The Howling III (3 page)

Holly glared at him. She did not like anything about Wayne Pastory. With his sharp features and bright little eyes, and the quick way he moved, he reminded her of a weasel. She didn’t like his reputation either. He had been kicked out of a genetic research project at Stanford for faking the results of an experiment. No charges were made, but Pastory’s name went on an informal medical blacklist.

He walked over to the bed and reached down. The boy shied away from his hand.

“What’s the matter, son? I just want to check your pulse.”

“His pulse is normal. Doctor,” Holly said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. “So is his temperature and blood pressure. It’s all on the chart.”

“Good. If you’ll stand by, I’d like to look him over.”

“I am not a nurse,” Holly said, spacing her words carefully.

Pastory studied her, his mouth quirked in a private smile.

“Sorry, Doctor. I meant that you and I would make the examination together, of course.”

“The examination has been completed.”

Pastory stroked the end of the gold Cross pen that peeked out of his jacket pocket. “Aren’t you being overprotective of this patient, Doctor?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Have you given any thought to what we have here?”

“What we have is a boy who’s been through a terrifying experience. A boy who could use some rest and quiet.”

“What we have,” Pastory went on, ignoring her, “just might be the first survivor from Drago.”

“There’s no reason to assume he’s from Drago,” Holly said. But over Pastory’s shoulder she saw the little muscles tighten around the boy’s mouth.

“But the possibility does exist,” Pastory said. “And think what this could mean to us if he is one of the Drago people. No one really knows what happened there. If we were to produce a flesh-and-blood survivor… the opportunities would be limitless.”

“You’re thinking of taking him on the Johnny Carson Show}”

“Of course not. I’m speaking strictly of the importance to medical research.”

“Doctor, this is just a lost, frightened boy.”

“Maybe, but I read the report of the deputies who brought him in. They mentioned some facial peculiarities.”

“Take a look at him,” Holly said. “Do you see anything peculiar?”

They both looked down at the boy in the bed.

Holly felt a sudden chill. Did the hair grow a fraction lower on the boy’s forehead than a moment ago? And his eyebrows… she did not remember them being so heavy. And was there a new hardening around his mouth? She looked away for an instant, then back at the boy. The impressions faded. She must not let Pastory plant suggestions in her mind.

Pastory leaned down over the bed. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “There’s… something.”

“He’s tired,” Holly said. “I think you’d better leave us.”

“Are you in charge here, Doctor?”

“Until I’m told differently.”

For a moment the two faced each other. Pastory was the first to look away. “I’ll be back,” he said.

With a last searching look at the boy, he left the room.

Holly turned back to the bed. What was it she had found strange about his face a moment ago? He looked normal enough now. Just a poor confused boy.

*****

The hopeful mood in which Holly had begun the day was dissipated by the encounters with Qualen and Pastory. The boy had withdrawn once again, and she was sitting at his bedside feeling discouraged when Gavin Ramsay stopped by.

“Got time to talk?”

Holly glanced at the boy, who had fallen into a light sleep. “Aren’t you supposed to read me my rights or something?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be sociable.”

“Were you being sociable when you told Dennis Qualen we had a dangerous criminal here?”

“He’s the chief of staff. He’s entitled to know what I’m doing here. However, that’s not quite the way I put it to him.”

Holly drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry. This day hasn’t begun well for me. Not your fault.” She got out of the chair. “There’s a patient’s lounge at the end of the hall with a coffee machine. I’ll buy.”

They walked to the lounge which was brightly furnished with comfortable chairs, chequer boards, card tables, and a pinball machine. An old man in a wheelchair stared at the television set where a game show was silently in progress. The old man did not seem to miss the sound.

Holly dropped coins into the machine. It spilled a stream of brackish coffee into two plastic cups. They carried the cups over to a table and sat down.

“Any word yet on who he is?” Holly asked.

“Nope. As far as I know, he might have stepped off a flying saucer.”

“That’s not very funny.”

“You’re right, it isn’t.”

They sat for a minute sipping at the hot brew, not saying anything. Holly watched him over the rim of her plastic cup. Finally she said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Ask,” he said.

