{"id":4343,"date":"2026-01-04T00:20:21","date_gmt":"2026-01-04T00:20:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/bloodstream-gerritsen-tess\/"},"modified":"2026-01-04T00:20:21","modified_gmt":"2026-01-04T00:20:21","slug":"bloodstream-gerritsen-tess","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/bloodstream-gerritsen-tess\/","title":{"rendered":"Bloodstream – Gerritsen, Tess"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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\nBLOODSTREAM<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

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\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nBY<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nTESS GERRITSEN<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

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\nPROLOGUE<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

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TRANQUILITY, MAINE, <\/p>\n

\n1946 <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

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\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

\nIf <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

she was still enough, quiet enough, he would not find her. He might think he knew all her hiding places, but he had never discovered her secret niche, this small hollow in the cellar wall, concealed by the shelves of her mother\u2019s canning jars. As a young child she had easily slipped into this space, and every game of hide and seek had found her curled up in her lair, giggling at his frustration as he thumped from room to room, searching for her. Sometimes the game Would go on so long she\u2019d fall asleep, and would awaken hours later to the Sound of her mother\u2019s voice worriedly calling her name. <\/p>\n

Now here she was again, in her cellar hiding place, but she was no longer a child. She was fourteen and barely able to squeeze into the niche. And this was no lighthearted game of hide and seek.<\/p>\n

She could hear him upstairs, roaming the house, searching for her. He rampaged from room to room, cursing, slamming furniture to the floor<\/p>\n

\nPlease, Please, please. Someone help us. Someone make him go away.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

She heard him roar out her name: \u201cIRIS!\u201d His footsteps creaked into the kitchen. Approached the cellar door. Her hands balled into tight fists, and her heart was a banging drum.<\/p>\n

\nI am not here. I am far away, escaping, soaring into the night sky…<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

The cellar door flew open, slamming into the wall. Golden light shone down, framing him in the open doorway at the top of the stairs.<\/p>\n

He reached up to pull on the light chain and the bare bulb came on, dimly illuminating the cavernous cellar. Cowering behind the jars of home-canned tomatoes and cucumbers, Iris heard him descend the steep stairs, each creak bringing him toward her. She pressed deeper into the hollow, flattening herself against the crumbling stone and mortar, and closed her eyes, willing herself to be invisible. Through the slamming of her own heartbeat she heard him reach the bottom of the steps.<\/p>\n

\nDon\u2019t see me. Don\u2019t see me.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

The footsteps moved right past the canning shelves and headed toward the far end of the cellar. She heard him kick over a box. Empty jars shattered on the stone floor. Now he was circling back, and she could hear his harsh breathing, punctuated by animal grunts. Her own breaths were coming short and fast, her hands clenched so tightly she thought her bones would shatter. The footsteps moved to the canning shelves and stopped.<\/p>\n

Her eyes shot open, and through a chink between two jars she saw him standing right in front of her. She had slid down until her gaze was level with his belt. She cringed even lower, dropping as far below his line of sight as she could. He took a jar off the shelf and smashed it to the ground. The smell of pickles, sharp and vinegary, rose up from the stone floor. He reached for a second jar, then suddenly put it back, as though a better thought had occurred to him. He turned and walked up the cellar steps, yanking the light chain as he exited.<\/p>\n

Once again she was in darkness.<\/p>\n

She realized she had been crying. Her face was wet, sweat mingling with tears, but she didn\u2019t dare release even a whimper.<\/p>\n

Upstairs the footsteps creaked toward the front of the house and then there was silence.<\/p>\n

Had he left? Had he finally gone away?<\/p>\n

She remained frozen, not daring to move. The minutes went by. She counted them off slowly in her head. Ten. Twenty. Her muscles were cramping, the spasms so painful she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.<\/p>\n

An hour.<\/p>\n

Two hours.<\/p>\n

Still no sound from above.<\/p>\n

Slowly she emerged from the hiding place. She stood in the darkness, waiting for the blood to recirculate in her muscles, for the feeling to come back in her legs. Listening, the whole time listening.<\/p>\n

She heard nothing.<\/p>\n

The cellar had no window, and she didn\u2019t know if it was still dark outside. She stepped through the broken glass on the floor and crossed to the stairs. She climbed them one at a time, pausing after each step to listen some more. When at last she reached the top, her palms were so slick she had to wipe them off on her blouse before she could open the cellar door.<\/p>\n

The lights were on in the kitchen, and everything looked startlingly normal, She could almost believe the horror of last night was simply a bad dream. A clock ticked loudly on the wall. It was five A.M., still dark outside.<\/p>\n

She tiptoed to the kitchen doorway and peered into the hail. One glimpse at the splintered furniture, the splashes of blood on the wallpaper, told her she had not been dreaming. Her palms were wet again.<\/p>\n

The hallway was deserted, and the front door hung open.<\/p>\n

She had to get out of the house. Run to the neighbors, run to the police.<\/p>\n

She started up the hail, each step bringing her closer to escape. Terror had primed her five senses to such acuity that she registered every fragment of splintered wood on the floral carpet, every tick of the clock in the kitchen behind her. She was almost at the front door.<\/p>\n

Then she cleared the banister and came within view of the stairs, where her mother had toppled, head down. She couldn\u2019t stop herself from staring at the body. At her mother\u2019s long hair draping the steps, like black water rippling downhill.<\/p>\n

Nausea surging up her throat, she lurched toward the front door.<\/p>\n

He was standing there. In his hand was an ax.<\/p>\n

With a sob she spun around and darted up the stairs, almost slipping on her mother\u2019s blood. She heard him pounding up the steps after her. She had always been faster than he, and terror made her fly up the stairs like a panicked cat.<\/p>\n

On the second floor landing she caught a glimpse of her father\u2019s body, lying halfway out of his bedroom doorway. There was no time to think about it, no time to absorb the horror; she was already dashing up the next flight of stairs and into the turret room.<\/p>\n

She slammed the door and latched it just in time.<\/p>\n

He gave a roar of rage and began pounding on the closed door.<\/p>\n

She scurried over to the window and forced it open. Staring down at the ground far below, she knew she could not survive a fall. But there was no other way out of the room.<\/p>\n

She yanked on a curtain, puffing it off the rod. A rope. Have to make a rope! <\/span>She tied one end to a radiator pipe, wrenched a second curtain down, and tied the two lengths of fabric together.<\/p>\n

A loud thud sent a splinter of wood flying at her. She glanced back and to her horror saw the tip of the ax poking through the door. Saw it pried loose again for the next swing.<\/p>\n

He was breaking through!<\/p>\n

She yanked down a third curtain, and with shaking hands, knotted it to the first two.<\/p>\n

The ax came down again. The wood splintered wider, more chunks flying.<\/p>\n

She yanked down a fourth curtain, but even as she frantically tied the last knot, she knew the rope was not long enough. She knew it was too late.<\/p>\n

She spun around to face the door just as the ax broke through.<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\n1<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

THE PRESENT<\/p>\n



\n
<\/p>\n

\u201cSomeone\u2019s going to get hurt out there,\u201d said Dr. Claire Elliot, looking out her kitchen window. Morning mist, thick as smoke, hung over the lake, and the trees beyond her window drifted in and out of focus. Another gunshot rang out, closer this time. Since first light, she\u2019d heard the gunfire, and would probably hear it all day until dusk, because it was the first day of November. The start of hunting season. Somewhere in those woods, a man with a rifle was tramping around half-blind through the mist as imagined shadows of white-tailed deer danced around him.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think you should wait outside for the bus,\u201d said Claire. \u201cI\u2019ll drive you to school.\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah, hunched at the breakfast table, said nothing. He scooped up another spoonful of Cheerios and slurped it down. Fourteen years old, and her son still ate like a two-year-old, milk splashing on the table, crumbs of toast littering the floor around his chair. He ate without looking at her, as though to meet her gaze was to come face to face with Medusa. And what difference would it make if he did look at me, she thought wryly. My darling son has already turned to stone.<\/p>\n

She said again, \u201cI\u2019ll drive you to school, Noah.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s okay. I\u2019m taking the bus.\u201d He stood up and grabbed his backpack and skateboard.<\/p>\n

\u201cThose hunters out there can\u2019t possibly see what they\u2019re shooting at. At least wear the orange hat. So they won\u2019t think you\u2019re a deer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it looks so dorky.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can take it off on the bus. Just put it on now.\u201d She took the knit cap from the mitten shelf and held it out to him.<\/p>\n

He looked at it, then finally, at her. He had sprouted up several inches in just one year, and they were now the same height, their gazes meeting straight on, neither one able to claim the advantage. She wondered if Noah was as acutely aware of their new physical equality as she was. Once she could hug him and a child would hug back. Now the child was gone, his softness resculpted into muscle, his face narrowed to a sharp new angularity.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease,\u201d she said, still holding out the cap.<\/p>\n

At last he sighed and jammed the cap over his dark hair. She had to suppress a smile; he did look dorky.<\/p>\n

He had already started down the hallway when she called out:<\/p>\n

\u201cGood-bye kiss?\u201d<\/p>\n

With a look of exasperation, he turned to give her the barest peck on the cheek, and then he was out of the door.<\/p>\n

No hugs anymore, she thought ruefully as she stood at the window and watched him trudge toward the road. It\u2019s all grunts and shrugs and awkward silences.<\/p>\n

He stopped beneath the maple tree at the end of the driveway, pulled off the cap, and stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. No jacket, just a thin gray sweatshirt against a thirty-seven-degree morning. It was cool to be cold. She had to resist the urge to run outside and bundle him into a coat.<\/p>\n

Claire waited until the school bus appeared. She watched her son climb aboard without a backward glance, saw his silhouette move down the aisle and take a seat beside another student\u2014a girl. Who is that girl? she wondered. I don\u2019t know the names of my son\u2019s friends anymore. I\u2019ve shrunk to just a small corner of his universe. She knew this was supposed to happen, the pulling away, the child\u2019s struggle for independence, but she was not prepared for it. The transformation<\/p>\n

had occurred suddenly, as though a sweet boy had walked out of the house one day, and a stranger had walked back in. You\u2019re all I have left of Peter. I\u2019m not ready to lose you as well.<\/span><\/p>\n

The bus rumbled away.<\/p>\n

Claire returned to the kitchen and sat down to her cup of lukewarm coffee. The house felt hollow and silent, a home still in mourning. She sighed and unrolled the weekly Tranquility Gazette. <\/span>HEALTHY DEER HERD PROMISES BOUNTIFUL HARVEST, announced the front page. The hunt was on. Thirty days to bag your deer.<\/p>\n

Outside, another gunshot echoed in the woods.<\/p>\n

She turned the page to the police blotter. There was no mention yet of last night\u2019s Halloween disturbance, or of the seven rowdy teenagers who\u2019d been arrested for taking their annual trick-or-treating too far. But there, buried among the reports of lost dogs and stolen firewood, was her name, under VIOLATIONS: \u201cClaire Effiot, age forty, operating vehicle with expired safety sticker.\u201d She still hadn\u2019t brought the Subaru in for its safety inspection; today she\u2019d have to drive the truck instead, just to avoid getting another citation. Irritably she flipped to the next page and was scanning the day\u2019s weather forecast\u2014cold and windy, high in the thirties, low in the twenties\u2014when the telephone rang.<\/p>\n

She rose to answer it. \u201cHello?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Elliot? This is Rachel Sorkin out on Toddy Point Road. I\u2019ve got something of an emergency out here. Elwyn just shot himself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, that idiot Elwyn Clyde. He came trespassing on my property, chasing after some poor deer. Killed it too\u2014a beautiful doe, right in my front yard. These stupid men and their stupid guns.”<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about Elwyn?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, he tripped and shot his own foot. Serves him right:\u2019<\/p>\n

\u201cHe should go straight to the hospital.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell you see, that\u2019s the problem. He doesn\u2019t want to go to the hospital, and he won\u2019t let me call an ambulance. He wants me to drive him and the deer home. Well, I\u2019m not going to. So what should I do with him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow badly is he bleeding?\u201d<\/p>\n

She heard Rachel call out: \u201cHey, Elwyn? Elwyn! <\/span>Are you bleeding?\u201d Then Rachel came back on the line. \u201cHe says he\u2019s fine. He just wants a ride home. But I\u2019m not taking him, and I\u2019m certainly not taking the deer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire sighed. \u201cI guess I can drive over and take a look. You\u2019re on Toddy Point Road?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbout a mile past the Boulders. My name\u2019s on the mail box.\u201d<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

The mist was starting to lift as Claire turned her pickup truck onto Toddy Point Road. Through stands of white pine, she caught glimpses of Locust Lake, the fog rising like steam. Already beams of sunlight were breaking through, splashing gold onto the rippling water. Across the lake, just visible through fingers of mist, was the north shore with its summer cottages, most of them boarded up for the season, their wealthy owners gone home to Boston or New York. On the south shore, where Claire now drove, were the more modest homes, some of them little more than two-room shacks tucked in among the trees.<\/p>\n

She drove past the Boulders, an outcropping of granite stones where the local teenagers gathered to swim in the summertime, and spotted the mailbox with the name Sorkin.<\/span><\/p>\n

A bumpy dirt road brought her to the house. It was a strange and whimsical structure, rooms added haphazardly, corners jutting out in unexpected places. Rising above it all, like the tip of a crystal breaking through the roof, was a glassed-in belfry, An eccentric woman would have an eccentric house, and Rachel Sorkin was one of Tranquility’s odd birds, a striking, black-haired woman who strode once a week into town, swathed in a purple hooded cape. This looked like a house in which a caped woman might reside.<\/p>\n

By the front steps, next to a neatly tended herb garden, lay the dead deer.<\/p>\n

Claire climbed out of her truck. At once two dogs bounded out of the woods and barred her way, barking and growling. Guarding the kill, she realized.<\/p>\n

Rachel came out of the house and yelled at the dogs: \u201cGet out of here, you bloody animals! Go home!\u201d She grabbed a broom from the<\/p>\n

porch and came tearing down the steps, long black hair flying, the broom thrust forward like a lance.<\/p>\n

The dogs backed away<\/p>\n

\u201cHa! Cowards,\u201d said Rachel, lunging at them with the broom. They retreated toward the woods.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey you leave my dogs alone!\u201d shouted Elwyn Clyde, who had limped out onto the porch. Elwyn was a prime example of an evolutionary dead end: a fifty-year-old lump bundled in flannel, and doomed to eternal bachelorhood. \u201cThey\u2019re not hurtin\u2019 nothin\u2019. They\u2019re just watchin\u2019 after my deer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cElwyn, I got news for you. You killed this poor creature on my property. So she\u2019s mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat you gonna do with a deer? Blasted vegetarian!\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire cut in: \u201cHow\u2019s the foot, Elwyn?\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked at Claire and blinked, as though surprised to see her. \u201cI tripped,\u201d he said. \u201cNo big deal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA bullet wound is always a big deal. May I take a look at it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan\u2019t pay you He paused, one scraggly eyebrow lifting as a sly thought occurred. \u201c \u2018Less you want some venison.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI just want to make sure you\u2019re not bleeding to death. We can settle up some other time. Can I look at your foot?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you really want to,\u201d he said, and limped back into the house.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis should be a treat,\u201d said Rachel.<\/p>\n

It was warm inside the kitchen. Rachel threw a birch log into the wood stove, and sweet smoke puffed out as she dropped the cast iron lid back in place.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s see the foot,\u201d said Claire.<\/p>\n

Elwyn hobbled over to a chair, leaving smears of blood on the floor. He had his sock on, and there was a jagged hole at the top, near the big toe, as though a rat had chewed through the wool. \u201cHardly bothering me,\u201d he said. \u201cNot worth all this fuss, if you ask me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire knelt down and peeled off the sock. It came away slowly, the Wool matted to his foot not by blood but by sweat and dead skin.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh God,\u201d said Rachel, cupping her hand over her nose. \u201cDon\u2019t you ever change your socks, Elwyn?\u201d<\/p>\n

The bullet had passed through the fleshy web between the first and second toe. Claire found the exit wound underneath the foot. There was only a little blood oozing out now. Trying not to gag on the smell, she tested movement of all the toes, and determined that no nerves had been damaged.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll have to clean it and change the bandages every day,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd you need a tetanus shot, Elwyn.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I got one of them already.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLast year, from ol\u2019 Doc Pomeroy. After I shot myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs this an annual event?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat one went through my other foot. \u2018Tweren\u2019t a big deal.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dr. Pomeroy had died back in January, and Claire had acquired all his old medical records when she\u2019d bought the practice from his estate eight months ago. She could check Elwyn\u2019s file and confirm the date of his last tetanus shot.<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess it\u2019s up to me to clean that foot,\u201d said Rachel.<\/p>\n

Claire took out a small bottle of Betadine from her medical bag and handed it to her. \u201cAdd that to a warm bucket of water. Let him soak in it for a while.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I can do that myself,\u201d said Elwyn, and got up.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen we might as well just amputate right now!\u201d snapped Rachel. \u201cSit down, <\/span>Elwyn.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGee,\u201d he said, and sat down.<\/p>\n

Claire left a few packets of bandages and gauze wrappings on the table. \u201cElwyn, you come into my office next week, so I can check the wound.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I got too much to do\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you don\u2019t come in, I\u2019ll have to hunt you down like a dog.\u201d<\/p>\n

He blinked at her in surprise. \u201cYes, ma\u2019am,\u201d he said meekly.<\/p>\n

Suppressing a smile, Claire picked up her medical bag and walked out of the house.<\/p>\n

The two dogs were in the front yard again, fighting over a filthy bone. As Claire came down the steps, they both spun around to stare at her.<\/p>\n

The black one trotted forward and growled.<\/p>\n

\u201cShoo,\u201d Claire said, but the dog refused to back down. It took another few steps forward, teeth bared.<\/p>\n

