Since You've Been Gone (17 page)

“You never got in trouble like the others.”

Clay shrugged. “I was two years older than Doug and Larry. Maybe I had a
little
more sense. And then there were the drugs. I did my share of drinking, but I never experimented with drugs. I guess that's what my early interest in medicine did for me—gave me knowledge about their dangers that outweighed my curiosity. It was the drugs that really messed up Doug and Larry. They graduated from some occasional coke-sniffing to heroin. Doug came out of it all right, but Larry…” He shook his head. “You shouldn't feel bad about being the one who revealed he was behind all those robberies, Rebecca. If he hadn't gone
to the penitentiary, I know he'd be dead of an overdose.”

“Lynn doesn't feel that way,” Rebecca said quietly.

“Lynn is strong, but she doesn't always have the best sense in the world, particularly when it comes to her brother. And she's jealous of you.”

“
Of me?
”

Clay smiled. “You mean you didn't know?”

“It never occurred to me. She's pretty and smart and she was much more popular in school than I was. Good Lord, most kids thought I was a freak.”

“Well, Lynn didn't think so. She used to talk about you when she'd had too much to drink. She admired you, envied you. She was also scared to death Doug was going to fall in love with you and dump her.”

Rebecca gaped. “Doug fall in love with
me?
That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!”

Clay shrugged. “I know. The very idea of anyone falling in love with you is ludicrous, but people get strange ideas.”

“I should tell you flattery doesn't work on me,” Rebecca said drolly.

“You're immune to my charm?”

“Completely. Now tell me about Lynn.”

“What's to tell? She's always been crazy about Doug and she's always been possessive. It used to bother him. He cared about her, but he wanted to play the field a little.”

“And did he?”

“A gentleman doesn't tell.” Clay grinned. “Besides, if he did, he never confided in me. But why are you so interested? I know it's not for the sake of gossip.”

“Thanks for the benefit of the doubt. Really, I've always been surprised by their total devotion to each other. Or what I thought was total devotion. I never dreamed Doug looked at anyone else, and despite what Lynn might have thought, he certainly wasn't looking at me. I don't think he even liked me.”

“He didn't dislike you. That's all it took for Lynn to be jealous.”

The waiter came with more wine, a ten-year-old Pouilly
Fuissé, a compliment of the house. They sent thanks to Peter, then sipped. “This is excellent,” Rebecca said. “Now I'd like to ask your opinion about someone else. I'm not impressed with Jean Wright, Molly's new watchdog. Molly has only mentioned her a few times to me, but now the woman is like one of the family. Maybe her intentions are good and she's only trying to help or maybe she's, well, this sounds silly, but maybe she's keeping an eye on things.”

“You mean trying to get in on all the action?”

“Or something more serious.”

“You mean she knows more than she's saying. Or maybe she's involved.” He looked into Rebecca's earnest eyes. “Jean works at the hospital. I'm sure I can find someone who knows her. You played private investigator today about the compact disc. I'll play it tomorrow about Jean Wright.”

“Oh, Clay, that would be so helpful. Would you mind?”

“Mind? I'd love it. Mike Hammer will have nothing on me. I'm going to map out my strategy tonight. Here's to luck!”

They clinked their wineglasses. Rebecca felt lighter than she had since she'd arrived in Sinclair, as if some of the weight of responsibility for finding Todd had been lifted from her shoulders. She had help, now. Not official help like Bill's, but help in the form of a friend who didn't scoff at her fears or try to make light of her deductions or her worries no matter how tangential they might seem to the main issue …

Clay was smiling at her, his gray-blue eyes crinkling at the corners, the dimples deepening on either side of his mouth. Rebecca tried to smile in return, even when his eyes began to blur, their color to dim as if someone had placed a drift of pale chiffon over her own vision.

With dread Rebecca felt her consciousness leaving her body. Her hands turned cold while perspiration popped out on her forehead. Her breath quickened. From somewhere
far away she heard Clay saying, “Rebecca, are you all right? Rebecca?”

Her lips moved but no sound came out. Clay's face completely vanished. The sound of other diners chatting, the strains of “I'm In the Mood for Love,” disappeared. She felt as if she were falling into a bottomless well.

