The Select

was a lot more than just a friend.

No question about it, Quinn had been hurting. And that could only mean...

Quinn and Tim...he hadn't let it sink in at the time, but maybe it was possible. She did sound broken-hearted that he'd left...left her.

And Tim. What the hell was he thinking about with this Las Vegas stunt? Matt knew the guy, knew how he liked to keep you off balance, be unpredictable, but this went way beyond anything he'd done since Matt had known him.

And that was what had been bothering Matt since Friday. This wasn't like Tim. This was something else. This smelled bad.

Matt listened to the phone ringing. Quinn picked up on the third. When he said hello she all but jumped through the phone, the words frantically spilling out.

'Matt! Is it about Tim? Have you heard from him? Did they find him?'

He'd intended to ask her point blank if she and Tim had something going on. Now he didn't have to. He wasn't sure how he felt about this. Quinn had never been his, so why did he feel as if something special had been stolen away from right under his nose?

'No, Quinn. Nothing yet. I just called to talk to you and see how you're doing.'

'I'm okay.'

'Are you?'

She didn't answer, at least not with words. Matt heard soft sobbing on the other end.

'You miss him that much.' It wasn't a question.

Her voice was a gasp. 'Yes.'

'He'll be back soon.'

'I'm afraid, Matt.' She was getting her voice back now. 'I've got this horrible feeling I'm never going to see him again.'

She sounded so lost. This wasn't like the Quinn he knew. Was this what love did to you?

'You'll see him. He's got to come back soon.'

'You really think so?' She sounded like a ship-wrecked sailor groping for a piece of floating debris.

'I guarantee it. When are you getting in Friday?'

Christmas break was a few days away. Maybe he'd drive out to Windham County and try to cheer her up.

'For Christmas? I won't be leaving until next Friday.'

'The twenty-third? Our break starts the sixteenth. Why so late?'

'Well, I'm working on this project. I can get overtime if I stay, and I thought if Tim comes back I ought to be here.'

Matt resisted the impulse to say that's crazy, that if Tim's old man finds him in Vegas, he'll bring him straight back to New Hampshire.

'You're going to hang around an empty campus?' He hated the thought of her being alone in a deserted dorm. 'You think that's a good idea?'

'It's not empty and you sound like my mother.'

'Sometimes mothers make a lot of sense.'

'I just got off the phone with her. She's got one of her 'feelings' and wants me to come right home.'

'Is that so bad?'

'Do you have any idea how quiet a farm gets in the winter?'

'How about I come visit you down there?' he found himself asking without thinking.

'No, Matt. You've got better —'

'What's better than visiting an old friend who sounds like she needs a friend.'

'That's nice of you, Matt, but really, I'll be busy in the lab and there's not much to do around this part of Maryland if you aren't working. I appreciate it, and I'll be fine. And I promise to call you as soon as I get back home. Then the three of us can go out together and catch up.'

'The three of us?'

'Sure. Tim will be back by then. He's got to be. He wouldn't stay away through Christmas.'

'Right,' Matt said slowly. 'Sure. The three of us. That'll be great.'

I hope you're right, Quinn, he thought as he hung up a few minutes later.

The phone rang almost immediately. Matt didn't recognize the voice at first.

'Matthew? This is Lydia Cleary. Quinn's mother.'

Why on earth was she calling? She sounded upset.

'Hi, Mrs. Cleary. I was just talking to Quinn.'

'Oh. That's why your line was busy. I was speaking to her earlier and she says she's going to stay down there next week.'

'She told me.'

'Matthew, you've got to get her home. Something terrible is going to happen to her if she stays there. Just like it happened to that friend of hers.'

Cold fingers did a walk along Matt's spine.

'What do you mean, 'happened' to Tim? Tim took off for Las Vegas.'

'I don't know about any of that. I just know something bad's happened to him and the same will happen to Quinn if she stays down there. You know how stubborn she is. She won't listen to me.'

'She won't listen to me, either.'

'Maybe if you go down there, Matthew. Maybe she'll listen to you then and you can bring her back. I know it's a lot to ask...'

'It's not a lot,' he said, trying to soothe the growing agitation in her voice. 'Not a lot at all. I'll leave as soon as they cut me loose on Friday.'

'Oh, thank you, Matthew.' She sounded ready to cry. 'I'll be eternally grateful for this.'

He eased himself off the phone, then sat there, wondering, feeling uneasy. Her sense that something had 'happened' to Tim rattled Matt. And she was so convinced the same was going to happen to Quinn. Superstition, of course, but still...

Matt decided then to leave for Maryland Friday afternoon without telling Quinn. He'd catch her by surprise and work on her all weekend. By Sunday he'd have her packed up and ready to go.

In a few days he'd have Quinn home safe and sound. But what about Tim? He wished he could do the same for Tim.

Tim, old buddy, where the hell are you?

*

Tim existed in a timeless space of boredom, rage, and terror. Sometimes he slept, and dwelt in a nightmare in which he had no body. Sometimes he was awake, and dwelt in a nightmare in which he could not feel his body.

The staff took good care of that body. Three times a day, every shift, his limbs were put through their ranges of motion to keep the joints limber and prevent contractures. He was turned back and forth, his position changed every few hours to prevent pressure ulcers in his skin. And whenever they were in the ward, all the nurses spoke to him constantly, like girls talking to their dolls.

And that was what Tim began to feel like. He couldn't feel, couldn't reply, couldn't move on his own. He was a giant Ken doll.

Despite all the care, he was afraid for his body. What had they done to it? Had they scorched his skin? Was he now a burn victim like the others? He felt nothing. If only he could feel something— even pain would be welcome—he might know.

And Tim had begun to fear for his mind. Imprisonment in an inert, mute body was affecting it. Every so often he would feel his mental gears slip a few cogs, would catch his thoughts veering off and have to reel then in from wild, surreal tangents filled with giant, floating syringes and stumbling, mummified shapes. He knew one day—one day too soon—those thoughts could slip their bonds and never come back.

Focus. That was the only thing that kept his mind in line. Focusing on movement, on brief, tiny increments of victory over the drug that crippled his nervous system.