"What is it?" Bekker whispered. "Do you see? Are you seeing? What? What?"
She couldn't tell; and at the end, her eyes, the shine still on them, rolled up, the pupils gone…
"Hello?"
Panicked, he let go of her nose, backed away from the bed, the hair rising on the back of his neck. He was trembling violently, unable to control himself. She was so close. So close.
"Hello-o-o?"
He staggered to the door, barely able to breathe, peeked out. He could see a corner of the nurses' station, but nobody there. Then a woman's voice, two rooms down the hall toward the nurses' station. The nurse: "Did you call me, Mrs. Lamey?"
Bekker chanced it, crossed the hall in three long strides and went out through the internal door. He let the door close of its own weight, let it slide shut with a barely audible hiss, then started down the stairs two at a time. Just as the door shut, he heard the nurse's voice again.
"Hello?"
She must have seen or heard something, or sensed it. Bekker fled down the stairs, the moccasins muffling his footfalls. He opened the door on his floor, stepped through and from far above heard another, more distant "Hello?"
Ten seconds later he was in his office, the door locked, the lights out. Breathing hard, heart beating wildly. Safe. A Xanax would help. He popped one, two, sat down in the dark. He would wait awhile, get his clothes. The MDMA bit him again, and he went away…
Lucas went to pick Cassie up at the theater, and waited while she scrubbed her face, watching again for Druze. And again, Druze was somewhere else.
"How's the play going?" Lucas asked.
"Pretty good. We're actually making some money, which is the important thing. It's kind of funny, has its message. That's a good combination in Minneapolis."
"Sugar pill," Lucas said.
"Something like that."
They ate a midnight snack at a French cafe in downtown Minneapolis, then went for a walk, looking in the windows of art galleries and trendoid restaurants. Two of them featured raised floors, and the younger burghers of Minneapolis peered down at them through the windows, their fat legs tucked under tablecloths almost at eye level.
"I kept looking at Carlo, I couldn't help it," Cassie said. "I'm afraid he's going to catch me and think I'm coming on to him or something."
"Be careful around him," Lucas said. "If he comes to your apartment, tell him you're in the shower, still wet, or something. Or that you've got me in there… Keep him out. Keep the door shut. Don't be alone with him."
She shivered. "No way. Though… there's a funny thing about this. Before I saw those pictures, I might have said, 'Yeah, Carlo could kill somebody.' Now, it's hard to believe that somebody you know could be doing this. Especially the business about the eyes. Carlo doesn't seem out of control; I mean, he could be crazy, but you feel like it would be a real cold crazy. Not a hot crazy. I could see Carlo strangling somebody and never showing any expression: I just can't see him in some kind of frenzy…"
"Could he fake it? Could he be cold enough to do the eyes without feeling it?"
She thought for a moment, then said, "I don't know. Maybe." She shivered again. "But I'd hate to think anybody could be that cold. And why would he, anyway?"
"I don't know," Lucas said. "We don't know what's going on, yet."
At Lucas' house, in the bedroom, Cassie lay on top of him, a compact mass of muscle. She reached down and grabbed an inch of skin at his waist. "No love handles. Pretty impressive for a guy as ancient as yourself."
Lucas grunted. "I'm in awful shape. I sat on my ass all winter."
"Need a workout?"
"Like what?"
"No sex until you pin me for a three-count?"
"Aw, c'mon…"
"You c'mon, wimpy…"
They wrestled, and after a time, but not too long, she was pinned.
Beauty arrived home at about the same time. The night's work had been both frightening and exhilarating. A disappointment in some ways, true, but then again: he could go back. He still had Sybil to do. As Lucas and Cassie made love, Bekker ate two more MDMAs and danced to Carmina Burana, bouncing around the Oriental carpet until he began to bleed…
CHAPTER 25
Lucas heard the first newspaper hit the front porch. That'd be the Pioneer Press. The StarTribune should be ten minutes later. He dozed, half listening, drifting from dream to linear thought and back to dream, dream editing reality, Jennifer and the baby, Cassie, other faces, other times. He inserted the thwap of the StarTribune; but the dream logic wouldn't buy it, and he woke up, yawned and stumbled out to get the paper. At five-thirty it was still dark, but he could see the heavy gray clouds groaning overhead and smell the rain heavy in the air.
Not responsible… Lucas Smith.
He glanced at the comics and went back to bed, falling facedown across the sheets. Cassie's perfume lingered on them, although she'd insisted on going back to her apartment.
"We're getting close on the play. I shouldn't fool around late and get up late. I have to work," she'd said as she dressed.
The perfume was comforting, a sign of society. He slept on her side, dreaming again, until the telephone rang. Startled, he thought, Loverboy, and rose through his dreams and snatched at the telephone, almost knocking the lamp off the bedstand.
"Davenport."
"Lucas, this is Del…"
"Yeah, what's happening?" He sat up, put his feet on the floor. Cold.
"I'm, uh, over at Cheryl's. We were talking last night, and she told me that Bekker has been creeping around her ward. He's been seeing a woman patient almost every day-and the thing is, this woman can't communicate."
"Not at all?"
"Not a thing. Her mind's still okay, but she's got Lou Gehrig's disease and she's, like, totally paralyzed. Cheryl says she's got maybe a week or two to live, no more. Cheryl can't figure Bekker-he's not exactly the social type. Anyway, I thought it might be something."
"Hmph. I got a guy over there. I'll give him a call," Lucas said. "Are you on Druze today?"
"Yeah, I'm about to go over."
"I may see you."
Lucas hung up, yawned, glanced at the clock. After ten, already: he'd slept more than four hours after looking at the paper. He dropped back on the pillow, but his mind was working.
He got up, called Merriam, was told the doctor wasn't in yet, left a message and went off to shave. Merriam called back just as he was about to leave the house.
"There's a woman there I'd like you to check," he said. "Her name is Sybil…"
Lucas stopped at Anderson's office first.
"Where's Druze?"
"Still bagged out at his apartment."
At his own office, the answering machine showed two messages. Loverboy? He punched the message button as he took off his jacket.
"Lucas, this is Sergeant Barlow. Stop and see me when you come in, please." God damn it, he had no time for this. If he could slip out without encountering Barlow… The machine clicked and started again.
"Lieutenant Davenport, this is Larry Merriam. You better come over here right away. I'll leave a note at the desk to send you up. Pediatric Oncology. I'll be out in the ward. Talk to the duty nurse and she'll chase me down."
Merriam sounded worried, Lucas decided. He put his jacket back on and was locking the office door when Barlow came down the steps at the end of the hall and saw him.
"Hey, Lieutenant Davenport, I need to talk to you," he called.
"Could I stop up later? I'm kind of on the run…"
Barlow kept coming. "Look, we gotta get this done," he said, his mustache bristling.