Cook,Robin - Mortal Fear.txt
Page 29
for the envelope.
"Make yourself at home," Shirley said, leading him into the living room.
"First let's make sure Curran hasn't called."
"I'll check my service in a moment. Why don't you make yourself a drink
while I rustle up that chicken."
Too tired to argue, Jason went over to the bar and poured some Dewar's
over ice, then retreated to the couch. While he waited for Shirley, he
again pondered the ways the releasing factor might have been
administered. There weren't many possibilities. If it wasn't injected,
it had to be through rectal suppositories; or some other direct contact
with a mucous membrane.
Most of the patients having a complete executive physical got a barium
enema, and Jason wondered if that was the answer.
He began sipping his Scotch as Shirley came in with a cold chicken and
salad.
"Can I make you a drink?" Jason asked. Shirley put the tray down on the
coffee table. "Why not?" Then she added, "Don't move. I'll get it."
Jason watched her add a drop of vermouth to her vodka, and that was when
he thought of eyedrops. All patients having executive physicals had
complete eye exams, including eyedrops to dilate their pupils. If
someone wished to introduce the death gene's releasing factor, the
mucous membrane in the eye would absorb it perfectly. Even better, since
the releasing factor could be secretly introduced to the regular eye
medication, the fatal drops could be administered unwittingly by any
innocent doctor or technician.
Jason felt his head begin to pound. Finding a plausible explanation of
what might what have been the key to it all made the possibility of a
psychopathic mass murderer suddenly real. Shirley returned from the bar,
swirling her drink. For the moment, Jason decided to spare her this
newest revelation.
"Any message from Curran?" he asked instead.
"Not yet," Shirley said, looking at him oddly. For a moment he wondered
if she could read his mind.
"I have a question," she said hesitantly. "Isn't this supposed releasing
factor for the death hormone part of a natural process?"
"Yes," Jason said. "That's why pathology hasn't been much help. All the
victims, including Hayes, died of what are called natural causes. The
releasing factor merely takes the gene activated at puberty and turns it
on full force."
"You mean we start aging at puberty?" Shirley asked with dismay.
"That's the current theory," said Jason. "But obviously it is gradual,
picking up speed only in later life, as the levels of growth hormone and
sex hormones fall. The releasing factor apparently switches on the death
hormone gene all at once, and in an adult without high titers of growth
hormone to counter itj it causes rapid aging just like the salmon. My
guess is about three weeks. The limiting factor seems to be the
cardiovascular system. That's what apparently gives out first and causes
death. But it could be other organ systems, as well."
"But aging is a natural process," she repeated.
"Aging is a part of life," agreed Jason. "Evolutionarily it is as
important as growth. Yes, it is a natural process." Jason laughed
hollowly. "Hayes certainly was right when he described his discovery as
ironic. With all the work being done to slow aging down, his work on
growth resulted in a way to speed it UP."
"If aging and death have an evolutionary value," Shirley persisted,
"perhaps they have a social one as well."
Jason looked at her with a growing sense of alarm. He wished he weren't
so tired. His brain was sending danger signals he felt too exhausted to
decode. Taking his silence as assent, Shirley continued. "Let me put it
another way. Medicine in general is faced with the challenge of
providing quality care at low cost. But because of increasing
life-spans, hospitals are swamped with an elderly population that they
keep alive at an enormous price, draining not just their economic
resources, but the energy of the medical personnel as well. GHP, for
example, did very well when it first started, because the bulk of the
subscribers were young and healthy. Now, twenty years later, they are
all older and require a great deal more health care. If aging were
speeded up in certain circumstances, it might be best for both the
patients and the hospitals.
"The important point," emphasized Shirley, "is that the old and infirm
should age and die rapidly to avoid suffering as well as to avoid the
over utilization of expensive medical care."
As Jason's numb brain began to understand Shirley's reasoning, he felt
himself becoming paralyzed with horror, Although he wanted to shout that
what she was implying was legalized murder, he found himself sitting
dumbly on the edge of the couch like a bird confronted by a poisonous
snake and frozen with fear.
"Jason, do you have any idea how much it costs to keep people alive
during their last months of life in a hospital?" Shirley said, again
mistaking his silence for acquiescence. "Do you? If medicine didn't
spend so much on the dying, it could do so much more to help the living.