A small part of Rebecca held on to her own identity as the rest slid into another mind, a little boy's mind, where everything was dark. Not just dark because of the blindfold. He was in a dark place, pitch-black and cold and musty. He shivered, then sneezed, unable to wipe his nose because his hands were bound behind his back. His throat hurt a little and his lips were so dry they'd cracked painfully. He could smell where he'd wet his pants and he was bitterly embarrassed and damply uncomfortable.

He couldn't remember how long he'd slept this time. The Dark Warrior, as he'd come to think of the being who held him captive, gave him shots. At first he'd cried because he was afraid of needles. Now the pain of a needle prick seemed like nothing compared to his constantly cramped muscles, his headaches, and now his sore throat. In fact, he welcomed the shots because they meant he could go to sleep and forget everything for a while. He could even forget why Mommy hadn't come to get him. Almost.

The sound of high-pitched crying ripped the air. The wail was long and heartbreaking and also scary. Was a baby hurt, maybe being killed? Todd shivered violently …

By now Rebecca was gripping the tablecloth in her fists. Her green eyes were wide open but unseeing as she pulled the cloth and all the dishes shifted toward her. Clay stood and rushed to her side, gently putting his arm around her shoulder. “Rebecca, come back,” he said softly as the voices of other diners trailed off and they began to stare. “Rebecca, turn loose of the tablecloth. Calm down. Come on, Stargazer. Come back to me.”

But Rebecca didn't hear Clay. She heard the same heart-wrenching crying as Todd and chills ran up her arms. Clay looked at the fine, raised hairs against the golden skin, the
tightened biceps, the face smooth as marble and sheened with sweat. “Rebecca, where
are
you?” he murmured frantically.

Todd was hyperventilating. The awful wailing continued. Something was hurt. He couldn't bear it. He was scared, so scared. He wished he was dead just so he could stop being afraid. And then he heard another noise. Footsteps. A creaking. The Dark Warrior was coming back again.

He sobbed, a sound so rough it hurt his lungs. Last summer when he'd visited his cousin Rebecca in wonderful New Orleans, she'd told him whenever he was scared, he should think about being in a good place where there was nothing to fear. He'd been crazy about Rebecca ‘cause part of her seemed like a kid. And Mommy had told him Rebecca had special powers, although she didn't tell him what kind. So he decided to do what Rebecca said and tried to put his mind in another place. He would go into the world of
Star Wars
. He was Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan was afraid of nothing. He was a skilled fighter. He knew magic tricks—

“And how are you liking your stay here, little boy?” the Dark Warrior asked in that terrible, grating voice that didn't even sound like it belonged to a person. “Cooler than the attic, wouldn't you say? No, I guess not. You can't say anything.”

Please, please,
please
don't hurt me, Todd thought frantically, now afraid that seconds ago he'd wished he was dead. He really didn't want to die. He just wanted to go home to Mommy.

But the Dark Warrior didn't hurt him. He felt a blanket being spread over him. It was rough and scratchy but warm. Then his gag was removed. The terrible crying outside had waned into pitiful mewling. “What's that sound?” he whispered.

“Nothing you need to worry about. Now eat.” The Warrior shoved his mouth full of bits of food—something that
felt like a sandwich—but he was too dry to swallow. He gagged and the food sprayed out.

“Don't spit at me! Don't you dare—”

“Didn't mean to,” Todd whimpered. “Can't swallow.”

Todd cringed, waiting for a blow. Instead he heard the sound of liquid being poured. A plastic cup touched his lips. “Drink!” the Warrior commanded, and something wet entered his mouth and trickled down his chin. Water, but it tasted funny. He didn't want more, but he knew he had to have it or he couldn't eat. And he was so thirsty he could hardly stand it. He forced down four more sips of the moldy-tasting water. Then he had three bites of a peanut butter sandwich.

“Like peanut butter?” the Dark Warrior asked. “I did when I was your age. It's full of protein, but you don't know what that is. It'll keep you going, though. And I have to keep you going, at least for a few more days.”

