Blind Spot (34 page)

“I know.”

“But…?”

“Rita’s crazy. Really out there. But before Clausen and Burghsmith took her away, she was begging me not to give the baby back to Tasha. She said Tasha used Rafe to get away from the cult. That she got pregnant to escape. That Tasha never cared about Rafe, and that pregnancy was her way to get him to do what she wanted.”

“She’s transferring blame. It happens.”

“She said that’s why Catherine and the Colony don’t want Tasha back. She’s a devil. A bad seed.”

“Are you seriously buying this?”

Lang sighed. “Not all of it.”

“But some of it. You’re buying some of it?”

“You’re the doctor. You know more about this than I do. I just don’t want Tasha to be a blind spot. One I didn’t look at closely enough, you know?”

She did know. She’d been fooled a time or two by patients, and she’d made it a practice never to take things at face value until she had all the facts.

“I’d like to talk to Catherine again,” Lang went on. “She said Natasha was afflicted with these spells. Maybe there’s something more she’s not telling us.”

“I told Catherine I’d let her know when Tasha delivered. But I have to go to the hospital first.”

“I’m heading to the department. Let’s connect later and tell Catherine about Tasha and the baby together.”

Claire agreed, frowning as she hung up. Catherine had already intimated Tasha would be an unfit mother. Social Services had been called to take the baby from Rita’s house, and the child was now in their hands until Tasha woke up.

She thought about her last vision of Tasha, lying in bed, unaware, her clean, smooth brow and uncomplicated face, the picture of angelic peace. Rita Feather Hawkings was the villain in this piece, not Tasha.

Claire didn’t see Freeson upon her return to Halo Valley. She spent the rest of the afternoon in a motherly, babysitting role because news of Tasha’s disappearance and delivery, and then the kidnapping, had stirred up the residents, touching their nerves, exacerbating their own fears. Mrs. Tanaway and Mrs. Merle were in their rooms, and Maribel was circling in tight circles, muttering to herself. Donald was rubbing his jaw and looking concerned. Gibby was in his chair, asking constantly when Tasha would be home, and Thomas McAvoy was in a glaring match with Big Jenny, who was looking at him coquettishly through her lashes.

Heyward Marsdon was seated in the chair next to Gibby’s, clutching his hands together, staring at the flickering images on the television while Greg, Alison, and Alphonse hovered nearby. “Dr. Avanti is usually with him if he’s out of his room,” Alison breathed to Claire about Heyward.

“A condition imposed to even allow him on Side A,” Claire said, feeling renewed fury at the Marsdon family. Yes, they donated heavily and paid extra for the personal attention, but it didn’t allow for breakdowns in staff care. Freeson was right. She’d been desperately needed back at the hospital, if for nothing else than crowd control.

With the overworked staff’s care, Claire brought things under control again, and the worst of the patients’ inner panic and worries were allayed by dinnertime. Freeson showed up and grudgingly helped out.

“Where’s Avanti?” Claire asked him.

“With
his
doctor,” Freeson said. “He’s got some issues over sex that Rita tapped into, apparently. He and Rita were fornicating all over the hospital.” He looked satisfied, and to Claire’s questioning look, admitted, “I’ve been promoted to his job.”

“Ah…”

“Don’t pretend to be appalled. You’re going up the ladder, too,” he said.

“Did Avanti talk to the police?”

“Spilled it all to his doctor and allowed some information to be given out. He barely knew Rita. She doesn’t have a cell phone and he saw her mostly at the hospital.”

“How did he meet her in the first place?”

“Picked her up at that bar on the way to Salem, Vandy’s, and they started seeing each other. Guess she twisted his arm for a reference. Apparently he didn’t know about the baby obsession.”

Lang called at six thirty. It was pitch dark and there was moisture in the air, but at least it wasn’t a full-fledged rain shower. They agreed to meet at her place, and when they did, they fell into each other’s arms, needing the human contact after the events of the day.

After some long kisses and desperate touches, Claire finally surfaced. “I can’t think straight with you!”

Lang groaned, ran a hand through his hair, and closed his eyes for a moment. “I know. We’ve got miles to go before we sleep.”

“Tasha still hasn’t woken up,” Claire worried.

“I know. Deputy Dunbar reported in when she left Ocean Park. But with Rita locked up, she’s safe enough. And the baby’s with Social Services, doing well.”

