CHILLER Page 16

  “Neurons she’s lost?” Alex’s voice tensed up as he stroked Sparkle’s head. His Angels baseball cap shadowed his expression.

  “Yes. Poor sensitivity in her paws. Some propensity for blood clots, which may reflect an underlying disorder. Some kidney problems.”

  Alex peered judiciously at the diagnostic report sheets. “Yeah, I caught some of that. Ummm, some of these blood indices look a bit off.”

  “They are. I’ve prescribed some things to bring them back into balance. You’re getting pretty good at diagnostics.”

  “I pick things up, but only because you’re a good teacher.”

  Susan felt a nervous, jittery depression steal over her, but she kept her voice factual, almost dispassionate. Alex did not need to know about her troubles at UCI, not quite yet, though I2 would inevitably become involved in testimony before a review board. Let today be a celebration. They might not have another for quite a while. “That reminds me, Bob Skinner has volunteered to serve as a backup medical technician here. He’s the UCI student I told you about.”

  “Hey, great. We can use the help for sure. Good guy—I met him when he came out to see the facility a few times.”

  “He and I seem to be getting in deeper with this guy Blevin. That seems to have tipped the scales for Skinner. He’s going to sign up with I2.”

  “Even better. Hey”—Sparkle was at her feed dish—“she’s sure as hell got a big appetite.”

  “Getting exercise?”

  “Practically claws her leash down off the wall.”

  As if to demonstrate, Sparkle perked up at the word leash. She padded over to the hook where it hung and woofed twice. Susan laughed. “Her skills haven’t suffered.”

  “Let’s take her for a walk,” Alex said. “I was too busy today.”

  “Fine. You can tell me the inside dope on that TV show. I watched my VCR tape this evening.”

  Alex looked guarded. “How was it?”

  “Terrific! You creamed them.”

  “Kath thought so, too.” A small, pleased smirk.

  “Something tells me her opinion matters more than mine.”

  “Let’s say things are going well. She’s fantastic.”

  “You’re due for it. You need someone.”

  “So do you.”

  She waved this idea away. “Too busy. Too old. I’ll miss our Dutch treat dates at the movies, though.”

  Alex pursed his lips in concern. “Look, you could go with us sometimes.”

  Susan laughed. “Kathryn would love that. No, I have friends in Laguna I can rely on, through the Episcopal church.”

  “You’re sure? We’re buddies, I don’t mean for Kathryn to—”

  “Perfectly sure. Now tell me about being a TV personality.”

  Alex raised his eyebrows in rueful puzzlement. “That minister gave me the funniest damned look.”

  “He’s just being tough on the competition.”

  Alex raised his eyebrows. “We’re competition?”

  “We’re both selling the same product, only his doesn’t work.”

  “You think not?” he asked sincerely.

  “I don’t have anything against Jesus, but I sure don’t like some of the people working for him lately.”

  “I don’t think Jesus is to blame for that.”

  Susan rubbed her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. Drat, and I left my medical bag at the apartment. “I’ll ask him when we meet. Come on, let’s get ol’ Sparkle outside.”

  “Sure, I—” The telephone rang. Alex made a face and picked it up. After listening for a moment, he made a helpless gesture.

  Susan took Sparkle’s leash from the wall and whispered, “Sit!” The dog gazed up at her in rapt anticipation, panting loudly, watery eyes dancing.

  Alex was the only other person awake in the facility tonight; Ray Constantine was sleeping in the bunk room, before taking what Ray liked to call the graveyard shift. Alex didn’t like to be away from the phone for long. I2 stood ready to send out suspension teams around the clock. There was an automatic telephone relay, but this phone was the command post that separated out the true alerts from the chaff. They could take Sparkle for her walk, trusting to the backup. Susan watched Alex answering questions, apparently responding to yet another in the endless series of inquiries from the curious. This one sounded as if it were prompted by the TV show. From past experience, only one in a thousand of these ever resulted in anybody signing up, but that came with the territory. Alex gave friendly answers. She watched him for another moment, then gestured to the back door. Alex waved for her to go on. She whispered, “C’mon, girl!” and went out the back.

