Part 21 (2/2)
”You're probably going to wish you died when Cunningham gets ahold of you,” Tully said, but he was smiling.
”So I guess he knows.”
”Let's just say he sent that white flower plant.” Tully pointed to the potted plant on one side of the table. ”The card says it's a false dragonhead, commonly known as an obedient plant.”
”Are Luc and Adam here?” Maggie asked, hoping to change the subject.
”They'll be by later. In fact, Tully, why don't you go call them.”
Maggie thought she saw Gwen and Tully exchange a look, some secret between them.
”I'll be right back,” Tully said, and squeezed Maggie's shoulder. ”Emma wanted you to know that she's taking good care of Harvey.”
”Just don't let her think she gets to keep him, Tully.”
”Yes, I know.” And he left.
”Maggie, there's something I need to tell you.”
She braced herself and suddenly tried to move her legs. Yes, legs worked. Arms worked.
”What are you doing?” Gwen laughed. ”No, you're fine. Really. But I just thought I should warn you. Your mother is here. She's down in the cafeteria taking a break. She's been here since Thursday night.”
”Oh. Okay. Wow! You really were worried about me, huh?”
”The procedure for bringing someone back from severe hypothermia can kill the patient,” Gwen said, the pent-up emotion of two days revealing itself. ”I'm sorry. But I was really worried. Your mother's not the only one I called. Now, you can be upset with me all you want, but there's someone else I called.” Gwen squeezed her hand then went to the door. ”You can come in now.”
Patrick walked in, not hesitating, and came directly to the bed. But then he stood there, staring down at her.
”They've told you?” she asked.
”And it's a good thing. I wonder how many more trips and how many more Diet Pepsis it would have taken you.” He smiled their father's smile.
”It was you,” she said.
”What?”
”I thought I was dead. I thought I saw my dad...our dad. But it must have been you I saw.”
”So you'll tell me about him sometime?”
”How much time do you have?” She smiled at him.
He sat down, taking Gwen's chair at the bedside. ”My s.h.i.+ft doesn't start for a couple more hours.”
EPILOGUE.
Three months later Connecticut Mental Facility
Simon hated this room. It smelled of disinfectant, but it wasn't clean. He could see cobwebs on the ceiling in the far right corner. And the nurses or wardens or what ever they called them weren't very clean, either. The one with the tattoo had greasy long hair and bad breath. But at least they treated him okay. And Dr. Kramer had even given him something for his stomach that seemed to make it better...sometimes. It still hurt once in a while. Once in a while around midnight.
They had brought in two trays of food, which meant he was getting a new roommate. Already he had drunk his juice and hidden the plastic cup under the bed, under a floorboard he had worked on and pulled up. That's where he kept his new specimens. He had to pace himself, but it was getting easier and easier to steal jars from the supply closet. The night clerk, better known as Broom Hilda, forgot to lock it sometimes.
He heard the door locks click open. They still made him jump.
”Simon.” And here she was now. ”Here's your new roommate. I want you to meet Daniel Bender.”
He looked like a kid, skinny and pale with s.h.a.ggy brown hair and empty brown eyes.
”Hi, Daniel,” he said, standing up to shake his hand and disgusted to find it sweaty and cold. Simon wiped his hand off on Daniel's bedspread while Broom Hilda showed the kid where to put his few things.
After she left, Daniel sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the tray of food.
”The soup is usually good,” Simon told him. ”It's hard to screw up soup.” He picked at his salad, poking the wilted leaves with his fork and pus.h.i.+ng them off to the side of the tray.
”I can't eat just anything,” Daniel said in a little bitty voice. ”I have a bleeding ulcer.”
Suddenly, Simon was interested, and he shoved his salad to the side.
”Tell me about your ulcer,” he said, while he slipped his fork under the mattress until he could put it in his secret place.
Acknowledgments.
My sincerest appreciation goes to all the professionals whose expertise has, once again, proven invaluable. And to my family and friends who put up with my long absences while I'm in writing marathon mode. Special thanks to: Patricia Sierra for the occasional swift kick in the pants, the numerous pats on the back and always, always being there.
Leigh Ann Retelsdorf, Deputy County Attorney, who over lunch one afternoon helped me create an intriguing M.O. for a killer.
Laura Van Wormer, fellow author and friend, for taking time out of your crazy schedule to show me around Connecticut and for sharing your enthusiasm for your adopted hometown of Meriden.
Leonardo Suzio of York Hill Trap Rock Quarry Company for an interesting tour despite it being in the middle of a blizzard.
Lori O'Brien for being my go-to person whenever I had a question about the area.
Dianne Moggy and the rest of the team at MIRA Books, including Tania Charzewski, Craig Swinwood, Krystyna de Duleba, Stacy Widdrington, Kate Monk, Maureen Stead and Alex Osuszek.
Megan Underwood and the crew at Goldberg McDuffie Communications, Inc.
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