Bloodline rj-11

by F. Paul Wilson

  Levy's face was alabaster white now. Even his lips.

  "Look, I'm in this as deeply as you. The agency will want to know who wrote that letter and I'll be the first one they come to."

  "And you'll tell them…?"

  "Nothing. What can I say about you without incriminating myself?"

  Just what Jack wanted to hear.

  "Good. Because if they come looking for me, I'll flip you in a New York second—as the source of the letterhead, all the DNA information, etcetera. I suggest you get back to your lab and start deleting certain results. I go down, you go down. Remember that." He waved at the test card between them. "And remember this."

  Levy swallowed. "Will do."

  "Good." Figuring he'd made his point, he pointed to the agglutinations. "Does this mean I'm one of them?"

  "Them?"

  "Someone in the Jonah Stevens's line?"

  "In his direct bloodline? I doubt it. But somewhere in the distant past you might have shared an ancestor."

  Jack sighed. "Swell."

  "This test is qualitative and only crudely quantitative. Come by my office someday after this all settles out and I'll run a full analysis."

  "That's okay."

  "I'm serious.

  "I'm sure you are."

  "But—but don't you want to know if you carry the trigger gene?"

  Jack gave him what he figured was a bleak look. "You really think that's necessary?"

  Levy looked uncomfortable and averted his eyes.

  "No, I guess not."

  "Neither do I."

  4

  Dawn awoke choking and gagging.

  "Wha—?"

  She was wet—totally soaked—up to her chin in water—pinkish water—

  She bolted upright and raised her arm. The cut on her wrist hadn't like healed or anything, but it had stopped bleeding. Maybe a little oozy trickle, but nothing of any consequence.

  A while ago she'd felt herself weakening, so when she'd closed her eyes she'd thought she was slipping away. But she guessed all she'd done was doze off.

  She looked around. She was alone, but somehow she didn't feel alone. Like someone was here—or had just been here.

  Come to think of it, she'd had a vague sense of someone standing beside the tub looking down at her just before she'd come fully awake. She straightened in the tub. And the feeling of a hand on her head, pushing her down…

  But that was crazy. No one was here, and no one besides herself was trying to hurt her. In fact, when her lips sank beneath the surface it had awakened her and—

  Then she realized the truth and screamed and slammed her hands against the bloody water.

  Failed again. What a total loser! Might as well paint a big red L on her forehead. God, she hated herself more than ever now.

  She looked around for the razor blade. Where was it? She'd show them.

  When she couldn't find it, she tried to pull herself to standing but fell back in the tub, sloshing water all over the place. So weak. She must have gotten like halfway to dead. Just a little ways to go. If she could find the blade she could finish the job.

  Then she saw it, lying on the bottom of the tub. She reached for it, but stopped.

  Who was she kidding? No way she was going to cut herself again. It hurt too much.

  She began to cry—huge racking sobs that rippled the water around her. She had to end this. She had to find a way. And then she knew.

  5

  Jack had left Levy at the diner and spent what was left of the afternoon and the early evening searching for Dawn—but circumspectly. He couldn't ask too many questions, couldn't put word out on the street. Not with the agency looking too. If they heard someone else was asking about the same girl, they'd want to know who that someone might be.

  Whatever. The search had been fruitless. Dark had fallen with not a sign of her Jeep. For all he knew she'd left the state. But that seemed unlikely. She had no family. Where could she go except home or to a friend? No sign of her at home, and Christy had said she didn't have many friends, but that didn't mean she wasn't crashing somewhere.

  Jack had a feeling she wasn't far from home. So he kept searching. Sooner or later he'd spot that Jeep.

  But not in the dark.

  The Queensboro Bridge loomed ahead. And beyond that, the blaze of Manhattan. Gia would be waiting, but he couldn't face her now. She'd know immediately that something was wrong and quiz him till he told her. He had to get used to this oDNA thing.

  Used to it… odd way to think. He'd carried it all his life but now he had to get used to it. No, he had to get used to knowing about it.

  He called her and told her he'd be spending the night at his own place.

  "How come?" she said.

  "This thing I'm working on. I might get called during the night and I don't want to disturb the whole house."

  He didn't mind lying to other people, but he hated lying to Gia. Some-times the nature of his business made it necessary. Tonight the reasons were personal.

  "Don't worry about that."

  "It's better this way."

  A pause, then, "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  "Something's wrong, I can tell. You're in danger, aren't you, and you're afraid to bring it here."

  "No, it's nothing like that, I swear."

  They went round and round on that for a while until Jack semicon-vinced her that he wasn't in danger and that everything was cool. He ended with a promise to see her tomorrow—if not for breakfast, definitely for lunch.

  He hung up and approached the on-ramp to the bridge feeling like he'd swallowed fishhooks.

  6

  Go jump off the Brooklyn Bridge … what a total cliche.

  But why not?

  Except she'd just driven over the Brooklyn Bridge and didn't see any way to jump into the river off its raised walkway. So she'd headed uptown.

  But now, as she drove along, she had this weird growing sensation that she was being followed. Very much like the feeling she'd had in the bathroom when she'd felt she wasn't alone. Had Jerry somehow spotted her?

