Alarums

by Richard Laymon

  Pen's throat tightened. Her eyes started to burn.

  Christ now, don't cry.

  He's all right, damn it.

  Don't fall apart in front of Melanie. Hold it together.

  She glanced back. Melanie was holding Bodie's hand and gazing at the sidewalk. Bodie met her eyes. She wondered how he must feel, finding himself in the middle of a family tragedy. Probably wishing he'd never left Phoenix. First he gets stabbed, now this.

  At the corner, Pen turned toward the crosswalk. She pushed a button on the light post to activate the WALK sign, and waited. Across Pico Boulevard was a driveway marked 'Ambulance Entrance'. A police car was parked at the curb.

  The WALK sign went green. She stepped off the curb and a hand clamped her shoulder from behind. It jerked her to a halt. A red blur steaked by, roaring, hitting her with its slipstream. As she staggered backwards a step, she saw the low rear-end of a speeding Porsche.

  'Asshole ran the red light,' Bodie muttered.

  Pen turned to him. He took his hand off her shoulder. 'Thanks. Guess I'd better watch where I'm going.'

  Melanie had a hand pressed to her heart. She looked wide-eyed and breathless as if someone had just jumped at her in the dark.

  'You okay?' Pen asked her.

  She nodded.

  The DON'T WALK sign was already flashing, so they waited through another cycle of the traffic lights. When the WALK sign returned, Pen checked the intersection before leaving the curb.

  On the other side, she headed for the ambulance driveway, realized she shouldn't try entering there, and turned around in confusion. She shrugged, stepped past Bodie and Melanie, and spotted a doorway facing Beverly Drive.

  Her numbness seemed to spread and deepen as the glass doors parted.

  She stepped into a reception room. A young woman gnawing her lower lip glanced nervously at her and looked away. She was on a bench, holding the hand of a tow-head no older than five who was bent forward to peer at a black woman with a bloody rag wrapped around her arm. The black woman, on a chair along the far wall, held her arm and rocked herself back and forth, humming softly. She had a blank look in her eyes. The child stopped staring at her long enough to eye the three new arrivals, apparently checking them for injuries.

  Pen turned to the office enclosure on her left. Through the glass partition, she saw two women in white uniforms. One was seated at a desk. The other, heavy and wearing her brown hair in a Prince Valiant cut, looked up from her paperwork, smiled at Pen, and approached the window.

  Pen froze.

  She was here - a few steps, a few words, a few moments away from learning the truth - and the weight of it paralyzed her. She couldn't move. Her legs shook. She stared at the woman and gasped for breath.

  Bodie stepped around her. He leaned close to the window. 'We got word that a Whit Conway was brought here yesterday after an accident. These are his daughters. They're awfully anxious to find out how he is.'

  The woman looked down at something out of sight below the counter front. 'That's Whitman Conway?'

  'Yes.'

  'He was admitted via ambulance last night, accompanied by his spouse.' She stopped talking, but continued to read whatever gave the information.

  Pen's stomach gave a little flip.

  Melanie took hold of her hand.

  'His admitting diagnosis was fracture of the patellae bilaterally…'

  'What does that mean?' Bodie asked.

  'Both kneecaps were broken. His right upper arm was also fractured,' she added, bypassing the medical jargon. She rubbed her mouth. 'He also had a severe head injury. He was unconscious when they brought him in.'

  Melanie's hand flinched in Pen's grip.

  'He was admitted to the hospital for surgery. I only have the ER records here, so you'll need to check the main hospital for his current condition.'

  She gave directions to Bodie. He nodded, then asked, 'Does it say how he got hurt?'

  'He was struck by an automobile while crossing a street in Beverly Hills. A hit and run.'

  Bodie thanked her. He led the way to a door at the rear of the room. Pen and Melanie followed him into a corridor.

  Hit by a car. Pen thought of her own close call on the boulevard outside, but in her mind Bodie didn't stop her and the car broke her knees back. She flew headfirst at the windshield.

  Dad.

  A severe head injury.

  Surgery.

  At least he's not dead, she told herself. At least he wasn't dead when he left the emergency room.

