Fatal Cure

13

Despite Nikki's sustained protests, David and Angela insisted that she stay home from school another day. Considering the weather and the fact that she was still on antibiotics there was no reason to take a chance.

Although Nikki was not as cooperative as usual, they carried out her morning respiratory therapy with great diligence. Both David and Angela listened to her chest afterward and both were satisfied.

Alice Doherty arrived exactly at the time she promised. David and Angela were thankful to have someone so reliable and so conveniently available.

As Angela and David climbed into their blue Volvo, David complained that he'd not been able to ride his bike all week. It wasn't raining as hard as it had been, but the clouds were low and ponderous, and a heavy mist rose out of the saturated earth.

They got to the hospital at seven-thirty. While Angela headed off for the lab, David went up to the patient floor. When he entered John Tarlow's room he was surprised to find drop cloths, stepladders, and an empty bed. Continuing on to the nurses' station he inquired after his patient.

"Mr. Tarlow has been moved to 206," Janet Colburn said.

"How come?" David asked.

"They wanted to paint the room," Janet said. "Maintenance came up and informed us. We let admitting know, and they told us to transfer the patient to 206."

"I think that's inconsiderate," David complained.

"Well, don't blame us," Janet said. "Talk to maintenance."

Feeling irritated for his patient's sake, David took Janet's suggestion and marched down to maintenance. He knocked on the jamb of the maintenance/engineering office. Inside and bent over a desk was a man close to David's age. He was dressed in rumpled, medium-green cotton twill work shirt and pants. His face was textured with a two-day growth of whiskers.

"What?" Van Slyke asked as he looked up from his scheduling book. His voice was flat and his expression was emotionless.

"One of my patients was moved from his room," David said. "I want to know why."

"If you are talking about room 216, it's being painted," Van Slyke said in a monotone.

"It's obvious it's being painted," David said. "What isn't obvious is why it's being painted."

"We have a schedule," Van Slyke said.

"Schedule or no schedule," David said, "I hardly think patients should be inconvenienced, especially patients who are ill, and patients in the hospital are invariably ill."

"Talk to Beaton if you have a problem," Van Slyke said. He went back to his book.

Taken aback by Van Slyke's insolence, David stood stunned in the doorway for a moment. Van Slyke ignored him with ease. David shook his head, then turned to go. On his way back to the patient floor, he was seriously considering taking Van Slyke's advice to discuss the situation with the hospital administrator until he walked into John Tarlow's new room. Suddenly David was presented with a more pressing problem: John Tarlow's condition was worse.

John's diarrhea and vomiting, which initially had been controlled, had returned with a vengeance. On top of that, John was obtunded, and when aroused, apathetic. David could not understand these symptoms since John had been on IVs since his admission and was clearly not dehydrated.

David examined his patient carefully but couldn't find an explanation for the marked change in his clinical state, particularly his depressed mental status. The only thing David could think of was the possibility John could have been overly sensitive to the sleeping medication that David had prescribed as a PRN order, meaning it was to be given if the patient requested it.

Hurrying back to the nurses' station, David pulled John's chart from the rack. He desperately pored over the data that had returned overnight from the lab in an attempt to understand what was going on and to try to decide what to do next. As a result of the run-in with Kelley the day before he was reluctant to request any consults since neither of the two he wanted-oncology and infectious disease-were CMV doctors.

David closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He did not feel he was making much progress. Unfortunately, a key piece of information was lacking: the results of the stool cultures plated the day before were not yet available. Consequently David still didn't know if he was dealing with a bacteria or not, and if he was, what kind of bacteria it was. On the positive side was the fact that John was still afebrile.

Redirecting his attention to the chart, David ascertained that John had been given the PRN sleeping medication. Thinking that it might have contributed to John's lethargy, David canceled it. He also ordered another stool culture and another blood count. As a final request, he asked for John's temperature to be taken every hour along with the express order for David to be called if it rose above normal.

After completing the last scheduled biopsy, Angela tidied up the small pathology lab in the OR suite, and headed for her office. Her morning had been productive and pleasant; she'd managed to avoid Wadley entirely. Unfortunately, she knew she'd eventually have to see him, and she worried about his behavior. Although she considered herself an optimistic person, she was fearful that the problem with Wadley would not spontaneously resolve.

Entering the office, Angela immediately noticed the connecting door from her office into Wadley's was ajar. As silently as possible she moved over to the door and began to close it.

