"Dr. Van de Vliet, this is my cousin Stone. He drove me here and I'd—""I'd really like to stay," Stone said reaching to shake Van de Vliet's hand. "It would mean a lot to both of us. To the whole family.""Family?" Van de Vliet declared. Ally noticed that he wasexamining Stone with narrowed eyes and seemed to be debating something with himself. "Well, we'll see." Then he turned back to her. "The first thing is to make sure your. . . situation is stabilized. I actually think a good night's rest might do the trick. But I need to run a quick blood test downstairs."She felt her dizziness coming and going, but she was determined to stay awake and in control of what was being done to her."By the way, I was wondering how is Katherine Starr doing?"His eyes grew somber. "She's a very lucky woman, considering. We've given her some coagulants and stitched her up.""Are you going to press charges?"He looked at her strangely. "Do you think we should?""I guess it's none of my business." Of course you won't, she told herself. The Kristen matter will not stand the ordinary light of day, let alone a police investigation."Maybe it's time to let her daughter come and see her.""I looked at that letter," he said with a matter‑of‑fact tone. "I suspect it's a hoax. And a very cruel one at that.""I don't think so. I talked to her today. The woman formerly known as Kristen. On the phone." She stared at him. "I really think it's time I learned more about what happened to her here at the institute. All I could really find out was that she thinks she's experienced some pretty dramatic memory loss."He looked as though this information was new to him. He also looked startled. "You spoke to her? What . . . did she say? Is she all right?""No, she's not all right." Don't mention the kidnapping she told herself. Play dumb and see how he behaves. "I want to know what happened to her when she was here."He paused, then took a deep breath. "I told you everything I know this morning. She was a very troubled young person. Her treatment seemed to be going well, but she couldn't accept that. She began to believe there was some kind of conspiracy against her. In a word, she became completely paranoid."Well, Ally thought, there's "paranoid" and then there are times when somebody really is out to get you. So which was it in Kristen's case?She glanced over at Stone, who appeared to be trying to act as though he didn't know what on earth she was talking about. But she could see him efficiently taking mental notes."When you can't remember who you are," she said turning back to Van de Vliet, "and then someone who does know who you are gives you a new, fake identity, I think it's enough to justify paranoia."He was rolling the wheelchair toward the elevator but abruptly paused"Is that what she's claiming? Good God I told you she was paranoid and that should demonstrate it better than anything. Letting her discharge herself and leave the program, to go off unsupervised was a truly bad idea, but nothing short of physical restraint could have stopped her.""And do you have any idea where she is now?" Ally asked."I told you . . . Look, if I knew her whereabouts, don't you think I'd do everything I could to contact her, find out how she is?""Right."She reached out and took Stone’s hand as they all moved onto the elevator. She could sense his excitement at finally being inside the Dorian Institute, but at that moment her concentration was drifting and she felt as though she were slowly beginning to drown in a sea of white."Stone, please don't leave me. Don't let me out of your sight. Something funny is happening and I don't know what it is."Van de Vliet bent over. "Alexa, look at me. I want to see your eyes. I think they may be dilating." He waved a hand across her face. "Can you see me?""It's the fluorescent lights," she mumbled "There's too much glare. Could someone please turn them down? I think that's what's wrong. They're giving me a headache.""Ally," Stone said, "the lights are not very bright in here. We're going down in an elevator. There aren't any fluorescents."Then the elevator chimed and the door opened. They were in the basement now, where the research lab and the office and the examination rooms were. Debra, wearing a white lab coat, was standing there silently looking at her.Now there really were fluorescent lights, and she turned away and tried to shield her eyes."God, turn them off. It's so painful. It's like they're shining into the back of my skull.""She's started hallucinating," Van de Vliet whispered to Debra. "I've got to draw blood for a test and give her an injection. We need a gurney now. We've got to take her down to the IC. Her condition is progressing much more rapidly than I expected.""Ally, is this what you want?" Stone demanded. "You don't have to do this."Her breath was coming in rapid pulses now and she was cringing from the light even as she struggled to rise out of the wheelchair."I want . . . to get . . ."She managed to pull herself onto her feet, but then she sagged and collapsed against Stone as he pulled her to him.As one of the nurses grabbed the newly arrived gurney and pulled it over, Van de Vliet and Ellen O'Hara seized her out of Stone’s arms and lifted her onto it."You'll have to leave now," Van de Vliet said to Stone. "I'm sorry.""I'm not going anywhere. I promised her I'd stay by her side and, by God, I intend to do just that.""I'll determine what's best for her," he replied. "Please go up to the reception area. I'll let you know how she is.""I'm not leaving.""Then I'll call our security and have you removed from the premises.""Stone," Ally said her eyelids flickering, "it's okay. I want you to tell my mother I'm here. She's in room two‑thirteen, upstairs, the last time I saw her.""You've got it. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything."She heard him saying that, but then she thought she heard another voice inside her head begging him not to leave. It was the last thought she had before the world went entirely white.Wednesday, April 87:39 p.m.Ellen O'Hara watched the scene with mounting dismay. She'd overheard Dr. Van de Vliet talking to Debbie about the procedure scheduled for Alexa Hampton. Then she'd checked the schedule that had been put into the database. It turned out that Alexa Hampton had two procedures scheduled.The troubling part was, one was identical to the procedure that had been performed on Kristen Starr several months back, or at least so it seemed. And that had resulted in what she'd just overheard Debra call "the Syndrome." By whatever name, it had produced some horrible side effects. Why on earth were they now repeating that with this new patient? Hadn't they learned anything?Karl Van de Vliet—or whoever ordered this idiotic travesty—was about to put the job of every person at the Dorian Institute at risk. If whatever happened to Kristen was replicated and the word got out, it was going to be the end for everyone who worked here.Most troubling of all, what about Ms. Hampton, who seemed like such a nice person? Did she agree to that experimental procedure? If she knew what had happened to Kristen Starr, surely she wouldn't have.Ellen O'Hara didn't know how she could stop Dr. Vee from doing what he appeared to be planning to do. The procedure was going to be performed in the laboratory.The only way she could think of to stop it was to try to warn Ms. Hampton that what they were about to do was extremely dangerous. But how? Her chart in the database said they were going to keep her quarantined down in the sub‑ basement. That was specified.On top of all this, Kenji Noda had brought in some unidentified patient this afternoon, wheeled in while strapped to a gurney, and they had taken that patient to the subbasement. Noda was still down there, and Winston Bartlett had come in and gone down also. The unholy pair. And now they'd be holding Alexa Hampton down there too.Was it possible to get past them and warn her?She was determined to find a way.Chapter 26Wednesday, April 87:40p.m.Stone was deeply troubled as he entered the elevator to return to the lobby. He had promised Ally he'd stay by her side and now he'd let her down. Was this the best he could do? He felt like he had to earn the right to be back in her life, but he seemed to be making a slow start.But he wasn't about to leave the premises until he knew she was okay.Hoping for the best, he reminded himself that although Van de Vliet was wound pretty tight, he clearly was more than competent. The problem was, he'd just offered a transparent song and dance when Ally asked him about Kristen. Now it was easy to understand why she'd said she didn't know whether to believe a word he said. But that didn't necessarily preclude him being a Nobel Prize‑quality medical genius.In any case, to finally be inside the Dorian Institute was a major coup in his own quest. Up until now, Bartlett's press heavies at BMD had turned back his every attempt to get a first‑hand look at the institute or an interview with Karl Van de Vliet. Now, at last, he'd actually seen the man.So . . . after he visited with Ally's mother upstairs—which ought to be interesting, an actual patient interview—he was going to try to keep a low profile and scout the place. Maybe he could finally talk his way into an interview with the celebrated Van de Vliet himself, or at least with some of his research staff. This