Omega Blue

by Mel Odom

  Wilson tried not to let his feelings of guilt and pain show in his voice. “What’s that on her head?”

  “Protective headgear,” Holland answered. “This past week she’s gotten in the habit of pounding her head up against the walls.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know. Doc Culley ordered the headgear to make sure Kasey didn’t hurt herself. She didn’t seem to like it at first, but now she’s incorporated it into her actions. She hits the walls harder now than she used to, but the headgear keeps her protected. While you’re in there with her, you might keep an eye out. A couple days ago she caught me not looking and popped me in the mouth. Loosened a couple teeth. She’s a strong kid.”

  “Thanks.” Wilson reached for the door.

  “Hey.”

  “Yeah?”

  Holland fished in his pocket and came out with a plastic bag with chocolate chip cookies the size of half dollars. “She’s had her lunch, but she might like the cookies to munch on.”

  Wilson took the cookies and nodded. “Appreciate it, Neil.”

  “No prob, guy. She’s one of my favorite kids.’’

  Wilson didn’t figure there were any kids in the center who weren’t one of Holland’s favorites. He let himself into the room, aware of the smack of leather against plastic at once. “Hey, Kasey, how’s Daddy’s little girl.” He made his voice light and kept talking to her the way Dr. Culley had suggested.

  Kasey made no response, just kept thudding her head against the wall.

  “Hey, kid, I missed you. And I brought you something, too.” He tossed the gift onto the bed as he picked her up in his arms and held her close.

  Kasey fought against him at first, using her hands and feet to pummel him as she tried to gain leverage to free herself. Her head swung wildly as she arched her back and twisted like a cat.

  Wilson hung onto her with difficulty as he made his way to the bed. He sat down cross-legged on the floor with Kasey in his lap. She was agitated now, and began emitting a series of clicks and whistles that didn’t sound human. “Hey, take it easy. It’s Daddy. I came to see you like I told you I would. Just let me hold you for a little while.”

  She swung her head at him, bouncing it solidly off his chest.

  He pulled her closer with one arm, and her immediate response was to fight more, then he took her hand in his and rubbed it along the brushed denim shirt. Kasey tried to pull her hand away, but he kept it there.

  “Easy,” he whispered, his voice tight with the emotion. “Easy. It’s just Daddy. I love you. I love you, Kasey.”

  Gradually she calmed down. The bouncing of her head against his chest grew lighter until she just lay against him. Her hand, now free, trailed across his shirt, back and forth, as she was captured by the texture and feel of the denim material. He hadn’t noticed, months ago, that she’d developed a fascination for the shirt until Dr. Culley had told him.

  Still talking soothingly to her, he changed his daughter’s diaper, then gave her the wrapped gift. He sat on the floor and held her, talking to her nonstop as he opened the package for her and revealed the stuffed dolphin. He squeezed its tail and showed her how the eyes lit up and dolphin squeaks issued from it.

  Kasey held it in both hands without looking at it. Her fingers explored every inch of it.

  Wilson kept up his dialogue. Autistic children were still a mystery to modern medicine. No one knew where autism came from or how it could be cured. He hugged Kasey frequently to let her know he was there despite the daydreams or nightmares holding her mind prisoner.

  After a while, tired from her struggles and stuffed with chocolate chip cookies, she slept. Wilson remained seated on the floor listening to Kasey’s soft snores against his chest. He didn’t remember going to sleep with his arms around her.

  *

  Dinner came at six.

  Wilson ate with his daughter, taking time to make sure she’d eaten everything she wanted. Blair came in while he was clearing the dishes away.

  His ex-wife was beautiful. Her dark hair cascaded to her shoulders, framing a lean-shaped face that was tinted with just the right amount of makeup. She wore a strapless white evening gown that showed off her legs and bare back and made her tan look even better. She stopped just inside the door and looked down at him as he piled the dishes on one side and kept Kasey and the dolphin on the other.

