She got out of the Tahoe and stood in the silent yard. A light breeze carried the smell of the nearby sea, and the scent mingled with the pines. The place did feel like an oasis, and that was good, because her adrenaline was fading and exhaustion was creeping in. She needed rest. Hopefully, David Meredith was making good on his pledge to do righteous work down at Hank’s house, and when Abby woke, it would all be done, nothing left to endure but a lecture from the cops for running and then listening to news of the kid’s arrest and identifying him in a photo lineup, maybe.
Sure. It would be that easy.
She tried the garage door first, and it was locked. The house was the same, but there was a Realtor’s lockbox on each door. She left the one on the front door intact and hammered the cover off the one on the side door with the butt of the SIG Sauer. There was a Red Sox key ring with three keys — house, garage, and studio, all helpfully labeled.
Abby put the Tahoe in the garage, lowered the door, sealing it out of sight, and went in the house. It was a beautiful place, with gleaming wood floors and fresh white paint on the walls, so even on a gray day it seemed filled with light. There wasn’t any furniture. It had been a long time since anyone lived here. From the third-floor master bedroom, you had a view of overgrown gardens that would once have been spectacular, and, just visible over the treetops, a glimmer of blue ocean. You could also see almost the entire length of the road. There were only four other homes on it, and trees screened them out.
The house was mostly empty, but in a closet she found some old drapes and a throw pillow that featured Snoopy flying a biplane. She picked a second-floor bedroom that faced away from the road and offered easy access to a porch roof. She opened the window, removed the screen, then closed it again, leaving it unlocked. If anyone showed up, at least she’d have a chance to run.
Run where?
Abby didn’t have the answer to that. She was out of answers and needed sleep in the worst way. She went back out to the garage and got the bag with the phones and carried that into the house and tucked it in one of the bathroom cabinets. Then she returned to the Tahoe and got the guns. She put the shotgun in the closet near the front door, brought the scoped rifle up to the third-floor master bedroom, and kept the handguns with her as she walked back down to the second floor. She felt nauseated and dizzy and weary. Adrenaline was an amazing thing. There was a certain gift to panic, to terror. As long as you could control it and channel it, there were fuel reserves in fear that most people didn’t know existed.
She’d burned through the last of hers, though.
She lay down on the cold hardwood floor, set the guns near her hand, put her head on the Snoopy pillow, covered herself with the old drapes, and slept.
28
For as long as Tara has been awake, the hospital has seemed horrible, and yet as soon as they begin to move her, she’s afraid to leave. Fortunately, she has Shannon in her ear, Shannon who, bless her, would talk to a mannequin if that was the only audience she had.
“Dr. Pine says there’s no risk in moving you because your spine is stable and your heart and breathing are good, but if there’s trouble, have no fear, we’ll handle it — that’s the best part about traveling by ambulance.”
Mom shuffles numbly alongside, and now Tara is certain that they’ve given her mother tranquilizers. She’s surprised — and angry — that Rick has agreed to it. Or does he not know? Is Tara the only one who’s picking up on this because everyone else’s attention is on her, not Mom? Possible.
A few people give her kind smiles as they pass, and it’s both interesting and overwhelming to see the sheer size of the hospital. It occurs to her that she has no idea where this hospital is or how she got here. Ambulance, helicopter? She’s always wanted to fly in a helicopter. If you’re going to be airlifted to a hospital, you might as well get the view.
They descend in an oversize elevator, big enough to accommodate the gurney, and exit out onto a loading dock, and, sure enough, there’s the ambulance, ready and waiting.
The fifty feet between the hospital and the ambulance are the most terrifying part of the journey. Open air isn’t a relief to Tara; it’s shocking and intimidating, and she misses the confines of the hospital room. Just leave me in there and I’ll get better! But then they have her up and into the back of the ambulance and Shannon is at her side, Rick and Mom apparently driving separately. There’s a young paramedic in the ambulance, an impossibly good-looking guy, and Tara would love to exchange a glance with Shannon over this.
“Tara, I’m Ron,” he says as he pats her leg, and now she likes him even more — an introduction and a kind touch. She listens to Shannon and Ron talk for the remainder of the ride. Ron is encouraging; he’s heard of the lab they’re headed for, and he knows they’ve had great results. Dr. Carlisle is the best. Tara is in great hands with Dr. Pine and Dr. Carlisle. Shannon agrees, but mostly she’s just proud of the way she convinced them to use Jaws for the test.
“She hates black-and-white film,” Shannon tells Ron. “Even the classics. If they show her anything in black-and-white, she’s not going to be more alert, trust me. She fell asleep in the first five minutes of Casablanca.”
Not entirely true — Tara closed her eyes during the first five minutes of Casablanca. She didn’t fall asleep until at least fifteen minutes in.
She’s grateful for the conversation swirling around her, since it helps distract her from the swaying motion of the ambulance. Being inside a moving vehicle is a memory trigger — she can see Dr. Oltamu’s face in the rearview mirror again and hear the urgent tension in his voice when he insisted that he needed to get out and walk.
Transition from ambulance to the university lab is quick and smooth and everyone here is friendly and smiling, far more eye contact than what she’s used to at the hospital. Dr. Michelle Carlisle is leading the way. She’s a tall, striking woman. She kneels to Tara’s level, looks her in the eye, and introduces herself politely but formally, as if this is just a standard doctor-patient interaction.
Tara is instantly a fan of Dr. Carlisle.
“What we’re going to do,” the doctor explains, “is both cutting-edge and quite simple, Tara. We’re going to give you the chance to watch your beloved Jaws” — she looks at Shannon when she says this with an expression that isn’t entirely pleased — “and while you watch it, we watch you. You’ll be inside an MRI scanner. I don’t know if you’ve ever had an MRI before, but it might feel a little claustrophobic at first. Just be patient and let that pass.”
Speaking as if Tara has a choice in that matter is absurd, and yet it is deeply appreciated.
“The movie plays on a scanner above you and is reflected on a mirror that you can see comfortably. While you watch, the MRI will be recording your responses in various brain areas — auditory cortex, visual cortex, parahippocampal, frontal, and parietal lobes. We’ll compare your activation results to that of baseline tests, which will help us say definitively that you’re alert and aware, that you’re watching and engaging with the film and the story.” All of this is for the benefit of Shannon, Mom, and Rick, of course, but Dr. Carlisle addresses Tara. “Well... are we ready?”
I don’t know, Tara thinks. Because there’s one big question nobody has answered yet: What if your tests don’t show any activation?