Robin Cook - Crisis

Quickly stepping inside in a minor panic, Jack gazed at the alarm keypad. Luckily, the warning buzz he'd been expecting didn't sound, but he waited to be certain. The alarm was disarmed. A bright green dot of light suggested all was well. Jack closed the front door quietly. It was then that he became aware of the muted sound of the television coming from the direction of the great room. From the same direction came a small amount of light, spilling down the otherwise dark, main hallway.

Imagining that Craig might still be up or possibly asleep in front of the TV, Jack descended the corridor and walked into the great room. There was no Craig. The TV over the fireplace was turned to a cable news network, and the lights were on in that section, whereas the kitchen and the dining area were both dark.

On the coffee table in front of the couch stood Craig's nearly empty scotch bottle, an old-fashioned glass, and the TV remote. By force of habit, Jack walked over, picked up the remote, and turned the TV off. He then went back out in the hall. He looked up the stairs into the darkness and then down the length of the corridor to the study. A tiny bit of light was coming through the study's bow window from the streetlights, so it wasn't completely dark.

Jack debated what to do first: check Craig or check the biomarker assay kit. It wasn't a hard decision. When faced with a choice, Jack generally did the less desirable chore or errand first, and in this instance that was certainly the one involving Craig. It wasn't that he thought it would be difficult, but he knew by going to his room he risked waking the man, which he did not want to do for a variety of reasons. The most important one was that he was convinced Craig would not consider Jack's presence a favor. In fact, the implication of neediness would most likely offend and irritate him.

Jack looked back up into the darkness. He'd never been on the second floor and had no idea where the master bedroom would be. Not willing to turn on any lights, Jack retreated to the kitchen. It was his experience that most families had a gadget drawer, and most gadget drawers had flashlights.

As it turned out, he was half-right. There was a flashlight in the gadget drawer, but the Bowmans' gadget drawer was in the laundry, not the kitchen. In keeping with the rest of the house and its contents, the flashlight was an impressive foot-long Maglite that cast a serious and concentrated beam when Jack turned it on. Believing he could put his hand over the lens and vary the amount of light, Jack returned with it to the stairs and started up.

Reaching the top, Jack let enough light escape through his fingers to see down the upstairs hallway, first in one direction and then the other. Multiple doors led off the hall on both sides and, as luck would have it, most of them were closed. Trying to decide where to start, Jack checked both directions again and determined the right hallway was half the length of the left. Unsure of why, Jack started to his right. Picking a door at random, he silently opened it and pushed it ajar enough to step across the threshold. Slowly, he let light spread around the room. It certainly wasn't the master. It was one of the girls' bedrooms, and from the posters, photos, knick-knacks, and clothes strewn about, Jack could tell it was Tracy 's. Back in the hall, Jack proceeded to the next door. He was about to open it when he noticed the doors at the very end of the hall facing him were double. Since all the other doors were single, it seemed a good bet that he'd found the master.

Keeping the flashlight mostly covered, Jack walked down to the double doors. He pressed the flashlight lens against his abdomen to block the light as he opened the right-hand door. It swung inward. As he slipped into the room, he could tell he was in the master suite for certain. He had stepped into deep-pile wall-to-wall carpet. For a moment, he didn't move. He strained to hear Craig's breathing, but the room was silent.

Slowly angling the flashlight, progressively more light extended deeper into the room. Out of the gloom emerged a king-size bed. Craig was lying on the side of the bed farthest from Jack.

For a moment Jack stood still, debating what he was going to do to make sure Craig was not comatose. Up until that moment, he hadn't given it much thought, but now that he was in the room, he had to. Although waking Craig would be definitive, it was not an option. Ultimately Jack thought he'd just walk over and listen to Craig's breathing. If that sounded normal, Jack was willing to accept it as positive proof the man was okay, despite it being far from scientific.

Reducing the light again, Jack started across the room, moving more from memory than visually. A meager amount of ambient light was managing to finger its way through the dormer window from the street. It was enough to give Jack a vague outline of the larger pieces of furniture. Reaching the foot of the bed, Jack stopped and strained to hear the intermittent sibilant sounds of sleep. The room was deathly quiet. Jack felt a rush of adrenaline. To his horror, there was no sound of respiration. Craig was not breathing!

The next few seconds were a blur for Jack. The instant he realized his brother-in-law was not breathing, he lunged forward with the intention of rounding the corner of the bed to get to Craig's side in the shortest possible time. There he would whip back the covers, rapidly evaluate the man's status, and begin CPR if it was appropriate.

The sudden sideward movement possibly saved Jack's life. In the next instant Jack realized that he was not alone in the room. There was another figure, clad in black, making him all but invisible, who streaked out of the open bathroom doorway. The individual was brandishing a large club that he swung in a wide arc at the spot where Jack's head had been.

Although the blow missed Jack's head, it did hit his left shoulder. Luckily, it was a glancing blow that did not impact with its full force. Still, it sent a shooting, searing pain into the core of Jack's body, weakening his knees in the process.

Jack was still clutching the flashlight, the beam of which raced haphazardly around the room as he scrambled past the end of the bed, avoiding going alongside it. He did not want to be trapped by the intruder. More by instinct than vision, he knew that another blow with the club was coming as the figure leapt at him in pursuit. Jack ducked down low to the floor and, believing offense the best defense, threw himself forward, meeting his attacker with the point of his right shoulder as if he intended to tackle him. Jack had the man around the upper thighs and with continued pumping of his legs strengthened by all his bicycle riding, he was able to drive the man backward before both fell to the floor.

In close proximity, Jack felt he had the advantage by using the foot-long, heavy Maglite as a weapon. The longer club, wielded by the attacker, was at a distinct disadvantage. Letting go of the man's thighs, Jack grabbed a handful of shirt and rapidly lifted the flashlight alongside his head with full intention of striking the man's forehead. But as he raised the flashlight, its beam had illuminated the man's face. Luckily, before Jack struck, his mind quickly fired the right neurons and recognized the man. It was Craig.

"Craig?" Jack shouted in disbelief. He swiftly brought the light down from its threatening position and shined it on Craig's face just to be certain.

"Jack?" Craig sputtered in return. He raised his free hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light.

"Good God!" Jack voiced. He let go of Craig's shirt, directed the flashlight away from Craig's face, and got to his feet.

Craig got to his feet as well. He went to a wall switch and turned on the light. "What the hell are you doing here, sneaking around in my house at whatever the hell time it is?" He looked over at the bedside clock. "Three thirty in the goddamn morning!"