Robin Cook - Fatal Cure

David decided that the best thing for him to do was to try to befriend the man, to acknowledge that he had problems, to admit that he was under stress, to tell him that David understood that he was suffering, and to tell him that David was a doctor and wanted to help him.

Unfortunately, Van Slyke gave David little chance to act on his plan. Without a word, Van Slyke reached out, grabbed David by his jacket, and rudely yanked him from the stairwell into the cellar itself.

Overwhelmed by Van Slyke's strength, David sprawled headfirst onto the dirt floor, crashing into a stack of cardboard boxes.

"Get up!" Van Slyke screamed. His voice echoed in the cellar.

David warily got to his feet.

Van Slyke was shaking so hard he was practically convulsing.

"Get into the root cellar," he yelled.

"Calm down," David said, speaking for the first time. Trying to sound like a therapist, he told Van Slyke that he understood he was upset.

Van Slyke responded by indiscriminately firing the gun. Bullets whizzed by David's head and ricocheted around the basement until they embedded themselves in an overhead floor joist, the stairs, or one of the wooden doors.

David leaped into the root cellar and cowered against the far wall, terrified of what Van Slyke might do next. Now he was convinced that Van Slyke was acutely psychotic.

Van Slyke shut the heavy wooden door with such force, plaster rained down on top of David's head. David didn't move. He could hear Van Slyke moving around in the cellar. Then he heard the sound of the hasp of the root cellar door being closed over its staple and a padlock being applied. David heard the click as the lock was closed.

After a few minutes of silence, David stood up. He looked around his cell. The only light source was a single bare bulb hanging by a cord from the ceiling. The room was bounded by large granite foundation blocks. On one wall were bins filled with fruit that appeared mummified. On the other wall shelves lined with jars of preserves reached to the ceiling.

David moved to the door and put his ear to it. He heard nothing. Looking more closely at the door he saw fresh scratch marks across it. It was as if someone had been trying desperately to claw his way out.

David knew it was futile but he had to try: he leaned his shoulder against the door and pushed it. It didn't budge. Failing in that, David started to make a complete tour of the cell when the light went out, plunging him into absolute darkness.

Sherwood buzzed his secretary and asked what time the appointment was scheduled with David Wilson.

"Three o'clock," Sharon said.

"What time is it now?" he asked. He was looking at the pocket watch he'd fished out of his vest.

"It's three-fifteen," she said.

"That's what I thought. No sign of him?"

"No, sir."

"If he shows up, tell him he'll have to reschedule," Sherwood said. "And bring in the agenda for tonight's hospital executive board meeting."

Sherwood took his finger off the intercom button. It irritated him that David Wilson would be late for a meeting that he had called to request. To Sherwood it was a deliberate snub, since punctuality was a cardinal virtue in his value system.

Sherwood lifted his phone and dialed Harold Traynor. Before he put in time on the executive meeting material, Sherwood wanted to be sure that the meeting hadn't been canceled. One had been back in 1981 and Sherwood still hadn't gotten over it.

"Six P.M.," Traynor said. "On schedule. Want to walk up together? It's a nice evening, and we won't be having too many more of these until next summer."

"I'll meet you right outside the bank," Sherwood said. "Sounds like you're in a good mood."

"It's been a good day," Traynor said. "I've just heard this afternoon from my nemesis, Jeb Wiggins. He's caved in. He'll back the parking garage after all. We should have the approval of the Selectmen by the end of the month."

Sherwood smiled. This was good news indeed. "Should I put together the bond issue?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Traynor said. "We've got to move on this thing. I have a call in to the contractor right now to see if there's any chance of pouring concrete before winter sets in."

Sharon came into Sherwood's office and handed him the agenda for the meeting.

"There's more good news," Traynor said. "Beaton called me this morning to tell me the hospital balance sheet looks a lot better than we thought it would. October wasn't nearly as bad as predicted."

"Nothing but good news this month," Sherwood said.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Traynor said. "Beaton also called me a little while ago to tell me that Van Slyke never showed up."

"He didn't phone?" Sherwood questioned.

"No," Traynor said. "Of course, he doesn't have a phone so that's not too surprising. I suppose I'll have to ride over there after the executive meeting. Trouble is, I hate to go in that house. It depresses me."

Just as unexpectedly as the overhead light had gone out, it went on again. In the distance David could hear Van Slyke's footfalls coming back down the cellar stairs accompanied by the intermittent clank of metal hitting metal. After that, David heard the clatter of things being dropped onto the dirt floor.

After another trip up and down David heard Van Slyke drop something particularly heavy. After a third trip there was the same dull thud that David could feel as much as hear. It sounded almost like a body hitting the hard-packed dirt, and David felt himself shudder.

Taking advantage of the light, David explored the root cellar for another way out, but as he suspected, there was none.

Suddenly David heard the lock on the root cellar door open and the hasp pull away from the staple. He braced himself as the door was yanked open.

David sucked in a breath of air at the sight of Van Slyke. He appeared even more agitated than he had earlier. His dark, unruly hair was no longer lying flat against his skull; it now stood straight out from his head as if he'd been jolted with a bolt of electricity. His pupils were still maximally dilated, and his face was now covered with perspiration. He'd removed his green work shirt and was now clad in a dirty tee shirt which he hadn't tucked into his trousers.

David immediately noticed how powerfully built Van Slyke was, and he quickly ruled out the possibility of trying to overpower the man. David also noticed that Van Slyke had a tattoo of an American flag held by a bald eagle on his right forearm. A thin scar about five inches long marred the design. David realized then that Van Slyke was probably Hodges' murderer.

"Out!" Van Slyke yelled along with a string of expletives. He waved his gun recklessly, sending a chill down David's spine. David was terrified Van Slyke would again start randomly firing.

David complied with Van Slyke's command and quickly stepped out of the root cellar. He edged sideways, keeping Van Slyke in his line of vision at all times. Van Slyke angrily motioned for him to continue on toward the furnace.

"Stop," Van Slyke commanded after David had moved some twenty feet. He pointed down toward the ground.

David looked down. Next to his feet were a pick and shovel. Nearby was the new slab of concrete.

"I want you to dig," Van Slyke yelled. "Right where you are standing."

Afraid of hesitating for a second, David bent down and lifted the pick. David considered using it as a weapon, but as if reading his mind, Van Slyke stepped back out of reach. He kept the gun raised, and although it was shaking, it was still pointing in David's direction. David didn't dare risk charging toward him.

David noticed bags of cement and sand on the floor and guessed it had been the noise of those bags hitting the floor that he had heard from the root cellar.

David swung the pick. To his surprise it dug a mere two inches into the densely packed earthen floor. David swung the pick several more times but only succeeded in loosening a small amount of dirt. He dropped the pick and picked up the shovel to move the dirt aside. There was no doubt in his mind what Van Slyke had in mind for him. He was having him dig his own grave. He wondered if Calhoun had been put through the same ordeal.