They'd taken Lynda to the hospital, too, in a separate vehicle. Admitted for observation and treated for shock, she now sat propped up in bed answering the officers’ questions. She was grateful she'd had time to prepare a story. It took all of her concentration to navigate the narrow path between the truth she could tell, and the secret she must keep.
“It's like I said. The same four who kidnapped me in April showed up at the house last night. They hit Greg on the head and tied us both to chairs in the dining room. I guess they found my address in the purse they stole, and figured there might be something in the house worth stealing. The youngest one, the one called Bobby, was holding the leash on this killer pit bull. No, I don't know why they brought a dog!” Lynda snapped, anticipating a question the officer had asked three times already. Yelling hurt her throat, and she took a sip of water from the glass beside her before continuing. “They just did. I guess they didn't find what they wanted, because they were really mad when they came back into the dining room. At least the leader was.”
The policeman nodded. “Is that when the dog got loose?”
“No. Like I said, the guy went ballistic. I think he was on something. Luckily, Greg had managed to get loose, and when the gang leader started waving his shot gun at me and tearing my dress, Greg jumped him. Everything happened really fast after that. Greg got shot, and I think the noise startled the dog. It jerked away from the kid holding its leash and attacked the gang leader. One of the other kids shot the dog, but it was too late. Then they ran away. That's it, until my brother got home.”
“Uh huh,” the police officer said. The sound of pencil scratching paper continued. “I guess that just about covers it. I was wondering, though.” He looked straight at her, his chocolate eyes tinged with cynicism. “You didn't say any-thing about what happened to your friend's clothes.”
Lynda felt herself blushing. “I wasn't expecting my brother home until late. So I invited Greg in to listen to some music.” She glanced guiltily at her mother. “Do I really have to go into detail?”
Shaking his head, he motioned to the other officer and stood. “We'll be back if we have further questions, but this should cover it. Let's go Simmons, we've got a report to type.”
The policewoman shot Lynda a last sympathetic look before closing her pad and following him out the door.
Feeling like a worn out wash rag, Lynda sank back on her pillow and closed her eyes.
“Thank goodness, that's over,” her mother said.
Lynda felt her mother's weight on the edge the bed and opened her eyes.
Carol Malone looked like the aftermath of a cyclone. Her dress was wrinkled and stained, her face streaked with tear-soaked mascara. She'd snagged her stockings on the bed's metal frame, and an inch-thick ladder ran up her calf. Looking at the ravaged make-up, Lynda felt closer to her mother than she had in years.
She sat up and put her arm around her mother's thin shoulders. “You okay, Mom?”
“Of course I am, honey. It's you I'm worried about.”
Lynda's lips twitched. “I'm fine. My cheek stings a little, that's all.”
“I've called Dr. Zwirn; she'll drop by later. I asked her to ... you know, make sure you weren't injured.” Lynda's mother stared uneasily at her hands. “If there's anything more you want to tell me—”
“No, Mom, really. I'm fine.” Lynda squeezed her mother before letting go. “Greg was the one who got hurt. Do you know how he's doing?” During the break in the interrogation, her mother had left the room to sign insurance forms, and Lynda hoped she'd heard something.
Her mother's voice cooled. “All I know is his father transferred him to a private clinic.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “This may not be the time to discuss this, but your father and I feel you've been spending too much time with that young man. Last night proves it.”
Lynda turned on her mother. “What do you mean? Greg saved my life!”
“Perhaps. He was also alone in the house with you under very compromising circumstances. Oh, honey,” Lynda's dismay must have shown in her expression, because her mother's voice softened. “I'm sorry. You went through a terrible experience. Concentrate on getting over it. Your friend's going to be in the hospital for a very long time. Who knows how you'll feel by the time he's re-covered.”
“I know.”
Her mother lay a finger over Lynda's mouth. “Hush. Get some sleep. We'll talk about this later.” Reaching over the bed, her mother clicked off the lights before pecking Lynda on the cheek and leaving the room.