was definitely the break he'd been waiting for. Finally he'd have some actual reporting to put in the book.When he stepped off the elevator, he noticed that the uniformed security guard looked him over suspiciously. He and Alexa had been waved through the metal detector when they came in, owing to the urgency of her condition. Now he felt as though the guard, a tall, middle‑aged black guy with thinning hair, was trying to frisk him with his penetrating eyes.Stone smiled and nodded toward him and headed for the desk in the middle of the reception area. Around him a number of patients were ambling through the lobby, returning from a room in the back that was identified asdining hall.Some were wearing blue gowns, and most appeared to be in their sixties and seventies. But they all were sprightly and animated as they walked along chatting. Somehow the place felt more like a vacation spa than a clinic. He'd like nothing better than to sit them all down right this minute for an interview. "How has the Gerex stem cell procedure affected your condition? Have you had any side effects?" But to do that without official permission would undoubtedly get him evicted on the spot.He took a deep breath and walked over to the reception desk."Hi."The woman looked up. She was the same middle‑aged Hispanic nurse with bold eye makeup who was there when they came in. "Hi. How's your friend feeling?""Actually, she's my cousin, and I don't know how she's doing because they kicked . . . sent me up here. But she gave me a mission to keep me occupied.""Well," the woman declared with a smile, "I'm sure she'll be fine. Dr. Van de Vliet is a miracle worker.""So everyone says." He smiled back. "My cousin asked me to look in on her mother. Nina Hampton. She is, or was, in two‑thirteen.""Mrs. Hampton is your aunt?""Uh, yeah, right." Whoops. Get this act together. "Funny, but I always just think of her as my cousin Ally's mother. My own weird way to look at it, I guess. I don't really know her all that well."Things are not getting off to a great start, he told himself. I don't even believe me."Visits to patients, except by those on a pre‑established list, require a photo ID.""Well, let's get started." He reached for his wallet and withdrew a driver's license. He made sure his press card was well out of sight.Keep this dumb and innocent as long as possible, he told himself.She glanced at the driver's license, then pointed to the sign‑in sheet. "Just sign your name and print it and then also print your relationship to the patient. I have to say this is unusual. There are regular visiting hours and guests are normally approved in advance by Mrs. Young, who's in charge of security. But you came in under extraordinary circumstances, with Ms. Hampton, and you're already here, so I don't see the harm."He signed himself in as quickly as possible."Mrs. Hampton is still in room two‑thirteen.""I'll show myself up.""Please keep it under fifteen minutes. We don't want to tire her out. You understand.""Thanks. I really appreciate this. My cousin Ally likes to get an update on"—he realized he had momentarily blocked her mother's name—"her mom as often as possible."He headed for the elevator, trying to contain his excitement. The idea was to keep this as below the radar as possible. Was he about to crack the wall of secrecy that Winston Bartlett had erected around Karl Van de Vliet and the Gerex Corporation?Just as the elevator door was closing, he saw a figure emerge through the security entryway. The man clicked a memory‑moment from somewhere in the far‑distant past, but he couldn't place him. As best he could tell, the guy didn't see him.Just keep moving. Don't look backAs he stepped off the elevator onto the second floor, the pale marble floors were lit by small bulbs along the walls. This was a place where medical miracles were supposedly being made to happen and yet it was lit only with a ghostly half‑light. The sounds of televisions emanated from several of the rooms.The nurse's station at the end of the hall was empty, which added to the sense of a surreptitious undertaking.He walked quickly to room 213 and tapped lightly on the door. When he heard a bold "Yes?" from inside, he opened it and entered.He hadn't seen Nina Hampton in almost two decades, but she looked pretty much the way he remembered her. Her hair was surely dyed now, but her face was as square and strong as ever. She was reading a paperback book with a tide that appeared to be Spanish. She looked up and stared at him for a moment, adjusting her glasses."Hello, Stone. That is you, isn't it? You're older but you're still a hell of a looker. How did you get in here? Is Ally here too? I haven't seen her since this morning.""Mrs. Hampton, don't tell me you recognize me.""Of course I do. When you and Ally were . . . going out, I confess I didn't hold out much hope that you'd ever amount to anything, but I've been a fan of your columns for a long time. Though it took me a while to put it together that that newspaper writer I liked so much was you, the man I didn't think was ambitious enough for my daughter." She appraised him a moment. "Does this mean you two are together again?"Good question, he thought. And I don't have a clue about the answer."I wish I knew. Why don't you ask her the next time you see her?" He smiled and walked over. "She wanted me to come up and see how you're doing.""Come up? Is she here now? When she came to say goodbye this morning, I got the impression that she wanted both of us just to get out of here. But I told her that was silly. I'm already feeling so much better.""Really. Well, she's downstairs now and she'll be happy to hear that." He walked over and smiled. "Mrs. Hampton, I came along with her this time to keep an eye on her. Hope you don't mind.""Of course not.""And there's another reason I'm here. I want to warn you. I'm writing a book about stem cell procedures and anything you say to me about your treatment could well end up in it. So don't tell me anything you don't want everybody to hear about.""Are you really writing a book about Dr. Vee?" She beamed. "That's wonderful! He's a saint. Everyone here says so. He deserves a special place in heaven."This is great, Stone thought. I've got my own Deep Throat."Then could I ask you what you know about what he did and how you think you've improved.""I don't really understand what he's doing, but I do know what is happening to me. It's as though my mind was full of fog a lot of the time, but now there's a wind that's blowing it away.""And how—"A shaft of light from the hallway pierced across the room as the door opened. Stone turned to see the man he'd first noticed in the lobby. The man walked past him and marched over to the bed."Hi, how're you feeling?""I'm touched." Her visage immediately hardened "It's thoughtful of you to finally come by and favor your mother with a visit."That's who he is, Stone finally realized. Ally's kid brother.In his few dealings with the wiseass brat that Ally used to rant about—what was the kid's name . . . right, Grant—he'd found him devious and pompous. He was particularly deft at cutting ethical corners and using other people any way he could"Stone," Nina Hampton said gesturing toward Grant, "this is—""I know exactly who he is," Grant said turning around to face Stone. "W.B. has put out an all‑points alert for you, pal. You've got a hell of a nerve weaseling your way in here. But not to worry. You won't be here long.""I won't have you talking that way in my presence, young man," Nina declared "Whatever else you may be, I thought I'd raised you to have a civil tongue in your head"Grant replied without taking his eyes off Stone. "He lied to the front desk, Nina. He signed in as Ally's cousin. And that twit‑brain down there let him get away with it. He got up here by using a lie. Now what does that tell you about him?â€"It tells me he's creative. This man came with your sister. He's helping take care of her, which is more than can be said about her own brother.""This creep is a newspaper reporter, Nina. He's here to spy. He’s planning to do a hatchet job on the Gerex Corporation, and Mr. Bartlett has expressly forbidden anyone to speak to him""I'm not in your corporation, Son, so I guess it’s all right for me then.""You signed a secrecy agreement with Gerex when you entered the clinical trials. Now maybe you don't remember it, but you did" He turned to Stone. "Nice try, amigo. Now come on, let's go.""You know, Grant, I remember you," Stone said "Not very nice recollections.""And I remember you too, pal. You were that screwed‑up journalism student Ally dated for a while. Thank God she got rid of you.""Sounds like we were awash in mutual admiration," Stone said.