Angel Island
Gently Nick settled the helicopter onto the mansion's wide southern lawn.
He glanced at his watch. Although, he'd taken the time to fill up the main and
auxiliary tanks at SFO, it wasn't yet noon. The jet wouldn't have left LA. As he
removed his headphones and flipped off the various switches, he gazed up at the
great house. Already it seemed to exude an empty foreboding... as if the building
itself knew that it might soon be without its master.
Nick shook his head. He liked to think of himself as a hard headed, logical
soul, but he had to admit to himself that he believed that houses somehow absorbed
the essences of their inhabitants. This one certainly had. Despite, all of the evils this
house had witnessed and contained, one look at the bricks, the bay windows, the
ivy, and the flag fluttering atop the tower told a different story. To him, they cast an
aura of decency, dignity, and strength.
Finally, he jumped out and walked across the freshly mown grass toward
Dominick, who was waiting at the door.
"Welcome home," said the majordomo. "How is Dr. Rayne?"
"Not good," the younger man admitted. "Is everything ready?"
"Of course," Dominick replied. "All of the necessary equipment and
pharmaceuticals were delivered this morning and I've followed Dr. Corrigan's
instructions to the letter.
"She called while you were in route to ask if you could pick Miss Katherine
up at school at three. She's afraid she'll be too busy getting Dr. Rayne settled and
Miss Katherine refuses to spend another night at the Fosters'."
"Sure," said Nick. "Dammit, I didn't think to ask her how much Kat knows."
"Perhaps, you should call her," Dominick suggested. "Might I ask how bad it
really is?"
Nick paused to gaze out across the bay toward the Golden Gate, which
looked like it was resting upon a pillow of white cotton. At length, he turned back.
"He's dying, Dom... and we don't know why."
< < + > >
San Francisco Legacy House, the next day
Frustrated, Derek tossed his journal and pen toward the foot of the bed. Both
continued their slide to the floor. "Verdomme!" he said as he tried to shift positions
to get his pillows in better order. Maybe he should have yielded on the hospital bed.
It certainly would have made it easier to remain sitting up, but he didn't want to be
trapped in one of those steel prisons. Instead, here he was... trapped in a spider's
web of wires and plastic tubing. God, he wanted to lie down, but knew he couldn't.
Yesterday afternoon he'd been so exhausted from the trip home that once they'd all
left him alone, he had tried. Within twenty minutes he couldn't seem to take in
enough air. So here he sat like an oriental potentate surrounded by a mountain of
cushions, each possessing a mind of its own.
Again he tried to push one into place, only to have the IV needle tug at his
hand... pricking to remind him of its presence. "Godverdomme!" he muttered.
A soft knock sounded at the partially opened door. "May I come in?" said
Kat's tiny voice as her head appeared around the door.
"Of course, Katje," said the precept. "You didn't hear what I just said...
understand?"
"Not a word," the little girl agreed. "Are you all right? Can I help?"
"I'm fine," he replied sourly. "Just feeling a bit like Gulliver tied down by the
Lilliputians. The pillows are never right and my robe, pajamas, and the covers are in
a conspiracy to strangle me."
Kat giggled. "Mom said you weren't feeling good, but they don't know
what's wrong. What's all this stuff? Do those tubes go up your nose?" she asked
plainly. "Does it hurt?"
"No to both questions," said Derek. "It's just annoying. Do you want the
guided tour?"
Stepping closer, Kat nodded her blond head.
"Well," he said, pulling the oxygen cannula from his nose, "this is just a tube
that fits in my nose to help me breathe. Feel the air?" he asked, holding it out to her
hand before he slipped it back into place.
"Umm... umm," she murmured. "What's the thing taped to your hand?"
"It's a needle with a tube that goes up there to that bag... see?" he said as he
pointed to the head of the bed. "It's got stuff in it. I don't quite know what, but it's
supposed to help. It's very aggravating whenever I try to do something like fix my
pillow or jot down a note.... Don't know why your mom didn't put it and this other
thing both on my right hand," he added, raising his right middle finger to show her
the device affixed to it.
"What's that thing for?"
"Pulse and this thing on my arm is for blood pressure," he replied patiently.
"And these things?" Kat asked. She reached out to gently touch the wires
that led from a beeping, bedside monitor. "Why does it make that noise? What's
that pointy, green line?"
Derek chuckled. "See what I mean. I'm trussed up like a spring chicken," he
joked as he unbuttoned his pajama shirt. "Those wires go from that exceedingly
irritating instrument to these black things that are stuck to my chest like leeches.
They're electrodes that tell the machine what my heart's doing, which shows as that
pointy, green line and makes that god-awful noise. It lets everybody know I'm still
alive."
"But it doesn't sound like a heartbeat," said Kat with childish simplicity.
"I know," Derek admitted. "It doesn't feel much like a heartbeat either. It
feels like there's a frightened bird in there that's struggling to get out."
Kat's lip began to quiver. "Are you going to die?" she asked bluntly.
The precept took her small hand and looked straight into her tearing, blue
eyes. "I'm going to try very hard not to."
Absorbing it all, Kat stood silently for a moment. Then confessed, "I had a
dream about you, but I don't know how I know it was about you."
