Midnight Voices (18 page)

CHAPTER 23

The sound of the clock striking in the apartment’s large foyer echoed like a death knell in Caroline’s mind, and her body responded to every drop of the clock’s hammers with an involuntary twitch, as if it were she herself who was being struck. As the resonance of the final chime faded away, Tony drew his wife even closer.

“You have to sleep, darling. Staying awake all night won’t change anything.”

“If I sleep, I’ll dream, and I know what I’ll dream about,” Caroline replied, her voice as hollow as the sound of the clock striking midnight.

The children had been asleep for hours, and Tony had finally convinced Caroline to go to bed just before eleven. Neither of them had slept though; instead they’d simply lain in the darkened room, his arm around her. He’d waited for her breathing to fall into the gentle even rhythm of sleep, but it hadn’t come. Instead he’d heard her struggling against the tide of emotions that kept rising inside her, threatening to overwhelm her once again. “Did you take the pills Dr. Humphries gave you?” he asked.

“One of them—I hate taking pills.”

“Everybody hates taking pills. But sometimes they can actually help.” Gently easing his arm out from under her, Tony slid out of bed and went to the bathroom. A moment later he was back, holding a glass of water. “Where is it?” he asked.

Sighing heavily, Caroline hitched herself up, turned on her bedside lamp, and found the pill. Gazing at it dolefully, she finally put it in her mouth and washed it down with the water Tony had brought her. She managed a wan smile as she handed the empty glass back to him. “If I have nightmares, this is going to cost you.”

“I’ll risk it,” Tony replied. He took the glass back to the bathroom, and a moment later was beside her again, his arm once more protectively around her, her head once more snuggled into the hollow of his shoulder. He kissed her gently on the cheek, then reached over and switched off her light, plunging the room back into darkness.

A few minutes later her shallow breath began to deepen.

At last she slept, and he knew she would not dream.

Laurie felt dizzy, and her eyes felt so heavy she couldn’t quite make them open, and at first she thought she must be dreaming. But if she were dreaming, she wouldn’t know it until she woke up, would she?

Where was she? She felt disoriented, like she should know where she was, but couldn’t quite remember.

Her room.

She was in her room, and in her bed.

But why did she feel so strange?

She struggled to open her eyes, but it was no use. Then, even though she could see nothing, she sensed that she was not alone.

She tried to speak, but it was as impossible to form words as it was to open her eyes, and all that came out was a low moan.

“It’s all right. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Though the voice was barely audible, there was something familiar about it. But she couldn’t quite recognize it, and instead of making her feel better, the words that had been whispered into her ear only made her more frightened.

Now she struggled to sit up, but her whole body felt as heavy as her eyelids.

The glow of light that filtered through her closed eyelids dimmed for a second, then brightened.

A shadow?

Someone passing between her and the source of the light?

Once again she tried to force her eyes open; once again she failed.

Another shadow, then another.

Something touched her!

She tried to pull away from the touch, tried to cry out, but once again the terrible heaviness that lay over her prevented her from doing anything more than uttering a nearly inaudible groan.

More touches.

Hands slipping beneath her.

She felt herself being lifted off her bed and moved to the side. A moment later she was lowered down again.

She was no longer in her bed—whatever she now lay on was much harder than her mattress, and the pillow beneath her head much thinner than her own.

Another shadow fell over her face, and she felt herself begin to move.

Something clicked in her mind, and she knew what was happening—she was on a gurney, like the ones she saw on hospital shows on television all the time!

But she wasn’t in a hospital—she was in her bedroom!

Wasn’t she?

“Go to sleep,” the same familiar voice whispered, and though the words seemed to come from far, far away, she felt herself responding to the command, felt herself starting to give in to the strange force that held her in its grip. “That’s right,” the distant voice soothed. “You’re very tired. Just let yourself go to sleep.”

So easy. It would be so easy just to let herself drift away from the shadows, and the voices and the touches.

The light around her changed, dimming almost to blackness. Now her thoughts seemed to come from somewhere beyond herself, as if her mind were somehow disconnecting from her body.

