Darkness

20

“Wake up, Judd.” Warren Phillips spoke the words harshly, shaking the sleeping man’s shoulder. “Come on, Judd, it’s almost dawn.”

Judd groaned, pulling away, but when Phillips prodded him once more, his eyes opened and he groggily sat up.

The first thing he noticed was that the pain in his joints was gone. His limbs were once more as supple as they had ever been.

He looked at his hands; the liver spots had disappeared, and his cracked nails had smoothed out again. His knuckles, grotesquely swollen last night, were their normal size, and the skin on his fingers was that of a man in his late forties.

Rising from the sofa, he crossed to the mirror over the fireplace and stared in relief at his own reflection. His face had smoothed out; only the small crow’s-feet around the corners of his eyes remained. His eyes, dull and sunken only hours ago, looked perfectly normal, and when he spoke, there was no trace left of the crackling rasp that was all he’d been able to manage when he’d arrived at Phillips’s house a few hours earlier. He breathed deeply, feeling the rush of air into his lungs, then released his breath in a long clear sigh. He turned, grinning. “It worked. I feel great again.”

“Of course it worked,” Phillips replied. “It’s worked for twenty years — why wouldn’t it work now?” Without waiting for a reply, he began issuing orders to the deputy. “Jenny Sheffield is in the bathroom upstairs. You’re going to use the radio in your car to call the hospital and tell them you found her in the canal and you’re bringing her in.”

Duval shook his head. “Wouldn’t do that. I’d call for the medics. It’s procedure.”

Phillips’s lips curled in a thin smile. “If she’s already dead?”

The deputy stared at the doctor numbly. “You killed her?”

The doctor tilted his head toward the stairs in the foyer. “Why don’t you go take a look, and tell me what you think.”

Duval hesitated, but left the library, and with Phillips following behind, mounted the stairs. When he came to the landing, he glanced uncertainly around.

“Second door on the left,” Phillips said.

Duval moved down the hall, hesitated, then opened the door to the bathroom. For a moment he saw nothing, but then his eyes gravitated to the tub.

It was filled, a layer of ice cubes floating on the surface. But beneath the translucent ice he could make out the form of a body.

Jenny’s body, clad in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair floating around her head in the form of a grotesque halo.

“Holy Jesus,” Duval whispered, gazing in shock at the face that peered up from beneath the water’s surface. He dropped down to his knees and pushed the ice cubes aside.

She lay on her back, her empty eyes wide in a pale, bluish face. Duval blinked, and instinctively reached for the body, intending to lift it out of the tub.

“Not yet,” Warren Phillips snapped. “Not until you know exactly what you’re going to do.”

Duval, his eyes still fixed on the body in the tub, spoke numbly. “The canal,” he repeated, the words coming slowly as he tried to grasp what Phillips had done. It was wrong — he’d brought Jenny Sheffield as the price of his shot. She wasn’t supposed to be killed — Phillips needed her! “I was on my way to work, and I found her in the canal. I don’t need an ambulance — she’s dead already.”

“That’s right,” Phillips told him. “And you take her to the morgue, just like you would any other body.”

Duval nodded.

“All right,” Phillips went on. “We’re ready.”

Duval reached into the icy water and lifted Jenny’s limp body, cradling it in his arms as he stood up. Phillips held the door open, and Duval carried her out to the hallway, then down the stairs and through the back door. Outside, Phillips held the door open while Duval laid Jenny onto the backseat.

“Go,” Phillips said, his voice low, but leaving no room for disobedience. “Keep your lights off, and get to the canal as fast as you can. Then make the call, turn on your lights and siren, and head for the hospital. And one more thing, Judd.”

Judd turned in the predawn darkness to face Phillips. “Tell them to call me. Tell them who it is, and tell them to call me.”

Duval’s brows creased into an uncertain frown. “But she’s dead,” he began. “They’d call Hatfield.”

“They will, Judd. But I want them to call me, too. After all,” he added, a cold smile twisting his lips once more, “I’m her doctor, right?”

Judd Duval, his mind still not fully comprehending what Phillips had done, nodded. A few seconds later, the lights of the squad car switched off, he disappeared into the darkness.

• • •

When the phone rang in Warren Phillips’s house, he waited until the sixth ring before he picked up the extension by his bed. And when he spoke, his voice was groggy, as though he’d just been roused from a sound sleep.

“Phillips,” he mumbled.

“Dr. P?” Jolene Mayhew’s voice was brittle with tension. “Dr. P, it’s Jolene. We need you down here right away! At the clinic!”

