The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [111]
She eased the Mustang back onto the road and into the darkness.
After a quarter of a.mile, the pavement rose sharply to the right. Moments later, they broke free of the woods. The sight below was breathtaking. The steep slope, dotted with trees and boulders, dropped several hundred feet before giving way to the jet black Atlantic. Overhead, a large gap had developed in the clouds, exposing several stars and the white scimitar of a waxing moon. Christine pulled to the side and cut the engine.
“Even if we had no idea where we were, we wouldn’t be lost,” David said gently. “See that dark mass on the other side of the cove? I think that’s Rocky Point.”
Christine did not respond. She stepped from the car and walked to the edge of the drop-off. For several minutes she stood there, an ebony statue against the blue black of the sky. When she returned, tears glistened in her eyes. The rest of their drive was made in silence.
The little hideaway, as Joey had called it, was splendid—a hexagonal glass and redwood lodge suspended over the very tip of the point.
“David, it’s just beautiful,” she said.
“You go ahead and open the place up,” David said. “I’ll be along.”
“Do you need help?”
David shook his head, then realized he was not at all sure he could make it on his own. He pushed himself out of the car and onto the crutches. Immediately the dizziness and nausea took hold. He struggled to the bottom of the short flight of steps leading to the front door. For hours tension and nervous energy had helped him overcome the pain and the aftereffects of his hypothermia. Now, it seemed, he had nothing left. He grabbed the railing, but spun off it and fell heavily. In seconds Christine was beside him, supporting him, guiding him inside.
The huge picture windows and high beamed ceilings were little more than hazy, whirling shapes as she helped him past a large fieldstone fireplace to the bedroom. As she lowered him onto the bed, the telephone in the living room began ringing.
“Go on and answer it, I’ll be all right,” he said, eyes closed. “It’s probably Joey.”
He heard her leave, and for several minutes he battled encroaching darkness and waited. By the time she returned, he was losing.
“David, are you awake?” A single nod. “You were right, that was Joey. He wanted to make sure we got here in one piece. Please nod if you understand what I’m saying, okay? Good. He called some friends of his on the police force. David, no one knows anything about Leonard Vincent being picked up tonight. Everyone in Boston is looking for you, but Vincent must have escaped the hospital before he was noticed. Joey said he would keep checking around and call us later today or else Saturday morning. We’re okay as long as we’re up here, but he said to be careful if we drive back to the city. David?”
This time he did not acknowledge.
Hours later, David’s eyes blinked open in misty wakefulness.
He was undressed and under the covers, his torn, swollen ankle propped up on pillows. Nestled beside it was a plastic bag of water—the remains of an improvised ice pack.
He lifted himself to one elbow and looked out through the ceiling-to-floor windows. An endless sea of stars now glittered across the clearing night sky.
A cry came from outside the room. David grabbed his crutches and limped toward the sound. Christine was asleep on the living room couch. She cried out again, more softly this time. David moved to rouse her. Then he stopped. He could wake her for a minute or ten or even an hour, but it would make no difference. He knew the resilience of nightmares.
CHAPTER XX
The sizzle and aroma of frying bacon nudged David from a dreamless sleep and kept his first thoughts of the morning away from the horror of the past night.
Sunlight, isolated from the ocean breeze by the wall-sized windows, bathed him in an almost uncomfortable warmth. Sun! David opened his eyes and squinted into the glare. For nearly a week the world had been a damp, monotonous gray. Now he could almost taste the blue-white sky.
His forearm was throbbing