Dying?

Was that what was happening?

Had she gotten sick, and been taken to the hospital? Were the people around her doctors who were trying to save her life?

But hospitals weren’t dim—they were always brightly lit with big fluorescent lamps that cast no shadows at all, and even though her eyes were still closed, she knew she was in almost total darkness now.

She heard something.

Not voices—something else.

A soft rhythmic sound, almost like a ticking clock, but not quite.

More like a clicking, but with a hitch to it.

Cli-click.

Cli-click.

Cli-click.

Like the voice that had whispered to her a moment ago, the sound lulled her nearly into unconsciousness, but once again she pulled herself away from the edge of sleep.

What was the sound? If she was on a gurney—

Wheels! Wheels clicking on a tiled floor.

The clicking stopped.

The gurney began to tip and sway, and she felt blood rushing into her head.

The swaying stopped. The pressure in her head eased. But her mind seemed to have cleared slightly, and terrible heaviness in her eyelids eased.

The light brightened, but only slightly, and took on a faintly yellowish hue.

A smoky aroma filled her nostrils.

She managed to lift her eyelids slightly.

Silhouettes of people were all around her, their faces lost in darkness. Behind them she could make out candles flickering.

Some kind of rack stood next to her, with bottles and tubes hanging from its arms.

And next to her, on the same kind of gurney as the one upon which she lay, she saw Rebecca. All the color had drained out of her face, and she lay still.

Perfectly still.

As still as death.

She wanted to reach out, wanted to touch Rebecca, wanted to help her. But then one of the figures stepped between them, blocking her view. She felt a hand on her jaw, gently opening her mouth. She tried to resist, tried to turn away, but couldn’t find the strength. Then she felt something in her mouth, something long and rubbery, being pushed down her throat. Her throat constricted and she gagged, her whole body clutched by a wracking spasm.

More hands touched her, pushing up her nightgown, spreading her legs apart. Again she tried to struggle, tried to twist away from the invading hands, but it was no use.

“She’s not asleep,” a voice whispered. “She should be asleep.”

An instant later she felt a sharp jab in her left arm, and then heard another voice.

“It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”

Now the black abyss of sleep yawned before her once more, and she knew that this time she would not be able to turn away. But as she began to give herself up to the darkness, she felt the invasion of her body begin once more.

This time it was through her nostrils and mouth and her ears and every other opening in her body into which something could be inserted.

As the darkness of sleep closed around her, Laurie heard one last voice.

“Good . . . so good.”

Chloe’s body tensed, her ears twitched, and her eyes darted around the room as a low growl rose in her throat. If the dog had slept at all that night it had only been in brief fits, for ever since she’d curled up in the crook of Ryan’s elbow and felt him fall asleep, she’d been shifting uneasily, rising to her feet to stare into the darkness, only to settle down a moment later. But she never rested for long; time after time she slipped quietly off the bed, responding to a deep instinct that danger was nearby. Patrolling the room, sniffing along the walls, she searched for the source of the stimuli that were keeping her awake. After each circuit of her territory she returned to the bed, bounding silently back up to sniff anxiously at the sleeping boy who seemed utterly unaware of the danger she could sense all around them. Now, poised in the shadowy glow of the few beams of the streetlight outside that penetrated the curtains over the windows, her forefeet resting on Ryan’s belly, she searched once more for the source of the sounds her ears were catching. The ruff around her neck rising, she unconsciously lifted one paw, the other sinking deeper into the boy’s flesh. A single sharp bark escaped her throat, and Ryan’s entire body jerked reflexively in response.

Torn from sleep, Ryan sat up, and Chloe, her balance thrown off, toppled over, squealing in surprise. A second later she scrambled back to her feet and pressed herself against his chest, a soft growl once more rumbling in her chest. Then, as Ryan’s soothing hands stroking her fur silenced Chloe’s growl, he heard something else.

Voices—the same voices he’d heard before—whispering indistinctly in the darkness. His heart began to race, and as his hands unconsciously tightened on the little schnauzer, he felt her muscles stiffen.

