“Risa was supposed to show a house to a couple of my friends this morning, and she stood them up.”
Michael frowned. “
“That’s what I told them, but they say she didn’t show. And she’s not answering her cell phone, either. Any idea what might be going on?”
“Risa’s never missed an appointment in her life. And she doesn’t get sick, so they must have gotten the time or the place wrong.”
“She confirmed with them yesterday afternoon,” Scott said.
“And she’s not answering her phone? That’s not good.” He sipped at the coffee. “Let me check into it.”
“Okay. Sorry to add more to your load this morning.”
“It’s okay. I’ll call you back.”
Michael hung up and immediately dialed Risa’s cell, but it rang through to her voice mail. “Risa, it’s Michael. It’s eight-forty on Monday morning. Please call me as soon as you can.”
Jane brought in a fresh cup of coffee, and he tried to get his mind back to the problem in the boardroom. Somewhere on his desk there was a sign-off from the lawyer who had seen the final edit of the show, and he intended to find it. He began searching through the clutter, hoping he hadn’t given it to someone to file. If he had, they’d never find it.
He picked up his cell phone to flip through the pile of papers underneath it and noticed that he’d missed a call.
Risa?
No. It was from Alison’s phone, and she hadn’t left a message. And that was as strange as Risa missing an appointment, because Alison always left messages — it had become a game with them over the years, and they often had long, involved, convoluted — and generally very funny — conversations back and forth via voice mail.
There was no way Alison would call him and not leave a message, even if it was only some kind of fake gibberish he wouldn’t be able to understand but would spend hours trying to decipher. He speed-dialed her phone, knowing she’d be in class and most likely had turned it off.
Sure enough, her voice mail came on. “It’s me, cupcake,” he said. “Call me at the office as soon as you can, okay? Call me between classes. It’s important.” He hung up, but the ringing in his ears told him his blood pressure was not better, and it was now accompanied by a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He spotted the sign-off from the lawyer pinned to the cork board on the wall next to his desk and pulled it down. But now his mind was no longer on the meeting in the boardroom.
Alison had called but left no message.
Risa failed to show up for an appointment.
Something was wrong.
He hit the intercom button. “Jane, get me the Wilson Academy.”
A moment later Jane’s voice came over the intercom. “It’s ringing on line two.”
“Good morning, Wilson Academy,” an efficient female voice answered on the third ring.
“Hello — this is Michael Shaw, Alison Shaw’s father. I have an urgent situation and need to speak with her as soon as possible.”
“Just a moment,” the voice said. “Let me see where she is right now.” There was a long pause, then the voice came back on the line: “Mr. Shaw? Alison isn’t here today. Nor have we received a notice of an excused absence.” Michael read the careful phrasing very clearly: they thought Alison was cutting school.
Another thing she simply wouldn’t do.
“All right, thank you,” he said, and hung up. Now the meeting in the boardroom was forgotten. He grabbed his cell phone and the memo, handing the memo to Jane on his way out. “I’ve got a family emergency,” he said. “Give that to Tina and tell her to take it into the boardroom. That should let the lawyers know the ball’s in their court. I’ll call you when I can.”
Jane looked at him in shock. “You’re leaving? Just like that? They’re all in there waiting for you!”
Michael shook his head, already heading toward the elevator. “Something’s going on with Alison — I’ve gotta go.”
As soon as he pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic, he called Scott. “Something’s haywire — I can’t find Risa, and now I can’t find Alison, either. I’m on my way up to Risa and Conrad’s place.”
“What do you mean, you can’t find Alison? Isn’t she at school?”
“Not as far as they know,” Michael said. “I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Be careful.”
“I will,” Michael said.
Closing his phone, he stepped on the accelerator.
COLD.
Freezing cold.
Alison’s teeth chattered as she struggled to reach the blanket at the end of her bed, but she couldn’t get to it.
Indeed, she couldn’t move her arms at all.
What was wrong?
The blackness that had surrounded her only a moment ago began to recede, and as her mind rose through the layers of unconsciousness toward the gathering light, she felt a terrible tiredness overwhelm her.
But she was too cold.
And there were noises in her room.
Noises she’d never heard before.
Strange, gurgling noises.
Alison opened her eyes and found herself staring straight up into an enormous overhead light. She reflexively closed her eyes against the painful glare, then turned her head and opened her eyes again, more slowly this time.
This wasn’t her bedroom, this was…
A dream?
It had to be. She was dreaming that she was back in Conrad’s operating room at Le Chateau.
But this time she didn’t want the surgery.
Didn’t want it at all.
A wave of panic rising inside her, she tried to sit up, but couldn’t move either her hands or her feet.
She was strapped to the operating table and there was an IV needle in her arm!
She caught a movement in the corner of her eye and turned her head the other way. A figure was looming by the operating table, and though the surgical mask covered all of the face but the eyes, she instantly recognized Conrad Dunn.
“L–Let me up,” she stammered, struggling once more against the surgical tubing that had been tied around her wrists and ankles.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Conrad said, his voice calm and reasonable. “You see, we’re about to get started, and with no one to assist me, I can’t run the risk of you accidentally moving.”
Started? Her mind honed in on that single word. She still felt confused, foggy. What were they about to start?
Another operation?
But that was impossible — after what had happened with Cindy Kearns, she was already wishing she hadn’t let him do the implants. So what was he talking about?
“Just relax,” Conrad said. “It’ll only be a few more minutes before everything is ready.”
As he turned away again, she struggled to clear her mind, to banish the strange fog that made this feel like a nightmare. But it wasn’t a nightmare — she was sure of it.
She was awake, and what was happening was real, and she had to remember what had happened.
How she had gotten here.
Breakfast.
Conrad had lied about her mother having gone to an early appointment.
