The Howling III (2 page)

“Sure, Roy. I’m just curious.”

Something rustled the bushes up ahead. The two deputies raised their heads, listening. They looked at each other, then back toward the sound.

“Who’s there?” Roy Nevins called.

Silence.

Another rustle of brush.

“Craddock…? Vane…?”

No answer. A flash of movement. A head rose above a clump of brush twenty feet ahead of the two deputies. A face looked at them. A pale face streaked with mud. Dark, matted hair. Eyes wild with lots of white showing.

“Hey!”

The face ducked out of sight. There was a squishy sound of running feet on the wet ground.

“Sonofabitch.” Roy mashed the Winston out under his shoe and took off. Milo was already ahead of him, chasing the fleeing figure who ducked and weaved among the trees.

The runner left the trail and fought through the undergrowth. The two deputies followed. Roy Nevins swore as the thorns clutched at him and mud seeped over the tops of his shoes.

“Halt!” Milo Fernandez called out. “Sheriffs officers!”

Roy pounded on, the breath wheezing through his open mouth. He fumbled at the leather strap that snapped to the holster over the butt of his.38 police positive. Regulation. Never could free the damn thing in a hurry. The hell with it. Firing your piece only meant trouble these days. You had to account for every fucking bullet. Nothing in sight to shoot at anyway. He could only catch glimpses of Milo’s back as the young deputy charged after the fleeing figure.

There was the thump of colliding bodies up ahead and a damp thud as they hit the ground. Roy floundered through the brush and almost fell over Milo. The young deputy was applying an armlock to the fugitive, who lay prone on the damp pine needles.

“I got him, Roy.”

“So I see. Suppose you flip him over so we can see what we got.”

Milo warily eased his hold. When the figure on the ground did not move, he grasped a shoulder and turned him over.

“A kid,” Roy said disgustedly.

The face that looked up at the deputies was pale and frightened. Oddly, he seemed not to be breathing hard.

“What’d you take off for?” Deputy Nevins said.

The large, frightened eyes flicked from one of the deputies to the other. The boy made no attempt to answer.

“Get up.”

The boy rose to a crouch.

“And don’t think about running any more. We’re taking a ride into town.”

Nevins took the boy’s arm and raised him to a standing position. The muscles were firm under the smooth flesh. He gestured with his head for Milo to get going. The younger deputy was staring at the boy’s face.

“Let’s go,” Nevins said. “I want to get him back to the car before it gets dark. What’s the matter?”

Milo Fernandez hesitated. “Take a look. There’s something funny about his teeth.”

The room on the second floor of La Reina County Hospital was pleasant and bright. Outside the window of the small private room a night bird sang. The boy sat propped in the bed in a half-sitting position. His pale green eyes skipped around the room as though searching for an escape.

Holly Lang stood at the foot of the bed and smiled down at him. She was tall and supple, with short dark hair and hazel eyes. Her smile was good, and it usually made other people smile in response. But the boy’s expression did not change.

“Well, you look a little better now that you’re all cleaned up,” she said.

The boy’s eyes flicked over her and away.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

No answer.

“A little scared, I guess.” Holly kept her tone soft and conversational. “I don’t blame you. Hospitals can be scary. My name’s Holly. Do you want to tell me yours? It’s all right if you don’t. There’s no hurry.”

The boy’s fingers moved restlessly on the edge of the sheet.

“I’m a kind of doctor.”

The green eyes met hers for an instant.

“Not the kind that sticks people with needles,” she said quickly. “Mostly, I just talk. And I listen too, if you want to talk to me.”

The boy turned away and stared through the window at the dark trees. His expression told Holly nothing.

Holly waited, watching his face. The expression still told her nothing. “What happened to you out there?” she said, more to herself than to the boy. “What’s haunting you now?”

*****

La Reina County Hospital had more the look of an expensive mountain resort than an institution. It was tucked into the picturesque wooded hillside overlooking the town of Pinyon. Behind it the Tehachapi Mountains rose from gently sloping foothills. The facilities and the equipment at La Reina were excellent, courtesy of the California taxpayers. The same could not be said of the staff.

