Gerrie Nelson - Lab Notes

But her brain shifted into overdrive: Boyfriend? God, how she wished she’d read Gabriel’s email. Whatever he said, he had made Bellfort crazy; she needed to get out of there. But how? If she could get her shaking legs under control, she could turn and retrace her steps—through the doorway behind her, then a straight shot through the bench area, then only several yards across the hall and through the reception room to her office. She’d be safe there until help came. Even if Bellfort broke down her office door, he’d be no match for a pissed-off eighty pound dog.

She turned one foot tentatively to the right. But Bellfort detected the motion. In three strides he covered the distance to the far edge of the doorway, where he took up position. He smirked and said “Check.” He was toying with her and wanted to make sure she knew it.

Her move.

Bellfort watched her with the cunning of a leopard stalking a deer.

She took some quiet breaths and calmed herself. Any move toward the front door could place her within Bellfort’s striking distance. She needed a new strategy. The remaining exit was through the back door. But to get there, she had to negotiate a slalom course through the desk area, then around a counter and through Maggie… Maggie!

As far as Diane knew, Maggie’s operating system was still turned on. If she could make it that far, Maggie, as always, would see her as an intruder and set off the alarm. That would alert Wilbur who would call the police. Hopefully, Bellfort didn’t know how to turn the thing off.

It was now or never. Diane turned and bolted. She pivoted around the first desk, then the second.

Bellfort was caught flat-footed, but quickly did an about face and headed toward the back of the room. Even though Diane had a shorter distance to cover and was lighter on her feet, Raymond’s path to the other side of the lab held fewer obstacles.

Rounding the last desk, Diane looked up and saw Bellfort ahead of her, panting, blocking the way to Maggie. Her gambit had failed.

Again, he inched toward her. She glanced around. Not seeing any means of defending herself, she backed up a few steps.

Raymond’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “You shouldn’t run from me Darlin.’”

Diane’s mind reeled; she had heard that before—those exact words. But where? Then came the realization—the night of the break-in—the chimps in the trees— Oh My God! .

Bellfort continued moving her way. She retreated a few more steps.

Bellfort sneered. “Your lily-livered husband ran from me too.”

That got Diane’s attention. She held her position a moment.

Raymond Bellfort continued his taunt, “You didn’t know he was a coward did you? Not only a coward—a squealer too.” Bellfort’s voice had risen to the creepy childish pitch he had used on the chimpanzees that night.

Diane found her voice and spoke for the first time since walking into the lab. “That’s not true.”

“Ha! Too bad you weren’t on the boat to see how he turned off course and ran from me.”

Diane’s heart flipped over. She pictured Vincent on the video, clinging to the binnacle guard in that horrible weather, talking about another boat in the area. On camera, he reported that poor visibility made it necessary to alter course to avoid a collision.

Her mind screamed with the realization that it was Raymond Bellfort on the Maria V . He had stalked Vincent out at sea aboard the Carrera’s steel-hulled yacht and rammed him. And the sadistic sonofabitch had enjoyed every moment of it—just as he had reveled in clubbing the chimps at the so-called break-in and burning the rabbit at his prep school and torturing the macaque monkeys in the lab. Now she was his quarry, and he was loving every moment of it.

Raymond continued his taunt. “He had a couple opportunities to save himself, you know. He could have stopped squealing to Gabriel when I told him to. Then that day out there in the Gulf, if he hadn’t fallen on his face in the cockpit, he’d have had a chance to turn the boat away.” Bellfort laughed a joyful laugh. “But he never made it to the wheel.”

Diane couldn’t bear to hear any more. And it was probably only a matter of seconds until he’d attack. She had to attempt another escape to the front door. Mentally, she mapped out a shorter route through the desks. But then, stepping back a couple feet to position herself for the lunge, she noticed something in her peripheral vision. And her heart leaped.

Oh sweet irony! On the wall to her left hung the dart pistol and the golden dart. Raymond Bellfort had mounted them there on the display rack the Monday after the awards party aboard the Enterprise .

Initially, Diane had voiced her objection to paying homage to animal darting—while it was sometimes necessary, it didn’t need to be celebrated with a plaque. But then she caved in to Raymond’s insistence. And after a couple weeks, she stopped noticing the pistol on the wall.

She knew the dart was not loaded with a tranquilizer. But it could still be an effective weapon. She’d have to shoot to maim.

She planned her moves carefully—there was only one dart. She glared straight ahead at Bellfort, her eyes challenging him to move into her space.

Her change in demeanor halted Raymond’s approach.

Diane took a half step forward, aligning herself with the pistol rack, being very careful not to let her eyes telegraph her intention.

She’d have to make a quarter turn, grab the pistol and dart off the rack, turn back, load and aim.

She saw Bellfort glance at the wall that held the dart gun, then back at her. He may have been crazed, but he wasn’t stupid. He launched his attack.

In one smooth motion, Diane swiveled, snatched the gun and dart, turned back, loaded and lined up the weapon on Bellfort’s crotch. He stopped dead two body lengths away from her.

She saw the terror in his eyes just before he dove behind a metal desk to her right. He screamed in pain when he hit the floor.

She hadn’t even fired the dart.

Bellfort slithered, scrambled and squeezed through knee holes and under tables, grunting his way through the maze. Then Diane heard a chair crash to the floor and realized he’d made it half way across the room.

She was free.

She could run through Maggie, set off the alarm then head down the backstairs and outside. Even if that monster chased after her, the pistol would keep him at bay.

She took a few steps toward Maggie, then stopped and looked at the dart gun in her hand. Something primitive switched on in her brain.

She stepped out of her shoes and turned into the room.

She crept through the desk rows, thinking about the night the chimps were set loose. Raymond Bellfort had wailed like a baby when Wilbur’s dart stuck him in the thigh. He had screamed for them to remove it, forgetting about the marauding chimps—the greater threat, by far.

She stopped a moment, readjusted the dart in the gun, then headed to the far end of the room.

David Crowley pulled the red jeep into his parking space at BRI. He stepped out, closed the door and almost had a heart attack; a figure was running towards him from the woods. He reached inside his jacket; then he recognized the corkscrew hair.

David eyed the man suspiciously. “Crissake, Michael, you about scared me to death. Slipping up on a person like that in Texas, you could get yourself shot. What’re you doing here? How’d you get in?”

“I came over the wall. My car’s out beside the road. Gabriel sent me to watch over Diane. I’ve been hangin’ around the neighborhood since yesterday.”

Michael pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered David one. He declined. Michael lit up, and they started toward the building.