“What if Tasha doesn’t come to this time?” Claire said aloud, voicing her worst fears. “What if she stays out?”

“That’s why we need to talk to Catherine. If there’s something else…”

“Think she’ll see us in the dark?”

“We’ll shine the damn lights right on her.”

“Let’s go in my car,” Claire said. “I’ll let her know that if she doesn’t let you in, you’re going to be stuck outside the gates, just waiting.”

“That oughtta scare her,” he said dryly, but they headed out together.

It was the shortest time on record for the denizens of Siren Song to recognize that there was someone at their gates and hurry out to meet them. Catherine herself stepped out, wearing a red woolen cape with a hood, along with Isadora. They came together, stepping carefully over branches, rocks, and other debris that littered their walkway, and Isadora let Catherine through, locking the gate behind her. Lang and Claire, who’d come in Claire’s Passat, were a bit surprised that Catherine came to them.

“Natasha’s had her baby. A little girl,” Claire said. “That’s why we’re here.”

Catherine nodded. “I would like to see the child.”

Claire had no idea what Catherine’s intentions might be and she was feeling completely protective of Tasha’s baby. “I’m not sure if that’s possible right now. She’s with Social Services.”

Absorbing that information with a frown, Catherine said, “Then I would like to do some shopping in town. Would that be all right with you?”

“Sure,” Lang said, slightly amused by her high-handedness. He held the passenger door for her. The more time they had with her, the more they might learn.

He climbed into the backseat and literally went along for the ride as Claire drove them into Deception Bay proper. This was the first time Catherine had even deigned to be within ten feet of him, and he figured it was his best, maybe only, chance to ask her a number of burning questions.

They went to the Drift In Market and Catherine picked up fresh fruit and vegetables, and a number of staples. Her garb caused a few mostly incurious second looks, but she accomplished the task without leaving any time for a discussion.

When they were walking back to the car, Lang said, “Can we step in there for a minute? Get some coffee, doughnuts?” He pointed to the Sands of Thyme bakery and Catherine, though she looked like she wanted to say no, nodded her acquiescence.

As soon as they were seated at a table, he said, “It took you long enough to claim Natasha, and now you want to see her baby. Excuse me if I’d like some kind of explanation.”

Her gray eyes regarded him with a knowing look, like he’d just lived up to her low expectations. “What do you want to know?” she asked primly, then turned to Claire, who was seated across from her, and not Lang, who’d purposely spread himself over the chair next to Claire’s, sprawling, making a point of taking up room. He didn’t care about her aversion to men or whatever her problem was; he was through being ignored.

Claire was looking at Lang as if she’d like to be the lead dog on this one, but again, he was through with that kind of careful dance. “I want to know about your whole tribe,” he said, draping an arm over the back of Claire’s chair, which earned him a cold look. “Ever since Tasha got attacked, we’ve been trying to figure out who she is and how to help her. You knew she was missing, yet when we finally figured out Tasha was from Siren Song, you denied it. Why?”

“There are a lot of reasons,” she said.

“Name one.”

“She thinks we abused her.”

Lang narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? Why would she think that?”

“Because as punishment, we sometimes locked her in her room, and when she was particularly—ill—we strapped her to her bed.”

“Strapped her to her bed?” he repeated. “That sounds like child abuse, all right.” He turned to Claire, who was looking concerned. “Better not let her anywhere near the baby.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.” Catherine’s lips were so tight they were almost bloodless.

“Good. ’Cause I don’t.”

Claire said, “What do you mean by ‘ill’?”

“I told you Natasha has spells. A kind of sleepwalking. Eyes open but unaware. You’ve seen it.” Catherine was dismissive.

“She came to us in a catatonic state,” Claire said. “She slips into awareness and out again.”

“It’s what she does,” Catherine said. “But she can hurt herself and others.” A shadow passed across her face and she turned to the window and squinted, as if viewing something on the far side of the street.

“So you were just happy she was gone?” Lang suggested.

“I have a duty to keep my family safe.”

“By strapping them to their beds?” Lang wasn’t buying any of it. “Maybe you’re all as strange as the locals believe. Wanna know what we’ve learned?”

She finally looked his way. “I have a feeling you plan to tell me.”

“Yes, I do.”

