Part 23 (2/2)
My teeth abruptly pierced his skin, and the red warmth flowed more freely. He recoiled-perhaps from pain, perhaps from revulsion at what I was doing-then recovered, knowing that I couldn't help myself. I still desperately wanted to live. The instincts born from my changed nature had taken over and ignored the faint, dissonant warning that I could kill him if I went too far.
I ignored it-and I drank.
A heavy engine driving a heavier load. Men distantly shouting to each other. The lazy lap of wash as the barge pa.s.sed along the river three stories below. The city was slowly waking, or maybe it had never really been asleep.
Some long time earlier I'd found the strength to push away his lifeline, hopefully before it was too late.
My eyes were squeezed shut as much from the effort of recovery as to avoid looking at him. I wasn't quite able to do that just yet.
”Come on. Jack, no games. Are you still with us? Wake up.”
His voice was thin, but conversationally normal. Some of the crus.h.i.+ng weight on my soul melted away. I wanted to shout from the relief.
”That's it, open them so I know you're all right.”
I did, but couldn't focus too well and didn't want to look at the stuff on the walls.
The lids came down again like lead bricks. He, at least, was still alive. I was too shattered and sick to be very certain of my own chances.
He continued, trying to encourage me. ”The bleeding in your chest stopped. It closed right up once I took that b.l.o.o.d.y great stick out.”
He couldn't have meant it as a joke. My head wobbled from side to side as though to deny the thought. The cold and numbness were gone, but shock and weakness were left in their place. I could move again, barely.
”You'll be all right.” He sounded very convincing, but I wasn't quite ready to believe him yet.
I drew an experimental breath to talk, and heard and felt a bubbling noise within. It developed into a spasm and I rolled on one side in a fit of coughing. One of my lungs had been pierced and was full of blood and fluid. This alarmed Escott, but I felt his steadying hand on my shoulder as I hacked some of it out. The business pa.s.sed and I flopped back, exhausted.
I took another breath, shallow this time, to avoid coughing. It stayed inside without discomfort and wheezed out in what I hoped was a recognizable name.
He understood. ”Your friends told me where you'd gone. They've heard nothing from the kidnappers yet.”
I tried another breath, felt the cough beginning, and forced it to subside. ”Gaylen did this-”
”You needn't explain, I found out a great deal about Miss Dumont in New York.””Came back?”
”Yes, that's why I returned early. I thought things might be urgent, so I flew back.
It only took five hours, but I'm sorry it couldn't have been faster.”
He was sitting, his knees drawn up and his back to the wall about a yard away, a handkerchief tied around his left wrist. With a wry expression, he retrieved a folding knife from the floor.
”Hadn't time to sterilize it. If I get lockjaw, it will be your fault.”
He tucked it away in a pocket and said nothing more of what else had happened.
”Did they give you any idea where they were going?” he asked.
I shook my head. ”Took her away. Another woman with them. Malcolm-” I had to stop for the coughing.
”That's all right,” he told me. ”I'll see to it, I'll do my best.”
”No cops?”
”No,” he a.s.sured me. ”Do you think you can move?”
”Can try.” One thin, stained hand gripped the stair rail and pulled, the other pushed against the floor. He helped, but it was too much. The cough returned and the convulsions doubled me over.
”Have to wait.” I whispered. ”Weak.”
He looked away, uneasy. ”You can't wait long, the sun will be coming up shortly.”
”When?” I had no sense of time pa.s.sing. The whole night must have slipped by.
”About thirty minutes.”
It was no good, I needed hours to recover-and my earth. ”My trunk. Bring it here. I have to-”
”Certainly, if you'll be all right alone.”
There wasn't much choice. He could probably carry me down to his car, but I was in no shape to move. The trip could kill me if I were exposed to the sun in this weakened state. I nodded yes, and hoped I was telling the truth.
It took him a little longer than thirty minutes. Though I was in a shadowed area, I was too feeble to fight the daylight blaring through the broken windows. I slipped into a half-aware trance, eyes partially open and unblinking.
He did finally return with the smaller of my two trunks, loaded down with two bags of earth. I must have looked really dead then, for he paused to check for a pulse and heartbeat before putting me into the trunk. There were none to be found, of course, but he was optimistic.
As soon as I was lowered onto the bags inside I went out completely.
The next night I surprised myself and woke up.
Escott was perched on a chair, peering at me. ”How do you feel?”
A reasonably important question, I thought it over while checking things from the inside out. ”Alive,” was the conclusion. I didn't mention the ton of iron wrapped tightly around my chest or that my head felt like a balloon ready to pop. My nose and throat hurt as well, but they were much less noticeable.
”Bobbi?” I asked.
He shook his head. ”I have been trying.”
We were both silent. If Bobbi were not free by now there was little or no chance of her still being alive. After what Gaylen had done to Braxton and then me... The emptiness inside yawned deeper and blacker.
Escott saw and guessed what was going on. ”Jack, I need you thinking, not feeling. There's still a chance for her.”
”Yeah, just give me a minute.” It took longer than a minute to shut it all down. I had to make myself believe she was alive. Anything else had to be kicked out or I'd be useless. Bobbi was alive and needed help, and that was that.
Escott got up while I was adjusting things. We were in his hare dining room, the only place on the ground floor with just one window. The panes of gla.s.s were now covered with sheets of cardboard to block out the day's sun. He pulled it all down, stacking the stuff neatly on a packing crate and twitching the curtains back together.
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