"No thanks to you if she is." Pat clutched the girl lighter and tried to move away from Friedrichs, no easy task from a squatting position, with a now limp weight encumbering both arms.
Friedrichs' eyes blazed. He made an instinctive move forward. Seeing Pat's equally instinctive withdrawal, he sat back and took a deep breath. His shirt was crumpled-the sleeves rolled up, the neck open. His thick wavy hair stood out around his face, unkempt and uncombed. One of the deeper scratches on his cheek oozed blood. He needed a shave. He looked like a drunk who had been in a brawl. But when he finally spoke his voice was quiet and controlled.
"Okay, I know what you're thinking, and in all fairness I can't blame you for leaping to conclusions. The important thing-"
"Leaping to conclusions!"
"Just hear me out, please. The important thing is Kathy. She ought to see a doctor immediately. I don't suppose there's a physician in the country who makes house calls, and I'm equally certain that you would scream your head off if I tried to touch her; so perhaps I could impose on you to drive her to the nearest hospital."
Pat stared at him, openmouthed. Her heart was still thudding so hard that her chest ached, but the cool reason of Friedrichs' speech impressed her against her will. Kathy was a dead weight against her shoulder. She was breathing almost normally now.
Friedrichs went on, "I'm going to stand up and move back out of the way. If you like, I'll go into the library and you can lock me in. Only-for God's sake, Mrs. Robbins, do something for her right away. If you can't carry her, maybe… maybe your son…"
That last appeal affected Pat more powerfully than anything else the man had said. Surely Friedrichs would not have asked for Mark's help if he hadn't cared more for his daughter than for his reputation. So-as Jerry used to say-so maybe your premises are wrong, kid.
"I think she's all right," Pat said slowly, tilting Kathy's head back so she could see the girl's face. It was relaxed in the peace of deep sleep. A little too deep, perhaps… Pat looked at Friedrichs, who had risen and was backing away. His eyes were fixed on Kathy's face, and his expression… "Are you telling me you didn't attack the child?" Pat demanded.
"I was sitting up in bed reading when I heard her scream," Friedrichs said. "Not really a scream-not then-more like a choked, gurgling moan-a horrible sound. I froze for a second. The next thing I heard was a crash from her room, and then the sound of her footsteps running like a crazy thing. By the time I got out of my room she was halfway down the stairs. I turned on the lights as I followed; that slowed me down. She went in a headlong rush, stumbling and sliding. I thought sure she'd break her neck. I didn't catch up with her till she reached the front door. She had the chain off and the key turned-"
"So that's why the door was open?"
"That's why. When I touched her she let out the most god-awful yell and turned on me like-" Friedrichs touched the scratches on his cheek. "I had to grab her hands, hold her, or she would have run straight out of the house in her nightgown. She-she didn't know me. Her eyes were absolutely empty of recognition-empty of everything except mindless terror. I guess I lost my wits too, it was so damned awful… I tried to stop her from screaming, the sound cut right through me, and then I remembered they slap people sometimes, when they get hysterical…"
The damp night air was cool on Pat's arms and cheeks. Friedrichs was sweating. Great clammy drops stood out on his forehead.
Pat came to a sudden decision. If Friedrichs was faking that look of agonized love and concern, he was a better actor than Olivier. And he was right; Kathy's needs came before any other issue.
"Close the door," she said. "Then we'll get her to bed." Friedrichs obeyed, circling Pat and Kathy with the cau-tion of a leper. Pat's fingers sought the girl's pulse. Strong and steady. Now that her nerves were settling down she found the incident more and more unbelievable. What had gone on in this house tonight?
"Here," she said brusquely. "I can't carry her. You'll have to do it."
Their hands touched briefly as she transferred Kathy's limp weight to her father's arms. His fingers were as cold as ice. Pat followed him up the stairs and along the hall to Kathy's room, the equivalent of the one Mark occupied in her house. It had the same deep bay window and fire-place, and it was decorated in a frilly, flowery style suit-able for a girl much younger than Kathy. The dainty wallpaper and matching drapes, the canopied bed and white-painted furniture would have looked pretty if the room had not been such a mess. Papers were strewn about, books had been thrown from the shelves flanking the fireplace, and the bedsheets trailed onto the floor.
Pat touched the light switch and an overhead chandelier flooded the room with brilliance. She picked up the lamp lying on the pillow, a serviceable reading lamp with a bronze base, and restored it to the bedside table. Fried-richs put the girl on the bed. Pat bent over her, checking pulse and respiration again, lifting an eyelid. A blank blue orb stared back at her.
"She seems to be all right," Pat said slowly.
"A doctor-"
"I'm a nurse, you know. I don't think she's in any immediate danger." Pat tucked blankets around the girl's body and straightened. Friedrichs stood on the other side of the bed, his arms hanging limply. Pat was conscious of an unwilling surge of sympathy.
"Look," she said. "If what you told me was the truth- and I'm beginning to think maybe it was-well, there's one obvious explanation for what happened. Are you sure you want the publicity of a doctor and a hospital?"
"Publicity?" Friedrichs stared at her. The perspiration on his forehead was a slick, shiny film. Large drops ran down his lean cheeks. "What do you mean?"
"Drugs. Her behavior suggests one of the hallucinogens."
"No," Friedrichs said. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "No. You mean LSD, something like that? She doesn't take drugs."
"Will you search her room?"
"No. I've never done a thing like that. I wouldn't insult her so."
Pat felt a wave of utter exhaustion, partly physical but primarily emotional. She had been through this before, too often, when she had worked briefly at a local hospital. Six months of night duty in the emergency room had been enough; she had quit and found a job as an office nurse. There were tragedies in that job too, but not like the hospital. It wasn't the blood and mess, or the pain of seeing a life slip through one's hands, a nurse got used to that. But she couldn't get used to the young people, mangled and smashed in needless car crashes, staggering drunk, or spaced out on some drug. Some of them had looked as young and innocent as the girl on the bed. And the parents had usually reacted just as Friedrichs was reacting- "Oh, no, not mine. I know there's a problem, but my child never…"
"You must search," she said. "In justice to her."
Intuitively she had touched the right note. Friedrichs thought it over for a moment and then, without a word, turned to the dresser drawers.
The harsh, unpleasant job took quite a long time. Friedrichs hated what he was doing; his mouth was a thin line of disgust. After a while Pat said, "Shall I…?" and the lawyer nodded silently. So Pat searched the adjoining bathroom-hamper, medicine chest, even the tank of the commode. She didn't enjoy the task either, but it was easier for her than for the distressed father. She found nothing except the usual patent medicines and cosmetics.
Then a sound from the bedroom sent her running back to Kathy. The girl was twisting uneasily and muttering in her sleep. Her eyes were still closed. Pat bent over Kathy. She could not make out distinct words. Then Kathy's eyes opened. They moved around the room, passing over her father as if he had been a piece of furniture. Then she saw Pat; and the light of normal, sane intelligence transformed her face.
"Mrs. Robbins… What-"
"Thank God," Pat said, the worst of her fears removed. "How do you feel?"
"Tired. I'm so tired…"