The Long Sleep (21 page)

Ben said, “A nineteen ninety-four Cadillac
Deville. Black.”

“Cadillac, huh?” Falco said.

“I don’t think he bought it new. Maybe
second- or third-hand. It’s very old.”

Rhoda said, “How would you know what he
drove? You haven’t been at that school even two months.”

Rhoda should have known how it was with Ben.
Autistic people can do things other people can’t. And vice
versa.

She dropped that subject and asked, “Why
would he want to kill you?”

“That’s why I thought it was Evan,” I said.
“Evan did try to kill me.”

“This Geyer,” said Falco. “Did you ever have
anything to do with him socially?”

“No, I didn’t even know him. But . . .”

“Yes?”

“At my very first meeting—Hank asked him—if
he knew about the Welbourne case. He asked how long Geyer had been
teaching here.”

“And?”

“He said twenty years. He said he knew about
the case but he didn’t know her personally, it was a different
school. But I’m thinking maybe he did know her. He’d have been a
lot younger then, maybe in his twenties. She left—she was at a
party and they said she left with someone from a different
school.”

I rambled, not quite sure what I was
saying.

“I mean, she was attractive. From the
pictures I’ve seen. He could have—he could have been trying—I mean
. . .”

“We know what you mean,” said Falco. “I think
we do.”

I looked at Rhoda. She was so innocent.

Why did I think she was innocent? Her eyes
narrowed. “It’s obvious. He tried to get you drugged so he could—”
She broke off, looking ferocious. “How can you be sure he
didn’t?”

“I’m sure,” I said. “Not with me. But Paula,
maybe. It was something I read. They beat around the bush a lot but
there were hints about a medical condition. That’s why her parents
wanted to get the machine turned off. I think she might have been
pregnant. But it didn’t get off in time because of the court fight
and then the medical condition wasn’t a problem anymore. She had
the baby. That’s why he didn’t think I should write the story. He
thought it would be too embarrassing for them. But he couldn’t
outright forbid it or I’d have gotten suspicious. About those drugs
and things.”

“He might have thought you were getting near
the truth,” Falco said. “As you just did.”

“And Hank, too. Because of what Hank asked
him.”

Falco had to make sure. “Are you saying you
think it wasn’t Evan who shot Hank?”

“No, remember? That piece of fuzz you told me
about. Geyer has a coat with a pile lining that color. I just
remembered.”

Falco didn’t look pleased.

“Really,” I said. “Just now. Whatever he put
in my coffee, it was starting to take effect when I noticed. So I
forgot.”

He looked at Ben. “Any idea what the plate
number is on that Caddie?”

Ben shook his head. “There aren’t very many
ninety-four Cadillac Devilles running around.”

I struggled to get upright. “Hank’s alone! He
doesn’t have all those nurses anymore. Can people get in if it’s
not visiting hours yet?”

Falco said, “I’m sure they can. There are
security guards at the desk but people are going in and out all the
time.” He snapped open his cell phone and went to the dining room
to make the call.

I couldn’t stand it. I supposed my car was
still at the school if Evan—or Geyer—hadn’t managed to dump it.
“Ben, will you take me there? To the hospital?”

Rhoda said, “Ben should be in school. And you
should be in bed.”

“Mom . . .” I never called her Mom, “Could
you stop being a mom for just a second? This is life or death.”

Ben was already pulling out his keys. “It’s
only a half day today,” he told her. “We’ll be good little kids on
Monday.”

Falco came back from the dining room. “Gotta
run.”

“Us, too,” said Ben. “We’re going, too.”

“Hop in, then.” We were out the door and
Falco had his car open.

He sped down the steep hill and across the
bridge. I prayed for Hank, that nothing had happened yet. It had
been so long.
Hours.

Falco opened his window and put something on
the roof. A siren went off in my ear.

I tried not to panic about Hank. Instead I
thought of Paula Welbourne, who started the whole thing.

“I wonder what happened to her baby,” I
said.

“What baby?” Falco asked.

“Paula’s. If she was pregnant, she must have
had it.”

“Put it up for adoption,” he said.

“How come you know that?”

