‘Laura just called from Australia,’ he began slowly, his strength ebbing away with each word. ‘David’s dead. He got caught up in some powerful current and drowned.’
Despair swept through Gloria. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. Not David. Not the only man her sister had ever loved. Not the only man who had ever treated Gloria like a person, the only true friend she had ever had.
She broke then and ran to her father on frail legs, the tears already starting to pour down her face.
It just couldn’t be.
T.C. sat next to Laura on the plane. She had barely spoken since he had delivered the news, asking only one question:
‘When can I see the body?’
T.C. had hoped she would not ask that question. ‘There’s no need,’ he had said gently.
‘But I want – ’
‘No you don’t.’
T.C. had taken care of the rest of the details quickly. He knew that David had no real family to contact. His only living relative was Stan, his piece-of-shit brother who none of them had seen for over a decade and who would probably applaud David’s death. No need to contact that scumbag. T.C. had also been busy making sure the press did not hassle Laura too much. He knew that once Laura returned to Boston, the press vultures would be all over her, wanting to know the tiniest tidbit of how it felt to have your heart ripped out of your chest. He decided the best thing would be to hide Laura in Serita’s apartment for a little while, but T.C. knew from past experience that the press could only be denied for so long.
He turned toward her. He had been searching his brain, desperately trying to think of a way of easing some of her pain. His eyes watched her, concentrated on her every movement as if they would give him a clue as to what he should do. It was a useless exercise and T.C. knew it.
Damn you for doing this to her, David. Damn you.
He also knew what Laura was thinking under the haze of anguish because he was one of the few people who knew the truth about David and his affliction. He had witnessed its awesome effects firsthand. He had seen it nearly kill his best friend.
But Laura had put that all in the past, thank God. Somehow, she had sought and eventually destroyed the evil spectre that had tormented David Baskin for a good portion of his life. But still, they were haunted by the fear that the spectre would one day return. Was the spectre truly dead, they wondered, or like some Godzilla sequel was he just hiding, regaining his strength, preparing to one day attack with a vengeance that would destroy David once and for all?
And the more immediate question that T.C. knew Laura was asking herself: Had the creature paralyzed David’s body in a wave of unbearable agony while he tried to handle the treacherous waters? If she had stayed with him, could she have done something to protect her beloved David from the cruel creature within?
T.C. reached out and patted her hand. He wanted to tell her to stop thinking such thoughts. He wanted to tell her that David had not had another attack. He wanted to tell her that there was nothing Laura could have done to change what had happened.
But of course, he could not tell Laura any of those things. She would never just accept his word. She would demand to know how he knew so much about David’s drowning.
And that was something he could never tell her.
Dr James Ayars had seriously considered canceling all his appointments for the day. It was something he had not done in over twenty years, not allowing himself to become ill during that entire time period. He had always prided himself on being punctual. Every Monday through Friday – save his three weeks’ vacation each year – began with hospital rounds at seven thirty in the morning, followed by his first office appointment at nine, his last one at four thirty, another quick visit to the patients in the hospital, and then back to his home on the outskirts of Boston. If a day was to be missed for personal reasons, he gave his patients and staff at least two months’ notice.
There had been very few deviations from this routine during the last two decades, but the phone call he had received from Laura yesterday was as much a cause for deviation as anything he had experienced during that time. It had left him saddened, confused, so much so that even a man as disciplined as he considered not going in to work. He had just wanted to stay in bed and deal with the harsh blows.
In the end, he had realized that staying at home would serve no purpose. It would only leave him time to brood when what he needed was to keep his mind and soul busy. He had called Gloria’s psychiatrist – even with her enormous improvement Gloria still needed therapy – and told her what had happened. Her psychiatrist had wanted to see Gloria right away.
He pushed his chair away from his desk. There were patients waiting. Mr Campbell was waiting in room five and Mrs Salton was in three.
The phone buzzed.
‘Dr Ayars?’ the box cawed.
‘Yes?’
‘Your wife is on line two.’
‘Thank you.’ He swallowed away his fear, picked up the receiver, and pressed the flashing light. ‘Mary?’
‘Hello, James.’
‘Where the hell are you?’ he asked. ‘I was trying to reach you all night. I thought you were staying at the Four Seasons.’
‘They were having some sort of wild convention. Noise all night long so I moved over to the Hyatt.’
James closed his eyes and rubbed them. He did not mention that there had been no listing under her name at the Hyatt either. ‘I have some rather bad news.’
There was a pause. ‘Oh?’
‘It’s about David.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘He’s dead.’
‘Oh my God! How? Was it… was it suicide?’
Predictable enough response, James thought. ‘He drowned off the Australian coast.’
‘But he was such a good swimmer.’
‘I guess he misjudged the current.’
‘Or…?’
‘Or what?’
‘How awful,’ she continued. ‘How’s Laura handling it?’
‘I don’t think it’s fully hit her yet. David’s friend T.C. is there with her. He’s handling all the arrangements.’
‘She’s going to be devastated, James. We have to help her through this.’
‘Of course we will.’
‘She’ll snap out of it,’ Mary said hopefully. ‘She’s always been a very strong girl.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he replied without much enthusiasm.
‘I’ll catch a flight back home tomorrow.’
‘Do you want me to meet you at the airport?’
‘No need, James, I’ll grab a cab at Logan.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you then.’
He hung up the phone, leaned back and took a deep breath. Mary had never been a very good liar. She had not even bothered to ask why Laura and David were in Australia. James Ayars looked down at his hands. With some surprise he realized that they were shaking.
Stan Baskin woke up with a start. He tried to remember the dream that had caused him to wake, couldn’t, then gave up. What’s-her-name in the bed next to him was still asleep, thank God, her face turned away from him. He tried to remember what she looked like, couldn’t, then gave up.
He must have been having a nightmare about last night’s Red Sox game. Damn, that had been a sure thing. Stan had studied the match-up carefully and had concluded that there was absolutely no way the Brewers could beat the Sox. Milwaukee could never hit a lefty pitcher with a 7-0 lifetime record against them. Combine that with the way the Sox had been beating up Brewer pitching and then add that they were playing in Fenway Park. It was a sure thing.
The Sox had lost 6-3.
Stan had dropped a thousand bucks on that game. And even worse, the B Man (so named because of his fondness for breaking bones) was after him just because Stan had been late on a few payments. Stan knew that all he needed was one more chance. He knew that today’s game between the Houston Astros and the Cards in St Louis was a sure thing. Mike Scott was ready to explode. He may even hurl a no-hitter against St Louis today. And there was a horse in the fifth at Yonkers Stan absolutely loved.