Under a Bear Moon (20 page)

“AND YOU say you recognized your attackers?”

The officer was polite, but persistent. Lynda looked at him from her hospital bed and sighed. He was tall and well-padded. With his shaved head, he looked like a chubby Michael Jordan. Behind him sat a female officer. Quiet and blonde, she nodded sympathetically while writing down every word Lynda said. Lynda's mother stood by the bedside, holding her hand. She glared at the policeman, but remained silent. He'd been asking questions for over an hour, and Lynda wondered if he ever planned to stop.

At least they'd delayed the interrogation until the paramedics were done with Greg. Lynda had watched them hook up an IV and bundle him into the ambulance. Greg's father had arrived just in time to ride with him to the hospital.

They'd taken Lynda to the hospital, too, in a separate vehicle. Admitted for observation and treated for shock, she now sat propped up in bed answering the officers’ questions. She was grateful she'd had time to prepare a story. It took all of her concentration to navigate the narrow path between the truth she could tell, and the secret she must keep.

“It's like I said. The same four who kidnapped me in April showed up at the house last night. They hit Greg on the head and tied us both to chairs in the dining room. I guess they found my address in the purse they stole, and figured there might be something in the house worth stealing. The youngest one, the one called Bobby, was holding the leash on this killer pit bull. No, I don't know why they brought a dog!” Lynda snapped, anticipating a question the officer had asked three times already. Yelling hurt her throat, and she took a sip of water from the glass beside her before continuing. “They just did. I guess they didn't find what they wanted, because they were really mad when they came back into the dining room. At least the leader was.”

The policeman nodded. “Is that when the dog got loose?”

“No. Like I said, the guy went ballistic. I think he was on something. Luckily, Greg had managed to get loose, and when the gang leader started waving his shot gun at me and tearing my dress, Greg jumped him. Everything happened really fast after that. Greg got shot, and I think the noise startled the dog. It jerked away from the kid holding its leash and attacked the gang leader. One of the other kids shot the dog, but it was too late. Then they ran away. That's it, until my brother got home.”

“Uh huh,” the police officer said. The sound of pencil scratching paper continued. “I guess that just about covers it. I was wondering, though.” He looked straight at her, his chocolate eyes tinged with cynicism. “You didn't say any-thing about what happened to your friend's clothes.”

Lynda felt herself blushing. “I wasn't expecting my brother home until late. So I invited Greg in to listen to some music.” She glanced guiltily at her mother. “Do I really have to go into detail?”

Shaking his head, he motioned to the other officer and stood. “We'll be back if we have further questions, but this should cover it. Let's go Simmons, we've got a report to type.”

The policewoman shot Lynda a last sympathetic look before closing her pad and following him out the door.

Feeling like a worn out wash rag, Lynda sank back on her pillow and closed her eyes.

“Thank goodness, that's over,” her mother said.

Lynda felt her mother's weight on the edge the bed and opened her eyes.

Carol Malone looked like the aftermath of a cyclone. Her dress was wrinkled and stained, her face streaked with tear-soaked mascara. She'd snagged her stockings on the bed's metal frame, and an inch-thick ladder ran up her calf. Looking at the ravaged make-up, Lynda felt closer to her mother than she had in years.

She sat up and put her arm around her mother's thin shoulders. “You okay, Mom?”

“Of course I am, honey. It's you I'm worried about.”

Lynda's lips twitched. “I'm fine. My cheek stings a little, that's all.”

“I've called Dr. Zwirn; she'll drop by later. I asked her to ... you know, make sure you weren't injured.” Lynda's mother stared uneasily at her hands. “If there's anything more you want to tell me—”

“No, Mom, really. I'm fine.” Lynda squeezed her mother before letting go. “Greg was the one who got hurt. Do you know how he's doing?” During the break in the interrogation, her mother had left the room to sign insurance forms, and Lynda hoped she'd heard something.

Her mother's voice cooled. “All I know is his father transferred him to a private clinic.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “This may not be the time to discuss this, but your father and I feel you've been spending too much time with that young man. Last night proves it.”

Lynda turned on her mother. “What do you mean? Greg saved my life!”

