by Rebecca York
“A week.”
“And how long have I been here?”
June tipped her head to the side. “A couple of days, I think.”
“What would you tell me if you could?” Tory tried.
“You’re in danger,” the woman answered, then blinked as though she couldn’t believe what she’d said.
“It’s okay,” Tory soothed. “You said we were friends.”
“How could we be friends?” June said in a vague voice. “I barely know you,”
Tory repressed a smile as she listened to more confirmation of what she’d suspected. She was trying to think of something else to ask when the light from the hall dimmed. Looking up, she saw Ted, the balding man in his sixties who was supposed to be one of the patients. He gave her a sharp look.
“What are you doing?”
She turned one hand, palm up. “Taking care of June.”
“She can take care of herself.”
“She doesn’t feel well. Do you?” she asked the woman next to her.
“I don’t feel well,” June repeated vaguely.
“I’ll take care of her,” Ted said. “You go on. Get out of here.”
“And go where?”
“It’s time for lunch.”
“Oh, uh, right.” Tory stood and walked back to the dining room, where one of the staff was putting plates of food on the table.
“That’s yours,” he said to Tory, pointing to a bowl of soup.
She stared at the chunky meat and vegetables in a thick broth. No way was she eating that.
Robin and Arthur, the younger man, were already there. June plopped down in a seat and stared at the bowl of soup in front of her. It looked like Tory’s, but it would be easy to put in some drug after the soup was in the bowl.
There was a basket of rolls on the table. Tory grabbed two of them.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Robin complained.
“I don’t eat soup,” Tory said.
“What do you mean, you don’t eat soup?” Ted asked.
“Too watery.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Robin answered.
Tory made her voice sound like that of a stubborn child. “Maybe to you.”
“Put a roll back,” Ted ordered.
“No.” Defiantly, she licked both the rolls in her hand.
Robin stared at her. “Ewww.”
Tory dipped her knife into the butter, cut off a large chunk, and slathered it on the rolls, which she then began to eat.
As everyone except June began to spoon up their soup, Tory munched on the buttered rolls.
Ted gave her a dirty look as he took one from the basket. When nobody else touched them, Tory took another.
Nobody spoke again. June was too out of it, and the others probably didn’t know what to say.
Tory pushed back her chair. “Now what?”
“The dayroom,” Ted said.
“Which is where?”
“Across the hall,” he answered, not bothering to ask why she didn’t remember.
They all went into a large room with sofas, a television set and several board games.
“Want to play checkers?” she asked Arthur.
He shrugged. “Why not.”
He grabbed the checkerboard and a box of red and black disks, and they sat down at a card table.
June lolled against the sofa cushions. Robin and Ted both inspected the paperbacks on the bookshelves, made selections, and settled into comfortable chairs.
She sat across from Arthur, moving checkers around, but her mind was spinning. Dr. Raymond thought she had some information about Denato—something she really didn’t know. It sounded like he thought she could identify the murderers. But the shooting had happened only a couple of days ago. And this place must have already been set up for her. The murder couldn’t be it. Or what if two of Denato’s men were planning to attack him—and she knew who they were? That might make sense. But she still didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know Denato’s men, and she hadn’t seen the murder.
A sharp voice from the doorway made her head jerk up.
“I understand you didn’t eat your lunch, Tory.”
It was Dr. Son of a Bitch, and his expression told her that the vacation from interrogation was over.
Chapter Fifteen
Tory tried not to cringe as she saw that Raymond’s gaze had never left her.
“I wasn’t hungry,” she murmured.
“We pride ourselves on offering our patients a balanced diet here,” he said. “Come to my office.”
Would it do her any good to resist? What if she tried to dodge past him? But that would only make him angry. When she recalled a couple of movies she’d seen where they tied mental patients down and gave them cold-water baths—or electroshock therapy, she shuddered.
“What?” Raymond demanded.
“Nothing,” she said in a small voice. She knew all eyes were on her as she walked reluctantly toward the door. June seemed to have recovered somewhat. How many hours ago had Tory switched drinks with her? Three? That might be a clue to how long the damn medication lasted.
She followed the doctor into his office, wishing she could slug him with the paperweight on his desk. But she’d have to worry about the consequences.
He gestured for her to sit in the chair she’d occupied the day before.
A knock at the door made her glance up.
“Come in,” the doctor called.
One of the attendants entered, carrying a tray with what looked like the same soup they’d had at lunch. Stupid move, she thought as he pulled over a small table and set down the tray. He gave her a triumphant look before leaving.
“Eat,” Raymond ordered.
“Why don’t you just inject the stuff into me?” she asked.
“What?”
“I know you’re trying to drug me.”
“That’s a paranoid thought,” the doctor shot back.
“But true.”
“Eat.”
She dipped her spoon in the soup and took a small swallow. It was rich and meaty, but she thought she could detect a taste that shouldn’t be there. Shuddering, she put down the spoon. “I’m not hungry.”
