by Jane Toombs
"Any change?"
"About the same. His pulse still isn't good. What do you think happened to him?"
"Jose claims the car is undamaged and he found no blood inside. I took a look around where we found Vincent and didn't see anything he could have banged his head on if he fell. He was lying face down so it's unlikely he'd have gotten the injury he did in a fall. Looks to me as though someone hit him over the head."
Vera had come to the same conclusion and had hoped John would have a different explanation. It seems clear to her that someone from Hallow House was involved, that it might be part of the other strange occurrences.
"Do you think he'll be all right?" John asked.
"I wish I could tell you. How long ago did you call the doctor?"
John checked his watch. "At least twenty minutes ago. He should be here soon." He dropped to his knees beside the bed and touched his brother's arm. "Vince," he said softly, it's okay. Don't worry about anything. I'll take care of you."
Seeing tears glinting in John's eyes, Vera was moved. She also felt guilty about being so quick to accuse Vincent.
Looking at the motionless face on the pillow, she saw a dark bruise spreading over Vincent's right temple. Gently touching the injured area on the side of his head, she felt the swelling. Who had attacked him and why?
Carefully she lifted both his eyelids to peer at his pupils once more. Still equal in size which meant brain damage was probably minimal. "I'll get some ice for his head," she told John.
At the door she hesitated, suddenly unsure she should leave him along with his brother. If he had reason to wish Vincent dead, how easy to pick up a pillow and press it over the helpless man's face. Had the scene by the bedside been an act for her benefit? Or was she foolish to even consider the possibility?
She didn't have to make a decision because Blanche stood in the hall and immediately said, "Irma told me I should wait and ask if you need anything."
"Ice for his head, please, Blanche."
Before Vera turned back to the room she spotted Sergei loping along the corridor .
"Is Uncle Vince okay?" he asked in a strained voice.
"He's not conscious," she said. "We're waiting for the doctor."
"You mean he can't move or talk or anything?"
"Not right now. We'll have to wait and see." She touched Sergei's arm. Try not to worry about him."
"What happened? How did he get hurt?"
"We don't know. He has a head injury." Vera wished she could say something more positive to this boy who'd already had more than enough tragedy in his life. She tried to smile and failed. "Don't worry," she repeated.
He stared at her for a moment, then turned and ran down the hall toward his room. Vera wondered briefly about Samara. Was she hidden away in her tower, retreating from unpleasantness?
Vincent was mumbling when she returned to his bedside. John, now on his feet, leaned over to listen.
"Did you understand anything he said?" she asked.
"I couldn't make out much--only the word 'two' again."
"He may be thinking about his dead twin while groping for his own identity. Head injuries often make people forget everything for a while." As she down at Vincent, she wished she could tell him sorry she was to have suspected him, the door burst open and a frenzied Marie flung her at the bed.
"Oh, my God!" she cried. "It's true, it's true!" Lying half across Vincent, she clutched at him, sobbing.
John pulled her up and away from the bed. "Calm down, Marie," he ordered.
She strained in his grasp. "Let me touch him one last time. He's dying, I know he's dying."
John shook her, none too gently. "You've been drinking. Stop screaming and listen to me."
Marie collapsed on his shoulder, weeping convulsively. John patted her back, speaking soothingly. "Vincent's not dying. He's hurt, but the doctor's on his way. Vera's here and is taking good care of him. Calm down now. You'll do Vincent no good by flinging yourself all over him."
Vera put her hand on Marie's arm. “You need to let John take you to your room. You're upset and should lie down in your own bed. We'll take care of Vincent, I promise."
Marie pulled away to look at Vera. Her mascara had run, giving her the grotesque, pathetic look of a clown. "You'll tell me?" she asked.
Though unsure exactly what Marie wanted to be told, Vera nodded. "We'll know more when the doctor gets here."
Her shoulders still shaking with sobs, Marie allowed John to lead her from the room.
Vera was checking Vincent's pulse again when the doctor arrived, a slight older man with gray hair and glasses.
