by Meg O'Brien
It fell into the muck beneath her. She tried to reach it, but that only seemed to drive it farther into the mud. She was trying too hard. Jancy had said that. You try too hard.
She forced herself to relax. To “see” the flashlight in her hand, already there, easy as pie.
Her two good fingers found it and closed slowly around it. Moving carefully, she brought it up as far as possible, over her hips and a little more. Then she pressed the button that turned it on and looked at her other wrist.
A spider. A tiny brown spider with long legs was crabbing its way up her arm. She could see, as it grew closer, the dark shape of a violin on its head and back.
God, she hated spiders. And this one—what did she remember about it? Something specific about that violin shape.
A brown recluse, she remembered with a chill.
“You can identify the brown recluse,” she remembered Sister Anne Marie saying in biology class, “by the violin shape on its head and back, actually called the cephalothorax.”
She had gone on to say that brown recluse spiders did not reside in California. “There are spiders here with vague violin shapes on their backs, but they aren’t brown recluses. If they’re in California, they’ve been misidentified.”
“Do they kill you?” Marti had asked.
“Not immediately, but their bite is dangerous. It causes the victim’s tissues to die and decay. He or she might get a fever, nausea, joint pain. Gangrene can set in. In some cases, the bite area may have to be cut away.”
“You mean amputated?” Abby had asked.
Sister Anne Marie hadn’t answered.
But where had Sister Anne Marie told them that the brown recluses were found?
In the Midwest and the Southeast. Throughout Texas.
Great.
Fear consumed her, and she tried to pray but couldn’t think of the words. After all those years of Catholic school and the convent, none of the formal prayers would come to her.
But her angels were always there. That much she knew for a fact. Her angels had saved her more than once.
Help me, please, she prayed. Just help me get through this.
At least Danny and Jancy were safe.
Or was Jancy safe?
A cold shiver ran along her back, having nothing to do with the rotten damp beneath her. She had only Jimmy’s word that he’d taken Jancy to that diner, a “safe place,” he had called it.
What if that wasn’t true?
Dear God. Children were so expendable these days. What had happened to the “Gentle Shepherd”? The one who’d tried to teach the world that children were valuable and should be treated with love and care?
I’ve accepted that I’ll never have a child of my own, she prayed, but let me at least live to help as many as I can.
Tears coursed down the sides of her face, soaking into her hair. She hadn’t really prayed, or even cried, this hard in years.
And then she felt it—the thing she’d been trying not to think of. A prick at her inner arm, just above the elbow.
Abby’s head jerked around. The brown recluse, Sister Anne Marie had said, may not bite if you don’t move.
But she could actually see the bite. She tried to shake the spider off, but it was too late. How long did it take for symptoms to set in?
The pain from the bite was already intense, and waves of nausea gripped her. How long could she last? She thought she had read that with any insect bite it was best to remain as calm and still as possible, to slow its progress through the bloodstream. Myth or truth? She didn’t know. But she closed her eyes and didn’t move a thing—other than her lips, which were busy whispering prayers.
35
She didn’t know how long she was unconscious, but when he picked her up, she screamed. Every joint in her body hurt, every bone, every muscle. She thought she might break in two, but his movements were gentle, and when he put her on the stretcher, he leaned over and kissed her forehead.
“We’re taking you to the hospital,” he said. “You’ll be all right.”
Her vision was blurry, but she knew the voice. “Ben?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Need to talk.”
“Not right now. Just sleep, let the medicine take over.”
“But—”
“Shh.”
He sat beside her and held her hand all the way to the hospital. When the ambulance hit a bump, she cried out from the pain. He stroked her forehead and said, “Shh,” over and over—the same way he had two years ago when she’d nearly been killed on that hill.
“Got to stop meeting like this,” she said as they rolled her into the emergency room.
He smiled, but in his eyes was a world of sadness. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
He was leaving her. She’d known it from that first night, after the paintball exercise. It was what he’d been keeping from her. He was leaving.