  The woman would've known, wouldn't she, if he'd died later on? Maybe not. Or maybe she knew, but preferred to let someone else break the news.

  They came out of the corridor into a lobby. Double glass doors faced Pico. A woman was seated behind an information desk.

  'I'll try to find out what's going on,' Bodie said. 'Why don't you two have a seat?'

  Pen nodded. She guided Melanie to a sofa near the wall, and they sat down.

  Bodie spoke to the woman at the desk. She made a telephone call, said something to Bodie. He came back and sat beside Melanie. 'A doctor's going to come out and talk to us.'

  They waited.

  Pen rubbed her sweaty hands on her pants.

  I'm sorry, we did everything humanly possible.

  A man came through a doorway at the far side of the lobby. He walked straight toward them. He was not the old, weary physician Pen had expected. He looked young, not much over thirty, handsome and energetic. He belonged in tennis whites, but he wore gray slacks and an open white jacket, a shirt of Stuart plaid and a solid green tie, loosely knotted. He carried a clipboard.

  Pen tried to read his expression. It was business-like. It gave nothing away.

  Bodie was already standing.

  Pen forced herself up. Melanie hesitated, then stood.

  'I'm Dr Gray,' he said, and shook hands with Bodie. 'I'm the neurosurgeon who operated on Mr Conway.' He had a pleasant voice, a pleasant smile.

  'How is he?' Melanie asked, her voice a choked whisper.

  'Your father's in a stable condition.'

  His words tore the fog from Pen's mind.

  Dad's all right.

  The tears came and she thought, it's okay, oh my God, he's not dead, he's okay. 'Can we see him?' she asked. Blubbering. I'm blubbering. I don't care.

  'Certainly. But we need to talk first. Will you step this way?'

  Talk.

  It's not okay.

  Dr Gray led them into an office. They sat on soft chairs and he sat on the edge of his desk, facing them.

  'Your father sustained what we call a subdural hematoma. The impact from the accident caused blood vessels inside his skull to rupture. We operated on him immediately after he was admitted last night to open the skull, relieve the pressure of the blood build-up inside, and stop the bleeding. The surgery went well. However, your father did sustain a certain amount of brain damage, which is almost inevitable considering the trauma he experienced.' Frowning, Dr Gray rubbed his cheek as if checking for whiskers. 'I've seen patients in worse condition than your father make full and complete recoveries. I've seen others who weren't so fortunate. But your father is in excellent physical shape for a man his age, so we can be somewhat optimistic about the outcome. At present, however, he's comatose.'

  'He's in a coma? Bodie asked.

  'He hasn't regained consciousness since the time of the accident. He is no immediate danger, however. We have him on life support systems, and his condition is being constantly monitored. His vital signs are good.'

  'You think he'll come out of it, though?' Bodie asked. 'There's just no way of knowing. He might pull out of it today or next week…'

  'Or never,' Melanie said.

  'That's also a possibility. But we're doing everything we can for him.'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Bodie stood at the foot of the bed. Melanie, beside him, stared at her father while Pen went to the man's side and took hold of his hand.

  A sheet covered
him to the chest. Tubes ran into his nostrils and arms. The top of his head was wrapped in bandages.

  The cardiac monitor had a jagged green line and beeped regularly just as such machines did on television - which was the extent of Bodie's exposure to such things until now. The respirator made a chirping sound as it pumped air into the man's lungs. Somewhere, Bodie had heard the term 'bird respirator'. He supposed they were called that because of the noise.

  All very interesting.

  He wanted the hell out of there.

  The doctor had made it sound pretty good, almost as if the coma was just a minor setback. But the old guy, bandaged and hooked up from every direction, looked like a Victor Frankenstein experiment on a bad day.

  'Dad, it's Penny. The doctor says you're going to be fine. Melanie's here, too.'

  'Hi, Dad,' Melanie said.

  'You're going to be fine,' Pen repeated.

  His chest rose and fell, but he didn't twitch an eyelid. The cardiac monitor beeped at the same rate as before.

  Good thing this isn't a television show, Bodie thought, or the line on the screen of the heart machine would go flat about now and you'd get that long whining noise.