“What is it?” he whispered.

In response, Chloe wriggled loose from his grasp and jumped off the bed, disappearing into the darkness. Groping in the dim light, Ryan found the light switch and a moment later his bedside lamp washed the darkness out of the room. Chloe was at the far wall, sniffing along the baseboard, her stubby cropped tail jutting straight out behind her.

The sounds Ryan had heard only a second or two ago had vanished, and all he could hear now was Chloe’s anxious snuffle.

“Chloe?” he whispered again. “What is it, girl?”

When the dog didn’t respond to his voice, Ryan threw the covers back, swung his legs off the bed, and stood up. Instantly, a wave of dizziness came over him, and he sank back onto the bed. He sat still for a few seconds, then tried to stand up again.

His whole body felt weak, and once again a wave of dizziness came over him.

“Mom?” he called out as he sank back onto the bed once again. “Mom!”

Chloe, finally distracted from her snuffling along the wall, turned to look at Ryan, cocking her head. Abandoning her search of the room’s perimeter, she ran back to the bed, leaped up onto it, and licked at Ryan’s face, whimpering uncertainly.

Lying back against the headboard, Ryan pulled the dog closer, snuggling Chloe against his chest the way he had his teddy bear when he was younger. As he felt the dog’s heart beating and the comforting warmth of its body, the last of the dizziness faded away, and the fear he’d felt, first at the whispered voices, then at the dizziness itself, began to dissipate as well.

With Chloe’s whimpering finally dying into silence, he strained his ears, searching for any sign of the voices he’d heard before.

But except for the faint sound of a truck rolling down the street outside his window, there was nothing.

And now that the dizziness had passed, he didn’t feel sick, either.

Just tired, as if he hadn’t had enough sleep.

Maybe he’d just tried to get up too quickly—maybe that was why he’d gotten dizzy.

Chloe was breathing evenly now, and as his fingers scratched at her ear she wriggled happily, stretched all four of her legs out to their full length, then snuggled closer to him.

He listened again, but now even the noise of the truck had faded away, and the quiet of the night filled his room.

He pulled the covers back up, covering himself and Chloe as well. He looked around the big room, searching for any sign that something might be wrong. All was peaceful, and with Chloe beside him, the room didn’t seem quite so big and empty. But still, he didn’t feel like turning off the light.

And he wouldn’t sleep anymore, either.

He lay still, his eyes open, his fingers gently stroking Chloe’s fur, but as the minutes crept by his eyelids began to droop.

Three times he caught himself drifting into sleep, and three times brought himself back to wakefulness. But on the fourth time, the quiet of the night won out, and sleep settled over Ryan.

Under the covers, Chloe, exhausted from her hours of watchfulness, slept as well.

And once again, the whispers from beyond the wall drifted into the room, but this time they weren’t loud enough to disturb either the boy or the dog, and neither of them awoke again until long after the sun had risen above the buildings east of the park, silencing the voices of the night.

CHAPTER 24

Caroline knew instinctively that she’d overslept—the only question was by how much. But even knowing she should have been up long before whatever time it was now, she still resisted rolling over to look at the clock, let alone leaving the safe harbor of her bed. She felt as if she hadn’t slept at all, or, if indeed she had slept, she’d exhausted herself trying to escape some terrible nightmare. Except that she could remember no dreams at all, and there was no escape from the nightmare she’d been plunged into last night when she’d seen Andrea Costanza’s body being borne out of the building on West 76th.

Andrea.

Who would want to kill Andrea? Of all the people Caroline knew, Andrea was the one who was least likely to have any enemies at all. Except that in this city, it wasn’t usually your enemies who killed you—it was some total stranger, someone who not only didn’t care about you, but didn’t even know you; someone who only wanted the things you had, and only then to sell them. But what had Andrea had? Nothing.

Nothing worth stealing anyway. Her watch was a Timex that couldn’t have cost more than thirty dollars, and the most expensive piece of jewelry she owned was a string of amber beads that had belonged to her great-grandmother, and which she never even wore. Nor had there been anything in her apartment worth stealing: her television was the same fifteen-inch Sharp she’d had in college, and her hi-fi system was one of those fake ‘stacks’ you could buy in any discount store for less than a hundred dollars.

