Born of Illusion (38 page)

Dr. Boyle shrugs. “You give me too much credit. On the other hand, I don’t think I’ve given you enough credit. Now that I know how very talented you are, I’ve decided to take you along as well.”

I still, barely able to breathe. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do, Miss Van Housen. Not only did I have the test to point me in your direction, but Mrs. Lindsay’s reaction to you confirmed it. I had originally tried to recruit her for my project. I’d heard very good reports about her and she passed all my tests. Unfortunately, she was already too far gone, as we witnessed at Lindy’s. But you, you not only have the talent, you are also very much in your right mind. You and Cole will be valuable assets to my organization. And remember, I did ask you to come of your own free will.”

I start to tremble, remembering the letter and the young girl who went mad from Dr. Boyle’s experiments.
That could be me. Or Cole.

“That wasn’t the deal, Franklin. When you first approached me, you said I could have her. You get Cole, I get Anna.” Owen sounds like a petulant child whose favorite toy is being threatened in the sandbox, and I flush.

“You get me? Like I’m a carnival prize? And what makes you think you can hold on to me?” Power tingles down my arms, telling me Cole is nearby.
No!
I scream in my head, sending out a pulse so strong I’m surprised it doesn’t light up the docks.

Dr. Boyle suddenly laughs. “She has a point. I don’t think you could hold her for very long. It is best she comes with me. Having both of them would ensure their good behavior.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask to keep him talking. Anything to keep from getting on that boat with him.

“Let’s just say I’m being a good patriot. When England goes to war again—and mark my words, we will—the government will be more than thankful for the services my stable of trained Sensitives can provide.”

Fear shoots through me as I realize that the man is as insane in his way as Mrs. Lindsay. “For a price, of course.”

Dr. Boyle twitches a shoulder. “Of course.”

“Where does Cole come in?”
Keep him talking.

“Cole is a very special man. If he wishes, he can detect Sensitives in a crowd of hundreds. Unfortunately, Cole is also a very moral, almost priggish, young man. But I now have the key to ensure his cooperation.”

He smiles at me and my heart stops.

“No! She’s mine!” Owen bursts out. He turns to me, pleading. “Think of it, Anna; we could be famous and rich. We could travel. We would be a huge success. I just know it.”

I see the desperation in his face and remember how badly he wanted to return to Boston in triumph.

“You and I, we really have something. I should have never married Lorraine,” he continues. “It was a huge mistake. . . .”

“You bastard!”

I turn to see Lorraine waving a gun at Owen. There’s a sudden flash and searing pain reels me off the dock.

The icy black water swallows me immediately and stuns me senseless. There’s no light, only the pain in my shoulder and the shock of the water. Is this the end? Was my vision showing me my own death?
Oh, God, what will happen to my mother? What will happen to Cole?
Kicking with my feet, I rise to the surface to take a deep breath before sinking again, the current dragging at my feet. My strength is depleted by injuries. Weakness and lassitude overcome me.

I wonder if my father ever thought he was going to die alone and underwater.

An image of Houdini springs to my mind and with it the picklock I’d palmed earlier. I yank it from where it’s still caught in my woolen jacket. With fingers numb from cold, I carefully stick it in the lock. It’s much more difficult trying to do so underwater while kicking my feet. I rise to take another deep breath, struggling against my growing panic. I sink again and wonder if it’s for the last time. Gritting my teeth, I continue working the lock until it finally springs open. I free my arms and swim to the surface, letting the cuffs and picklock sink into the river.

Disoriented, I look around and realize I’ve drifted downriver. Someone’s yelling my name, but it’s faint. And I’m cold. So cold. My body shakes violently, shutting down. I can hardly tread water. If only I could get close enough to the bank to stand, if only I could yell.

One foot touches something and then the other. Mud, I’m in mud. I collapse in relief and swallow a mouthful of water. I have to make it to the shore. I have to.