The tan dog, spotting opportunity, snatched the bone in its teeth and began dragging away the prize. It got halfway across the yard before the black dog suddenly noticed the thief and streaked back into the fight. Yelping and growling, they thrashed around the yard in a tangle of black and tan. The bone lay, forgotten, beside Claire\u2019s pickup truck.<\/p>\n

She opened the door and was just sliding in behind the steering wheel when the image registered in her brain. She looked down at the ground, at the bone.<\/p>\n

It was less than a foot long, and stained a rusty brown with dirt. One end had broken off, leaving jagged splinters. The other end was intact, the bony landmarks recognizable.<\/p>\n

It was a femur. And it was human.<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Ten miles out of town, Tranquility Police Chief Lincoln Kelly finally caught up with his wife.<\/p>\n

She was doing about fifty in a stolen Chevy, weaving left and right, the loose tailpipe kicking up sparks every time she hit a dip in the road.<\/p>\n

\u201cMan oh man,\u201d said Floyd Spear, sitting beside Lincoln in the cruiser. \u201cDoreen got her snookerful today.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been on the road all morning,\u201d said Lincoln. \u201cDidn\u2019t get a chance to check up on her.\u201d He turned on the siren, hoping that would induce Doreen to slow down. She sped up.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow what?\u201d asked Floyd. \u201cWant me to call for backup?\u201d<\/p>\n

Backup meant Hank Dorr, the only other officer on patrol duty that morning.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Lincoln. \u201cLet\u2019s see if we can\u2019t talk her into pulling over.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt sixty miles an hour?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet on the bullhorn.\u201d<\/p>\n

Floyd picked up the mike and his voice boomed out over the speaker: \u201cHey, Doreen, pull over! C\u2019mon, Sweetheart, you\u2019re gonna hurt someone!\u201d<\/p>\n

The Chevy just kept dipping and weaving.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe could wait till she runs Out of gas,\u201d Floyd suggested.<\/p>\n

\u201cKeep talking to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Floyd tried the mike again. \u201cDoreen, Lincoln\u2019s here! C\u2019mon, Sweetheart, pull over! He wants ta \u2018pologize!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI want to what?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPull over, Doreen, and he\u2019ll tell you himself!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat in hell are you talking about?\u201d said Lincoln.<\/p>\n

\u201cWomen always expect a man to apologize.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I didn\u2019t do anything!\u201d<\/p>\n

Up ahead, the Chevy\u2019s brake lights suddenly lit up.<\/p>\n

\u201cSee?\u201d said Floyd as the Chevy rolled to a stop at the side of the road.<\/p>\n

Lincoln pulled up behind it and climbed out of the cruiser. Doreen sat hunched behind the steering wheel, her red hair wild and tangled, her hands shaking. Lincoln opened the door, reached over his wife\u2019s lap, and removed the car keys. \u201cDoreen,\u201d he said wearily, \u201cyou gotta come back to the station.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen are you coming home, Lincoln?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll talk about that later. Come on, Honey, let\u2019s get in the cruiser.\u201d He reached for her elbow but she shook him off and slapped his hand for good measure.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just want to know when you\u2019re coming home,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve talked about this and talked about this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re still married to me. You\u2019re still my husband.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd there\u2019s just no point in talking about it any more.\u201d Again he took her elbow. He already had her out of the Chevy when she hauled off and slugged him in the jaw. He staggered back a few steps, his whole head ringing.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey!\u201d said Floyd, grabbing Doreen\u2019s arms. \u201cHey now, you don\u2019t wanna go doing that!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLemme go!\u201d screeched Doreen. She broke out of Floyd\u2019s grasp and took another swing at her husband.<\/p>\n

This time Lincoln ducked, which only made his wife madder. She got in one more swing before Lincoln and Floyd managed to get her arms secured.<\/p>\n

\u201cI hate to do this,” said Lincoln. \u201cBut you\u2019re just not being reasonable today.\u201d He snapped the handcuffs on her wrists. She spat at him. He<\/p>\n

wiped his sleeve across his face, then patiently guided his wife into the backseat of the cruiser.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh man,\u201d said Floyd. \u201cYou know we\u2019re gonna have to book her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d Lincoln sighed and slid in behind the wheel.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t divorce me, Lincoln Kelly!\u201d said Doreen. \u201cYou promised to love and cherish!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t know about the bottle,\u201d said Lincoln, and he turned the car around.<\/p>\n

They drove at a leisurely speed toward town, Doreen cussing a purple streak the whole time. It was the drinking that did it; it seemed to pop the cork off her bottle of demons.<\/p>\n

Two years ago, Lincoln had moved out of their house. He figured he\u2019d given the marriage his best effort and ten years of his life. He wasn\u2019t by nature a quitter, but the despair had finally gotten to him. That and the sense that, at forty-five, his life was racing by, joyless and unfruitful. He wished he could do right by Doreen, wished that he could recapture some of that old affection he\u2019d felt for her early on in their marriage, when she\u2019d been bright and sober, not bubbling over with anger as she was now. Sometimes he\u2019d search his own heart for whatever trace of love might still linger, some small spark among the ashes, but there was nothing left. The ashes were cold. And he was tired.<\/p>\n

He had tried to stand by her, but Doreen couldn\u2019t even see clear to help herself. Every few months, when her rage boiled up, she\u2019d spend the day drinking. Then she\u2019d \u201cborrow\u201d someone\u2019s car and go for one of her famous high-speed drives. People in town knew to stay off the roads when Doreen Kelly got behind the wheel.<\/p>\n

Back at the Tranquility police station, Lincoln let Floyd do the booking and locking up. Through the two closed doors leading to the cell, he could hear Doreen yelling for a lawyer. He supposed he should call One for her, though no one in Tranquility wanted to take her on. Even down south as far as Bangor, she\u2019d worn out her welcomes. He sat at his desk, flipping through the Rolodex, trolling for a lawyer\u2019s name. Someone he hadn\u2019t called in a while. Someone who didn\u2019t mind being cussed out by a client.<\/p>\n

It was all too much, too early in the morning. He shoved away the Rolodex and ran his hand through his hair. Doreen was still yelling in the back room. This would all be reported in that nosy Gazette, <\/span>and then the Bangor and Portland papers would pick it up because the whole damn state of Maine thought it was funny and so very quaint. Tranquility police chief arrests own wife. Again.<\/span><\/p>\n

He reached for the telephone and was dialing the number for Tom Wiley, attorney at law, when he heard a knock at his door. Glancing up, he saw Claire Effiot walk into his office, and he hung up.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Claire,\u201d he said. \u201cGot your safety sticker yet?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m still working on it. But I\u2019m not here about my car. I want to show you something.\u201d She set a dirty bone down on his desk.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a femur, Lincoln.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA thigh bone. I think it\u2019s human.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at the dirt-encrusted bone. One end was splintered off, and the shaft showed the gnawings of animal teeth. \u201cWhere did you find this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRachel Sorkin\u2019s place.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow did Rachel get it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cElwyn Clyde\u2019s dogs dragged it into her yard. She doesn\u2019t know where it came from. I was over there this morning, after Elwyn shot himself in the foot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAgain?\u201d He rolled his eyes and they both laughed. If every village had an idiot, then Tranquility\u2019s would be Elwyn.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s okay,\u201d she said. \u201cBut I guess a gunshot wound should be reported.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cConsider it done. I already have a folder for Elwyn and his gunshot wounds.\u201d He gestured to a chair. \u201cNow tell me about this bone. Are you sure it\u2019s human?\u201d<\/p>\n

She sat down. Though they were looking directly at each other, he felt a barrier of reserve between them that was almost physical. He had sensed it the first time they\u2019d met, soon after she\u2019d moved to town, when she had attended to a prisoner suffering from abdominal pain in Tranquility\u2019s three-cell jail. Lincoln had been curious about her<\/p>\n

from the start. Where was her husband? Why was she alone raising her son? But he had not felt comfortable asking her personal questions, and she did not seem to invite such intrusion. Pleasant but intensely private, she seemed reluctant to let anyone get too close to her, which was a shame. She was a pretty woman, short but sturdy, with luminous dark eyes and a mass of curly brown hair just starting to show the first strands of silver.<\/p>\n

She leaned forward, her hands resting on his desk. \u201cI\u2019m not an expert or anything,\u201d she said, \u201cbut I don\u2019t know what other animal this bone could come from. Judging by the size, it looks like a child\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you see any other bones around?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRachel and I searched the yard, but we didn\u2019t find any. The dogs could\u2019ve picked this up anywhere in the woods. You\u2019ll have to search the whole area.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCould be from an old Indian burial.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPossibly. But doesn\u2019t it still have to go to the medical examiner?\u201d Suddenly she turned, her head cocked. \u201cWhat\u2019s all that commotion?\u201d<\/p>\n

Lincoln flushed. Doreen was shouting in her cell again, letting fly a fresh torrent of abuse. \u201cDamn you, Lincoln! You jerk! You liar! Damn you to hell!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt sounds like somebody doesn\u2019t like you very much,\u201d said Claire.<\/p>\n

He sighed and pressed his hand to his forehead. \u201cMy wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire\u2019s gaze softened to a look of sympathy. It was apparent she knew about his problems. Everyone in town did.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, loser!\u201d Doreen yelled. \u201cYou got no right to treat me like this!\u201d<\/p>\n

With deliberate effort, he redirected his attention to the thigh bone. \u201cHow old was the victim, do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

She picked up the femur and turned it over in her hands. For a moment she held it with quiet reverence, fully aware that this broken length of bone had once supported a laughing, running child. \u201cYoung;\u2019 she murmured. \u201cI would guess under ten years old.\u201d She lay it on the desk and stared down in silence.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe haven\u2019t had any missing children reported recently;\u2019 he said. \u201cThe area\u2019s been settled for hundreds of years, and old bones are<\/p>\n

always turning up. A century ago, it wasn\u2019t all that unusual to die young.\u201d<\/p>\n

She was frowning. \u201cI don\u2019t think this child died from natural causes,\u201d she said softly.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do you say that?\u201d<\/p>\n

She reached over to turn on his desk lamp, and held the bone close to the light. \u201cThere,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s so crusted over, you can barely see it through the dirt.\u201d<\/p>\n

He reached in his pocket for his glasses\u2014another reminder of the years\u2019 passage, of his youth slipping away. Bending closer, he tried to see what she was pointing at. Only when she\u2019d scraped away a clot of dirt with her fingernail did he see the wedge-shaped gash.<\/p>\n

It was the mark of a hatchet.<\/p>\n

\n2<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

When Warren Emerson finally regained consciousness, he found he was lying next to the woodpile and the sun was shining in his eyes. His last memory was of shade, of silvery frost on the grass and bulging pockets of soil, heaved up from the cold. He\u2019d been splitting firewood, swinging the ax and enjoying the sharp ring it made in the crisp air. The sun had not yet cleared the pine tree in his front yard.<\/p>\n

Now it was well above the tree, which meant he had been lying here for some time, perhaps an hour, judging by its position in the sky<\/p>\n

Slowly Warren <\/p>\n

Sat up, his head aching as it always did afterwards. His hands and face were numb from the cold; both of his gloves had fallen off. He saw the ax lying beside him, its blade buried deep in one end of a maple log. A day\u2019s worth of firewood, already split, lay scattered around him. It took him a painfully long time to register these observations, and to consider the significance of each in turn. The thoughts came to him with effort, as though dragged from a great distance, arriving tattered and in disarray. He was patient with himself; eventually it would all make sense. <\/p>\n

He had come out soon after sunrise to split his wood for <\/span>the day. The result of his labor now lay all around him. He had almost completed the morning chore, had just swung his ax into that last log, when the darkness came over him. He had fallen onto the woodpile; that would explain why some of the logs had rolled off the top. His underwear was soaked; he must have wet himself, as he often did during a fit. Looking down at his clothes, he saw that his jeans were saturated.<\/p>\n

There was blood on his shirt.<\/p>\n

He staggered to his feet and walked slowly back into the old farmhouse.<\/p>\n

The kitchen was hot and stuffy from the woodstove; it made him feel a little dizzy and his vision had started to fade around the edges by the time he reached the bathroom. He sat down on the chipped toilet lid, clutching his head, waiting for the clouds to lift from his brain. The cat came in and rubbed against his calf, meowing for attention. He reached down to her and drew comfort from the softness of her fur.<\/p>\n

His face was no longer numb from the cold, and he was now aware of pain throbbing insistently in his temple. Clutching the sink for support, he rose to his feet and looked in the mirror. Just over his left ear, the gray hair was stiff and matted with blood. A streak of it had dried across his cheek, like war paint. He stared at his own reflection, at a face deeply etched by sixty-six years of hard winters and honest work and loneliness. His only companion was the cat, now meowing at his feet, not from affection but hunger. He loved the cat, and someday he would mourn her passing with tears and a solemn burial and nights of longing for the sound of her purring, but he was under no illusion that she loved him.<\/p>\n

He removed his clothes, the frayed and blood-stained shirt, the urine-soaked jeans. He undressed with the same care he devoted to every other task in his life, leaving his clothes in a tidy heap on the toilet lid. He turned on the shower and stepped in without waiting for the water to warm up; the discomfort was only momentary scarcely worth a shiver in the context of his cold and uncomfortable life. He washed the blood out of his hair, the laceration stinging from the soap. He must have sliced his scalp open when he fell on the woodpile. It would heal, as all his other cuts had. Warren Emerson was a walking testament to the durability of scar tissue.<\/p>\n

The cat renewed her meowing as soon as he stepped out of the shower. It was a pitiful sound, despairing, and he could not listen to it without feeling guilty. Still naked, he walked to the kitchen, opened a can of Little Friskies chicken bits, and spooned it into Mona\u2019s cat bowl.<\/p>\n

She gave a soft growl of pleasure and began to eat, no longer caring whether he came or went. Except for his skill with a can opener, he was extraneous to her existence.<\/p>\n

He went to the bedroom to dress.<\/p>\n

Once it had been his parents\u2019 room, and it still contained all their possessions. The spindle bed, the bureau with the brass knobs, the photographs hanging up in their tin picture frames. As he buttoned his shirt, his gaze lingered on one photo in particular, of a dark-haired girl with smiling eyes. What was Iris doing at this moment? he wondered, as he did every day of his life. Did she ever think of him? His gaze moved on to another photo. It was the last one taken of his family, his mother plump and smiling, his father ill at ease in a suit and tie. And wedged between them, with his hair slicked to one side, was little Warren.<\/p>\n

He reached out, fingers touching the photo of his own twelve-year-old face. He could not remember that boy. Up in the attic were the toy trains and the adventure books and the brittle crayons that once belonged to the child in that photo, but that was a different Warren who\u2019d played in this house, who had stood smiling between his parents for a Sunday photograph. Not the Warren he saw when he looked in the mirror.<\/p>\n

Suddenly he felt a terrible longing to touch that child\u2019s toys again.<\/p>\n

He climbed the steps to the attic and dragged the old blanket chest under the light. With the bare bulb swinging overhead, he lifted the chest lid. Inside were treasures. He took them out one by one and set them on the dusty floor. The cookie tin with all the Matchbox cars. The Lincoln Logs. The leather pouch of marbles. At last he found what he\u2019d been looking for: the set of checkers.<\/p>\n

He lay out the board and set up the checkers, red on his side, black On the opposite.<\/p>\n

Mona came padding up to the attic and sat beside him, her breath smelling of chicken. For a moment she regarded the board with feline disdain. Then she tiptoed over to it and sniffed at one of the black pieces.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that your first move then?\u201d said Warren. It was not a very smart move, but then, what did one expect from a cat? He moved the black piece for her, and she seemed satisfied.<\/p>\n

Outside the wind blew, rattling loose shutters. He could hear the branches of the lilac tree scratch against the clapboards.<\/p>\n

Warren advanced a red checker and he smiled at his companion. \u201cYour move, Mona.\u201d<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

At six-thirty, as she did every weekday morning, five-year-old Isabel Morrison crept into her older sister\u2019s bedroom and climbed under the covers with Mary Rose. There she wriggled like a happy worm in the warm sheets and hummed to herself as she waited for Mary Rose to wake up. There would always be a great deal of sighing and moaning, and Mary Rose would turn from one side to another, her long brown hair tickling Isabel\u2019s face. Isabel thought Mary Rose was the most beautiful girl on earth. She looked like the sleeping Princess Aurora, waiting for her prince to kiss her. Sometimes Isabel would pretend she <\/span>was Prince Charming, and even though she knew girls weren\u2019t supposed to kiss each other, she would plant her lips on her sister\u2019s mouth and announce: \u201cNow you have to wake up!\u201d<\/p>\n

One time, Mary Rose had been awake all along, and had sprung up like a giggling monster and tickled Isabel so mercilessly that both girls had fallen off the bed in a duet of happy squeals.<\/p>\n

If only Mary Rose would tickle her now. If only Mary Rose would be her normal self.<\/p>\n

Isabel leaned close to her sister\u2019s ear and whispered, \u201cAren\u2019t you going to wake up?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mary Rose pulled the covers over her head. \u201cGo away, pest.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMommy says it\u2019s time for school. You have to wake up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet <\/p>\n

out of my room!\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cBut it\u2019s time for\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Mary Rose gave a growl and lashed out with an angry kick.<\/p>\n

Isabel slithered to the far side of the bed, where she lay in troubled silence, rubbing her sore shin and trying to understand what had just happened. Mary Rose had never kicked her before. Mary Rose always woke up with a smile and called her Dizzy Izzy and braided her hair before school.<\/p>\n

She decided to try again. She crawled on hands and knees to her sister’s pillow, peeled back the sheets, and whispered into Mary Rose\u2019s ear: \u201cI know what Mommy and Daddy are getting you for Christmas. You wanna hear?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mary Rose\u2019s eyes shot open. She turned to look at Isabel.<\/p>\n

