Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(74)

He climbed, straining toward darkness, with darkness pulling him from below. His aching muscles struggled against it.

He hated himself for how easily he had been unmanned, almost more than he hated Dobbs for doing this to him. Higher, impossibly high. The air felt thinner. It moved around him, cold against his neck.

"You have reached a platform. Put your foot out, at two o'clock from your body."

Dobbs was below him, on the ladder. If he let go, he might knock him off and kill him. And himself, too, not that it mattered.

And then he would never know what had happened to Mariah.

He groped with his foot, found the platform, and flung himself onto what he hoped was a surface that could take his weight. He landed like a sack of rocks and huddled there, weeping silently.

Dobbs climbed the rest of the ladder. "Do you have the documentation for the work you were requested to do, Mr. Whitehead?"

Requested. What a way to put it. Chuck struggled to his feet and rummaged in his jacket. "I did the extraction from the blood sample," he said. "Just like you told me. I ran the probes, and it looked fine, the DNA wasn't degraded. I switched the cell pellets in the freezer. Just like you said. I've got the old cell pellet here for you."

"Put the cell pellet and the documentation down on the platform," Dobbs said. "Then walk ten paces straight ahead."

He paced. Wind whistled by his ears. He felt a sense of huge, empty space before him. "I printed out the test run results," he said desperately. "I modified all the computer records for Kurt Novak's ID file. I can show you how I—"

"Never say that name out loud again. Did anyone see you?"

"There's always a couple of grad students in the lab at night doing rush specimens, but they pretty much leave me alone," he babbled. "Everybody does, these days. I'm kind of a downer lately, what with—"

"Shut up, Mr. Whitehead."

He had to ask, one more time. "Is Mariah here?"

Dobbs clucked his tongue. "Do you think I am completely heartless, to bring such an ill woman to a place like this? Poor Mariah can barely speak, let alone climb a vertical ladder. Use your head."

"But I… but you said—"

"Shut up. I wish to examine these. Keep your back turned."

He waited. An owl hooted. Mariah had loved owls. She had big, round, owl-like eyes. Now huge in her wasted face.

"Very good, Mr. Whitehead," the man said approvingly. Papers rustled. "This is exactly what we needed. You've done well. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said automatically. "And… Mariah?" Hope was stone dead, but the cold zombie of curiosity still shambled on.

"Ah. Mariah. Well, she is back in her bed, in your house. I deposited her there immediately after your car left the lab. I replaced her morphine drip, much to her relief. And then I took pity on her, and gave her what you were too weak to bestow."

The dark was scarcely darker with his burning eyes squeezed shut. He shook his head. "No," he whispered.

"Mercy," the voice continued. "The morphine, turned up while she watched. Her breathing getting slower. And finally, peace."

"No." He trembled under the lash of irrational guilt. "She didn't want that. She told me. She told me she would never ask that of me."

"Who cares what she wanted? None of us get to choose."

Hope had gone, and fear had gone with it. Chuck only listened now because he could not stop his ears.

"It will be clear to everyone what happened," the man said gently. "The message on the computer, a brief note stating your intention of joining your beloved wife in death, farewell, cruel world, et cetera. And now I offer you the luxury of choice, Mr. Whitehead. If you wish to die quickly, take two paces straight ahead. But if you would prefer to die slowly and painfully, that can be arranged. Easily."

Chuck laughed out loud. Dobbs had no idea what it meant to die slowly and painfully. He stared into the void beyond the edge.

He felt as light as air. An empty husk. If he took the two paces, he would drift away like a dandelion seed.

Perhaps if he were braver, luckier, smarter, he would have seen some way out of this trap. Apparently everything hung on his carefully arranged suicide. Nothing would hold up if he were found tortured and murdered, after all.

There was no coin left to bargain with this devil. His resources were tapped out. All his bravery, all his luck, all his wits he had given up to these last few months of tending Marian.

Dobbs had probably figured that into the calculations when he'd handpicked him out of all the DNA lab personnel. Smart of him to choose the man with nothing left to lose.

In his mind, he was already falling, toward a huge dark owl's eye. It regarded him with calm, merciful detachment.

He took the two paces. The world tipped, air rushed past his face. He fell into the owl's eye, and hurtled toward Marian's waiting arms.



Connor shot Erin a wary glance when they passed the sign for her exit. "I'd rather take you to my house than your apartment," he said. "The doors are better, the locks are better. The bed is bigger."

"I have to go home," she said.

He sighed. "Erin, I—"

"No, Connor." She gathered all her energy and made her voice resolute. "Cindy could call me there. My mom could call me there. My friend Tonia is bringing my cat back there. The clothes I need for work tomorrow are there. My employee ID, my bus pass, everything. Just take me home. Now. No arguments, please."