And Lang did. Ignoring Claire’s look of consternation, as if she felt he were bullying his way through. Again, he didn’t care. He told Catherine about reading Herman Smythe’s history of the cult, and about Claire meeting with the historian himself at Seagull Pointe, and about Dinah being his daughter, and possibly sister to one or more of Catherine’s nieces, and about Herm’s remarks about Mary’s unbridled sexual desire where she took more than a few lovers. “What was the term he used?” Lang asked Claire. “Oh, yeah, she had more babies than you could count. Are any of your ‘nieces’ yours? And where is Mary? Is she alive? Dead?”

“You read the history,” she snapped out.

“Yeah, and it ends with your birth, two years after Mary’s, and a footnote about several children born at the lodge.”

Catherine’s brows lifted. “Nothing about the girls?”

“Either he didn’t write it, or he didn’t include it in the book. Whatever you’re hiding, it’s still safe.”

“Mr….?”

“Stone. Langdon Stone.”

“Mr. Stone, we’ve been persecuted for years. People have been frightened of us. Called us witches and Satan’s daughters and worse.”

“Because of your dark gifts.”

Claire’s head swung his way in surprise and Catherine was momentarily flummoxed.

“I forgot,” Lang said. “That was in there, too.”

Straightening her spine, Catherine retorted, “Our perceived extra abilities.”

“And Mary? What happened to her?” he asked.

“She was forced to leave. It was better for all of us.” Catherine pursed her lips and looked at Claire. “Have I sung enough for my supper, Dr. Norris?” she asked.

“I’m sorry if these questions seem intrusive,” Claire said. “We want to help Tasha and the baby, and it’s been difficult to understand where you stand.”

“Let me be clear, then,” she announced, getting to her feet. “When the child goes up for adoption, I would like to be considered as the adoptive parent.”

“What?” Claire stood up, too.

“Don’t think your parenting style’s going to go over with Social Services,” Lang stated, straightening in his chair.

“Tasha’s her mother,” Claire reminded them. “It’s her child first.”

“She doesn’t want it,” Catherine said tautly. “You’ll find out. And when that day comes, I’ll be waiting.”

She sailed out of the Sands of Thyme and would say nothing else on the ride back to Siren Song.

Catherine’s words bothered Claire, but she didn’t want to take them too seriously. There was bad blood between Catherine and Natasha, and until Tasha woke up and had a chance to speak for herself, Claire was going to give her the benefit of the doubt. But that wasn’t happening anytime soon. It had been over a week since the birth of baby Beatrice, the name given to the child by Social Services. Beatrice was in the temporary care of one of the social workers themselves as they determined whether she needed foster care placement, since Tasha was not showing signs of recovery and was being transferred back to Halo Valley while they awaited an outcome.

Claire was lobbying for Dinah to become the little girl’s foster parent. There was no other family member available to step in even temporarily. Rafe was dead and had no immediate living family, and Catherine and the women from the Colony were no answer, as far as Claire was concerned. Dinah was the best choice for many reasons, not the least being her willingness to bring the baby to Halo Valley to see her mother on a regular basis and try to help jostle Tasha out of her latest “spell.”

After arraignment Rita remained in the Tillamook County Jail pending trial. Her mother had gone to see her but with no money for bail and no inclination to really help, apparently, she’d just shaken her head at her daughter and complained loud and long about what a disgrace Rita was. As bad as her whore of an aunt, Angela!

Rita had chosen to hide out at the house of this spurious aunt, a house that had fallen into the hands of a local bank and was heading for foreclosure. She’d been running out of options and had hoped to squat there with the baby until some of the notoriety had died down.

She kept insisting that Tasha had killed Rafe and Cade, and that the baby was really hers.

It seemed strange, to Claire, to have Tasha back at Halo Valley, and she wondered what would end up becoming of her and Beatrice. It was a worry that followed Claire around while her world settled down from its out-of-control spin into a regular habit of seeing Lang, keeping up with Dinah, who was granted care of Beatrice on Tasha’s second day at Halo Valley, and going to work.

Lang used the time to completely move into his apartment even though he spent most of his time at Claire’s place, and on a Saturday night, ten days after Beatrice’s birth, he brought a couple bottles of wine over for dinner and joined Dinah, Claire, and baby Bea.

“I apologize for calling you a quack’s quack,” he told Dinah, pouring the wine.

She was looking in the oven to the baked spinach lasagna she and Claire were making. “Apology accepted. Drop by anytime and you can hold some crystals while I chant.”

