Not good. Didn't know much about hospitals but figured they kept a close eye on postop patients, which meant a nurse could pop in any second.

Turned and opened the closets. Yes! Clothes. So to speak. Faded yellow-and-green checked pants, canvas slip-on boat shoes, islanders ran across the back of the satin jacket and nascar across the front of the cap, but Jack felt like he'd struck gold.

Everything but the hat was too big on him but he didn't care. Soon as he had the cap snugged over his bandage, he peeked into the hall. Big Blue was still yakking with the nurse, so Jack stepped out of the room and strolled the opposite way.

Kept the brim low and his head down, looking up only to check for exit signs. His heart was pounding again, his nervous system taut as he waited for bells to start ringing and security men to come running through the halls. But all remained quiet. Took the stairs instead of the elevator, hurried through the lobby to the front entrance and into the air.

Free. For the moment at least.

The wind was picking up and the clouds looked lower and heavier than before. Rain coming. Wanted to get as far as possible from the hospital so he started walking. Couldn't move too fast, though. Every step sent a stab of pain down his left leg; something was using his brain for an anvil and his scorched face tingled in the breeze.

Other than that, I feel just great.

But where was he? He'd been through Monroe a couple of times last month but didn't recognize this stretch of road. All these post-World War Two residential neighborhoods with their ranches and Cape Cods and neat little lawns tended to look pretty much the same. Then he spotted an arrow-shaped sign for business district and followed that. He'd stand out less in a crowd.

Along the way he searched the pockets of the Islanders jacket and found the hospital admission papers with the owner's name—Peter Harris—along with a few coins and two twenties.

Thank you, Peter Harris. I get out of this, I'll pay you back with interest.

Downtown wasn't exactly chock-full of pay phones—maybe they didn't blend with the old whaling port motif—but he found one in front of a seafood restaurant and made a collect call to Abe.

"Abe, I need a ride."

"A ride to where?"

"Home."

"You can't take a cab?"

"I'm in a bit of a jam."

Abe sighed. "And where is this jam that you happen to be in?"

"Monroe. In front of a restaurant called"—he checked the sign—"Memison's. When can you get here?"

"Oy. Monroe. You couldn't be someplace closer? OK. I'll pick you up in front of this Memison's, but don't figure on less than an hour and a half."

"Thanks, Abe. And listen—call Gia and tell her I'm all right. I'd call her myself but I don't want to hang in the open on this phone much longer. Tell her somebody dosed me with the same stuff that made the preppies crazy but I got through it OK."

"On the run and stranded in Monroe… this is OK?"

"Just tell her, Abe."

Jack hung up and looked around. An hour and a half to kill. The clock on the bank said twelve-thirty. Damn. He'd been out for hours, and by now the cops had to know he was missing. They'd concentrate on the hospital first, but when they were satisfied that he wasn't hiding there, they'd start sweeping the town. Where could he go for an hour where he wouldn't be noticed?

And then he knew.

8

The phone was ringing. Nadia didn't budge. It wasn't her cell phone—that was the only number she'd given the police—so she didn't care who was on the house phone.

She sat in her mother's front room, wiping her eyes. She'd found the little Quisp ring Doug had given her the other night. For an instant she saw him sitting at his computer in his boxer shorts, being so sweet, sexy, and silly at the same time, and she burst into tears.

Forcing herself to move, she rose and stepped to the window and watched the preschool children playing in St. Vartan's Park across the street. She felt lost, sapped of energy. Uncertainty about what to do or who to turn to had gnawed at her, leaving her all but paralyzed.

Doug, where are you? What happened?

"Nadjie!" her mother called from the kitchen. She sounded almost hysterical. "Praise God! My prayers have been answered. It is Douglas!"

Nadia scrambled out of the chair and almost tripped in her mad dash to the kitchen where she snatched the receiver from her mother's hand.

"Doug?"

"Nadia! How I've missed you!"

She burst into tears at the sound of his voice. It was him; oh sweet God it was him.

"Oh, Doug! Doug, where have you been? I've been worried sick about you!"

"I'm so sorry about that but this is the first chance I've had to call. I'm in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I can't go into that now. Let's just say I shouldn't show my face for another week or so."

"Oh, God! This is crazy!"

"I know it is. Look, can you help me out with a little cash? I don't dare use my ATM."

"Of course."

"Great. Can you draw out a thousand and meet me?"

"I don't think I have that much."

"Whatever you can spare."

"OK. Where do I find you?"

"I'm hiding out near a little town called Monroe. You know it?"

"Near Glen Cove."

"Right. Come there and wait near the pay phone in front of Memison's restaurant right on the main drag.

I'll call you on that phone at two and tell you where to meet me."

"Doug, this sounds like something out of a bad spy movie."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But I don't have anyone else to turn to. Please, Nadia. Hang in with me on this one and I'll explain everything once we're face-to-face."

Face-to-face… God, she wanted that. More than anything in the world. She wanted to see Doug, touch him, make sure he was all right.

She glanced at the clock. Go to the bank, rent a car, drive out to Long Island… she'd have to get moving if she was going to make it by two.

"OK. I'm on my way."

"Thank you; thank you! I love you. And you won't regret this, I promise you."

She double-checked the name of the restaurant, then hung up and hugged her mother.

"He's all right! I'm going to meet him!"

"Where is he? Why can't he come here?"

"I'll explain everything later, Ma. The main thing is he's all right! That's all that matters!"

"Call me when you meet him," her mother said. "Just to let me know that you are all right."

"Sure! Soon as I give him a big fat kiss!"

She felt almost giddy with joy and relief as she ran to find her pocketbook.

9

The rain came in tropical style. One minute it was simply threatening; the next Jack was treading through a waterfall. Tried to run the remaining quarter-mile to the entrance but his banged-up legs and bruised ribs allowed for a trot at best. Arrived soaked and mud-splattered and in a foul mood. At least the main tent was still up, although the front flap was down and no one was selling tickets. Place looked pretty much deserted.

Jack slipped through the flap. The stale air trapped under the leaking canvas was redolent of wet hay and strange sweat. His feet squished within his wet deck shoes as he made his way toward Scar-lip's cage but stopped short, stopped stone-cold dead when he saw what was behind the bars.

Scar-lip, all right, but the creature he'd seen thirty-six hours ago had been only the palest reflection of this monster. The rakosh rearing up in the cage and rattling the bars now was full of vitality and ferocity, had unmarred, glistening blue-black skin, and bright yellow eyes that glowed with a fierce inner light.

Jack stood mute and numb on the fringe, thinking, This is a nightmare, one that keeps repeating itself.