John Saul - Creature

"I already knew that," Sharon told him. "Dr.MacCallum worked on him most of the night, you know."

Ames looked abashed. "I know, and I certainly didn't mean to imply that there's anything wrong with Mac. There isn't. In fact, he's a damned good doctor."

"Then why did my husband want you to see Mark, Dr. Ames?" Sharon asked, not yet won over.

Ames shrugged. "I suppose he just wanted a second opinion," he said. "And I assume Jerry Harris told him that my specialty is working with kids who have had physical and developmental problems."

Sharon was startled. So she'd been right, at least partially. Blake was, indeed, still looking for a way to overcome the residual effects of Mark's rheumatic fever. "And do you have an opinion?" she asked, doing her best to keep her voice neutral.

Marty Ames spread his hands noncommittally. "It's hard to say, really. But I've given him a complete examination, and I'm pleased to be able to tell you that there's nothing seriously the matter with him. In fact, given his early medical history, he's remarkably healthy."

Sharon felt herself relax. "Then when can I take him home?" she asked.

"No reason you can't take him home now," Ames said pleasantly. "I've given him some codeine to keep the pain in his ribs from bothering him. In a couple of days he should be as good as new."

Sharon stared at Ames. This was it? She'd built herself into such a fury, been so certain that somehow Blake and this doctor had cooked up some sort of scheme. And now…

"Tell you what," Ames said, standing. "Why don't I give you a tour of the place, show you what we're doing out here. By the time we're done, Mark should be all set to go."

"I don't really think I need a tour," Sharon began, but Ames held up a protesting hand.

"We kidnapped your son, remember?" he asked. "The least we can do is set your mind at ease."

To her own surprise, Sharon found herself obediently following Ames out of his office and listening intently as he gave her a tour of the facility and spoke about the summer program.

"What I try to do," he said as they entered a gym filled with equipment the like of which Sharon had never seen before, "is treat each of the kids as an individual. It's always seemed to me that to claim there's a single diet, or exercise regimen, or even medication that will work for every kid, is just plain nuts. And since almost every kid who comes here has a special problem of one sort or another, I try never to view them as simply kids. They're individuals, and have to be treated as such."

Sharon paused, staring at a stationary exercise bicycle that had a large screen curved around its front. "What on earth is that for?" she asked, pointing to the screen.

Ames grinned. "Ever used one of those things?" he asked.

Sharon nodded. "I tried one a few years ago. Bought the bike, used it about three times, and sold it. It was the most boring thing I've ever done in my life."

"Try this one," Ames suggested. Sharon hesitated, but then, curious, mounted the bike. To her surprise, she found that the handlebars were not stationary, but moved easily both left and right. Ames crossed to a small computer console and switched it on. "Like San Francisco?" he asked.

Sharon's brows arched. "Who doesn't?"

A moment later the lights dimmed in the gymnasium and the screen in front of Sharon lit up with a bright image of Market Street. She felt as if she were on the right side of the street, facing Twin Peaks, and cars were streaming in both directions. "Start pedaling," she heard Ames tell her.

Her feet began slowly turning the pedals, and to her surprise, the picture on the screen changed.

It was as if she were moving along the street itself.

"Speed up a little and move out into traffic," Ames instructed her. Frowning, Sharon increased the speed of her pedaling, then twisted the handlebars to the left.

The picture shifted, and she felt as if she were in the center of the right lane. She kept pedaling, then heard Ames telling her to turn right up Van Ness Avenue. As the handlebars turned in her hands, the image swung around and she could see the vista of the broad avenue stretching northward. She kept pedaling, watching the familiar scenery of the city unfold before her. She made several more turns, then finally brought the bike to a stop, feeling silly as she realized she had actually pulled it over to the curb again. When the screen went blank and the lights came up, she looked at Ames with awe.

"What is it?" she asked. "How does it work?"

"It's all done with computers," Ames explained. "Practically the whole city north of Market Street and east ofDivisidero is on a laser disk, and the handlebars control it. You can ride all over San Francisco, looking at anything you want. And it simulates the hills, too, so you never have to change the tension on the wheel yourself." He grinned at her. "Now I ask you, was that boring?"

Sharon shook her head. "It's great. I could have kept at that for a couple of hours."

"You and everybody else," Ames observed wryly. "Out here, the problem isn't getting the kids to exercise. It's getting them to stop." He glanced at his watch. "Well, that's about it. Let's go see how Mark's doing."

They started back toward the offices, but as they came into the main lobby, Mark jumped up from a sofa he'd been sprawling on.

"Hi, Mom," he said, grinning at her.

Sharon stared at him.

The bruises on his face looked much better, and where this morning his face had been pale, almost pasty, his cheeks were now tinged a healthy pink. His right eye was still a bit swollen, but he was able to open it, and the shiner glowing darkly beneath it seemed to be healing.

"Mark?" she breathed. "Honey, are you all right? Your chest-"

But Mark only grinned at her. When he'd bounded off the sofa, he hadn't felt a thing in his chest. "I'm fine," he said. "Marty gave me something for my ribs, and they don't hurt at all."

Sharon stared at him for almost a full minute. He looked better than she'd imagined possible.

It wasn't until half an hour later, when they were driving back through the village, that a sudden thought came into her mind.

After his morning at Rocky Mountain High, Mark was almost like the town itself.

Perfect.

Too perfect.

"It doesn't matter what you thought, or what Jerry Harris told you," Sharon insisted. "I'm your wife, and I'm Mark's mother. You had no right simply to make a decision about Mark without even telling me!"

They were in the small sitting room area of the master suite. On the hearth, a fire was slowly dying. Blake had lit it when they'd come upstairs an hour before, for that afternoon a cold front had moved in from the north and a light snow was falling outside. But Sharon was oblivious to both the snowfall and the fire, her eyes fixed angrily on her husband. "Don't you even understand what I'm saying?"

Blake shrugged tiredly. It seemed to him that the argument had long ago become circular, but once more he reiterated what he'd already told her three times: "You've already admitted that nothing terrible happened to him out at the center. In fact, all things considered, he looks pretty damned good. And you were exhausted this morning-you'd been up all night and you wouldn't have been thinking straight."

"But you still-" Sharon began.

"Enough!" Blake said. He'd been pacing the room, finally pausing at the window to watch the snow float to the ground outside. Now he turned to face her, his jaw set firmly in an expression that told her his patience had run out. "For Christ's sake, Sharon, what do you think I intended? It's not like I was trying to do something terrible! Jerry just suggested I have Ames look him over, and it sounded like a good idea! If I was wrong, I was wrong, and I apologize. But I wasn't wrong!"