“Can’t wait,” he said dryly, to which Claire broke into a grin, one of the first in a long, long time. He handed her a glass of Cabernet and said, “Just don’t tell me you’re on call.”

“I’m free tonight,” Claire assured him, and they drank in better spirits than they’d been in for a long while and ate the home-cooked meal, then sat around afterward, playing with little Bea.

“We can’t get too attached,” Claire said. “Tasha opened her eyes today.”

“For the first time since Ocean Park?” Lang asked.

“That anyone noticed. Gibby says he’s been talking to her. Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s fantasy. But there are signs that she’s coming back again.”

“What does that mean for the long run?” Lang asked. “You trust her with a baby?”

“Bea is hers. If Tasha becomes lucid and is physically fine, which she is, then…”

“I’m not going to think about it,” Dinah said. “Everything’s temporary. I’ve learned to accept.” Bea started fussing and Dinah made up a bottle of formula and sat on Claire’s couch, feeding the baby.

Claire thought about her own miscarriage and firmly set the memory aside. Like she told her patients, stay in the present. Dwelling on misfortunes was death to good mental health. And hoping for things that just couldn’t happen was completely counterproductive, she thought sadly, her gaze on the lovely little baby.

Monday morning Claire pulled into the Halo Valley parking lot and groaned aloud to see Pauline Kirby and the Channel Seven news team camped outside the hospital.

What now?

“Dr. Norris!” Pauline called, spying Claire though she tried to enter from the far end of the medical office building. “We understand that Rita Feather Hawkings, the alleged kidnapper of one of your patient’s baby, Tasha Rutledge Beeman, was involved with one of the most respected doctors at Halo Valley, Dr. Paolo Avanti.”

Beeman. Claire realized that Pauline and her newshounds must have pulled the name from the book about the Colony at the historical society, the same way Lang had learned of it. She was fairly certain, especially after all the bad press, that no one at Halo Valley had given out that information, and there was no way Catherine had granted the pushy newswoman an interview.

“Is Dr. Avanti still employed at this hospital?” Pauline thrust a microphone Claire’s way.

She wanted to say, “No comment,” but decided instead on the truth and answered simply, “No.”

“Is Ms. Beeman part of the group known as the Colony?” Now Claire turned away from the interview. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, give out information on a patient.

“Rita Feather Hawkings has also been indicted in the deaths of both Rafe Black Bear Worster and Cade Worster and the attack on Ms. Beeman. Has Ms. Beeman confirmed those accusations? How is the baby? Dr. Norris!”

Claire yanked the medical offices’ door open, glad that during daylight hours it did not require a keycard and code.

“Dr. Norris!” Pauline called stridently. “There’s a rumor that Heyward Marsdon the Third has been moved from the maximum security side of your hospital to the less controlled section. How does that make you feel?”

Claire racewalked down the hallway, half-expecting Pauline to follow her inside. She hurried past the first-floor receptionist and took the elevator to her office. She didn’t want to talk about any part of the hospital goings-on with the press. They just never stopped digging, and sometimes they struck a sensitive nerve.

Dropping her purse on her desk, she slipped out of her coat. She hadn’t planned on coming here first; she was on her way to the hospital proper. But she needed a moment or two to put herself together. Beyond Tasha and Bea and the worry about what would happen to them, she also had the Marsdon issue. She’d never told Lang that she’d accepted his apology; never explained that she’d put Marsdon and the incident behind her. It was the one subject neither of them felt compelled to address. There was enough going on as it was.

After a few moments, she locked her purse inside the closet with her coat, then closed and secured her office door and headed to the hospital.

Gibby sat in his favorite chair, hanging on with a death grip. Tasha was back and she was in the chair next to him. But something was wrong. She didn’t want to talk anymore. In fact, she was really, really
mean.

“I doan like you no more,” he told her now. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, nodded and said, “Huh.”

She stared at the TV but her mouth turned into a mean smile. “You are stupid,” she said. “Mentally deficient.”

“I’m fishent!” he tried to repeat and she turned to look at him with really scary blue eyes.

She said, “You told them about me. And now I’m their prisoner.”

“No…”

“It’s your fault.”

“It not!”

“All your fault.”

And then Thomas McAvoy was in front of them, standing there, really, really mean. “You’re a fucking liar,” he whispered to Tasha.

“Stay away from me,” she snarled. “I will kill you while you sleep.”

“Liar!” he roared.

And then Greg and Darlene and everyone was there and Gibby started screaming and screaming.