“Tell you what. Are we gonna continue this touching reunion outside, or do I have to call for security and take your trespassing ass out of here in handcuffs? It's entirely up to you.""Grant, I see no reason why I can't talk to him if I want," Nina interjected "Who I talk to or what I say is nobody's business but mine.""You wouldn't be here if it weren't for me," Grant declared. "So I have a little say‑so too." He turned back. "Come on, pal. We're gone."I'm screwed, Stone told himself. But what about Ally? If I get kicked out, I'll really be leaving her completely defenseless."Mrs. Hampton, thank you for letting me check up on you," he said quietly. "Alexa is downstairs. I think her procedure is starting whether she's ready for it or not. You seem very alert, and if I were you, I'd try to monitor her . . . progress as closely as you can.""Don't worry," Grant said. "I'll be keeping close tabs on her. And now let's go."With no option short of killing him on the spot, Stone followed along, seething. This little creep obviously works for Winston Bartlett—he wished Ally had warned him about that. Grant was bound to have shown up at some point.They went down the marble staircase and Grant signaled the security man, who leaped up and opened the front door for them. He probably got a tongue‑lashing from Grant, Stone told himself.As they stepped onto the wide porch, dusk all around them, Grant turned and headed toward the south end and a long wooden bench."Want to tell me what the hell's going on?" he said gesturing toward the bench and then sitting down. "W.B. said you claimed to be writing a book about this project. If that's true, then it's a seriously bad idea. You have no idea what he's capable of if he gets pissed.""Oh, I think I'm getting a rough idea, but I'm a little pissed too," Stone said, remaining standing. "For example, there's the matter of Kristen Starr. You see, she was terminated from the clinical trials approximately three months back. So I was wondering, when is Van de Vliet planning to report her current condition to the NIH?""I don't know what you're talking about." His startled voice said otherwise."Oh, I think you do. I saw her today." Then he decided to bluff. "She had an interesting tale to tell. She—""Shit, you interviewed Kristy? Aw, man, don't believe anything she . . ." He hesitated. "What did she say about W.B.?""Tell you what, we'll play twenty questions. You tell me what you think she said and I'll tell you if you're right or not.""Hey," Grant declared, his eyes intense, "she wanted to do it man. Nobody put a gun to her head or anything. She was freaking out after she got sacked. She thought Dr. Vee could fix her skin and she couldn't wait to try it.""You mean—""The Beta. Take a look at Van de Vliet. He's a walking testimonial. No side effects for him, so why not? The worst thing that could happen would be nothing, right? So she figured, what did she have to lose? Well, now we all know.""The Beta? That's...?""You fucker." Grant bounded to his feet. "You don't know the first thing about what I'm talking about do you? How the fuck did you find out about Kristen anyway?""I told you I spoke to her." Well, it was almost true. He'd yelled at her. "She's very . . . unsettled just now. But I guess you know that""Hey, she was always fucked‑up, but W.B. liked all the energy behind that. He looked right past the eating disorders and the coke and the late‑night clubs she went to all the time. But, man, if you think she's spaced, try her mother. That crazy—""Grant, why not level with me? There's something very wrong going on here. I'm in the business of telling the truth, and I've got a keen nose for medical horse‑pucky. So how about coming clean? If it's good, why not, and if it's bad, it's going to come out eventually anyway. Hasn't Winston Bartlett learned anything from all the screw‑ups in Washington? It's not the situation—it's the cover‑up.""Well, I don't know what Kristy did or didn't tell you, so we're not going in that direction. I heard about her little trip downtown this morning. I assume that's probably when you saw her, if in fact you actually did. Right now she's being taken care of, for her own good."" 'Being taken care of'? So happens I had a close encounter with a couple of her caregivers today. They're taking care of her, all right.""Look, she used to be W.B.'s girlfriend okay? He's still very concerned about her. Everybody's really sorry about her situation, but nobody saw it coming. And now he's got some problems of his own.""You seem to be pretty heavily involved with Winston Bartlett's personal problems.""Yeah, well, the man's been like a father to me. And I think he feels that way too, since he doesn't have a son of his own."Stone let the taunt just hang in the air for a moment. He mainly just wanted to slug the smug little bastard."You don't know how little you know, about him or about anything. Someday I may take the trouble to straighten you out. But right now you're not worth the effort. All I care about at the moment is what's going to happen to Ally.""Everybody cares what happens to her. A lot depends on it. Dr. Vee thinks she's our best shot""What . . . what the hell are you talking about?" Stone stared at him through the twilight. "What depends on it?""Guess you're not as smart as you think you are." He was up and heading for the parking lot. "Come on, pal. Time to hit the road. I'm gonna tuck you in. This conversation is terminated. And it never happened anyway. I'll have them unlock the gates for you."Chapter 27Wednesday, April 88:25p.m.Alexa watches as the prow of their forty‑one‑foot Morgan, two‑masted, cuts silently through a placid sea. She vaguely remembers the vessel. It was teak and magnificent. Steve had chartered it, bare‑boat, for two weeks and taken them cruising through the Bahamas. By the end of that time, she felt they could have sailed it around the world.But that was six years ago, when he was still very much alive. Now the boat feels like a magical carpet taking them someplace together, effortlessly. The genoa, the mainsail, and the mizzen are all full and blossoming outward even though there's no wind. She's at the helm, holding a course toward something white on the horizon, and Steve is with her. He's alive again and he's with her. She feels her body suffused with joy. Then she looks at the reflection of herself in his sunglasses and realizes she's a little girl, still a child. This is all a dream, she realizes, a cruel dream. Then she looks again at the horizon, the blazing white light, and senses that it represents the future. Their destiny.Now the sea around them, which had been placid, starts to roil. The wheel is becoming harder to control, and the sun is starting to burn her. In its pitiless glare she feels herself beginning to age rapidly. She glances at Steve and she can see his skin starting to shrivel. She senses he is dying, right there before her eyes, but her hands feel glued to the wheel and she can't let go to try to help him.Now the sea is growing ever more choppy and the white symbol on the horizon has begun to bob in and out of view. Sometimes she can see the "future" and sometimes she can't. Waves are crashing over the sides, inundating the deck, and she feels anxious about what lies up ahead. Will they ever get there, and if they do, will she want what she finds? Even more important now, will Steve still be with her?As the waves pound against them both, oddly she doesn't feel wet. Instead, what she feels is a stab of muted pain in her upper chest, pain she knows would be searing if she were to experience its full impact. She looks down to see that the wheel she thought she was holding is gone, and her chest is pierced by the steel mechanism to which it was attached. It has gone all the way through her.Next a huge wave comes straight over the bow and slams against her and Steve. Her body convulses with pain and she senses that he is being swept overboard, directly off the stern. She screams at him to hold on, but then he is gone, lost in the dark sea.Now the boat itself is starting to disintegrate, as both masts tip backwards, then come crashing down. Up ahead, the white light that is the future is growing ever more flame‑like. It is part of a shoreline she is trying to reach, but now she doesn't think she's going to get there. Around her, the boat's lines and cleats are being swept into the pounding sea.In moments the boat has disappeared, but she continues on, propelled by some force she cannot see, until she finally crashes onto the rocky shore.It is a chiaroscuro landscape of blacks and whites. Oddly, Stone Aimes has appeared and is holding her hand as they make their way along the barren seascape, where everything is hazy and trapped in fog. She thinks she sees figures lurking in the mist around them but can't make out who they are. Everything is static and frozen in place, like the images of motion on the Grecian urn caught for eternity.She reaches out to touch Stone and her hand passes right through. That's when she realizes the white light and this rocky shoreline represent the other side. Is this what death feels like? she wonders. Like the white tunnel drawing you in?But then she has another thought. Maybe she isn't dead at all. Maybe she is in a third place, somewhere suspended between life and death. She looks again at Stone and tells herself they're not dead, they're in some kind of time machine. This voyage is about time.Now time has begun to flow around her like a river. Days, weeks, months, years, they all course by. But she knows it is a chimera. Nothing can make time go faster or slower.Then the bright lights are gone and she feels alone. Very alone.But she isn't. She hears voices around her, drifting, echoing, and she tries to understand what they are saying."She's stabilized. We're past the critical phase.""Do you want to bring her up now?""Not yet. We still don't know how it's going to go."There was a pause, and then a male voice."This was the Beta too, wasn't it, Karl?" Another pause. "Well, wasn't