"Angela!" Wadley called out, making Angela flinch. She hadn't realized how tense she was. "Come in here. I want to show you something fascinating."

Angela sighed and reluctantly opened the door. Wadley was sitting at his desk in front of his regular microscope, not the teaching microscope.

"Come on," Wadley called again. He waved Angela over and tapped the top of his microscope. "Take a gander at this slide."

Warily Angela advanced into the room. Several feet away she hesitated. As if sensing her reluctance, Wadley gave himself a little push, and his chair rolled back from the desk. Angela stepped up to the microscope and leaned over to adjust the eyepieces.

Before she could look in Wadley lunged forward and grabbed her around the waist. He pulled her onto his lap and locked his arms around her.

"Gotcha!" Wadley cried.

Angela shrieked and struggled to get away. The unexpected forcefulness of the contact shocked her. She'd been concerned about him touching her subtly, not manhandling her.

"Let me go!" Angela demanded angrily, trying to unlock his fingers and break his grip.

"Not until you let me tell you something," Wadley said. He was chuckling.

Angela stopped struggling. She had her eyes closed. She was as humiliated as she was furious.

"That's better," Wadley said. "I've got good news. The trip is all set. I even got the tickets already. We're going to the pathology meeting in Miami in November."

Angela opened her eyes. "Wonderful," she said with as much sarcasm as she could muster. "Now let me go!"

Wadley released her and Angela sprang from his lap. But as she pulled away he managed to grab her wrist. "It's going to be fantastic," Wadley said. "The weather will be perfect. It's the best time of year in Miami. We'll be staying on the beach. I got us rooms in the Fontainbleau."

"Let go!" Angela demanded through clenched teeth.

"Hey," Wadley said. He leaned forward and looked at her closely. "Are you mad or something? I'm sorry if I scared you. I just wanted it to be a surprise." He let go of her hand.

Angela was beside herself with anger. Biting her tongue to keep herself from exploding, she dashed into her office. Mortified and demeaned, she slammed the connecting door.

Forcibly she rubbed her face with both hands, trying to regain a modicum of control. She was shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her body. It took her a few minutes to settle down and for her breathing to return to normal. Once it had, she grabbed her coat, and angrily stalked out of her office. At least Wadley's oafishly inappropriate advances had finally spurred her to action.

Avoiding the misty rain as much as possible, she dashed from the main hospital building to the Imaging Center. Once under the projecting eaves she slowed to a fast walk. Inside she went directly to Cantor's office.

Not having called beforehand, Angela had to wait almost a half hour before Dr. Delbert Cantor could see her. While she waited she calmed down considerably and even began once more to question if she were partly to blame for Wadley's behavior. She wondered if she should have anticipated it and not have been so naive.

"Come in, come in," Cantor said agreeably when he could finally see her. He'd gotten up from his disordered desk to escort Angela into the room. He had to move a stack of unopened radiology journals from a chair for her to sit down. He offered her some refreshment. She politely refused. He sat down, crossed his legs and arms, and asked what he could possibly do for her.

Now that she was face to face with the chief of the professional staff, Angela was not encouraged. All her misgivings about the man and his attitude toward women came back in a rush. His face had assumed a smirk as if he had already decided that whatever was on her female mind was of little consequence.

"This is not easy for me," Angela began. "So please bear with me. It was hard for me to come here, but I don't know what else to do."

Cantor encouraged her to continue.

"I'm here because I'm being sexually harassed by Dr. Wadley."

Cantor uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. Angela was encouraged that at least he was interested, but then she noticed that the smirk had remained.

"How long has this been going on?" Cantor asked.

"Probably the whole time I've been here," Angela said, intending to elaborate, but Cantor interrupted her.

"Probably?" he questioned with raised eyebrows. "You mean you're not sure?"

"It wasn't apparent initially," Angela explained. "At first I just thought he was acting like a particularly enthusiastic mentor, almost parental." She then went on to describe what had happened from the beginning; how it started as a problem of boundaries. "He always took advantage of opportunities to be close to me and touch me seemingly innocently," Angela explained. "He also insisted on confiding in me about personal family issues that I felt were inappropriate."

"This behavior you are describing can all be within the framework of friendship and the role of the mentor," Cantor said.

"I agree," Angela said. "That's why I allowed it to go on. The problem is that it has progressed."

"You mean it has changed?" Cantor asked.