  Feeling totally freaked, she locked her doors and pulled over to let traffic pass and see if anyone else stopped. But everyone behind her went by and kept on going.

  Must have been her imagination.

  She parked her car in a garage near the Queensboro Bridge. Who cared what it cost? She wouldn't be around to pay for it. Then she started walking toward the center of the span among the bicyclists and other pedestrians, mov-

  .

  ing slowly, stopping every so often to rest. So tired. She hadn't lost enough blood to kill her, just enough to make her weak. The center was so far. Half a mile at least.

  Nice going, Dawn. Talk about doing a half-assed job.

  Just her luck she'd pass out before she reached the middle. The EMTs would arrive, see the cut on her wrist, and take her to the loony bin in Bellevue where she'd be locked in under a suicide watch.

  Yeah, that would be perfect. Totally in keeping with the mess she'd made of the rest of her life—mess up her death too.

  No, not this time. But when she reached the middle—what?

  She hadn't counted on the chain-link fence. It had to be like seven or eight feet high. She'd have trouble climbing that on a good day. Today—forget about it.

  But she had faith in the destructiveness of some of her fellow New Yorkers and in the quality of the city's maintenance: Somewhere along the way she'd find a gap large enough to squeeze through.

  As she neared the middle she found one. She could do this. All she needed to do was climb to the top of the chest-high railing, squeeze through the opening, and take that one giant step. That was all. Just one step and gravity would do the rest. She'd read where people who jumped from this high hardly felt a thing—like hitting a brick wall at a hundred miles an hour. Or something like that.

  She waited for a break in the pedestrian traffic. Not too many strollers at this hour. She'd never walked the bridge b
efore so she had no way of knowing if this was a light night or a heavy night. No matter. As long as they gave her enough time to climb the railing and—

  Climb the railing. Oh, God, could she even do that? She felt so weak.

  She shook her head. She'd find a way.

  She looked around. Nobody nearby on either side, nobody closer than half a football field. This was it, this was her chance. Do it now or never.

  As she stepped onto the first of the three railings she heard a voice behind her.

  "Dawn! Dawn, thank God I've found you!"

  She turned and saw a big black car. It had stopped and a man was looking at her through the open passenger window. She couldn't quite make out his fact;.

  "How—how do you know my name?"

  "I worked for your mother. She hired me to investigate your boyfriend."

  Dawn screamed, "Then it's your fault!"

  He shook his head. "We both know whose fault it is."

  His words cut so much deeper than the razor ever had.

  "Me? You think it's my fault?"

  He opened the passenger door. Cars started backing up behind him. Long, angry honks filled the air but he didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care.

  "Not at all, Dawn. You were a pawn. Jeremy's to blame."

  A line from the letter flashed in her brain: The man you know as Jerry-Bethlehem…

  "Jeremy? Is that his real name?"

  The man nodded. "A creep with a long ugly history."

  "And I totally fell for him. Like a jerk."

  "He has a natural talent for seduction. Get in and I'll tell you all about him."

  The light wasn't good, but she could see now that he had dark hair and soft eyes. The other drivers were swerving around him, honking, screaming, giving him the finger in various combinations.

  He smiled as he glanced at them, then sniffed. "Road rage… it adds a certain sweet tang to the air, don't you think?"

  When Dawn saw him rising out of the car she pressed back against the fence.

  "No. Don't come near me! I'm so ready to do this and no one's gonna stop me!"

  He stood by the open door and raised his hands.

  "Not one step closer, I promise. Just listen."

  Something in his voice, his eyes… he was kind of good looking but not too. She had an odd feeling she could trust this man. But—

  "Nothing you can say is gonna change my mind."

  A guy on a bicycle slowed as he approached. He was looking straight at her.

  "Hey, you gonna jump?"

  "No, she is not," the man said. "Keep moving."

  The cyclist speeded up as he passed, muttering something about never having any luck.

  The man said, "Your mother asked me to look after you."

  "What? You're lying!"

  "I didn't understand it myself at the time, but now I believe she had a premonition that she was going to die. She said if anything happened to her I was to find you before you did anything foolish—"

  "No way! Now I know you're lying. She—"

  "Those were her exact words—I swear. She seemed to sense that you'd blame yourself for whatever happened to her and she wanted you to know that she never stopped loving you."

  Dawn began to cry. "I totally hurt her! I deserve to die—I need to die!"

  "She seemed to know you'd feel that way." His voice was like a soothing caress, stifling her sobs, drying her tears. "And she wanted me to tell you th^lt if you love her, you will not do this."

  "But I have to!"

  "She's watching you, Dawn." He pointed toward the night sky. "From up there. She was a good woman. Don't you think she's suffered enough? Do you want to compound her misery by making her watch you die?"

  "But then I can be with her!"

  He shook his head. "I wouldn't be too sure of that. From what I've heard and read, suicides aren't treated too kindly in the afterlife."

  She'd heard that too. Totally.

  He said, "Don't you think it's time to stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about your mother—what she might want?"

  "Yeah… I guess. But how do I know what she wants?"