"Dr. Whitten," he said.
"I'm Vera Morgan. A nurse."
"Good. What was his pulse just now?"
"Ninety, down from a hundred and ten, still weak, but not so thready. “Dr. Whitten got out his stethoscope and listened to Vincent's chest. "Strong heartbeat." He pushed the icebag aside and pressed the injured area with his fingertips. "Hematoma, confined to the scalp, we'll hope. The bone underneath seems solid." He lifted Vincent's eyelids and shine a light into hiss eyes. "Pupils react equally."
"There's been no drainage from the nose," Vera said, "and I didn't see any blood coming from his ears."
The doctor nodded and looked into Vincent's ears with his otoscope. She helped him lift Vincent's arms and legs to check reflexes.
"Has he said anything?" the doctor asked when they finished.
"A few words--not about his accident."
"We don't know what happened to him," John said as he came back into the room. "Our handyman found him lying on the ground near the garage."
"My impression is that he was hit over the head," Dr. Whitten said. "Any idea who might be responsible?"
"No."
The doctor shook his head. "Without X-rays I can't be sure he doesn't have a skull fracture, but I don't think he has more than a brain concussion. Fairly severe, since he's still unconscious. I can arrange for him to be taken to the hospital, but..."
He paused and put a hand on Vera's shoulder. "You've got a good little nurse right here to watch him. I have a hunch he's going to regain consciousness soon, so I'll wait around a bit to see. If he does, I'll leave him here at home with Miss Morgan to keep me posted."
"I'll let you know right away if any change occurs," she said.
"Your brother's reflexes are normal and I don't find any evidence of gross brain damage," Dr., Whitten said to John. "I believe he'll be all right. Of course you should realize he may not be able to tell you what happened."
"Ever?"
"Retrograde amnesia's common in head injuries. The patient can't remember how--or even when--he got hurt. Sometimes the amnesia clears up in a few days, sometimes never. Vincent may be upset by his inability to remember when he wakes up. Don't let him worry about it."
Vera, who'd been watching Vincent, saw his eyelids flutter and alerted the doctor.
Dr. Whitten bent over the bed. "How do you feel, Vincent?" he asked.
"I--where--doctor?"
"You recognize me, do you? Good."
"Dr. Whitten." Vincent's voice was weak. "What--?"
"You hurt your head and I've been taking care of it."
"Hurt my head?"
Dr. Whitten nodded.
Vincent frowned. "I don't--I can't remember."
"That's all right. You just relax and rest."
Vincent's gaze shifted to Vera and John. "What happened?"
"We'll talk later," Vera said. "Now you need to listen to what the doctor's telling you and rest."
Vincent struggled to sit up, but Dr. Whitten pressed him down, saying, "Don't raise your head just yet, it'll only make you dizzy."
"Dizzy," Vincent mumbled, apparently in agreement. "Something. I came back because..." His voice trailed off.
"What was it?" John asked.
"I can't--I don't know."
"Don't worry about it," the doctor ordered. "Whatever it was is more likely to come back to you i
f you don't try to force anything. Relax. Rest."
The frown stayed on Vincent's face.
Dr. Whitten took Vera's arm and led her to the door. Speaking softly, he said, "You know what danger signs to watch for. Let me know if you spot any of them. If I don't get a call from you in the interim, I'll drop by in a day or two to see how he's doing."
"I'll stay here in the room," she said.
"Tonight at least and perhaps tomorrow night. I'd take him into town but, frankly, you're better than any nurse he'd get there. Observation's what's important now."
She nodded. "Is it all right to give him aspirin if he complains of pain?"
The doctor agreed to that and left. When she checked on Vincent again, his eyes were closed but his pulse strong and regular. Relieved, it suddenly occurred to her that she'd forgotten all about Johanna.
"Heavens, has Johanna been with Irma all this time?" she asked John. Would you go down and get her? Bring a bottle, too, so I can feed her."
"Anything else you'll need?" he asked
"Yes, but that can wait until Johanna's here."
