Robin Cook - Mindbend

The bathroom had another door and, dropping Ginger, Laura struggled with its latch. She was dazed but got the door open and ran into a dressing room that led back into the bedroom. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Larry’s hand coming through the hole made by the shotgun blast.

As she raced though the bedroom, Laura caught a brief glimpse of Larry disappearing into the bathroom. Knowing she had only a few moments’ head start, she dashed into the hall and half ran and half fell down the staircase. Ginger stayed at her heels.

Vainly she gave the front door a tug, but it was locked. The old man who had originally built the house had been so paranoid that he had equipped all the doors with locks that could be secured from both sides. There were keys somewhere in the bureau in the foyer, but Laura didn’t have time to search for them. Her keys were in her purse in the kitchen. Hearing Larry start down the stairs, Laura ran down the gallery on the ground floor.

Normally, she put her purse on the desk beneath the kitchen phone, but it wasn’t there. She tried the back door but, as she expected, it too was locked. With mounting panic, she tried to think of what to do. The fact that Larry had actually used the shotgun on the bathroom door made her heart pound. Ginger leaped into her arms, and she hugged him to her chest. Then she heard Larry’s heels striking the marble of the gallery floor.

In desperation Laura opened the cellar door, flipped on the cellar lights, and pulled the door shut behind her. As quietly as she could, she descended the angled stairway. There was a way out of the cellar that was secured with an oak beam rather than a lock.

They had never used the basement because they had such an overabundance of space upstairs. Consequently, it was musty and filled with all sorts of junk from previous owners. It was a warren of little rooms, and poorly illuminated with infrequent light bulbs. Laura stumbled over debris in the hallway, clutching Ginger to herself as she navigated the strangely tortuous route. She was almost at the exit when the lights went out.

The darkness was sudden and complete. Laura froze in her tracks, disoriented. The terror consumed her. Desperately, she swung her left hand in front of her, searching for a wall. Her fingers hit rough wood. Stumblingly, she made her way along the wall until she came to a doorway. Behind her she heard Larry start down the cellar stairs. The sound of his footsteps was distinct, as if he were moving very slowly and deliberately. A flickering light indicated he was carrying a flashlight.

Knowing that she could never find the exit in the dark, Laura frantically realized that she’d have to hide. With all the rooms and junk that were there, she felt that she had a chance. She stepped through the doorway she’d found, and groped in the darkness. Almost at once her hands encountered window shutters leaning against the wall. Stepping around them, her foot hit a wooden object. It was a large barrel resting on its side.

After first checking to make sure that the barrel was empty, Laura got down on her hands and knees and backed into it, pulling Ginger after her. She didn’t have long to worry if her hiding place were adequate. No sooner had she stopped moving than she heard Larry approach in the hallway. Although the barrel pointed away from the door opening, she could see dim evidence of his flashlight.

Larry’s footsteps came closer and closer, and Laura struggled to breathe quietly. The flashlight beam entered the room and Laura held her breath. Then Ginger growled and barked. Laura’s heart skipped a beat as she heard the pump action of the shotgun. She felt Larry kick the barrel, rolling her upside down. Ginger yelped and fled. Frantically, Laura struggled to right herself.

The Eastern shuttle to Washington provided the first peace Adam had experienced since the previous night. After Jennifer had slammed the bedroom door, Adam tried lying down on the uncomfortable Victorian couch. He’d attempted to read about pancreatitis, but found it impossible to concentrate. There was no way he could stay in medical school if they lost Jennifer’s income. At dawn, after only a couple of hours of restless sleep, he’d called the hospital and had a note left for his intern saying he wouldn’t be in that day. One way or the other, Adam knew he had to come up with a solution.

Adam stared out the window at the tranquil New Jersey countryside. The captain announced that they were passing over the Delaware River and Adam estimated it was another twenty minutes to Washington. That would put him in the city at eight-thirty; he could be at his father’s office at the Food and Drug Administration around nine.

Adam was not looking forward to the meeting, especially under the present conditions. He hadn’t seen his father since the middle of his first year in medical school, and it had been a traumatic encounter. At that time Adam had informed the old man that he was definitely marrying Jennifer.

Adam was still trying to decide how to open the conversation as he walked through the revolving door of his father’s building. As a child, Adam had not visited his father’s office often, but had gone enough times to leave him with a feeling of distaste. His father had always acted as if the boy were an embarrassment.

Adam had been the middle child, sandwiched between an overachieving older brother, David, and a younger sister, Ellen, the darling of the family. David had been the outgoing child and had decided as a youngster to become a doctor like his father. Adam had never been able to make up his mind what he wanted to be. For a long time he thought he wanted to be a farmer.

Adam got on the elevator and pushed the button for the eighth floor. He could remember going up in the elevator with David when David was in medical school. David was ten years older than Adam and, as far as Adam was concerned, seemed more like an adult than a brother. Adam used to be left in his father’s waiting room while David was taken to meet doctor colleagues.

Adam got off at the eighth floor and turned to the right. As the offices became larger and more attractive, the secretaries got plainer. Adam could remember that it was David who had pointed that out to him.

Hesitating before the executive offices, Adam wondered what his relationship with his father would be like if David hadn’t died in Vietnam. Not too many doctors had been killed over there, but David had managed it. He’d always been one to volunteer for anything. It had been the last year of the war and Adam had been fifteen at the time.

The event had crippled the family. Adam’s mother had gone into a terrible depression that required shock therapy. She still wasn’t her old self. Adam’s father hadn’t weathered the news much better. After several months of his withdrawn silence, Adam had gone to him and told him that he’d decided to become a doctor. Instead of being pleased, his father had cried and turned away.

Adam paused in front of his father’s office, then screwing up his courage, walked up to Mrs. Margaret Weintrob’s desk. She was an enormous woman who swamped her swivel chair. Her dress was a tentlike affair made from a flower-print cotton. Her upper arms had enormous rolls of fat, making her sizable forearms appear slender by comparison.

But, aside from her weight, she was exceptionally well groomed. She smiled when she saw Adam and, without getting up, extended a hand in greeting.

Adam shook the slightly damp hand and returned the smile. They had always gotten along fine. She’d been Adam’s father’s secretary as far back as Adam could remember, and she’d always been sensitive to Adam’s shyness.

“Where have you been?” she asked, pretending to be angry. “It’s been ages since you’ve visited.”