Comes the Blind Fury

“What happened?” Cal tried to keep from shouting as he stood over Jeff. “Is she all right?”

Jeff shook his head in despair.

“She was on the trail. We were all watching her, and all of a sudden she slipped, and — oh, Dr. Pendleton, come quick.”

Cal felt the first rush of panic, the same panic he had felt when he’d seen Sally Carstairs, the panic that was rooted in Alan Hanley. And now it was Michelle.

She’d fallen, as Alan Hanley had fallen.

Through his sudden terror he could hear Jeff Benson’s voice, pleading with him: “Dr. Pendleton, please — Dr. Pendleton?—”

He forced himself to move, off the porch, across the lawn, to the edge of the bluff. He looked down, but could see nothing on the beach except a cluster of children, gathered together below him.

Dear God, let her be all right.

He started down the trail, slowly at first, then recklessly, though every step seemed to take an eternity. He could hear Jeff behind him, trying to tell him what had happened, but the boy’s words made no sense to him. All he could think of was Michelle, her lithe body lying on the rocks at the base of the cliff, broken and twisted.

At last he was on the beach, elbowing his way through the group of children who stood, helpless, around Michelle.

Cal knelt beside his daughter, touched her face.

But it was not her face he saw. As had happened with Sally Carstairs, he saw instead the face of Alan Hanley, dying, staring at him, accusing him.

His mind reeled. It wasn’t his fault. None of it was his fault. Then why did he feel so guilty? Guilty — and angry. Angry at these children who made him feel incompetent, ineffectual. And guilty. Always guilty.

Almost unaware of what he was doing, he placed his fingers on Michelle’s wrist.

Her pulse beat steadily.

Then, as he bent over her, her eyes fluttered, and opened. She looked up at him, her immense brown eyes frightened and filled with tears.

“Daddy? Daddy? Am I all right?”

“You’re fine, baby, just fine. You’re going to be all right.” But even as he spoke the words, he knew they were a lie.

Without pausing to think, Cal picked Michelle up in his arms. She moaned softly, then closed her eyes.

Cal started up the trail, his daughter cradled against his chest.

She’ll be all right, he told himself. She’s going to be just fine.

But as he climbed the trail, the memories came back to him, the memories of Alan Hanley.

Alan Hanley had fallen, and had been put in his care. And he had failed Alan — the boy had died.

He couldn’t fail Michelle. Not his own daughter. But even as he carried her to the house, he knew it was too late.

He had already failed her.

BOOK TWO. MANIFESTATIONS

CHAPTER 10

The darkness was almost like a living thing, curling around her, grasping her, strangling her.

She reached out, tried to struggle with it, but it was like trying to struggle with water: no matter how she tried, the darkness slipped through, flooded back over her, made it difficult to breathe.

She was alone, drowning in the darkness.

And then, as if a tiny glimmer of light had appeared in the blackness, she knew she was not alone.

Something else was there, reaching out to her, trying to find her in the darkness, trying to help her.

She could feel it brush against her, just a faint tickling sensation, at the edge of her consciousness.

And a voice.

A soft voice, calling to her as if from a great distance.

She wanted to answer that voice, to cry out to it, but her own voice failed her; her words died in her throat.

She concentrated on feeling the presence, tried to draw it close, tried to reach out and pull it to her.

Then the voice again, clearer now, though still far away.

“Help me … please help me …”

But it was she who needed help, she who was sinking into the black void. How could she help? How could she do anything?

The voice faded away; the darkness began to brighten.

Michelle opened her eyes.

She lay very still, uncertain where she was. Above her there was a ceiling.

She examined it carefully, looking for the familiar patterns she had identified in the cracked paint.

Yes, there was the giraffe. Well, not really a giraffe, but if you used your imagination, it could almost be a giraffe. To the left, just a little bit, should be the bird, one wing stretched in flight, the other bent strangely, as if it was broken.

She moved her eyes, just slightly. She was in her own bed, in her room. But it didn’t make sense. It was at the cove. She remembered. She was having a picnic at the cove with Sally and Jeff, and Susan. Susan Peterson. There were some others, but it was Susan she remembered as the morning came flooding back to her. Susan had been teasing her, saying horrible things to her, telling her that her parents didn’t love her anymore.

She had decided to go home. She was on the trail, and she could hear Susan’s voice echoing in her mind.

And then — and then? Nothing.

Except that now she was home, and she was in bed.

And there had been a dream.

There had been a voice in the dream, calling to her.

“Mom?” Her own voice seemed to echo oddly in the room, and for a second she wished she hadn’t called out. But the door opened, and her mother was there. Everything was going to be all right.

“Michelle?” June hurried to the bed, bent over Michelle, kissed her gently. “Michelle, are you awake?”

Her eyes wide and puzzled, Michelle stared up at her mother, seeing the fear that lay like a haunting mask over June’s face.

“What happened? Why am I in bed?”

Michelle started to sit up, but a stab of pain shot through her left side, and she gasped. At the same time, June put her hands on Michelle’s shoulders and gently pushed her back down.

“Don’t try to move,” she said. “Just lie very still, and I’ll get Daddy.”

“But what happened?” Michelle pleaded. “What happened to me?”

“You tripped on the trail and fell,” June told her. “Now just lie still, and let me call Daddy. Then we’ll tell you all about it.”

June left the bed and went to the door. “Cal?” she called. “Cal, she’s awake!” Without waiting for him to respond, she came back into the room to hover once more over Michelle’s bed.

“How do you feel, darling?”