Struggling with every bit of strength I have left, I paddle toward the bank, which is now outlined in the dark. I try to stand. Try to walk. My legs are numb. My mind is numb. I crawl in the frozen mud, trying to send a signal to Cole. But I have no energy left. I lurch forward and everything goes dark.

I have never been so cold.

“Is she alive?”

My mother’s voice sounds far away. I try to answer, but my lips are frozen, just like everything else. Someone is rubbing my hands and feet and the pain is like icy fire shooting up my limbs. I try to tell them to stop, but I can’t make my lips move.

“The doctor’s here now. Let him through, let him through.”

I know people are surrounding me and I want to tell them I’m alive, I’ll be fine, but I can’t. I can’t even open my eyes.

“You’re going to be fine, Anna.” It’s Cole’s voice I hear, and then I feel his warm lips brush my icy mouth like a thousand sunlit kisses.

I feel him throw me a strand and my mind grabs at it, clinging to it as he is pushed away by doctors. I hold on to the ribbon that links me to him as the doctors work on me. The tiny spark of the strand warms me from the inside out and I let myself slip back into unconsciousness, knowing the people I love are safe.

I’m conscious of the passage of time. My life becomes a blur of bad-tasting medicine, scratchy cotton sheets, and ridiculous nurses’ caps. The faces may change, but the caps, with their stiff, cambric crowns and wide, starched brims, stay the same.

“How long have I been here?” I remember asking one cap during a lucid moment. The cooling sponge being wiped across my face feels wonderful.

“About a week,” the cap says.

“Am I sick?” I ask it.

“Yes.”

The next time I awake there is no cap hovering over me. My mind feels clear of fog for the first time since I fell from the dock.
The dock!
Memories come flooding back and I struggle to sit up, but a throbbing pain in my shoulder stops me.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” My mother’s voice comes from somewhere on my right. Peering through the gloom, I find her sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, working on a newspaper crossword puzzle. The only light in the room is coming from a small lamp next to her. “The bullet only nicked you, but they just changed the bandage so it’ll be sore.”

She sets the paper aside and walks over to my bed. I frown, trying to figure out why she looks so different. She’s wearing a boxy, blue jacket and matching pleated skirt with low-heeled, black oxford pumps. Instead of her usual hodgepodge of costume jewelry, only a single strand of pearls adorns her neck.

Very conventional. This must be her
I’m-visiting-my daughter-in-the-hospital
outfit.

“How long have I been here?” I croak. My throat stings, and I clutch at it with my good arm.

My mother gives me a sip of water, then places it back on the bedside table. “Almost two weeks. You developed pneumonia. They didn’t think you were going to make it. That’ll teach you to swim in the Hudson in November.”

Her words are light, but her hands are trembling. She clasps them in front of her and squeezes them together. Hard.

“What happened to Cole?”

“He’s fine. I sent him home to get some sleep. Very stubborn young man. He’s been here the whole time, even when I told him it wasn’t necessary.” Her voice contains grudging respect and I hide a smile, imagining the conversations they must have had—Cole so quietly unmovable and my mother so charmingly insistent. “I think you have a suitor.”

A suitor?
I raise my brow at her old-fashioned choice of words. Then I remember something. “What about you and Jacques?”

“Oh, he told you, did he? I thought he might have. We’re getting married on New Year’s Day. He’s another stubborn man.”

Married?
My mother’s getting married? It’s hard for me even to think about marriage and my mother in the same sentence. Another strange notion hits me. Jacques is going to be my stepfather. Suddenly I wonder if Harry Houdini knows I’m in the hospital, but that’s not something I can ask my mother. My lids grow heavy, but I’m not done with her yet.

“What about the show?”

Her mouth tightens and I wonder if she is remembering the last time we did the show together. I want to tell her I’m sorry, but I’m not. I’m only sorry it hurt her.

“Jacques and I canceled the show.”

