Comes the Blind Fury (15 page)

It was then that she slipped.

It seemed like nothing for a split second—just a slight wrenching as her right foot hit a loose rock and twisted outward.

Suddenly there was nothing beneath her foot to support her. It was as if the trail had vanished.

She felt herself starting to fall through the terrifying gray mist.

She screamed, just once, and then the fog seemed to tighten itself around her, and the gray turned into black.…

“Dr. Pendleton! Dr. Pendleton!”

Cal heard the voice calling to him. The terror it conveyed made him drop his hammer and dash into the kitchen. He reached the back door just as Jeff Benson leaped up onto the porch.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s Michelle,” Jeff cried, his chest heaving, his breath coming in heavy pants. “We were on the beach, and she was coming home, and—and—” His voice broke off, and he sank to the top step, trying to catch his breath.

“What happened?” Cal tried to keep from shouting as he stood over Jeff. “Is she all right?”

Jeff shook his head in despair.

“She was on the trail. We were all watching her, and all of a sudden she slipped, and—oh, Dr. Pendleton, come quick.”

Cal felt the first rush of panic, the same panic he had felt when he’d seen Sally Carstairs, the panic that was rooted in Alan Hanley. And now it was Michelle.

She’d fallen, as Alan Hanley had fallen.

Through his sudden terror he could hear Jeff Benson’s voice, pleading with him: “Dr. Pendleton, please—Dr. Pendleton?—”

He forced himself to move, off the porch, across the lawn, to the edge of the bluff. He looked down, but could see nothing on the beach except a cluster of children, gathered together below him.

Dear God, let her be all right
.

He started down the trail, slowly at first, then recklessly, though every step seemed to take an eternity. He could hear Jeff behind him, trying to tell him what had happened, but the boy’s words made no sense to him. All he could think of was Michelle, her lithe body lying on the rocks at the base of the cliff, broken and twisted.

At last he was on the beach, elbowing his way through the group of children who stood, helpless, around Michelle.

Cal knelt beside his daughter, touched her face.

But it was not her face he saw. As had happened with Sally Carstairs, he saw instead the face of Alan Hanley, dying, staring at him, accusing him.

His mind reeled.
It wasn’t his fault. None of it was his fault
. Then why did he feel so guilty? Guilty—and angry. Angry at these children who made him feel incompetent, ineffectual. And guilty. Always guilty.

Almost unaware of what he was doing, he placed his fingers on Michelle’s wrist.

Her pulse beat steadily.

Then, as he bent over her, her eyes fluttered, and opened. She looked up at him, her immense brown eyes frightened and filled with tears.

“Daddy? Daddy? Am I all right?”

“You’re fine, baby, just fine. You’re going to be all right.” But even as he spoke the words, he knew they were a lie.

Without pausing to think, Cal picked Michelle up in his arms. She moaned softly, then closed her eyes.

Cal started up the trail, his daughter cradled against his chest.

She’ll be all right
, he told himself.
She’s going to be just fine
.

But as he climbed the trail, the memories came back to him, the memories of Alan Hanley.

Alan Hanley had fallen, and had been put in his care. And he had failed Alan—the boy had died.

He couldn’t fail Michelle. Not his own daughter. But even as he carried her to the house, he knew it was too late.

He had already failed her.

BOOK TWO

MANIFESTATIONS

CHAPTER 10

The darkness was almost like a living thing, curling around her, grasping her, strangling her.

She reached out, tried to struggle with it, but it was like trying to struggle with water: no matter how she tried, the darkness slipped through, flooded back over her, made it difficult to breathe.

She was alone, drowning in the darkness.

And then, as if a tiny glimmer of light had appeared in the blackness, she knew she was not alone.

Something else was there, reaching out to her, trying to find her in the darkness, trying to help her.

She could feel it brush against her, just a faint tickling sensation, at the edge of her consciousness.

And a voice.

A soft voice, calling to her as if from a great distance.

She wanted to answer that voice, to cry out to it, but her own voice failed her; her words died in her throat.

She concentrated on feeling the presence, tried to draw it close, tried to reach out and pull it to her.

Then the voice again, clearer now, though still far away.

“Help me … please help me …”

But it was she who needed help, she who was sinking into the black void. How could she help? How could she do anything?

The voice faded away; the darkness began to brighten.

Michelle opened her eyes.

She lay very still, uncertain where she was. Above her there was a ceiling.

She examined it carefully, looking for the familiar patterns she had identified in the cracked paint.

Yes, there was the giraffe. Well, not
really
a giraffe, but if you used your imagination, it could almost be a giraffe. To the left, just a little bit, should be the bird, one wing stretched in flight, the other bent strangely, as if it was broken.

She moved her eyes, just slightly. She was in her own bed, in her room. But it didn’t make sense. It was at the cove. She remembered. She was having a picnic at the cove with Sally and Jeff, and Susan. Susan Peterson. There were some others, but it was Susan she remembered as the morning came flooding back to her. Susan had been teasing her, saying horrible things to her, telling her that
her
parents didn’t love her anymore.

She had decided to go home. She was on the trail, and she could hear Susan’s voice echoing in her mind.

And then—and then? Nothing.

Except that now she was home, and she was in bed.

And there had been a dream.

There had been a voice in the dream, calling to her.

“Mom?” Her own voice seemed to echo oddly in the room, and for a second she wished she hadn’t called out. But the door opened, and her mother was there. Everything was going to be all right.

“Michelle?” June hurried to the bed, bent over Michelle, kissed her gently. “Michelle, are you awake?”

