by Nancy Bush
She was sick of being part of the Colony. Sick of being different. Penned up. Told what to do, what to think.
The new Tasha was through trying to conform. There was no Natasha from Siren Song any longer.
She was reborn.
Her finger was touching the light switch when the door swung inward. The moment before she plunged the room into darkness, she saw Rita’s face.
And the knife in Rita’s hand.
The care facility where Dinah’s father resided was called Seagull Pointe and it was composed of white-painted cinder blocks and sprawled around a parking lot with a center island where a wind-whipped pine waved its branches at approaching vehicles. Its utilitarian design seemed born in the fifties, and what it lacked in architectural interest it made up in maintenance. The place looked freshly washed and painted, and when Claire and Dinah walked inside, a faint citrusy scent overlaid the sharp odor of ammonia and chlorine from cleansing products.
The woman manning the front desk knew Dinah and said that Herman was sitting by the nurse’s station, one of his usual haunts, apparently. They found him in a wheelchair, idly chatting with a younger woman and holding her hand.
Dinah threw Claire a look. “Some things never change,” she said.
One of the attendants greeted them with a big smile and said loudly, “Look who’s here, Herm. Dinah and a friend. They’ve come to see you.”
Herm had a full head of silvery white hair, light gray eyes that seemed slightly unfocused, and a lean body dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a gray V-necked sweater vest over a white shirt. Seeing Dinah, he patted his companion’s hand, then got to his feet, leaving her for his daughter. He bowed low over her hand.
“You want to walk to your room?” she asked, grabbing the handles of his empty wheelchair and pushing it forward.
“Sure thing. Exercise is good for you.” He gave Claire a long, glittering look from eyes that seemed to suddenly come alive.
“I’m Claire,” she said.
“Are you a doctor?” he asked, surprising her. Before she could respond, he said, “Dinah always wants me to see another doctor.” In an aside, he said, “She thinks there’s something wrong with me.”
“Claire’s actually interested in the Colony,” Dinah said as they headed down the hallway, three abreast.
“Ah…the Colony. I wrote a history about them, did you know?” he said. “Where is that book?”
“It’s with the historical society,” Dinah reminded him. “But Claire was wondering about the women, the girls, when you knew them, who are under Catherine’s care. You remember them?”
“Sure, I remember them. So many girls, and it was too bad about Nathaniel.”
“Nathaniel?” Claire asked.
“Terrible accident. Died very young. He’s in the graveyard, but the book…it’s with Parnell,” he stated with sudden certainty. “I didn’t give it to him. He took it. I think he meant to give it back to them. Did he ever do that?” He turned to Dinah for verification. “It wasn’t his to give!”
“Parnell is dead,” Dinah said carefully. “He’s been dead for years.”
“Killed himself,” Herm remembered. “Where’s the book?”
“At the historical society, Dad, but it only follows the Colony through Mary and Catherine’s generation. Nothing about the women who live there now.”
“Hmm.” He thought that over. “I’m sure there’s more. Much, much more.” He turned to Claire. “Parnell threw himself off the jetty. Did you know that?”
“I’ve never heard of Parnell,” she admitted.
“Well, he was their doctor. The cult’s. Dr. Parnell Loman. He attended them and he had a daughter of his own. I always wondered if he took her from them. She never had a mother that anyone knew of.”
Dinah said for Claire’s benefit, “There were two doctors. Brothers. Both in my dad’s generation: Dr. Parnell Loman and Dr. Dolph Loman.”
“Dolph!” Herm sneered. “Pompous ass!”
Dinah went on, “Parnell’s dead but Dolph is still on staff at Ocean Park. Semiretired, I think. Dad was kind of in competition with both of them for the ladies’ affections around here.”
“I was quite a swordsman in my day,” he said, leaning toward Claire with a wink. “Still am.”
“I see.” Claire was amused.
He made a face. “But Parnell, though. He liked ’em young.”
“Takes one to know one, Dad,” Dinah said with a laugh.