  “I’m surprised to find you here,” Blair said in an accusatory tone.

  Wilson didn’t rise to the bait. His ex-wife was still battling her own private demons, and he’d learned it was best to keep from getting involved.

  “Slow day for crime?” she asked. She fumbled with her purse, took out a pack of cigarettes, and lit up.

  “I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t smoke around Kasey.”

  “Wrong. You agreed. I didn’t.”

  “It’s not good for her.”

  “Neither is an absentee father.”

  Wilson finished with the dishes and pulled Kasey back into his lap.

  “We all know how the absentee husband role played out,” Blair said.

  Almost two years had passed since Vache had informed Wilson about Blair’s affair with a Washington, D. C.-based agent. The pain had been blunted over time, but it hadn’t completely gone away. It had taken most of that time for Wilson to learn to stop blaming himself. That was made a little easier by Blair’s decision to put Kasey in Schaeffer Center six months after their separation. Once the divorce had been granted, Blair’s attorney had arranged for child support and alimony that made sure his ex-wife could live in reasonable comfort in the house Wilson was still paying for. With her free life-style now out in the open and paid for, their daughter had become an inconvenience.

  “Don’t you have somewhere else you’re supposed to be?” Wilson asked.

  “Not for another hour and a half. Senator Tipton’s throwing a gala bash at his house. A lot of celebrities supporting the Greening of America environmental movement are going to be there.”

  “Still moving in the upwardly mobile strata, I see.”

  “After you, there was nowhere to go but up.”

  Wilson wanted to walk away, but Kasey was clinging to the brushed denim shirt with both fists. He stroked his daughter’s hair and felt her warm breath against the inside of his wrist.

  “How long has it been since the last time you saw her?” Blair asked. “Five days? Six? Maybe a week or more? Do you even remember?”

  “Go away, Blair.”

  “You can’t tell me to leave. I have custody of her.”

  Wilson glared at her. “You had custody, but you decided to sign that over to this hospital.”

  “She was too hard to manage.”

  “On your schedule, I don’t doubt it.”

  Blair smiled. “Oh my, can’t we be catty when we choose to be?”

  Wilson remained silent. He’d never achieved even a remotely tenable position when arguing with his ex-wife.

  “These little sporadic visits of yours aren’t doing her any good, you know,” Blair said. “Every time I come in, I check the toy box to see if there’s a new addition. That’s how I know you’ve been here. All you’re doing is trying to assuage your own guilt over your inability to commit to another person.”

  Wilson refused to reply. She knew he was trapped by a catch-22: if he accepted a demotion to spend more time with Kasey, his insurance would be cut and he wouldn’t be able to make the maintenance costs on the center.

  There was a rap on the door, then Dr. Davette Culley let herself into the room. She was a shade under five and a half feet tall, and was slender, with a runner’s physique. Her sandy hair was pulled back in a French braid. Her brown eyes flicked around the room casually, and Wilson knew she could sense the tension there. The blue hospital scrubs she wore looked professional and flattered her figure at the same time.

  Wilson could tell that Blair was aware that the doctor’s slim build made her full-figured one look almost plump. It wasn’t true, but it t
roubled Blair’s ego.

  “Mr. Wilson,” Dr. Culley said, “I’d like to talk to you briefly about your daughter.”

  “Sure.”

  “Mrs. Wilson, you’re welcome to stay, but I won’t be discussing any material that we haven’t covered before.”

  “No thank you,” Blair said. “I’ve got somewhere else I’ve got to be.” She started for the door.

  “There’s no smoking in the halls,” Culley said. “You’ll find an ashtray just down the corridor.”

  Blair gave the doctor a hard glance; she left the room.

  The smile Culley gave Wilson was warm and generous. He liked thinking that Kasey got to see that smile a lot. It beat the plastic grins on the walls and what he feared Kasey got from her mother.

  “There’s no way you could have missed the headgear,” Culley said.

