—she picked up the phone and started to dial.

Ninety-four

Quinn had been up since six, trying without luck to reach Emily Ballard in Baltimore.

There was very little information about Emily Ballard in Abigail’s family history, but Quinn knew that the reason Abigail’s grandmother hadn’t accompanied the child to California was because the woman was ill. What the nature of the illness was, Quinn didn’t know, but the longer she thought about it, the more concerned she became.

It seemed that every year there were new accounts of the elderly freezing to death in their homes because they were so far removed from the mainstream of life, no one thought to look for them when they hadn’t been seen for awhile. It was an unkind death and a senseless one.

She got the phone number of the Baltimore police department from directory assistance and placed a call, asking that an officer be sent to check on Emily Ballard.

And, if they located her, to ask her to call Quinn collect, at either her home or the hospital. She gave the police operator both numbers and instructed them to tell Mrs. Ballard that it was
not
a medical emergency regarding Abigail, but that it
was
urgent.

Then Quinn called the hospital to inform the operator that she would be in shortly and to leave instructions that she would authorize the acceptance of the long-distance collect call.

The operator gave Quinn a message to call Tiffany White as soon as possible and apologized about the delay in delivering the message which was taken Saturday afternoon.

Quinn dialed the number that was given to her and was surprised when it turned out to be that of a local motel.

“Tiffany White, please.”

“I’ll ring,” the operator said.

Tiffany sounded as though she was half-asleep, and Quinn looked at her watch. Seven-thirty.

“Good morning Mrs. White, this is Dr. Logan.”

“Oh…Dr. Logan.”

“I just got your message from yesterday. What can I do for you?”

“I’m glad you called, doctor. I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things. First,” she laughed nervously, “my husband and I have separated.”

“I’m sorry,” Quinn said.

“Well…what I wanted to ask you was whether you think I should tell Courtney. I mean, I don’t want to upset her and if you think it would be better if I waited…”

“Medically, there’s no reason why you couldn’t tell her. She’s been doing very well since her seizure. And you definitely need to tell her, if there’s no chance of reconciliation, in advance of her discharge from the hospital.”

“I see. When do you think she’ll be able to come…home?”

“Not before the week after next, at the earliest. She’s scheduled to begin training in biofeedback techniques, and I believe that’s a five day program.”

“That long…” Tiffany’s voice sounded wistful.

“Yes, at least.”

“Well, whatever is best for Courtney.” She hesitated. “There are a couple of other things that’ve happened recently…but I don’t know if I need to mention them now, since she won’t be going back to the house.”

“Oh?”

“We had a fire at the house on Wednesday night.”

“A fire?” Quinn blinked, remembering what Ian had told her about Courtney’s dreams.

“The house is still standing, it isn’t like it was burned to the ground or anything, but…she may want to go back to get more of her things, and…I know it would upset her.”

“No one mentioned the fire to her?”

“No. I…we didn’t want to upset her.” She laughed ruefully. “I guess there are all kinds of things we haven’t been telling her since she went into the hospital.”

“What else?”

“Well it really doesn’t matter, I guess, because no one was injured, but Friday…the day of the meeting…my husband and I were almost in an accident.”

Quinn waited for Tiffany to continue.

“The car spun out of control…it could have been pretty bad, I thought the car was going to roll over or something, it was moving so fast. But then it just…stopped. Sideways, in the middle of the road.”

Quinn frowned.

“So…what should I tell Courtney?”

“I wouldn’t tell her about either incident just yet. As far as the house is concerned, and the fire, I’d wait until after she was out of the hospital. The accident…I don’t think you have to tell her at all. In fact, I wouldn’t. With her parents separating, she might be very disturbed that there was a possibility she could lose you both.”

A moment later, Quinn hung up the phone, collecting her thoughts.

She needed to see Ian’s report on Courtney’s dreams, both to verify her impression—her
strong
impression—that Courtney had had the dreams before the incidents had occurred, and to see if there were more details than Ian had told her.

The report was probably out of transcription. She would run over to the hospital and check it out.

As she grabbed a jacket and went out the door, she wondered if Courtney had ever had a history of precognitive dreams.

The phone rang in the empty apartment.