it? The injections. That's the first time since . . ."Again the voices drift off. She listens, not sure what she is hearing. She tries to process the word "beta" but makes no headway. In computer slang, "beta" means a program that is still being tested. Then she remembers hearing the word just hours earlier. She had been talking to some woman. But she can't remember who—“"I changed the procedure this time," comes a voice. "I injected the special Beta enzyme separately from the activated stem cells. Whatever happens will happen at the enzyme's own pace now. And I kept the dosage as low as I could. We'll be monitoring her telomerase levels throughout the day. If there's no rejection, we will be past the first phase.""Is the dosage the only difference from before?" comes the other, accusing voice."At this point,David, manipulating the Beta is an art, not a science. I'm just attempting to create antigens, the way a smallpox vaccination does. Then we'll try to harvest them. This is not really a full‑scale Beta procedure. I don't plan to do that ever again."There was another long silence."That man who was here with her. Her cousin, did he say? I saw no family resemblance, but he seemed very upset.""That's why I had him sent upstairs. I think he's the reporter W.B. was so concerned about. Anyway, he's gone."Stone. She realizes that's who they're talking about. And now he's gone. She's on her own.Next the voices drift away for a time, into some echo space that mutes them. Finally, though, they come back."This should be adequate for another four hours. After that, you'll need a glucose IV to keep her hydrated.""I've already put it on her chart. By then we should have some idea of which way this is going. I'm thinking, I'm praying, that this time is going to be the charm. That I've learned how to modulate the enzyme.""Is she ready for transfer to IC?""Anytime."The voices start drifting away. A fuzziness is enveloping her senses, leaving everything soft and muted.The pain is gone from her body now, and the bright lights around her seem to be dimming. The figures in the white haze on the perimeter are now disappearing, one by one, as though filing out of a room. And now she feels like she's floating, with things moving past her.Then, finally, one lone voice is talking to her, is really talking to her, in a private and unmistakable way. And as she drifts back into the gulf of anesthesia, she listens to words that do not make a lot of sense."The Fountain. Through all the ages, we've been looking in the wrong place. It's within us. Together, Alexa, we have this chance."She listens as the voice begins to drift away. Yet she feels a genuine sense of closeness to it. She realizes she no longer has control of her destiny. But still she wants to be where she is.Now the sea is coming back, flowing around her, and she tries to remember where she is and why, but all she is aware of is the sea rising, until she is engulfed.Chapter 28Thursday, April 98:00a.m.Stone awoke in his Yorkville apartment nursing a hangover and a lot of regrets. He'd inhaled a triple scotch after driving Ally's Toyota back and parking it on the street the night before. He'd needed it. Yesterday had been a day where, in sequential order, he'd seen a woman who'd lost her memory get kidnapped (probably); he'd been fired from his day job; he'd finally gotten inside the Dorian Institute, only to blow the opportunity completely. But the most important thing that happened was, he'd rediscovered a woman he'd once been in love with and he currently didn't have the slightest idea what was happening to her. Thinking back over their last few moments together, when she was being checked in by Van de Vliet and his research team and he was being hastily sent up to the lobby, Stone suspected that Ally was about to be subjected to something they didn't want anybody to know about.Now he was determined to get back inside the institute and look out for her.As he pulled himself out of bed and shakily made his wayinto the kitchen to start the coffee, he was trying to decide where to begin. As it happened he now had all the time in the worldHe didn't mind all that much losing his position at the Sentinel—come on, that was writ across the sky—but he particularly regretted being denied the pleasure of quitting on his own terms, complete with a flamboyant fuck‑you‑ very‑much farewell speech to the managing editor, Jay. He'd actually been rehearsing it for weeks.The dream of just showing up at the Dorian Institute and walking in was no longer even a fantasy. There was a special "not welcome" mat out for him. Even more than the first time, he'd need a calling card.That had to be Kristen Starr. She clearly held the key to whatever it was Winston Bartlett and Karl Van de Vliet were trying to cover up. But how to find her? The only real lead he had was the apartment she'd come back to, apparently returning like a genetically programmed salmon going back upstream but not really knowing why.Okay, why not go back down there and look around again, only do it thoroughly? He and Ally hadn't had time to do much more than a cursory look‑around. The specter of the knives in the walls still haunted him.But how to get in?Then he remembered that Ally had been given the key by Kristen's spacey subtenant, Cindy, the one who was renting the ground‑floor apartment. Did she leave that key at her CitiSpace office or did she put it on her key ring?Her car keys were lying on the table by the door, where he'd tossed them last night. He walked over and checked them out. There were several house keys on the ring in addition to her Toyota keys. Could she have put Kristen's key on the ring too? Or did she stash it in her desk at CitiSpace?Swing by the apartment and try these, he decided Maybe I'll get lucky.As he headed for the shower, a cup of black Jamaican coffee in hand, he thought again about the last thing Alexa's good‑for‑nothing brother, Grant, had said, something about how Alexa was their "best shot." Whatever that meant, it couldn't be good.By nine o'clock he had showered, shaved, and was in Ally's Toyota headed for West Eleventh Street. As he turned right on Fourteenth, he had a fresh idea.Kristen's phone was still working, at least as of yesterday. So did she have speed dial, a memory bank of numbers? That could be a gold mine of the people closest to her. But if not, there were other tricks, ways of getting phone information. There might even be information in the phone itself: who do you get on "redial" and who do you get with *69, the last number that dialed in?The last number that dialed in would probably be the Japanese guy who left a message and then kidnapped her. But the last call out could be interesting.He had a nagging feeling that this wasn't the best way to be spending his morning, but he couldn't immediately think of anything else.West Eleventh Street was comparatively empty, so he had no trouble securing a parking space. After he'd turned off the engine, he looked at Ally's key set again. Well, there were four other keys on it besides the Toyota keys. Give it a shot.He got out and locked the car and walked up the steps. It was a perfect spring morning, cool and crisp, and this part of the Village was quiet and residential. He found himself envying the owners of these beautiful nineteenth‑century town houses. There was something so dignified and secure about them.Then he saw a man emerge from the apartment below the stoop, just a few feet from where he was standing."Hi. How's Cindy?" he called down, hoping the social gesture would let the guy know he wasn't about to do a second‑ story number on Kristen's town house.The man, who looked to be in his late twenties, was dressed in a black suit, with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail, and carried a shoulder bag that appeared to be serving as a briefcase. He stared at Stone with a puzzled look."Who?""I was here yesterday and . . . a woman named Cindy, friend of Kristen's, said she was leasing the garden apartment. I was just wondering—""I'm sorry. Maybe you have the wrong address. I've had this place for almost a year and a half now." He was moving on down the street as he called back over his shoulder. "Good luck."What the hell is going on?He looked up and checked the number. Yep, it's 217. Cindy had definitely gone into that apartment yesterday and talked convincingly about living there and working at the E! station. She even had keys to Kristen's place.So who the hell was that guy? He looked back, but now he had disappeared.Did I just imagine that? he puzzled.He moved up the steps to the heavy white wood door and started trying keys.The first one wouldn't enter the lock, nor would the second. The third key entered but would not turn.Okay, last chance.He inserted the fourth and it seemed to stick. But he gave it a wiggle andvoila, he was in.Thanks, Ally.But when he stepped through the door and switched on the light, he could only stare in disbelief. The apartment had been completely cleared out. The white walls, which had been covered with knifed photos of Kristen only yesterday, were now blank. Even the few pieces of furniture were gone.
"Dr. Van de Vliet, this is my cousin Stone. He drove me here and I'd—"
"I'd really like to stay," Stone said reaching to shake Van de Vliet's hand. "It would mean a lot to both of us. To the whole family."