If GHP wasn't swamped with middle-aged patients destined to be ill
because of their unhealthy lifestyles, think what we could do for the
young. And aren't patients who fail to take care of themselves, like
heavy smokers and drinkers, or people who use drugs, voluntarily
speeding up their own demise? Is it so wrong to hasten their deaths so
they don't burden the rest of society?"
Jason's mouth finally opened in protest, but he couldn't find the words
to refute her. All he could do was shake his head in disbelief.
"I can't believe you won't accept the fact that medicine can no longer
survive under the crushing burden of the chronic health problems
presented by physically unfit people-those very patients who have spent
thirty or forty years abusing the bodies God gave them."
"That's not for me or you to decide," Jason shouted at last.
it Even if the aging process is simply speeded up by a natural
substance?"
"That's murder!" Jason stumbled to his feet. Shirley rose too, moving
swiftly to the double doors leading to the dining room. "Come in, Mr.
Diaz," she said, flinging them open. "I've done what I could."
Jason's mouth went dry as he turned to face the man he'd last seen at
the Salmon Inn. Juan's darkly handsome face was alive with anticipation.
He was carrying a small, German-made automatic muzzled with a
cigar-sized silencer.
Jason backed up clumsily until his back struck the far wall. His eyes
went from the gun to the killer's strikingly handsome face, to Shirley,
who eyed him as calmly as if she were in a board meeting.
"No tablecloth this time," Diaz said, grinning to show
movie-star-petfect white teeth. He advanced on Jason, putting the muzzle
of the gun six inches from Jason's head. "Good-bye," he said with a
firiendly flick of his head.
"Mr. Diaz," Shirley said.
"Yes," Juan answerrd without taking his eyes off Jason.
"Don't sh
oot him unless he forces you to. It, will be better to deal
with him the way we did with Mr. Hayes. I'll bring you the material from
the clinic tomorrow.
Jason breathed out. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath.
The smile vanished from Juan's face. His nostrils' flared; he was
disappointed and angry. "I think it would be much safer if I killed him
right now, Miss. Montgomery."
"I don't care what you think-and I'm paying you. Now let's get him into
the cellar. And no rough stuff-I know what I'm doing."
Juan moved the pistol so the cold metal touched Jason's temple. Jason
knew the man was hoping for the slightest excuse to shoot; he remained
perfectly still, petrified by fear.
"Come on!" called Shirley from the front hall.
"Go!" said Juan, pulling the gun back from Jason's head.
Jason walked stiffly, his arms pressed against his sides. Juan fell in
behind, occasionally touching Jason's back with the gun.
Shirley opened a door under the staircase across from the front
entrance.
Jason could see a flight of steps leading to the basement.
As Jason approached, he tried to catch Shirley's eye, but she turned
away.
He stepped through the door and started down, Juan directly behind him.
"Doctors amaze me," said Shirley, turning on the cellar light and
closing the door behind her.. "They thinkmedicine is just a question of
helping the sick. The truth is unless something is done about the
chronically unhealthy, there won't be money or manpower to help those
who can actually recover."
Looking at her calm, pretty face, the perfect clothes, Jason couldn't
believe it was the same woman he'd always admired.
She interrupted herself to direct Juan down a long narrow hallway to a
heavy oak door. Squeezing by Juan and Jason, she unlocked it and flicked
on the light, illuminating a large square room. Jason was pushed inside,
where he saw an open doorway to the left, a workbench, and another heavy
closed door to the right. Then the light went out, the door slammed, and
total darkness surrounded him.
For a few minutes, Jason stood still, immobilized by shock and lack of
vision. He could hear small sounds; water coursing through pipes, the
heating system kicking on, and footsteps above his head. The darkness
remained absolute: he could not- even tell if his eyes were open or
closed.
When Jason was finally able to move, he stepped back to the door through
which he'd entered. He grabbed the door knob ' and tried to turn it. He
pulled on the door. There was no doubt it was secure. Running his hands
around the jamb, he felt for hinges. He gave that up when he remembered
the door opened into the hall.
Leaving the door, Jason worked his way laterally, taking baby steps and
gingerly sliding his hands along the wall. He came to the comer and
turned ninety degrees. He continued moving step by miniature step until
he felt the doorway of the open door. Carefully reaching inside, he felt
for a wall switch. On the left side, about chest height, he found one.
He threw the switch. Nothing happened.
Advancing into the side room, he began to feel the walls, trying to
ascertain the dimensions. His fingers hit on a metal object on the wall
whose front was glass. Feeling down at waist height he touched a sink.