  A sliver of moon brought faint silver-yellow radiance to filmy clouds. Warm breezes stirred her hair, reminding her that she needed to wash it, maybe even venture into a salon and get a full reconstruction job done. To Kathryn’s dismay, Susan went in for utilitarian cuts, simple and short and with a minimum of curl. Her clothes were much the same, functional and sensible and utterly unlikely to turn heads. That was just as well. Her emotional life was like an amputated limb. Some nights the pain would come back, a hollow absence that cost her fruitless tossing and much sleep. But there was no chance of finding another man like Roger. Life was for keeps, and Susan had played the cards she was dealt.

  Susan sighed and walked out into the pool of halogen light cast by the big lamps perched at each corner of the building. Which way? Up the arroyo, yes, but not so far that she couldn’t see. Sparkle already strained at her leash, noisily demanding release. She barked and capered, licking her lips.

  Susan bent to release the clasp on the leash. Let the dog charge around in the bushes, but Susan was going to avoid twisting an ankle in the dark.

  Sparkle bounded off, sniffing eagerly. Susan walked a little way, breathing in the cleansing aroma of eucalyptus. Some gum trees further up the ridge sent a soft tang. The Santa Ana wind carried a medley of smells from the far desert, as if to deny the moist ocean fogs that she knew from the weather report were already stealing ashore ten miles to the west. Their tendrils might penetrate this far in the night, blunting the desert’s long reach, but for now a prickly energy ran on the wind and set her nerves to jumping. She tried to make out constellations in the dark bowl of sky and spotted Jupiter’s yellow-white dab. She had observed it through a Celestron eight-incher for endless rapt hours as a teenager, knew its banded majesty better than the faces of her co-workers.

  Tonight the thin moon cast eerie shadows as striated clouds passed over its face. The arroyo phased in and out of focus, sharp edges lapsing into insubstantial murk as clouds rippled by. Her tired thoughts were equally vague when Sparkle’s eager, playful barks changed to sharp yaps.

  Susan instantly became alert. Sparkle was a watchdog and not prone to needless noise.

  Snarls now came between the quick, fierce yaps. Susan could see nothing among the slender, low trees and clotted bushes. She looked directly away from the bright glow behind her, wishing her eyes would adapt faster. “Sparkle! Here!”

  Ordinarily the well-trained dog would come instantly on command, but no guard dog would give up its stance. Susan hurried toward the angry barks. She had never heard Sparkle rage this way.

  There, a movement. Someone large was backing away from a quick, darting shadow on the ground—Sparkle.

  A man in a dark jogging suit. Crouched, legs far apart and holding one hand out, a hand with something large in it.

  She had always known Sparkle as a mild, unexcitable dog, but now deep-throated growls erupted into the sighing breeze.

  “Who are you?” she shouted. “Sparkle, back!”

  But Sparkle did not even glance toward Susan. Instead she snarled louder and lunged in at the man, then back, and again forward. A little closer.

  The man did not follow these little spurts. He did not answer Susan’s question. He simply followed Sparkle with his eyes. She could see him better now, his clenched grin with lips drawn far back. He swayed to the side with an ea
sy rhythm, and she heard him humming a deep, low song, a gospel hymn she could not name. He grasped a large stone and moved with quick strength, as though utterly at ease. He had his back to a large mesquite bush, but did not give the impression of a man who considered himself cornered.

  “Get away!” Susan took a hesitant step forward, nearly brushing against Sparkle’s tail.

  Damned if I’ll call her off. “She won’t hurt you if—”

  He laughed. She had never heard a laugh like that, hard and fast, like an immense chuckle coming from deep in the lungs and squeezing through a throat tight with anticipation. It had an odd merry quality on top of an ominous bass energy. For the first time she felt a note of cold fear.

  The laugh made Sparkle back away briefly, growling. Then some canine pride asserted itself, and she barked louder. She made a feint toward the man’s nearest hand, then another to the side, and an instant before it happened Susan saw that the dog would attack.