"Family?" Van de Vliet declared. Ally noticed that he was
examining Stone with narrowed eyes and seemed to be debating something with himself. "Well, we'll see." Then he turned back to her. "The first thing is to make sure your. . . situation is stabilized. I actually think a good night's rest might do the trick. But I need to run a quick blood test downstairs."
She felt her dizziness coming and going, but she was determined to stay awake and in control of what was being done to her.
"By the way, I was wondering how is Katherine Starr doing?"
His eyes grew somber. "She's a very lucky woman, considering. We've given her some coagulants and stitched her up."
"Are you going to press charges?"
He looked at her strangely. "Do you think we should?"
"I guess it's none of my business." Of course you won't, she told herself. The Kristen matter will not stand the ordinary light of day, let alone a police investigation.
"Maybe it's time to let her daughter come and see her."
"I looked at that letter," he said with a matter‑of‑fact tone. "I suspect it's a hoax. And a very cruel one at that."
"I don't think so. I talked to her today. The woman formerly known as Kristen. On the phone." She stared at him. "I really think it's time I learned more about what happened to her here at the institute. All I could really find out was that she thinks she's experienced some pretty dramatic memory loss."
He looked as though this information was new to him. He also looked startled. "You spoke to her? What . . . did she say? Is she all right?"
"No, she's not all right." Don't mention the kidnapping she told herself. Play dumb and see how he behaves. "I want to know what happened to her when she was here."
He paused, then took a deep breath. "I told you everything I know this morning. She was a very troubled young person. Her treatment seemed to be going well, but she couldn't accept that. She began to believe there was some kind of conspiracy against her. In a word, she became completely paranoid."
Well, Ally thought, there's "paranoid" and then there are times when somebody really is out to get you. So which was it in Kristen's case?
She glanced over at Stone, who appeared to be trying to act as though he didn't know what on earth she was talking about. But she could see him efficiently taking mental notes.
"When you can't remember who you are," she said turning back to Van de Vliet, "and then someone who does know who you are gives you a new, fake identity, I think it's enough to justify paranoia."
He was rolling the wheelchair toward the elevator but abruptly paused
"Is that what she's claiming? Good God I told you she was paranoid and that should demonstrate it better than anything. Letting her discharge herself and leave the program, to go off unsupervised was a truly bad idea, but nothing short of physical restraint could have stopped her."
"And do you have any idea where she is now?" Ally asked.
"I told you . . . Look, if I knew her whereabouts, don't you think I'd do everything I could to contact her, find out how she is?"
"Right."
She reached out and took Stone’s hand as they all moved onto the elevator. She could sense his excitement at finally being inside the Dorian Institute, but at that moment her concentration was drifting and she felt as though she were slowly beginning to drown in a sea of white.
"Stone, please don't leave me. Don't let me out of your sight. Something funny is happening and I don't know what it is."
Van de Vliet bent over. "Alexa, look at me. I want to see your eyes. I think they may be dilating." He waved a hand across her face. "Can you see me?"
"It's the fluorescent lights," she mumbled "There's too much glare. Could someone please turn them down? I think that's what's wrong. They're giving me a headache."
"Ally," Stone said, "the lights are not very bright in here. We're going down in an elevator. There aren't any fluorescents."
Then the elevator chimed and the door opened. They were in the basement now, where the research lab and the office and the examination rooms were. Debra, wearing a white lab coat, was standing there silently looking at her.
Now there really were fluorescent lights, and she turned away and tried to shield her eyes.
"God, turn them off. It's so painful. It's like they're shining into the back of my skull."
"She's started hallucinating," Van de Vliet whispered to Debra. "I've got to draw blood for a test and give her an injection. We need a gurney now. We've got to take her down to the IC. Her condition is progressing much more rapidly than I expected."
"Ally, is this what you want?" Stone demanded. "You don't have to do this."
Her breath was coming in rapid pulses now and she was cringing from the light even as she struggled to rise out of the wheelchair.
"I want . . . to get . . ."
She managed to pull herself onto her feet, but then she sagged and collapsed against Stone as he pulled her to him.
As one of the nurses grabbed the newly arrived gurney and pulled it over, Van de Vliet and Ellen O'Hara seized her out of Stone’s arms and lifted her onto it.
"You'll have to leave now," Van de Vliet said to Stone. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not going anywhere. I promised her I'd stay by her side and, by God, I intend to do just that."
"I'll determine what's best for her," he replied. "Please go up to the reception area. I'll let you know how she is."
"I'm not leaving."
"Then I'll call our security and have you removed from the premises."
"Stone," Ally said her eyelids flickering, "it's okay. I want you to tell my mother I'm here. She's in room two‑thirteen, upstairs, the last time I saw her."
"You've got it. Don't worry. I'll take care of everything."
She heard him saying that, but then she thought she heard another voice inside her head begging him not to leave. It was the last thought she had before the world went entirely white.
7:39 p.m.
Ellen O'Hara watched the scene with mounting dismay. She'd overheard Dr. Van de Vliet talking to Debbie about the procedure scheduled for Alexa Hampton. Then she'd checked the schedule that had been put into the database. It turned out that Alexa Hampton had two procedures scheduled.
The troubling part was, one was identical to the procedure that had been performed on Kristen Starr several months back, or at least so it seemed. And that had resulted in what she'd just overheard Debra call "the Syndrome." By whatever name, it had produced some horrible side effects. Why on earth were they now repeating that with this new patient? Hadn't they learned anything?
Karl Van de Vliet—or whoever ordered this idiotic travesty—was about to put the job of every person at the Dorian Institute at risk. If whatever happened to Kristen was replicated and the word got out, it was going to be the end for everyone who worked here.
Most troubling of all, what about Ms. Hampton, who seemed like such a nice person? Did she agree to that experimental procedure? If she knew what had happened to Kristen Starr, surely she wouldn't have.
Ellen O'Hara didn't know how she could stop Dr. Vee from doing what he appeared to be planning to do. The procedure was going to be performed in the laboratory.
The only way she could think of to stop it was to try to warn Ms. Hampton that what they were about to do was extremely dangerous. But how? Her chart in the database said they were going to keep her quarantined down in the sub‑ basement. That was specified.
On top of all this, Kenji Noda had brought in some unidentified patient this afternoon, wheeled in while strapped to a gurney, and they had taken that patient to the subbasement. Noda was still down there, and Winston Bartlett had come in and gone down also. The unholy pair. And now they'd be holding Alexa Hampton down there too.
Was it possible to get past them and warn her?
She was determined to find a way.
Chapter 26
Wednesday, April 8
7:40p.m.
Stone was deeply troubled as he entered the elevator to return to the lobby. He had promised Ally he'd stay by her side and now he'd let her down. Was this the best he could do? He felt like he had to earn the right to be back in her life, but he seemed to be making a slow start.
But he wasn't about to leave the premises until he knew she was okay.
Hoping for the best, he reminded himself that although Van de Vliet was wound pretty tight, he clearly was more than competent. The problem was, he'd just offered a transparent song and dance when Ally asked him about Kristen. Now it was easy to understand why she'd said she didn't know whether to believe a word he said. But that didn't necessarily preclude him being a Nobel Prize‑quality medical genius.
In any case, to finally be inside the Dorian Institute was a major coup in his own quest. Up until now, Bartlett's press heavies at BMD had turned back his every attempt to get a first‑hand look at the institute or an interview with Karl Van de Vliet. Now, at last, he'd actually seen the man.
So . . . after he visited with Ally's mother upstairs—which ought to be interesting, an actual patient interview—he was going to try to keep a low profile and scout the place. Maybe he could finally talk his way into an interview with the celebrated Van de Vliet himself, or at least with some of his research staff. This was definitely the break he'd been waiting for. Finally he'd have some actual reporting to put in the book.