They’d reached his room and Dinah wheeled the chair inside as Herm and Claire followed. Herm seated himself back in the wheelchair with a sigh. He wasn’t as strong as he would like them to believe. The room held a twin bed and there were two orange molded plastic chairs, which Claire and Dinah each took. A wheelchair-accessible bathroom was attached.
“What do you want to know, girl?” Herm asked, folding his hands in his lap.
Claire thought about it a moment, hardly knowing where to start and what to ask. She finally told him of the general belief that Cat had come from Siren Song, and after glossing over the attack at the rest stop, explained about Cat having an accident and that she was unresponsive.
“She in a coma?” he demanded.
“In a manner of speaking,” Claire said. “A catatonic state.”
“She blond? They all are, you know. Blondish, anyway. All of ’em.”
“Yes,” Claire said.
He nodded. “There’s a bunch of ’em there. And there are some that have left. They used to give ’em away, you know. She had so many of ’em, and Catherine got sick and couldn’t take care of ’em and Mary was—well, I guess you’d call her a loose woman. Hah! Damn near pornographic, she was. Sexy. I was trying to interview her and she dragged me into her bed so fast I never got my shoes off! My pants were down at my ankles!”
Dinah stared off into space, long suffering, clearly having heard her father’s embellished stories too many times to count.
“She dropped babies faster’n you could count,” Herm went on. “Screwed everything in pants. Mind you, I left that out of the history. Kept those lurid parts to myself.”
“So, the women who live at Siren Song now are Mary’s children, not Catherine’s?” Claire asked.
“Catherine’s legs have been clamped shut since the Ice Age, dear girl. She had to clean up Mary’s messes, didn’t she. I always kind of liked her, but she hated me. She hated every man who Mary took to bed.”
“How many children did Mary have?” Dinah asked curiously.
He shrugged. “I wasn’t a regular guest after the first couple of times. Mary told me some history, and from what I already knew, I compiled the book. Showed it to Mary. I was going to include the babies, but Catherine came at me with a fire poker once, and I quit being invited. Never got their names down, but Isadora’s the oldest. Then there was Jezebel, but she was adopted out, I think. And then another one was adopted out. Or two or three. Don’t rightly know. Go ask Parnell. He’s their doctor.”
“Parnell’s dead,” Dinah reminded.
“Ask that cold bastard Dolph, then. He would know.” He nodded his head and stifled a yawn. “Catherine…She and I have run into each other a few times over the years. She’s never forgiven me for the book, though it’s just facts. I didn’t put their weirdness in it.”
“Weirdness?” Claire asked.
“A lot of interbreeding in that family, through the years. Strange things develop. And there was this shaman that Sarah slept with.”
“That’s lore, Dad. Not fact.”
He waved a hand at Dinah. “Unverified facts are still facts.”
Claire was beginning to see that Herm Smythe’s supposed book about the Colony might be more fiction than truth.
A nurse entered the room and looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Herm still had visitors.”
Herm yawned again and Claire said, “We were just leaving.”
“Don’t go!” he implored.
“I’ll be back later, Dad,” D
inah said, and then she and Claire were in the hall. “Did any of that help?”
“I don’t know,” Claire said honestly. “I’ll talk about it to Cat, see if she reacts to anything. Maybe a little history of the Colony might jar something loose.”
“You might want to leave out the part about my father being a swordsman in his day,” Dinah said, her lips quirking.
“There will undoubtedly be a few remarks that I’ll edit,” Claire assured her.
In the moment after Tasha recognized Rita and her intention to kidnap her from the hospital, there was a chance she could get away. That she could win. Turn the tables on her. A single moment were she tensed, ready to leap away.
But Rita Feather Hawkings, Rafe’s ex-girlfriend, was strong, determined, and mean. She grabbed for Tasha, who stumbled backward, would have fallen if Rita’s arms hadn’t caught her and dragged her to her feet.
The knife was against her neck. Tasha still had the wounds on her shoulder and back from Rita’s first attack.
And in her moment’s hesitation, Tasha lost.