"Most definitely," Angela said. "Quite recently." She then described the hand-on-the-thigh incident, feeling strangely embarrassed as she did so. She mentioned the hand brushing her backside and Wadley's sudden use of the appellation "honey."

"I personally don't see anything wrong with the word 'honey,' " Cantor said. "I use it all the time with my girls here in the Imaging Center."

Angela could only stare at the man while she wondered how the women in the Center felt about his behavior. Clearly she was in the wrong place. She couldn't begin to expect a fair hearing from a doctor whose views on women were probably more archaic than Wadley's. Nonetheless, she figured she should finish what she started, so she described the most recent incident: Wadley's pulling her onto his lap to announce their trip to Miami.

"I don't know what to say about all this," Cantor said once she finished. "Has Dr. Wadley ever implied that your job depends on sexual favors?"

Inwardly Angela groaned, fearing that Cantor's comprehension of sexual harassment was limited to the most overt circumstances. "No," she said. "Dr. Wadley has never intimated anything like that. But I find his unwanted familiarity extremely upsetting. It goes way beyond the bounds of friendship or a professional relationship, or even mutual respect. It makes working very difficult."

"Maybe you're overreacting. Wadley is just an expressive guy. You yourself said he's enthusiastic." When Cantor saw the look on Angela's face he added, "Well, it's a possibility."

Angela stood up. She forced herself to thank him for his time.

"Not at all," Cantor said as he pushed himself upright. "Keep me informed, young lady. Meanwhile, I promise I'll talk with Dr. Wadley as soon as I have an opportunity."

Angela nodded at this final offer and walked out. As she returned to her office, she couldn't help but feel that turning to Cantor wasn't going to help matters any. If anything, it was only going to make the situation worse.

Throughout the afternoon David had dashed over to check on John Tarlow every chance he had. Unfortunately, John hadn't improved. At the same time he hadn't deteriorated since David had made sure his IV's had kept up with his fluid loss from his vomiting and diarrhea. As David entered his room late in the afternoon for his final visit of the day, he hoped he would at least find John's mental status improved. But it wasn't. John was as listless as he'd been that morning, perhaps even a degree more so. When pressed, John could still say his name, and he knew he was in the hospital, but as to the month or the year, he had no clue.

Back at the nurses' station David went over the laboratory and diagnostic results that he had available, most of which were normal. The blood count done that day showed some decrease in John's white count, but in light of John's leukemic history, David had no idea how to interpret the drop. The preliminary stool culture which was now available was negative for pathological bacteria.

"Please call me if Mr. Tarlow's temperature goes up or his GI symptoms get worse," he told the nurses before he left their station.

David and Angela met in the hospital lobby. Together they ran for their car. The weather was getting worse. Not only was it still raining, it had gotten much colder.

On their way home, Angela told David about the latest incident with Wadley and Cantor's reaction to her complaint.

David shook his head. "Wadley I give up on. He's an ass. But I'd expected more from Cantor, especially in his position as chief of the professional staff. Even if he's insensitive you'd think he'd be aware of the law-and the hospital's liability. Do you think he's slept through the last decade's worth of legal decisions on sexual harassment?"

Angela shrugged. "I don't want to think about it anymore. How was your day? Has Marjorie's death been on your mind?"

"I haven't had time to dwell on it," David said. "I've got John Tarlow in the hospital and he's scaring me."

"What's wrong?"

"That's just it: I don't know," David said. "That's what scares me. He's become apathetic, much the way Marjorie was. He has a lot of functional GI complaints. That's what brought him into the hospital, and they have gotten worse. I don't know what's going on, but my sixth sense is setting off alarm bells. The trouble is I don't know what to do. At this point I'm just treating his symptoms."

"That's the kind of story that makes me glad I went into pathology," Angela said.

David then told Angela about his visit to Werner Van Slyke. "The man was more than rude," David complained. "He hardly gave me the time of day. It gives you an idea of the doctor's position in the new hospital environment. Now the doctor is just another employee, merely working in a different department."

"It makes it hard to be a patient advocate when even the maintenance department isn't responsive."

"My thoughts exactly," David said.

When David and Angela arrived home, Nikki was happy to see them. She'd been bored for most of the day until Arni stopped over to tell her about their new teacher.

"He's a man," Arni told David. "And real strict."

"I hope he's a good teacher," David said. He felt another stab of guilt about Marjorie's passing.

While Angela started dinner David drove Arni home. When David returned, Nikki met him at the door with a complaint. "It feels cold in the family room," she said.