When he stepped off the elevator, he noticed that the uniformed security guard looked him over suspiciously. He and Alexa had been waved through the metal detector when they came in, owing to the urgency of her condition. Now he felt as though the guard, a tall, middle‑aged black guy with thinning hair, was trying to frisk him with his penetrating eyes.
Stone smiled and nodded toward him and headed for the desk in the middle of the reception area. Around him a number of patients were ambling through the lobby, returning from a room in the back that was identified asdining hall.Some were wearing blue gowns, and most appeared to be in their sixties and seventies. But they all were sprightly and animated as they walked along chatting. Somehow the place felt more like a vacation spa than a clinic. He'd like nothing better than to sit them all down right this minute for an interview. "How has the Gerex stem cell procedure affected your condition? Have you had any side effects?" But to do that without official permission would undoubtedly get him evicted on the spot.
He took a deep breath and walked over to the reception desk.
"Hi."
The woman looked up. She was the same middle‑aged Hispanic nurse with bold eye makeup who was there when they came in. "Hi. How's your friend feeling?"
"Actually, she's my cousin, and I don't know how she's doing because they kicked . . . sent me up here. But she gave me a mission to keep me occupied."
"Well," the woman declared with a smile, "I'm sure she'll be fine. Dr. Van de Vliet is a miracle worker."
"So everyone says." He smiled back. "My cousin asked me to look in on her mother. Nina Hampton. She is, or was, in two‑thirteen."
"Mrs. Hampton is your aunt?"
"Uh, yeah, right." Whoops. Get this act together. "Funny, but I always just think of her as my cousin Ally's mother. My own weird way to look at it, I guess. I don't really know her all that well."
Things are not getting off to a great start, he told himself. I don't even believe me.
"Visits to patients, except by those on a pre‑established list, require a photo ID."
"Well, let's get started." He reached for his wallet and withdrew a driver's license. He made sure his press card was well out of sight.
Keep this dumb and innocent as long as possible, he told himself.
She glanced at the driver's license, then pointed to the sign‑in sheet. "Just sign your name and print it and then also print your relationship to the patient. I have to say this is unusual. There are regular visiting hours and guests are normally approved in advance by Mrs. Young, who's in charge of security. But you came in under extraordinary circumstances, with Ms. Hampton, and you're already here, so I don't see the harm."
He signed himself in as quickly as possible.
"Mrs. Hampton is still in room two‑thirteen."
"I'll show myself up."
"Please keep it under fifteen minutes. We don't want to tire her out. You understand."
"Thanks. I really appreciate this. My cousin Ally likes to get an update on"—he realized he had momentarily blocked her mother's name—"her mom as often as possible."
He headed for the elevator, trying to contain his excitement. The idea was to keep this as below the radar as possible. Was he about to crack the wall of secrecy that Winston Bartlett had erected around Karl Van de Vliet and the Gerex Corporation?
Just as the elevator door was closing, he saw a figure emerge through the security entryway. The man clicked a memory‑moment from somewhere in the far‑distant past, but he couldn't place him. As best he could tell, the guy didn't see him.
Just keep moving. Don't look back
As he stepped off the elevator onto the second floor, the pale marble floors were lit by small bulbs along the walls. This was a place where medical miracles were supposedly being made to happen and yet it was lit only with a ghostly half‑light. The sounds of televisions emanated from several of the rooms.
The nurse's station at the end of the hall was empty, which added to the sense of a surreptitious undertaking.
He walked quickly to room 213 and tapped lightly on the door. When he heard a bold "Yes?" from inside, he opened it and entered.
He hadn't seen Nina Hampton in almost two decades, but she looked pretty much the way he remembered her. Her hair was surely dyed now, but her face was as square and strong as ever. She was reading a paperback book with a tide that appeared to be Spanish. She looked up and stared at him for a moment, adjusting her glasses.
"Hello, Stone. That is you, isn't it? You're older but you're still a hell of a looker. How did you get in here? Is Ally here too? I haven't seen her since this morning."
"Mrs. Hampton, don't tell me you recognize me."
"Of course I do. When you and Ally were . . . going out, I confess I didn't hold out much hope that you'd ever amount to anything, but I've been a fan of your columns for a long time. Though it took me a while to put it together that that newspaper writer I liked so much was you, the man I didn't think was ambitious enough for my daughter." She appraised him a moment. "Does this mean you two are together again?"
Good question, he thought. And I don't have a clue about the answer.
"I wish I knew. Why don't you ask her the next time you see her?" He smiled and walked over. "She wanted me to come up and see how you're doing."
"Come up? Is she here now? When she came to say goodbye this morning, I got the impression that she wanted both of us just to get out of here. But I told her that was silly. I'm already feeling so much better."
"Really. Well, she's downstairs now and she'll be happy to hear that." He walked over and smiled. "Mrs. Hampton, I came along with her this time to keep an eye on her. Hope you don't mind."
"Of course not."
"And there's another reason I'm here. I want to warn you. I'm writing a book about stem cell procedures and anything you say to me about your treatment could well end up in it. So don't tell me anything you don't want everybody to hear about."
"Are you really writing a book about Dr. Vee?" She beamed. "That's wonderful! He's a saint. Everyone here says so. He deserves a special place in heaven."
This is great, Stone thought. I've got my own Deep Throat.
"Then could I ask you what you know about what he did and how you think you've improved."
"I don't really understand what he's doing, but I do know what is happening to me. It's as though my mind was full of fog a lot of the time, but now there's a wind that's blowing it away."
"And how—"
A shaft of light from the hallway pierced across the room as the door opened. Stone turned to see the man he'd first noticed in the lobby. The man walked past him and marched over to the bed.
"Hi, how're you feeling?"
"I'm touched." Her visage immediately hardened "It's thoughtful of you to finally come by and favor your mother with a visit."
That's who he is, Stone finally realized. Ally's kid brother.
In his few dealings with the wiseass brat that Ally used to rant about—what was the kid's name . . . right, Grant—he'd found him devious and pompous. He was particularly deft at cutting ethical corners and using other people any way he could
"Stone," Nina Hampton said gesturing toward Grant, "this is—"
"I know exactly who he is," Grant said turning around to face Stone. "W.B. has put out an all‑points alert for you, pal. You've got a hell of a nerve weaseling your way in here. But not to worry. You won't be here long."
"I won't have you talking that way in my presence, young man," Nina declared "Whatever else you may be, I thought I'd raised you to have a civil tongue in your head"
Grant replied without taking his eyes off Stone. "He lied to the front desk, Nina. He signed in as Ally's cousin. And that twit‑brain down there let him get away with it. He got up here by using a lie. Now what does that tell you about him?â€
"It tells me he's creative. This man came with your sister. He's helping take care of her, which is more than can be said about her own brother."
"This creep is a newspaper reporter, Nina. He's here to spy. He’s planning to do a hatchet job on the Gerex Corporation, and Mr. Bartlett has expressly forbidden anyone to speak to him"
"I'm not in your corporation, Son, so I guess it’s all right for me then."
"You signed a secrecy agreement with Gerex when you entered the clinical trials. Now maybe you don't remember it, but you did" He turned to Stone. "Nice try, amigo. Now come on, let's go."
"You know, Grant, I remember you," Stone said "Not very nice recollections."
"And I remember you too, pal. You were that screwed‑up journalism student Ally dated for a while. Thank God she got rid of you."
"Sounds like we were awash in mutual admiration," Stone said.
“Tell you what. Are we gonna continue this touching reunion outside, or do I have to call for security and take your trespassing ass out of here in handcuffs? It's entirely up to you."
"Grant, I see no reason why I can't talk to him if I want," Nina interjected "Who I talk to or what I say is nobody's business but mine."
"You wouldn't be here if it weren't for me," Grant declared. "So I have a little say‑so too." He turned back. "Come on, pal. We're gone."
I'm screwed, Stone told himself. But what about Ally? If I get kicked out, I'll really be leaving her completely defenseless.