Surrounded by the distant murmur of the hospital, Lynda closed her eyes. The image of Greg on the floor hovered behind her eyelids and filled her dreams.
* * * *
LYNDA WOKE up hours later. Something, a change in the bustle outside her door, laughter in the hallway, or the timid click of a closing door, had disturbed her sleep. She lay in the dim room, confused until she remembered where she was and why. Swinging her feet over the edge of the raised bed, she padded toward the bathroom. Wisps of a hallway conversation caught her attention.
“Talk to her, Stephen. She listens to you.” Her mother's voice carried clearly through the thin hospital door.
“There's nothing to talk about yet. Let's wait until after her examination. The doctor will tell us if there's any-thing to worry about.”
“But what about next time? Who knows what they were up to.”
Their voices grew faint as her parents apparently walked away from the door. Sighing, Lynda continued to the bathroom.
She was on her way back to bed, when she thought she heard her father again. Lynda was about to open the door, when she realized her mistake. Two men were talking outside her hospital room. One had a warm, comforting voice like her father's, but lower pitched. The other's voice was younger and quicker, a nasal tenor set to a New York rhythm.
“The family wouldn't agree to the amputation, so Dr. Wolf just signed the release papers?” the tenor asked.
“Amputation? The father wouldn't even authorize a transfusion.” The older man snorted. “Must be some kind of religious nut—threatened to call a lawyer when Wolf objected. Wouldn't even let us take the patient to the E.R. to stabilize before he took him away.”
Pausing, Lynda wondered who they were talking about. She knew kids at school whose parents shunned medical treatment, and she wondered if the patient the doctors were discussing was one of her friends. Lynda shook her head and hoped that, whoever he was, the kid would be all right.
The voices grew indistinct as Lynda continued to bed. Barely whispers by the time she climbed in, the words still rustled in her ears. Lynda closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep.
She heard the young man say, “I don't see how he could've made it anywhere without at least a couple of pints. If you ask me, the kid's a goner.”
The older man sighed. “That's why you need to process those forms ASAP. Wolf wants them where he can find them, in case the hospital gets slapped with a mal-practice suit.”
“They should be easy to find,” the tenor said. “It's a weird name.”
Lynda heard the faint crackle of papers being shuffled.
“Here it is. How many ‘Urseks’ could they have down there?”
Ursek! Lynda's eyes flew open and she bolted upright. How many Urseks? She could think of only one. The rest of the conversation was lost in the roar of Lynda's shattering world. Throwing herself on the pillow, she dissolved into tears.
Interlude
WORDS FLUTTERED in his ears like leaves on an autumn breeze. Clear, but innocent of pattern or meaning.
“There's too much damage, Mr. Ursek. It's a miracle he didn't bleed to death. The arm is a lost cause.”
“No, I do not agree. Another facility...”
“...too late ... too dangerous.”
“...recommend?”
“Surgery, immediately.”
“...refuse?”
“We'll lose him.”
A gust of wind pic
ked up the leaves. They whirled and danced beyond his awareness. Somewhere, far below the surface, an eddy of fear dissipated into the overwhelming urge to sleep.
Chapter 17
SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Lynda stood by her hospital window and stared unseeing at the cotton ball clouds drifting across the sky. Sun-warmed flowers scented the breeze that ruffled her hair, but she didn't notice.
The door opened, and her mother swept into the room. “Good, you're ready.”
Lynda sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand and turned to face her. “Sure is bright out there.”
Reaching into his breast pocket, Lynda's father pulled out a battered glasses case. “Good thing I remembered your sunglasses.”
“Thanks, Daddy.” Taking the glasses out of their case, Lynda slipped them on.
Huddled behind her lenses during the ride home, Lynda tried to ignore the beauty surrounding her. How dare the sun be so bright, the people strolling along the lake front so happy, when Greg was gone? It should be pouring rain. Lightning should shatter the sky, thunder rock the ground. The sky, earth, and wind should all be mourning as she did. Looking out the car window, Lynda silently cursed every flower, bird, and smile.