“I won’t let you take my baby,” Tasha said, eyes closed, body tense.
“You want to get out of here. I’m taking you out of here.” She pushed her into the wheelchair. “If you fight me, I’ll have to stop you.”
Kill you. That’s what she meant.
“You have my baby,” she stated flatly.
Tasha understood fully the complexity of Rita’s problems. Rafe had mentioned her. Tasha had seen her standing outside the bars of Siren Song, eyes burning, hands bent into claws, breathing fury at both her and Rafe.
She had to fight Rita but knew she would lose.
But if Rita could get her outside these walls…?
“I won’t fight you,” she said.
And with that Rita led her to the side door, using her keycard and punching in a code, and then they were into the raging, wind-tossed night where rain and wet leaves flew around her and Tasha greeted them with growing excitement.
And felt a gut-twisting contraction, as hard as anything she’d ever experienced.
Lang drove all the way back to his house outside Portland through a black night full of flying leaves, small limbs, and slamming rain. He made a quick stop at a fast-food restaurant for three crunchy tacos and a cola, and when he entered the house, he set down the cola, threw off his jacket, then headed straight to the refrigerator for a beer. Lost in thought, he munched down the tacos and drank the beer, not remembering much of either.
A lot of information had been gleaned and discussed in one day. A lot of miles traveled. A lot of surprising moments, not the least being his own attitude around, and interest in, Dr. Claire Norris.
He’d been a jerk in some ways. Reminded himself of how he’d been with women in his youth. His youth. Weren’t those embarrassing high school and college days behind him? Good God, he’d said some dumb things.
He should be furious with her over the hospital’s arrogance in moving Heyward Marsdon from the lockdown side of their facility. He was furious.
But it wasn’t really her fault.
Melody’s death wasn’t her fault.
Nothing was her fault.
“God. Damn. It.”
Annoyed with himself, he fell back onto the couch and raked his hands through his hair. Was he doing the right thing? Moving to Tillamook? Leaving the Portland area and all the bad and sad memories? Leaving his friends, too?
Was he wandering around in this investigation that really wasn’t his own because he was paralyzed by indecision? Afraid of commitment?
But no. He’d committed to O’Halloran and the TCSD. He just hadn’t pulled the trigger about coming on board. Why? he asked himself now. Why, why, why?
There was no answer. He was in a self-imposed limbo. The same limbo he’d wallowed in since Melody’s death, and maybe even before…
Grimacing, he thought about his last year with the Portland P.D. He’d done his job. Had even had moments of brilliance. He’d enjoyed being partnered with Curtis, whom he considered one of his closest friends.
But…
He’d been itching for something, some kind of change. In his personal life. Something meaningful. A direction. A plan.
A woman.
And then Melody died and his focus shifted. Sharply and completely. All he could think about was revenge and justice, not necessarily in that order. He’d wanted Heyward Marsdon to hurt. He wouldn’t have cared if the man died. A part of him wanted him scrubbed from the planet.
And he wanted the damn supercilious Marsdon family to hurt like he hurt. He wanted to be the one to make them hurt.
And the lovely Dr. Claire Norris with her shining dark hair, serious eyes, careful words, and deep trauma was someone else he could focus his anger and frustration on. Even though she was a victim, too. Of both Heyward III and the damn, miserable hospital bureaucrats who worshipped funding over all else.
This case, which Trey had asked him to take, had undoubtedly conspired with Drano for him to take, along with the willing cooperation of Sheriff Nunce and Detective Will Tanninger of Winslow County…this case had thrown him right back into direct contact with Halo Valley Security Hospital and the woman who’d treated the man who’d killed his sister.
Was that karma? Bad luck? An opportunity to finally deal with his own unresolved emotions?
He jumped off the couch and headed to the refrigerator for another beer, except the refrigerator was empty. Hanging on the door, he stared into the empty shelving under the bright bulb. No food. No clothes, really, either. He was packed up and gone. This was just a side trip, a zigzag, a lateral move away from the path he’d chosen. A respite. A retreat.