Todd was listening but the words barely made sense. The peanut butter stuck to his teeth, which hadn't been brushed for days and felt scummy. He hated the feel and Mommy would be mad. She was strict about tooth-brushing.

“Let's do something about those lips.” Todd stiffened, not knowing what to expect, but in a moment a finger was running something creamy over his parched lips. It stung at first. Then he found he was able to stretch them without as much pain.

“Can't say I don't take care of you.” Todd said nothing. “Well,
don't 17
”

Todd whimpered and nodded. “Y … yes.”

The chilling sound of shrill crying started again. “What
is
that? Is a baby gettin' killed?”

“Do you care?” the Warrior asked.

“Yeah. I don't like for things to get hurt, ‘specially animals or babies.”

Another wrenching wail. The Dark Warrior chuckled. “I don't care if
anything
gets hurt. Except me. But not you. I don't care about you.”

“Mommy does. And… and Rebecca.”

Todd felt the Dark Warrior freeze. “What do you know about Rebecca?”

“She has special powers. Mommy told me. She might find me.” He spoke with more confidence, not sure where the words were coming from, knowing he shouldn't say them but unable to stop himself. “She's here! She's looking for me!”

By now Rebecca's breathing came in short, ragged gasps. Perspiration dripped down her face, into her eyes, but she still didn't blink. A man rushed to Clay's side. “What is it?” he asked urgently. “Epilepsy? Should I call 911?”

“It's not epilepsy,” Clay said grimly. “She'll be all right.”

“She doesn't look all right.”

“Hal?” the man's wife called tremulously. “Do something.”

The man spread his legs slightly, taking on a fighting stance. “I'm calling the emergency squad. This woman needs help.”

“Sir, I am a doctor,” Clay said evenly. “I know what I'm dealing with. Now back away.” He looked at the small group gathering around Rebecca. “Please, all of you, back away.” And they did, like a group of frightened, wide-eyed animals, while Clay grasped both of Rebecca's shoulders. “Becky, snap out of it! Now!”

But Todd's mind consumed her. “Why are you doing this?” he asked the Warrior. “I never hurt you!”

“You shut up about Rebecca. You don't mention her, you don't think about her. And you'd better pray she doesn't find you or you'll never see your mother again!”

“No,
please
—”

“I've had enough of you.” The Warrior roughly tied the gag around his head again, forcing open his jaw. Saliva flowed and Todd bit down on stale cloth already wet from long use. “I think you need to sleep now. A nice, long, quiet sleep.” The Warrior paused. “But you've been a bad boy. I just hope you haven't upset me so much I put too
much medicine in the hypodermic. Too much medicine can make you sleep forever. Would you like that? To die here in the dark where no one will
ever
find you?”

Todd whimpered as the needle pierced his skin. The last thing he heard was the terrible, piercing wail of something lost and hurt in the night, something just like him.

“Rebecca!
Rebecca!
”

She came back to her world with a jolt, spasmodically jerking the cloth off the table. China and crystal shattered on the floor. Food and wine splattered onto her dress, Clay's suit, and the apricot satin seat of her chair. A woman let out a shrill cry. The man who had wanted to call the emergency squad still hovered. Other diners stared, horrified.

Rebecca, trembling, began frantically wiping at the food on her lap with a napkin. “Oh, my,” she mumbled weakly. “Look what I've done! I'm so sorry.”

Clay took the napkin from her hand. “It doesn't matter. Let's get out of here. Can you stand?”

“I'm not sure. I feel…” I feel like I'm losing my mind, she wanted to say, but Peter Dormaine appeared, his color high, his ascot crooked.

“What's happened? Oh! The china! The chair! Look at the
mess!
” He was clearly appalled but managed to recover himself although he'd lost his atrocious attempt at a French accent. “Did she have a fit of some kind?”

“I don't think people have had ‘fits' since Victorian times,” Clay said dryly. “She's not well. Rebecca—”

“I can stand,” she said hastily, nearly leaping from her chair. Pieces of chicken fell to the floor and her lap was soaked with wine. Never had she experienced such a public and violent reaction to a vision. “Mr. Dormaine, I'm so sorry. I'll pay for everything, of course. I… I don't know… I apologize.”