Creature (16 page)

The trust fund was all set up, a massive insurance annuity that would continue paying every possible expense both Maria and Ricardo could possibly incur for the rest of their lives. Though Blake was certain that Maria didn’t yet understand the full extent of her affluence, he was also certain that she
would never abuse it. indeed, after his initial shock at the instructions Jerry Harris had issued on his first day at work, Blake had come to believe that Ted Thornton was correct in his policy, for without the aid of TarrenTech, Maria Ramirez would have had no resources at all. And now Maria had a trust fund and nothing to worry about in the future except the welfare of her son. If her son lived.

But when he’d gotten to the Harrises’, Jerry made no mention of the Ramirez family, or anything else pertaining to business. Instead, he seemed more interested in how the Tanners were adjusting to Silverdale. And now, finally, in answer to Blake’s question, Jerry mixed them each a third drink and got to the point.

“I’ve been thinking about Mark,” he said.

Blake’s brows arched questioningly.

“I’ve been wondering if you’ve had a chance to look over what we’re doing at Rocky Mountain High,” Jerry went on, “the sports center.”

Blake shrugged noncommittally. “Other than the fact that we fund a lot of it, I don’t know that much about it yet.”

“It’s sort of an experimental camp,” Jerry told him. “Martin Ames has some interesting ideas about athletic training, and we’ve been letting him put them into practice.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling. “And since you’ve been going to the football games, you can see how well it’s working out. In fact,” he went on, “it’s exceeding all our expectations.”

Blake sat forward in his chair. “What’s the deal?” he asked. “What’s he doing?”

“Synthetic vitamins,” Jerry replied. “He’s been finding a lot of links between physical development and certain vitamin complexes, and for the last few years he’s been developing a series of new compounds that are helping us compensate for a lot of genetic deficiencies.” He paused a moment. “Such as Robb’s asthma, for instance.”

The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment before their import sank into Blake. “You mean it wasn’t just the
change of climate and good, clean mountain air that cleared it up,” he said.

Jerry shook his head. “I wish it had been that simple. But it wasn’t. Ames found all kinds of things wrong with Robb. It wasn’t just the asthma—he was having some problems with his bones that might have been precancerous conditions, and ever since he was a baby, he’d been a little slow to develop. Ames’s theory was that it was all linked to the way Robb’s body handled certain vitamins.” He smiled. “And, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, all that’s been taken care of.”

The implication was clear, and Blake didn’t need Jerry to spell it out for him. “But it’s a sports center,” he said, “and you know how Mark feels about sports.”

Now it was Jerry Harris who looked surprised. “Isn’t that you and Mark I see out on the field every Sunday afternoon? Looks to me like he might be changing.”

Blake shrugged with careful indifference, unwilling to expose even to Jerry Harris his hopes that perhaps Mark would, after all, follow in his own footsteps. “He’s a bit small for the team here, don’t you think? I mean, all our guys are so big, they’d run right over Mark.”

“Exactly,” Jerry replied, setting his glass down. “And I know it’s really none of my business, but I’ve been talking to Marty Ames about Mark—the rheumatic fever and all that. I even went so far as to get Mark’s medical records sent to him.”

Blake frowned. “Aside from the fact that I thought medical records were supposed to be confidential, why would you want to do that?”

“Because I wanted to get Marty’s opinion before I talked to you. I didn’t want to get your hopes up, then not have it amount to anything.”

Blake put his own drink aside. “All right,” he said. “So, just for the sake of discussion, what did he say?”

Jerry Harris’s eyes met his. “He thinks he can help Mark. He doesn’t think Mark’s problems from the rheumatic fever have to be permanent, and he thinks he can bring Mark’s growth rate back up to normal.”

Blake’s face took on a quizzical expression. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” Jerry replied. “He’s come up with a variant of the same vitamin complex Robb was treated with, and he’s ninety percent certain it will be effective with Mark.”