  “No,” Wilson agreed.

  “Let me put your fears aside on that first.” Culley knelt in front of Kasey and touched her face softly. “There’s nothing wrong with Kasey, but she has developed some new habits we haven’t seen before.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure. It could be she’s learning something about the world inside her mind, or maybe she’s trying to break free of some of the things holding her inside. She’s more emotional at times than I’ve ever seen her before. Last week I saw her crying.”

  Wilson tightened his grip on his daughter unconsciously. Kasey squirmed in his arms until he loosened back up. “Was she in pain?”

  “No. Not that we could diagnose. But it could be a breakthrough of some sort. Good things sometimes happen out of the blue, as well as bad ones. Her condition isn’t worsening, and we may even be gaining some ground. We just don’t know yet.”

  “Is she responding any better to the therapy?”

  Culley smiled sadly and shook her head. “It’s so hard to be sure in these cases. I choose, however, to think positively. I want you to try to do the same.”

  He nodded.

  “She really seems to appreciate your visits though. After you leave, the next morning when she wakes up, she usually makes her way to the toy box and lies on the stuffed animals for hours at a time. Neil has told me she gets very agitated if she’s moved to be changed or fed until she chooses to move on her own.”

  Wilson swallowed with difficulty.

  Culley sat cross-legged on the floor and took Kasey’s hands in hers. “I think she misses you when you’re gone.”

  “I’m here as much as I can be.”

  A look of concern flashed through Culley’s eyes. “Don’t take that as a criticism. I know you’ve got a difficult job. What I wanted you to understand is that whether you’ve seen it or not, you’ve built a bond with your daughter that she doesn’t seem to have with anyone else.”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  Culley smiled. Wilson decided that the woman was probably his age or a little younger. He wondered if she had children; he’d never seen a wedding band on her finger.

  “I think her fixation with the stuffed animals is because your cologne is on them,” Culley said. “I believe she identifies that smell with you, the same way she’s learned to identify you by that shirt.”

  “Maybe you should have been a cop.”

  “Theoretical medicine and detective work have a lot in common.” She smoothed a stray lock of hair that was sticking out from under Kasey’s headgear. “I’m talking to a colleague of mine about an innovative new procedure regarding autism. You’re familiar with virtual reality?”

  He nodded. “We use some aspects of it at the Bureau.”

  “My friend is Dr. Richard Means. Lately he’s finished devising a program that has been approved by the FDA for testing virtual reality on human subjects. If it works the way he expects it to, it might open a door for Kasey and other children like her.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It creates a world that will hopefully bridge the gap between the one we live in and the one the autistic child is trapped by. Part of it comes from biofeedback we get on the subject’s brain waves. The other part comes from guesswork on the part of Dr. Means and his associates. What it takes, though, is a young subject who’s been able to bond with someone. There has to be that emotional anchor.” Culley hesitated. “I’ve nominated you and Kasey to work with Dr. Means and his staff when the time comes.”

  Wilson was silent for a moment. “Why a young subject?”

  “An older autistic person has dwelt too long in the world inside their head. In order to open them up to the world we have out here, it might be necessary to tear down the existence they’ve woven for themselves. It would take much longer to get results, and perhaps prove too emotionally unsettling for them to handle. Dr. Means feels that children would be the most resilient.”

  “How soon will they be testing?”

  “Maybe a matter of weeks.” Culley paused. “There would be a certain amount of risk to you too. But there’s no one else I see that could possibly guide Kasey out of her dreams.”

  “My ex-wife has custody of Kasey.”

  “We’ll have to work that out with her before we can start.”

  “I’ll find a way to convince her,” Wilson said, wondering if that would be possible.

  “Good. I’ve seen Dr. Means’s work. When you have time, I’d like to show it to you. I think you’ll feel even more confident about our chances. Just keep in mind that this isn’t a quick fix. There’ll still be a lot of work ahead of us.”

