John Saul - Creature

Other aides began removing the monitoring devices. One by one the screens went blank, all except the one displaying Mark's cardiovascular activity. That would be the last to be removed, when the final phase of Mark's treatment had been completed.

Ames watched the activity impassively. The session had gone perfectly. He was certain the prognosis for Mark Tanner was good.

Unless…

His mind shifted gears, and he thought of JeffLaConner, who had been in this same room only hours before, wired to the same equipment. He still didn't know what had gone wrong with Jeff. He'd been so careful, adjusting Jeff's treatment after the first signs that the boy was developing a reaction to the therapy. It hadn't worked; Jeff's condition had only deteriorated.

Somewhere there was an answer, and he was determined to find out what that answer was, to discover the miscalculation in the mix of hormones that had triggered the explosive response in JeffLaConner and all the others.

In the meantime, Mark Tanner, with his history of rheumatic fever and retarded growth, would provide more data, more knowledge, more progress.

As Jerry Harris had promised, Mark was a perfect experimental subject. And in the end, Ames thought, Mark might benefit from the experimental treatment as much as he himself.

Unless…

He put the thought out of his mind as the team of aides finished their work. The monitor above Mark's head had gone dark now, and the earphones had been removed from his head. The boy was stirring as the consciousness-suppressing drugs were filtered out of his bloodstream. In a few minutes he would awaken.

"Unstraphim before he starts struggling," Ames said as he stepped forward and took a hypodermic needle from the hand of his chief assistant. "We don't want any marks on him at all." Checking the needle carefully, he slid it into one of the veins of Mark's right arm, then pressed the plunger.

Almost as soon as the insulin hit Mark's bloodstream, the boy broke out in a cold sweat and his body shook with tremors.

The tremors increased. Abruptly, the dreamy look on Mark's face was replaced with a grimace of fear and pain.

The convulsions began then, Mark's body jerking spasmodically as he went into the third phase of insulin shock. Only when he had finally fallen unconscious and his body relaxed did Ames nod.

"All right," he said. "Take him in and get him dressed. By the time he wakes up, he won't remember a thing." A sardonic smile twisted his lips. "In fact," he added, "he'll probably feel better than he's ever felt before in his life."

At first Sharon Tanner wasn't certain she'd come to the right place. She'd driven the two miles out of town almost unconsciously, simply following the road as her anger-most of it directed toward Blake-grew within her. Why would he have done such a thing without asking her? It wasn't like him; wasn't like him at all. But even as her anger built, the rational part of her mind answered her own question. Had he sought her agreement, she'd have simply assumed it was one more step in his ongoing campaign to get Mark involved in sports, and automatically objected.

And she would have been right.

She braked the car suddenly and stared at the building off to the right. The sports center appeared more like a campus than a clinic, completely surrounded by well-kept lawns. But then, as she drew nearer, she realized that these weren't just lawns: they were playing fields, acres and acres of them. At least two football fields, a baseball diamond, and a hockey field. There was a track, too, with an infield that boasted an array of both high and low hurdles, a broad-jump track, and a high jump, as well as various exercise bars.

In the center of all this was what looked like a lodge, but between her and the building were a pair of closed gates. She pulled the car up to the gates, rolled down the window and pressed a button on a large metal box mounted on an iron post. A moment later a male voice scratched from a speaker within the box: "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Dr. Ames," Sharon said, her voice a little louder than she'd intended. "My name is Sharon Tanner. I'm Mark Tanner's mother."

"One moment, please," the voice replied. The speaker went dead. The seconds ticked by, and after nearly a minute, Sharon wondered if she was, indeed, at the right place. She was considering what to do when the speaker came to life again; at the same time, the gates began to swing open.

"Just park in front of the building and come in the front door, Mrs. Tanner," the disembodied voice instructed her.

She took her foot off the brake and drove slowly down the drive, impressed with what she saw, even in spite of her anger. It was a graceful building, fitting well into the surroundings of the rising mountains, and whatever it was all about, it was obviously successful. She parked the car, hurried up the front steps and across the wide veranda, pushing through the heavy glass door into the lobby. A smiling woman who wore a lab coat open over a tailored dress was waiting for her.

"Mrs. Tanner?" the woman asked, then went on without waiting for a reply. "I'm Marjorie Jackson, Dr. Ames's assistant. Everyone calls me Marge. Won't you come with me?"

Sharon's lips tightened, but despite her urge to vent the anger that had been building inside her, she found herself obediently following Marge Jackson through the lobby and what was apparently a dining room, then down a hall into one of the building's large wings. "It seems awfully empty, doesn't it?" Marge asked, glancing back at Sharon. "But you should see it during the season. Last summer we had to feed the boys in two shifts!"

A minute later Sharon found herself being led into a suite of offices. Marge Jackson seated herself behind a desk. "I assume you're here to see"-she paused to glance down at a file on the desk in front of her-"Mark, isn't it?"

"I'm here for a lot more than that," Sharon replied, her voice cool. She was pleased to see Marjorie Jackson's smile fade uncertainly away.

"I beg your pardon?" she said. "I'm afraid I don't understand-is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" Sharon repeated, making no attempt to veil her anger. "Why should anything be wrong? I left my son in County Hospital this morning, and by lunchtime I find he's been moved. Nobody asked me-nobody even told me! And you want to know if something's wrong?"

Marge Jackson's uncertain expression gave way to one of genuine concern, and suddenly Sharon felt foolish. Whatever had happened, it obviously wasn't this woman's fault. Letting out her breath in an explosive sigh, she sank into a chair and apologized. As briefly as she could, she explained exactly what had happened. By the time she was done, Marge Jackson was nodding sympathetically.

"But how terrible for you," she said. "If my husband had done something like that, I think I'd kill him. But I'm sure it was just a mix-up, and I can tell you that everything's just fine."

"But why was Mark brought here?" Sharon asked. "It all seems so, well, so unnecessary."

"I'm afraid you'll have to talk to Dr. Ames about that," Marge replied. Her expression brightened and she nodded toward someone who had just come through the door. "Here he is now. Dr. Ames, this is Sharon Tanner, Mark's mother."

Sharon rose to her feet, surprised to find a genial-looking man in his mid-forties-with gray eyes that fairly twinkled as he smiled at her-extending his hand. She automatically accepted the greeting, only then realizing that subconsciously she had expected some sort of Machiavellian monster who had coldly abducted her son and would now make smooth excuses for what he'd done.

Ames ushered her into his office, offered her a cup of coffee, and after listening to her story, assured her it was his own fault. "I should have had Marge call you myself, just to make sure you knew what was going on. And call me Marty," he added. "Everybody else does, even a lot of the kids." He smiled, then leaned back in his chair. "Anyway," he went on, "you'll be glad to know that there's nothing wrong with Mark."