"Mrs. Hampton, thank you for letting me check up on you," he said quietly. "Alexa is downstairs. I think her procedure is starting whether she's ready for it or not. You seem very alert, and if I were you, I'd try to monitor her . . . progress as closely as you can."
"Don't worry," Grant said. "I'll be keeping close tabs on her. And now let's go."
With no option short of killing him on the spot, Stone followed along, seething. This little creep obviously works for Winston Bartlett—he wished Ally had warned him about that. Grant was bound to have shown up at some point.
They went down the marble staircase and Grant signaled the security man, who leaped up and opened the front door for them. He probably got a tongue‑lashing from Grant, Stone told himself.
As they stepped onto the wide porch, dusk all around them, Grant turned and headed toward the south end and a long wooden bench.
"Want to tell me what the hell's going on?" he said gesturing toward the bench and then sitting down. "W.B. said you claimed to be writing a book about this project. If that's true, then it's a seriously bad idea. You have no idea what he's capable of if he gets pissed."
"Oh, I think I'm getting a rough idea, but I'm a little pissed too," Stone said, remaining standing. "For example, there's the matter of Kristen Starr. You see, she was terminated from the clinical trials approximately three months back. So I was wondering, when is Van de Vliet planning to report her current condition to the NIH?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." His startled voice said otherwise.
"Oh, I think you do. I saw her today." Then he decided to bluff. "She had an interesting tale to tell. She—"
"Shit, you interviewed Kristy? Aw, man, don't believe anything she . . ." He hesitated. "What did she say about W.B.?"
"Tell you what, we'll play twenty questions. You tell me what you think she said and I'll tell you if you're right or not."
"Hey," Grant declared, his eyes intense, "she wanted to do it man. Nobody put a gun to her head or anything. She was freaking out after she got sacked. She thought Dr. Vee could fix her skin and she couldn't wait to try it."
"You mean—"
"The Beta. Take a look at Van de Vliet. He's a walking testimonial. No side effects for him, so why not? The worst thing that could happen would be nothing, right? So she figured, what did she have to lose? Well, now we all know."
"The Beta? That's...?"
"You fucker." Grant bounded to his feet. "You don't know the first thing about what I'm talking about do you? How the fuck did you find out about Kristen anyway?"
"I told you I spoke to her." Well, it was almost true. He'd yelled at her. "She's very . . . unsettled just now. But I guess you know that"
"Hey, she was always fucked‑up, but W.B. liked all the energy behind that. He looked right past the eating disorders and the coke and the late‑night clubs she went to all the time. But, man, if you think she's spaced, try her mother. That crazy—"
"Grant, why not level with me? There's something very wrong going on here. I'm in the business of telling the truth, and I've got a keen nose for medical horse‑pucky. So how about coming clean? If it's good, why not, and if it's bad, it's going to come out eventually anyway. Hasn't Winston Bartlett learned anything from all the screw‑ups in Washington? It's not the situation—it's the cover‑up."
"Well, I don't know what Kristy did or didn't tell you, so we're not going in that direction. I heard about her little trip downtown this morning. I assume that's probably when you saw her, if in fact you actually did. Right now she's being taken care of, for her own good."
" 'Being taken care of'? So happens I had a close encounter with a couple of her caregivers today. They're taking care of her, all right."
"Look, she used to be W.B.'s girlfriend okay? He's still very concerned about her. Everybody's really sorry about her situation, but nobody saw it coming. And now he's got some problems of his own."
"You seem to be pretty heavily involved with Winston Bartlett's personal problems."
"Yeah, well, the man's been like a father to me. And I think he feels that way too, since he doesn't have a son of his own."
Stone let the taunt just hang in the air for a moment. He mainly just wanted to slug the smug little bastard.
"You don't know how little you know, about him or about anything. Someday I may take the trouble to straighten you out. But right now you're not worth the effort. All I care about at the moment is what's going to happen to Ally."
"Everybody cares what happens to her. A lot depends on it. Dr. Vee thinks she's our best shot"
"What . . . what the hell are you talking about?" Stone stared at him through the twilight. "What depends on it?"
"Guess you're not as smart as you think you are." He was up and heading for the parking lot. "Come on, pal. Time to hit the road. I'm gonna tuck you in. This conversation is terminated. And it never happened anyway. I'll have them unlock the gates for you."
Chapter 27
Wednesday, April 8
8:25p.m.
Alexa watches as the prow of their forty‑one‑foot Morgan, two‑masted, cuts silently through a placid sea. She vaguely remembers the vessel. It was teak and magnificent. Steve had chartered it, bare‑boat, for two weeks and taken them cruising through the Bahamas. By the end of that time, she felt they could have sailed it around the world.
But that was six years ago, when he was still very much alive. Now the boat feels like a magical carpet taking them someplace together, effortlessly. The genoa, the mainsail, and the mizzen are all full and blossoming outward even though there's no wind. She's at the helm, holding a course toward something white on the horizon, and Steve is with her. He's alive again and he's with her. She feels her body suffused with joy. Then she looks at the reflection of herself in his sunglasses and realizes she's a little girl, still a child. This is all a dream, she realizes, a cruel dream. Then she looks again at the horizon, the blazing white light, and senses that it represents the future. Their destiny.
Now the sea around them, which had been placid, starts to roil. The wheel is becoming harder to control, and the sun is starting to burn her. In its pitiless glare she feels herself beginning to age rapidly. She glances at Steve and she can see his skin starting to shrivel. She senses he is dying, right there before her eyes, but her hands feel glued to the wheel and she can't let go to try to help him.
Now the sea is growing ever more choppy and the white symbol on the horizon has begun to bob in and out of view. Sometimes she can see the "future" and sometimes she can't. Waves are crashing over the sides, inundating the deck, and she feels anxious about what lies up ahead. Will they ever get there, and if they do, will she want what she finds? Even more important now, will Steve still be with her?
As the waves pound against them both, oddly she doesn't feel wet. Instead, what she feels is a stab of muted pain in her upper chest, pain she knows would be searing if she were to experience its full impact. She looks down to see that the wheel she thought she was holding is gone, and her chest is pierced by the steel mechanism to which it was attached. It has gone all the way through her.
Next a huge wave comes straight over the bow and slams against her and Steve. Her body convulses with pain and she senses that he is being swept overboard, directly off the stern. She screams at him to hold on, but then he is gone, lost in the dark sea.
Now the boat itself is starting to disintegrate, as both masts tip backwards, then come crashing down. Up ahead, the white light that is the future is growing ever more flame‑like. It is part of a shoreline she is trying to reach, but now she doesn't think she's going to get there. Around her, the boat's lines and cleats are being swept into the pounding sea.
In moments the boat has disappeared, but she continues on, propelled by some force she cannot see, until she finally crashes onto the rocky shore.
It is a chiaroscuro landscape of blacks and whites. Oddly, Stone Aimes has appeared and is holding her hand as they make their way along the barren seascape, where everything is hazy and trapped in fog. She thinks she sees figures lurking in the mist around them but can't make out who they are. Everything is static and frozen in place, like the images of motion on the Grecian urn caught for eternity.
She reaches out to touch Stone and her hand passes right through. That's when she realizes the white light and this rocky shoreline represent the other side. Is this what death feels like? she wonders. Like the white tunnel drawing you in?
But then she has another thought. Maybe she isn't dead at all. Maybe she is in a third place, somewhere suspended between life and death. She looks again at Stone and tells herself they're not dead, they're in some kind of time machine. This voyage is about time.
Now time has begun to flow around her like a river. Days, weeks, months, years, they all course by. But she knows it is a chimera. Nothing can make time go faster or slower.
Then the bright lights are gone and she feels alone. Very alone.
But she isn't. She hears voices around her, drifting, echoing, and she tries to understand what they are saying.
"She's stabilized. We're past the critical phase."
