The Third Eye

by Lois Duncan

  “That’s probably true,” Rob acknowledged. “Whether it was a coincidence or not, though, the fact is that you were the one in charge, and you were the one who was taken. You got to see the couple, the man as well as the woman. You’ve had personal contact with the kids. You were able to locate Carla when you didn’t even know her…”

  “No!” Karen exploded. “I’m not going to try that again. You don’t know what that experience was like for me. If you did, you’d never even suggest it.”

  “Will you do me one favor?” Rob asked her. “Will you give me one hour and come with me to talk with somebody?”

  “Not if it’s one of the parents,” Karen said. “I can’t take that. It would be like reliving that morning at the Sanchezes’.”

  “This isn’t one of the parents. It’s Anne Summers.”

  “The psychic you told me about?” Karen regarded him with surprise. “I thought she was supposed to be in Dallas.”

  “She was,” Rob said. “She’s back now.”

  “Then why don’t you get her to track down the children?” Karen demanded. “That’s what she does, isn’t it? That’s her profession.”

  “That’s not her profession,” Rob said shortly. “Anne donates her services, without charge, because she feels it’s her duty. She’d be helping us this time if she could, but she’s in the hospital. Two nights ago, somebody shot her.”

  CHAPTER 15

  A uniformed police officer occupied the chair outside the door to Anne Summers’s hospital room. He and Rob seemed to know each other, and they exchanged greetings.

  “How’s she doing?” Rob asked.

  “Okay, I guess,” the other officer told him. “The doctor was in and out a while ago. He says this is one tough lady.”

  “We knew that already.”

  “Yeah, but, tough or not, it’s no fun stopping a bullet. It’s damned lucky she was holding that bag in front of her.”

  Rob nodded in agreement. “Is there anybody in there with her?”

  “Not at the moment,” the other man said. “Her husband left right after you did to get some dinner. Their son was here for most of the afternoon, and he’s coming back later. The doc’s cracking down on visitors. He says that just because she’s out of intensive care doesn’t mean she can handle a lot of talking.”

  “This is Karen Connors,” Rob told him. “Mrs. Summers asked specifically to see her.”

  “Have you checked with the doc about it?” the man asked doubtfully. “I don’t want to be caught in the middle on this one. You’re not even on duty now, are you?”

  “There won’t be a problem,” Rob assured him. “We’re only going to be here a couple of minutes.”

  Before the other cop could argue any further, he rapped on the door, hastily shoved it open, and stepped inside, motioning to Karen to follow him.

  The room that they entered was decorated in standard hospital style, with stainless steel furniture, pale green walls, and white, double-layered draperies sheathing the window. A single bed on rollers jutted out from one wall, and there was a curtain drawn partway around it. A shelf along the top of the opposite wall held a potted plant and two vases of multicolored flowers. An inactive television set was positioned on a shelf directly across from the bed. Rob pushed the door gently closed behind them. The click of the latch falling into place seemed startlingly loud.

  There was a moment of silence.

  Then Rob said softly, “Anne? Are you awake?”

  “Is that you, Robbie?” The voice that responded was low-pitched and hoarse, as though it had not been used for a while. “I’m awake, but not for long, I’m afraid. They fed me some pills. Were you able to bring the girl?”

  “She’s right here,” Rob said.

  “Well, get her over here where I can see her. It’s Karen, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” Rob said. “Karen Connors.” He put his hand on Karen’s arm and drew her over to the opening in the curtain.

  The woman who lay in the bed was singularly unremarkable in appearance. She had a round, pleasant face, wide-spaced hazel eyes that seemed to be struggling to focus, and a mouth that was a bit too large to synchronize with her other features. The hair that lay across the pillow was chestnut colored and lightly frosted with gray.

  “Well, here she is,” Rob said. “This is Karen. Karen, meet Anne Summers, my tenth-grade English teacher.”

  “Your teacher!” exclaimed Karen. “You never told me that!”