A strong, flowery scent made her open her eyes. The first thing she did was look at her arm. Was it still there? Had they been forced to amputate?
Oh, God! Tears puddled, then covered her cheeks. Thank you, angels. Thank you. Her arm was bandaged, but still there. She could see her fingers sticking out at the end of the bandage. She wiggled them. They still worked.
Her relief was enormous. She didn’t know till that moment how afraid she had been.
Her gaze drifted over to a chest of drawers against the hospital room wall. The heavy perfumelike scent was coming from a huge vase of pink day lilies and white roses.
A nurse came in and adjusted the IV tube where it hung by her side. “Hi,” she said. “Do you know who you are?”
She smiled. “Abby. Abby Northrup.” Her mouth was dry, so it came out “Norfrup.”
“Great,” the nurse said. “Now, do you know where you are?”
“Not exactly.”
“You had a brown recluse bite,” the nurse said. “They brought you here to Methodist Hospital in Houston for treatment.”
“Am I okay?” Abby asked.
The nurse didn’t answer immediately. Maybe she didn’t hear.
“Am I okay?” Abby asked again, her stomach starting to tighten.
The nurse held a straw up to her mouth and urged her to take a sip of water. “The doctor would like to talk to you himself.”
That can’t be good.
The nurse left. Twenty long minutes later, the doctor came in.
“Abby? I’m Dr. Mueller. Sorry it took me so long to get here. I was in the middle of an emergency.”
“No hurry here,” Abby said. “I take it I’m not leaving just yet?”
He sat on the edge of the bed. Another bad sign. They were teaching doctors to do that these days, like waiters at the Outback restaurant sitting at your booth. It was supposed to make it easier to connect, to make everything seem real friendly. At the Outback, it was in case your steak came out overdone. Here, it was to ease the telling of bad news.
“The good news,” Dr. Mueller said, as if reading her mind, “is that we were able to save your arm.”
“Right.” She waited.
“The not-so-good news is that a large area of your flesh, from the elbow to the wrist, was destroyed by the venom. It’s called necrosis. In your case, there’s a hole in the flesh left from the tissue having become gangrenous.”
“A hole,” she said, feeling numb. “In my arm.”
“The dead tissue will gradually slough away, but you’ll have an ulcerated sore that could last weeks. Eventually, it will heal, but I’m afraid you’ll be left with a rather large scar.”
“Plastic surgery?” she asked.
“Possibly, but it could take several painful surgeries. And there’s more bad news.”
“Great. Hit me with it, Doc.”
“Right now you’re on a heavy dose of medication. But the venom attacked your joints, and I’m afraid you’ve been left with a great deal of pain. Something on the order of a severe case of arthritis.”
Co
uld it get any worse? “How long does that take to go away?”
He sighed. “I’m afraid it doesn’t. Go away, that is. I’m very, very sorry.”
“But there’s some sort of cure for it, right?”
“We can use the same kinds of treatment as for other kinds of arthritis—medications, heat treatments, massage. I’m afraid we don’t really have a cure for it yet.”
For some strange, crazy reason, she wanted to laugh. “That’s why old people drink,” she said, remembering something her mother had told her about their elderly neighbor, Miss Grace, when she was little.
“Sorry?” the doctor said.
“They can’t afford the medicines, and there’s nothing else for the pain, really, but alcohol. In the retirement communities, vodka’s the number-one seller, I hear.”
Keep talking, don’t think.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said again. He shook his head. “I keep saying that, don’t I? I just don’t know what else to say when there’s no cure to offer a patient. I’d suggest walking as much as you can, perhaps regular swimming…”
“What about martial arts?”
He smiled, as if she were joking. “I don’t think I’d go quite that far.”
So let’s see now, what’s left in my life? Oh, I know…Sister Helen and I can compete to see who can limp the fastest from the front door to the kitchen.