“Jolene?” Phillips repeated, as if not quite grasping who it was. “What time is it? It must be the middle of—”

“It’s almost dawn, Dr. P. It’s Jenny Sheffield. Judd Duval just called. Dr. P, he found her in the canal. He says she’s dead.”

“I’ll be right there!” Phillips snapped, dropping the sleepiness from his voice, knowing that Jolene’s words would have brought him wide awake instantly.

He hung up the phone, then quickly changed his clothes, pulling on khakis and a polo shirt, stuffing his bare feet into a pair of tennis shoes. Less than two minutes after Jolene’s call, he was on his way, arriving at the hospital just as Judd Duval was helping Jolene and the night orderly load Jenny’s body onto a gumey.

• • •

The ring of the Andersons’ phone shattered the tense silence that hung over the living room of Carl Anderson’s house. Mary Anderson and Barbara Sheffield glanced at each other. It wasn’t until Michael, forbidden by his mother to join the men as they began hunting for Jenny, moved to the phone, that Barbara spoke. “No!” she said, her voice sharp. “Let Mary get it.”

Michael sank back onto the sofa where he’d been sitting with Kelly, and watched as Mary quickly crossed to the phone, picking up the receiver on the third ring. Her face paled as she listened, then she spoke. “I’ll bring Barbara right away. The men are still out looking … No, I’m not sure where. They were going to start by the canal … All right.” She slowly hung up the receiver, then turned to face Barbara, tears streaking her cheeks.

Barbara closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself in preparation for the words she knew Mary was about to utter.

Her fault.

Whatever had happened — and she was certain it was bad — was her fault.

She’d known it almost from the instant she’d found Kelly’s empty bed. In that first eternal moment of terror, she had heard her own words echoing in her mind.

Maybe Jenny and I should have gone looking for her.

Her own words.

As the words rang in her head, she’d known what had happened. Jenny hadn’t been asleep at all. Instead, she’d crept out of bed and sneaked back onto the landing to listen.

She had heard what Barbara herself had said.

And gone looking for Kelly.

How long had she been gone?

Hours, certainly.

Craig had called Tim Kitteridge, finding the police chief at his desk, and explained what had happened. Then, while Kitteridge began reorganizing the plans he’d been making through the long night, Craig, Ted, and Carl had gone out once more. Craig had insisted that it would be all right, that this time, at least, they didn’t have to worry about the swamp.

Even in broad daylight, and with her father in the boat with her, Jenny hated the swamp. Her child’s imagination saw alligators and snakes everywhere; to her the swamp was a place where every living thing was a threat, and when her friends told her stories of other things that might live there — ogres and ghosts, zombies and witches — she sometimes lay awake all night, afraid even to sleep for fear of dreaming about the swamp.

“She’ll stay by the canal,” Craig had insisted. “You know how she is — I had to take her to Judd Duval’s house myself last year and prove to her that Judd isn’t a witch. She’s probably hiding somewhere, three blocks away, too terrified of the dark even to come back here.”

Barbara had tried to believe her husband’s words, but after he’d left with Ted and Carl, she’d sat silently, certain in her heart that something dreadful had happened to her daughter, and that it was her own words that had sent the little girl out into the night.

At last she forced herself to face Mary Anderson. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s happened?”

Mary crossed to her, crouching down by the chair in which she sat, and took her hand. “It was Tim Kitteridge,” she said. “He just heard a call from Judd Duval. H-He’s found Jenny.”

A flash of hope surged through Barbara, then ebbed away as quickly as it had come. The sadness in Mary’s voice betrayed the truth.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” she said, her voice breaking.

Mary bit her lip, praying that perhaps Kitteridge had misunderstood the radio call he’d overheard. If Judd was taking Jenny to the hospital, there must still be hope. “I–I don’t know. Apparently Judd found her in one of the canals—”

Barbara gasped, her right hand covering her mouth.

“He’s taking her to the hospital,” Mary said quickly, recognizing her own cowardice in being unable to tell Barbara exactly what Kitteridge had told her.

Barbara clutched at Mary’s hands. “I have to get there,” she said, lurching to her feet. “My baby—”

“I’ll drive you,” Mary said.

Michael was on his feet again, this time moving toward the patio door. “I’ll find Dad—”

“No!”

The single word resounded through the room like a shot. Michael froze. “No, Michael,” Barbara went on, her voice breaking. “I can’t stand the idea of you going out there again. I want you with me …” Her words trailed off into a sob, and Michael went to his mother, clumsily slipping his arms around her.

“I’ll go,” Kelly said. Then, before her own mother could say anything, she spoke again. “Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t go anywhere near the swamp. Dad and Grandpa said they were going to look by the canals, and if I can’t find them, I’ll get help. Just take Mrs. Sheffield to the hospital. Please?”