“Perhaps. He was also alone in the house with you under very compromising circumstances. Oh, honey,” Lynda's dismay must have shown in her expression, because her mother's voice softened. “I'm sorry. You went through a terrible experience. Concentrate on getting over it. Your friend's going to be in the hospital for a very long time. Who knows how you'll feel by the time he's re-covered.”

“I know.”

Her mother lay a finger over Lynda's mouth. “Hush. Get some sleep. We'll talk about this later.” Reaching over the bed, her mother clicked off the lights before pecking Lynda on the cheek and leaving the room.

Surrounded by the distant murmur of the hospital, Lynda closed her eyes. The image of Greg on the floor hovered behind her eyelids and filled her dreams.

LYNDA WOKE up hours later. Something, a change in the bustle outside her door, laughter in the hallway, or the timid click of a closing door, had disturbed her sleep. She lay in the dim room, confused until she remembered where she was and why. Swinging her feet over the edge of the raised bed, she padded toward the bathroom. Wisps of a hallway conversation caught her attention.

“Talk to her, Stephen. She listens to you.” Her mother's voice carried clearly through the thin hospital door.

“There's nothing to talk about yet. Let's wait until after her examination. The doctor will tell us if there's any-thing to worry about.”

“But what about next time? Who knows what they were up to.”

Their voices grew faint as her parents apparently walked away from the door. Sighing, Lynda continued to the bathroom.

She was on her way back to bed, when she thought she heard her father again. Lynda was about to open the door, when she realized her mistake. Two men were talking outside her hospital room. One had a warm, comforting voice like her father's, but lower pitched. The other's voice was younger and quicker, a nasal tenor set to a New York rhythm.

“The family wouldn't agree to the amputation, so Dr. Wolf just signed the release papers?” the tenor asked.

“Amputation? The father wouldn't even authorize a transfusion.” The older man snorted. “Must be some kind of religious nut—threatened to call a lawyer when Wolf objected. Wouldn't even let us take the patient to the E.R. to stabilize before he took him away.”

Pausing, Lynda wondered who they were talking about. She knew kids at school whose parents shunned medical treatment, and she wondered if the patient the doctors were discussing was one of her friends. Lynda shook her head and hoped that, whoever he was, the kid would be all right.

The voices grew indistinct as Lynda continued to bed. Barely whispers by the time she climbed in, the words still rustled in her ears. Lynda closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep.

She heard the young man say, “I don't see how he could've made it anywhere without at least a couple of pints. If you ask me, the kid's a goner.”

The older man sighed. “That's why you need to process those forms ASAP. Wolf wants them where he can find them, in case the hospital gets slapped with a mal-practice suit.”

“They should be easy to find,” the tenor said. “It's a weird name.”

Lynda heard the faint crackle of papers being shuffled.

“Here it is. How many ‘Urseks’ could they have down there?”

Ursek! Lynda's eyes flew open and she bolted upright. How many Urseks? She could think of only one. The rest of the conversation was lost in the roar of Lynda's shattering world. Throwing herself on the pillow, she dissolved into tears.

WORDS FLUTTERED in his ears like leaves on an autumn breeze. Clear, but innocent of pattern or meaning.

“There's too much damage, Mr. Ursek. It's a miracle he didn't bleed to death. The arm is a lost cause.”

“No, I do not agree. Another facility...”

“...too late ... too dangerous.”

“...recommend?”

“Surgery, immediately.”

“...refuse?”

“We'll lose him.”

A gust of wind picked up the leaves. They whirled and danced beyond his awareness. Somewhere, far below the surface, an eddy of fear dissipated into the overwhelming urge to sleep.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Lynda stood by her hospital window and stared unseeing at the cotton ball clouds drifting across the sky. Sun-warmed flowers scented the breeze that ruffled her hair, but she didn't notice.

The door opened, and her mother swept into the room. “Good, you're ready.”

Lynda sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand and turned to face her. “Sure is bright out there.”

Reaching into his breast pocket, Lynda's father pulled out a battered glasses case. “Good thing I remembered your sunglasses.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Taking the glasses out of their case, Lynda slipped them on.

