Storm Warning

by Dinah McCall

  Granted, he’d made some mistakes in the early years, but that was to be expected. All research had dead ends, some more dead than others. At least he hadn’t spent a lifetime pursuing the wrong paths. That had become apparent early on. It wasn’t until he’d done his first experiments on actual subjects with real illnesses that he’d begun to see the possibilities. He thought back to those times, remembering the faces of the children who’d so trustingly let him into their minds. Children were the easiest to treat and the most susceptible to his methods.

  A knock on his door signaled his driver had arrived. Later, as he rode to the hospital, he thought of his son as a child and then frowned. It was a shame that the innocence of children disappeared with their maturity. Phillip had no focus—no dreams. He simply existed—a shadow of the love Emile and Lucy shared. And as he thought of Lucy, he looked again out the window of the car in which he was riding, yearning for the countryside beyond the city.

  Emile sighed. He had fallen in love with Ireland. The simple lifestyle and the beauty of the country, coupled with the genuine friendliness of the people, had spoken to his soul. All during his trips back and forth to the hospital, he kept thinking of ways to approach Lucy about buying a second home. It wouldn’t have to be anything fancy, because life was simple here. He would have peace and quiet for his studies, and it would be as easy to travel from here as it was from Bainbridge, Connecticut, where they lived now.

  It wasn’t as if he had an office and a roster of regular patients. He’d been in research most of his life, and it was only after receiving the Nobel Prize that he’d started getting requests for consultations. If he wanted, he could easily become wealthy in a short space of time. It would be years before his methods could be taught to other qualified doctors, and by then, he would be too old to care about making even more money. Besides, he reminded himself, he’d done this for the good of mankind.

  “Sir, we’re almost to the hospital, we are,” the driver said. “Will ye be wantin’ me to wait?”

  Emile glanced at his watch and then shook his head.

  “No, thank you, McGarrity, you go on home. I’ll catch a cab back to the hotel.”

  “I’ll not be mindin’ the waitin’,” the driver insisted.

  “No. I insist. I have no idea how long I’ll be. Go home and spend an early evening with your family. I wish I could do the same.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” the driver said.

  Moments later, Emile entered the hospital, his mind already shifting to the young woman and the work yet to be done. She was only thirty-two years old, with a family yet to raise. It did his heart good to know that her brain was already accessing a different route to healing her body. The proof was in her blood work as well as her appearance. The yellow, jaundiced look to her skin was almost gone. He predicted that before six months were up, she would be as good as new. Quite a miracle for a woman they’d given up as lost.

  By the time he reached the fourth floor, his walk was almost a swagger, and why not? He walked with God. Only one other man on this earth had healed in that manner, and He’d been crucified. Emile was in no danger of that.

  “Ummm, baby, are you awake?”

  When a hand encircled his penis, Phillip gasped, then fell out of bed.

  “Who the hell are you?” he mumbled, staring down in disbelief at the skinny blonde who was lying spread-eagled in the bed he’d just exited.

  “Come on, baby, I’m horny,” she whined, and began stroking herself as he watched.

  “My God, my God,” he moaned, and looked around for his clothes. They were nowhere in sight. And that wasn’t the worst of his awakening. He had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there.

  “My clothes,” he said. “Where are my clothes?”

  The woman just made a face at him and then stuck out her tongue.

  “Come play with Teena, then I’ll tell you where they are.”

  Phillip’s shock turned to panic. Play with her? Good lord, he couldn’t even bring himself to touch her. There were needle-marks on her arms, and a multitude of small scabs on her legs that he didn’t want to think about. Instead, he began tearing through the room, opening drawers and looking through her closet.

  “Come on, baby, I’m getting hot, real hot,” the woman said, closing her eyes as her fingers began to move faster.

  Phillip wouldn’t look at her for fear of gagging. He tore into the adjoining bathroom and then wished he hadn’t. Filth was everywhere.

  “No, no, no,” he moaned, and dashed into the front room.

  At first he didn’t recognize them, but when he realized the black pants and shirt on the floor near the door were men’s clothing, he grabbed them and began putting them on. To his horror, they fit perfectly. More pieces to a puzzle he couldn’t explain. When he pulled out the ring of keys from the jacket hanging on the back of a chair, he recognized them. They were his.

  In the other room, he could hear the woman’s voice rising higher and higher in pitch as her orgasm started. He cast one last frantic look behind, him, praying that he was leaving nothing of his own behind and grabbed the doorknob.

  She moaned and then started to scream.

  He yanked the door open, slammed it firmly behind him and never looked back.

  Lucy Karnoff slammed the phone down and then burst into tears. Everything had been so perfect, and now it was falling down around her ears. She’d spent two days trying to find Phillip, but to no avail. She’d called every place she’d ever known him to frequent and spent precious hours in taxi cabs, searching in places of such degradation that she’d burned the clothes she’d worn during the search.