When she got home, Lynda grasped her courage and peeked into the dining room. The curtain hung from a new rod; the table and chairs sat in their accustomed places. The clean, biting scent of Pine-Sol filled the room. The only hint that anything unusual had happened was the family room rug laying under the dining room table.
Disturbed by the eerie feeling that Friday had never happened, she bolted up the stairs, and flew into her bed-room. She was back downstairs in less than a minute. “Where's my phone? I need to make a call.”
“I took it out of your room,” her mother said. “I want you resting today, not jabbering on the phone.”
“You don't understand, I need to call Greg—I mean his parents—and make sure he's okay.”
“Not today. You can call the Urseks in a few days, when you're feeling better.”
“But Mom—”
“I won't have you dwelling on that incident,” her mother said, voice rising.
Her father stepped up and put his arm around Lynda's shoulders. “I agree, Angel. You need to think of more pleasant things. Let me take you to brunch. I bet The Medici has a few croissants left.”
Lynda jerked away from her father. “How can you think about eating? Greg's hurt. He might be dead.”
Bursting into tears, she tore back upstairs leaving her parents to exchange worried looks below.
* * * *
LYNDA HEARD tentative tap on her bedroom door and her brother's voice. “Hey, Lynster? You in there?”
“Just a second.” Sliding her feet off the bed, she padded to the door and opened it.
Tom slouched in the hallway, hands jammed into his pockets, eyes focused on a spot somewhere near Lynda's knees. He looked like he'd rather be taking a Chemistry final. “You okay?” he mumbled.
She turned and headed back to bed. “I'm fine. Go back downstairs and tell Mom and Dad to stop worrying.”
Tom took his hands out of his pockets and followed her into the room. “You've got it all wrong. They don't even know I'm up here. They think I'm in the basement entertaining John-John.” He sat down on the bed next to Lynda and cleared his throat. “I feel terrible about what happened Friday night. If I'd been here—”
Unable to meet his imploring gaze, Lynda lifted the corner of her blanket and began to pick fuzz off it. “I don't want to talk about it.”
“But I was in charge. I was supposed to take care of you!”
“Hard to do from a party.” Lynda heard a sucked in breath and looked up to see Tom staring at her as if she'd hit him.
She dropped the blanket and put her arm around him. “Tom, I didn't mean that. If you'd been here, they would have shot you, too.” Her throat closed around the image of Greg lying in blood. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and threatened to spill over.
Tom pulled her into a hug. “I'm so sorry, Lynda.”
Her tears broke free. “Me, too.” She buried her face in his shoulder. “Me, too.”
* * * *
LYNDA MUST have dozed off, because she thought she was with Greg, carrying a honey pot and chasing headless chickens. They laughed as they ran, tripping over hens and spilling honey, until they fell together in a sticky, feather-covered lump. Greg leaned over Lynda to brush a feather off her cheek when a high, clear, voice called her back to her room.
“Lynda? You're not asleep, are you?”
Sitting up, she stifled a yawn. “Not anymore. Come in, Ellen, the door's not locked.”
The door opened, and Ellen peered into the room. The afternoon sun shone on the other side of the house, leaving Lynda's room to the shadows. “Do you mind if I turn on the light?”
“No, go ahead.” Determined to act normally, Lynda struggled to think of something she could say that wouldn't make her cry. The light came on, and she saw that her friend had exchanged her shoulder length tresses for a cap of curls. “I like your hair.”
Plopping down beside Lynda, Ellen ran her fingers through the shorter style and grimaced. “It's going to take me a while to get used to it.”
Lynda tried to smile. “It's really cute on you. With the light shining behind you, it looks like a halo. All you need are wings to be a regular angel.”
“Thanks. Matt likes my hair short, too. You know how I've been trying to get him to notice me?”
Lynda nodded.
“Well, I finally got the courage to call him and ask him out Saturday. We saw The Wolf Man at the Hyde Park Cinema.” She grinned. “Matt's not half as shy in a movie theater as he is at school.”