"Come around to this side," said Derek, directing her away from the
electrical wires. "Hand me my correspondence file from the bureau and my pen,
please.... I think it went on the floor. Then, come up and sit with me. Tell me what
you dreamed."
Kat handed the leather binder to Derek, then reached under the bed for the
pen. Cautiously avoiding the precept or any of his tubes, she climbed onto the great
bed and snuggled into the pillows.
"It's OK," he said, pulling her into the crook of his arm. "You know I'm a
tough old geezer... I won't break.... I promise."
Kat giggled again. She liked the rarity of being alone with Derek. It was the
only time he let go of his formality. He never treated her as though she was
incapable of understanding something because she was only a little girl... and if she
truly didn't understand something, he never belittled her like some of the teachers
did. Instead, he explained it in another way. Derek was the only adult she had ever
met, Nick and Alex included, that she had never heard use the phrase, "When I was
your age." Sometimes, she even found herself wishing that he would. What was he
like when he was her age?
As Kat leaned into Derek's side, he didn't feel like he wouldn't break. He
felt like one of those spun glass angels that you could buy at Fisherman's Wharf.
"What did you dream?" the precept repeated, looking down as Kat looked
up.
"I've had lots of dreams about yellow eyes and huge teeth in a bloody mouth,
but this one was a very old woman. She was very wrinkled and had skin the color
of a honey bun. Her hair was like Cleopatra's, but it was gray. Her eyes were black
and clear and bright... and they looked right through me." Kat stopped to chew her
lower lip.
"Go on," said Derek.
"I'm thinking," Kat replied.
"OK... take your time," he said, grasping her small hand. He too remembered
yellow eyes and yellow teeth, blood drenched fur and the stench of decay. "Shut
your eyes and see your dream. Watch it like one of your videos."
"She was talking to me like she expected me to understand, but I couldn't,"
Kat explained. "It was a language I've never heard before." Suddenly, she could
feel the precept's weariness and pain, but she held on to absorb it and let it wash
through her and away.
After a deep sigh, she continued, "The sky behind her was very blue.... There
was a hole in her chest that looked like a big snowflake. You could see the sky
through it. She had something in her hands, but I can't remember.... Then the teeth
and the eyes... with growls and blood came back.
"Can't you feel what's the matter with you?" Kat abruptly asked.
Derek gave the little girl a hug. "No... Katje... I'm too tired... every time I try
I can't get past the pain."
"Can I try?"
"Your mother wouldn't like it."
"I know," she replied. "She doesn't understand, but she wants to help you.
Everyone's frightened for you, even Mr. Sloan, maybe him the most, but he hides it
the best."
"I know," Derek agreed. "You are a very perceptive young lady."
"Let me try," Kat pleaded. She held tightly onto the precept's hand and tried
to open the pathways to her mind.
"Go slowly," he cautioned. "Just a tiny bit at a time. Stop if you feel odd,"
Derek ordered. "Talk to me."
Kat began to speak in the small voice that she had used when she had first
entered. "I feel tired.... Your chest hurts, but it's not like a skinned knee... it's like
having something in front and back squeeze your heart in between, so your heart
doesn't have enough room to move.... It is like a frightened, trapped bird." She
paused to search more deeply... to follow the weakening tendrils of life toward a
center of darkness... hard, cold darkness. Tenderly probing, she crept along the
edges until she heard Derek gasp. Kat withdrew as quickly as she dared.
"I'm sorry... did I hurt?... Are you all right?" she asked, wide-eyed with
fright. "You're all white."
The precept rubbed his chest and, after a moment, replied, "I'm fine... just a
little stitch... took my breath away.... It doesn't seem to like to be touched, does it?"
"No, but I felt it," she said. "It's like a rock. I don't want you to die," she
sobbed as she climbed up the pillows to hug her friend around his neck. "No matter
how scary things are, I always feel safe with you."
Placing every flicker of warmth he could kindle into the gesture, the precept
returned the child's hug. "You've helped Katherine. Now... why don't you go on
down and practice Die Fledermaus?" he suggested. "If you leave the door open, I
can hear you... and I'll critique your performance later."
< < + > >
Sliding onto the piano bench, Kat gently opened the keyboard's lid. For a
moment, she sat quietly and tried to hear the music, the "overture", as Derek had
played it that night at her house. She looked down at her hands and visualized them
in their opening position. Kat began to play... at first counting the measures, then
sinking into the music itself... and its mood.
She knew that Derek was listening and wanted with all her heart to play well
for him. She wanted to make happy and to make him proud of her. As she reached
what she called the "tinkly" part she saw billowing white fabric from the corner of
her eye. When she tried to glance directly at it, it vanished or retreated again to the
periphery of her sight. She gave up and continued to play.
Finally, a small, plump figure in a white gown came whirling in three-quarters time into the center of the drawing room.
"Christina?" said Kat.
"Keep playing, child... Derek's listening," said the small voice.
Feeling the truth of it, Kat smiled. The specter, totally absorbed in the lilt of
the waltz, began to hum along with the piano. Finally, Kat came to the end.
"Brava! Your maestro will be pleased," said Christina. "Now... child, play
something simple while we talk."