With a whimper of fear, Isabel scrambled off the bed and stared at a face she scarcely recognized. A face that frightened her. \u201cMary Rose?\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n

Then she ran out of the room.<\/p>\n

Her mother was downstairs in the kitchen, stirring a pot of oatmeal and trying to hear the radio over the screeches of their parakeet, Rocky. As Isabel came tearing into the kitchen, her mother turned and said, \u201cIt\u2019s seven o\u2019clock. Isn\u2019t your sister getting up?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMommy,\u201d Isabel wailed in despair. \u201cThat\u2019s not Mary Rose!\u201d<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Noah Elliot did a 360 kick-flip, popping the skateboard off the curb, into the air, and landing it neatly on the blacktop. All right! Nailed it! <\/span>Baggy clothes flapping in the wind, he rode the board all the way down to the teachers\u2019 parking lot, ollied the curb, and came around again, a sweet ride all the way.<\/p>\n

It was the only time he felt in control of his life, when he was riding his board, when for once, he determined his own fate, his own course. These days it seemed too many things were decided by other people, that he was being dragged, kicking and screaming, into a future he\u2019d never asked for. But when he was riding his board, with the wind in his face and the pavement streaking by, he owned the moment. He could forget he was trapped in this nowhere town. He could even forget, for one brief and exhilarating ride, that his dad was dead and that nothing could ever be right again.<\/p>\n

He felt the freshmen girls watching him. They were standing in a tight group behind the trailer classrooms, glossy heads bent close together as they made giggly girl sounds. All their faces moved in unison as their eyes tracked Noah on his board. He rarely talked to them, and they rarely talked to him, but every lunch period, there they\u2019d be, watching him as he worked through his repertoire.<\/p>\n

Noah wasn\u2019t the only skateboarder at Knox High School, but he was definitely the best, and the girls kept their focus on him, ignoring the other boys whizzing around on the blacktop. Those boys were just posers anyway, dudes pretending to be skaters, all dressed up in gear straight out of the CCS catalogue. They had the uniform down right\u2014 Birdhouse shirts and Keviar shoes and pants so big the cuffs dragged on the ground\u2014but they were still posers in a hick town. They hadn\u2019t skated with the big boys in Baltimore.<\/p>\n

As Noah circled around to make his return run, he noticed the gleam of blond hair at the edge of the track field. Amelia Reid was watching him. She stood off by herself, cradling a book as usual. Amelia was one of those girls who seemed dipped in honey, she was so perfect, so golden. Nothing at all like her two jerky brothers, who were always hassling him in the cafeteria. Noah had never noticed her watching him before, and the realization that her attention was at this very moment focused on him <\/span>made his knees go a little wobbly.<\/p>\n

He ollied the board and almost lost it on the landing. Focus, dude! Don\u2019t bite it. <\/span>He zipped down to the faculty parking lot, spun around, and came rumbling up the concrete ramp. There was a handrail on one side, slanted downward. He spun around, and popped up onto the railing. It would\u2019ve been a sweet slide all the way down.<\/p>\n

Except for the fact Taylor Darnell chose just that moment to walk in front of him.<\/p>\n

Noah yelled, \u201cOutta the way!\u201d but Taylor didn\u2019t react in time.<\/p>\n

At the last possible instant, Noah rolled off his board and tumbled to the pavement. The skateboard, its momentum established, slid all the way down the rail and smacked into Taylor\u2019s back.<\/p>\n

Taylor whirled, yelling: \u201cWhat the hell, man? Who threw that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDidn\u2019t throw it, dude,\u201d said Noah, picking himself up from the ground. His palms were both scraped, and his knee was throbbing. \u201cIt was an accident. You just got in the way.\u201d Noah bent down to pick up the skateboard, which had landed wheels up. Taylor was an okay kid,<\/p>\n

one of the first who\u2019d come up to say hello when Noah first arrived in town eight months ago. Sometimes, they even hung out together in the afternoons, showing each other new skateboard tricks. So Noah was shocked when Taylor suddenly shoved him, hard. \u201cHey! Hey, what\u2019s your problem?\u201d said Noah.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou threw it at me!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo I didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone saw it!\u201d Taylor looked around at the bystanders. \u201cDidn\u2019t you see it?\u201d<\/p>\n

No one said anything.<\/p>\n

\u201cI told you, it was an accident,\u201d said Noah. \u201cI\u2019m really sorry, man.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was laughter over by the trailer classrooms. Taylor glanced at the girls and realized they were watching the exchange, and his face turned a furious red. \u201cShut up!\u201d he yelled at them. \u201cIdiot girls!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGeez, Taylor,\u201d said Noah. \u201cWhat\u2019s your problem?\u201d<\/p>\n

The other skaters had popped up their boards and were now standing around, watching. One of them joked,<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, why did Taylor cross the road?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCause he got his dick stuck in the chicken!\u201d<\/p>\n

All the skaters laughed, including Noah. He couldn\u2019t help it.<\/p>\n

He was unprepared for the blow. It seemed to come out of nowhere, a sucker punch to the jaw. His head snapped up and he stumbled backwards and fell, his butt hitting the blacktop. There he sat for a moment, ears roaring and vision blurred as his shock gave way to hurt rage. He was my friend, and he bit me!<\/span><\/p>\n

Noah staggered back to his feet and lunged at Taylor, tackling him head on. They both sprawled to the ground, Noah on top. They rolled over and over, both boys flailing, neither one able to get in a decisive blow. Noah finally pinned him, but it was like holding down a spitting cat.<\/p>\n

\u201cNoah Elliot!\u201d<\/p>\n

He froze, his hands still trapping Taylor\u2019s wrists. Slowly he turned his head and saw the principal, Miss Cornwallis, standing over them. The other kids had all backed away and were watching from a safe distance.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet up!\u201d said Miss Cornwallis. \u201cBoth of you!\u201d<\/p>\n

At once Noah released Taylor and rose to his feet. Taylor, his face by now almost purple with rage, screamed: \u201cHe shoved me! He shoved me and I tried to defend myself!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not true! He hit me first!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe threw his skateboard!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t throw anything. It was an accident!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAccident? You liar!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBoth of you, be quiet!\u201d yelled Miss Cornwallis.<\/p>\n

There was shocked silence in the schoolyard as everyone stared at the principal. They\u2019d never heard her yell before. She was a prim but handsome woman who wore suits and low heels to school and kept her blond hair neatly tucked into a French twist. To see her shouting was a revelation to them all.<\/p>\n

Miss C. took a deep breath, swiftly recovering her dignity. \u201cGive me the skateboard, Noah.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was an accident. I didn\u2019t hit him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were pinning him on the ground. I saw it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I didn\u2019t hit him!\u201d<\/p>\n

She held out her hand. \u201cGive it to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow.\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah walked over to his board, lying a few feet away. It was well-worn, one chipped edged crisscrossed with electrician\u2019s tape. The board had been a birthday gift when he turned thirteen. He\u2019d added the decals underneath it\u2014a green dragon with red fire shooting out of its mouth\u2014and had broken in the wheels riding the streets of Baltimore where he used to live. He loved this board, because it reminded him of everything he\u2019d left behind. Everything he still missed. He held it for a moment, then, wordlessly, handed it to Miss C.<\/p>\n

She took it with a look of distaste. Turning to address the other students she said, \u201cThere\u2019ll be no more skating on school grounds. I want all the skateboards brought home today. And if I see any boards tomorrow, I\u2019ll confiscate them. Is that clear?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a silent nodding of heads.<\/p>\n

Miss C. turned to Noah. \u201cYou\u2019re in detention until three-thirty this afternoon.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I didn\u2019t do anything!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou come to my office now. You\u2019re going to sit and think about what you did do.\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah started to argue, then swallowed his words. Everyone was looking at him. He glimpsed Amelia Reid standing by the track field, and his face flushed with humiliation. In silence, head down, he followed Miss C. toward the building.<\/p>\n

The other skaters sullenly parted to let them through. Only as Noah was walking away from them did he hear one of the boys mutter:<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks, Elliot. You screwed it up for the rest of us.\u201d<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

If one wished to take the pulse of the town of Tranquility, the place to go was Monaghan\u2019s Diner. This was where the Dinosaur Club met every day at noon. It was not really a club, but a coffee klatch, six or seven retirees who, for want of a job to go to, hung around Nadine\u2019s counter, admiring the pies under the plastic bells. Claire had no idea how the club got its name. Her guess was that one of the men\u2019s wives, in a fit of pique over her husband\u2019s daily absence, one day blurted out something like: \u201cOh, you and that bunch of old dinosaurs!\u201d And the name stuck, as good names do. They were all men, all well past sixty. Nadine was only in her fifties, but she was an unofficial Dinosaur because she worked behind the counter and had the good humor to tolerate their bad jokes and cigarette smoke.<\/p>\n

Four hours after the thigh bone was found, Claire stopped in at Monaghan\u2019s for lunch. The Dinosaurs, seven of them today, all wearing blaze orange over flannel shirts, sat in their usual place, the far left barstools near the milkshake machine.<\/p>\n

Ned Tibbetts turned and nodded as Claire came in the door. Not a Warm greeting, but gruffly respectful. \u201cMornin\u2019, Doc.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMorning, Mr. Tibbetts.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGonna be a mean wind blowing in today.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s already freezing outside.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cComing out of the northwest. Could have snow tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCup of coffee, Doc?\u201d asked Nadine.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ned turned back to the other Dinosaurs, who\u2019d variously acknowledged her entrance, and were now back in conversation. She knew only two of them by name; the others were merely familiar faces. Claire sat alone at her end of the counter, as befitted her outsider status. Oh, people were cordial enough to her. They smiled, they were polite. But to these natives, her eight months in Tranquility was but a temporary sojourn, a city girl\u2019s fling with the simple life. Winter, they all seemed to agree, would be the test. Four months of snowstorms and black ice would drive her back to the city, as it had driven off the last two doctors from away.<\/p>\n

Nadine slid a steaming cup of coffee in front of Claire. \u201cGuess you know all about it, don\u2019t you?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll about what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat bone.\u201d Nadine stood watching her, patiently waiting for her contribution to the community pool of knowledge. Like most Maine women, Nadine did a lot of listening. It was the men who seemed to do all the talking. Claire heard them when she walked through the local hardware store or the five-and-dime or the post office. They stood around and gabbed while their wives waited, silent and watchful.<\/p>\n

\u201cI hear it\u2019s a kid\u2019s bone,\u201d said Joe Bartlett, swiveling on the stool to look at Claire. \u201cA thigh bone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat right, Doc?\u201d another one asked.<\/p>\n

The other Dinosaurs turned and looked at Claire.<\/p>\n

She said, with a smile, \u201cYou already seem to know everything about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHeard it was whacked up good. Maybe a knife. Maybe an ax. Then the animals got at it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou boys sure are cheerful today,\u201d snorted Nadine.<\/p>\n

\u201cThree days in those woods, raccoons and coyotes clean your bones straight off. Then Elwyn\u2019s dogs come along. Hardly ever feeds \u2018em, y\u2019know. Bone like that\u2019s a tasty snack. Maybe his dogs\u2019ve been chewing on it for weeks. Elwyn, he wouldn\u2019t think to give it a second look\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe laughed. \u201cThat Elwyn, he just plain doesn\u2019t think.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe he shot the kid himself Mistook it for a deer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire said, \u201cIt looked like a very old bone.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe Bartlett waved at Nadine. \u201cI made up my mind. I\u2019ll have the Monte Cristo sandwich.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhooee! Joe\u2019s goin\u2019 fancy on us today!\u201d said Ned Tibbetts.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about you, Doc?\u201d asked Nadine.<\/p>\n

\u201cA tuna sandwich and a bowl of mushroom soup, please.\u201d<\/p>\n

As Claire ate her lunch, she listened to the men talk about whom the bone might belong to. It was impossible not to listen in; three of them wore hearing aids. Most of them could remember as far back as sixty years ago, and they batted the possibilities around like a birdie in play Maybe it was that young girl who\u2019d fallen off Bald Rock Cliff. No, they\u2019d found her body, remember? Maybe it was the Jewett girl\u2014 hadn\u2019t she run off when she was sixteen? Ned said no, he\u2019d heard from his mother that she was living in Hartford; the girl\u2019d have to be in her sixties now, probably a grandmother. Fred Moody said his wife Florida said the dead girl had to be from away\u2014one of the summer people. Tranquility kept track of its own, and wouldn\u2019t someone remember if a local kid had vanished?<\/p>\n

Nadine refilled Claire\u2019s cup of coffee. \u201cDon\u2019t they just go on and on?\u201d she said. \u201cYou\u2019d think they was planning world peace.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow do they know so much about it, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJoe\u2019s second cousin to Floyd Spear, over at the police department.\u201d Nadine began to wipe down the counter, long, brisk strokes that left behind a faintly chlorinated smell. \u201cThey say some bone expert\u2019s driving up from Bangor today Way I figure, it\u2019s gotta be one of those summer people.\u201d<\/p>\n

That, of course, was the obvious answer\u2014one of the summer people. Whether it was an unsolved crime or an unidentified body, the all-purpose answer served. Every June, Tranquility\u2019s population quadrupled when wealthy families from Boston and New York began arriving for their lakeside vacations. Here, in this peaceful summertime colony, they would linger on the porches of their shorefront cottages while their children splashed in the water. In the shops of Tranquility, cash registers would ring merrily as the summer folk Pumped dollars into the local economy. Someone had to clean their Cottages, repair their fancy cars, bag their groceries. The business from<\/p>\n

those few short months was enough to keep the local population fed through the winter.<\/p>\n

It was the money that made the visitors tolerable. That and the fact that every September, with the falling of the leaves, they would once again vanish, leaving the town to the people who belonged here.<\/p>\n

Claire finished her lunch and walked back to her office.<\/p>\n

Tranquility\u2019s main street followed the curve of the lake. At the top of Elm Street was Joe Bartlett\u2019s gas and garage, which he\u2019d run for forty-two years until he retired; now his daughter\u2019s two girls pumped gas and changed oil. A sign above the garage proudly proclaimed: Owned and Operated by Joe Bartlett and Granddaughters. Claire had always liked that sign; she thought it said a lot for Joe Bartlett.<\/p>\n

At the post office, Elm Street curved north. Already that northwest wind was starting to blow in across the lake. It blasted through the narrow alleys between buildings, and walking along the sidewalk was like passing through a series of icy wind tunnels. In the window above the five-and-dime, a black cat gazed down at her, as though pondering the stupidity of creatures out in such weather.<\/p>\n

Next to the five-and-dime was the yellow Victorian where Claire had her medical practice.<\/p>\n

The building had once served as Dr. Pomeroy\u2019s business and residence. The door still had the old frosted glass with the lettering: <\/p>\n

MEDICAL OFFICE. Although the name James Pomeroy, M.D., <\/span>had been replaced by Claire Elliot, M.D., Family Practice, <\/span>she sometimes imagined she could see the shadow of the old name lingering like a ghost in the pebbled glass, refusing to yield to the new occupant. <\/p>\n

Inside, her receptionist, Vera, was yakking on the phone, her bracelets clattering as she flipped through the appointment book. Vera\u2019s hairstyle was like her personality: wild and woolly and a little frazzled. She cupped her hand over the receiver and said to Claire, \u201cMairead Temple\u2019s in the exam room. Sore throat.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019s the rest of the afternoon look?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo more coming in, and that\u2019s it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Which added up to only six patients all day, worried Claire. Since the summer tourists departed, Claire\u2019s practice had contracted. She was the only doctor with an office right in Tranquility, yet most of the<\/p>\n

locals drove the twenty miles to Two Hills for medical care. She knew why; not many in town believed she\u2019d last through one hard winter, and they saw no point getting attached to a doctor who\u2019d be gone by the following autumn.<\/p>\n

Mairead Temple was one of the few patients Claire had managed to attract, but it was only because Mairead owned no car. She\u2019d walked a mile into town, and now she sat on the exam table, still wheezing slightly from the cold weather. Mairead was eighty-one and she had no teeth or tonsils. Nor did she have much deference for authority.<\/p>\n

Examining Mairead\u2019s throat, Claire said, \u201cIt does look pretty red.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI coulda told you that myself,\u201d Mairead answered.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you don\u2019t have a fever. And your lymph nodes aren\u2019t swollen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHurts wicked bad. Can\u2019t hardly swallow.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll take a throat culture. By tomorrow we\u2019ll know if it\u2019s strep. But I think it\u2019s just a virus.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mairead, her eyes small and suspicious, watched Claire peel open a throat swab. \u201cDr. Pomeroy always gave me penicillin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAntibiotics don\u2019t work on a virus, Mrs. Temple.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAlways made me feel better, that penicillin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSay \u2018ah.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mairead gagged as Claire swabbed her throat. She looked like a tortoise, leathery neck extended, toothless mouth snapping at the air. Eyes watering, she said: \u201cPomeroy was in practice a long time. Always knew what he was doing. All you young doctors, you coulda learned a thing or two from him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire sighed. Would she always be compared to Dr. Pomeroy? His gravestone sat in a place of honor in the Mountain Street Cemetery. Claire saw his cryptic notes in the old medical charts, and sometimes she sensed his ghost dogging her on her rounds. Certainly it was Pomeroy\u2019s ghost that now came between her and Mairead. Dead though he was, he would always be remembered as the town doctor.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s listen to your lungs,\u201d said Claire.<\/p>\n

Mairead grunted and tugged at her clothes. It was cold outside, and she had dressed for it. A sweater, a cotton shirt, thermal underwear, and a bra all had to be pulled free before Claire could set her stethoscope on her chest.<\/p>\n

Through the thump-thump of Mairead\u2019s heart, Claire heard a distant tapping and she looked up.<\/p>\n