“But you will eat your lunch.”
She spooned up a little more, sipping tentatively, thinking about June seeing dinosaurs in the yard. The doctor’s eyes stayed on her, and she was forced to take a little more and then a little more. How long could she string this out before he came over and held her nose to force her to drink?
Another knock at the door gave her a small reprieve. It was one of the security men. “I’ve got the specs you wanted,” he said to the doctor.
“Not now. Just do it.”
“I want authorization for the expenses.”
“All right,” Raymond muttered, standing up and starting toward the desk.
As the doctor passed her, Tory stuck out her foot, connecting with his lower leg. He stumbled, catching himself on the little table in front of her. As he righted himself and let go of the table, Tory gave it a push, and it went over, spilling the soup on his beautiful Oriental rug.
He spun toward her, his eyes blazing. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You stuck out your foot. Then you knocked the table over.”
“You knocked it over.”
“That’s a paranoid thought,” she said in a mild voice.
She saw him struggling to banish his angry expression. Turning from her, he marched to the desk, where he signed the paper the man had brought. As he handed the paper back, he said, “Send someone in here to clean the rug.”
“Yes, sir.”
The doctor remained standing with his back to Tory while she sat in the chair with her heart pounding, wondering what he was going to do. Finally, he turned and faced her.
“I think the best thing is for you to go back to your room for now.”
She fought not to let her relief show.
“But you did give me an idea,” he said. “A shot of medication will be an excellent idea.”
The words felt like a sudden torrent of ice water had splashed down on her. Lord, no!
Raymond turned again, picked up the phone and spoke in a voice too low for her to hear.
In a few minutes, three of the attendants came into the room. One had a bucket and several terry cloth towels. The other two walked toward her, lifted her up and set her on her feet. Then they marched her to the door, into the hall and toward the stairs.
Moments later, she found herself in her room, starting to feel shaky and disoriented. She had eaten a little of the soup, and she recognized the symptoms. The drug was working on her.
She turned to face the door, waiting for Raymond, but he didn’t come in immediately.
The cell phone on one of the men buzzed, and he stepped into the hall to answer it. Then he gestured toward his companion, and they both stepped out of the room.
Tory was left alone, but for how long?
oOo
Raymond had intended to prepare a shot for Tory, although he did have the problem of how much to give her. She’d eaten a small amount of the soup, and it could be dangerous to mix medications. He didn’t really care what that would do to her in the long run, but it might not be productive right now. If he put her out, he wasn’t going to get any information at all. Probably he should wait a couple of hours.
She could stew up there in her room, waiting for him to come back with the needle.
Before he had made up his mind, there was another knock at the door.
“Come in,” he called in exasperation, thinking that his office was getting more traffic than a highway rest stop.
It was Harrison, Costa’s second in command.
“What is it now?”
“Where the ground is soft, we can follow the wolf tracks into the forest.”
“You know where the animal went?”
“It may take some time to find out. But Smith is an excellent tracker. He can probably follow the trail—if we don’t get that rain.”
Raymond thought about the pros and cons. Sending one of the men would leave them short-staffed, but if they could find where the animal had gone, that might solve a major problem.
“Okay, send him,” he said, thinking that success would depend on several factors.
How far had the animal traveled? And what if he’d walked through a stream or something to disguise his route? Would an animal be smart enough to do that? Not if it really were just a dumb beast, but a werewolf would have human intelligence.
Raymond wanted to laugh at that last thought. How could you believe in werewolves in the modern world? Or any world. They were just creatures of the night, conjured up in the minds of superstitious men—to explain things they couldn’t account for in any other way.
Logic told him that had to be true. Yet he was left with a nagging doubt that gnawed at the edges of his conviction like the sharp teeth of a wolf.
Chapter Sixteen
Tory lay back on the bed. She should stay prepared for Raymond to come back with a hypodermic, but she simply couldn’t hold her focus.
June had seen animals outside the window that couldn’t be there. Tory wasn’t seeing anything she thought was imaginary. The room was the same. But her vision was blurry, and she felt her senses swimming. She tried to steady herself, but she couldn’t do more than grip the sides of the bed, which was rocking like a boat.
She pushed herself up, knowing that she couldn’t just stay here, defenseless—waiting for the doctor to do something worse to her mind.
Staggering to the bathroom, she took the plastic cup from the sink and set it on the tile floor, smashing her foot down and shattering the plastic. It wasn’t as good as glass would have been for cutting someone, but she knew it could do damage.
She took the biggest piece, careful not to cut herself as she staggered back to the bedroom and flopped down. The weapon made her feel better. If Dr. Son of a Bitch came in with a needle, she’d cut his eyes out.
But to be ready when he arrived, she had to stay awake.