  "Easy. She told me she wants you safe and asked me to keep you that way."

  Dawn bristled. That totally sounded like Mom—no faith in her.

  "I can take care of myself."

  "Not with Jeremy on the loose and looking for you."

  Panic jolted through her chest. Jerry… Jeremy… she remembered that look in his eyes when he learned she was thinking of an abortion.

  … if you ever do any thin to hurt my baby, you will wish you'd been born dead, darlin…

  She felt the tears welling up again.

  "What am I going to do?"

  The man turned and opened the rear door of his car.

  "Allow me to take you to a safe place until that monster is found and brought to justice."

  Dawn stared at the open door. It looked warm and safe in there. But could she trust this man?

  She looked into his eyes—fell into them was more like it. Two warm, welcoming pools of comfort and safety. No hint of danger there. He wanted only to protect her, wanted only what was best for her. And he knew so much about her. He had to be Mom's investigator.

  Yeah, she could trust him. Totally.

  As she took a step forward he made a flourish toward the rear seat.

  "Your carriage awaits, madam."

  He offered his hand as she tried to climb up from the walkway. He was strong, practically lifting her through the air. A few steps and she reached the car. As she ducked her head to enter, chill spiders of foreboding ran over her skin. She hesitated.

  "I don't—"

  She telt his hand against her back—not pushing… guiding.

  "Go ahead, Dawn"—his voice was a warm pool, his touch balm, banishing her fear—"everything will be all right now."

  Right… nothing to be afraid of. She slipped inside and settled onto the soft leather of the seat.

  The car darkened as the door clicked shut behind her—darker than she would have expected. Tinted windows maybe? The blaring horns silenced as if someone had twisted a volume dial.

  She realized with a start that she wasn't alone in the car.

  7

  "Now what?" Jack said as traffic on the bridge slowed.

  Another accident? Couldn't people pay attention when they got behind the wheel? City traffic was bad enough without dumbasses banging into each other.

  He reigned in his irritation and forced himself to relax. He wasn't on the clock, nowhere he had to be.

  Chill.

  Then he felt a chill—literally. A vaguely familiar one, last experienced in January when Rasalom had paid him a visit to sup on his rage, grief, and despair. Emma was gone and Gia and Vicky were on the fast track to join her. Jack had provided a movable feast of negative emotions.

  And this was very much like the chill he'd experienced as Rasalom had fed.

  Was he nearby?

  8

  Alarm raced through Dawn as she noticed another man sitting in the driver seat.

  "What—?"

  "Not to worry," the first man said as he climbed into the front passenger seat and slammed the door. "This is my driver, Henry."

  Henry nodded without looking around. Dawn heard the doors auto lock. She tried her handle—useless.

  "Am I locked in?"

  "What?" The man laughed, sounding embarrassed. "Oh, sorry. Child locks."

  "You have kids?"

  "Not yet, but I've had some young passengers recently. Don't think of it as keeping you inside—consider it protection against anyone getting in from outside."

  "This is so totally weird. I don't even know your name."

  He reached his hand back. It held a card. She took it and angled it into the scant light coming through the side window.

  MR OSALA

  That was it—no phone number, no address, just his name.

  "It doesn't say you're a detecti
ve."

  Henry put the car in gear and they began to move.

  "That's because I'm many things. Sometimes I'm an investigator, and sometimes I'm a guardian—like now."

  "You mean like a bodyguard?"

  "Exactly."

  "Are you taking me home?"

  "Not at the moment. That would be unwise. Jeremy knows wh^re you live."

  ""Yes, but-—"

  "Your mother wanted me to keep you safe, and the best place to do that right now is my place."

  A warning bell rang.

  "Your place?"

  Another laugh. "Not to worry, I have no designs on you. You'll be staying in a beautiful duplex penthouse on Fifth Avenue where my staff will take excellent care of you."

  Duplex penthouse? Fifth Avenue? Staff?

  "You sound like totally rich."

  "I am."

  "Then why—?"

  "—am I helping you? Because that is my mission in life—I exist only to help those in need. I was helping your mother, now I'm helping you."

  She hesitated to ask, but he knew everything already, so why not?

  "Do you think you could help me get an abortion?"

  A pause, then, "I don't think that would be a good idea at the moment."

  "Are you totally kidding? I thought you knew the story here."

  "I do. I know—how shall I put this?—I know that the child you carry is also a sibling."

  Dawn thought about that. Yeah, he was right. How totally gross and sick.

  "Right. So then you can understand why I want it gone."

  "Yes, but the child is your protection. Jeremy wants that child and will do you no serious harm while you carry it. Think of it as an insurance policy. If you abort it—"

  "But I want it gone, out of me. He told me he'd been fixed but that was obviously just another of his lies."

  And I swallowed every single one, she thought.

  She wanted to retch. Lies weren't the only things she'd swallowed.

  "There will be plenty of time to terminate the pregnancy once he's caught. As soon as we hear of his capture, I shall personally take you to a private clinic that will fulfill your wish."

  "When do you think that'll be? I want this so over with."

  "Not too long. And who knows? In the meantime you might change your mind and spare the child."