Mary hesitated, but then made up her mind. There was something different about Kelly, as if the hours in the swamp had not only terrified her, but made her grow up in some strange way. “All right,” she agreed. As Kelly left through the patio door, Mary led Barbara and Michael through the kitchen into the garage.

Five minutes later Mary pulled into the parking lot next to the clinic. Barbara was out of the car even before it came to a full stop, running across to the emergency entrance. Judd Duval’s squad car still sat in front of the door.

Inside, Barbara’s eyes searched frantically for a nurse, but she saw only Judd, sitting alone on a chair, writing on a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard. When he looked up, his eyes widened in surprise, but then he rose to his feet.

“Miz Sheffield—”

“Where is she?” Barbara cried. “Where’s Jenny? Where have they taken her?”

Judd moved toward her. “Miz Sheffield, maybe you better sit down.” His hand closed on her arm and he tried to guide her to a seat, but Barbara pulled herself free as Jolene Mayhew, looking harried, pushed through the doors from the treatment rooms in the rear, and Michael, followed by Mary Anderson, rushed through the front doors.

“Jolene?” Barbara asked. “Where’s—” She froze when she saw the look on the nurse’s face, her last shred of hope dying within her. “No,” she sobbed. “Oh, please, no … not my little Jenny. Not my baby …”

Jolene hurried across the room to her while Michael stood frozen just inside the door. “Oh, Barbara. I’m so sorry. Dr. P’s in with her, but …” Her voice trailed off.

“No,” Barbara sobbed. “She can’t be dead. Not Jenny! I want to see her.” She started toward the treatment rooms, and Jolene tried to stop her. Michael, too, stepped forward, but Mary Anderson intercepted him, putting her hand on his arm.

“Let her go, Michael.” For a moment it seemed as if Michael hadn’t heard the words, but as his mother disappeared through the swinging doors that led to the back of the building, he nodded mutely and let Mary lead him to a chair. He sank into it and looked up to see Judd Duval sitting across from him.

“My sister,” he breathed. “Jenny … is she—”

Judd’s head bobbed slowly. “She was in the canal,” he said. “Right near my place. I was just leavin’, on my way to work. She—”

But Michael had stopped listening. There was something about Judd, something in his eyes, that was wrong.

With a deep certainty, Michael knew the deputy was lying.

• • •

When Barbara came into the room, Warren Phillips was bent over Jenny’s body, his stethoscope pressed to her bare chest. Barbara gasped as she stared at her daughter, and the truth finally closed in on her. Jenny was so still, her skin so horribly pallid.

“No,” Barbara sobbed, lurching toward the examining table on which her daughter lay. “Oh, no …” She reached out and touched her daughter’s face, her hand reflexively pulling back as she felt the coldness of Jenny’s flesh.

“Barbara,” Warren Phillips said, coming around to support the distraught woman, easing her into a chair next to the door. “Barbara, I’m sorry. There’s nothing we could have done. When Judd found her, she must already have been in the water for nearly an hour.”

Barbara heard the words, but her mind refused to accept them. She sat still, her eyes fixed on her daughter. When she finally spoke, her voice was nearly inaudible. “But there must be something — she can’t be dead. Not Jenny. She was in bed — I put her to bed. I tucked her in.” Her eyes finally strayed from Jenny, coming up to peer desolately at Warren Phillips. “She’s sleeping. She’s not dead. She’s just sleeping.”

Phillips laid his hand gently on Barbara’s shoulder. “Where’s Craig, Barbara? Is he with you?”

Barbara’s head swung slowly from side to side. “He — He’s out looking for her,” she said hollowly. “He’s out looking for Jenny.” It wasn’t possible — she couldn’t be sitting here, staring at her daughter’s corpse, while Craig was out somewhere in the barely dawning light, searching for their little girl, hoping to find her any minute. But it was true.

It was Jenny lying on the table.

Her beautiful daughter, whom she’d kissed good night only a few short hours ago.

She stood up, willing her legs to support her, and moved slowly to the table, looking down into Jenny’s face.

She reached out again and gently stroked the little girl’s forehead, then bent, brushing the cold lips with her own. She backed away, her eyes never leaving Jenny’s expressionless face, and sank once more onto the hardness of the chair. “Can I stay here?” she asked. “Can I sit with her until Craig comes?”

“Of course,” Dr. Phillips replied. “And I’ll get you something—”

Barbara shook her head. “No. Please, no. Just let me sit with her. I’ll be all right. I will … I know I will …” As tears began to run down her cheeks, Phillips silently left the room, closing the door behind him.