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Waiting for your kid to snap out of his trauma so I can ask him what he was doing out in the woods.”

“No, I mean what are you doing here in Pinyon?”

“Everybody’s got to be somewhere.”

“Are you happy being sheriff of a county with a population that could fit into a high-school gym?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“There was talk a while back about you running for governor.”

“Any such talk was strictly the fantasies of my ex-wife and my ex-father-in-law.”

“Forrest Ingraham.”

Ramsay gave her a long look. “That’s the man. What else do you know about me?”

“Oh, a little. You went to Wilamette University, enlisted, of all things, in the army, fought in Vietnam, won some medals, came home, went to law school, married Forrest Ingraham’s daughter, were elected sheriff, got a divorce.”

“That sure covers the high spots. Don’t I have any secrets?”

“Lots, I’ll bet. They’re none of my business. I just wonder why you stay here.”

“I like it. Oh, I’ve had other offers. From the police departments in Cleveland, Buffalo, and Jersey City. Would you leave La Reina County for any of those?”

“I suppose not,” she said, laughing softly.

“Well, then.”

“Why do you have to be a policeman? Do you get some kind of kick out of it?”

His expression hardened. “Sure. I get off on clubbing down peace-marching college kids and locking up widows who can’t pay their rent.”

“Oh-oh, did I touch a nerve?”

“You’re damn right. You ACLU types who spit out policeman like something that tastes bad give me a pain in the ass.” He paused for a deep breath. “Sorry. We better get off this before I go into one of Jack Webb’s old Dragnet speeches.”

“I guess we aren’t ready for a personal conversation.”

“I guess not,” he said.

They got up and dropped their cups into a trash container near the door.

“Just one thing,” she said, “I don’t belong to the ACLU.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” he said.

*****

Holly’s breakthrough with the boy came that night while she sat in the chair next to his bed. She snapped off the television set after Loveboat.

“I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I’m tired.” She tucked the sheets in around the boy and smiled down at him. “See you in the morning.” She paused in the doorway and looked back. In a talking-to-herself voice she said, “Damn, I wish I knew what to call you.”

“I’m Malcolm.” It was a dry croak, barely more than a whisper, but to Holly it was like a shout.

“Malcolm?” she repeated, trying not to sound too excited.

He nodded.

“That’s a good name. Do you remember mine?”

The green eyes watched her.

“It’s Holly,” she said. “Holly Lang.”

“Holly,” the boy said in the same dry whisper.

“That’s right. Do you have a last name, Malcolm?”

The boy looked confused.

“Well, that doesn’t matter now. We have one name. That’s enough to start with. Do you want to talk some more?”

The boy’s eyes drifted off to a corner of the ceiling.

“That’s all right,” she said. “You get some sleep, and tomorrow we’ll start fresh.”

Malcolm looked back at her and nodded again. Holly left the room elated.

She was in early the next day, eager to begin with Malcolm, but as she passed the reception desk the young woman there called her over.

“Dr Qualen said for you to come to his office as soon as you got in.”

Holly frowned. “Did he say what for?”

“Not to me.”

*****

Dr Qualen stood up behind his rich-mahogany desk and greeted Holly formally. “Ah, Dr Lang. Good of you to stop by. I won’t take much of your time.”

She hid her impatience, waiting for him to get to the point.

“How are things going with the boy?”

“I’ve learned that his name is Malcolm.”

“I see. Not what we’d call a significant breakthrough.”

“That depends. I still have today.”

“I wonder if perhaps another approach might speed things up.”

“Apparently Dr Pastory has talked to you.”

“As a matter of fact, he has. He tells me you were rather abrupt with him yesterday.”

“I was ticked off. He was upsetting my patient.”

“The very point I wanted to make. The boy is not officially anyone’s patient. As I told you, I am not convinced that the case falls under our jurisdiction.”

“I remember. You mentioned the Youth Authority.”

“That remains an option, however, Dr Pastory has some thoughts of his own on the boy.”

“What does he want to do, dissect him?”