Nor were there any jilted boyfriends who might have been jealous; there hadn’t even been a boyfriend in the last five years.

Yet Andrea was dead.

It wasn’t a dream.

It wasn’t a nightmare.

It was real.

Sitting up, Caroline swung her feet off the bed, finally glancing at the clock. After ten! It couldn’t be after ten! She hadn’t slept that late since Laurie was born.

The kids! If she’d overslept, what about them? Laurie might have gotten herself up, but Ryan hadn’t left his bed on a school morning without at least fifteen minutes of nagging in the last two years. Pulling on her bathrobe, she left the bedroom and hurried down the hall to Ryan’s room. The door was closed, and when she rapped on it there was no answer. “Ryan?” she called as she twisted the knob and pushed the door open. The curtains were open, and the bed was made.

Ryan’s book bag, which had been on his chest of drawers last night, was gone.

Leaving Ryan’s door standing open, she glanced at Laurie’s room, the door of which was also closed. She almost turned back toward the stairs, but then heard a muffled bark, followed by a scratching sound, and a faint whimpering.

Chloe? But what would the dog be doing in Laurie’s room? Last night it had seemed as if the dog was already adopting Ryan, and certainly Ryan had been the one most insistent on keeping it, taking Chloe into his room to sleep on his bed. How had Chloe gotten into Laurie’s room? Not that it mattered, unless neither of the kids had taken her out this morning. Turning away from the stairs, Caroline hurried down the hall and opened Laurie’s door, expecting the dog to burst through as soon as the crack was wide enough. But instead of darting through the doorway to greet Caroline, her stubby tail madly wagging, Chloe only barked once, then turned and scuttled further into the dimness of the room. But Laurie had never left her curtains closed—ever since she was a little girl, she’d always jumped out of bed right away to see what kind of morning it was.

Her fingers finding the switch, Caroline turned on the chandelier.

Laurie lay in bed, propped up against a bank of pillows, her eyes closed. “Laurie?” Caroline moved closer to the bed, and Chloe jumped up onto the mattress, licking at Laurie’s face.

Laurie opened her eyes, squinting in the bright glare of the chandelier. “Mom?”

“Honey? Are you all—” Caroline didn’t have to finish the question to know the answer, for aside from the tremble she’d heard in the single word Laurie had spoken, she could see in the light of the chandelier that her daughter was not all right. Her face seemed to have lost its color and there were dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in days. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asked, dropping onto the edge of the bed and taking Laurie’s hands in her own.

The child’s fingers were ice cold.

Laurie shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel very good.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Caroline asked. “Or come and get me?”

“I’m not that sick, Mom,” Laurie began. “I just feel really tired and—”

Before she could finish, Chloe suddenly growled, then stood up and barked. A moment later Tony appeared at Laurie’s door, carrying a bed tray on which were a glass of orange juice, a cup and saucer, a steaming teapot, and a plate covered with the kind of aluminum top that restaurants use. “Both my girls are awake,” he said, brushing Caroline’s cheek with his lips as he carefully set the tray over Laurie’s legs, displacing Chloe who promptly jumped off the bed and scurried out of the room. “Need another pillow?” Tony asked as he lifted the cover off the plate. The smell of bacon and eggs filled the room.

Laurie shook her head, gazing at the plate her stepfather had just uncovered. Beside the bacon and eggs was the kind of scone Virginia Estherbrook had brought the morning after they’d come back from their honeymoon, and half a grapefruit, with a maraschino cherry decorating its center.

“Tony, she’s sick,” Caroline protested. “All she should have is some orange juice, and a little tea.”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” Tony said, raising his hands defensively. “I only take the orders and do the cooking around here.”

“It’s not like I have the flu or anything,” Laurie said. “I just had a bunch of bad dreams that kept me awake and—”

“But you look terrible,” Caroline broke in. “And your hands are freezing cold. I’m going to call Dr. Hunicutt.”