  The man saw it, too. Sparkle gathered herself, hind legs tucking down. Irish setters are not attack dogs, but Sparkle did not know this. She launched herself at the man.

  He caught the snarling mass deftly in midair, swinging hard. The rock in his hand smacked into Sparkle’s head. The dog turned over in midair with the momentum of the blow and fell to the ground. The body sprawled limply.

  Susan let out a cry of dismay. For a moment she could see only the pathetic, lifeless form on which she had spent so much effort and love. She took two swift steps forward, crying out, “No, no!”

  Dry winds stirred Sparkle’s ruddy fur. The silver-white moon moved from behind a cloud, and in this fresh radiance she saw the dog twitch just once, staring up at the sky. Sparkle looked at Susan. Her tongue lolled out, almost as though she wanted to lick Susan’s hand. Her eyes were confused, silently beseeching—and then the light in them died. She went completely limp.

  “You one of the freezers?” a rough, hard voice asked.

  Susan looked up in a daze. “What…”

  “You the one makes chillers?”

  The man seemed to fill half the sky. His eyes bulged in the moonlight like monstrous frosty marbles.

  “I—what…”

  “You are. Yeah, you are.”

  She had just begun to comprehend the look on the man’s face, a fixed and glazed expression. I’ve seen him somewhere. Thin lips curled back in an eerie mixture of rage and rapt pleasure. There was a wrecked, warped quality to the way he tilted his head to the right, as if trying to puzzle out some inner riddle.

  “You’re one. I saw this devil dog before, on the TV. You made it come back.”

  Where have I heard that voice? “Yes, I did, you—”

  A faint scrape behind her. The rear door opening?

  Help, she thought. Get help. Don’t try to deal with him.

  She moved back a half-step that she hoped he would not notice. He had heard the door. Sudden, startled fear. His eyes bulged, and his slit of a mouth opened, losing its grim, triumphant set.

  Panic flitted visibly through him. There was more white in his eyes. For one who had just clubbed the life from a dog, he had a surprising uncertainty, his arms drawing back almost as if to hug himself.

  “Devil dog,” he whispered, “from hell.”

  “You bastard, you’d better run,” she said in a swift shift of tactics. Don’t back down, she thought fiercely.

  The man blinked. He still had not taken his eyes off the rear door. Susan glanced back and saw that for some reason no one had yet come through the half-open door, as though they were delayed. Damn. Hurry.

  She turned back, determined now to face down the man, who seemed frozen in place. But then he moved with startling speed. The rock seemed to swell enormously in the half-light. It rushed at her. The last thing she registered was a hot spark of pain.

  THREE

  ROUNDED WITH A SLEEP

  We are such stuff

  As dreams are made on, and our little life

  Is rounded with a sleep.

  —William Shakespeare

  The Tempest

  1

  ALEX

  A warm wind whipped his hair as he ran into the shadows. Yes—the clump of clothes he had seen fluttering in the breeze was Susan. She lay sprawled near thick manzanita bushes.

  Just before Alex reached her he heard brush crackling and peered into the gloom. Someone thrashing through the undergrowth up the arroyo? Impossible to make out anything. Then he reached her and knelt on the sandy soil.

  A black smear of blood matted her hair. “Susan!”

  No response. He touched her throat and felt a rapid, weak pulse. As his vision adjusted to the darkness he saw her eyelids flutter. Her eyes moved, so maybe there was no concussion.

  Her breathing was ragged. He knew just enough medicine to realize that the best action he could take was to go back inside and call an ambulance. Yet something in the murmuring night breezes made him hesitate. Again, a faint scraping from the arroyo. Someone was up there—moving away, to judge by the faint swish and crackling of brush. He felt a sudden impulse to leap to his feet and pursue—and stifled it.

  “Susan?”

  Her eyes had closed momentarily. Now they opened, but did not focus. “Ah. Ah,” she said.

  He knew enough to not touch the head wound, even though his hands wanted to do something. “I’ll get help.”

  It took only a minute to dash back inside I2, call an ambulance, shake Ray Constantine awake, and collect some medical supplies. As he ran back outside, he heard faint sounds of someone crashing through underbrush up the slope.