“I don’t. Just guessing.”

Eighteen years ago. That would be . . .

“Ohmigod! It was Evan!”

Chapter
Nineteen

With the siren, we
got to the hospital in record time. Before Falco parked, I was out
the door and through the entrance, ignoring the two guards at the
desk. I heard one of them shout, “Hey! Hey!”

Falco and Ben came in right after me. Nobody
shouted at them. Falco must have flashed his badge. I grabbed a
waiting elevator while he and Ben took the stairs.

The hallway was quiet. Geyer had had plenty
of time since he dumped me, but he would have been very conspicuous
trying to get in there at night.

I found Hank’s room and hesitated in the
doorway. A doctor was there with a mask on. He turned to look at
me. His eyes widened. Something about his eyes...

He wore surgical scrubs and—sneakers? That
wasn’t right. I couldn’t think why it wasn’t. I couldn’t think at
all.

He reacted before I did. He ran toward me and
then to the door. I felt a sting as he dashed past. Falco and Ben
loomed in the doorway, blocking his exit.

Falco grabbed both his arms. Ben ripped off
the mask.

“Yup,” said Ben. “It’s him.”

I looked down at my arm. A hypodermic needle
hung loosely from my sleeve.

The room filled with security guards. Nurses.
I had to back away to let them in. A nurse checked Hank to see if
he was all right. Another noticed the needle I pulled out of my
coat.

She snatched it away from me. “Did he do
that?” Then, to someone else, “Get the IV!”

She brandished the hypo, making everybody
look at it. I couldn’t see what they were doing. All I saw was
Geyer on the floor and Falco snapping handcuffs on him.

Geyer looked up at me, catching my eye.
Waiting . . .

I stepped back again. My legs began to melt.
With that, I knew what he was waiting for.

The nurse who had taken the needle caught my
arm. “Did he stick you with that?”

I nodded. I think I nodded. I saw the black
curtains again, just out of sight. How could I see them if they
were out of sight?

Nothing made sense. I couldn’t tell what was
up and what was down. I reached to grab something to keep from
falling.

It wasn’t there. I couldn’t feel
anything.

Except the floor when it hit me.

* * *

I thought I was back in the woods, still
running. It was cold. The floor, cold against my cheek. I could
smell the pine stuff they wash it with. A voice said, “We’re losing
her.”

Run,
I said.
Run.
I kept
running. If I could reach the bridge, then someone would find
me.

I was moving. Not running, just moving. All I
could see was the red of my closed eyelids. As if there were bright
lights up there.

We turned a corner. Just like in the car.
Except I was lying on my back. How could I remember the car when I
couldn’t remember anything else?

The pine smell had gone. There were pine
trees in the woods. Someone said, “Don’t know what was in it.”

The woods.
I
was in it. Running.
Something stabbed me in the neck.

* * *

I felt my mother’s hand. I heard her voice,
close to my ear. “Happy Thanksgiving, darling.”

Already? Thanksgiving was tomorrow. Was this
tomorrow?

More voices, talking. My mother again. “Did
they get it all out?”

And someone else. “They should. Four hours of
dialysis. You see? She’s better already.”

Dialysis?
Me?
That was for sick
people, with kidney failure.

I opened my eyes. My mother was there, and a
woman in a white coat. I tried to speak, but I couldn’t.

Rhoda asked, “Do you think she can go
home?”

“Maybe, in a while,” the doctor said. “After
a little more rest.”

“What does that mean?”

Rhoda liked a direct answer. She and Ben were
the same about that. She sometimes forgot that people couldn’t be
pinned down until they had all the facts.

They both left the room so they could talk
about it without my hearing. I didn’t care. Whatever they decided
was okay. I was in the hospital, I could see that much. According
to the doctor, my blood was nice and clean. From what? It took me a
while to figure that out.

From whatever was in the needle he jabbed me
with.

And Hank, too. Was he trying to put it in the
IV? I looked around for the call button. I had to find out if Hank
was okay.

I found it but didn’t press it. If Hank had
been killed, they wouldn’t tell me. Not until I was in better
shape.

