Flashback

doorway, she saw him weaving through the parking lot, running as she had not seen him do in many months. Phillip Brookings was a dozen yards behind and closing. Barbara raced across the drive, narrowly avoiding being hit by a car herself. 'Toby, stop! Please stop!'

The boy had made it beyond the parking lot and was sprinting across a stretch of thirty-or-so yards of lawn, toward the dense woods beyond.

Brookings was now no more than a few steps behind him. With only a yard or two to go before the forest, the psychiatrist launched himself in a flying tackle, catching Toby at the waist and hauling him down heavily.

'Thank God, ' Barbara panted, hurrying across the parking lot. This was the first time, in all of his attacks, that Toby had done anything like this. Even at a distance she could tell that, although he was pinned beneath the physician, Toby was struggling. As she neared she could see his efforts lessen. 'Toby, stop that, ' she heard Brookings saying firmly, but gently. 'Stop fighting me and I'll let go.'

Barbara approached cautiously, expecting to see the familiar lost, glassy terror in her son's eyes. What she saw, instead, was a fierce, hot mix of anger and fear. It was almost as if he were snarling at the man. Carefully, Brookings pushed himself away, although he still maintained a grip on the boy's belt. As Barbara knelt beside her son, she realized that this was not one of his attacks after all-at least not a typical one. He was awake and alert. Whatever had set him off was in this world, not in the world locked within his mind. 'Toby, are you all right? ' she asked. 'What happened? What frightened you so?'

The boy did not answer. 'I'm going to let you go, Toby, ' Brookings said. 'Promise me you won't run?'

Again, there was no response. Slowly, Brookings released his grip on Toby's belt. The boy, still breathing heavily, did not move. 'What was it? ' Barbara asked. 'Pardon? ' Brookings's shirt and the knees of his tan trousers were stained with grass, and he, too, had not yet caught his breath. 'Dr. Brookings, Toby saw something out your window-something that frightened him. This wasn't one of his attacks.'

She turned to her son. 'It wasn't, was it, honey?'

Tears glistening in his eyes, Toby stared up at her. Then he shook his head. 'Can you tell us what it was?'

This time there was no answer. Phillip Brookings rubbed at his chin.

'Mrs. Nelms, I don't know what to say. I saw Toby staring out my window, and I followed his line of sight. But there was no one there, nothing.'

'Nothing?'

Brookings shook his head. 'Just a big oak tree, a parking lot, and beyond it the emergency ward of the hospital. Nothing else. I'm sure of it.'

The emergency ward. Barbara Nelms saw her son stiffen at the words.

'Toby, was that it? Was it the emergency ward?'

The boy remained mute. 'Dr. Brookings, what would you suggest? ' she asked. 'Can you help us?'

The psychiatrist looked down at Toby. 'Perhaps, ' he said. 'Perhaps with time I can. But I would like to insist on something before I begin.'

'Anything.'

'I want Toby to have a CT scan and a clean bill of health from a neurologist. As near as I can tell from reviewing the material you sent me, he has had neither. Correct?'

'I… I guess so.'

'Well, if his attacks are some sort of seizure disorder, I think a neurologist should be involved, don't you?'

'Doctor, I told you when I first called, we're willing to do anything.

Absolutely anything. Is there someone you can recommend?'

Brookings nodded. 'There's a new man in town. Yale Med. Trained at Harvard hospitals. He's a neurosurgeon, actually, but he's doing neurology as well. His name's Iverson. Zachary Iverson. I'll give him a call and then get back to you.'

Barbara stroked her son's forehead. There was nothing in his expression to suggest he had followed any of their conversation. For a moment, studying the sunken hollows around his eyes and the tense, waxy skin over his cheeks, she felt as if she were looking at a corpse. 'Please, Doctor, ' she said, 'just one thing.'

'Yes?'

'Do it quickly.'

Brookings nodded, and then rose and returned to his office. Barbara took her son by the hand and led him back to their car. Desperately, she searched her thoughts for any unpleasantness or difficulty he had encountered at Ultramed-Davis or in any other emergency ward. There was none. Nothing but a gashed chin when he was five and, of course, the incarcerated hernia operation last year. But Barbara Nelms knew-as the surgeon, Dr. Mainwaring, had told her-that the whole hernia affair had been as routine as routine could be.

CHAPTER FIVE

Suzanne Cole and her six-year-old daughter, Jennifer, shared an isolated, narrow two-story north of town with a fat, yellow cat named Gulliver ('… because,' Jennifer explained, 'he likes to travel') and a black Labrador retriever who seemed oblivious to any name. The rooms in the modest place were cluttered and warm. Snow shoes, ski poles, tennis rackets, and even a pair of old stethoscopes hung on the smoke-darkened pine walls, interspersed with prints and original oils representing all manner of styles. There was a Franklin stove in the living room and a loom in one of the back bedrooms, as well as a battered spinet ('Mommy used to play a lot, but now she can only play Deep Purple' ') and dozens upon dozens of books. The spaghetti dinner, Zack had been proudly informed, was largely Jennifer's creation, and she served it with a charm and enthusiasm that made almost as deep an impression on him as did her mother. She was a tall girl for her age, with an elegant nose, straight auburn hair that hung midway down her back, and Suzanne's magical eyes and smile. She talked of school and animals and ballet, and seemed quite pleased to show off her collections of rocks and stuffed animals. In return, Zack had promised to introduce her to Cheap dog and to teach her to fly his radio-controlled plane. He even completed a relatively smooth, Italian-style thumb palm and transfer, although when he was finished, Jennifer had smiled earnestly and said, 'That one could use a little more practice, Zack. I could see the coin.'

By dessert-chocolate brownies with ice cream-what self-consciousness he had arrived with had long since vanished, and he found himself feeling more like a friend of the family than a guest. E If there was an uncomfortable edge to the evening at all, it was due to Suzanne, who seemed, at times, distant, distracted, and content to let Jennifer keep the conversation afloat. But unwilling to find any fault with the woman, Zack read into her mood swings an introspection and vulnerability that only made her that much more interesting and attractive. She was returning to the table with some coffee when Jennifer hopped up and announced that she was leaving to watch TV* and wash her hair. 'There's only one thing that troubles me, ' the girl said as she shook Zack's hand. 'What's that?'

'Well, it's your dog. I've heard of sheep dogs, but never a name like Cheap dog.'

'Well, ' Zack said, 'they're sort of the same thing.' From the corner of his eye, he saw Suzanne stop and lean against the wall, watching. 'You see, I was walking on the beach one morning in a place called San Diego.

Do you know where that is?'

'In California?'

Zack nodded. 'They have a great zoo out there and a killer whale who does advanced calculus and prepares his own tax returns. Well, there was this man on the beach-he was Mexican, but he was sort of… sleazy. Do you know that word? Well, it means, like, sneaky. Not all Mexicans are that way, by any means, but this guy sure was. 'Anyhow, there he was, with this big cardboard box, and in the box were a bunch of puppies-scruffy little mongrel puppies. He reached in and pulled this little fur ball up by the back of the neck. Like this. And he held him up for me to see. 'Sefior, he said, how would you like to buy this leetle fellow.

I geeve you my word, sefior, he is purebred, ol' Eengleesh cheap dog.

His papers are een my safe at home. Buy him now, and I breeng them to you tomorrow. Si?'

'That means yes, ' Jennifer said. Si. XS 'And you said?…'

'Si.' The three of them said the word together, and laughed. 'And that's how Cheap dog got his name.'