had been scrubbed raw and gave off, along with her hair, some sort of medicinal smell that brought to mind the disinfectant and germicidal solutions used in funeral homes. Nasty odours used in treating the dead.
She wasn't dead, or even hovering close to it, and yet they were keeping her locked up inside this quarantine chamber straight out of a sci-fi movie: blue-padded walls, floor and ceiling; stainless-steel sink and a private toilet and shower stall. Anything that left the room — her hospital scrubs, magazines, food scraps and paper plates, cups and plastic utensils — was wrapped and sealed inside a bright red biohazard bag.
The dizziness, at least the worst of it, had passed. Darby slid off the bed and made her way across the padded floor in her bare feet, hearing the now familiar mechanical whine coming from the pair of security cameras turning to track her. These cameras monitored her movements, even at night when she went to use the toilet.
She reached the console and picked up the phone.
'Yes, Miss McCormick?' a male voice asked. She didn't recognize it.
'What time is it?'
'Almost noon. Are you hungry? I can bring you — '
'I want to speak to Sergeant-Major Glick.'
'I'm sorry, but he's unavailable right now.'
'I was told he would return today.'
'He did, early this morning. He came by but you were asleep.'
'Why didn't he wake me up?'
'Doctors' orders.'
'I want to speak to him. Now.'
'Sergeant-Major Glick is involved in — '
'In a matter that has required him to be out of the office for an indefinite period of time,' Darby finished for him. Everyone here kept reciting the same party line. 'He's carrying a cell phone with him, right?'
'I… well, I would assume so.'
'I want you to connect me to him.'
'I can't transfer your call. We don't have that sort of equipment.'
'Then bring a phone to me.'
'A cell phone won't work in here.'
'Then connect a landline.'
'I'm afraid your room isn't equipped. The phone you're speaking on right now is wired to come straight to the security console.'
'Fine. Have someone take me to a phone.'
'I'm sorry, but I can't do that until we know you're not infected.'
Darby felt an itch spark deep inside her head, right around the place where her spine connected to her brain stem. She squeezed the receiver, wanting to crush it.
'You and I both know I'm not infected.'
'These tests take time, Miss McCormick. We still don't know what you were exposed to, and until we do we need to monitor — '
'Who's your second in command?'
'Second in command? I don't understand what — '
'The army's running this place, right?'
No answer.
'I want to speak to someone in charge,' Darby said. 'Now.'
'I'll forward your request, but, as you already know, we're not allowed to speak to you about the New Hampshire incident. Maybe you should ask the FBI. I can call them for you.'
Darby had already spoken to the two agents sent over from the Boston office, a pair of Irish boys named Connolly and Kelly. They stood in the white-tiled room beyond the Plexiglas barrier, writing down her statement while asking questions through a two-way speaker. They claimed to have no knowledge of the investigation happening up north, in the Granite State, and promised to send along someone to answer her questions.
That was four days ago. Maybe five, it was hard to remember.
Darby switched the phone to her other ear. 'What's your name?'
'Howard.'
'And what do you do here, Howie?'
'Me?' He chuckled. 'I'm just a lowly medical technician.'
'Okay, Howie, I want you to pass along a message. The next person who enters my room is going to be carrying my medical file and all of my blood work results. Said person is going to hand those to me and then sit down and answer my questions — all of my questions, including everything that's happening in New Hampshire. If this doesn't happen, Howie, not only will this person not be getting any more of my blood, he — or she — will have to crawl out of here. Do you understand?'
'I understand your frustration — I honestly do — but you need to — '
'Do we have an understanding, Howie?'
'I'll pass your message along. Now, about lunch, would you like — '
Darby hung up and went back to lying on her bed, wondering just how long she'd have to wait until someone came to speak to her.
And what if they can't or won't answer your questions? What are you going to do?
Then she'd have to deliver on her promise.
Her thoughts shifted to the man she had cuffed to a tree in the woods — the thing with the veiny egg-white skin, missing teeth and tongue. There was no way he could have got loose by himself. Someone had cut him loose, either one of his buddies who had been near by, watching; or one of Glick's hazmat people. Maybe even Glick himself.
And that black plastic device I found sewn into his back… just what the hell was that thing? Some sort of tracking device?
It was maddening to wonder.
Now she saw the man claiming to be Charlie. Saw his mask of dried human skin with its cut-out eyeholes and mouth, the sutures attached to horribly scarred but healthy skin belonging not to a man claiming to be Charlie Rizzo but to Charlie Rizzo himself, the boy born with missing nipples who had disappeared all those years ago and who now, seemingly for no reason, had reappeared back in his family's house to hold them hostage.
No, there was a reason.
Charlie — and he was Charlie Rizzo, she could feel it deep in her gut — Charlie had called 911 and requested SWAT and a bulletproof vehicle. He dumped a body in the shrubs, and when she asked him who that man was, he said, I'm hoping you'll find out. That's why I gave him to you. Charlie wanted her to go inside the house alone so she could bear witness to his father's confession. What had Charlie said to his father? Here it was: I want you to tell Dr McCormick why I'm here… Don't be shy, Daddy. Start with the day I was abducted.
Mark Rizzo never explained — no, that wasn't true, he said, This thing is not my son. She took down Charlie and tear gas flooded the bedroom and then the people dressed as SWAT officers stormed inside the house. They hadn't come for Charlie; they killed him along with the rest of his family.
But not the father. They took Mark Rizzo… where? To the same place Charlie had been living all those years? And why had they allowed Charlie to remain alive all that time? What was the purpose?
You're assuming there is a purpose.
Maybe not a purpose, but there was a reason.
As it turned out, Darby didn't have to wait long. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the steel airtight door hissing open.
18