David walked into the room and patted the radiator. It was blisteringly hot. He walked over to the French doors leading to the terrace and made sure they were closed. "Where did you feel cold?" David asked.

"Sitting on the couch," Nikki said. "Come over and try it."

David followed his daughter and sat down next to her. Immediately he could feel a cool draft on the back of his neck. "You're right," he said. He checked the windows behind the couch. "I think I've made the diagnosis," he said. "We need to put up the storm windows."

"What are storm windows?" Nikki asked.

David launched into an involved explanation of heat loss, convection currents, insulation, and Thermopane windows.

"You're confusing her," Angela called from the kitchen. She'd overheard a portion of the conversation. "All she asked was what a storm window was. Why don't you show her one?"

"Good idea," David said. "Come on. We'll get firewood at the same time."

"I don't like it down here," Nikki said as they descended the cellar stairs.

"Why not?" David asked.

"It's scary," Nikki protested.

"Now, don't be like your mother," David teased her. "One hysterical female in the house is enough."

Leaning against the back of the granite staircase was a stack of storm windows. David moved one away from the others so Nikki could see it.

"It looks like a regular window," Nikki said.

"But it doesn't open," David said. "It traps air between this glass and the glass of the existing window. That's what serves as insulation."

While Nikki inspected the window, David noticed something for the first time.

"What is it, Daddy?" Nikki asked, aware that her father had become distracted.

"Something I've never noticed before," David said. He reached over the stack of storm windows and ran his hand over the wall that formed the back of the stairs. "These are cinder blocks."

"What are cinder blocks?" Nikki asked.

Preoccupied with his discovery, David ignored Nikki's question.

"Let's move these storm windows," David said. He lifted the window he was holding and carried it over to the foundation wall. Nikki tipped the next one upright.

"This wall is different from the rest of the basement," David said after the last window had been moved away. "And it doesn't appear to be that old. I wonder why it's here."

"What are you talking about?" Nikki asked.

David showed her that the staircase was made of granite. Then he took her back beneath the stairs and showed her the cinder blocks. He explained that they must be covering some kind of triangular storage space.

"What's in it?" Nikki asked.

David shrugged. "I wonder." Then he said: "Why don't we take a peek. Maybe it's a treasure."

"Really?" Nikki asked.

David got the sledgehammer that was used along with a wedge to split the firewood and brought it over to the base of the stairs.

Just as David hefted the sledgehammer Angela called down the stairs to ask what mischief they were getting themselves into. David lowered the sledgehammer and put a finger to his lips. Then he shouted up to Angela that they'd be coming up with the firewood in a minute.

"I'll be upstairs taking a shower," Angela called down. "After that we'll eat."

"Okay," David called back. Then to Nikki he said: "She might take a dim view of our busting out part of the house."

Nikki giggled.

David waited long enough for Angela to get to the second floor before picking up the sledgehammer again. After telling Nikki to avert her eyes, David knocked out a portion of a cinder block near the top of the wall, creating a small hole.

"Run up and get a flashlight," David said. A musty odor wafted out of the walled-off space.

While Nikki was gone, David used the sledgehammer to enlarge the hole. With a final blow a whole cinder block came loose, and David lifted it out of the wall. By then Nikki was back with the flashlight. David took it and peered in.

David's heart jumped in his chest. He pulled his head out of the hole so quickly he skinned the back of his neck on the sharp edge of the cinder block.

"What did you see?" Nikki asked. She didn't like the look on her father's face.

"It's not a treasure," David said. "I think you'd better get your mother."

While Nikki was gone, David enlarged the hole even more. By the time Angela came down the stairs in her bathrobe David had a whole course of the cinder blocks dismantled.

"What's going on?" Angela demanded. "You've got Nikki upset."

"Take a look," David said. He handed Angela the flashlight and motioned for her to come see.

"This better not be a joke," Angela said.

"It's no joke," David assured her.

"My God!" Angela said. Her voice echoed in the small space.

"What is it?" Nikki asked. "I want to see too."

Angela pulled her head out and looked at David. "It's a body," she said. "And it's obviously been in there for some time."

"A person?" Nikki asked with disbelief. "Can I see?"

Angela and David both nearly shouted, "No."

Nikki started to protest, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Let's go upstairs and build that fire," David said. He took Nikki over to the woodpile and handed her a log. Then he picked up an armload himself.