  So far, so good.

  He didn't want to be around, though, when it happened.

  A long time seemed to pass before Dr Gray suggested they leave. 'You could come back this evening at eight and see him for a few minutes. Maybe his condition will have improved by then.'

  Pen squeezed her father's hand. 'We'll see you tonight, Dad.' She let go and backed away.

  Melanie said nothing - as if she knew there wasn't any point.

  They left the room. Dr Gray led them to the elevator and tried once again to reassure them before he departed.

  As the elevator doors began to close, a voice called, 'Could you hold that?' Bodie pushed the 'Doors Open' button. An orderly swung a gumey around and rolled it inside. On the gumey was a wasted, sallow-faced old woman with greasy hair. Bodie, wishing he could go back in time and let the doors shut her out, tried to hold his breath as the elevator descended.

  Hospitals. Charming places.

  The old crone had a bad case of impending demise, and he hoped it wasn't catching.

  Finally, the doors glided open and he hurried out. The orderly and his ghastly patient stayed. They were going down. What was down in the basement? Isn't that where hospitals took their dead? She wasn't quite ready for that yet.

  Dropping back, Bodie walked alongside Melanie to the lobby doors. And then he was in the sunlight, in the fresh untainted air. Well, there was a slight odor of exhaust fumes from the cars rushing by on Pico, but that was far better than the hospital air with its smells of floor wax and disinfectant and, far worse, its secret under-smell of decay and death.

  'It's nice to be out of there,' Pen said.

  They waited at the corner. The WALK sign came on. An RTD bus went ahead through the intersection as if traffic signals were meant only for cars. Bodie thought of the Porsche that almost nailed Pen.

  A dangerous city.

  If things had turned out a little differently, Dr Gray might've spent the morning inside her head.

  I need sleep, Bodie thought as he crossed the road. 'Maybe we should check into a motel,' he said.

  'Why don't you two stay at my place?' Pen suggested. Her voice was a weary monotone. 'You can use my bed. I'll use the couch.'

  Bodie felt a little flip of excitement. 'Fine with me.'

  'I don't know,' Melanie said. She, too, sounded tired. 'Maybe a motel.'

  'There's no hurry,' Pen told her. 'You can decide later. Right now, I think we should go over and see Joyce.'

  'What for?'

  'She's Dad's wife.'

  'Some wife. She wasn't even there. How come she wasn't there? Isn't a wife supposed to stay with her husband when he's half dead in the hospital?'

  'He's not half dead.'

  'Really? Three-quarters? Seven-eighths?'

  'Cut it out, Mel.'

  'Mom would've stayed with him.'

  'They only let us stay for about five minutes.'

  'There's a waiting room.'

  'Look, for all we know Joyce could've spent the whole night there.'

  'I'll just bet she did.'

  'Maybe you'd better not see her, if you're going to act this way.'

  'I've got a great idea. Why don't you go and see her without us. Give her my regards.'

  'Okay.'

  They reached Bodie's van and climbed in. He started the engine. 'Where to?' he asked.

  'My apartment, I guess,' Pen said. 'I'll take my car over to Dad's place, and you guys can catch up on your sleep.'

  'Never mind,' Melanie said from behind them. 'I want to see her, after all.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Yeah, I'm sure. I've got a few questions I'd like to ask.'

  Pen turned in her seat to look at her. The movement twisted her blouse slightly, opening a gap between two of its buttons. Bodie saw smooth, shadowed skin on the side of her breast. 'Such as?' Pen asked.

  'Such as where was she when Dad got hit.'

  'She was with him,' Bodie said. 'She was there when he was brought into the emergency room.'

  'How come she wasn't hurt?'

  'We'll find out,' Pen said. Her blouse was drawn tight against her breast. The glossy fabric was molded to it, filled, rounded, puckered just a bit in the shape of a disk at the very front. Bodie looked again at the skin inside the small opening. Then he put on his safety harness. 'But let's not make it an inquisition,' Pen added. 'Joyce is Dad's wife, regardless of what you might think of her. Dad loves her, so we have to treat her with respect. Okay?'