“That’s not very professional, Doctor.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t. I’m sorry. Is the case still mine, at least through today?”

“Yes, of course. I hope there won’t be any more friction between you and Dr Pastory.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Fine, fine. I’m glad we had this little talk.”

Holly swallowed her opinion of their little talk and left the office.

*****

The boy was waiting for her.

“Good morning, Malcolm.”

The boy turned away from Aquaman on television and looked at her. “Good morning, Holly.”

“You remembered my name.”

“I always knew it.”

“Well, good.” She came over and sat down. “Today let’s see what else you can remember.”

A tiny frown line creased the boy’s brow.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hook you up to a machine or give you shots, or anything like that. We’re just going to relax and talk.”

Gavin Ramsay stuck his head in the door. “Is it safe to say good morning?”

“Hi, Gavin,” Holly said. “Come on in and meet Malcolm.”

Ramsay gave her a brief questioning look, then came into the room and walked to the foot of the bed.

“Hi,” he said to the boy.

Holly said, “Malcolm, this is Sheriff Ramsay.”

The boy looked to Holly for reassurance, then back at Gavin.’Hello, Sheriff.”

Ramsay stuck out a hand. The boy took it and they shook hands gravely.

“Glad to see you’re talking again, son.”

“We were just about to find out what else Malcolm can remember.”

“Oh?”

“I thought we might try hypnotism. Do you know what hypnotism is, Malcolm?”

“You put somebody to sleep.”

“Not exactly. It’s just a way to relax and let things come back that we misplaced somewhere.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not a bit. In fact, a lot of people say it makes them feel better. Do you want to try it?”

The boy looked at Ramsay. “Is he going to stay?”

“Not if you don’t want him to.”

Malcolm considered for a moment. “It’s all right, he can stay.”

Ramsay pulled a chair back against the far wall and sat down out of the way.

“Now, Malcolm,” Holly began, “I want you to take three deep, deep breaths. All the way in and all the way out. That’s good.” She breathed in and out with him. So did Ramsay. “I bet you’re feeling more relaxed and comfortable already. I know I am.” She spoke in a low, soothing tone.

“We’re going to start our relaxing way down there with the tips of your toes. Think about your toes. Do you have a picture of them in your mind? Now if you try, you can feel them start to tingle and relax, one at a time. Little toe first, then the next, and the next, and the next, and now the big toe. Doesn’t that feel good? Nice and comfortable. Now your feet, Malcolm. Relax your feet, and let that nice warm feeling flow slowly up your ankles. It’s like easing your legs into a tub of nice warm water. So comfortable… so relaxed… “

Ramsay was leaning back, enjoying the relaxed, comfortable feeling in his legs when Milo Fernandez stuck his head through the door and hissed at him.

“Sheriff… hey, Sheriff.”

Holly looked over and put a finger to her lips. Ramsay got up and stepped out into the hall. In a moment he returned and spoke softly to Holly.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Trouble?”

“It could be. I’ll talk to you later.”

When he was gone Holly turned back to Malcolm who sat propped against the pillows, a dreamy expression on his face.

“All right, Malcolm, let’s go back now into the forest. There are trees all around. Tall and cool. A soft wind is blowing, making the branches sway and rustle. Let’s go back there and remember, Malcolm. Listen to the sounds. Sniff the air. Remember the forest…

Memories of the forest came back to him in fragments. The cushiony feel of pine needles under his feet. A whisper of rain in the high branches of the trees. Dappled sunlight filtering down on a summer afternoon. Fresh smells of evergreen and of flowers. Nightsounds: monotonous song of a tree frog, the hoot of an owl, the cry of some small creature caught in its talons.

A childhood in the forest village of Drago, with carefree days, deep dark nights, surrounded by people whose faces were blurred now in memory, but who loved him and cared for him.

Then, without any warning, childhood ended. The years that followed were a jumble of strange schools, narrow beds, cold faces of people who were paid to teach him and feed him and give him a place to sleep. The memories were jagged, like pieces of a broken mirror. A face, a schoolbook, a forbidding house in a strange town. Nothing fitted together. It was a lost time.