While Angela phoned the town police David and Nikki worked on the fire. Nikki was full of questions that David couldn't answer.

Half an hour later a police cruiser turned into the Wilsons' driveway and pulled up to the house.

Two policemen had responded to Angela's call.

"My name's Wayne Robertson," the shorter of the pair said. He was dressed in mufti with a quilted cotton vest over a plaid flannel shirt. On his head was a Boston Red Sox baseball cap. "I'm chief of police and this is one of my deputies, Sherwin Morris."

Sherwin touched the brim of his hat. Tall and lanky, he was dressed in uniform. He was carrying a long flashlight: the kind that took four batteries.

"Officer Morris stopped by to pick me up after you called," Robertson explained. "I wasn't on duty, but this sounded important."

Angela nodded. "I appreciate your coming," she said.

Angela and David led the way. Only Nikki remained upstairs. Robertson took the flashlight from Morris and poked his head into the hole.

"I'll be damned!" he said. "It's the quack."

Robertson faced the Wilsons. "Sorry this has happened to you folks," he said. "But I recognize the victim despite the fact that he looks a little worse for wear. His name is Dr. Dennis Hodges. In fact, this was his house, as you probably are aware."

Angela's eyes met David's and she stifled a shiver. Gooseflesh had appeared on the back of her neck.

"What we have to do is knock the rest of this wall down so we can remove the body," Robertson continued. "Do you folks have any problem with that?"

David said that they didn't.

"What about calling the medical examiner?" Angela asked. Through her interest in forensics, she knew it was protocol to call the medical examiner on any suspicious death. This one certainly qualified.

Robertson regarded Angela for a few moments trying to think of something to say. He didn't like anyone telling him how to do his job, especially a woman. The only problem was that Angela was right. And now that he'd been reminded he couldn't ignore it.

"Where's the phone?" Robertson said.

"In the kitchen," Angela said.

Nikki had to be pried from the phone. She'd been back and forth between Caroline and Arni with the exciting news about finding a body in their basement.

Once the medical examiner had been called, Robertson and Morris set to work removing the cinder block wall.

David brought down an extension cord and a floor lamp to help them see what they were doing. The added light also gave them all a better look at the body. Although it was generally well preserved, there was some skeletonization of the lower half of the face. Some of the jawbones and most of the teeth were garishly exposed. The upper part of the face was surprisingly intact. The eyes were hideously open. In the center of the forehead at the hairline was a caved-in area covered with a green mold.

"That pile of stuff in the corner looks like empty cement bags," Robertson said. He was using the beam of the flashlight as a pointer. "And there's the trowel. Hell, he's got everything in there with him. Maybe it was a suicide."

David and Angela looked at each other with the same thought: Robertson was either the world's worst detective or a devotee of crude humor.

"I wonder what those papers are?" Robertson said, directing the light at a number of scattered sheets of paper in the depths of the makeshift tomb.

"Looks like copy machine paper," David said.

"Well, look at that," Robertson said as he directed the flashlight at a tool that was partially concealed under the body. It resembled a flat crowbar.

"What is it?" David asked.

"That's a pry bar," Robertson said. "It's an all-purpose tool, used mostly for demolition."

Nikki called down the stairs to say that the medical examiner had arrived. Angela went up to meet him.

Dr. Tracy Cornish was a thin man of medium height with wire-rimmed spectacles. He carried a large, old-fashioned black leather doctor's bag.

Angela introduced herself and explained that she was a pathologist at Bartlet Community Hospital. She asked Dr. Cornish if he'd had formal forensic training. He admitted he hadn't, and he explained that he filled in as a district medical examiner to supplement his practice. "But I've been doing it for quite a number of years," Dr. Cornish added.

"I was only asking because I have an interest in forensics myself," Angela said. She hadn't meant to embarrass the man.

Angela led Dr. Cornish down to the tomb. He stood and stared at the scene for a few minutes. "Interesting," he said finally. "The body is in a particularly good state of preservation. How long has he been missing?"

"About eight months," Robertson said.

"Shows what a cool, dry place will do," Dr. Cornish said. "This tomb has been like a root cellar. It's even dry after all this rain."

"Why is there some skeletonization around the jaws?" David asked.

"Rodents, probably," Dr. Cornish answered as he bent down and snapped open his bag.

David shuddered. His mouth had gone dry at the thought of rodents gnawing on the body. Glancing at Angela, he could tell that she had taken this information in stride and was fascinated by the proceedings.