  “I’d like the chance to tell Kasey how I feel about her.”

  Culley patted Kasey on the head and smiled. “I’m sure she already knows.”

  Kasey’s head started thudding against Wilson’s chest as Culley got up to go. He watched the doctor leave the room and started ranking improbabilities in his mind. He didn’t know whether to file them chronologically, or by degree of difficulty. Between the House subcommittee, the snarl of criminal activity spinning out from Sebastian DiVarco in Boston, bringing Quinn Valentine on-board the team quickly, and convincing Blair to give permission for the new virtual reality therapy, he figured his highest hurdle would be his ex-wife. At least with the other problems he’d been able to work out some strings he could pull. But of course that didn’t mean the string pulling would turn out to be profitable. And he’d be reaching for the first string tomorrow afternoon.

  10

  “Okay, guys and dolls, belly up to the center stage, because it’s time for our evening Hot Buns contest!”

  Bob McDonald dodged through the crowd swarming toward the stage, holding his cup of black coffee as he headed for the last place he’d seen Lee Rawley inside the singles club. Mac wore a dress shirt, no tie, jeans, and a Toronto Blue Jays windbreaker covering the Delta Elite in a shoulder rig; he felt out of place among the other patrons.

  Clad in shiny leather pants, a soft neon green silk shirt, and a bomber jacket with the collar turned up, Rawley fit in with the night crowd. His mirror shades were dulled and blank. “Wait long?”

  “Only for service. What’s up?”

  “Guy that owns this place is named George Haldane,” Rawley said as he turned and walked down a small hallway leading to the rest rooms. “Besides running a string of singles clubs along the East Coast, George is also known to traffic in false IDs and passports.”

  “The Koreans didn’t have anything on them.”

  “No.” Rawley led the way to the end of the hallway, where a steel door was marked: NOT AN EXIT—EMPLOYEES ONLY. “But Maggie got the numbers of the license plate of the van that attacked her and January and the state police in Atlanta.”

  “I thought that plate couldn’t be traced.”

  “It wasn’t,” Rawley agreed. “At least not by anybody at the Bureau. I know some people who’ve got better systems than the FBI does. I leaned on a couple of them this afternoon.”

  “Haldane fixed the van’s plates.” Mac put his coffee cup on a trash bin by the door.

  “I don’t know.” R
awley reached inside his jacket and took out a lock-pick set. He had the lock open in seconds.

  Mac slipped his hand under his windbreaker and gripped the butt of the Delta Elite as they went through the door. “Then what are we doing here?”

  “This deal’s big enough that if Haldane didn’t cut himself a piece of it, he’ll know who did.”

  “We don’t have a warrant.”

  “If we tried to get one based on what I turned up, the judge wouldn’t give us the time of day.”

  “Right.”

  “And Haldane has a fleet of lawyers who deal with crap like this for him.”

  “But Haldane owes you?”

  “Haldane owes somebody who owes me.”

  “Oh.” Mac resigned himself to the fact that part of Rawley’s mystery was going to remain mysterious.

  Three short flights of stairs led them up to the next floor. The hallway was softly lighted by low-wattage bulbs. Mac understood why when he saw the one-way glass tilted at a forty-five-degree angle overlooking the dance floor. A track ran around the inside and the panes of one-way glass were a continuous flow of silvery glaze. Speakers were mounted every twelve or fifteen feet and broadcasted the events taking place below. Mac wondered where the security personnel that should have been stationed at this level were.

  Rawley hit the top of the stairs and instantly turned left.

  “Okay,” the speakers boomed as they walked past, I got these lovely ladies up onstage just waiting for a judge to evaluate them and find out who has the hottest buns tonight. The first man who can bring me a woman’s undergarment gets to be the judge.”

  A general roar issued from the crowd. Mac shook his head in disbelief as he saw one woman drop to her back on the floor and start shimmying out of her pants while the men around her urged her to move faster.