Lynda's chin began to quiver.
Ellen's smile faded. “Are you all right?”
She waved her hand, as if batting away Ellen's concern. “Why's everyone so worried about me? What about Greg?”
“Greg?” Ellen's forehead wrinkled. “What about Greg?”
“The gang that grabbed me after Richard's party at-tacked us Friday night. They hit Greg on the head and knocked him out. Twice. When the gang leader started acting really weird, like he was going to rape me or some-thing, Greg stopped him.” Lynda's voice broke. “And got shot.”
Ellen's eyes widened. “Shot? You mean like with a gun?”
“A sawed-off shotgun. It nearly took Greg's arm off. The worst part was, the gang had tied me up, and I couldn't call for help, or stop the bleeding, or anything. Greg lay on the floor for hours until my brother Tom got home.”
She reached past Ellen, grabbed a piece of Kleenex from the box on her nightstand, and blew her nose.
Ellen rubbed her arms as if the room had suddenly grown cold. “Lynda, I am so sorry. Your mom called and said those gang members had hassled you again, and that you needed someone to come over and help you forget about them. She didn't say anything about Greg. Is he going to be all right?”
“I don't know! I heard some doctors—at least I think they were doctors—talking about a patient who was so badly hurt they thought he was going to die. One of them mentioned his last name was Ursek.” Lynda's voice rose into a wail. “Greg's probably dead and nobody cares!”
Ellen scooted over and put her arm around Lynda. “You care. I care. His parents certainly care.” She paused a moment. “Have you asked them how Greg is?”
“I tried to call them, but Mom took the phone out of my room. She says I need to rest.”
Ellen grabbed Lynda's hand and dragged her off the bed. “Come on. You can rest at my house.” She squeezed until Lynda's fingers tingled. “After you make that call.”
* * * *
LYNDA INSISTED on going to school Monday morning. She left the house with a fresh dressing on her cheek and a false smile on her face. Turning down 59th Street, she saw Ellen waiting at the corner. Her friend waved and ran up to her. “Did you ever get through?”
“No. I must have called a dozen times after leaving your
house, but all I got was the answering machine.”
“You'll just have to call from school, then.” Ellen glanced at her watch. “We better hurry. It's almost nine o'clock.”
They trotted along 59th Street. “I'm not sure that's a good idea,” Lynda said. “Calling the Urseks, I mean. If Greg's really ... I mean if he's...” She swallowed hard, but the word stuck in her throat.
“Dead?” Ellen completed the sentence for her. “I don't think so. I think the reason his parents aren't home and haven't return your messages is that they're at the hospital with him.”
Hope lapped at the iceberg that grown around her since Saturday. “Really?”
“Really. But you won't know for sure until you ask them.”
They heard the final bell ring a block away. Ellen sighed. “Sounds like we're late.”
“Go on ahead,” Lynda said. “I'll meet you in class later. No reason both of us should get detentions.”
Ellen snorted and she hooked her arm around Lynda's. “And leave you to make the call alone? Get real.”
* * * *
THE PAY PHONE hung on the wall next to the cafeteria door. It felt spooky walking down the corridor during a period. Muffled words crept from under closed classroom doors, too quiet to understand, while the girls’ footsteps thundered on the worn linoleum. Over it all, the hammering of Lynda's heart grew louder and louder.
Ellen reached the phone first and handed her the receiver.
Licking her suddenly dry lips, Lynda dropped change into the box and dialed the number her fingers had memorized. One ring. Two. Three. She knew the answering machine picked up after the fourth ring. Four rings, and a deep male voice answered, “You have reached the Ursek residence. Please leave a message after the tone.” Lynda opened her mouth to leave yet another message, when a woman came on the line.
“Yes?”
Though the voice was edged with fatigue, Lynda recognized the low pitched, mellow tone.
“Mrs. Ursek? This is Lynda Malone.”
“Lynda.” Greg's mother sounded pleased. “How are you, dear? Are you all right? Are you home now? I'm sorry we haven't called, but I only just got home myself.”
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