Tess Gerritsen - Bloodstream

The transformation had already begun.

She’d seen the first hint of it a few days ago, when he had stepped off the bus as usual. She’d been at the window, watching him walk toward the house, when she saw something happen that was both inexplicable and frightening. In the front yard, he had suddenly halted and gazed up at a tree in which three gray squirrels perched. She’d thought he was merely curious. That like his younger sister Kitty; he would try to coax them down to be petted. So she was startled when he bent down, picked up a rock, and flung it at the tree.

The squirrels scampered to higher branches.

As she’d watched in dismay, Scotty had hurled another rock, and another, his thin body winding up like a tautly coiled spring of fury, the stones flying into the branches. When at last he stopped, he was breathing hard and exhausted. Then he’d turned to the house.

The look on his face had made her jerk back from the window. For one horrifying moment she’d thought: That is not my son.

Now, as she watched him approach the house, she wondered which boy would step through the door. Her son, her real son, sweet and smiling, or the ugly stranger who looked like Scotty? In the past, she would have dealt firmly with him for throwing rocks at animals.

In the past, she was never afraid of her own child.

Faye heard Scotty’s footsteps on the porch. Heart pounding, she swiveled her wheelchair around to face him as he came in the door.

Anyone could see that fourteen-year-old Barry Knowlton was his mother’s child.

The resemblance was startling enough to take in with a single glance. Barry and Louise were like a pair of cheerful dumplings, both of them red-haired and apple-cheeked, both with pliant pink mouths. Their smiles of greeting promised to dispel even Claire’s gloom.

Since the classroom shooting nearly a week ago, Claire had awakened each morning to the awful realization that her move to Tranquility had been a mistake. Only eight months ago, she had arrived here full of confidence, had used most of her savings to buy a medical practice she was certain would succeed. And why wouldn’t it? She’d had a thriving practice in Baltimore. But one very public lawsuit would destroy everything.

Every day at work, when she saw the mailman stride up the front walk, she braced herself for the delivery of a letter she dreaded receiving. Paul Dame!! had said she’d be hearing from his attorney, and she had no doubt he’d follow up on his threat.

Is it too late to leave? That was the question she asked herself every day now.

Is it too late to move back to Baltimore?

She forced herself to smile as she stepped into the exam room to see Barry and his mother. Here, at least, was a bright spot in her day.

They both looked genuinely pleased to see her. Barry had already pulled off his boots and was standing on the scale, watching expectantly as the counterweight arm bobbed up and down.

“Hey I think I lost another pound!” he announced.

Claire checked the chart, then glanced at the reading. “Down to two hundred forty-seven pounds. That’s two pounds you’ve lost. Good for you!”

Barry stepped off the scale, which sent the counterweight tilting up with a loud clap. “I think my belt feels looser already!”

“Let me listen to your heart,” said Claire.

Barry waddled over to the exam table, carefully climbed up onto the footstool, and plopped onto the table. He peeled off his shirt, baring folds of pale and sagging flesh. As Claire listened to his heart and lungs and took his blood pressure, she felt his gaze, curious and engaged, following her every move. The first time they’d met, Barry had told her he wanted to be a doctor, and he seemed to relish these bimonthly visits as field trips into his future profession. The occasional blood test, an ordeal for most patients, was a fascinating procedure for Barry, an opportunity to ask in sometimes endless detail about needle gauges and syringe volumes and the purpose of each different colored blood tube.

If only Barry would pay as much attention to what he put in his mouth.

She finished her exam, then stood back and regarded him for a moment. “You’re doing a good job, Barry. How is the diet coming?”

He gave a shrug. “Okay, I guess. I’m trying real hard.”

“Oh, he loves to eat! That’s the problem,” said Louise. “I try my best cooking low-fat meals, But then his daddy comes home with a box of doughnuts and, well.

.. it’s so hard to resist. It just about breaks my heart to see the way Barry looks at us, with those big hungry eyes of his.”

“Could you discourage your husband from bringing home doughnuts?”

“Oh, no. Mel, he’s got this She leaned forward and said, confidentially:

“Overeating problem.”

“Is that so?”

“I gave up on Mel long ago. But Barry, he’s still so young. It’s not good for a boy his age to carry around all that weight. And the other kids, they can be so mean about it.”

Claire looked sympathetically at Barry. “You’re having problems at school?”

A light seemed to dim in the boy’s eyes. He looked down, all cheerfulness gone.

“I don’t much like school anymore.”

“The other kids tease you?”

“They don’t ever stop with the fat boy jokes.”

Claire glanced at Louise, who shook her head sadly. “He has an IQ of a hundred thirty-five, and he doesn’t want to go to school. I don’t know what to do about it.”

“I’ll tell you what, Barry,” said Claire. “We’re going to show everyone how determined you are. You’re too intelligent to let those other kids defeat you.”

“Well, they aren’t all that bright,” he agreed hopefully.

“You have to outsmart your own body as well. That’s the part that takes effort.

And Mom and Dad have to work with you, not against you." She looked at Louise.

“Mrs. Knowlton, you have a smart and wonderful boy here, but he can’t do this alone. This takes the whole family.”

Louise sighed, already preparing for the daunting task ahead. “I know,” she said. “I’ll talk to Mel. No more doughnuts.”

After the Knowitons left, Claire walked into Vera’s office. “Don’t we have a patient at three o’clock?”

“We did,” said Vera, looking puzzled as she hung up the phone. “That was Mrs.

Monaghan. It’s the second cancellation we’ve had today.”

Claire glimpsed movement in the waiting room. Through the sliding business window, she saw a man sitting on the couch. Large, homely, his sad-clown face emphasized by an unflattering crew cut, he looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else than in a doctor’s office. “Well, who’s that?”

“Oh, he’s just some magazine reporter who wants to talk to you. His name’s Mitchell Groome.”

“I hope you told him I’m not available.”

“I gave him your standard ‘no comment’ line. But this guy insists on waiting around for you.”

“Well, he can wait all he wants. I’m not talking to any more reporters. Is there anyone left on the schedule?”

“Elwyn Clyde. Wound check on his foot.”

Elwyn. Claire pressed her hand to her head, already anticipating a headache. “Do we have air freshener on hand?”

Vera laughed and clapped a can of Glade on the desk. “We’re all ready for Elwyn.

After him, you’re free for the day. Which works out well, because you have a meeting with Dr. Sarnicki this afternoon. He just called a little while ago.”

Dr. Sarnicki was chief of staff at the hospital. This was the first Claire had heard about any meeting.

“Did he say what it’s about?”

“Something about a letter he just received. He said it was urgent.” Vera’s gaze suddenly shot to the front window and she jumped to her feet. “Damn it, there they are again!” she said, and dashed out the side door.