“Well, of course, dear. We have the annuals right here.” She motioned to the bookshelf behind her boss. Taylor went to the bookshelf and pulled the most recent annual. She looked in the back for Lucas’s name, found he was pictured on several pages. She started flipping through until she found one of him alone.
Taylor had to admit he was a handsome man. Square jaw, heavy silver hair, green eyes, full mouth, three days of stubble. A rebel-without-a-cause attitude spilling from his smile. She could see why some of the girls would want to take his classes.
Baldwin turned back to the dean. “Mr. Royce, do you happen to know which doctor was treating the professor?”
The dean had gathered himself and was a little more willing to cooperate.
“Surely, surely. A doctor named Hoyt, I believe. Steven Hoyt, over at Vanderbilt University Medical Center. Great man, loves the college. Did his undergrad here, I believe. Before my time, though.”
She stood and stuck out her hand. “Thank you so much for your time. Can I take this with me?” She pointed to the annual.
“Of course, of course, anything I can do to help, just give me a call. Though I’m sure you’ll find our poor professor has had nothing to do with all this tragedy. At Vanderbilt... I’m sure you understand that we cannot be held responsible for any actions any of our students or faculty take outside of campus. We’re terribly upset by these deaths and want to cooperate however we can.” Taylor rolled her eyes at his spin as he saw them to the door, then shut it behind them.
Taylor and Baldwin made their way back to the car. Taylor lit a cigarette, a grimace on her face.
“Smarmy old dope. He gave me the creeps.”
Baldwin started laughing. “Gave you the creeps, huh? He wasn’t the friendliest person I’ve ever met.”
“Ick. Didn’t you love his quick CYA? Always gotta cover your ass.” She picked up her phone and called in to the office. “Hey, it’s me. Is Lincoln there?” She waited a moment. “Linc, I need you to do your magic. Get a number and address on Gabriel Lucas...Right...Cool. Let me talk to Marcus...Hey, puppy, how ya holdin’ up?...Oh, you poor baby. Do me a favor. Get on the phone with a doctor named Steven Hoyt. He’ll be with the oncology unit at Vanderbilt. We need all the records he has regarding treatment of Gabriel Lucas. Brain cancer. See if he has anything we can use for DNA. Yeah, we have a live one. Thanks.” She hung up and lit another cigarette.
“Lincoln will get the records a sight faster than Miss Mouse back there. Hopefully Marcus can find this Dr. Hoyt. Let’s get back over there and see what we can find out.” She realized she was walking alone. Baldwin was standing stock-still ten feet behind her.
“Baldwin? What’s wrong?”
He gave her a look, his eyes shining. “I think I know what’s going on.”
68
“Wake up, love. That’s right. Sit up a little now. You need to drink this.”
The cool water slid down the back of her throat. Jill realized she was awake, and felt Gabriel’s arm around her shoulders. She tried to gulp. She was thirsty, so thirsty, and choked on the water. Sputtering, she opened her eyes.
Gabriel was sitting next to her. She saw he had brought some food, and realized she was starving. She reached out for the tray, but he grabbed her hand gently and set it back in her lap.
“No, my darling, let me.” He reached for the plate, broke off a piece of bread and gave it to her. She took it and started chewing.
“Gabriel, what is going on?” she mumbled through the bread in her mouth.
He just looked at her, got off the bed, and picked up a sheet of paper. Clearing his throat like an actor on the stage preparing for a great soliloquy, he began reading aloud. “‘A Call to Arms’ by Jill Gates.”
Thoughts thrash and tumble
like lions crashing
through the cresting waves.
No movement, no action
lost in the abyss they call my mind,
fleeing like sandpipers
chasing ghost crabs
on the milky white powder expanse.
A calm breeze blows harmless
smiles and stabbing glares
wash away the tumult.
And I lie
in dreamless death,
suspended in my cage.
He finished with a flourish, bowing to his audience. Jill put the bread back on the plate, staring at him. He was absolutely crazy. She could see it in his eyes. And he looked even sicker than earlier, pale and drawn. She had a vague memory, some rumor about him leaving school because he was ill. But that couldn’t be. He was writing a book. He would have told her if there was something wrong.
She tried to access the memory, but her mind was so muddled from all the drugs, and she just couldn’t grasp the memory. And now he was reading her old poetry?