“Excuse me, Doctor,” the nurse said, sticking her head in the door. “There’s someone in the hallway waiting to see the patient. Shall I send him in?”
“No,” Abby said.
The last thing she wanted was a visitor. That was what she disliked most about hospitals. You had no privacy at all. People could just walk in on you at any time, and they all assumed you’d be happy as hell to see them.
“Are you sure?” the nurse said. “Might do you good.”
Oh, for cripe’s sake. “Yeah, I guess. Send him in.” It was probably just Ben, coming to say goodbye. She might as well get all the bad news today. Then maybe tomorrow would be better.
The doctor stood and patted her on the shoulder lightly, as if knowing anything more would hurt. “I’ll be back later on.”
“Would you like to freshen up a little before your visitor comes in?” the nurse asked. “Comb your hair? And how about some makeup?”
“Why bother?” Abby said. “I’ve got a hole in my arm, for God’s sake, and I’ll be shuffling out of here like my grandmother. Who cares what my face looks like?”
“I do, for one,” Jimmy said, coming into the room. “And it looks as beautiful as ever.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” she half yelled. “Nurse, get him out of here! No, wait. Call Security, tell them to get the police, and don’t let him get away.”
The nurse looked confused. “I’m not sure…”
Abby picked up a water glass and threw it at him. Her entire arm blazed with pain, and it missed him by inches. But when it hit the door, the water splattered all over his white shirt and khaki pants.
“Why aren’t you in jail?” she demanded. “Does anyone know what you did to me?”
He came to the side of her bed. “That’s why I’m here. I couldn’t let you think I’d turned on you. Abby, I’m so sorry about the spider bite. I had no idea there was anything poisonous out there. The plan—”
“Plan? What plan? What the hell are you talking about?”
He pulled up a chair and sat. “It was Kris Kelley’s idea. She called me in Phoenix shortly after you left, and asked me if I was willing to be deputized. It meant being near you, so I said sure. Even if you hadn’t called and asked me to come to Galveston, I’d have been there. I was supposed to stick close and make sure nothing happened to you.”
“You were babysitting me? That’s what she hired you as, a babysitter?”
He had the grace to flush. “Well, no, that wasn’t all of it. She liked the way we handled ourselves in Phoenix. She thought we made a good team, and that together we’d have a better chance of finding Alicia and the Devlins than the other agents would.”
“And you didn’t see fit to tell me this?”
“Abby, I had to swear not to.”
“You had to swear? Didn’t you think that was a little weird?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. But then we were at that house on Mathers Road and I had a chance to get close to H. P. Gerard. Abby, when I tied you up I needed a true response from you. If you’d known I wasn’t really turning on you, you wouldn’t have come across as afraid. Gerard would have suspected something.”
“You idiot!” Abby said angrily. “You damn near got me killed! Did you know that? Are you expecting me to just understand why you did that to me? Am I supposed to forgive you?”
His dark eyes pooled with unshed tears. “No, Abby. I didn’t come here today to ask you to forgive me. I know you can’t ever do that. I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I thought if Gerard believed I was on his side—if I untied him and let him out of there—I could follow him and find out where The Candlelights were keeping that bomb.”
“But there never was a bomb!” Abby said. “It was all a hoax. Didn’t you know that?”
“I do now. I didn’t at the time.”
Of course not. He hadn’t been there when Gerry admitted to the hoax. He thought he was doing the right thing.
So many mistakes, so many lies. So much hurt.
She leaned back against the pillows, her anger dissolving. But there was one thing she didn’t think she could ever get over. “You left me there to die, Jimmy. I was completely helpless to defend myself, and you just…you left me there.”
“For a half hour,” he said. “No longer. And Gerard wanted you dumped in the swamp. I didn’t do that—I couldn’t—but I had to pretend to. That’s why I took you out there.”
“Wait a minute, what half hour? You never came back.”