  “I told you I’d known her since high school.”

  “Yes, but I thought, I mean, I took it for granted that what you meant was that you were friends. Teachers aren’t—they aren’t supposed to be—”

  “They aren’t supposed to be psychics?” Anne Summers’s gravelly voice completed the statement. “Is that a rule you’ve learned somewhere? If so, please, tell me about it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Karen said in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to sound so stupid. I was just surprised, I guess. You aren’t what I expected.”

  “I knew what you meant,” the woman told her. “I was giving you a hard time, that’s all. I’m good at that, aren’t I, Robbie? I gave Rob a hard time nonstop for the two semesters I had him in my class. He was a difficult student, always wanting to spell things his own way. I wouldn’t let him get away with it.”

  “Enough of that,” Rob said lightly. “I didn’t bring Karen here so you could ruin my reputation.”

  “No, of course, you didn’t,” Anne Summers said. “You brought her so I could get a look at her. Can you help me find my glasses? I can’t imagine where that nurse could have put them.”

  “Are these them?” Rob picked up a pair of wire-rimmed bifocals that lay in plain sight on the bedside table.

  “These are they,” the woman corrected him. “It’s humiliating to have such poor eyesight that you can’t see well enough to find your glasses unless you’re wearing them.” She reached up to take them from him, and Karen saw that her hand was shaking.

  “I don’t know why I’m so much weaker tonight,” Anne said apologetically as she fumbled the glasses into place on the rim of her nose. “It’s probably too much bed rest. I’m not used to that. Step nearer, Karen, so I can get a real look at you. Rob was right; you certainly are pretty. How old are you?”

  “Eighteen,” Karen told her, flushing at the unexpected compliment.

  “That’s the age I was when I took on my first case.”

  “I’m not taking on a case,” Karen said quickly. “I don’t know what Rob’s told you, but I’m not a real psychic the way you are. There was a mix-up about what went into the paper.”

  “Rob’s told me all about that,” Anne Summers said. “The mix-up was in the fact that the article got into the paper at all, not in the story itself. You did find the child who was missing, didn’t you?”

  “She was dead,” Karen said. “She’d drowned in the river. My finding her was not a kindness to anybody. It would have been better if she hadn’t been found.”

  “That’s not true,” Anne said. “Not knowing—that’s the ultimate nightmare. Can you imagine what life must be like for parents who wait month after month, year after year, for children who never return? The poor child’s mother had to be permitted to let go of hope. Still, it’s painful, always so painful, when a search ends in tragedy. You will never fully get used to that, Karen. With time, though, you will grow strong enough to bear it.”

  “I don’t want to be that strong!” Karen exclaimed. “I don’t want to be a psychic!”

  “Of course you don’t,” Anne Summers said. “It’s a hellish responsibility, being born with a third eye. There’s actually a theory that psychic ability is an inherited trait. My grandmother had the gift.”

  “Well, I’m sure mine didn’t,” Karen said, “or my mother would have told me about it. And however it is that people get it, I don’t consider a ‘third eye’ a ‘gift.’ ”

  “You might as well, dear,” Anne said reasonably. �
��From what Rob’s told me, you’re very definitely endowed with one. You’ll find it pleasanter, under the circumstances, to think of it as a gift than as a curse.”

  “We’re not going to be allowed to stay very long,” Rob said. “If there are things you want Karen to know—”

  “Yes, let’s get down to business.” Anne spoke with sudden briskness. “As you can see, Karen, I’m out of commission. It’s a miracle, in fact, that I’m even alive. After dinner the other evening, I turned on the outside light and stepped out the kitchen door to carry out the garbage. Someone was waiting in the shadows at the corner of the house. As luck would have it, the sack I was carrying contained a broken coffeemaker. That slowed the force of the bullet and deflected it.”

  Karen regarded the woman incredulously. “What sort of maniac would shoot somebody without any reason?”