Vera stuck her head in the room. \u201cCall on line two.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you take a message?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s your son. He won\u2019t talk to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me, Mrs. Temple,\u201d Claire said, and went into her office to take the call. \u201cNoah?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have to pick me up. I\u2019m gonna miss the bus.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it\u2019s only two-fifteen. The bus hasn\u2019t left yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m in detention. I can\u2019t leave until three-thirty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy? What happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t wanna talk about it now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to find out anyway, honey\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot now, <\/span>Mom.\u201d She heard him sniffle, heard the tears break through his voice. \u201cPlease. Please, can you just come and get me?\u201d<\/p>\n

The phone went dead. Haunted by the image of her son, crying and in trouble, Claire quickly dialed the school back. But by the time she reached the secretary, Noah had already left the office, and Miss Cornwallis was not available to speak to her.<\/p>\n

Claire had an hour to finish with Mairead Temple, see two new patients, and drive to the school.<\/p>\n

Feeling pressured now, and distracted by Noah\u2019s crisis, she stepped back into the exam room and was dismayed to see that Mairead already had put her clothes back on.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not quite finished examining you,\u201d said Claire.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, y\u2019are,\u201d grunted Mairead.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut Mrs. Temple\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCame for penicillin. Didn\u2019t come to get no Q-Tip shoved down my throat.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease, won\u2019t you just sit down? I know I do things a little differently from Dr. Pomeroy, but there\u2019s a reason for it. Antibiotics don\u2019t stop a virus, and they can cause side effects.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNever caused me no side effects.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt only takes a day to get back the culture results. If it\u2019s strep, I\u2019ll give you the medicine then.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGotta walk all the way into town. Takes up half my day.\u201d<\/p>\n

Suddenly Claire understood what the real issue was. Every lab test, every new prescription, meant a mile-long walk into town for Mairead, and then another mile walk home.<\/p>\n

With a sigh, she pulled out a prescription pad. And for the first time that visit, she saw Mairead\u2019s smile. Satisfied. Triumphant.<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Isabel sat quietly on the couch, afraid to move, afraid to say a word.<\/p>\n

Mary Rose was very, very mad. Their mother was not home yet, so Isabel was all alone with her sister. She had never seen Mary Rose behave this way, pacing back and forth like a tiger in the zoo, screaming at her. At her, Isabel! Mary Rose was so angry, it turned her face wrinkled and ugly, not like Princess Aurora anymore, but more like an evil queen. This was not her sister. This was a bad person inside her sister’s body.<\/p>\n

Isabel huddled deeper into the cushions, watching furtively as the bad person in Mary Rose\u2019s body stalked through the living room, muttering. Never get to go anywhere or do anything because of you! Stuck at home all the time. A baby-sitter slave! I wish you were dead. I wish you were dead.<\/span><\/p>\n

But I\u2019m your sister! Isabel wanted to wail, though she didn\u2019t dare make a peep. She began to cry, silent tears plopping onto the cushions, making big wet stains. Oh no. Mary Rose would be mad about that, too.<\/p>\n

Isabel waited until her sister\u2019s back was turned, then she quietly slipped off the couch and darted into the kitchen. She would hide in here, out of Mary Rose\u2019s way, until their mother came home. She ducked around the corner of a kitchen cabinet and sat down on the cold tiles, hugging her knees to her chest. If she just stayed quiet, Mary Rose wouldn\u2019t find her. She could see the clock on the wall, and she knew that when the little hand was on the five, their mother would come home. She needed to pee, now, but she would just have to wait because she was safe here.<\/p>\n

Then Rocky the parakeet began to screech. His cage was a few feet away, by the window. She looked up at him, silently imploring him to be quiet, but Rocky was not very smart and he kept screeching at her.<\/p>\n

Their mother had said it many times: \u201cRocky is just a birdbrain,\u201d and he was proving it now by all the noise he made.<\/p>\n

\nBe quiet! Oh please be quiet or she’ll find me!<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

Too late. Footsteps creaked into the kitchen. A drawer was yanked open and silverware clanged to the floor. Mary Rose was flinging around forks and spoons. Isabel wrapped herself into a ball and squeezed more tightly against the cabinet.<\/p>\n

Rocky the traitor stared at her as he squawked, as though to shout out: \u201cThere she is! There she is!\u201d<\/p>\n

Now Mary Rose paced into view, but she wasn\u2019t looking at Isabel. She was staring at Rocky. She went to the cage and stood looking at the parakeet, who continued to screech. She opened the door and thrust in her hand. Rocky\u2019s wings flapped in panicked whooshes of flying feathers and birdseed. She captured the struggling bird, a squirming puff of powder blue, and took him out of the cage. With one quick twist, she snapped the bird\u2019s neck.<\/p>\n

Rocky went limp.<\/p>\n

She flung the body against the wall. It plopped to the floor in a sad little heap of feathers.<\/p>\n

A silent scream boiled up in Isabel\u2019s throat. She choked it back and buried her face against her knees, waiting in terror for her sister to break her neck as well.<\/p>\n

But Mary Rose walked right out of the kitchen. Right out of the house.<\/p>\n

\n3<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

Noah was sitting on the front steps of the high school when Claire arrived at four o\u2019clock. She had rushed through her last two appointments, and had driven straight to the school five miles away, but she was a half hour late, and she could see he was angry about it. He didn\u2019t say a word, just climbed into the truck, and slammed the door shut.<\/p>\n

\u201cSeat belt, honey;\u2019 she said.<\/p>\n

He yanked on the shoulder strap and rammed the buckle in. They drove for a moment in silence.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been sitting around forever. What took you so long?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI had patients to see, Noah. Why were you in detention?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t my fault.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhose fault was it, then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTaylor. He\u2019s turning into such a jerk. I don\u2019t know what\u2019s wrong With him.\u201d Sighing, he slumped into his seat. \u201cAnd I used to think we Were friends. Now it\u2019s like he hates me.\u201d<\/p>\n

She glanced at him. \u201cIs this Taylor Darnell you\u2019re talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was an accident. My skateboard ran into him. Next thing I know, he\u2019s shoving me around. So I shoved him back, and he fell.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you call a teacher?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere weren\u2019t any around. Then Miss Cornwallis comes out and suddenly Taylor starts yelling that it\u2019s my <\/span>fault.\u201d He turned away from her, but not before she\u2019d glimpsed the embarrassed swipe of his hand across his eyes. He tries so hard to be grown up, she thought with a twinge of pity; but he\u2019s really still a child.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe took my skateboard, Mom,\u201d he said softly. \u201cCan you get it back for me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll call Miss Cornwallis tomorrow. But I want you to call Taylor and apologize.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe turned on me! He\u2019s the one who should apologize!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTaylor\u2019s not having an easy time of it, Noah. His parents just got divorced.\u201d<\/p>\n

He looked at her. \u201cHow do you know? Is he your patient?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes.\u201d<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you see him for?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know I can\u2019t talk about that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike you ever talk to me about anything,\u201d he muttered, and turned once again to stare out the window.<\/p>\n

She knew better than to rise to the bait, so she said nothing, preferring silence to the argument that would surely erupt between them if she allowed him to provoke her.<\/p>\n

When he spoke again, it was so quietly she almost didn\u2019t hear him. \u201cI want to go home, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s where I\u2019m taking you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I mean home. <\/span>To Baltimore. I don\u2019t want to stay here anymore. There\u2019s nothing here but trees and a bunch of old guys driving around in their pickup trucks. We don\u2019t belong here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is our home now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou haven\u2019t tried very hard to like it here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike I had a choice? Like you asked me <\/span>if we should move?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll both learn to like it. I\u2019m still adjusting, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo why did we have to move?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gripping the steering wheel, she stared straight ahead. \u201cYou know why.\u201d They both knew what she was talking about. They\u2019d left Baltimore because of him, <\/span>because she\u2019d taken a hard look at her son\u2019s future and was frightened by what she saw. An enlarging circle of troubled friends. Repeated calls from the police. More courtrooms and lawyers and therapists. She had seen their future in Baltimore, and she\u2019d grabbed her son and run like hell.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not going to turn into some perfect preppie just because you drag me up to the woods,\u201d he said. \u201cI can mess things up just as good right here. So we might as well go back.\u201d<\/p>\n

She pulled into their driveway and turned to face him. \u201cMessing up is not going to get you back to Baltimore. Either you get your life together or you don\u2019t. It\u2019s your choice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen is anything my choice?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have lots of choices. And from now on, I want you to make the right ones.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean the ones you want.\u201d He jumped out of the truck.<\/p>\n

\u201cNoah. Noah!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust leave me alone!\u201d <\/span>he yelled. He slammed the door shut and stalked off to the house.<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t follow him. She just sat clutching the steering wheel, too tired and upset at that moment to deal with him. Abruptly she shifted into reverse and backed out of the driveway. They both needed time to cool down, to get their emotions under control. She turned onto Toddy Point Road and headed along the shore of Locust Lake. Driving as therapy.<\/p>\n

How easy it had all seemed when Peter was alive, when one of his cross-eyed looks was all that was needed to make their son laugh. The days when they were still happy, still whole.<\/p>\n

\nWe haven\u2019t been happy since you died, Peter I miss you. I miss you every day, every hour Every minute of my life.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

The lights from lakeside cottages shimmered through her tears as she drove. She rounded the curve, drove past the Boulders, and suddenly the lights were no longer white but blue, and they seemed to be dancing among the trees.<\/p>\n

It was a police cruiser, and it was parked on Rachel Sorkin\u2019s property.<\/p>\n

She pulled to a stop in the driveway. Three vehicles were in the front yard, two police cruisers and a white van. A Maine state trooper was talking to Rachel on the porch. Beneath the trees, flashlight beams zigzagged across the ground.<\/p>\n

Claire spotted Lincoln Kelly emerging from the woods. It was his silhouette she recognized as he passed before one of the searchlights. Though not a tall man, Lincoln was straight and solid and he moved with a quiet assuredness that made him seem larger than he was. He stopped to speak to the state trooper, then he noticed Claire and crossed the yard to her truck.<\/p>\n

She rolled down the window. \u201cHave you found any more bones?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

He leaned in, bringing with him the scent of the forest. Pine trees and earth and wood smoke. \u201cYep. The dogs led us over to the stream-bed,\u201d he said. \u201cThat bank eroded pretty badly this spring, after all those floods. That\u2019s what uncovered the bones. But I\u2019m afraid wild animals have already scattered most of them in the woods.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes the ME think it\u2019s a homicide?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s no longer an ME\u2019s case. The bones are too old. There\u2019s a forensic anthropologist in charge now, if you\u2019d like to talk to her. Name\u2019s Dr. Overlock.\u201d<\/p>\n

He opened the truck door and Claire climbed out. Together they walked into the gloom of the woods. Dusk had rapidly thickened to night. The ground was uneven, layered with dead leaves, and she found herself stumbling in the underbrush. Lincoln reached out to steady her. He seemed to have no trouble navigating in the darkness, his heavy boots connecting solidly with the ground.<\/p>\n

Lights were shining among the trees, and Claire heard voices and the sound of trickling water. She and Lincoln emerged from the woods, onto the stream bank. A section of the eroded bank had been cordoned off by police tape strung between stakes, and on a tarp lay the mud-encrusted bones that had already been unearthed. Claire recognized a tibia and what looked like fragments of a pelvis. Two men<\/p>\n

wearing waders and headlamps stood knee-deep in the stream, gingerly excavating the side of the bank.<\/p>\n

Lucy Overlock was standing among the trees talking on a cell phone. She was like a tree herself, tall and strapping, dressed in a woodsman\u2019s wardrobe of jeans and work boots. Her hair, almost entirely gray, was tied back in a tight, no-nonsense ponytail. She saw Lincoln, gave a harassed wave, and continued with her phone conversation.<\/p>\n

no artifacts yet, just the skeletal remains. But I assure you, this burial doesn\u2019t fall under NAGPRA. The skull looks Caucasoid to me, not Indian. What do you mean, how can I tell? It\u2019s obvious! The brain-case is too narrow, and the facial breadth just isn\u2019t wide enough. No, of course it\u2019s not absolute. But the site is on Locust Lake, and there\u2019s never been a Penobscot settlement here. The tribe wouldn\u2019t even fish in this lake, it\u2019s such a taboo place.\u201d She looked up at the sky and shook her head. \u201cCertainly, you can examine the bones for yourself. But we have to excavate this site now, before the animals do any more damage, or we\u2019ll lose the whole thing.\u201d She hung up and looked at Lincoln in frustration. \u201cCustody battle.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOver bones?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s that NAGPRA law. Indian graves protection. Every time we find remains, the tribes demand one hundred percent confirmation it\u2019s not one of theirs. Ninety-five percent isn\u2019t good enough for them.\u201d Her gaze turned to Claire, who\u2019d stepped forward to introduce herself.<\/p>\n

\u201cLucy Overlock,\u201d said Lincoln. \u201cAnd this is Claire Elliot. The doctor who found the thigh bone.\u201d<\/p>\n

The two women shook hands, the no-nonsense greeting of two medical professionals meeting over a grim business.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re lucky you\u2019re the one who spotted the bone,\u201d said Lucy. \u201cAnyone else might not have realized it was human.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo be honest, I wasn\u2019t entirely sure,\u201d said Claire. \u201cI\u2019m glad I didn\u2019t drag everyone out here for a cow bone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s definitely not a cow\u201d<\/p>\n

One of the diggers called out from the streambed: \u201cWe found something else.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lucy dropped knee-deep into the stream and aimed a flashlight at the exposed bank.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere,\u201d said the digger, gently prodding the soil with a trowel. \u201cLooks like it might be another skull.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lucy snapped on gloves. \u201cOkay, let\u2019s ease it out.\u201d<\/p>\n

He slid the tip of his trowel deeper into the bank and gingerly pried away caked mud. The object dropped into Lucy\u2019s gloved hands. She scrambled out of the water and up onto the bank. Kneeling down, she surveyed her treasure over the tarp.<\/p>\n

It was indeed a second skull. Under the floodlight, Lucy carefully turned it over and examined the teeth.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnother juvenile. No wisdom teeth,\u201d Lucy noted. \u201cI see decayed molars here and here, but no fillings.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMeaning no dental work,\u201d said Claire.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, these are old bones. A good thing for you, Lincoln. Otherwise, this would be an active homicide case.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do you say that?\u201d<\/p>\n

She rotated the skull, and the light fell on the crown, where fracture lines radiated out from a central depression, the way a soft-boiled egg cracks when it is struck with the back of a spoon.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think there\u2019s any doubt,\u201d she said. \u201cThis child died a violent death.\u201d<\/p>\n

The chirp of a beeper cut through the silence, startling them all. In the stillness of those woods, that electronic sound was strangely foreign. Disconcerting. Both Claire and Lincoln automatically reached for their respective pagers.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s mine,\u201d said Lincoln, glancing at his readout. Without another word, he took off through the woods toward his cruiser. Seconds later, Claire saw the dome light flashing through the trees as his vehicle streaked away.<\/p>\n

\u201cMust be an emergency,\u201d said Lucy.<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Officer Pete Sparks was already at the scene, trying to talk old Vein Fuller into putting down his shotgun. Night had fallen, and Lincoln\u2019s first glimpse of the situation was of two wildly gesturing silhouettes intermittently backlit by the flashing dome light of Pete\u2019s cruiser. Lin<\/p>\n

coin pulled to a stop in Vern\u2019s driveway and cautiously stepped out of his vehicle. He heard bleating sheep, the restless clucking of chickens. The sounds of a working farm.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t need the gun,\u201d Pete was saying. \u201cJust go back in the house, Vern, and we\u2019ll look into this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike you looked into it the last time?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t find anything the last time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s because you take so damn long gettin\u2019 here!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the problem?\u201d said Lincoln.<\/p>\n

Vern turned to him. \u201cThat you, Chief Kelly? Then you tell this\u2014this boy here that I\u2019m not about to hand over my only protection.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not asking you to hand it over,\u201d said a weary-sounding Pete. \u201cI just want you to stop waving it around. Go inside and put the gun away, so nobody gets hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think that\u2019s a good idea;\u2019 said Lincoln. \u201cWe don\u2019t know what we\u2019re dealing with, so you go in and lock the door, Vern. Stay close to the phone, just in case we need you to call for backup.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBackup?\u201d Vern gave a grunt. \u201cYeah. Okay, I\u2019ll do that.\u201d<\/p>\n

The two cops waited for the old man to stomp into the house and shut the door.<\/p>\n

Then Pete said, \u201cHe\u2019s blind as a bat. Wish we could get that shotgun away from him. Every time I come out here, I half expect to get my head blown off.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the problem, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAw, it\u2019s the third time he\u2019s called nine-one-one. I\u2019m so busy runnin\u2019 my tail off with all these other calls, it takes me a while to get here. He always has the same complaint about some wild animal stalking his sheep. Probably just seeing his own shadow, that\u2019s what.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy does he call us?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCause Fish and Game takes even longer to respond. I been here twice this week, didn\u2019t find anything. Not even a coyote print. Today\u2019s the first time I seen Vern this riled up. Thought I\u2019d better get you out, just in case he decided to shoot me <\/span>\u2018stead of some wild animal.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lincoln glanced at the house, and saw the old man\u2019s face silhouetted in the window. \u201cHe\u2019s watching. Might as well check the property, just to keep him happy\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSays he saw the animal over by the barn.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pete turned on his flashlight, and they started across the yard, toward the sound of bleating sheep. Lincoln felt the old man\u2019s gaze every step of the way. Let\u2019s just humor him, he thought. Even if it is a waste of our time.<\/p>\n

He was startled when Pete suddenly halted, his flashlight beam trained on the barn door.<\/p>\n

It hung open.<\/p>\n

Something wasn\u2019t right. It was after dark, and the door should have been latched to protect the animals.<\/p>\n