  'I guess so.'

  Pen turned to the front.

  'Which way do I go?' Bodie asked, looking at her face and being careful not to lower his eyes. Her face wasn't bad to look at, either.

  'Make a left at the light.'

  He nodded, checked the side mirror for traffic, and pulled out.

  He realized that he was now feeling pretty good - a vast change from a few minutes ago.

  Looking at Pen hadn't hurt any.

  If we stay with her, I'll get plenty of opportunities.

  He wished he hadn't mentioned a motel. It was pretty clear that Melanie would rather stay at a motel than at Pen's apartment.

  It'll work out, he thought.

  I'll plead penury.

  Except for Pen giving occasional instructions on where to turn, the sisters were silent during the drive. Bodie imagined they must both be dwelling on the situation, wondering how their father got hit and whether he would recover. Maybe remembering times they'd spent with him.

  Melanie had more than the tragedy to cope with. She also had her burden of guilt.

  She'd been holding a lot of grudges, blaming him for the death of her mother, apparently dumping on him with a vengeance when he married Joyce.

  She was probably wishing she'd been nicer to him.

  'You'd better get to the right,' Pen said.

  He eased over. They were on San Vicente, and the air streaming in through the open window was cooler than it had been a few minutes ago. Bodie suspected they were approaching the ocean, though there was no sign of it ahead.

  The road had a wide, grassy center strip that appeared to be a haven for joggers.

  Must be great for the lungs, Bodie thought, running your little heart out down the middle of a busy street.

  'You'd better slow down,' Pen said. 'It's coming up, and you really can't see the road until you're almost on top of it.'

  Bodie checked the mirror, then took his foot off the gas pedal. The area over there was heavily wooded. He couldn't see the road yet.

  He flicked the arm of his turn signal, eased down on the brake, spotted the side road concealed among bushes and trees, and turned onto it. He drove slowly along the single lane. Though he could see no houses, he found evidence of their presence: patches of fence visible behind shrubbery and vines, mail boxes on weathered posts, now
and then a garage, an occasional driveway entrance with a gate, a few cars parked half on the road so that he had to steer carefully around them.

  The cars were not slouches: a Jaguar, a Porsche, a Ferrari, a Mercedes that looked incredibly huge and alien among the sleek sports cars.

  'You can pull over behind the Mercedes,' Pen told him.

  Speaking of alien - his VW van in with these ritzy vehicles. Folks would figure it must belong to the help. Caterers, perhaps. A party at the Conway residence.

  A wake.

  He maneuvered his van over to the right as far as possible. Bushes scraped its side. It was still jutting an uncomfortable distance into the road, but no more so than the Mercedes.

  He hopped down. Instead of trying to squeeze through the passenger door, Pen swung her legs onto the driver's seat and scooted across. She gripped the steering wheel to pull herself along. Bodie tried not to look at her blouse.

  He held out his hand. Pen took it, and he helped her out.

  'Thank you.'

  He let go of her hand, perhaps a bit too quickly. Melanie had pushed the seatback forward. He moved in, gently gripped her upper arm, and steadied her as she stepped down.

  They walked past the gray Mercedes. Melanie frowned at it.

  Near the front of the car stood a mailbox like the others along the road. This one bore the name CONWAY in black metal letters.

  A gap in the bushes revealed a wooden gate. Farther up the road, a break in the foliage made way for a garage. The closed garage door was only a yard off the road. Must be dicey backing out, Bodie thought.

  Pen, leading the way, unlatched the front gate and swung it open. She stepped through, followed by Melanie. Bodie went next and closed the gate.

  The lawn was a trim carpet of grass. Most of it was shaded by trees, which blocked Bodie's view of the house's upper story. The walkway led past a small, concrete fountain. In the center of the fountain stood a pudgy cherub wearing a mischievous leer and nothing else. Water spurted from his brass penis, splashing into the pool.

  Bodie wondered if Whit was responsible for that. It was the mark, he thought, of either upper class sophistication at its worst, or a nice bit of nasty wit. The latter, he hoped. He could like a guy who got a kick out of pissing statues.