How could she have forgotten about the baby? True, she'd been occupied with Vincent, but that she hadn't though of Johanna upset her.
Vincent turned over in bed, flinging off the covers. Vera removed the hot water bottles and rearranged the blankets. She replaced the icebag over the swelling, noticing the right side of his face was now a massive bruise.
Where was John? Surely it shouldn't be taking him this long to get to the kitchen and back. Unease settled inside Vera. Was something wrong?
Should she have sent him to fetch Johanna? Had he taken this opportunity to--? No, she shouldn't think such a thing. John would never harm the baby. Of course not. But where was he? Where was Johanna? Vera paced nervously, her gaze shifting between Vincent and the door. When she finally saw the knob turn, she rushed over only to stop, her heart plummeting when she saw John in the doorway without the baby.
"Irma still has her?" she asked, clinging to hope.
John closed his eyes briefly. "Johanna's missing," he said bleakly. "Irma left her in the high chair in the kitchen while she went into the pantry. The baby was gone when she returned. She wasn't alarmed because she though you'd come for her."
Vera clutched his shirt with both hands. "Johanna can't be missing! What have you done with her?" She could hear the tinge of hysteria in her voice but was unable to control herself. "How could you--your own daughter?"
He grasped her hands. "Vera, listen to me. I didn't see Johanna."
She pulled away. "I don't believe you. You--you've done something to her." Tears stood in her eyes. "Why?" He voice broke. "Why?"
His face twisted. "I'd never harm Johanna. Nor any child. How can you think I would?"
"You don't believe she's your daughter," Vera accused. "You hate her, you tried to let her die of hunger until Samara shamed you into hiring a nurse."
John grabbed her by the shoulders. "Get it through your head I no longer care who Johanna's father is. I've accepted her. She's my responsibility. Now calm down and let's try to figure out where she is."
Vincent's voice surprised them both. "Johanna."
John hurried to one side of the bed, Vera to the other. "Johanna," Vincent repeated, looking from one to the other. "I came back. Something about her. Important." He put a hand to his head and winced. "Hurts. Can't think straight."
Vera stared at him, willing him to remember.
"Dr. Whitten said your memory would return quicker if you didn't try to force it," John reminded him.
Vera glared at John. He came around the bed, grabbed her arm and pulled her over to the door. "We can't upset Vincent," he cautioned in a low voice.
She drew a deep breath, ashamed she'd forgotten the doctor's admonition. Ashamed, too, of her outburst of accusations against John. She'd been too upset to take in what Irma had told him. Obviously the baby had been taken sometime before John had ever gone down the stairs. He wasn't guilty, why had she believed, even for a minute, that he was? He must have organized a search, which was why he'd been gone so long.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Where have you looked for Johanna?"
"In all the bedrooms, all the rooms downstairs. Jose's searching the outbuildings. Irma's going through the downstairs rooms again, Blanche and Geneva the upstairs. I checked on Marie--she's sleeping so soundly I couldn't rouse her. Adele and Theola are asleep, too."
"Where are the twins?"
"I found Samara huddled into an old sleeping bag in the sought tower when I searched up on the third floor. I told her to go to her room. Sergei's in his."
"They aren't helping you search?"
John hesitated. "No," he said finally.
About to ask why, Vera paused. She'd never thought the servants had anything to so with harming Johanna. Nor, once she'd met Adele and Theola, did she believe they'd hurt the baby. If Marie was in a drunken sleep, she couldn't have abducted Johanna. Vincent was injured. Now that she'd come to her senses and realized John hadn't taken Johanna, they left only the twins.
Vera put her hands to her face as if that could shut out what she understood must be the truth. They were so young. Johanna was their sister. Dropping her hands, she stared, stricken, at John and saw her own horror reflected in his eyes.
"Why are you whispering by the door?" Vincent demanded from the bed. "What's the matter?"
Turning, Vera saw he'd pushed himself up onto one elbow. Neither she nor John spoke for a moment.
"It's Johanna, isn't it?" Vincent asked. "Something's happened to her."
Vera followed John over to the bed.
