F. Paul Wilson - Bloodline

"Why are you looking at me?"

"Because you—"

"Forget this letter jive. What about my test?"

Levy glanced at it again.

"What's to tell? You're in the Jeremy Bolton league of the oDNA tournament. I'll bet you even top him."

Jack leaned back. Just what he'd been afraid of, what he hadn't wanted to hear but sensed he would.

Levy was pointing—no, jabbing a finger in his direction, his face even paler, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"You! It was you! You tied Bolton beneath that… you wrote that letter to set him off… you knew he'd come looking for Julia and—"

"How can you know whether the therapy's working if you don't provoke him? Wasn't that the gist of her approach?"

"Yes, but—oh, dear God—"

"Would you please come up with another expletive or exhortation or whatever? Please?"

He wasn't listening. "Bolton came to my house after killing Julia! It wasn't the Pickering girl or Thompson who gave him a ride, it was you. Oh dear God!"

"Didn't I ask—?"

"You tied him to that—oh dear God." He shrank back against the booth's rear cushion. "What kind of a man does something like that?"

Jack didn't offer an answer. They both knew: One carrying a load of oDNA.

Levy gathered himself. "But then again, you probably saved my life."

"Probably?"

Levy glanced away. "Okay. Definitely."

"Let's say all of what you say is true. That leaves me with a problem, doesn't it."

"What?"

"You."

Levy flinched. "M-me?"

"You know an awful lot about me. Maybe too much. What am I going to do about that?"

Levy's face was alabaster white now. Even his lips.

"Look, I'm in this as deeply as you. The agency will want to know who wrote that letter and I'll be the first one they come to."

"And you'll tell them…?"

"Nothing. What can I say about you without incriminating myself?"

Just what Jack wanted to hear.

"Good. Because if they come looking for me, I'll flip you in a New York second—as the source of the letterhead, all the DNA information, etcetera. I suggest you get back to your lab and start deleting certain results. I go down, you go down. Remember that." He waved at the test card between them. "And remember this."

Levy swallowed. "Will do."

"Good." Figuring he'd made his point, he pointed to the agglutinations. "Does this mean I'm one of them?"

"Them?"

"Someone in the Jonah Stevens's line?"

"In his direct bloodline? I doubt it. But somewhere in the distant past you might have shared an ancestor."

Jack sighed. "Swell."

"This test is qualitative and only crudely quantitative. Come by my office someday after this all settles out and I'll run a full analysis."

"That's okay."

"I'm serious.

"I'm sure you are."

"But—but don't you want to know if you carry the trigger gene?"

Jack gave him what he figured was a bleak look. "You really think that's necessary?"

Levy looked uncomfortable and averted his eyes.

"No, I guess not."

"Neither do I."

4

Dawn awoke choking and gagging.

"Wha—?"

She was wet—totally soaked—up to her chin in water—pinkish water—

She bolted upright and raised her arm. The cut on her wrist hadn't like healed or anything, but it had stopped bleeding. Maybe a little oozy trickle, but nothing of any consequence.

A while ago she'd felt herself weakening, so when she'd closed her eyes she'd thought she was slipping away. But she guessed all she'd done was doze off.

She looked around. She was alone, but somehow she didn't feel alone. Like someone was here—or had just been here.

Come to think of it, she'd had a vague sense of someone standing beside the tub looking down at her just before she'd come fully awake. She straightened in the tub. And the feeling of a hand on her head, pushing her down…

But that was crazy. No one was here, and no one besides herself was trying to hurt her. In fact, when her lips sank beneath the surface it had awakened her and—

Then she realized the truth and screamed and slammed her hands against the bloody water.

Failed again. What a total loser! Might as well paint a big red L on her forehead. God, she hated herself more than ever now.

She looked around for the razor blade. Where was it? She'd show them.

When she couldn't find it, she tried to pull herself to standing but fell back in the tub, sloshing water all over the place. So weak. She must have gotten like halfway to dead. Just a little ways to go. If she could find the blade she could finish the job.

Then she saw it, lying on the bottom of the tub. She reached for it, but stopped.

Who was she kidding? No way she was going to cut herself again. It hurt too much.

She began to cry—huge racking sobs that rippled the water around her. She had to end this. She had to find a way. And then she knew.

5

Jack had left Levy at the diner and spent what was left of the afternoon and the early evening searching for Dawn—but circumspectly. He couldn't ask too many questions, couldn't put word out on the street. Not with the agency looking too. If they heard someone else was asking about the same girl, they'd want to know who that someone might be.

Whatever. The search had been fruitless. Dark had fallen with not a sign of her Jeep. For all he knew she'd left the state. But that seemed unlikely. She had no family. Where could she go except home or to a friend? No sign of her at home, and Christy had said she didn't have many friends, but that didn't mean she wasn't crashing somewhere.

Jack had a feeling she wasn't far from home. So he kept searching. Sooner or later he'd spot that Jeep.

But not in the dark.

The Queensboro Bridge loomed ahead. And beyond that, the blaze of Manhattan. Gia would be waiting, but he couldn't face her now. She'd know immediately that something was wrong and quiz him till he told her. He had to get used to this oDNA thing.

Used to it… odd way to think. He'd carried it all his life but now he had to get used to it. No, he had to get used to knowing about it.

He called her and told her he'd be spending the night at his own place.

"How come?" she said.

"This thing I'm working on. I might get called during the night and I don't want to disturb the whole house."

He didn't mind lying to other people, but he hated lying to Gia. Some-times the nature of his business made it necessary. Tonight the reasons were personal.

"Don't worry about that."

"It's better this way."

A pause, then, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Something's wrong, I can tell. You're in danger, aren't you, and you're afraid to bring it here."

"No, it's nothing like that, I swear."

They went round and round on that for a while until Jack semicon-vinced her that he wasn't in danger and that everything was cool. He ended with a promise to see her tomorrow—if not for breakfast, definitely for lunch.

He hung up and approached the on-ramp to the bridge feeling like he'd swallowed fishhooks.

6

Go jump off the Brooklyn Bridge … what a total cliche.

But why not?

Except she'd just driven over the Brooklyn Bridge and didn't see any way to jump into the river off its raised walkway. So she'd headed uptown.

But now, as she drove along, she had this weird growing sensation that she was being followed. Very much like the feeling she'd had in the bathroom when she'd felt she wasn't alone. Had Jerry somehow spotted her?

Feeling totally freaked, she locked her doors and pulled over to let traffic pass and see if anyone else stopped. But everyone behind her went by and kept on going.

Must have been her imagination.

She parked her car in a garage near the Queensboro Bridge. Who cared what it cost? She wouldn't be around to pay for it. Then she started walking toward the center of the span among the bicyclists and other pedestrians, mov-