  “There was a reason,” Anne said. “I was becoming too much of a threat. I’d been getting too close and learning too much.”

  “I told you about the kidnapping in Dallas,” Rob said to Karen. “That’s the case Anne’s been working on.”

  “The vibes were strong,” Anne said. “That was one of those cases where the feelings just kept coming. I didn’t even have to reach for them. I stood in that nursery next to those empty cribs, and it was as though the children were still in them. I could even see the couple who had taken them. If I were able to help with this new investigation, I’m almost certain I could find them.”

  Karen stared at her.

  “You mean you think those Texas people took our babies also?”

  “Yes, I do,” Anne said. “The situations are so similar. With the Texas kidnapping, both a man and a woman were involved. They worked as a team, with the woman infiltrating the nursery and the man doing the driving. Rob says it was that way here.”

  “What did the couple look like?” Much as she hated to be drawn any further into this, Karen found herself incapable of turning away from it. “Was anyone at the nursery able to describe them?”

  “They never saw the man,” Anne said. “My feeling is that he was heavyset and had a beard. The members of the nursery staff who had contact with the woman guessed her to be in her late thirties. She wore a bandanna, which hid her hair color. I feel sure, though, that it was red.”

  “Then they couldn’t have been the same couple,” said Karen. “The man who tied me up was bearded, but the woman’s hair was almost exactly the same shade as mine.”

  “The woman was a redhead,” Anne repeated with certainty. “Perhaps she’s dyed it to fake a family resemblance to you, but its natural color is red. The car they were driving was some sort of truck. No, strike that. Actually I think it was more of a bus or a van. It was blue, and the people had put mattresses in the back.”

  “You think the couple in Dallas drove a van?” Karen shot a startled glance at Rob. “Those people today were driving a blue van.”

  “I know that,” Rob said, “but I didn’t tell Anne.”

  “There were mattresses,” Anne repeated, ignoring his interruption. Behind the lenses of her glasses, her eyelids were fluttering strangely and her voice had changed. It had taken on a rich, crooning quality that sounded the way woodsmoke smelled. “They drove those babies a long, long way. They took them into another state. When I looked into my mind to try to find them, I saw a mountain rising above a string of foothills. There was snow on its peak. You don’t find scenery like that in Texas. There is a house, and the children fall asleep there to the sound of rushing water. There aren’t as many there now as there once were. People keep taking them.”

  The doorknob rattled.

  Startled, Karen turned in time to see the door thrown open. A tall, gray-haired man in a white doctor’s coat stood in the doorway.

  His face was flushed, and his eyes were bright with anger.

  “What are you people doing here? Only immediate family members have access to this room.”

  “I’m Officer Robert Wilson,” Rob began defensively, “and we’re conducting an investigation—”

  “I know who you are,” the man said icily. “I met you with Chief Garrison. In case you’ve forgotten, I am Dr. Prior, the surgeon who removed a bullet from this woman’s abdomen. I informed you earlier, and I am now informing you again, that my patient is in no condition to have visitors.”

  “I asked them to come,” Anne volunteered.

  “Mrs. Summers is a psychic,” Rob said. “We think the person who shot her was trying to keep her from helping the police.”

  “Then he’s done what he set out to do,” Dr. Prior said. “As Mrs. Summers’s physician, I care more about her health than about your investigation. Besides that, I was present this afternoon when Chief Garrison informed you that you were being removed from the kidnapping case. You have no authority to be in this room, and I want you out of here.”

  “Anne,” Rob said, “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” Anne said. “I couldn’t have talked much longer anyway. Thanks for bringing your friend. Karen, good luck to you. Sleep well tonight, and dream.”

  “Good night,” Karen said. “I hope you’re better soon.”

  Out in the hospital corridor, the uniformed officer who had been so friendly upon their arrival was now bristling with hostility.

  “You didn’t tell me you were off this case, Wilson,” he said accusingly. “You know the doc is going to go call Garrison.”