He turned on his flashlight as well. They approached more slowly now, their jerky beams guiding the way. At the entrance to the barn they paused. Even through the earthy melange of farmyard odors, they could smell it: the scent of blood.<\/p>\n

They stepped into the barn. At once the bleating intensified, the sound as disturbing as the cries of panicked children. Pete swung his flashlight in a wide arc, and they caught glimpses of pitchforks and fluttering chickens and sheep fearfully bunched together in a pen.<\/p>\n

Lying on the sawdust floor was the source of that foul odor. Pete stumbled out of the building first, and retched into the weeds, one hand propped up against the barn wall. \u201cJesus. Jesus.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just a dead sheep,\u201d said Lincoln.<\/p>\n

\u201cI never seen a coyote do that. Lay out the offal.<\/p>\n

Lincoln aimed his beam at the ground, quickly scanning the area around the barn door. All he saw was a jumble of boot prints, his and Pete\u2019s and Vern Fuller\u2019s. No tracks. How could an animal leave no tracks?<\/p>\n

A twig snapped behind him, and he whirled around to see Vern, still clutching the shotgun.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a bear,\u201d said the old man. \u201cThat\u2019s what I seen, a bear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA bear wouldn\u2019t do this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know what I saw. Whyn\u2019t you believe me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\nBecause everyone knows you\u2019re half blind.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u201cIt went that way, into the woods,\u201d said Vern, pointing to the forested edge of his property \u201cI followed it over there, just before dark. Then I lost <\/p>\n

\nit.\u201d <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

Lincoln saw that the boot tracks did indeed head toward the forest, but Vern had retraced his steps several times, obscuring any animal footprints.<\/p>\n

He followed the trail over to the woods. There he stood for a moment, peering into the blackness. The trees were so thick they seemed to form an impenetrable wall that even his flashlight beam could not pierce.<\/p>\n

By now Pete had recovered, and was standing by his side. \u201cWe should wait till daylight,\u201d Pete whispered. \u201cDon\u2019t know what we\u2019re dealing with.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know it\u2019s not a bear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, well, I\u2019m not scared of bears. But if it\u2019s something else.<\/p>\n

Pete drew his weapon. \u201cRumor has it a cougar was spotted up at Jordan Falls last week.\u201d<\/p>\n

Now Lincoln drew his weapon as well as he moved slowly into the woods. He took half a dozen steps, the crack of breaking twigs under his boot as loud as gunfire. All at once he froze, staring at that wall of trees. The forest seemed to close in. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.<\/p>\n

\nThere\u2019s something out there. It\u2019s watching us.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

Every instinct screamed at him to retreat. He backed away, his heart racing, his boots setting off explosions of noise. Only when he and Pete had emerged completely from the woods did that feeling of imminent danger fade away.<\/p>\n

They stood once again in front of Vern Fuller\u2019s barn, and the sheep were still bleating. He looked down at the boot prints. Suddenly his head came up.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat lies beyond those woods?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cGoes back a ways,\u201d said Vern. \u201cOther side\u2019s Barnstown Road. Bunch of houses.\u201d<\/p>\n

\nHouses, <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

thought Lincoln. <\/p>\n

\nFamilies.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

Noah was watching TV when Claire got home. As she hung up her coat <\/p>\n

in the hallway, she recognized the theme music from The Simpsons <\/span>cartoon playing in the other room, and she heard Homer <\/p>\n

Simpson\u2019s loud burp and Lisa Simpson\u2019s mutter of disgust. Then she heard her son laugh, and she thought: I\u2019m so glad my son still laughs at cartoons.<\/span><\/p>\n

She went into the front parlor and saw Noah flopped back against the couch cushions, his face briefly lit up with laughter. He looked at her, but didn\u2019t say anything.<\/p>\n

She sat down beside him and propped her feet up on the coffee table, next to his. Big feet, little feet, she thought with quiet amusement. Noah\u2019s feet had grown so huge, they almost looked like a clown\u2019s beside hers.<\/p>\n

On the TV, an enormously fat Homer was bouncing around in a flowery muumuu, and shoveling food into his mouth.<\/p>\n

Noah laughed again, and so did Claire. This was exactly the way she wanted to spend the rest of the evening. They would watch TV together, and eat popcorn for dinner. She leaned toward him, and they affectionately bumped heads together.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry Mom,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay, Honey. I\u2019m sorry I was late picking you up?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u201cGrandma Elliot called. A little while ago?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u201cOh? Does she want me to call her back?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess.\u201d He watched the TV for a while, his silence stretching through the string of commercials. Then he said, \u201cGrandma wanted to make sure we were okay tonight?\u2019<\/p>\n

Claire gave him a puzzled look. \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s Dad\u2019s birthday.\u201d<\/p>\n

On the TV, Homer Simpson in his flowered muumuu had hijacked an ice cream truck and was driving it at breakneck speed, gobbling ice cream the whole way. Claire watched in stunned silence. Today was your birthday, <\/span>she thought. You\u2019ve been dead only two years, and already we\u2019re losing bits and pieces of your memory.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh god, Noah,\u201d she whispered. \u201cI can\u2019t believe it. I completely forgot.\u201d<\/p>\n

She felt his head droop heavily against her shoulder, And he said, with quiet shame, \u201cSo did I.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sitting in her bedroom, Claire returned Margaret Elliot\u2019s call. Claire had always liked her mother-in-law, and through the years, their affection had grown to the point that she felt far closer to Margaret than she ever had to her own coldly aloof parents. Sometimes it seemed to Claire that everything she knew about love, about passion, had been taught to her by the Elliot family.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, Mom. It\u2019s me,\u201d said Claire.<\/p>\n

\u201cSixty-two degrees and sunny in Baltimore today,\u201d Margaret replied, and Claire had to laugh. Ever since she\u2019d moved to Tranquility this had been the running joke between them, their comparison of weather reports. Margaret had not wanted her to leave Baltimore. \u201cYou have no idea what real cold is,\u201d she\u2019d told Claire, \u201cand I\u2019m going to keep reminding you of what you\u2019ve left behind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThirty-five degrees here,\u201d Claire dutifully reported. She looked out her window. \u201cIt\u2019s getting colder. Darker.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid Noah tell you I called earlier?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. And we\u2019re doing fine. We really are.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire said nothing. Margaret had the uncanny talent for reading emotions from just the simple inflection of one\u2019s voice, and already she had sensed something amiss.<\/p>\n

\u201cNoah told me he wants to come back here,\u201d said Margaret.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe just moved.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can always change your mind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot now. I\u2019ve made too many commitments here. To this new practice, the house.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThose are commitments to things, <\/span>Claire.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, they\u2019re really commitments to Noah. I need to stay here, for him.\u201d She paused, suddenly aware that, as much as she loved Margaret, she was feeling a little irritated. She was also weary of the gentle but repeated hints that she should return to Baltimore. \u201cIt\u2019s always hard for a kid to make a fresh start, but he\u2019ll adjust. He\u2019s too young to know What he wants.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s true, I suppose. What about you? Do you still want to be there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy are you asking, Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause I know it would be hard for me, moving to a new place. Leaving behind my friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire stared at the dresser mirror, at her own tired face. At the reflection of her bedroom, which still had few pictures on the wall. It was merely a collection of furniture, a place to sleep, not yet part of a real home.<\/p>\n

\u201cA widow needs her friends, Claire,\u201d said Margaret.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe that was one of the reasons I had to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I was to everyone\u2014the widow. I\u2019d walk into my clinic, and people would give me those sad and sympathetic looks. They were all afraid to laugh or tell jokes when I was around. And no one, no one ever dared to talk about Peter. It\u2019s as if they thought I\u2019d break down in sobs if they just mentioned his name.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was silence on the line, and Claire suddenly regretted having spoken so frankly.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt doesn\u2019t mean I ever stop missing him, Mom,\u201d she said softly. \u201cI see him every time I look at Noah\u2019s face. The resemblance is so amazing. It\u2019s like watching Peter grow up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn more ways than one,\u201d Margaret said, and Claire was relieved to hear the warmth had not left her mother-in-law\u2019s voice. \u201cPeter wasn\u2019t the easiest child to raise. I don\u2019t think I ever told you about all the trouble he got into when he was Noah\u2019s age. That\u2019s where Noah gets his streak of mischief, you know. From Peter.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire had to laugh. He certainly didn\u2019t get it from me, his boringly scrupulous mother, whose most serious crime was neglecting to get that safety sticker<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNoah\u2019s got a good heart, but he\u2019s still only fourteen,\u201d said Margaret with a friendly note of warning. \u201cDon\u2019t be too terribly shocked if there\u2019s more mischief on the way\u201d<\/p>\n

Later, as Claire headed back downstairs, she smelled the odor of burning matches, and she thought: Well, here it comes, then. More mischief. He\u2019s sneaking another cigarette. She followed the scent to the kitchen and came to a halt in the doorway.<\/p>\n

Noah was holding a lit match. He glanced at her, and quickly shook it out. \u201cIt\u2019s all the candles I could find,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

In silence she approached the kitchen table. Her vision suddenly blurred with tears as she gazed at the Sara Lee layer cake he had taken out of the freezer. Flames danced atop eleven candles.<\/p>\n

Noah struck another match and lit the twelfth flame on the cake. \u201cHappy birthday, Dad,\u201d he said softly.<\/p>\n

\nHappy birthday, Peter, <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

she thought, and blinked away her tears. And she and her son blew out the candles. <\/p>\n

\n4<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

Mrs. Horatio was going to pith a frog.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt doesn\u2019t hurt them a bit, once you\u2019ve penetrated their brain stem,\u201d she explained. \u201cThe needle goes in at the base of the skull, and you wiggle it around a little to destroy all the sensory tracts running up to the brain. This paralyzes them, stops any conscious movement, but it keeps their spinal reflexes intact for study.\u201d She reached into the jar and picked up a squirming frog in one hand. With her other hand, she reached for the pithing needle. It was humongous.<\/p>\n

Though a ripple of nausea stirred in his stomach, Noah sat perfectly still at his desk in the third row. He was careful to keep his legs casually thrown out in front of him, his expression bored.<\/p>\n

He could hear the other students squirm in their chairs, the girls mostly. To his right, a horrified Amelia Reid covered her mouth with her hand.<\/p>\n

He let his gaze slide around the room and he silently pronounced judgment as he looked at each student in turn. Nerd. Jock. Kiss-ass preppie. <\/span>Except for Amelia Reid, none of them were kids he cared to hang out with. None of them were interested in hanging out with<\/p>\n

\nhim, <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

either, but that was okay. His mom might like it in this town, but he didn\u2019t plan on staying forever. <\/p>\n

\nGraduate, and then I\u2019m outta here, outta here, outta here.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u201cTaylor, stop fidgeting and pay attention,\u201d said Mrs. Horatio.<\/p>\n

Noah glanced sideways, and saw that Taylor Darnell was gripping his desk with both hands and staring at the exam paper he\u2019d just gotten back that morning. Mrs. Horatio had scrawled a giant D plus in red marker. The test paper was covered with Taylor\u2019s angry slashes in black ink. Next to the humiliating grade, he\u2019d written: \u201cDie, Mrs. Whoratio.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNoah, are you paying attention?\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah flushed and turned his gaze back to the front of the class. Mrs. Horatio was holding up the frog for all to see. She actually looked like she was enjoying herself as she placed the tip of the pithing needle against the back of the frog\u2019s head. Her eyes were bright, her mouth puckered and eager as she jammed the needle into the brainstem. The frog\u2019s hind legs thrashed, its webbed feet slapping in pain.<\/p>\n

Amelia gave a whimper and dropped her head down, her blond hair cascading over the desk. Chairs were squeaking all over the room now. Someone called out with a note of desperation: \u201cMrs. Horatio, can I be excused?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c…have to move the needle back and forth with a certain amount of force. Don\u2019t worry about the feet flapping around like this. It\u2019s purely reflex action. Just the spine shooting off impulses.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Horatio, I have <\/span>to use the bathroom..<\/p>\n

\u201cIn a minute. First, you have to see how I do this.\u201d She twisted the needle and there was a soft crack.<\/span><\/p>\n

Noah thought he was going to puke. Struggling to maintain that look of utterly cool nonchalance, he turned away, his hands clenched Under his desk. Don\u2019t puke, don\u2019t puke, don\u2019t puke. <\/span>He focused on Amelia\u2019s blond hair, which he\u2019d often admired. Rapunzel hair. He Stared at it, thinking how much he\u2019d like to stroke it. He\u2019d never even dared talk to Amelia. She was like a girl in a golden bubble, beyond the reach of any mere mortal.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere now,\u201d said Mrs. Horatio. \u201cThat\u2019s all there is to it. You see, Class? Total paralysis.\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah forced his gaze back to the frog. It lay on the teacher\u2019s desk, a limp, floppy carcass. Still alive, if you believed old Horatio, but showing no signs of it. He felt a sudden and overwhelming pity for that frog, imagined himself sprawled across that desk, eyes open and aware, body unresponsive. Darts of panic going nowhere, just exploding like firecrackers in your brain. He himself felt paralyzed and numb.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow each of you pair up with a lab partner,\u201d said Mrs. Horatio. \u201cAnd scoot your desks together.\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah swallowed and looked sideways at Amelia. She gave a helpless nod.<\/p>\n

He moved his desk next to hers. They didn\u2019t speak to each other; it was a partnership based purely on proximity but hey, whatever it took to get up close. Amelia\u2019s lips were trembling. He wanted very much to comfort her, but he didn\u2019t know how to, so he just sat there, his face assuming, by default, its usual bored expression. Say something nice to her, moron. Something to impress her You may never get another chance!<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFrog sure looks dead,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

She shuddered.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Horatio came walking down the aisle carrying the jar of frogs. She stopped beside Noah and Amelia.<\/p>\n

\u201cTake one. Each team works on a frog.\u201d<\/p>\n

The blood drained from Amelia\u2019s face. It was up to Noah.<\/p>\n

He shoved his hand in the jar and grabbed a wriggling frog. Mrs. Horatio slapped a pithing needle down on his desk. \u201cGet started, you two,\u201d she said, and moved on to the next team.<\/p>\n

Noah looked down at the frog he was holding. It stared back at him, bug-eyed. He picked up the pithing needle, then he looked at the frog again. Those eyes were begging him, Let me live, let me live! <\/span>He put down the needle, his nausea back full force, and looked hopefully at Amelia. \u201cYou wanna do the honors?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d she whispered. \u201cDon\u2019t make me, please.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

One of the girls screamed. Noah glanced sideways and saw Lydia Lipman leap out of her chair and scramble away from her lab partner, Taylor Darnell. There was a wooden thud, thud, thud, <\/span>as Taylor stabbed his pithing needle into the frog. Blood spattered on his desk.<\/p>\n

\u201cTaylor! Taylor, stop it!\u201d said Mrs. Horatio.<\/p>\n

He kept stabbing. Thud, thud. <\/span>The frog looked like green hamburger. \u201cD plus,\u201d he muttered. \u201cI studied all week for that test. You can\u2019t give me a D plus!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTaylor, go to the principal\u2019s office.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stabbed the frog harder. \u201cYou can\u2019t give me a lousy D plus!\u201d<\/p>\n

She grabbed his wrist and tried to take the needle away from him. \u201cGo see Miss Cornwallis now!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Taylor yanked away, knocking the dead frog off his desk. It tumbled into Amelia\u2019s lap. With a shriek, she jumped to her feet and the small corpse slatted to the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cTaylor!\u201d Mrs. Horatio yelled. Again she grabbed his wrist, this time forcing him to drop the pithing needle. \u201cLeave this room immediately!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFuck you!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you say?\u201d<\/p>\n

He stood up and shoved his chair to the floor. \u201cFuck you!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are suspended as of right now! You\u2019ve been sullen and disrespectful all week. This is it, buddy. You\u2019re out of here!\u201d<\/p>\n

He kicked the chair. It bounced up the aisle and crashed into a desk. Grabbing his shirt, she tried to march him toward the door, but he twisted free and shoved her backwards. She fell against a desk, toppling the jar. It shattered, and frogs leaped free, scattering away in a writhing carpet of green.<\/p>\n

Slowly Mrs. Horatio rose to her feet, fury blazing in her eyes. \u201cI\u2019m going to have you expelled!\u201d<\/p>\n

Taylor reached into his backpack.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Horatio\u2019s gaze froze on the gun in his hand. \u201cPut it down,\u201d she said. \u201cTaylor, put it down!\u201d<\/p>\n

The explosion seemed to punch her in the abdomen. She staggered backwards, clutching her belly, and dropped to the floor with a look of disbelief. Time seemed to halt, frozen for one interminable moment as Noah stared down in horror at the bright river of blood streaming toward his sneakers. Then a girl\u2019s terrified shriek pierced the silence. In the next instant, chaos exploded all around him. He heard chairs<\/p>\n

slam to the floor, saw a fleeing girl stumble and fall to her knees in the broken glass. The air itself seemed misted with blood and panic.<\/p>\n

Another gunshot exploded.<\/p>\n

Noah\u2019s gaze swept around in a slow-motion pan of fleeing bodies, and he saw Vernon Hobbs tumble forward and crash into a desk. The room was a blur of flying hair and churning legs. But Noah himself could not seem to move. His feet were mired in a waking nightmare, his body refusing to obey his brain\u2019s commands of Run! Run!<\/span><\/p>\n

His gaze panned back across the chaos to Taylor Darnell, and to his horror he saw that the gun was now pointed at Amelia\u2019s head.<\/p>\n

No, he thought. No!<\/span><\/p>\n

Taylor fired.<\/p>\n

A streak of blood magically appeared on Amelia\u2019s temple and the rivulet slowly dripped down her cheek, yet she remained standing, her eyes wide and focused like a condemned animal\u2019s on the gun barrel. \u201cPlease, Taylor,\u201d she whispered. \u201cPlease, don\u2019t. <\/p>\n