Blake gazed at his friend. None of what he was saying made sense. If there really was such a complex, he and Sharon would have heard of it by now. Unless …

“Are you telling me you want me to let somebody use an experimental drug on Mark?” he asked

Harris shook his head as if he’d been expecting the question. “It’s hardly experimental,” he said. “And it has nothing to do with drugs, either. It’s just a new way of combining certain vitamins, allowing the body to achieve its full potential. All the vitamins do is act as a sort of trigger, releasing hormones that are already present, but not fully functional.” Reading the doubt in Blake’s eyes, he went on: “Do you really think I’d let Ames give my own son a compound I didn’t have full faith in? He’s my son, Blake, not a guinea pig.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Blake replied. “But it’s certainly something to think about. And I’d like to see all the material on it.” He grinned a little self-consciously. “I’m no doctor, but after all Mark’s problems, I can tell you I know more about growth problems than the average layman.”

“Just like Elaine and I knew everything there was to know about asthma,” Harris agreed. “You’ll have all the material on your desk Monday morning. Plus, you might want to go out and talk to Ames about Mark. Just listen to him, then make up your own mind.”

A few minutes later the talk turned to other things, but Blake barely listened, for his mind kept going back over what Harris had told him.

And he remembered the sounds he’d heard emanating from Mark’s room every morning for the last few weeks.

The sound of Mark’s labored breathing as he struggled with his push-ups and sit-ups, and the soft grunts that broke
from the boy’s throat as he worked with Blake’s own set of weights.

If there were really a way to help him … Maybe he wouldn’t wait until Monday. Maybe he’d go to the office tomorrow and take a look at Ames’s material.

   It was a little after ten-thirty when Linda and Mark left the little café next to the drugstore and started home. They still had plenty of time for Mark to walk Linda to the Harrises’ without missing his eleven o’clock curfew, but they walked quickly. A breeze had come up, and Mark turned his collar up as the chill of the night made his cheeks tingle.

“I still don’t think Jeff’s mad at you,” he heard Linda say as she tucked her hand into his jacket pocket and meshed her fingers with his own. “He didn’t say anything, did he?”

“He didn’t have time,” Mark told her, not for the first time. “He was running. But I’m telling you, the look on his face almost scared the hell out of me. Wait till Monday, when I develop the film. You’ll see.”

They turned the corner off Colorado Street. There, the night seemed darker, with only a few pools of yellow light dotting the sidewalk ahead. Instinctively, Jeff glanced around, then felt foolish. This was Silverdale, he told himself as they walked on, not San Francisco, or even San Marcos. But after they’d walked nearly two blocks, a figure stepped out from behind a bush up ahead.

Linda and Mark stopped, startled but not yet frightened.

The figure took a step toward them.

“H-Hello?” Mark asked.

The looming figure said nothing, but as it came closer, both Linda and Mark suddenly knew who it was.

“Jeff?” Linda asked. “Is that you?”

Still there was no reply, then the figure stepped into one of the pools of light beneath a streetlamp and Linda and Mark could see Jeff’s face clearly.

His eyes were glassy and his heavy features were contorted with fury. At his sides his big hands were already working themselves into fists.

“Oh, Jesus,” Mark whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”

With Linda at his side, Mark spun around and ran toward Colorado Street and the bright lights that lined its sidewalks. There would be people there—the rest of the high school crowd leaving the café, and the audience from the movie theater across the square.

His breath was coming hard as he ran, and his heart was racing. Although Linda was keeping up with him, he could hear Jeff’s feet pounding on the sidewalk behind them, closer every second.

There was only another block to go, and then half a block.

It was too far. Suddenly Jeff crashed against him from behind. Letting go of Linda’s hand, he yelled at her to keep going, then crumbled to the ground as Jeff LaConner’s furious blows struck him in the stomach.

10

“Stop it!” Linda Harris screamed. “Jeff, what are you doing?”

Mark was on the ground now, facedown, and Jeff LaConner sat astride him, his fists pummeling the smaller boy. Linda yelled at Jeff again, and when he seemed not even to hear her, she tried to pull him away from Mark. One of Jeff’s arms came up, swinging wildly, and caught Linda’s rib cage. Stunned, she fell to the pavement, too, then staggered to her feet, gasping for air. Her eyes burning with tears, one hand clamped against her bruised ribs, she staggered the rest of the block, then turned onto Colorado Street.