  It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. She’d spent her whole life making things perfect and pleasant for Emile so he could concentrate on his work, and now that he’d finally garnered the recognition he so richly deserved, everything was coming apart. It was her duty to make things right. She always made things right. But for the past two years she’d seen the changes in Phillip increasing in intensity. And each time the shift happened, she made sure her husband didn’t know. She’d spent a good portion of their savings bailing Phillip out of jail and paying for everything from traffic tickets to fixing the damage to other people’s cars so that it would not be reported to their insurance. Once it had cost her a thousand dollars to pay for the damage Phillip had incurred during a fight at a nightclub in a neighboring town. But he’d never disappeared before. Not for this length of time.

  She slumped into the chair behind Emile’s desk and covered her face. She couldn’t find their son and was torn between the shame of what he might have done and the fact that she might never see him again. To her dismay, she caught herself leaning toward the last possibility as the best. Then she started to cry. He was her baby. Her precious only child. God forgive her for even thinking such horrible thoughts. She wanted him back, no matter what he had done.

  Then she lifted her head and wiped the tears from her face. This was their child, not just hers. It was time that Emile shouldered some of the fear and responsibility. She opened the drawer to his desk, digging through the papers for the phone number and address of the hotel in Dublin where he was staying. A few moments later she found what she needed and then sat back in the chair, shaking with relief. Emile would know what to do.

  She picked up the receiver and started to punch in the first set of numbers when she heard the front door slam. She stood abruptly, her heart pounding.

  “Phillip? Is that you?”

  Footsteps sounded on the hardwood flooring, coming nearer and nearer to the study. Unable to stand the suspense, she started moving toward the door.

  And then he was there, standing in the doorway with tears running down his face. His hair was a mess, his eyes wild and bloodshot. His lower lip quivered, and then he held out his hands.

  “Mother?”

  She caught him to her breast, holding him close and patting his back as she’d done so often in comfort when he was a child.
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br />   “Yes, darling, Mother’s here. Whatever has happened, it will be all right.”

  10

  Sullivan woke with a jerk, wincing as the light from the window to his right hit his pupils.

  “So…you’re awake. How are you feeling, Mr. Dean?”

  “Feeling? Where am—” Oh my God…Ginny! “How long have I been here?”

  The nurse checked his chart. “The better part of two days.”

  “Christ almighty!” Sully groaned. “I’ve got to get up.”

  He began throwing back covers and fidgeting with the IV they had inserted in the back of his hand.

  “No! No! You can’t do that,” the nurse cried, and began pushing at his hand.

  Sully’s fingers encircled her wrist, but it was the calmness in his voice that told her he meant business.

  “Lady, I’m getting up, whether you help me or not. Which is it going to be?”

  Knowing she couldn’t manhandle a man his size on her own, she reached for the call button, but it was too late. Sully was already pulling the tape off his IV.

  “Wait! Wait!” the nurse said. “You’ll have blood everywhere.”

  “It’ll wash,” Sully said. “I need to see Ginny.”

  “Who?”

  “Virginia Shapiro. We came to the hospital in the same ambulance.”

  “Oh. Her.”

  Sully’s heart sank. “What do you mean, her?”

  “She’s the one with the guard at the door.”

  He sighed. “Thank God. How is she? Her condition, I mean.”

  “If you’ll give us a few minutes, you can see for yourself.”

  “That doesn’t tell me anything,” Sully muttered.

  “That’s because her condition is between her and her doctor.”

  “You don’t understand,” Sully said. “She was in my care when this happened. If I had—”

  Suddenly, the nurse understood, and her frustration with the man disappeared.

  “I didn’t realize,” she said softly. “Look, just let me find your doctor and get his okay. If he has no objections, you can visit her and see for yourself. But please don’t get up until I get back. You have a concussion. It won’t do anyone any good if you fall on your face and wind up back in bed.”

  Sully frowned. “I feel fine.”

  “You do not,” she argued. “You’re pale and sweating, and I’ll bet the only five dollars I have in my purse that you’ll be dizzy when you stand up.”

  He glared.

  She stood her ground.

  “Are you going to stay in bed, or do I have to ring for the orderlies?”

  The idea of being manhandled did not appeal to him. “I’m here, aren’t I?” And then he added as she walked to the door, “But I’m not going to wait forever.”

  “You’ll do what you’re told,” she said, and closed the door behind her.

  Defiant to the end, Sully swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. True to her word, the room tilted beneath his feet. He sat back down.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  It would seem she’d been right after all. Added to that, within ten minutes, a doctor strode into his room. Proof that the nurse was a woman of her word.

  “So, Mr. Dean, I hear you’re wanting to go AWOL on us.”

  “Are you going to take the IV out of my arm or is she?” Sully asked, eyeing the nurse, who had followed the doctor into the room.

  The fact that he’d countered a question with a question was not lost on the doctor, nor was the look on Sullivan’s face.

  “You had a pretty good knock on the head,” the doctor said.

  “I’ve been hit before.”

  Well aware of Sully’s occupation, the doctor smiled. “Yes, I suppose you have.” He circled the bed and leaned over, checking Sully’s pupils and then reading his chart. “Have you been up?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Sully said, ignoring the snort of disapproval from the nearby nurse.

  “And how did you feel?”

  “Slightly dizzy. Slightly weak.”