Chapter Twenty

By the next morning
I felt okay. Not perfect, but I was going to live. I found my
clothes and got ready to leave.

They still hadn’t said anything about Hank
and I hadn’t asked. I was afraid to, but I had to find out. While
waiting for my discharge papers, I walked nervously down the hall
to his room.

He was there. In bed. Alive.

He lay on his back, his mouth slightly open.
His face was turned away from the window.

“Hank,” I murmured, sitting next to his bed.
I brushed the hair back from his forehead. He looked so paper thin
it was hard to touch him, but they say touch can be
therapeutic.

His face had a little more color than before.
Maybe it was from the sun shining in. It shone across his bed, not
on his face.

“It’s me, Maddie Canfield. Your frequent
visitor.”

I wondered if they could feed him
Thanksgiving dinner through the tube. He probably wasn’t even aware
of what went down it.

“They got him,” I said. “The man who shot you
and tried to kill me, too.”

His lips moved very slightly. A croak came
from his throat.

I backed away. “Are you trying to say
something? Hank! Talk to me.”

His mouth moved again, trying to form a W. I
looked up at the door to make sure nobody was there and I kissed
him. His cheek felt warm.

“I got the series finished,” I said. “It’s
not all published yet, only the first two parts, but we’re getting
there.”

I didn’t mean to say what I said next. I
wasn’t sure he’d be ready for it but I couldn’t keep it in.

“We’re all on our own. We have to do it
without Mr. Geyer because he’s in jail.”

That time it wasn’t just a croak, it was a
whole word. “Jail?”

It sounded kind of sludgy. After all, his jaw
hadn’t moved in several weeks, but it was clear enough.

Especially when he said a whole sentence.
“Walter—in—jail?”

“Walter Geyer. Yes!” I pressed the call
button. “He tried to kill me, too. He threw me down a steep hill
into the Vanorden Kill but I didn’t go all the way down. If I
didn’t have my cell phone I’d still be there. I think it’s because
we both sort of figured out what he did to Paula Welbourne.”

Hank’s eyes opened. Those deep, dark eyes. He
blinked as though trying to remember.

I couldn’t expect everything to come back all
at once. Even before the coma, he hadn’t quite put the whole thing
together.

“He got her drunk, or maybe she already was,”
I said. “And he drugged her, too. He wanted—let’s face it, he
wanted sex. But he got her more knocked out than he meant to, so he
raped her. We know he did, because nine months later she had a
baby. He couldn’t wake her up and that scared him, so he dumped her
on her family’s doorstep. At least he didn’t dump her where she’d
never be found. That’s the
only
good thing he did.”

A nurse came in answer to the call button. I
said, “He’s waking up!”

She checked him over, then turned, and ran to
spread the news. Soon the room was so filled with medical personnel
that I told Hank, “I’ll be back,” and squeezed my way out.

When I got to the hall, Rick Falco was there.
I hadn’t seen him in ages, or at least a day. He looked so good, I
gave him a hug.

I must have looked good, too. He hugged me
right back and held on for an extra minute. Looking past me to the
door I just came from, he asked, “What’s going on? Is he okay?”

“He woke up!” I said. “I was talking to him
and he just woke up!”

“How did you do that?” He held me at arm’s
length and studied my face.

“I didn’t do anything. He just—woke up. It
must have been time for it.”

That seemed a reasonable explanation.

The next moment it wasn’t so reasonable. I
tried again, with my brain still fuzzy. “Maybe he kind of knew he
was safe now.”

Rick pulled me close with another hug.

Then he got serious. “It looks as if you’re
about to be discharged. Glad I found you in time.”

What bad news now? “What do you mean?”

“Nothing like that. I put it badly. What I
came for was to ask you a question. We need a DNA sample. You said
you knew the person who might be his son.”

His
son?
The whole thing was still so
new that it took me a moment to catch up.

“Oh,” I said. “Evan. I said I knew somebody
who might know where he is.”

A nurse came with my discharge papers and a
wheelchair. I wanted to say goodbye to Hank but his room still
swarmed with people. I could come again tomorrow when things
settled down and we’d have a real, genuine conversation.