\n. <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

Taylor raised the gun again.<\/p>\n

All at once, Noah\u2019s legs broke free of their nightmare paralysis, his body moving of its own accord. His brain registered a multitude of details at once. He saw Taylor\u2019s head come up, face rotating toward Noah. He saw the gun slowly sweep around in an arc. He saw the look of surprise in Taylor\u2019s eyes as Noah came flying at him.<\/p>\n

Another bullet exploded out of the barrel.<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve just noticed my patient was admitted. Why didn\u2019t anyone call me?\u201d<\/p>\n

The ward clerk looked up from her desk and seemed to shrink when she saw it was Claire asking the question. \u201cUh <\/p>\n

… <\/span>which patient, Dr. Elliot?\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cKatie Youmans. I saw her name posted on one of the doors, but she\u2019s not in the room. I can\u2019t find her chart in the rack.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was admitted just a few hours ago, through the ER. She\u2019s in X-ray right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo one notified me.\u201d<\/p>\n

The clerk\u2019s gaze dropped like a stone to her desk. \u201cDr. DelRay’s taken over as attending physician.\u2019<\/p>\n

Claire absorbed this dismaying news in silence. It was not uncommon for patients to switch physicians, sometimes for the most trivial of reasons. Two of Adam DelRay\u2019s patients had transferred to Claire\u2019s practice as well. But she was surprised that this particular patient would choose to leave her care.<\/p>\n

Sixteen years old, and mildly retarded, Katie Youmans had been living with her father when she was brought in to see Claire for a bladder infection. Claire had noticed at once the circumferential bruises on the girl\u2019s wrists. Forty-five minutes of gentle questioning and a pelvic examination had confirmed Claire\u2019s suspicions. Katie was removed from her father\u2019s abusive household and placed in foster care.<\/p>\n

Since then, the girl had thrived. Her bruises, both physical and emotional, finally faded. Claire had counted Katie as one of her triumphs. Why would the girl switch doctors?<\/p>\n

She found Katie in X-ray. Through the small viewing window, Claire saw the girl lying on the table, her lower leg positioned beneath the X-ray tube.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I ask what the admitting diagnosis is?\u201d Claire asked the tech.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey told me cellulites of the right foot. Her chart\u2019s over there, if you want to look at it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire picked up the medical record and flipped to the admission note. It had been dictated by Adam DelRay at seven <\/p>\n

A.M. <\/span>that morning. <\/p>\n

\nSixteen-year-old white female who stepped on a tack two days ago. This morning she awakened with fever chills, and swollen foot…<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

Claire skimmed the history and physical, then turned the page and read the therapeutic plan.<\/p>\n

Quickly she picked up the phone to page Adam DelRay.<\/p>\n

A moment later, he walked into X-ray, looking crisply starched as Usual in his long white coat. Though he had always been cordial toward her, he had never displayed any real warmth, and she suspected that under his Yankee reserve burned a masculine sense of Competition, perhaps even resentment, that Claire had lured away two of his patients.<\/p>\n

Now he had laid claim to one of hers, and she had to suppress her own feelings of competitiveness. Only the well-being of Katie Youmans should concern her now.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been following Katie as an outpatient,\u201d she said. \u201cI know her pretty well, and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cClaire, it\u2019s just one of those things.\u201d He lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder. \u201cI hope you don\u2019t take it personally.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not why I paged you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was just more convenient for me to admit her. I was in the ER when she came in. And her guardian felt Katie needed an internist.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m perfectly capable of treating cellulites, Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat if it turns into osteomyelitis? It could get complicated.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you saying a family physician isn\u2019t qualified to take care of this patient?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe girl\u2019s guardian made the decision. I just happened to be available.\u201d<\/p>\n

By now Claire was too angry to respond. Turning, she stared through the window at her patient. At her ex-patient. Suddenly she focused on the girl\u2019s N, and she noticed the handwritten label affixed to the bag of dextrose and water. \u201cIs she already getting antibiotics?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey just hung it,\u201d said the X-ray tech.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut she\u2019s allergic to penicillin! That\u2019s why I paged you, Adam!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe girl never said anything about allergies.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire ran into the next room, snagged the IV line, and closed off the infusion. Glancing down at Katie, she was alarmed to see the girl\u2019s face was flushed. \u201cI need epinephrine!\u201d Claire called out to the X-ray tech. \u201cAnd IV Benadryl!\u201d<\/p>\n

Katie was moving restlessly on the table. \u201cI feel funny, Dr. Elliot,\u201d she murmured. \u201cI\u2019m so hot.\u201d Wheals had swollen on her neck in bright blotches of red.<\/p>\n

The tech took one look at the girl, muttered \u201cOh, shit,\u201d and yanked open the drawer for the anaphylaxis kit.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe didn\u2019t tell me she was allergic,\u201d said DelRay, defensively.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere\u2019s the epi,\u201d said the tech, handing Claire the syringe.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t breathe!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay, Katie,\u201d soothed Claire, uncapping the needle. \u201cYou\u2019ll feel better in just a few seconds She pierced the girl\u2019s skin and injected a tenth of a cc of epinephrine.<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI\u2014can\u2019t\u2014breathe!\u201d<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u201cBenadryl, twenty-five milligrams IV\u201d <\/span>Claire snapped. \u201cAdam, give her the Benadryl!\u201d<\/p>\n

DelRay stared down with stunned eyes at the syringe the X-ray tech had just slapped in his hand. In a daze, he injected the drug into the line.<\/p>\n

Claire whipped out her stethoscope. Listening to the girl\u2019s lungs, she heard tight wheezes on both sides. \u201cWhat\u2019s the blood pressure?\u201d she asked the tech.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m getting eighty over fifty. Pulse one-forty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s move her to ER, STAT?\u2019<\/p>\n

Three pairs of hands reached out to slide the girl onto the gurney.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan\u2019t breathe\u2014can\u2019t breathe\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus, she\u2019s really swelling up!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust keep moving!\u201d said Claire.<\/p>\n

Together they propelled the gurney out of X-ray and ran it down the hallway. They careened around the corner and banged through double doors into the ER. Dr. McNally and two nurses looked up, startled, as Claire announced:<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s going into anaphylactic shock!\u201d<\/p>\n

The response was immediate. The ER staff swung the gurney into a treatment room. An oxygen mask was pressed to the girl\u2019s face and EKG leads clapped to her chest. Within minutes a hefty dose of cortisone was dripping into her IV<\/p>\n

Her own heart was still pounding when Claire finally left the room to let McNally and his staff take over. She saw Adam DelRay standing at the nurses\u2019 desk, furiously scribbling in Katie\u2019s hospital record. As she approached, he quickly shut the chart.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe never told me she was allergic,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe girl is borderline retarded.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen she should be wearing a MedMert bracelet. Why isn\u2019t she?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe refuses to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I can\u2019t guess these things!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam, all you had to do was call me when she came in. You knew she was my patient, and that I\u2019m familiar with her history. All you had to do was ask.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe guardian should have told me. I can\u2019t believe it never even occurred to that woman to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

He was interrupted by the loud squeal of the ER radio. They both looked up as the transmission came crackling through.<\/p>\n

\u201cKnox Hospital, this is unit seventeen, unit seventeen. We have gunshot victim en route, ETA five minutes. Do you copy?\u201d<\/p>\n

One of the nurses darted out of the treatment room and snatched up the microphone. \u201cThis is Knox ER. What\u2019s that about a gunshot wound?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMultiple victims en route. This one\u2019s critical\u2014more on the way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many? Repeat, how many?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUncertain. At least three\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Another voice cut into the frequency. \u201cKnox Hospital, this is unit nine. En route with gunshot wound to the shoulder. Do you copy?\u201d<\/p>\n

In panic, the nurse grabbed the telephone and hit 0. \u201cDisaster code! Call a disaster code! This is not a drill!\u201d<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Five doctors. That was all they could round up in the building during the frantic moments before the first ambulance arrived: Claire, DelRay, McNally from the ER, a general surgeon, and one terrified pediatrician. No one knew any details yet, not the location of the shooting, nor the number of victims. All they knew was that something terrible had happened, and that this tiny rural hospital was not prepared to deal with the aftermath. The ER turned into a maelstrom of noise and activity as personnel scrambled to prepare for the injured. Katie, now stabilized, was whisked out and shoved into the hallway to free up the treatment room. Cabinets clanged open, bright lights flared on. Claire pitched in to hang IV bags, lay out instrument trays, and rip open packets of gauze and sutures.<\/p>\n

The approaching wail of the first ambulance brought a split second’s hush to the ER. Then everyone surged out the double doors to meet the first victim. Standing among that crowd of personnel, Claire<\/p>\n

heard no one speak; they were all focused on the swelling scream of the siren as it drew near.<\/p>\n

Abruptly the siren was cut off and the flashing red light swerved into view.<\/p>\n

Claire pushed forward as the ambulance backed up to the entrance. The vehicle\u2019s rear door swung open, and the stretcher rolled out with the first victim. It was a woman, already intubated. The surgical tape used to secure the ET tube obscured the lower half of her face. The bandage on her abdomen was soaked with blood.<\/p>\n

They rolled her straight into the trauma room and slid her onto the table. A confusing chorus of voices was shouting simultaneously as the woman\u2019s clothes were cut away, the EKG leads and oxygen lines connected, a BP cuff wrapped around one arm. A rapid sinus rhythm raced across the cardiac monitor.<\/p>\n

\u201cSystolic\u2019s seventy!\u201d a nurse called out.<\/p>\n

\u201cDrawing the type and cross!\u201d said Claire. She grabbed a sixteen-gauge IV catheter off the tray and snapped a tourniquet around the patient\u2019s arm. The vein barely plumped up; the patient was in shock. She stabbed the vein with the N <\/span>needle and slid the plastic catheter into place. With a syringe, she withdrew several tubes of blood, then attached the N <\/span>tubing to the catheter. \u201cAnother lactated Ringer\u2019s going in, wide open!\u201d she called out.<\/p>\n

\u201cSystolic\u2019s sixty, barely palpable!\u201d<\/p>\n

The surgeon said, \u201cBelly\u2019s distended. I think it\u2019s full of blood. Open that surgical tray, and get suction ready!\u201d He looked at McNally. \u201cYou\u2019re first assist.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut she needs to be in the OR\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo time. We have to find out where the blood\u2019s coming from.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve lost her BP!\u201d a nurse yelled.<\/p>\n

The first incision was swift and brutal, one long slash down the center of the abdomen, parting the skin. With a deeper incision, the surgeon cut through the yellow layer of subcutaneous fat, and slit into the peritoneum.<\/p>\n

Blood spilled out, streaming onto the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t see where it\u2019s coming from!\u201d<\/p>\n

The suction wasn\u2019t clearing the blood fast enough. In desperation, McNally stuffed two sterile towels into the abdomen and pulled them out again, soaking red and dripping.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, I think I see it. Bullet nicked the aorta\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus, it\u2019s gushing!\u201d<\/p>\n

A ward clerk yelled through the doorway, \u201cTwo more have arrived! They\u2019re wheeling them in now!\u201d<\/p>\n

McNally glanced across the table at Claire, and she saw panic in his eyes. \u201cYou\u2019re it,\u201d <\/span>he snapped. \u201cGo, Claire.\u201d<\/p>\n

With her heart in her throat, she pushed out of the trauma room and saw the first stretcher being wheeled into one of the treatment rooms. The patient was a sobbing red-haired boy shirt cut away, blood soaking through the bandage on his shoulder. Now a second stretcher whisked in the door\u2014a blond teenage girl, half her face covered with blood.<\/p>\n

\nchildren, <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

she thought. These are only children. My god, what has happened? <\/span><\/p>\n

She went first to the girl, who was crying but able to move all her extremities. At that first glimpse of blood on the girl\u2019s face, Claire nearly panicked, thinking: gunshot wound to the head. She forced herself to pause and take the girl\u2019s hand, to calmly ask her name, even while her own heart was thundering. It took only a few questions to confirm that Amelia Reid was fully oriented, and her mental status was clear. The wound was just a superficial graze of the temple, which Claire quickly cleaned and dressed.<\/p>\n

Turning her attention to the red-haired boy, she saw that he was already being attended to by the pediatrician.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre there any others on the way?\u201d she asked the ward clerk.<\/p>\n

\u201cNone en route. There may be more at the scene <\/p>\n

\n. <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

A second surgeon arrived, trotting in through the ER doors and announcing: \u201cI\u2019m here! Who needs me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTrauma room!\u201d said Claire. \u201cDr. McNally needs to be relieved.\u201d<\/p>\n

He was just about to push through the door when a nurse popped out, almost slamming into him.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo we have that O-neg blood for Horatio yet?\u201d she yelled to the ward clerk.<\/p>\n

Horatio? Claire hadn\u2019t recognized the patient under all that surgical tape, but she knew the name, Dorothy Horatio.<\/p>\n

\nMy son\u2019s biology teacher <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

She looked at the clock and saw it was eleven-thirty. Period three. Noah would be in biology\u2014in Mrs. Horatio\u2019s class. <\/p>\n

Another doctor arrived, another pair of hands\u2014the obstetrician from Two Hills. She took one last glance around the room, and saw that the situation was under control.<\/p>\n

She made the only decision a panicked mother could make.<\/p>\n

She ran outside to her car.<\/p>\n

The twenty-mile drive passed in a blur of autumn fields, the mist rising in wisps, stands of pine trees. Here and there farmhouses with tumbling porches. She had driven this country road every day for eight months, but never at this speed, never with her hands shaking and her heart sick with fear. She took the last rise with the accelerator floored and her Subaru leaped past the familiar sign:<\/p>\n

You Are Now Leaving Two Hills. Come Back Soon!<\/p>\n

And then, a hundred yards beyond that, a second sign, smaller, paint chipping.<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

WELCOME TO TRANQUILITY<\/p>\n

GATEWAY TO LOCUST LAKE<\/p>\n

POPULATION 910<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

She swerved onto School Road and saw the flashing lights of half a dozen emergency vehicles. Police cruisers were parked in a jumble near the high school\u2019s red brick front entrance, along with two fire trucks\u2014a full-scale disaster response.<\/p>\n

Claire abandoned her car and ran toward the school\u2019s front lawn, where dozens of stunned-looking students and teachers had gathered behind a tangle of police tape. Scanning the faces, she didn\u2019t see Noah.<\/p>\n

A Two Hills policeman stopped her at the front door. \u201cNo one\u2019s allowed inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I have to go in!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly emergency personnel.\u201d<\/p>\n

She took a quick breath. \u201cI\u2019m Dr. Elliot,\u201d she said, her voice steadier. \u201cI\u2019m a physician from Tranquility\u201d<\/p>\n

He let her pass.<\/p>\n

She pushed through the front door into the high school. The building was nearly a century old, and inside hung the musty odors of teenage sweat and dust stirred up by thousands of feet trudging up and down the staircase. She ran up the steps to the second floor.<\/p>\n

The doorway to the biology classroom was crisscrossed by strands of police tape. Beyond the tape were overturned chairs, broken glass, and scattered papers. Frogs hopped through the debris.<\/p>\n

There was blood\u2014pools of it congealing in gelatinous lakes on the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her heart leaped at the voice. She whirled to see her son standing at the far end of the hall. In the dim light of that long corridor, he seemed frighteningly small to her, his blood-streaked face pale and thin.<\/p>\n

She ran to him and threw her arms around his rigid body puffing him, forcing him, into an embrace. She felt his shoulders melt first, then his head drooped against her and he was crying. No sound came out; there was just the shuddering of his chest and warm tears sliding onto her neck. At last she felt his arms come around her, circle her waist. His shoulders might be as broad as a man\u2019s, but it was a child who clung to her now, a child\u2019s grief that spilled out in tears.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you hurt?\u201d she asked. \u201cNoah, you\u2019re bleeding. Are you hurt?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s fine, Claire. The blood isn\u2019t his. It\u2019s the teacher\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked up and saw Lincoln Kelly standing in the hall, his grim expression reflecting the day\u2019s terrible events. \u201cNoah and I just finished going over what happened. I was about to call you, Claire.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was at the hospital. I heard there was a shooting.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour son grabbed the gun away from the boy,\u201d said Lincoln. \u201cIt was. a crazy thing to do. A brave thing to do. He probably saved a few lives.\u201d Lincoln\u2019s gaze dropped to Noah, and he added softly: \u201cYou should be proud of him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wasn\u2019t brave,\u201d blurted out Noah. He pulled away from Claire, ashamedly wiping his eyes. \u201cI was scared. I don\u2019t know why I did it. I didn\u2019t know what I was doing. <\/p>\n

\n. <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you did it, Noah.\u201d Lincoln lay a hand on the boy\u2019s shoulder. It was a man\u2019s blessing, brusque and matter-of-fact. Noah seemed to draw sustenance from that simple touch. A mother, thought Claire, cannot knight her own son. It must be done by another man.<\/p>\n

Slowly Noah straightened, his tears at last under control. \u201cIs Amelia okay?\u201d he asked her. \u201cThey took her in the ambulance.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s fine. Just a scratch on her face. I think the boy will be fine as well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd <\/p>\n

… <\/span>Mrs. Horatio?\u201d <\/p>\n

She shook her head. And said, gently, \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n

He took a deep breath and wiped an unsteady hand across his eyes. \u201cI\u2014I have to go wash my face..<\/p>\n

\u2018You do that,\u201d said Lincoln gently. \u201cTake your time, Noah. Your mom will be waiting for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire watched her son walk away down the hall. As he passed the biology classroom he slowed down, his gaze drawn, against his will, to the open doorway. For a few seconds he stood hypnotized by the terrible view beyond that police tape. Then, abruptly, he pushed into the boys\u2019 restroom.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho was it?\u201d said Claire, turning to Lincoln. \u201cWho brought the gun to school?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was Taylor Darnell.\u201d<\/p>\n