Somehow La Reina County Hospital had become caught in the backwash of bureaucracy and was known as a haven for medical misfits. Med. school graduates from the lower third of their class found a home there. Doctors with a questionable past, nurses with borderline records… these made up the staff at La Reina County.

There were always more beds than patients in residence. The administration lived in fear that during one of the periodic budget battles in Sacramento, someone would ask why the hell they needed a hospital down there at all. The funds would be cut off and a lot of people would be out of work. Somehow, the budget checkers in Sacramento kept missing it.

Dr Hollanda Lang, known to everyone as Holly, did not belong with the staff misfits. She had passed up a lucrative private practice as a clinical psychologist to work for the state Social Services Department. When people asked her why, she told them she was absolving her liberal guilt. Holly found it embarrassing to admit how deeply she cared about helping people.

And La Reina appealed to her precisely because of its quirky reputation. Her opinion of the medical establishment was not high, and here among the outcasts she found some original thinkers she could relate to. Her one disappointment had been in the lack of challenge in her cases. Until they brought in the boy from the woods.

*****

Holly looked down at the pale boy now, wondering what it would take to communicate with him. In the two hours since he’d been brought in, the boy had not spoken. She had finally got the curious onlookers cleared out of the room and felt the boy was at least beginning to relax with her.

There was a sound at the door behind her. She turned, annoyed at the interruption.

Sheriff Gavin Ramsay stuck his head into the room.

“All right if I come in?”

“Could I stop you?”

“Sure. Just say go away.”

Holly felt the muscles tighten at the back of her neck. She knew her aversion to police was an unreasonable throwback to her campus protest days, but she couldn’t help it. “Come on in,” she said.

Ramsay nodded to her. “Thanks, Miss Lang. I’ll make this as short as I can.”

“It’s Doctor.”

“Oh, right. Doctor Lang. Sorry.”

She made herself relax. “That sounded pompous, didn’t it. Shall we try first names? I’m Holly.”

“Gavin,” he said.

Not a bad-looking man, Holly decided, if you liked the macho type. Sort of a younger Marlboro Man. She had seen him around Pinyon and thought it was a pity that he had to be a policeman.

“How’s the kid?” he asked.

” Doing well enough.”

“Has he said anything yet?”

Holly looked quickly at the young patient. The green eyes regarded the sheriff warily.

“We’re just getting acquainted,” she said. “So far I’ve done all the talking.”

“I’d like to ask him a few questions.”

The boy seemed to shrink a little in the bed.

“Suppose we step out into the hall,” Holly said.

“Sure.”

She followed Ramsay out through the door and looked up at him when he turned. Holly was five-eight in her stocking feet, and well-built. Not many men could make her feel small. Gavin Ramsay could, and she resented it.

“I wish you’d given me some warning before you barged into the room.”

“Sorry. The door was ajar.”

“Well… no harm done, I suppose.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

“You must understand it’s part of my job to keep my patient from being disturbed.”

“Fair enough,” Ramsay said, “but you’ve got your job and I’ve got mine.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’ve got a couple of hunters missing and a dead man downstairs in the pathology lab.”

“What has that to do with this boy?”

“I don’t know that there’s any connection, but I want to find out. From the looks of the kid when they brought him in, he was out in the woods for at least three days. That’s about how long our man downstairs has been a corpse.”

“You’re not suggesting that this boy has anything to do with it?”

Ramsay’s eyes flashed blue fire. “Why not? Because he’s a minor? Last week a twelve-year-old in East Los Angeles set his mother on fire because she found his heroin stash. A seven-year-old girl in Beverly Hills drowned her baby brother in the swimming pool because he got too much attention. Two boys in Glendale hung a baby girl from a swing set. The boys were six. Want to hear more?”

“No thank you. I’ll concede that there is no age limit on criminal behaviour, but I won’t jump to the conclusion that this boy is guilty of anything.”

“Holly… Dr Lang… all I want to do is talk to him.” Gavin raised his arms. “See, I didn’t even bring any handcuffs.”