“I already called Dr. Humphries,” Tony said.

“Dr. Humphries?” Caroline echoed, suddenly confused. “Why did you call him? Dr. Hunicutt’s been taking care of Laurie and Ryan since they were—”

“I tried calling him,” Tony broke in. “He was with a patient, and the receptionist said he was already late getting to the hospital, and it just seemed to me like I should give Ted Humphries a call. At least he’s a friend, and he still makes house calls.”

The doorbell rang almost as if on cue, and Tony went to answer it. A couple of minutes later he was back, followed by Dr. Humphries, who was carrying the kind of small black medical bag that Caroline had until now assumed only existed in old movies. Dr. Humphries bag, though, looked to be fairly new, if well used.

Cocking his head and laying a wrist on Laurie’s forehead, Humphries gazed down at her, his eyes twinkling. “I’m assuming you’re not the sort of girl who’d fake being sick just to get out of school,” he said.

Laurie shook her head. “I wanted to go to school, but Tony wouldn’t let me.”

“Good for him,” Humphries pronounced. He dug into his bag, produced a digital thermometer whose earpiece he cleaned with alcohol before inserting it into Laurie’s ear, pressing the button, then reading the small LCD screen on the thermometer’s side. He repeated the process twice more before deciding he was satisfied. “One hundred and one,” he said. “Not bad. Do you feel sick to your stomach?” When Laurie shook her head, he nodded toward the scone. “If Virgie Estherbrook made that, you soon will be. Never ate anything heavier in my life.”

“I like it,” Laurie said.

Humphries gave a shrug. “Suit yourself. If it appeals to you, you should eat it.”

“But if she’s sick—” Caroline began.

“
If
she’s sick, that still won’t hurt her,” Humphries broke in. “Generally speaking, the body knows what’s good for it, and people should generally eat what they’re hungry for. Within reason, of course.” He winked at Laurie. “I trust you weren’t planning to stuff half a dozen of those into your mouth, were you?”

Laurie shook her head.

“Does anything hurt?” he asked.

Laurie hesitated. “N-not now,” she finally said.

Dr. Humphries’ heavy eyebrows moved closer together. “But something hurt earlier?” he asked. Laurie hesitated only a second before she nodded. Humphries’ frown deepened. “Can you tell me where?”

“My throat,” she said. “When I first woke up. And my nose, too. Up here.” She put a finger on her sinuses.

“Okay, let’s take a look.” Pulling a light from his bag, Humphries peered into Laurie’s throat then checked her ears as well. “Did you hurt anywhere else?” he asked when he was done. Though Laurie shook her head, Caroline was almost certain she saw a faint blush come over her daughter’s face. “You’re sure?” Laurie nodded.

“All right,” Humphries said, straightening up and then burrowing once more into his bag. “I’m going to give you a couple of remedies, and I’m sure you’ll be fine by tomorrow morning.”

Now it was Caroline who frowned. “What kind of remedies?”

“Homeopathic,” Humphries replied. Seeing the doubt in Caroline’s eyes, he tried to reassure her. “I can guarantee they won’t hurt Laurie,” he said. “And I’m not going to promise you they’ll cure her, either. But I don’t think anything is seriously wrong with her, and I believe these will help. I’ll look in on her again tomorrow, and if she isn’t any better, we can decide what to do next. And do you mind if I talk to Dr. Hunicutt about her?”

Caroline gazed at him in surprise. “You know Dr. Hunicutt?”

“I wouldn’t say I know him, but medicine’s a smaller community than you might think. I’ve heard of him. And if you don’t mind, I’ll just give him a call, let him know what’s going on, and see what he thinks.” Then his eyes narrowed slightly. “And if I’m not out of line, I have to say you’re looking a bit worn out, too.”

“I—I guess I overslept this morning. Something happened yesterday, and. . . .” Her voice trailed off as Tony slid an arm around her.

