Part 18 (2/2)

”It's ... We're not exactly on the greatest of terms, Ally and me.”

There was an awkward tone in his voice. ”It's hard to explain. Like I told you, I confirmed her blood type on Sat.u.r.day. It's AB, like I thought. And I played the mother angle. At the very least, I think she's willing to drive the old bird out to the inst.i.tute and meet Karl.

That's a start, at least.”

”And what about her medical ... Karl wanted to see--”

”I'm working on it. I remembered something about her. I've got a guy.

He's going to check on it tonight.”

”Good” Bartlett growled. ”There's no time to screw around on this.”

”I've set it up for you to meet her tomorrow, the way you wanted. I think she'll show. I told--”

”The one who really should talk to her is Karl.” Bartlett sighed. ”He knows how to handle patients.”

”Then he could call her tomorrow. After she's talked to you. If we all pull together on this, W.B., I'm sure we can get her out there by day after tomorrow, Tuesday.”

Winston Bartlett looked at his watch. It had just turned

Monday, one less day to find something that would stop the Syndrome in its tracks.

”We'd better.”

He was clicking off the phone when he heard a wail of despair from the bedroom upstairs and the sound of a champagne flute being thrown against a wall.

Kristen was losing it rapidly now. Was she still conscious enough to know what was happening to her?

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