Over to the right was a toilet. The room was only about five by seven.
Returning to the main room, Jason continued his slow circuit. He
encountered a second small room with a closed door just beyond the
bathroom. When he opened the door, his nose told him it was a cedar
closet.
Inside he felt several garment bags filled with clothes.
Back in the main room, Jason came to another comer, and he turned again.
Within a dozen small steps, he gently hit against the workbench, which
stuck out about three feet into the room.
Skirting the end of the bench, he felt beneath it, finding cabinets. The
workbench, he estimated, was about ten to fifteen feet long. Beyond the
workbench, he returned to the wall, encountering shelving with what felt
like paint cans. Beyond the shelving was another comer.
In the middle of the fourth wall, Jason came to another heavy door that
was tightly closed and secured. He could feel a lock, but it needed a
key.
There were no hinges. Continuing his circuit, Jason came to the fourth
comer. After a few minutes, he was back at the entrance.
Getting down on his hands and knees, Jason felt the floor. It was poured
concrete. Standing up again, he tried to think of what else he could
do.-He had no good ideas. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming sense of
mortal fear like he - was being smothered. He'd never suffered from
claustrophobia, but it descended on him with crushing severity. "HELP!"
he shouted, only to have his voice echo back to his ears. Losing
control, he groped madly for the entrance door and pounded on it with
closed fists. "PLEASE!" he shouted. He pounded until he became aware of
pain in his hands. He stopped abruptly with a wince and clutched his
bruised hands to his chest. Leaning forward, Jason touched the door with
his forehead. Then the tears came.
Jason could not remember crying since he'd been a child. Even after
Danielle's death. And all those years of denying that emotion came out
as he crouched in the blackness of Shirley's basement. He lost complete
control and slowly sank to the floor, where he curled up in front of the
door like an imprisoned dog, choking on his own tears.
The ferocity of Jason's emotional reaction surprised him. And after ten
minutes of sobbing, he began to regain his composure. He was embarrassed
at himself, having always believed he had more selfcontrol. Finally, he
sat up with his back against the door. In the darkness, he wiped his
tears from his damp cheeks.
Instead of surrendering to utter despair, he thought about the room he
was in. He tried to guess the dimensions and picture the location of
things he'd encountered on his exploratory circuit. He began to wonder
if there were any other light witches. Getting to his feet, he slowly
returned to the second locked door that was to his right. When he got
there, he felt along the walls on both sides, but there was no light
switch.
Striking out across the room, he returned to the bathroom. He tried the
switch in there several more times. Then he felt for the fixture,
thinking he could exchange the bulb provided he could locate the lights
in the ceiling of the main room. But there was no fixture, either as
part of the medicine cabinet or as part of the ceiling. Discouraged,
Jason returned to the large room.
"Ahhh!" cried Jason, as he walked directly into a lolly column, hitting
his nose against the six-inch diameter metal surface.
Momentarily off balance, he felt his nose already beginning to swell.
There was a bony ridge along the right side: he'd broken it. Once
more,.tears involuntarily filled his eyes, but this time it was from
reflex, not emotion. When he recovered enough to proceed,
Jason had
become disoriented.
Reverting to baby steps, he moved until he encountered a wall. Only then
was he able to find the workbench.
Bending down, Jason began opening the cabinets, then carefully exploring
each with his hands. Each cabinet was about four feet wide and contained
a single removable shelf. He found more cans of what he thought was
paint, but no tools whatsoever. Standing up, Jason leaned over the
workbench and felt the wall above it. There was some narrow shelving to
the right with small jars and boxes. Moving to the central part, Jason
felt the wall again, hoping to encounter a pegboard or the like with
screwdrivers, hammers and chisels. Instead, his hand encountered a glass
bowl facing away from him. Curious as to what it was, Jason felt around
it, ascertaining that the glass bowl was secured to a metal box. Pipes
entered the metal box. Jason realized it was the electric meter.
Moving down to the left end of the workbench, Jason again felt the wall.
There was more shelving containing plastic and ceramic flower pots, but
there were no tools.
Discouraged, Jason wondered what else he could do. He thought about
finding something to stand on so that he could explore the walls close
to the ceiling in case there was a blacked-out window. Then his mind
went back to the electric meter. Climbing up on the workbench, he
located the meter and traced the wires to a second rectangular metal