“No. I sent Ben. I thought you would want him, not me.”
She had no answer for that.
“I’ll go now,” Jimmy said, standing. “Abby, if there’s ever anything I can do…”
She turned her face away so he wouldn’t see her tears. He stood there a moment, and then he left.
36
Alicia Gerard’s father died that night, and Alicia turned herself in to the FBI in Houston. She claimed not to know where her mother was, but she did tell them the truth about her parents, the threat from The Candlelights—or what she had believed to be The Candlelights—and how her mother and father had faked the bioweapons in order to keep Alicia and Jancy safe. Once their work was done and Jancy was in a safe place, they had planned to turn themselves and the splinter group in.
Alicia gave the FBI agents a key to a safety deposit box that held what was purported to be the authentic plans—given to them by the supposed Candlelight woman, Linda—for the “Easter Lily Bomb” hardware. Now that they knew Gerry was behind the whole thing, though, and there weren’t any Candlelights involved, she couldn’t guarantee that these plans, too, weren’t just part of the hoax.
After hearing Abby’s story, the FBI had turned their attention to finding H. P. Gerard. They sent agents to watch his penthouse, and within twenty-four hours, he showed up, determined to bluff his way out of all charges. He had the ear of the president, after all. No one in their right mind would believe he’d had anything to do with perpetrating a hoax on the American public. And let’s face it, all they had was the account of a woman half out of her mind from a spider bite, who was still clearly hallucinating about what had happened to her at the house on Mathers Road.
“Speaking of which,” Gerry had said, looking bewildered, “I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of a Mathers Road. Jerry Mathers, maybe. You know, the Beaver?” He’d smiled jovially and patted the investigating agent on the back. “But no, no Mathers Road. Where did you say that was?”
Kris called Abby in her hospital room early the next day. “Have you heard what Gerry is saying?”
“I have.”
> “They’re buying it, aren’t they?”
“They are.”
“We can’t let him get away with that, can we?”
“We can’t.”
“Okay, listen, can you meet me? Back in Carmel, at the Prayer House? Are you well enough?”
“That depends. When?”
“I’m flying out of Houston with the team at ten this morning. We’re going back to Carmel together to wrap this up with the authorities there. Abby, I checked, and there’s another flight out of Houston to San Francisco at eleven. Are you well enough to be on it?”
“Yes.” Her body hurt like a thousand fiery hells, but hey, a few more pumps of morphine and she could still move.
“Okay, listen,” Kris said in a low voice. “Figure a four-hour flight to SFO, then a two-hour drive to Carmel. Lessing’s decided we’ll all drive down together. Three cars—a damned caravan. That means…let me check my watch…I can be out at the Prayer House by early evening.”
“I’ll see you then,” Abby said. “And don’t worry. I promise you, we’ll make the bastard pay.”
37
Abby and Kris were in the living room of Abby’s apartment at the Prayer House. Jancy was staying at the Prayer House until Alicia was released. She was asleep on the second floor, and Danny, who had arrived safe and well with Kris, was asleep in the room next to her. Narissa, the young ex-novice, was sitting in the hallway outside their doors, keeping watch.
Kris began to pace nervously. “I can’t stand this waiting,” she said. “Dammit, I want to kill that man!”
“No way. You can’t have all the fun.”
“Don’t worry, I may want to, but he’s not worth it.”
“We’ll get him,” Abby said gently. “We’ll get him, don’t worry.”
“And when we do, I promise you, I’m going to make that son of a bitch wish he’d never laid a hand on Danny or Jancy.”
“Is Alicia going to be charged with anything?” Abby asked.
“Not anything to do with the terrorists, since it turns out there weren’t any. And security photos have cleared her of that murder at the Highlands Inn. She and Jancy were still in the restaurant at the time it occurred. Alicia could still have a problem with her illegal status, though. I was told her lawyer’s trying to make a deal with the INS.”