She stared at him. \u201cOh god. He\u2019s my patient.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what his father told us. Paul Darnell says the boy can\u2019t be held responsible. That he has attention deficit disorder and can\u2019t control his impulses. Is that true?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cADD doesn\u2019t cause violent behavior. And Taylor doesn\u2019t have it, anyway. But I can\u2019t comment on this case, Lincoln. I\u2019m betraying confidentiality\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, something\u2019s <\/span>wrong with the kid. If you\u2019re his doctor, maybe you should take a look at him before he\u2019s moved to the Youth Center.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere is he now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re holding him in the principal\u2019s office.\u201d Lincoln paused. \u201cJust a Word of warning, Claire. Don\u2019t get too close.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n5<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

Taylor Darnell sat handcuffed to a chair, swinging his foot, bam, bam, bam! <\/span>against the principal\u2019s desk. He didn\u2019t look up when Claire and Lincoln walked into the room, didn\u2019t even seem to notice they were there. Two Maine state cops were in the room with him. They looked at Lincoln and shook their heads, their thoughts transparent:<\/p>\n

\nThis one is totally bonkers.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u201cWe just got a call from the hospital,\u201d one of the state cops said to Lincoln. \u201cThe teacher\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

No one spoke for a moment; both Claire and Lincoln absorbed the terrible news in silence.<\/p>\n

Then Claire asked, softly: \u201cWhere is Taylor\u2019s mother?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s still on her way back from Portland. She drove down there on business.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd Mr. Darnell?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think he\u2019s rounding up a lawyer. They\u2019re going to need one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Taylor was kicking his foot against the desk again in a ceaseless, accelerating beat.<\/p>\n

Claire set her medical bag down on a chair and approached the boy. \u201cYou remember me, Taylor, don\u2019t you? I\u2019m Dr. Elliot.\u201d He didn\u2019t answer,<\/p>\n

just kept up that angry banging. Something was very wrong. This was more than adolescent rage she was looking at. It appeared to be some sort of drug-induced psychosis.<\/p>\n

Without warning, Taylor\u2019s gaze rose and locked on hers, focusing with predatory intensity. His pupils dilated, irises darkening to ebony pools. His lips curled up, canines gleaming, and from his throat escaped an animal sound, half hiss, half growl.<\/p>\n

It happened so fast she had no time to react. He sprang to his feet, dragging the chair up with him, and lunged at her.<\/p>\n

The impact of his body slamming into hers sent her toppling backwards to the floor. His teeth sank into her jacket, ripping the fabric, sending goose down and feathers flying in a white cloud. She caught a glimpse of three frantic faces as the cops struggled to separate them. They wrenched Taylor away, dragging him backwards even as he continued to thrash.<\/p>\n

Lincoln grasped her arm and lifted her back to her feet. \u201cClaire\u2014 Jesus\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m okay,\u201d she said, coughing on goose down. \u201cReally, I\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

One of the state cops yelped. \u201cHe just bit me! Look, I\u2019m bleeding!\u201d<\/p>\n

Even cuffed to the chair, the boy was fighting, bucking against his restraints. \u201cLet me go!\u201d he shrieked. \u201cI\u2019ll kill you all if you don\u2019t let me go!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe should be locked up in a freaking kennel!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. No, there\u2019s something seriously wrong here,\u201d said Claire. \u201cIt looks like a drug psychosis to me. PCP or amphetamines.\u201d She turned to Lincoln. \u201cI want this boy moved to the hospital. Now.\u201d<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

\u201cToo much movement,\u201d said Dr. Chapman, the radiologist. \u201cWe\u2019re not going to get very clear definition here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire leaned forward, watching intently as the first cross-section of Taylor Darnell\u2019s brain appeared on the computer screen. Each image Was a compilation of pixels formed by thousands of tiny X-ray beams. Aimed at different angles along one plane, the beams distinguished between fluid and solid and air, and the various densities were reproduced in the image on the screen.<\/p>\n

\u201cSee that fuzziness there?\u201d said Chapman, pointing to the movement artifact.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can\u2019t make him hold still unless we put him under anesthesia.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s an option.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire shook her head. \u201cHis mentation\u2019s cloudy enough. I don\u2019t want to risk anesthesia right now. I\u2019m just trying to rule out any mass shifts before I do the lumbar puncture.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou really think encephalitis could explain these symptoms?\u201d Chapman looked at her, and she saw skepticism in his eyes. In Baltimore, she\u2019d been a respected family practitioner. But here she still had to prove herself. How long would it take before her new colleagues stopped questioning her judgment and learned to trust her?<\/p>\n

\u201cAt this point, I have no choice,\u201d she said. \u201cThe initial screen for both methamphetamine and PCP came back negative. But Dr. Forrest thinks this is clearly an organic psychosis, not psychiatric.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chapman was obviously unimpressed by Dr. Forrest\u2019s clinical skills. \u201cPsychiatry is hardly an exact science.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I agree with him. The boy\u2019s shown alarming personality changes in just the last few days. We have to rule out infection.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the white cell count?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThirteen thousand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA little high, but not all that impressive. What about the differential?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHis eosinophil count is high. Way off the scale, in fact, at thirty percent.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut he has a history of asthma, right? That could account for it. It\u2019s some sort of allergic response.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire had to agree. Eosinophils were a type of white blood cell that proliferated most commonly in response to allergic reactions or asthma. High eosinophil counts could also be caused by a variety of other illnesses such as cancer, parasitic infections, and autoimmune diseases. In some patients, no discernible cause was ever found.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what happens now?\u201d asked the Maine state trooper, who\u2019d been watching the procedure with a look of growing impatience. \u201cCan we move him to the Youth Center or not?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have more tests to run,\u201d said Claire. \u201cThe boy could be seriously ill.”<\/p>\n

\u201cOr he could be faking it. That\u2019s what it looks like to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd if he\u2019s sick, you could find him dead in his cell. I wouldn\u2019t want to make that mistake, would you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Without comment, the trooper turned and stared through the CT viewing window at his prisoner.<\/p>\n

Taylor was lying on his back, wrists and ankles restrained. His head was hidden inside the CT cradle, but they could see the movement of his feet, twisting against the restraints. Now comes the hard part, <\/span>she thought. How do we hold him in position long enough for the lumbar puncture?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t afford to miss a CNS infection,\u201d said Claire. \u201cWith an elevated white blood count and changes in mental status, I have no choice but to do the spinal tap.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chapman at last seemed to agree. \u201cFrom what I see here on the scan, it looks safe enough to proceed.\u201d<\/p>\n

They wheeled Taylor out of X-ray and into a private room. It took two nurses and a male orderly to transfer the struggling boy to the bed.<\/p>\n

\u201cTurn him on his side,\u201d said Claire. \u201cFetal position.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s not going to lie still for this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you\u2019ll have to sit on him. We need this spinal tap.\u201d<\/p>\n

Together they rolled the boy on his side, his back to Claire. The orderly flexed Taylor\u2019s hips, forcibly pushing the knees toward the chest. One nurse pulled the shoulders forward. Taylor snapped at her hand, almost catching her finger in his jaws.<\/p>\n

\u201cWatch his teeth!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m trying to!\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire had to work fast; they couldn\u2019t keep the boy immobilized much longer. She lifted the hospital gown, exposing his back. With his body curled into a fetal position, the vertebral spines poked out clearly under the skin. In rapid order she identified the space between the fourth and fifth spinous processes in the lower back, and swabbed the skin with Betadine, then alcohol. She snapped on sterile gloves and picked up the syringe with local anesthetic.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m putting in the Xylocaine now. He\u2019s not going to like this.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire pricked the skin with the twenty-five-gauge needle and gently injected the local anesthetic. At the first sting of the drug, Taylor shrieked with rage. Claire saw one of the nurses glance up, fear in her eyes. None of them had ever dealt with anything like this, and the violence coursing through this boy\u2019s body was frightening them all.<\/p>\n

Claire reached for the spinal needle. It was three inches long, twenty-two-gauge gleaming steel, the hub end open to allow cerebrospinal fluid to drip out.<\/p>\n

\u201cSteady him. I\u2019m doing the tap now.\u201d<\/p>\n

She pierced the skin. The Xylocaine had numbed the area, so he didn\u2019t feel any pain\u2014not yet. She kept pushing the needle deeper, aiming the tip between the spinous processes, toward the dura mater of the spinal cord. She felt a slight resistance, then a distinct pop as the needle penetrated the protective dura.<\/p>\n

Taylor screamed again and began to thrash.<\/p>\n

\u201cHold him! You have to hold him!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re trying! Can you hurry it up?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m already in. It\u2019ll just be another minute now.\u201d She held a test tube under the open hub of the needle and caught the first drop of CSF as it slid out. To her surprise, the fluid was crystal clear with no blood, no telltale cloudiness of infection. This was not an obvious case of meningitis. So what am I dealing with? <\/span>she wondered as she carefully collected CSF in three different test tubes. The fluid would be sent immediately to the lab, where it would be analyzed for cell count and bacteria, glucose and protein. Just by looking at the fluid in the tubes, she knew that the results would be normal.<\/p>\n

She withdrew the needle and applied a bandage to the puncture site. Everyone in the room seemed to give a simultaneous sigh of relief; the procedure was over.<\/p>\n

But the answer was no closer.<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Later that evening, she found Taylor\u2019s mother downstairs in the tiny hospital chapel, gazing numbly at the altar. They had spoken earlier, when Claire had requested the mother\u2019s consent for the lumbar puncture. At the time, Wanda Darnell had been a bundle of nerves, all jittery<\/p>\n

hands and trembling lips. She had been on the road all day, first the two-hundred mile drive to Portland to visit her divorce attorney, and then the harrowing drive back, after the police had contacted her with the terrible news.<\/p>\n

Now Wanda seemed exhausted, all her adrenaline depleted. She was a small woman, dressed in an ill-fitting skirt suit that made her look like a child playing grown-up in her mother\u2019s clothes. She looked up as Claire came into the chapel and barely managed a nod of greeting.<\/p>\n

Claire sat down and gently placed her hand on Wanda\u2019s. \u201cThe lab results have come back on the spinal tap, and they\u2019re completely normal. Taylor doesn\u2019t have meningitis.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wanda Darnell released a deep sigh, her shoulders slumping forward in the oversize suit jacket. \u201cThat\u2019s good, then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. And judging by the CT scan, he has no tumors or signs of hemorrhage in his brain. So that\u2019s good, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen what\u2019s wrong with him? Why did he do it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, Wanda. Do you?\u201d<\/p>\n

She sat very still, as though struggling to come up with an answer. \u201cHe hasn\u2019t been <\/p>\n

… <\/span>right. For almost a week.\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s been out of control, angry at everyone. Cursing and slamming doors. I thought it was because of the divorce. He\u2019s had such a hard time of it <\/p>\n

\n. . <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

Claire was reluctant to bring up the next subject, but it had to be addressed. \u201cWhat about drugs, Wanda? That could change a child\u2019s personality. Do you think he\u2019s been experimenting with anything?\u201d<\/p>\n

Wanda hesitated. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t sound sure.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s just that She swallowed, tears flashing in her eyes. \u201cI feel like I hardly know him anymore. He\u2019s my son, and I don\u2019t even recognize him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you seen any warning signs?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s always been a little difficult. That\u2019s why Dr. Pomeroy thought he might have attention deficit disorder. Lately, it seems he\u2019s gotten Worse. Especially since he started hanging out with those awful boys.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich boys?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey live up the road from us. J.D. and Eddie Reid. And then there\u2019s that Scotty Braxton. All four of them got into trouble with the police back in March. Last week, I told Taylor he had to stay away from the Reid brothers. That\u2019s when we <\/span>got into our first really big fight. That\u2019s when he slapped me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\u201cTaylor <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

did?\u201d <\/p>\n

Wanda\u2019s head drooped, the victim ashamed she\u2019d been abused. \u201cWe\u2019ve hardly spoken to each other since then. And when we do talk, it\u2019s so obvious that Her voice slid to a whisper. \u201cThat we hate each other.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gently Claire touched Wanda\u2019s arm. \u201cBelieve it or not, disliking your own teenager isn\u2019t all that abnormal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I\u2019m also afraid of him! That\u2019s what makes it even worse. I dislike him and <\/span>I\u2019m scared of him. When he hit me, it was like having his father back in the house.\u201d She touched her fingers to her mouth, as though remembering some long-faded bruise. \u201cPaul and I are still in a custody fight. Two of us battling over a boy who doesn\u2019t like either of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire\u2019s beeper went off. She glanced at the digital readout and saw the lab was paging her. \u201cExcuse me,\u201d she said, and left the chapel to make the call from the hospital lobby.<\/p>\n

Anthony, the lab supervisor, answered the phone. \u201cThe Bangor lab just called with more of Taylor\u2019s results, Dr. Elliot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid anything turn up positive on the specific screens?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m afraid not. There\u2019s no alcohol, cannabis, opioids, or amphetamines in his blood. That\u2019s a negative for every drug you wanted screened?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u201cI was so sure,\u201d she said in bewilderment. \u201cI don\u2019t know what else could cause this behavior. There must be some drug I\u2019ve forgotten to test for.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere may <\/span>be something. I ran his blood through our hospital gas chromatography machine, and an abnormal peak showed up at one minute, ten seconds\u2019 retention time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt doesn\u2019t pinpoint any particular drug. But there is a peak, which indicates something out of the ordinary is circulating in his blood. It could be completely innocuous\u2014an herbal supplement, for instance.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow do we find out what it is?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019d need more extensive analysis. The Bangor lab isn\u2019t equipped to do that. We have to draw more blood and send it to our reference lab in Boston. They can simultaneously screen for hundreds of different drugs.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen let\u2019s do it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, here\u2019s the problem. It\u2019s the other reason I paged you. I just got an order to cancel any and all remaining drug tests. It\u2019s signed by Dr. DeIRay.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d She shook her head in disbelief. \u201cI\u2019m <\/span>Taylor\u2019s doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut DelRay\u2019s writing orders, and his are contradictory to yours. So I\u2019m not sure what to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, let me talk to the mother and I\u2019ll clear this up right now\u201d She hung up and returned to the chapel.<\/p>\n

Even before she opened the door, she could hear a man\u2019s voice, raised in anger.<\/p>\n

never exerted any control! Completely useless, that\u2019s what you are. No wonder he\u2019s so screwed up!\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire pushed into the chapel. \u201cIs there a problem here, Wanda?\u201d<\/p>\n

The man turned to her. \u201cI\u2019m Taylor\u2019s father.\u201d<\/p>\n

Personal crises bring out the worst in people, but Paul Darnell was probably not likable even at his best. A partner in the largest accounting firm in Two Hills, he was far more stylishly garbed than his wife, who seemed to shrink to inconsequential size in her ill-fitting suit. The brief interaction Claire had witnessed between these two ex-spouses told her what this marriage must have been like: Paul the aggressor, full of demands and complaints. Wanda always appeasing, retreating.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is this about my son taking illegal drugs?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m trying to find a reason for what happened today, Mr. Darnell. I was just asking your wife\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTaylor hasn\u2019t been taking any drugs. Not since you stopped the Ritalin.\u201d He paused. \u201cAnd he was fine on the Ritalin. I never understood why you took him off <\/p>\n

it.\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s been two months since I discontinued it. This personality change is more recent.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo months ago, he was fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo he wasn\u2019t. He was tired and listless. And that diagnosis of ADD was never really established. it\u2019s not the same as diagnosing hypertension, where there are definite parameters to go by.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Pomeroy was certain of the diagnosis.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cADD has turned into a catchall for all childhood misbehavior. When a student\u2019s failing in class, or he gets into mischief, parents want to find a reason. I didn\u2019t agree with Pomeroy\u2019s diagnosis. When in doubt, I prefer not to push pills on children.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd look what\u2019s happened. He\u2019s out of control. He\u2019s been out of control for weeks?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u201cHow would you know, Paul?\u201d said Wanda. \u201cHow long has it been since you actually spent time with your own son?\u201d<\/p>\n

Paul turned to his ex-wife with such a look of hatred, Wanda shrank back. \u201cYou\u2019re the one who\u2019s supposed to be in charge,\u201d he said. \u201cI knew you couldn\u2019t handle him. You screwed it up as usual, and now our son\u2019s going to end up in jail!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least I didn\u2019t provide him with the gun,\u201d she said softly.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was your gun he brought to school. Did you ever notice it was missing?\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at her. \u201cThe little shit! <\/span>How did he get\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis isn\u2019t helping!\u201d Claire cut in. \u201cWe need to focus on Taylor. On how to explain his behavior.\u201d<\/p>\n

Paul turned to his wife. \u201cI\u2019ve asked Adam DelRay to take over. He\u2019s upstairs looking at Taylor now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Paul\u2019s blunt announcement left Claire speechless. So this was why DelRay had written orders; he was the new attending. She\u2019d just been fired from the case.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut Dr. Elliot\u2019s his doctor!\u201d Wanda protested.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know Adam, and I trust his judgment.\u201d<\/p>\n

\nMeaning he doesn\u2019t trust mine?<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t even like Adam DelRay,\u201d said Wanda. \u201cHe\u2019s your friend, not mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to like him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf he\u2019s taking care of my son, I do.\u201d<\/p>\n

Paul\u2019s laughter was grating. \u201cIs that how you choose a doctor, Wanda? Pick whoever gives you the most warm fuzzies?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m doing what\u2019s best for Taylor!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd that\u2019s exactly why he ended up here.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Claire\u2019s temper at last burst through. \u201cMr. Darnell,\u201d she said, \u201cthis is not <\/span>the time to be attacking your wife!\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned to Claire, and his contempt was clearly meant for her as well. \u201cEx-wife,\u201d <\/span>he corrected. And he turned and walked out of the chapel.<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