Claire came down the stairs at the sound of Gibby’s shrieks. Once again it took a concentrated effort by most of the staff to bring things under control. Freeson, who had been in Heyward’s room, strode out, looking annoyed.

He’d become more insufferable over these past few weeks. Claire was going to be happy when they hired another doctor to hopefully add more balance.

“You’re going to need to stay through dinner today,” Freeson said. “I have an important meeting, and I can’t be here.”

His goatee was already bristling, ready for a fight. Claire simply nodded. Lang had officially started with the TCSD and she thought he might be late himself.

“Good.” He bustled away and Claire turned to find Tasha, who was standing by the bookcase, staring at her.

“Tasha,” Claire said, encouraged. “We finally got you some acceptable clothes,” she said, walking toward her. “How are you feeling?”

The blond woman just stood and waited, ignoring the dress that Claire had specifically picked out for her, her gaze faraway once more. Claire tried to engage her with talk about Beatrice, telling her that she could bring the baby to see her the next day, but Tasha was back in her own world.

Feeling slightly deflated, Claire headed back to her office, wondering if both Lang’s comment that she might be faking it and Catherine’s dire prediction that she wouldn’t want the baby could have any merit at all.

The scream inside Tasha’s head felt never ending. How had she ended up back here? Locked in. Kept from her own freedom!

She hated them.

Hated them all.

Inside her head was a black fury, a blurred buzzing noise, the sound of her own anger. She was through pretending. Through playing their games. Through letting them rule her.

She didn’t remember the birth of the baby. It seemed like somebody else had carried that child all these months. All these months of waiting! Pushing Rafe to get her free! Planning. Faking.

Her only joy was that Rita was in jail. She’d heard the news on the hospital staff’s lips. Rita was rotting in a hole, caught, trapped. That, at least, had gone according to plan.

Closing her eyes, she drew a long breath, seating herself in her chair.

A moment later she came to and realized it was night. Hours later. She’d been gone into her own swirling, comforting blackness and had somehow ended up sitting in her own bed, in the stupid dress the meddling doctor had thought she would want.

Her wheelchair stood at the ready and Tasha stared at it. She dug through her mind, searching, and found there was something there. Something she’d almost forgotten.

Climbing from the bed, she picked up the cushion of the wheelchair and turned it over. From inside a slit gleamed the black hilt of a knife. Smiling, she slowly pulled it out, turning the blade over, its cold edge glinting in the light. And then a tumble of pills scattered onto the floor. McAvoy’s pills. She scooped them into her hand and stared at them. During her blackout she’d found a way to acquire the items she needed for her escape.

Sometimes her mind gave her the plan when she was unaware.

Sometimes she was shown the way.

That’s what happened with Nathaniel. He’d been so dull. Weak. Mentally deficient. He’d needed to be sent to the next world, so she’d taken Mary’s herbs. Kept high on top of the pantry shelves. In glass jars. Forgotten. The labels nearly indecipherable.

Belladonna.

Nathaniel went into convulsions. Horrible, twisting, gasping convulsions. Tasha had watched with interest. Death had come soon and she’d left him out by the graveyard.

Catherine had guessed. Catherine had strapped her to her bed. Tasha had sworn it wasn’t her. She’d cried and begged and pleaded. Catherine hadn’t wanted to listen but simpleminded Lillibeth had pleaded and pleaded and finally gotten Tasha released.

Tasha had pretended. Catherine had pretended. They circled each other, each knowing, neither speaking of it.

Tasha had made love to Rafe on Nathaniel’s grave. She hoped Catherine knew.

Needed her to know!

Footsteps in the hallway. Tasha squirreled the knife and pills beside her in the bed.

That meddling doctor again. Her dark eyes were all knowing, digging, burrowing, burning holes into Tasha’s skin. “It’s dinnertime,” the doctor said. “Let me take you down.”

Friendly voice. Evilness inside.

Tasha decided it was time to take a new step. “I can walk down on my own, thank you.”

The doctor was so stunned she looked like she was going to pass out. Tasha hid an inward smile.

“Good,” she said. “It’s nice to hear your voice. Tomorrow I’ll bring your baby to you.”

Tasha nodded, and reluctantly, the doctor left, giving Tasha an uncertain look that meant she was beginning to suspect.

Quickly Tasha slipped the knife up the sleeve of her dress and the pills inside the side of her sock.

She was leaving tonight.