  The doctor grinned outright. “Thank you for being forthright, Mr. Dean. If you’d said anything else, I would have known you were lying.”

  “Oh, I’ll tell the truth every time. It’s entirely up to you whether you like what I say. And I am going to get up and go to Virginia Shapiro’s room, with or without your permission.”

  The doctor frowned. “The question isn’t really whether you’re able to go. It’s whether she will have anything to do with you.”

  Sully glared at the nurse. “I was given to understand she was healing. What the hell do you mean?”

  “She’s healing fine. But she hasn’t said a word to anyone since the day she arrived.”

  “Oh hell,” Sully muttered, then swung his legs over the side of the bed again and started pulling at the tape on his IV. “Either you get me out of this getup or I’ll check myself out right now.”

  “Nurse, would you assist Mr. Dean before he makes a mess of himself?” the doctor said.

  “Certainly, Doctor.”

  “Where are my clothes?” Sully asked.

  “In the closet,” the nurse said. “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll get them for you.”

  “Understand, Mr. Dean…I’m not recommending this,” the doctor said.

  “Yeah, I know, and if I fall and bust my nose, I won’t be suing anyone, okay? Just hand me my pants.”

  The doctor frowned at Sully’s impatience. “You won’t be doing her or yourself any good if you have a relapse, you know.”

  Sully stopped, giving the doctor a cool, studied stare.

  “Then I’ll have to be sure and stay on my feet, won’t I?”

  The doctor sighed. “Nurse, while he’s dressing himself, ring for a wheelchair. The least we can do is give him a ride to her room.”

  The nurse nodded, laid Sully’s clothes on the bed and left to do as she’d been told.

  Ignoring the doctor, Sully slowly stood, hanging on to the bed to make sure he was going to be mobile. This time he experienced nothing more than a brief moment of lightheadedness, which passed.

  “How do you feel?” the doctor asked as Sully started putting on his pants.

  “Like hell,” Sully said.

  “Miss Shapiro…she means a lot to you?”

  Sully stopped, then took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Well, if you mean as much to her as she does to you, then I wish you both the best,” the doctor said, patted Sully on the arm and walked out.

  The imprint of the man’s hand was still on his arm, but he couldn’t move. Unknowingly, the doctor had hit the proverbial nail on the head, pinpointing the depth of Sully’s concern. He grunted as if he’d been punched in the gut and sank back on the edge of the bed. His gaze fell on the linoleum floor, but he wasn’t seeing it. He was locked into the last time he’d seen Ginny’s bloody face. He closed his eyes, and as he did, he flashed on the picture of her and her family that had been taken in Yellowstone National Park.

  God in heaven, what if she never smiled like that again? With fumbling fingers, he buttoned his jeans. He reached for his shirt, then saw the blood on the front and tossed it aside, opting to use the hospital gown as a shirt instead. He was at the door when an orderly arrived with the wheelchair.

  “Hop in, man,” he said. “I hear you’re ready for a ride.”

  “Take me to Virginia Shapiro’s room,” he said.

  “Yeah, they told me. The one with the guard.”

  A mop handle hit the floor in the hall outside Ginny’s door. She jerked at the startling noise, the motion sending her whole body into spasm. A quick film of tears shattered her vision as she stifled a moan. She was healing. Nothing had been broken, only terribly bruised, and nothing had required stitches. She considered herself fortunate, considering the size of the knife Carney Auger had pulled. If Sullivan hadn’t come in when he had, the man would have cut her to pieces. At the thought, she closed her eyes, squeezing them hard against the
horror of what she’d endured. But the images wouldn’t go away. Not when she slept. Not when she was awake. They’d been with her every moment since they’d brought her to the hospital.

  Added to that was the guilt of knowing she was the reason Sully had been injured. She turned her face to the pillow. She’d heard them talking when they thought she was asleep. Sully was unconscious. Had been since he’d passed out in the hall. What if he died? She couldn’t live with that guilt on her conscience.

  And then there was the other thing. Carney Auger was in this very same hospital. Under guard, they said, but he was here, under the same roof with her. Just the thought made her want to throw up. What if he slipped past his guards? What if he came after her or Sully to finish the job?

  Doctors and nurses had been here and a man she thought might have been like Sully—with the FBI. He’d come twice the first day. She hadn’t seen him since, but the others wouldn’t leave her alone. They wanted her to talk about what had happened—to tell them all the gory details of how the man stripped her and beat her and put his hands on every inch of her body. They wanted her to say how he jerked and then screamed when Sully’s bullet ripped a hole through his body. They wanted to know how his blood got on her face and hands. They wanted to hear it said in the name of medicine and the law. Why couldn’t they understand that the words were poison on her lips? Didn’t they know that saying them aloud would only give them life? That revealing what had happened to her would make it real, and that the only way she was still staying sane was by pretending this was a nightmare from which she would eventually wake?

  Suddenly she tensed. She could hear voices outside her door, talking about things better left unsaid, as if people who were sick had also suddenly gone deaf. Usually they went away, only this time they didn’t. The door was beginning to open.

  She pulled the sheet up to her chin and held her breath, knowing she had no endurance left for anything, not even herself.