A run away…from Claire Norris.
He closed the refrigerator door.
“I like her,” he said aloud to the empty room, then shuddered. Jesus, he was an idiot.
Before he could descend further into self-flagellation, he headed for the bathroom and a hot, or maybe a more deserved cold, shower.
Tasha was in Rita’s car, and Rita was driving fast down black highways with dim light from the lamps on the front of the car. Headlights. With barely enough illumination to make out the broken white lines in the middle of the road.
Tasha didn’t know how to drive. Her trip with Rafe had been one of two other car rides she’d even experienced in her life. That night she’d buried her head against him, almost afraid to look out to the road. It made her feel kind of queasy.
But tonight she was focused. Watching. Every nerve fiber on alert. Like the funny feel after an electric storm. The lifting of the hairs on her arms.
She felt the wave of another contraction begin. She wished she could time them. She knew she had to time them. But they were no more than five minutes apart. Was that close? Was birth imminent? She didn’t know.
She closed her eyes, retreating into a distant world. But she had to stay alert. Had to stay in front of the blackness that wanted to come for her.
Her body was making up its own timetable about when this girl child would come into the world. She knew it was a girl. It was always a girl with them, wasn’t it? Except for Nathaniel. And he’d been sick. Worse than Lillibeth, by far, even before her accident. He wasn’t meant to survive. Tasha had known that early on.
“What’s wrong?” Rita asked sharply.
She couldn’t tell her about the contractions. Couldn’t let her know. Had to hide it if she could. “Keep your eyes on the road, bitch,” she said through gritted teeth.
She felt rather than saw Rita’s surprise. It was always that way. No one expected a girl with angelic looks to be so harsh. Oh, she knew what she looked like. She knew the effect she had on strangers, though Catherine had done her best to keep Tasha hidden away, locked up, imprisoned.
“You fooled Rafe, but you don’t fool me,” Rita said.
“They’ll look in on me. They’ll know I’m gone.”
“You were leaving anyway. Or trying to. It’s no different.”
/>
“They’ll come find me.”
“They’re going to realize that you killed Rafe,” Rita said as if it were complete fact. “They’re going to figure it out.”
“You killed Rafe,” Tasha said.
“I loved Rafe. And you took him from me. Forever.” Her voice was toneless, emotionless.
The edges of the dark curtain were coming closer. No…not yet…
Tasha fought the blackness, nearly paralyzed with fear. Sinking into her seat, she squinched her eyes closed, gripping her hands together as another wave of pain squeezed her from the inside out.
Chapter 17
The phone call woke Lang from a light sleep. He’d gone to bed early from the simple fact that he had no TV at his house any longer and there had been nothing to do. He was mildly surprised that he’d actually fallen into slumber. Groping around, he found his cell on the floor beside his bed, the only piece of furniture still in his bedroom. Had to move the damn thing soon and finish the move. Needed a little better weather before he strapped it onto his pickup, and he didn’t feel like paying some moving guy a minor fortune for the honor of the duty.
“Stone,” he rasped.
“It’s Claire Norris.” She sounded slightly panicked. “I’m sorry to bother you. Cat’s gone. Jane Doe!”
Her voice washed over him, strong and full of emotion. It took a moment for him to hear her words. “Gone. How?”
“Maria, one of the night nurses from Side A, just called me. She went to check on Cat and her room was empty. Cat left her hospital gown but took her shoes. I was going to get her clothes but I haven’t yet. I don’t know what she’s wearing, where she could be. There’s been an all-out search of the hospital, but no one can find her.”
Lang blinked several times, trying to get his brain in gear. “Okay, slow down. Could she get past the doors to the medical offices?”
“I don’t see how,” she said, then, “I called Dr. Freeson, who already knew about Cat’s disappearance because Maria phoned him first. And Avanti was on call, so I’m playing catch-up. Freeson said they’d apparently looked everywhere. Even checked Side B, but she would have been seen on the monitors, and anyway, I don’t see how she could get past any door. She doesn’t have a keycard. She doesn’t know the code.”