Tess Gerritsen - Bloodstream

Bioluminescence. The worms used Vibrio fischeri bacteria as their source of light. Whenever this cave flooded, worm larvae and Vibrio together would be washed into the stream. Into Locust Lake. We are just the accidental hosts, she thought. A summer’s swim, an unlucky inhalation of water, and a larva would find its way through the nasal passages into a human host. There, lodged in one of the sinuses, the larva would grow, releasing a hormone as it matured and died.

That would account for the chromatographic peak in Taylor Darnell’s and Scotty Braxton’s blood: a hormone secreted by this parasite.

Tutwiler, and perhaps Anson, knew about that hormone, and about these worms, yet they didn’t tell her. They had put her and her son through hell.

In fury. she reached down, grasped a rock, and hurled it at the green stars. It bounced off the cave ceiling, clattered across the ground, and landed with a strangely metallic Clang. A fresh flurry of bats whooshed out of the chamber.

She stood immobilized for a moment, trying to process what she’d just heard.

Moving cautiously through the gloom, she stepped toward the far end of the chamber, where she’d heard the rock clang. There were not as many worms here, and in the absence of their glow, the darkness seemed to thicken and almost solidify as she progressed.

Once again she turned on her penlight and shone it at the ground. Something reflected back at her. She bent down for a closer look and saw it was a camp stove coffee cup.

Next to it was the toe of a man’s boot.

She jerked back, gasping. The beam of light zigzagged wildly as she brought it up in panic to shine on Max Tutwiler’s sightless eyes. He’d slumped to the ground with his back propped up against the cave wall. His legs were sprawled out in front of him. Froth had spilled from his mouth and dribbled onto the front of his jacket. There it joined the blacker stain of blood, which had poured from the bullet wound torn into his throat.

She stumbled backwards, turned, and splashed to her knees in the puddled water.

Run. Run.

In an instant she was back on her feet and scrambling in panic up the sloping passage to the next chamber. Bats flapped past her head. She wriggled under the archway and rolled into the entrance chamber. The sound of her own gasping echoed back at her from the walls. On hands and knees, she scuttled like a frantic insect toward the opening.

The cleft grew brighter, closer.

Then her head emerged into daylight. She took in a desperate breath of air, and looked up, just as the blow came crashing down on her skull.

We haven’t seen Dr. Elliot all day, Chief Kelly,” said the nurse. “And frankly, we’re starting to get a little concerned.”

“When did you last speak to her?”

“According to the day shift, she called around noon or so to check on Noah’s condition. But there’s been no word from her since, and we’ve been paging her for hours. We called her house, but all we get is her answering machine. We really think she should be here. The boy’s been asking for her.”

Something was wrong, thought Lincoln as he walked up the hail to Noah’s room.

Claire would not let so much time pass without a visit, or at least a call, to her son. He’d driven by her house earlier that evening, and her car was not there, so he’d assumed she was at the hospital.

But she had not been here all day.

He nodded to the state cop guarding the door, and walked into Noah’s room.

The bedside lamp was on, and caught in its brightness, the boy’s face looked pale, exhausted. At the sound of the door closing, he looked up at Lincoln, and disappointment at once clouded his eyes.

The rage is gone, thought Lincoln, and the difference was startling. Thirty-six hours ago, Noah had been beyond reason, possessed by such strength and fury it had taken two men to wrestle him to the ground. Now he looked like nothing more than a tired boy. A frightened boy.

His question was barely a whisper. “Where is my mom?”

“I don’t know where she is, son.”

“Call her. Please, can you call her?”

“We’re trying to reach her.”

The boy blinked, and looked up at the ceiling. “I want to tell her I’m sorry. I want to tell her He blinked again, then turned away, his voice almost muffled against the pillow. “I want to tell her the truth.”

“About what?”

“About what happened. That night..

Lincoln remained silent. This confession could not be forced; it had to spill out of its own accord.

“I took the truck because I had to drive a friend home. She walked all the way to see me, and we were gonna wait for my mom to drive her back. But then it got late, and Mom didn’t get home. And it started to snow really hard..

“So you drove the girl home yourself?”

“It was only two miles. It’s not like I haven’t driven before.”

“And what happened, Noah? On that drive?”

“Nothing. It was just a quick trip both ways. I swear it.”

“Did you drive to Slocum Road?”

“No, sir. I stayed on Toddy Point Road the whole way. I dropped her off at the end of her driveway, so her dad wouldn’t see me. And then I came straight home.”

“What time was this?”

“I don’t know. Ten o’clock, I guess.”

An hour after the anonymous witness had seen Claire’s pickup weaving on Stocum Road.

“This doesn’t fit the facts, son. It doesn’t explain the blood on the fender.”

“I don’t know how the blood got there.”

“You’re not telling the whole truth.”

“I am telling the truth!” The boy turned to him, his frustration building toward rage. But this time his anger was somehow different. This time it was rooted in reason.

“If you are telling the truth,” said Lincoln, ‘then the girl will support your story Who is she?”

Noah averted his gaze and stared once again at the ceiling. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Her father will kill her. That’s why not.”

“She could clear this up with one statement.”

“She’s scared of him. I can’t get her in trouble.”

“You’re the one who’s in trouble, Noah.”

“I have to talk to her first. I have to give her the chance to-”

“To what? Get her story to line up with yours?”

They regarded each other in silence, Lincoln waiting for an answer, the boy refusing to yield the information.

Through the closed door, Lincoln barely heard the page announced over the hospital address system:

“Dr. Elliot, extension seven-one-three-three. Dr. Elliot..

Lincoln left Noah’s room and went to the nurse’s station to pick up the phone.

He dialed 7133.

It was answered by Anthony, in the laboratory. “Dr. Elliot?”

“This is Chief Kelly. How long have you been paging Dr. Elliot?”

“All afternoon. I tried her beeper, but she must have it turned off. No one answers at her house, so I thought I’d try paging her on the overhead. Just in case she’s in the building.”

“If she does call you, could you tell her I’m trying to reach her too?”

“Sure thing. I’m kind of surprised she hasn’t called me back.” Lincoln paused.

“What do you mean, called you back? Did you talk to her earlier?”

“Yes, sir. She asked me to track down some information.”

“When was this?”

“She called about noon today. She seemed pretty anxious to get the answer. I thought she’d get back to me by now.”

“What information did she want?”

“About a company called Anson Biologicals.”

“What’s that?”

“It turns out it’s just the R and D branch of Sloan-Routhier. You know, the big pharmaceutical firm. But I have no idea why she wanted to know about it.”