We can't find her," John admitted. Apparently he thought he saw accusation in his brother's eyes because he cried, "no! Not you, too. I didn't--my God, you can't believe I would..." He stopped, his glance shifting between Vincent and Vera. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"
Vincent eased back down. "You knew about Delores."
"About you and Delores, about Grosbeck and Delores, about that miserable doctor and the damn car dealer in Morro Bay--yes, I knew about you all." John said.
"What you don't know is that Johanna is not my child," Vincent said. "Nor did Delores commit suicide."
"Are you telling me you--?"
"No!" Vincent jerked himself up to a sitting position. He put a hand to his head and Vera hastily arranged the pillows to help prop him up. "I didn't kill Delores. Why would I do such a thing? His eyes closed, but almost immediately opened. "Damn but I'm dizzy."
"Lean back against the pillows," Vera suggested.
After he did, he took a deep breath and let it out. Focusing on John, he said, "Did you kill Delores?"
John shook his head. Neither spoke for long moments, their gazes locked. At last John thrust out his hand and grasped Vincent's. " I'm sorry; I've been a damn fool about this."
Vincent put his free hand over John's. I don't deserve to be forgiven, but I never would have killed Delores. I came to hate her, but I wouldn't have hurt her."
Vera, who'd begun to wish she was elsewhere, realized neither of them even remembered she was there.
"Now Johanna's missing," John said.
Vincent grimaced. "Why can't I recall why I came back. I left early in the morning, thought it best I was the hell out of here until Vera was gone. She'd cast me as the villain and since unpleasant things did seem to happen while I was home, I cleared out."
"I'm sorry," she said, flushing. "Sorry I accused you, Vincent. Sorry I accused you, too, John, I wasn't thinking any too clearly."
"Can't blame you, Vincent said, "Anyway, I can remember heading north on 99 when this revelation about Johanna hit me. Then I draw a blank. The next I recall is seeing old Whitten's face hovering over me."
"You've no idea what it was you thought?" John asked.
"Only that it concerned danger to Johanna. I do have a vague recollection of wheeling the car around and heading back, but the why is gone."
"Jose found you on the
ground by the garage. Some one hit you over the head."
"Who?"
John shook his head. "And now Johanna's missing."
"Please, can't we stop talking and do something?" Vera pleaded.
"Who's got her?" Vincent asked.
"We're not sure. "You mumbled a few words while you were unconscious. 'Two. One is the devil.' Any idea what you meant?"
"None. Unless I meant the twins. But why would I--?"
"Did you ask Samara where Johanna was?" Vera cut in, looking a John. Did you ask Sergei? Search his room?"
"Asked them both. Searched both rooms, along with Marie's. I told you Samara was up in the south tower and there's nothing in that room. Nothing in the north, either.,
"What about the middle room? The one with the black door?" Vera asked.
"Locked. I brought the key with me and opened it. No Johanna."
Vincent glanced from one to the other of them, "Samara isn't capable of hurting anyone. Sergei might be, but--his little sister?"
"Johanna might be all right, Vera said, praying it was true. "Maybe she's just hidden."
The brothers exchanged a long look and Vera's heart seemed to stop. Did they Johanna was dead? Like Delores? Did they believe whoever had killed Delores now had Johanna? Vera lowered her face into her hands and began to cry.
Chapter 20
Vincent and John went on talking as though Vera wasn't standing beside the bed weeping.
"What about Marie?" Vincent asked.
"Drunk," John said. "Out cold."
"Can't be Jose, Irma or the other two. Or Aunt Adele and Theola. Who, then?"
Vera wiped her eyes and raised her head to watch them. Vincent was looking at John, waiting for a response that didn't come.
"What did Sergei say?" he asked finally.
"He was in his room. Claimed he knew nothing." John's voice he'd no emotion.
"Do you believe him?"
Again John didn't respond.
"What about Samara?" Vera asked. "What did she say?"
"Claimed she couldn't help."
"Her exact words?"
John nodded. More or less. I told her to go to her room."