"Do you want to bring her up now?"
"Not yet. We still don't know how it's going to go."
There was a pause, and then a male voice.
"This was the Beta too, wasn't it, Karl?" Another pause. "Well, wasn't it? The injections. That's the first time since . . ."
Again the voices drift off. She listens, not sure what she is hearing. She tries to process the word "beta" but makes no headway. In computer slang, "beta" means a program that is still being tested. Then she remembers hearing the word just hours earlier. She had been talking to some woman. But she can't remember who—“
"I changed the procedure this time," comes a voice. "I injected the special Beta enzyme separately from the activated stem cells. Whatever happens will happen at the enzyme's own pace now. And I kept the dosage as low as I could. We'll be monitoring her telomerase levels throughout the day. If there's no rejection, we will be past the first phase."
"Is the dosage the only difference from before?" comes the other, accusing voice.
"At this point,David, manipulating the Beta is an art, not a science. I'm just attempting to create antigens, the way a smallpox vaccination does. Then we'll try to harvest them. This is not really a full‑scale Beta procedure. I don't plan to do that ever again."
There was another long silence.
"That man who was here with her. Her cousin, did he say? I saw no family resemblance, but he seemed very upset."
"That's why I had him sent upstairs. I think he's the reporter W.B. was so concerned about. Anyway, he's gone."
Stone. She realizes that's who they're talking about. And now he's gone. She's on her own.
Next the voices drift away for a time, into some echo space that mutes them. Finally, though, they come back.
"This should be adequate for another four hours. After that, you'll need a glucose IV to keep her hydrated."
"I've already put it on her chart. By then we should have some idea of which way this is going. I'm thinking, I'm praying, that this time is going to be the charm. That I've learned how to modulate the enzyme."
"Is she ready for transfer to IC?"
"Anytime."
The voices start drifting away. A fuzziness is enveloping her senses, leaving everything soft and muted.
The pain is gone from her body now, and the bright lights around her seem to be dimming. The figures in the white haze on the perimeter are now disappearing, one by one, as though filing out of a room. And now she feels like she's floating, with things moving past her.
Then, finally, one lone voice is talking to her, is really talking to her, in a private and unmistakable way. And as she drifts back into the gulf of anesthesia, she listens to words that do not make a lot of sense.
"The Fountain. Through all the ages, we've been looking in the wrong place. It's within us. Together, Alexa, we have this chance."
She listens as the voice begins to drift away. Yet she feels a genuine sense of closeness to it. She realizes she no longer has control of her destiny. But still she wants to be where she is.
Now the sea is coming back, flowing around her, and she tries to remember where she is and why, but all she is aware of is the sea rising, until she is engulfed.
Chapter 28
8:00a.m.
Stone awoke in his Yorkville apartment nursing a hangover and a lot of regrets. He'd inhaled a triple scotch after driving Ally's Toyota back and parking it on the street the night before. He'd needed it. Yesterday had been a day where, in sequential order, he'd seen a woman who'd lost her memory get kidnapped (probably); he'd been fired from his day job; he'd finally gotten inside the Dorian Institute, only to blow the opportunity completely. But the most important thing that happened was, he'd rediscovered a woman he'd once been in love with and he currently didn't have the slightest idea what was happening to her. Thinking back over their last few moments together, when she was being checked in by Van de Vliet and his research team and he was being hastily sent up to the lobby, Stone suspected that Ally was about to be subjected to something they didn't want anybody to know about.
Now he was determined to get back inside the institute and look out for her.
As he pulled himself out of bed and shakily made his way
into the kitchen to start the coffee, he was trying to decide where to begin. As it happened he now had all the time in the world
He didn't mind all that much losing his position at the Sentinel—come on, that was writ across the sky—but he particularly regretted being denied the pleasure of quitting on his own terms, complete with a flamboyant fuck‑you‑ very‑much farewell speech to the managing editor, Jay. He'd actually been rehearsing it for weeks.
The dream of just showing up at the Dorian Institute and walking in was no longer even a fantasy. There was a special "not welcome" mat out for him. Even more than the first time, he'd need a calling card.
That had to be Kristen Starr. She clearly held the key to whatever it was Winston Bartlett and Karl Van de Vliet were trying to cover up. But how to find her? The only real lead he had was the apartment she'd come back to, apparently returning like a genetically programmed salmon going back upstream but not really knowing why.
Okay, why not go back down there and look around again, only do it thoroughly? He and Ally hadn't had time to do much more than a cursory look‑around. The specter of the knives in the walls still haunted him.
But how to get in?
Then he remembered that Ally had been given the key by Kristen's spacey subtenant, Cindy, the one who was renting the ground‑floor apartment. Did she leave that key at her CitiSpace office or did she put it on her key ring?
Her car keys were lying on the table by the door, where he'd tossed them last night. He walked over and checked them out. There were several house keys on the ring in addition to her Toyota keys. Could she have put Kristen's key on the ring too? Or did she stash it in her desk at CitiSpace?
Swing by the apartment and try these, he decided Maybe I'll get lucky.
As he headed for the shower, a cup of black Jamaican coffee in hand, he thought again about the last thing Alexa's good‑for‑nothing brother, Grant, had said, something about how Alexa was their "best shot." Whatever that meant, it couldn't be good.
By nine o'clock he had showered, shaved, and was in Ally's Toyota headed for West Eleventh Street. As he turned right on Fourteenth, he had a fresh idea.
Kristen's phone was still working, at least as of yesterday. So did she have speed dial, a memory bank of numbers? That could be a gold mine of the people closest to her. But if not, there were other tricks, ways of getting phone information. There might even be information in the phone itself: who do you get on "redial" and who do you get with *69, the last number that dialed in?
The last number that dialed in would probably be the Japanese guy who left a message and then kidnapped her. But the last call out could be interesting.
He had a nagging feeling that this wasn't the best way to be spending his morning, but he couldn't immediately think of anything else.
West Eleventh Street was comparatively empty, so he had no trouble securing a parking space. After he'd turned off the engine, he looked at Ally's key set again. Well, there were four other keys on it besides the Toyota keys. Give it a shot.
He got out and locked the car and walked up the steps. It was a perfect spring morning, cool and crisp, and this part of the Village was quiet and residential. He found himself envying the owners of these beautiful nineteenth‑century town houses. There was something so dignified and secure about them.
Then he saw a man emerge from the apartment below the stoop, just a few feet from where he was standing.
"Hi. How's Cindy?" he called down, hoping the social gesture would let the guy know he wasn't about to do a second‑ story number on Kristen's town house.
The man, who looked to be in his late twenties, was dressed in a black suit, with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail, and carried a shoulder bag that appeared to be serving as a briefcase. He stared at Stone with a puzzled look.
"Who?"
"I was here yesterday and . . . a woman named Cindy, friend of Kristen's, said she was leasing the garden apartment. I was just wondering—"
"I'm sorry. Maybe you have the wrong address. I've had this place for almost a year and a half now." He was moving on down the street as he called back over his shoulder. "Good luck."
What the hell is going on?
He looked up and checked the number. Yep, it's 217. Cindy had definitely gone into that apartment yesterday and talked convincingly about living there and working at the E! station. She even had keys to Kristen's place.
So who the hell was that guy? He looked back, but now he had disappeared.
Did I just imagine that? he puzzled.
He moved up the steps to the heavy white wood door and started trying keys.
The first one wouldn't enter the lock, nor would the second. The third key entered but would not turn.
Okay, last chance.
He inserted the fourth and it seemed to stick. But he gave it a wiggle andvoila, he was in.
Thanks, Ally.
But when he stepped through the door and switched on the light, he could only stare in disbelief. The apartment had been completely cleared out. The white walls, which had been covered with knifed photos of Kristen only yesterday, were now blank. Even the few pieces of furniture were gone.