  Susan had not moved. Blood, everywhere. Her scalp wound was pumping it out.

  He knelt again, this time with a flashlight. Checking her over, he saw that her medical telltale, worn around her left ankle, had not gone off. It was a microminiature sentinel, primed to beep, flash red, and send a radio telemetry alert via satellite to I2. Its silence meant that Susan’s basics—pulse, blood pressure, blood oxygen—had not veered too far from equilibrium. He felt a reassurance that steadied his hands.

  He applied compresses to the long, bleeding gash on her upper left scalp, pulling her hair aside to get good contact. Her skin was clammy and cool. When he tightened the bandage, the blood flow from the wound slowed. Susan coughed, gasped—and looked at him. “What…”

  “There’s an ambulance on the way.”

  “Ah.” She blinked rapidly.

  “How do you feel?”

  Susan rolled onto her back, winced, closed her eyes. “Where… did he go?”

  “Up the canyon, I think. Who was it?”

  “Man… a big man.”

  “Stay still. Just lie there until—”

  “How’s Sparkle?”

  “Spark—” Of course. I forgot her entirely. He stood up and picked his way through inky shadows toward the vague blur he had seen.

  Ten yards away the dog lay inert, head framed by a black pool. Alex felt along her scalp, a sticky mass. The skull had a large soft patch surrounded by splintered bone that poked through the scalp. Don’t put pressure on it. Might push skull into the brain.

  But he couldn’t just do nothing. He hesitated, then slipped a compress and bandage onto the area, something to soak up some blood. The dark, soaked soil testified to how much blood Sparkle had lost. But he was afraid to tighten the bandage.

  “How… how is she?” Susan called in the shadows.

  “Bad. Bleeding. Lots of bleeding.” Alex felt along the body for any other wounds. None.

  “Let me see.” Susan dragged herself to her knees.

  “Hey, no, you stay where—”

  Susan began crawling toward the dog.

  Alex scrambled over to her and held up his hands. “Believe me, there’s nothing you can do.”

  “Let go,” she said crossly, her words slightly vague.

  Alex watched helplessly as Susan made her torturous way to the body, illuminated now by a flashlight beam. He turned to see Ray Constantine tro
tting toward them with a big, bright emergency lamp. He answered Ray’s questions with monosyllables as he watched Susan gingerly rest on her knees beside Sparkle, not minding the blood.

  Susan paid no attention to the men clustered around her, trying to get her to lie down, to keep her head low. “I’m the doctor here,” she said fiercely to Ray when he put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  She took the emergency kit Ray had brought and expertly rebound the bandages Alex had put on Sparkle. Two other staff members came and spoke but for long moments they were all curiously silent, watching Susan give Sparkle an injection, checking the limp body carefully, then cradling the dog’s head in her lap.

  Finally she looked up. “She’s… gone.”

  Even though he had guessed, Alex felt a rush of sorrow, tears trickling down, his nose stuffing up. He made himself say, “We’ve got to get you looked at, too.”

  “I’ll be all right. I want to start Sparkle’s perfusion. Now.” She got unsteadily to her feet but waved away helping hands. Her clothes were soaked in blood, hers and Sparkle’s. “Take Sparkle’s legs.”

  “Let me get the stretcher,” Ray said.

  “No point.” Susan bent to gently lift Sparkle’s head. Alex carried the midsection.

  They got Sparkle inside and into a tub of ice water. Susan started on the heart-lung hookups before the ambulance arrived. More people came in, ambulance attendants and I2, and Alex sensed their distant babble of voices only dimly. He was packing ice around Sparkle when an ambulance attendant said to Susan, “Lady, I oughta have a look at that head of yours.”

  Susan didn’t look up from her work. “Later.”

  “You oughta be lyin’ down, too.”

  “I am a physician.” She still did not look up.

  “Well then, you should know—”

  “I am attending to a patient,” Susan said severely, glaring at the man.

  “A dog? It looks dead to me.”

  Alex could see Susan grit her teeth as she kept working, hands moving deftly over Sparkle’s body. “She is.”