At The Stroke Of Madness Part 21

No, wait. It was a voice. She could barely make it out. Quiet and m.u.f.fled, the words didn't make sense as they came through a wind tunnel.

"She's gone."

Her muscles were stiff. Her arms frozen at her sides. There was no willing them to move. Another flash of light and this time it came with a flash of color, blue and a blur of orange.

"No pulse."

She was too tired to ask what the voices meant. She couldn't ask if she wanted to. She had no control of her body. It seemed gone, stolen out from under her. She couldn't feel it or see it.

"She's gone" came the words again, and this time that alarm in the back of her brain said, "They mean you! They're talking about you."

But no. She wasn't gone. She needed to tell them.

"No pulse."

No, wait, she wanted to yell but couldn't because she was floating off in the distance and had no command of her body. They needed to listen to her chest. They wouldn't be able to get a pulse at her wrist. Her heartbeat had slowed down. It was a faint murmur, but it was beating. She could feel it.

"No dilation."

Please, wait. Why couldn't she see them? If they were looking into her eyes, why couldn't she see? The flashes of light. That had to be what it was. Her eyes wouldn't respond. But she was still here. How could she let them know she was still alive?

"She's gone."

No, no, no. Her brain seemed to be screaming it, but it was no use. They believed she was dead. She couldn't see beyond the black. She couldn't make her muscles respond. Her brain seemed to be screaming it, but it was no use. They believed she was dead. She couldn't see beyond the black. She couldn't make her muscles respond.

No, wait. Maybe she was dead.

Wasn't this what dead felt like? A faint consciousness with no control over her body. No body to control.

Oh, G.o.d! Maybe they were right. Maybe she was gone. Gone forever. She felt herself slipping again. She'd close her eyes and sleep some more. Or were they already closed? She slept and woke again when she heard something. Nothing. More sleep. What felt like hours. A warm darkness slipped in tight around her. Liquid warmth ran through her veins. And she felt herself leaving again. Yes, maybe this was what it felt like. No second chances. No warnings. Gone.

Then suddenly she thought she saw...no, it couldn't be. Through a blur of gray haze she saw her father and then she knew it was true. She really was dead.

CHAPTER 71.

"Maggie?"

It hurt to open her eyes. The light blinded her. The images swirled above her head. The humming of equipment filled her ears. And her mouth tasted like rubber and cotton. She tried to focus on the voice and where it was coming from. If it was real. Then she felt someone squeeze her hand.

"Maggie? You have to come back or I'll never forgive you."

"Gwen?" It hurt to talk, but at least she could. She tried again. "Where am I?"

"You scared us, O'Dell."

She turned her head to look up at Tully standing on the other side of the bed. Just the slight turn made her dizzy.

"What happened? Where am I?"

"You're at Yale-New Haven Medical Center," Gwen told her. "You suffered a severe case of hypothermia."

"They had to drain all your blood out of you, O'Dell, warm it up and pump it back in. So you can't complain about being cold-blooded, okay?"

"Very funny." Gwen shot him a look.

"What, we're not allowed to make jokes?"

"You really did have us scared, Maggie," Gwen said, caressing her forehead with the warm palm of her hand.

"What happened?"

"Look, Maggie, you're going to have amnesia and probably not remember everything that happened. We can go through it later when you're stronger, okay?"

"But how long have I been gone?"

"You've been out of it since Thursday."

"What day is it?"

"It's Sat.u.r.day evening, sweetie." Gwen was still holding her hand and smoothing back her hair.

"What about Simon Shelby?"

"That she remembers. Always on duty, aren't you, O'Dell?" Tully smiled. "Maryland State Patrol caught him last night. We're not sure where he was headed. He actually had taken some of his specimens with him in the trunk."

"Specimens?" Maggie asked, trying to fight through the annoying haze.

"We were right," Tully said. "He was cutting out deformed livers, tumored brains, diseased hearts, crippled bones. Meriden's police lab thinks they may have already matched a pair of eyes to that reporter. They're running DNA tests on some of the other pieces. They'll probably be able to match some of them to the bodies in the rock quarry. You should have seen his work shed, O'Dell. Shelves and shelves of jars and containers. It's hard to tell how many victims or how long he's been doing this. And he's not talking. In fact, it looks like he might end up in a padded cell somewhere."

"My guess is it started five years ago," Gwen said, "when his mother died. I talked to a nurse at the local hospital. She remembered Simon Shelby and his mother, Sophie. This nurse told me she even felt sorry for him. The mother was constantly bringing him into the emergency room in the middle of the night. He always complained of terrible stomach cramps, but tests never showed anything out of the ordinary. His mother may have been poisoning him, just like he was poisoning Joan Begley."

"Is she okay?" Maggie asked. "Is she alive?"

"She's alive and she's going to be okay," Gwen said. "She's up at MidState Medical Center in Meriden. It looks like Shelby was giving her low doses of a.r.s.enic. She has a long recovery ahead of her, but they think she'll be okay."

"I thought I died," Maggie confessed. That much she could remember.

"So did the two men who found you," Gwen told her, moving in closer against the bed railing. "Luc Racine told me that he was sure you were dead. They couldn't get a pulse. Your eyes wouldn't respond to light. But he said Professor Bonzado wouldn't give up on you. You're really lucky he didn't, Maggie. Hypothermia can easily disguise itself."

"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 shift 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 pushing 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.