I almost sit up again, but she pushes me back down. “Don’t worry; it’ll be fine. Jacques wants me to be his business partner.”

But what about me? Anger flashes over me as I remember how she tried to maneuver me out of the show. So she finally got her wish. Then I remember all the things Jacques told me about how she was afraid I would end up like her.

Her face takes on a carefully arranged blankness, which means that asking more questions about the show is useless. One of the most important things I’ve learned about my mother is that when she puts something behind her, it is dead and gone. Evidently, the life we’ve lived up until now is, in her mind at least, dead and gone.

She pats my shoulder and tucks the blankets around me. “It’s all for the best, really. Now you can decide what it is you truly want to do with your life.”

A cap interrupts us then to make me take more foul-tasting medicine and then insists that I rest. After the light is turned out and my brow kissed, I turn the question over and over in my mind,
What do I really want to do with my life?

Our sitting room is filled with sweet-smelling hothouse flowers. I wonder how many flower shops are low on holiday bouquets because my mother, Jacques, and Cole keep buying them all up.

I’ve been home for three days now, and I feel stronger every morning. Right now, I’m lounging on the settee, my shoulder still taped, even though it’s almost healed. Fortunately for me, Lorraine was as lousy a shot as she was a housekeeper.

“Checkmate!” Mr. Darby rubs his hands together across the board set up next to me. I barely resist the urge to sweep all the pieces to the floor.

“That’s the last time I play you!”

“That’s what you always say,” Mother says from the doorway. “Then you always play him again. A glutton for punishment.”

“I live with you, don’t I?” I mutter under my breath.

“Don’t strain yourself, darling,” she says wickedly as she brings me a cup of tea.

My mother and I have come to an uneasy truce. I love her and she loves me, but we won’t ever work together again. I’m so thankful the séances are over. Though Cynthia is practically inconsolable about having to find a new medium. She thinks I should strike out on my own and move in with her as her private spirit guide, but I gave her an unequivocal no to that dizzy idea. Personally, I think she’s just bored and wants her best friend with her all the time. The largest bouquet in the room is from her.

Mr. Darby puts the chessboard away. “I’ll come by and see you again, missy. Take care of yourself now.”

I smile up at him as he pats my arm and takes his leave.

My mother fusses over me for a moment. “Cole will be up shortly to sit with you. I guess Macy’s puts on some big parade, and Jacques is taking me to see it. When I get back, perhaps you’ll be feeling well enough to go to Thanksgiving dinner.”

I smile at her and she pauses at the door. “Are you sure you’re up for the trial?”

I nod. “The lawyers say it’s an open-and-shut case. You already gave your deposition. With my testimony, both Owen and Lorraine will be put away for a good long time.”

A faint, cold smile flickers across my mother’s mouth. “As is only fitting.”

She leaves me to my thoughts and I settle back against the pillows, my shoulder aching. I’m so thankful Cole went against my wishes and brought the police in on the kidnapping at the last minute. They watched Owen’s place until he and Lorraine left with their suitcases, then shadowed them to the warehouse. It was Cole who found me, though.

There was no trace of Dr. Boyle. He probably left when he realized the police had come along with Cole. The police had a description of him, but he’s probably long gone. I shiver at the thought that he may be out there somewhere, plotting to kidnap more Sensitives. At least Owen won’t be bothering us again.

Inside my chest my heart twinges. I still can’t believe Owen took me in so easily, but then again, maybe he really had been under Dr. Boyle’s influence. At any rate, it just proves that being a Sensitive doesn’t mean you’re immune to deception.

Glancing at the door, I reach down and pick out a small box from the stack of gifts next to me. Apparently, the newspapers published an article about my ordeal, and notes, gifts, and flowers had been arriving ever since. The box I’m holding had been delivered with a dozen yellow roses just after I arrived home. Because I’ve received so many presents, my mother has no reason to believe this one is any different. But it is.