Huddled behind her lenses during the ride home, Lynda tried to ignore the beauty surrounding her. How dare the sun be so bright, the people strolling along the lake front so happy, when Greg was gone? It should be pouring rain. Lightning should shatter the sky, thunder rock the ground. The sky, earth, and wind should all be mourning as she did. Looking out the car window, Lynda silently cursed every flower, bird, and smile.

When she got home, Lynda grasped her courage and peeked into the dining room. The curtain hung from a new rod; the table and chairs sat in their accustomed places. The clean, biting scent of Pine-Sol filled the room. The only hint that anything unusual had happened was the family room rug laying under the dining room table.

Disturbed by the eerie feeling that Friday had never happened, she bolted up the stairs, and flew into her bed-room. She was back downstairs in less than a minute. “Where's my phone? I need to make a call.”

“I took it out of your room,” her mother said. “I want you resting today, not jabbering on the phone.”

“You don't understand, I need to call Greg—I mean his parents—and make sure he's okay.”

“Not today. You can call the Urseks in a few days, when you're feeling better.”

“But Mom—”

“I won't have you dwelling on that incident,” her mother said, voice rising.

Her father stepped up and put his arm around Lynda's shoulders. “I agree, Angel. You need to think of more pleasant things. Let me take you to brunch. I bet The Medici has a few croissants left.”

Lynda jerked away from her father. “How can you think about eating? Greg's hurt. He might be dead.”

Bursting into tears, she tore back upstairs leaving her parents to exchange worried looks below.

LYNDA HEARD tentative tap on her bedroom door and her brother's voice. “Hey, Lynster? You in there?”

“Just a second.” Sliding her feet off the bed, she padded to the door and opened it.

Tom slouched in the hallway, hands jammed into his pockets, eyes focused on a spot somewhere near Lynda's knees. He looked like he'd rather be taking a Chemistry final. “You okay?” he mumbled.

She turned and headed back to bed. “I'm fine. Go back downstairs and tell Mom and Dad to stop worrying.”

Tom took his hands out of his pockets and followed her into the room. “You've got it all wrong. They don't even know I'm up here. They think I'm in the basement entertaining John-John.” He sat down on the bed next to Lynda and cleared his throat. “I feel terrible about what happened Friday night. If I'd been here—”

Unable to meet his imploring gaze, Lynda lifted the corner of her blanket and began to pick fuzz off it. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“But I was in charge. I was supposed to take care of you!”

“Hard to do from a party.” Lynda heard a sucked in breath and looked up to see Tom staring at her as if she'd hit him.

She dropped the blanket and put her arm around him. “Tom, I didn't mean that. If you'd been here, they would have shot you, too.” Her throat closed around the image of Greg lying in blood. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and threatened to spill over.

Tom pulled her into a hug. “I'm so sorry, Lynda.”

Her tears broke free. “Me, too.” She buried her face in his shoulder. “Me, too.”

LYNDA MUST have dozed off, because she thought she was with Greg, carrying a honey pot and chasing headless chickens. They laughed as they ran, tripping over hens and spilling honey, until they fell together in a sticky, feather-covered lump. Greg leaned over Lynda to brush a feather off her cheek when a high, clear, voice called her back to her room.

“Lynda? You're not asleep, are you?”

Sitting up, she stifled a yawn. “Not anymore. Come in, Ellen, the door's not locked.”

The door opened, and Ellen peered into the room. The afternoon sun shone on the other side of the house, leaving Lynda's room to the shadows. “Do you mind if I turn on the light?”

“No, go ahead.” Determined to act normally, Lynda struggled to think of something she could say that wouldn't make her cry. The light came on, and she saw that her friend had exchanged her shoulder length tresses for a cap of curls. “I like your hair.”

Plopping down beside Lynda, Ellen ran her fingers through the shorter style and grimaced. “It's going to take me a while to get used to it.”

Lynda tried to smile. “It's really cute on you. With the light shining behind you, it looks like a halo. All you need are wings to be a regular angel.”

“Thanks. Matt likes my hair short, too. You know how I've been trying to get him to notice me?”