What?
… growing? No, Payne thought, that wasn’t it at all. It wasn’t growing so much as, well, spreading. His initial thought was some kind of lesion tied to the blow the boy had suffered on the football field. Or, perhaps, that blow had aggravated an existing flaw or hot spot that had been there since birth. He was no expert, no neurosurgeon, and, truth be told, he needed a true expert, a specialist not to be found on staff here at the California Pacific Medical Center. So he’d e-mailed the results of both scans to a former teacher of his who was an expert in the field of brain function and abnormality with a request to call him back as soon as he’d reviewed the findings.
The phone rang and Payne jerked the receiver from its hook, fumbling it to his ear.
*
Alex had been undergoing tests for hours now, a steady, nonstop stream of them ever since the CT scan machine seemed to blow a gasket. The experience clung to his mind, rattling him no end.
It was my fault. I did it.
Of course, that was ridiculous. Of course, it had no basis in fact. But that’s what Alex felt and it was a feeling he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried, any more than he could shake the memory of the tentacled machines wheeling themselves about the room even though they’d never been there at all.
Every test they did when he was first admitted following his exam in the emergency room was repeated, and now additional ones had been ordered.
His father wasn’t answering his phone; his mother wasn’t answering her phone.
He wanted to go home.
He wanted to play football again.
But, for the moment, anyway, neither was happening and Alex found himself filled with fear that Dr. Payne hadn’t reappeared because he had nothing good to say. He’d hinted as much earlier. Now the doctor’s suspicions must have been confirmed and he was waiting to reach Alex’s parents before delivering the news.
Maybe, though, he couldn’t reach them, either. Or maybe they weren’t answering Alex’s calls because they were trying to figure out how to tell him.
Whatever the case, Alex could no longer just lie here and wait. The room didn’t even have a television, and he was pissed he’d missed a visit from Coach Blu and some of his Wildcat teammates who’d shown up just after he was taken to have the repeat scan done. So he’d go back to his own room and wait there for Payne to deliver the news.
Bad news, Alex found himself convinced.
I’m done with this place.
And with that he hopped off the gurney, bare feet touching down, already in motion for the door.
*
Alex was late. No surprise, since he was always late.
Samantha shifted the backpack containing the books she needed for tonight’s tutoring session from her right shoulder to her left and rang the bell again.
Still no answer.
Sam stepped back, took out her iPhone but saw, strangely, NO SIGNAL lit up in the upper left corner before she could try his number. Then she turned her gaze on the street, wondering if she should wait a bit longer. The fact that Alex was supposed to have been released from CPMC already, of course, didn’t mean it had actually worked out that way. But the night air was damp and chilly, and Sam didn’t want to linger out here for nothing.
Maybe the bell’s broken. Maybe they couldn’t hear me knocking because they’re in the kitchen.
Worth a try, Sam figured, and walked around to the rear of the Chin family’s cozy bungalow in Millbrae, a design better known as “California Craftsman” in this part of the state. A nice contrast to her family’s ramshackle, sort of modern Colonial in the hippie throwback town of Moss Beach, farther south on the peninsula. Perfect for her hippie-throwback parents but not always the right fit for Samantha, who felt better suited to a more staid community like Southern Hills.
She reached the back door to find it slightly ajar.
“Hello?” she called softly, eased it inward a few more inches. “Hello?”
Alex’s parents were wonderful. Friendly, sweet, open, and caring. They always made her feel at home, enough so that she felt comfortable opening the door all the way but stopped short of entering.
“Mrs. Chin?” she called to Alex’s mother, who always offered her tea.
There was no answer. But, as she stood there just inside the kitchen, Tabby, their indoor-outdoor cat, let out a squeal and burst past her, racing through the yard.
Sam reeled backward, clutching her chest. She nearly slipped down off the stairs and found herself back on the grass, heart hammering against her ribs.
Okay, I tried.…
Sam walked around the side of the house, readying her car keys. But then she heard voices coming through an open window on that side: muffled, harsh voices. Maybe Alex was inside watching a video or something. That’s what the voices reminded her of. No wonder he hadn’t heard her knocking!
Then one of the voices she’d thought sprang from a DVD demanded, “Where is he?”