She found Adam DelRay sitting at the nurses\u2019 station, writing in Taylor’s chart. Although it was late in the evening, his white coat was starched and fresh, and Claire felt rumpled by comparison. Whatever embarrassment he\u2019d suffered earlier that day during the crisis with Katie Youmans had been conveniently forgotten, and he regarded Claire with his usual irritating self-confidence.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was about to page you,\u201d he said. \u201cPaul Darnell just decided\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve already spoken to him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. So you know.\u201d He gave an apologetic shrug. \u201cI hope you don\u2019t take it personally.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the parents\u2019 decision. They have a right to make it,\u201d she acknowledged grudgingly. \u201cBut since you\u2019re taking over, I thought you should know the boy has an abnormal peak on gas chromatography. I suggest you order a comprehensive drug screen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think that\u2019s necessary.\u201d He set the chart down and stood up. \u201cThe most likely drugs have been ruled out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat peak needs to be identified.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPaul doesn\u2019t want any more drug tests.\u201d<\/p>\n

She shook her head, puzzled. \u201cI don\u2019t understand his objections.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI believe he reached that decision after speaking with his attorney.\u201d She waited for him to walk away before picking up the chart. She flipped to the progress notes and with growing dismay read DeiRay\u2019s entry.<\/p>\n

\nHistory and physical dictated.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nAssessment.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n1. Acute psychosis secondary to abrupt Ritalin withdrawal.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n2. Attention Deficit Disorder.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

Claire dropped into the nearest chair, her legs suddenly unsteady, her stomach queasy. So this was their criminal defense strategy. That the boy was not responsible for his actions. That Claire should be blamed, because she took him off the Ritalin, triggering a psychotic break. That she was the one who should be blamed. I\u2019m going to end up in court.<\/span><\/p>\n

This was why Paul didn\u2019t want to find any drug in the boy\u2019s bloodstream. It would shift the blame away from Claire.<\/p>\n

Agitated, she flipped to the front of the chart and read DelRay\u2019s orders.<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

\nCancel comprehensive drug\/tox screen.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nRefer all future questions and lab reports to me. Dr. Elliot is<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\nno longer the attending physician.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

She slapped the chart shut and felt her nausea intensify. Now it was no longer just Taylor\u2019s life on the line; it was her practice, and her reputation as well.<\/p>\n

She thought of the first rule of defensive medicine: cover your ass. You can\u2019t get sued if you can prove you didn\u2019t make a mistake. if you can back up your diagnosis with lab tests.<\/p>\n

She had to get a sample of Taylor\u2019s blood. This was her last chance to draw the specimen; by tomorrow, any drug would be cleared from his system, and there\u2019d be nothing left to detect.<\/p>\n

She crossed the nurses\u2019 station to the supply room, pulled open a drawer, and collected a Vacutainer syringe, alcohol swabs, and three red-top blood tubes. Her heart was racing as she walked up the hall to Taylor\u2019s room. The boy was no longer her patient, and she had no right<\/p>\n

to be doing this, but she needed to know what drug, if any, was circulating in his bloodstream.<\/p>\n

The state trooper gave her a nod of greeting as she approached.<\/p>\n

\u201cI need to draw blood,\u201d she said. \u201cWould you mind holding down his arm for me?\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t look happy about it, but he followed her into the room.<\/p>\n

\nDraw it quick and get out of here. <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

With shaking hands she snapped on the tourniquet and twisted off the needle cap. Get out of here before someone finds out what you\u2019re doing. <\/span>She swabbed Taylor\u2019s arm with alcohol and he gave a shout of rage, twisting against the trooper\u2019s restraining grip. Claire\u2019s pulse accelerated as she pierced the skin and felt that subtle and satisfying pop as the needle penetrated the vein. Hurry. Hurry. <\/span>She filled one tube, slipped it into her lab coat pocket, then squeezed another into the Vacutainer. Dark blood streamed out. <\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t hold him still,\u201d said the trooper, wrestling for control as the boy bucked and cursed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m almost done.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s trying to bite me!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust keep him still!\u201d she snapped, her ears ringing with the boy\u2019s shrieks. She slipped the third tube into place and watched as a fresh stream of blood shot out. Just one more. Come on, come on.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell is going on in here?\u201d<\/p>\n

Claire looked up, so startled she let the needle slip out of the vein. Blood dribbled from the puncture wound and dripped onto the sheets. Quickly she snapped off the tourniquet and applied gauze to the boy\u2019s arm. Cheeks burning with shame, she turned to face Paul Darnell and Adam DeIRay, who were staring at her incredulously from the doorway. Two nurses peered over their shoulders.<\/p>\n

The trooper said, \u201cShe was just drawing some blood. The boy got a little noisy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Elliot isn\u2019t supposed to be in here,\u201d said Paul. \u201cDidn\u2019t you hear about the new orders?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat orders?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m the boy\u2019s physician now,\u201d snapped DelRay. \u201cDr. Elliot has no authority. She shouldn\u2019t even be in here.\u201d<\/p>\n

The trooper stared at Claire, and his anger was unmistakable. You used me.<\/span><\/p>\n

Paul thrust out his hand. \u201cGive me the blood tubes, Dr. Elliot.\u201d<\/p>\n

She shook her head. \u201cI\u2019m following up an abnormal test. It could affect your son\u2019s treatment.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re no longer his doctor! Give me the tubes.\u201d<\/p>\n

She swallowed hard. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Mr. Darnell. But I can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is assault!\u201d Paul turned to the others in the room, and his face was florid with outrage. \u201cThat\u2019s what this is, you know! She assaulted my son with that needle, and she knows she has no authority!\u201d He looked at Claire. \u201cYou\u2019ll be hearing from my attorney.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPaul,\u201d interjected DelRay, playing the role of diplomat to the hilt. \u201cI\u2019m sure Dr. Elliot doesn\u2019t want this kind of complication in her life?\u2019 He turned to her and spoke with the smug voice of reason. \u201cCome on, Claire. This is turning into a circus. Just give me the tubes.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked down at the two tubes she was holding, weighing their value against a charge of assault. Against the probable loss of her hospital privileges. She felt the gaze of everyone in the room watching, even enjoying, her humiliation.<\/p>\n

In silence she handed over the blood tubes.<\/p>\n

DelRay took them with a look of triumph. Then he turned to the Maine state trooper. \u201cThe boy is my patient. Is that clear?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerfectly clear, Dr. DelRay.\u201d<\/p>\n

No one said a word to Claire as she walked out of the ward, but she knew they were staring at her. She kept her gaze focused straight ahead as she turned the corner and punched the down button. Only when she\u2019d stepped into the elevator and the door slid shut did she finally allow her hand to slip into her coat pocket.<\/p>\n

The third blood tube was still there.<\/p>\n

She rode the elevator to the basement lab and found Anthony sitting at his lab bench, surrounded by racks of test tubes.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got a sample of the boy\u2019s blood,\u201d she told him.<\/p>\n

\u201cFor the drug screen?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. I\u2019ll fill out the requisition myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe forms are on that shelf over there<\/p>\n

She took one off the stack and frowned at the letterhead, Anson Biologicals. \u201cAre we using a new reference lab? I\u2019ve never seen one of these forms before.\u201d<\/p>\n

He glanced up from a whirring centrifuge. \u201cWe just switched over to Anson a few weeks ago. The hospital signed a new contract with them for our complex chem and radioimmunoassay work.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think it was a cost issue.\u201d<\/p>\n

She scanned the form, then checked off the box for gas chromatography\/mass spectrometry; comprehensive drug and tox screen. <\/span>in the space for comments at the bottom of the page, she wrote: \u201cFourteen-year-old boy with apparent drug-induced psychosis and aggression. This lab test is for my personal research only. Report results directly to me.\u201d And she signed her name.<\/p>\n


<\/p>\n

Noah answered the knock on his front door and found Amelia standing outside in the dark. She was wearing a bandage, a bright slash of white across her temple, and he could tell it hurt her to smile. In her discomfort, the best she could muster was a crooked lifting of one side of her mouth.<\/p>\n

He was so surprised by her unexpected visit, he couldn\u2019t think of a single intelligent thing to say, so he just gaped at her, as dazzled as a peasant who suddenly finds himself in the presence of royalty<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is for you,\u201d she said, and she held out a small brown package. \u201cI\u2019m sorry I couldn\u2019t find anything nice to wrap it in.\u201d<\/p>\n

He took the package, but his gaze remained on her face. \u201cAre you all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m okay. I guess you heard that Mrs. Horatio She paused, swallowing back tears.<\/p>\n

He nodded. \u201cMy mom told me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Amelia touched the bandage on her face. Again he saw a flash of tears in her eyes. \u201cI met your mom. In the emergency room. She was really nice to me. <\/p>\n

. .\u201c <\/span>She turned and glanced over her shoulder at the darkness, as though expecting to see someone watching her. \u201cI\u2019ve got to go now\u2014\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cDid someone drive you here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI walked.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou walked? In the dark?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not so far. I live just the other side of the lake, right past the boat ramp.\u201d She backed away from the door, blond hair swaying. \u201cI\u2019ll see you in school.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait. Amelia!\u201d He held up the gift. \u201cWhat\u2019s this for?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo thank you. For what you did today.\u201d She took another retreating step, and was almost swallowed up in darkness.<\/p>\n

\u201cAmelia!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah paused, not knowing what to say. The silence was broken only by the rustle of dead leaves scattering across the lawn. Amelia stood on the farthest edge of the light spilling from the open doorway, her face a pale oval eclipsing into night.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want to come inside?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

To his surprise she seemed to consider the invitation. For a moment she lingered between darkness and light, advance and retreat. She looked over her shoulder again, as though seeking permission. Then she nodded.<\/p>\n

Noah found himself panicking over the disorder in the front parlor. His mom had been home for only a few hours that afternoon, to comfort him and cook dinner. Then she\u2019d driven back to the hospital to see Taylor. No one had tidied up the parlor, and everything was still lying where Noah had dropped it that afternoon\u2014backpack on the couch, sweatshirt on the coffee table, dirty tennis shoes in front of the fireplace. He decided to bypass the parlor and led Amelia into the kitchen instead.<\/p>\n

They sat down, not looking at each other, two foreign species struggling to find a common language.<\/p>\n

She glanced up as the phone rang. \u201cAren\u2019t you going to answer that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNaw. It\u2019s another one of those reporters. They\u2019ve been calling all afternoon, ever since I got home.\u201d<\/p>\n

The answering machine picked up, and as he\u2019d predicted, a woman\u2019s voice came on: \u201cThis is Damaris Home of the Weekly Informer. <\/span>I\u2019d really, really like to talk to Noah Elliot, if I could, about<\/p>\n

that amazing act of heroism today in the classroom. The whole country wants to hear about it, Noah. I\u2019ll be staying at the Lakeside B and B, and I could offer some financial compensation for your time, if that would make it more worth your while. <\/p>\n

\n. <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s offering to pay you just to talk?\u201d asked Amelia.<\/p>\n

\u201cCrazy, isn\u2019t it? My mom says it\u2019s a sure sign I shouldn\u2019t <\/span>talk to that lady.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut people do want to hear about it. About what you did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\nWhat I did.<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

He gave a shrug, feeling unworthy of all the praise, of Amelia\u2019s praise, most of all. He sat listening as the call ended. The silence returned, interrupted only by the soft beep of the message reminder.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can open it now. If you want,\u201d said Amelia.<\/p>\n

He looked down at the gift. Though the wrapping was plain brown paper, he took great effort not to tear it, because it seemed uncouth to go ripping it open in front of her. Gingerly he peeled off the tape and folded back the wrapping.<\/p>\n

The pocket knife was neither large nor impressive. He saw scratches on the handle, and realized it was not even new. She\u2019d given him a used knife.<\/p>\n

\u201cWow,\u201d he managed to say with some measure of enthusiasm. \u201cThis is a nice one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt belonged to my dad.\u201d She added, quietly: \u201cMy real dad.\u201d He looked up as the implication of those words sank in. \u201cJack is my stepfather.\u201d She uttered that last word as though it were an object of disgust.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen J.D. and Eddie. <\/p>\n

\n. <\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re not my real brothers. They\u2019re Jack\u2019s boys.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess I wondered about it. They don\u2019t look like you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank god.\u201d<\/p>\n

Noah laughed. \u201cYeah, that\u2019s not a family resemblance I\u2019d want to have, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not even allowed to talk about my real dad, because it makes Jack mad. He hates to be reminded there was someone else before him. But I want people to know. I want them to know Jack has nothing to do with who I am.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gently he placed the knife back in her hand. \u201cI can\u2019t take this, Amelia.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI want you to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it\u2019s got to mean a lot to you, if it belonged to him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s why I want you to have it.\u201d She touched the bandage on her temple, as though pointing to the evidence of her debt to him. \u201cYou were the only one who did anything. The only one who didn\u2019t run.\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t confess the humiliating truth: I wanted to run, but I was so terrified I couldn\u2019t move my legs.<\/span><\/p>\n

She looked up at the kitchen clock. With a start of panic, she abruptly stood up. \u201cI didn\u2019t know it was so late.\u201d<\/p>\n

He followed her to the front door. Amelia had just stepped out when headlights suddenly cut through the trees. She spun around to face them, and then seemed to freeze as the pickup truck roared up the driveway.<\/p>\n

The door swung open and Jack Reid stepped out, whippet thin and scowling. \u201cGet in the truck, Amelia,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cJack, how did you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEddie told me you\u2019d be here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was just about to walk home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet in the truck now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Instantly she clammed up and obediently slid into the passenger seat. Her stepfather was about to climb back behind the wheel when he met Noah\u2019s gaze.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe doesn\u2019t hang out with boys,\u201d he said. \u201cI want you to know that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe only came by to say hello,\u201d said Noah angrily. \u201cWhat\u2019s the big deal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe deal, boy, is that my daughter\u2019s off limits.\u201d He climbed in <\/p>\n

and slammed the door. <\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s not even your daughter!\u201d Noah yelled, but he knew the <\/p>\n

man couldn\u2019t hear him over the revving engine. <\/p>\n

As the truck swung around in the driveway, Noah caught one <\/p>\n

last glimpse of Amelia\u2019s profile, framed by the passenger window, her terrified gaze focused straight ahead. <\/p>\n

\n6<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\n\u00a0<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

The first snowflakes spiraled down through the bare branches and gently dusted the excavation site. Lucy Overlock glanced up at the <\/p>\n

sky and said, \u201cThis snow\u2019s going to stop, isn\u2019t it? It has to stop, or it\u2019ll obscure everything.\u201d <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s already melting,\u201d said Lincoln. He sniffed the air and knew, by some instinct developed during a lifetime in these woods, that the Snow would not last long. These flakes were merely a whispered warning, deceptively gentle, of the wintry months to come. He did not mind the snow, did not even resent all the inconveniences that came With it, the shoveling, the plowing out, the nights without power When the lines went down from the weight of it. It was the darkness he disliked. Darkness fell so early these days. Already daylight was fading, and the trees were featureless black slashes against the sky.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, we might as well pack <\/p>\n

it <\/span>up for the day,\u201d said Lucy. \u2018And hope it\u2019s not buried under a foot of snow by tomorrow.\u201d <\/p>\n

Now that the bones were no longer of interest to the police, Lucy and her grad students had assumed the responsibility of protecting the dig. The two students pulled a tarp over the excavation site and<\/p>\n

staked it in place. It was a futile precaution; a marauding raccoon could rip it away with one slash of its claws.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen will you finish here?\u201d asked Lincoln.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to take several weeks,\u201d said Lucy. \u201cBut with the weather turning bad, we\u2019ll have to rush. One hard freeze, and that\u2019s it for the season.\u201d<\/p>\n

Headlights flickered through the trees. Lincoln saw that another vehicle had pulled into Rachel Sorkin\u2019s driveway.<\/p>\n

He tramped back through the woods, toward the house. In the last few days, the front yard had become a parking lot. Next to Lincoln\u2019s vehicle was Lucy Overlock\u2019s Jeep and a beat-up Honda, which he assumed belonged to her grad student.<\/p>\n

At the far end of the driveway, parked under the trees, was yet another vehicle\u2014a dark blue Volvo. He recognized it, and he crossed the yard to the drivers side.<\/p>\n

The window hummed open an inch. \u201cLincoln,\u201d the woman said.<\/p>\n

\u201cEvening, Judge Keating.”<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have time to talk?\u201d He heard the locks click open.<\/p>\n

Lincoln circled to the passenger side and slid in, shutting the door. They sat for a moment, cocooned in silence.<\/p>\n

\u201cHave they found anything else?\u201d she asked. She didn\u2019t look at him but gazed straight ahead, her eyes focused somewhere among the trees. In the car\u2019s gloom, she seemed younger than her sixty-six years, the lines in her face fading to uniform smoothness. Younger and not so formidable.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere were only the two skeletons,\u201d said Lincoln.<\/p>\n

\u201cBoth were children?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. Dr. Overlock estimates their ages at around nine or ten years old.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot a natural death?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Both deaths were violent.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a long pause. \u201cAnd when did this happen?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not so easy to determine. All they have to go on are some artifacts found with the remains. They\u2019ve dug up some buttons, a coffin handle. Dr. Overlock thinks it\u2019s probably part of a family cemetery.”<\/p>\n

She took her time absorbing this information. Her next question came out softly tentative: \u201cSo the remains are quite old?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

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Book Preview BLOODSTREAM \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 BY TESS GERRITSEN \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 PROLOGUE \u00a0 \u00a0 TRANQUILITY, MAINE, 1946 \u00a0 \u00a0 If she was still enough, quiet enough, he would not find her. He might think he knew all her hiding places, but he had never discovered her secret niche, this small hollow in the … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":4342,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[270],"class_list":["post-4343","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-tess-gerritsen"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4343","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4343"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4343\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4342"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4343"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4343"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4343"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}