“Something happened yesterday,” he said, not wanting to say too much in front of Laurie. “It was pretty upsetting. I’m sure she’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

Once again Ted Humphries dug into his bag, this time producing a rectangle of cardboard with four pills neatly bubble sealed to its surface. “If I were you, I’d take a couple of days and just try to relax.”

“I wish I could,” Caroline sighed. “But I have two children and a job and they won’t take care of themselves.”

“And you have a husband who can look after the children. As for the job, I’ve never heard of one yet where everything collapsed if someone took a day or two off.” He handed the card containing the four pills to Caroline. “It’s up to you, of course, but if you have trouble sleeping, these should help. And they won’t hurt. That, I can guarantee you.”

Ten minutes later, as she stared at herself in the mirror over the bathroom sink, Caroline suddenly wondered if maybe Dr. Humphries was right: the circles under her own eyes were every bit as dark as the ones she’d seen under Laurie’s, and as she once again thought of Andrea Costanza, her eyes brimmed with tears.

Sleep,
she thought.
He’s right—I just need to sleep, and stop worrying about everything.
Punching one of the pills through the foil on the back of the card, she stared at it for a moment, then put it in her mouth.

With a swallow of water, it went down her throat.

Going back to her bedroom, she picked up the phone and dialed the shop. “Claire?” she said. “It’s Caroline. I’m afraid I won’t be in today.”

Without the least hesitation, Claire’s voice came back over the wire. “Take whatever time you need, darling. You know how much you mean to me.”

Dropping the phone back on the hook, Caroline slid into bed and pulled the covers up to her neck. Amazing, she thought as the pill began to do its work. Six months ago, she would have fired me. But not anymore. And all because of Tony.

Giving herself over to the comfort of the pill, Caroline drifted back into sleep.

“How long is this gonna take?” Victor Balicki asked as Frank Oberholzer broke the police seal on the door to Andrea Costanza’s apartment.

“It’s going to take as long as it takes,” the detective growled. “What’s it to you, anyway? Suddenly you own the building?”

Balicki unlocked the door, pushed it open, then stood back, his hands rising defensively. “Hey, for all I care, you can move in here. But the owners want to know how long before we can clean it out.”

“Tell the owners to call me,” Oberholzer replied. “We’re in the book.” Closing the door before Balicki could say anything else, he gazed at the few hundred square feet that until a few days ago had been home to Andrea Costanza. Except for the window having been closed after it was dusted for prints—unsuccessfully—everything was still as it had been when they’d found Costanza’s body yesterday; nothing had been moved or taken away since she had died. Yet there was an emptiness to the apartment, a feeling of vacancy much deeper than that of rooms whose occupants may be gone, but will soon be returning. It was almost as if every object in the apartment—the pieces of furniture, the pictures, the knickknacks and tchotchkes—was somehow aware that the single person to whom it had value was forever gone, and that collectively they had suddenly become nothing more than detritus, just so much junk to be cleared out before someone else moved their own things in. It was ridiculous, of course; Frank Oberholzer was not one to ascribe feelings to inanimate objects. Still, in the twenty-odd years he’d been working homicide he’d never yet come into an apartment whose sole occupant had died without feeling the peculiarly hollow emptiness than now imbued Andrea Costanza’s tiny studio, and he felt a slight shiver come over him even though the apartment was not only stuffy, but overheated as well.

Lowering himself onto one of the two straight-backed chairs that flanked Andrea’s tiny dining table, he opened the copy of the Medical Examiner’s report and studied it once more, even though he could have recited the details from memory if need be. Her attacker had apparently come through the window, probably getting his arm around her even before she was aware he was even there. Assuming, of course, that it was a “he” who attacked her, which was an assumption Oberholzer had long since learned to guard against. Still, in this case he was leaning toward a man’s having committed the crime simply because of the strength necessary to break the neck of a human being. As he went over the report, Oberholzer kept glancing at the sofa, and the window behind it, trying to visualize the crime. This one wasn’t hard: she’d probably been sitting on the sofa, her back to the window. Maybe she’d even fallen asleep, which would have made the killer’s work easy—one arm around the neck, the other hand shoving hard on the side of the head.