The first thing Dr. Cornish did was take a number of photos, including extreme close-ups. Then he donned rubber gloves and began removing the objects from the tomb, placing them in plastic evidence bags. When he got to the papers, everyone crowded around to look at them. Dr. Cornish made certain that no one touched them.

"They're part of medical records from Bartlet Community Hospital," David said.

"I'll bet these stains are all blood," Dr. Cornish said, pointing to large brown areas on the papers. He put all the papers into a plastic bag which he then sealed and labeled.

When all the objects had been removed, Dr. Cornish turned his attention to the body. The first thing he did was search the pockets. He immediately found the wallet with bills still inside. There were also a number of credit cards in Dennis Hodges' name.

"Well, it wasn't a robbery," Robertson said.

Dr. Cornish then removed Hodges' watch, which was still running. The time was correct.

"One of the battery manufacturers should use this for one of their zany commercials," Robertson suggested. Morris laughed until he realized no one else was.

Dr. Cornish then pulled a body bag out of his satchel and asked Morris to give him a hand getting Hodges into it.

"What about bagging the hands?" Angela suggested.

Dr. Cornish thought for a moment, then nodded. "Good idea," he said. He got paper bags from his kit and secured them over Hodges' hands. That done, he and Morris got the body into the bag and zipped it closed.

Fifteen minutes later the Wilsons watched as the police cruiser and the medical examiner's van turned around, descended their driveway, and disappeared into the night.

"Anyone hungry?" Angela asked.

Both Nikki and David groaned.

"I'm not either," Angela admitted. "What a night."

They adjourned to the family room where David stoked the fire and added wood. Nikki turned on the television. Angela sat down to read.

By eight o'clock all three decided they might eat something after all. Angela reheated the dinner she had made while David and Nikki set the table.

"Every family has a skeleton in the closet," David said when they were midway through the meal. "Ours just happened to be in the cellar."

"I don't think that's very funny," Angela said.

Nikki said she didn't get it, and Angela had to explain the figurative meaning. Once Nikki understood, she didn't think it was funny either.

David was not pleased about the gruesome discovery in their basement. He was particularly concerned about the potential effect on Nikki. He'd hoped bringing a little humor to the situation might defuse the tension. But even he had to admit his joke fell flat.

After Nikki's respiratory treatment, they all went to bed. Though not an antidote, sleep seemed to be the best alternative. Although Nikki and David were sleepy, Angela wasn't, and as she lay in bed she became acutely aware of all the sounds the house made. She had never realized how noisy it was, particularly on a windy, rainy night. From deep in the basement she heard the oil burner kick on. There was even an intermittent, very low-pitched whine from wind coming down the master bedroom flue.

A sudden series of thumps made Angela jump, and she sat upright.

"What's that?" Angela whispered nervously. She gave David a shove.

"What's what?" David asked, only half awake.

Angela told him to listen. The thumping occurred again. "There," Angela cried. "That banging."

"That's the shutters hitting against the house," David said. "Goodness sake, calm down!"

Angela lay back against the pillow, but her eyes were wide open. She was even less sleepy than she was when she'd gotten into bed.

"I don't like what has been happening around here," Angela said.

David audibly groaned.

"Really," Angela said. "I can't believe so much has changed in so few days. I was worried this was going to happen."

"Are you talking specifically about finding Hodges' body?" David asked.

"I'm talking about everything," Angela said. "The change in the weather, Wadley's harassing me, Marjorie's death, Kelley's harassing you, and now a body in our basement."

"We're just being efficient," David said. "We're getting all the bad stuff out of the way at one time."

"I'm being serious, and…" Angela began to say, but she was interrupted by a scream from Nikki.

In a flash both David and Angela were out of bed and running down the central corridor. They dashed into Nikki's room. She was sitting in bed with a dazed look on her face. Rusty was next to her, equally confused.

It had been a nightmare about a ghoul in the basement. Angela sat on one side of Nikki's bed and David on the other. Together they comforted their daughter. Yet they didn't know quite what to say. The problem was that Nikki's nightmare had been a mixture of dream and reality.

David and Angela did their best to comfort Nikki. In the end they invited her to come sleep with them in their bed. Nikki agreed, and they all marched back to the master bedroom. Climbing into bed, they settled down. Unfortunately David ended up sleeping on the very edge because inviting Nikki also meant inviting Rusty.