  “I had to go in there,” Rob told him. “It was important for me to see Mrs. Summers. You don’t need to get stuck with the blame. Say I lied and shoved my way past you.”

  “Rookie cops don’t decide what’s important,” the other man said. “If you join the force, you play by the rules.”

  “Then maybe I shouldn’t be on it,” Rob said. “If the chief wants to talk to me, I’ll be over at my brother’s.”

  He reached for Karen’s arm, got a death grip on it, and began to propel her rapidly down the corridor toward the elevators. The clock on the wall by the nurses’ station read eight thirty-seven. Visiting hours were now over, and they passed other departing visitors in a steady stream. From the open doorways on either side of the hall there came the murmur of live voices blended with the canned discord of an assortment of television programs.

  “Slow down,” Karen said. “Please, Rob, I can’t keep up with you.”

  For a moment, she thought he was going to ignore her. Then, abruptly, he slowed his stride and released his hold on her arm.

  “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “I’m mad as hell, but not at you.”

  “If it was that doctor who made you so angry—”

  “It wasn’t,” Rob said. “Not the man himself, I mean. He was just doing his job. It was his timing—bursting in like that right when Anne was really getting rolling.”

  “She was worn out,” said Karen. “We were pushing her too hard.”

  “I don’t think we were. She wanted to talk. It was the medication that was making her groggy.”

  “Why did you do it?” asked Karen. “Why did you bring me here, when you knew you weren’t supposed to? Why pretend you’re assigned to this case if you really aren’t?”

  They were standing now in front of the row of elevators. Rob reached across and gave a vicious punch to the down button.

  “Anne asked me to bring you,” Rob said. “I’d told her about finding Carla. She said then that she wanted to meet you. When this happened today, it made it imperative. Anne can’t work, and you can.”

  “But you’re off the case now,” said Karen. “At least that’s what that doctor said. Is that the truth?”

  “Yes,” Rob admitted, “but what does that matter? I knew Anne Summers long before the police department ever even heard of her. I can talk with her as a friend and former student.”

  “That’s not how it was, though,” said Karen. “You came to my house tonight in uniform. You made it sound as though you were there on official business.”

  “I had to,” Rob
said without apology. “If I hadn’t, your parents would never have let you come with me.”

  “But you had no right—”

  “I do have a right!” Rob said belligerently. “I’m involved in this! I don’t need to be authorized by anybody!”

  Karen stared at him in bewilderment.

  “You care so much?”

  “You’re damned right, I care!” Rob told her. “Matthew Wilson is my nephew!”

  CHAPTER 16

  Sleep well tonight, and dream.

  It did not happen immediately. For the early part of the night, Karen lay comatose, drugged by sheer fatigue, sunk in deep drifts of sleep so thick and all-encompassing that they provided insulation from the world. In the later hours, however, she slid from a condition of total oblivion into a second state of slumber. It was at this point that the dreams that had been lying coiled beneath her pillow began to emerge.

  The first of the images were not her own. A snowcapped mountain loomed ahead of her, but it was not her mountain, it was Anne’s; and the house that lay beyond it was the house that Anne had described to her. The van parked out to the side had no letters on its side. It was the van that Anne had envisioned; its floor was covered with mattresses.

  Karen thought, at first, that the river might be Anne’s as well. Viewed, rippling and swirling, from a distance, it might have been any wild river, drunk on the juices of springtime. As she drew nearer, however, she began to see that what had originally appeared to her to be froth was composed of tiny white bodies clad in diapers and nightgowns.

  It was then that she knew that this river had not been inspired by one of Anne Summers’s visions. A pair of child-size sandals lay on its pebbled beach.

  It was the sound of the river that woke her. The rush of water, cascading over rocks, tugging at tree roots, hurling itself against the bank and bouncing back again, was horribly familiar. The noise rose in her ears to a thunderous roar and threw her violently awake.