“Help!” she called out, but even to herself her voice sounded like no more than a hoarse whisper. She paused for a moment, bracing herself against the post of a streetlamp, fighting to fill her lungs with air. Then, once more, she shouted, “Help! Someone, please help me!”

A block away she saw three boys come out of the café, and waved frantically to them. For a single, awful moment she thought they were going to turn the other way, but then they saw her, and in seconds her brother and two of his friends were running toward her.

“Down there,” she gasped, pointing into the darkness of
the side street. “It’s Jeff! He’s gone nuts! He’s beating Mark up!”

Robb Harris stared at his sister uncomprehendingly until a sudden image of Jeff exploded into his mind—an image from earlier that night, when he’d seen Jeff gazing at Mark and Linda, his whole body trembling, his face blazing with anger. “Holy shit,” he muttered. “Call Dad,” he told Linda, then shouted to his friends, “Come on!” With Pete Nakamura and Roy Kramer chasing after him, Robb dashed down the sidewalk toward the spot where he could now see Jeff and Mark struggling on the ground.

Linda, her ribs starting to ache now, ran down Colorado Street toward the brightly lit café, stumbled through the door and reached for the pay phone. It was only when she fumbled for a quarter that she realized she no longer had her purse. She uttered a sob of frustration and turned toward the counter at the back, where Mabel Harkins was slowly counting the money in the cash register. Except for Mabel, the café was empty.

“Sorry, honey, I’m all closed up,” Mabel said, glancing up from her counting as Linda approached the counter. Then she stopped counting and stared. “Jeez, hon, what happened to you?”

Linda ignored the question. “Can I use your phone, Mabel? I have to call my dad.”

Immediately, Mabel pushed the phone by the cash register across to Linda, but when the girl, her fingers trembling violently, tried unsuccessfully to punch the buttons, Mabel pulled it back. “I’ll do it,” she said. “What’s the number?”

On the third ring Jerry Harris answered. “It’s Mabel Harkins,” the waitress said. “Down at the café?” Without waiting for Jerry to respond, she continued, “Linda’s down here, Jerry, and she’s awful upset. Just a sec.” She handed the phone to Linda, then listened as the girl tried to tell her father what had happened.

“I don’t
know
why he did it,” she said at last. “We were just walking along the street and he was up ahead of us.
It was like he was waiting for us or something. Anyway, Robb and some other guys are trying to break it up. Can you come over, Daddy?”

She listened for a moment, then told her father where Jeff and Mark were. Finally, her hands still shaking, she hung up.

Mabel handed her a glass of water. “Here, hon,” she said. “You just sit down and drink this, and try to calm down.”

But Linda shook her head. “I can’t. I—I have to get back there. I can’t just leave Mark alone—”

“He’s not alone,” Mabel said firmly. “And there’s nothing you can do right now. You just sit down and get yourself calmed down for a minute, then we’ll both go see what’s going on.”

   Jerry Harris appeared upset as he hung up the phone. “What is it?” Blake Tanner asked. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Jerry replied. Already on his feet, with Blake right behind him, he went into the living room, where he told Blake and his wife what Linda had said.

“Oh, Lord,” Elaine breathed. Her eyes shifted to Blake. “You go with Jerry and I’ll call Sharon.” She was already picking up the telephone as the two men hurried out into the night.

   Mark had managed to wriggle free of Jeff twice, but it hadn’t done him any good. Neither time had he managed to get more than a few feet away before Jeff tackled him again. Now, with Jeff’s fists pummeling him, he gave up trying to get away from the larger boy and was instead merely doing his best to defend himself from the rain of blows that seemed to come from every direction.

His nose was bleeding and he could taste the salty flavor
of blood in his mouth. He thought there was a cut over his right eye, too, and his ears were still ringing from a blow to his head.

Now Jeff was on top of Mark again, his eyes fixed blankly on the object of his rage. His mind had almost ceased to function, but as he felt his fists hammer into Mark again and again, a sensation of satisfaction coursed through him. He’d show the little jerk—he’d show everyone!

A few seconds later, when Robb Harris, Pete Nakamura, and Roy Kramer arrived on the scene, Jeff wasn’t even aware of their presence, so engrossed was he with the damage he was inflicting on Mark Tanner.