“Well, he isn’t talking yet. He’s had a frightening experience, and it may take a while. Shouldn’t you be trying to find out who he is?”

“I should and I am. I’ve put his description out on the wire. So far he doesn’t fit any missing-boy report.” Gavin looked back over her shoulder into the room. “You will let me know if he says anything?”

“Certainly, Sheriff.”

He started to go, then turned back. “Is there any chance we can get back to using first names?”

She held a stern expression for a moment longer, then relaxed. “What the hell… See you, Gavin.”

“See you, Holly.”

*****

The boy’s eyes followed her as she came back and sat in the chair next to the bed. She smiled at him, studying his face. The two deputies who brought him in had said there was something “weird” in the way he looked. Probably a trick of the twilight and their imaginations. Holly saw only a frightened boy of perhaps fourteen. High forehead, straight nose and firm mouth. The eyes were a deep lustrous green. Certainly nothing there that could be considered “weird’. “Getting sleepy?” she said.

The boy’s head rolled from side to side on the pillow.

A response. The first sign he had given that he understood. Holly kept her voice gentle. “I’ll just sit here for a while then. If you feel like talking, fine. If not, that’s fine too.”

The boy’s eyes never left her. Holly thought she could see his body relax, just a little, under hospital sheet and blanket. She picked up a magazine from the bedside table and pretended to read. She did not leave until she was sure the boy was asleep.

During the next three days Holly spent many hours at the boy’s bedside. She could not coax him to speak, but his face brightened when she came into the room, and she was cheered by the small sign of recognition. They watched television together and listened to music. Holly talked about whatever came into her mind, and read to the boy from the books and magazines in the hospital library.

On the morning of the third day the administrative chief of staff met her outside the boy’s room. Dr Dennis Qualen was a soft-faced man with steely grey hair. He was always careful about his diction, as though he were being recorded.

“So, Dr Lang, how is it going?”

“We’re making progress.”

“Really?”

“That sounds like you have doubts.”

“No, no, perhaps our definitions of progress differ. I’ve read the reports, and can find no indication that there is anything wrong with the boy.”

“Nothing physical.”

“Exactly. Which leaves us with mental illness.”

“Let’s say psychological trauma.”

“Terminology aside, have you considered turning the boy’s case over to someone better equipped to handle him than we are?”

“Who did you have in mind?”

“The State Youth Authority, for instance.”

“That’s for juvenile criminals.”

“I understand from Sheriff Ramsay that there is a very good chance this boy might fit into that category.”

“There is no evidence of that.”

“Perhaps not, but I must consider the best course for the hospital.”

“And I have to consider the patient. Listen, Doctor, I’ve seen cases like this before, loss of the power of speech due to some psychic trauma. If you give me another week, I’m sure I can show you marked improvement.”

“A week is out of the question.”

“Doctor, believe me. I can help this boy if I’m just given the time.”

Dr Qualen fingered the medical-school emblem on his tie clasp. “You may have two days.”

“I could do much more in a week.”

“Two days. After that the boy will be turned over to the Youth Authority. I cannot take the chance of him becoming violent.”

Without waiting for further discussion, Dr Qualen spun round and marched away down the hallway. Holly suppressed an urge to give him the finger. She went into the boy’s room.

He was sitting up waiting for her.

“Hi,” she said. “Sleep well?” She looked over at the vertical window. It was cranked open three inches to the tough mesh screen outside. “Fresh air always helps me sleep. But then, I guess you’ve had all the fresh air you want for a while.”

Holly pulled her chair over to the bed and sat down. “I want you to do something for me today. I want you to think about the time you spent out there. No, don’t turn away from me. It’s important now that you think about it. Then maybe we can talk.”

Before she could go any further, Dr Wayne Pastory sailed into the room. He wore his white jacket over a pale yellow Izod LaCoste shirt. He touched the glossy black hair he was so proud of, and which he wore combed straight back in a style of the past.

“Well, well, well, so this is the wild boy I’ve been hearing about. How are we doing, fella?”