"Fu-uck." The word came out funny, with a kind of "whoa, dude" cadence that reminded him of his high school days. He would have laughed if he'd had the strength.
He lay there with the phone to his ear, breathing, listening to the silence. "Fu-uck," he repeated, and then hung up. The hand with the phone dropped to his stomach. He was drifting away when he remembered that Gillian had left her pager number too.
Chapter 20
Gillian's beeper went off.
Automatically, she reached out and silenced it. Pressing the button, she checked the caller's illuminated number.
Gavin.
The digital display read 3:46.
Not wanting to wake up Holly, she fumbled in the dark for her mobile phone. On her back, head against the pillow, she flipped it open and pressed the button to check her voice mail. There was one message, sent at 3:41. She punched in her PIN code, then listened to a long silence followed by a mumbled "Fu-uck."
According to the caller ID, the message was also from Gavin. No surprise there. He was known for his eloquence.
But had that fuck sounded strange? Thick? Groggy?
She sat up cross-legged in bed and punched his number. He didn't have voice mail or an answering machine, so she listened to endless ringing. She hung up and tried again. "Come on, you idiot. You just paged me."
No answer.
She sat there, trying to figure out what to do.
She could call the police and request that someone check up on him, but it could be nothing, just another one of the weird things Gavin did. Or he could be smoking p6t. If that were the case, he'd be sent back to prison.
With a resigned sigh, she got out of bed and searched for the clothes she'd worn earlier.
After getting dressed and strapping her Smith amp; Wesson to her ankle, she gave Holly a gentle shake. That was followed by a much harder shake when the girl failed to respond.
"Huh?" Holly said groggily.
Gillian leaned close and whispered, "I have to go look in on a friend." She mentally calculated how long it would take to get to Gavin's. "I should be back within two hours. If not, I'll be here before school starts."
Holly didn't answer.
Gillian shook her again. "Holly? Did you hear me? Don't leave the house without me."
"Uh? Oh, yeah. Back before school starts. Gotcha. Ten-four, Eleanor."
Gillian grabbed her coat and hurried from the room. Outside, she spotted the detectives parked halfway down the block. The night was cold and silent, and she could see her breath as she hurried to her car.
On the way to Gavin's, she pulled out her phone and tried his number again. Two miles later, when she didn't get an answer, she disconnected.
At least the traffic wasn't bad. She made it to Gavin's in under fifteen minutes.
She pulled to an abrupt halt next to the curb. All of the houses in the block were dark except for Gavin's. She hurried to the door and knocked. She hadn't expected an answer and didn't get one. She tried the doorknob.
Unlocked.
"Gavin?" She opened the door-and let out a startled gasp.
Lying on his back in the middle of a broken table was Gavin. Dressed in nothing but a pair of tattered jeans, he was unconscious, his face white, his lips blue. Beside him was an empty whiskey bottle. In the air hung the earthy, cloying scent of pot.
She ran to his side and dropped down next to him, grabbing him by the arm. His skin was ice-cold. "You idiot!" she shouted. She examined his hands: his fingertips were blue. Trembling, she felt for a pulse and thought she detected a weak flutter. She lifted his lids and checked his pupils. Pinpoints.
She pulled out her phone and dialed 911.
"This is Agent Cantrell of the BCA," she said when the operator answered. "I have an overdose victim with me. Request immediate transport."
"Do you know what the victim has taken?" the operator asked.
"No." She looked around and spotted a square of tinfoil in the litter surrounding him. Inside was a white powder residue. "Cocaine, maybe. Or heroin."
The operator double-checked the name and address and dispatched an ambulance.
Gillian disconnected. It could be too late by the time they got there. It could be too late already.
She punched number three on her speed diaclass="underline" Mary's mobile phone.
Fortunately Mary slept with her cell phone on; she answered before the second ring.
"I'm at Gavin's house," Gillian said, shaky and breathless. "He's overdosed."
"Have you called 911?" Mary's voice sounded sleep-tinged but alert.
"They're on their way."
"I'll be right there."
Mary disconnected and quickly slipped into some clothes. She was heading out the bedroom door when Blythe met her in the hallway. "What's wrong?" With a white-knuckled hand, she clutched her robe together at her throat. "Is it Gillian?"
"Gillian's fine," Mary reassured her. "But Gavin Hitchcock overdosed. Gillian's at his house waiting for the ambulance, and she needs somebody there with her."
"I'll come too. Let me throw on some clothes." Blythe had started to turn back to her bedroom when Mary stopped her.
"Mom, stay here. You don't want to see this." Mary experienced a sudden, sweet ache that was the love of a daughter for her mother. Such things came at the strangest of times. She smiled softly. "You don't always have to be the mom."
Blythe's arms dropped to her sides. "You're right," she said in relief. "I'll wait here. Call me when you know something."
Mary kept the speedometer between seventy and seventy-five the entire way. She took 35W to 94, then 94 to Snelling, quickly cutting over to Midway. She reached Gavin's house just as the paramedics were wheeling him out the door, Gillian following. Mary ran across the lawn. "Is he still alive?" One of the attendants held an IV drip while two others loaded him into the back of the ambulance.
"Barely," Gillian said. "They gave him an injection of naloxone. I told them about his epilepsy, but that's the least of their concerns at the moment." She pressed a hand to her mouth. "It's my fault. I know it's my fault."
Mary wasn't going to stand there and watch Gillian flog herself. "Do you have to take responsibility for every idiot who comes along? This is nobody's fault but Gavin's."
Gillian wouldn't listen. She shook her head, saying, "You don't understand."
The ambulance was ready to leave. "What hospital?" Mary shouted at the attendant.
"Holy Cross."
"We'll meet you there."
The ambulance took off.
"I have to get my coat and phone."
Mary was waiting in the yard when she heard a high-pitched scream come from deep within the house. She pulled her gun and ran into the building, almost colliding with Gillian, who stood in the living room, her fuzzy teenybopper coat held limply in one hand, her gaze directed down the dark hallway.
"Did you scream?" Mary asked.
"Please. I haven't screamed since I was twelve." Gillian pointed. "It came from back there." She dropped her coat and hurried down the hall. Mary followed. At the bathroom door, Gillian paused and looked inside. Empty. She continued to the bedroom, coming to a halt in the open doorway.
"Oh my God."
Mary looked over her sister's shoulder.
In the muted light cast by a gauze-covered lamp, she was able to make out the nude body of a young girl tied to the bed by her wrists. Scattered across her body and the stained, sheetless mattress were red rose petals.