Her eyes wide and puzzled, Michelle stared up at her mother, seeing the fear that lay like a haunting mask over June’s face.

“What happened? Why am I in bed?”

Michelle started to sit up, but a stab of pain shot through her left side, and she gasped. At the same time, June put her hands on Michelle’s shoulders and gently pushed her back down.

“Don’t try to move,” she said. “Just lie very still, and I’ll get Daddy.”

“But what happened?” Michelle pleaded. “What happened to me?”

“You tripped on the trail and fell,” June told her. “Now just lie still, and let me call Daddy. Then we’ll tell you all about it.”

June left the bed and went to the door. “Cal?” she called. “Cal, she’s awake!” Without waiting for him to respond, she came back into the room to hover once more over Michelle’s bed.

“How do you feel, darling?”

“I—I don’t know,” Michelle stammered. “I feel sort of—” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Numb, I guess. How did I get here?”

“Your father brought you,” June told her. “Jeff Benson came up and got him, then—”

Cal appeared in the doorway, and as Michelle’s eyes met her father’s, she knew something had changed.
It was the way he looked at her, as if she had done something—something bad. But all she had done was have an accident. Could he be mad at her about that? “Daddy?” As she whispered the word, it seemed to echo in the room, and she saw her father step back slightly. But then he came toward her, took her wrist in his hand, counted her pulse, and tried to smile.

“How bad does it hurt?” he asked softly.

“If I lie still, it’s only sort of an ache,” Michelle replied. She wanted to reach up to him, put her arms around him, and be held by him. But she knew she couldn’t.

“Try not to move,” he instructed her. “Just lie perfectly still, and I’ll give you something for the pain.”

“What happened?” Michelle asked again. “How far did I fall?”

“Everything’s going to be fine, honey,” Cal told her, avoiding her questions.

Very gently, he eased the covers back and began examining Michelle carefully, his fingers moving slowly over her body, pausing every few inches, prodding, pressing. As he moved close to her left hip, Michelle suddenly cried out in pain. Instantly, Cal withdrew his hands.

“Get my bag, will you, darling?” He kept his eyes on Michelle as he spoke, and tried not let his voice betray the fears that were building inside him. June slipped from the room, and as he waited for her to return, Cal talked quietly to Michelle, trying to calm her fears, and his own as well.

“You gave us quite a scare. Do you remember what happened? Any of it?”

“I was coming home,” Michelle began. “I was coming
up the trail, sort of running, I guess, and—and I must have slipped.”

His blue eyes clouded with worry, Cal watched Michelle intently. “But why were you coming home? Was the picnic over?”

“N-no …” Michelle faltered. “I—I just didn’t want to stay any longer. Some of the kids were teasing me.”

“Teasing you? Teasing you about what?”

About you
, she wanted to cry out.
About you and Mom not loving me anymore
. But instead of speaking her thoughts, Michelle only shook her head uncertainly. “I don’t remember,” she whispered. “I don’t remember at all.” She closed her eyes and tried to force the sound of Susan Peterson’s mocking voice out of her mind. But it stayed there, crashing around in her brain, nearly as painful as the dull ache that permeated her body.

She opened her eyes as June came back into the room, and watched as her father took a vial out of his bag, filled a hypodermic needle from it, then swabbed her arm with alcohol.

“This won’t hurt,” he promised. He forced a grin. “At least, not next to what you’ve already been through.” He administered the injection, then straightened up. “Now, I want you to go to sleep. The shot will make the pain go away, but I want you to lie still, and try to sleep.”

“But I’ve already been sleeping,” Michelle protested.

“You’ve been unconscious,” Cal corrected her, a smile softening the worry lines that seemed etched into his face. “One hour unconscious doesn’t count as a nap. So take a nap.” Winking at her, he turned and started out of the room.

“Daddy?” Michelle’s voice, sharp in the sudden quiet of the room, stopped him. He turned back to her, his face questioning. Michelle gazed at him, pain clouding her eyes. “Daddy,” she said, her voice now little more than a whisper, “Do you love me
very
much?”

Cal stood silent for a moment, then went back to his daughter. He leaned over her, and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Of course I do, sweetheart. Why wouldn’t I?”

Michelle smiled at him gratefully. “No reason,” she said. “I just wondered.”

As Cal left the room, June came over and very carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. She took Michelle’s hand in her own. “We both love you very much,” she said. “Did something make you think we didn’t?”

Michelle shook her head, but her eyes, moist with tears now, remained fixed on June’s face, as though asking for something. June bent forward and kissed Michelle, her lips lingering on her daughter’s cheek.

“I’ll be all right, Mommy,” Michelle said suddenly. “Really, I will!”

“Of course you will, darling.” June stood up and tucked the covers over Michelle. “Is there anything I can get you?”

Michelle shook her head, then, a thought occurring to her, changed her mind. “My doll,” she said. “Could you get Mandy for me? She’s on the window seat.”

June picked up the doll, brought it to the bed, and placed it on the pillow next to Michelle. Though her face twisted in pain at the effort, Michelle turned Mandy around, tucked her under the covers, then lay
back, the porcelain figure nestled like a baby against her shoulder. She closed her eyes.

June stood watching Michelle for a moment, then, thinking that her daughter had already fallen asleep, she tiptoed out of the room, easing the door dosed behind her.

Cal sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window, his unseeing eyes fixed on the horizon.

It was all going to happen again.

Only this time, the victim of his incompetence was not going to be a stranger, someone he barely knew. This time it was going to be his own daughter.

And this time, there were going to be no easy excuses, no salving of his conscience by telling himself that anybody could have made such a mistake.