She lay on the bed feeling it rock under her, clutching the glass in her hand like a talisman, praying that she could stay conscious and praying that Brand was on his way back. She’d tried to eat as little as possible of the damn soup, but the drug had apparently screwed her up anyway.
Her eyes drifted closed, and she was lost to the world.
oOo
Brand had taken down his tent and packed up his camping equipment, then carried everything back to the car. He drove out of the national forest, looking for a town large enough for a home improvement center or a hardware store. He found one in Trumansburg, and bought the supplies he’d decided he’d need. Then he drove to an outfitter where he could get some quick snacks like jerky and trail mix that they might need. A wolf could always hunt, but only when he was alone.
He tried to stay focused on business, but Tory kept invading his thoughts. What was happening at the facility? Was she safe? Would she be in the same room when he arrived?
There was no way to answer any of those questions. All he could do was try to plan for all contingencies. Which was impossible, of course.
But he kept considering problems. Like—how much would Dr. Son of a Bitch beef up security after the incident last night? And what conclusions had the doctor drawn from the invasion?
After his shopping trip, he started looking for the right spot to leave the car—a parking lot as close as possible to the fake sanatorium. In addition, he also needed a place where he could conveniently change to wolf form. After he got Tory out of that hellhole, he’d drive her to Maryland, and they’d try to figure out who had hired Raymond to interrogate her.
Once he’d parked, he wanted to get on with the rescue mission. But it was still full daylight, and he needed darkness to make his approach to the sanatorium.
He kept busy arranging supplies in the wolf backpack that he and his cousins had devised.
Finally, he was out of things to do. Knowing he was going to need his wits about him tonight, he cranked the seat back and closed his eyes. But he was too keyed up for sleep.
Just after the sun set, he locked up the car and walked into a dense patch of underbrush, where he hung the backpack on a low branch of a seedling tree before taking off his clothes and saying the familiar chant.
Coming down on all fours, he felt the freedom of the wolf form—until he had to struggle into the straps of the pack. It fell off the branch once, and he had to pick it up in his mouth and hang it up again. The second time he was more careful, and finally he was able to wiggle into it before he started out toward Dr. Raymond’s madhouse.
Even though he’d driven closer, he was an hour away, and it was full dark by the time he arrived at the instillation.
His first nasty surprise was the amount of illumination. Last time it had been dark until the guards had seen the wolf. Now it was all lit up, like a baseball stadium for a night game. They were waiting for him, which made him wonder what other plans they had made.
He circled around the fence, studying the compound, and located the generator that was supplying the place with electricity. He could take it out, but not yet.
As he moved along the perimeter, he looked toward the caged balcony where he’d first seen Tory. He’d hoped she’d be waiting for him, but he saw no one up there. Was she being cautious, or had something bad happened?
His chest contracted painfully. He couldn’t find that out until he got inside.
He drifted back into the woods and found a thicket where he was screened from the compound. Reversing the process he’d used earlier, he used branches to help ease off his backpack. As he started to say the chant of transformation in his mind, he saw a man moving through the trees, gun in hand, and he understood with a flash of dark insight that he’d underestimated the response to last night’s incident.
Was this the only guard in the woods, or wer
e there more? Whatever the answer, he’d better take care of this guy before he did anything else.
He moved silently through the underbrush, his wolf senses on alert as he circled around in back of the quarry. He was just about in range when he stepped on a small fallen branch that snapped under his weight.
The man whirled, and Brand chose to spring, taking the man down before he could fire. Tonight there was no reason to hold back. This bastard had signed on to help keep a helpless woman captive while a sadistic doctor tortured her.
Brand went for the throat, chomping through flesh and bone, allowing himself to unleash his savage anger.
When the man went still, Brand grabbed the back of his shirt, dragging him into the thicket where he had intended to change form. The guy would be missed. But how long before he was supposed to report in?
The only thing Brand could do was move up his timetable. He snatched up the backpack he’d left on the ground, then trotted farther from the compound where he found another suitable tangle of underbrush.
After making sure no one was watching, he went through the ritual, standing as he gained his human form. Quickly he opened the backpack and took out a shirt, pants, and shoes which looked a lot like what the guards were wearing.
He pulled them on before heading for the fence, watching for guards as he planned his next moves.
Timing was everything now, and he was glad he’d been careful to pack the knapsack in the order he thought he’d need equipment.
He pulled out a cigarette lighter, then the fireworks he’d bought in town. After lighting the fuses, he walked rapidly around the property, dropping rockets at various locations.
Small explosions tore through the night, and he saw men exiting the gate and running toward what they assumed was an invasion force. As they vanished, he used the wire cutters to make a hole big enough to slip through. His next stop was the generator, where he disabled the “on” switch.
The interior and exterior lights in the compound instantly went off, and he heard shouts from inside the house.
“What the hell just happened?”
“Turn on the lights,” a sharp voice ordered.