• • •

Thirty minutes later Craig Sheffield arrived, accompanied by Ted, Carl, and Kelly Anderson. As the Andersons joined Mary in the waiting room, Craig spoke to Jolene Mayhew, then went to the room where his wife still sat with Jenny. He paused at the door, his eyes fixing on his daughter, trying to comprehend the reality of what had happened. He heard Barbara’s broken voice, murmuring quietly: “My fault. It’s my fault.”

“No,” Craig said, turning to his wife, dropping down next to her, gathering her into his arms. “Don’t say that, darling. Don’t even think it. It was an accident, honey. It was just a terrible accident.”

Barbara shook her head, refusing to be consoled. “It wasn’t, Craig. If I hadn’t been so stupid—if I’d only realized she might be listening!” Her arms went around him, and she clung to him. “Take me home, darling. Please take me home.”

Craig helped Barbara to her feet and led her down the hall to the waiting room, where Warren Phillips was talking quietly to Michael and the Andersons. As Craig and Barbara came in, Phillips rose to his feet.

“I’m taking Barbara home,” Craig said, sounding dazed, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was saying. “Then I’ll come back. I’ll come back and …” His voice trailed off. Come back and what? She was dead. His baby, his princess, was dead. He gazed at Phillips, who immediately knew what was going through Craig’s mind.

“You don’t have to come back, Craig,” he said. “We’ll take care of everything here. There will be some papers, but right now they don’t concern you. Just take Barbara home. If you need anything, call me.” He scribbled on a prescription form and tucked it into Barbara’s purse. “Just in case she can’t sleep.”

Craig nodded and turned away, the shock of what had happened numbing his mind. Immediately Carl Anderson stood up. “I’ll drive them,” he told Ted. “You take Mary and the kids. We’d better all go to the Sheffields’. I don’t think they should be alone right now.” He glanced at Phillips. “If there’s anything that needs to be done, you let me know. Craig’s been a good friend for a long time, and I don’t aim to let him down now.”

Phillips nodded agreement, and a moment later the waiting room emptied out. When they were alone, with only Judd Duval still there, Phillips spoke to Jolene. “Call Orrin Hatfield, and tell him we need him,” he said. “I can sign the death certificate, but given the circumstances, we’ll need a coroner’s report.”

“I already called him,” Jolene replied. “He’s on his way.”

Phillips nodded, turning immediately to Judd Duval. “There’s no need for you to stay,” he told the deputy. “Orrin can pick up your report after he’s finished his own examination.”

Judd, looking relieved, hurried out of the hospital. Phillips turned back to Jolene. “Call Fred Childress,” he said. “Have him send a hearse.”

He was just starting back toward the room in which Jenny Sheffield lay when Orrin Hatfield arrived, his eyes still puffy from sleep. “What’s going on, Warren?” the coroner demanded. “Jolene says you got a six-year-old girl who drowned in the canal?”

Phillips beckoned the other doctor to follow him, and led Hatfield into the examining room. “I want this done quickly, Orrin,” he said. “Jolene’s calling Fred Childress, and by the time his hearse gets here, I want your report to be ready.”

The coroner frowned uncertainly. “I don’t know, Warren. Given what Jolene said, there’ll have to be an autopsy, and that takes some time.”

Phillips’s eyes hardened. “There will be no autopsy, Orrin. Look her over if you want to, but don’t touch her with a scalpel. We need her, Orrin. All of us.”

Orrin Hatfield, who had already bent over Jenny, beginning his examination, straightened up. As he saw the expression in Warren Phillips’s eyes, he slowly began to understand.

“I see,” he said softly. “How much time do we have?”

Phillips glanced at his watch. “None. If we don’t start now, she might really be dead.”

Going to the cabinet against the wall, he found the syringe he’d brought with him to the hospital less than an hour ago, carefully putting it away even before he started forcing water from Jenny’s lungs.

Now, slipping the needle into Jenny’s arm, he administered the shot of naloxone, which would counteract the morphine he’d used to put Jenny into a coma even before he’d immersed her in the tub of ice water.

The morphine had slowed her metabolism nearly to the point of death, and that, combined with the hypothermia induced by the ice water, had kept her barely alive through the last hours.

With luck, there wouldn’t even be any brain damage.

Not that it mattered, really, for Warren Phillips wasn’t the slightest bit interested in Jenny Sheffield’s mind.

It was her thymus he was after.

Her thymus, the large mysterious gland above the lungs, whose use he’d finally discovered so many years ago.

There would be enough of the precious secretion from Jenny Sheffield’s thymus to stave off the aging processes of at least three of his patients. And she was young enough that he could milk her for at least another year.

As long as she didn’t die before he got her to Fred Childress’s funeral home.