Storm Warning

Chapter 9

9

G inny screamed, but the scream was cut short as Carney slapped her across the mouth and then grabbed her by the arms, slamming her against the wall. Her neck popped as her head collided with the mirror. She kept thinking that this couldn’t be happening, but the sound of shattering glass brought everything into reality. She had a brief glimpse of his face before her attention shifted. Then he began grabbing at her breasts, tearing at her shirt and the waist-band of her shorts.

“No!” she shouted, hitting at him with her fists, “Get out! Leave me alone!”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere, bitch, and neither are you!” Carney growled, and shoved himself hard against her body.

Fury rose above fear as she lashed back, scratching both hands across his face and then jamming her thumbs into his eyes.

He screamed in pain and began to curse as he frantically grabbed at her hands, trying to regain control, but he’d underestimated his opponent.

She kicked and bit and clawed and screamed, intent on causing pain to every tender place on his body. At the same time, the toe-tapping music coming from the radio in the other room was an obscenity, becoming an accomplice to what was happening to her.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Carney yelled, still struggling to bring the woman under control.

Finally he succeeded in grabbing one of her hands. As he did, he grabbed the electric cord attached to her hair dryer with the full intention of using it to tie her up. He had it wrapped around her left wrist and was reaching for the other when Ginny doubled up her fist and hit him square in the nose. Blood spurted as Carney roared in pain and rage.

It was reflex that made him cover his nose with both hands, and as he did, Ginny gave him a shove. He staggered backwards into the shower stall, scrambling to stay afoot. Ginny bolted out of the bathroom, screaming Sully’s name with Carney only seconds behind her.

The doorknob was beneath her palm when he caught her again, this time by the hair. Yanking her backward, he slammed her onto the floor. Within seconds, he was on top of her and Ginny’s chances for escape were almost gone. No match for his superior weight and strength, her mind raced for a way out of this horror. He hit her again with the flat of his hand and as he did, Ginny went limp, pretending unconsciousness.

It took Carney several seconds to realize she was no longer fighting, and even then, he couldn’t resist a last punch in her belly before he straddled her legs and rocked back on his heels.

Blood was dripping from his chin, and his eyes were already starting to swell. The bitch had broken his nose. Now he was really pissed. This went past payback for putting his face in the dirt. When he was through with her, there wouldn’t be enough left for that bastard in the parking lot to bury.

As the country music station changed to a she-done-me-wrong ballad, he stuffed his hand down the front of Ginny’s shirt and ripped it from neck to hem, revealing an expanse of smooth, creamy skin and a pink, lacy bra, which he quickly dispatched. It wasn’t until he thrust his hand into the waistband of her shorts and started to pull that Ginny came undone. Windmilling both arms, she hit him first in the balls and then again in the nose. Momentarily blinded by the incredible pain, Carney gagged and slumped sideways, both hands on his crotch. At that point, Ginny managed to get one leg free.

It was nothing but bad luck when Carney caught her by the ankle. He staggered to his feet, almost doubled over from the pain, but he had a death grip on Ginny’s leg.

“Help! Somebody…help me!” she screamed, kicking frantically at him with her other foot.

Carney reached over and turned the radio up to full volume. Tears were streaming down his face, mixing with the constant flow of blood.

“You bitch, you bitch, you sorry bitch,” he sobbed, then he reached behind his back and came back holding a knife.

Ginny watched in horror as the switchblade snapped out of its sheath. At that point she threw back her head and screamed as she’d never screamed before. The sound ripped up her throat and swelled above the music, shattering Carney’s eardrums and making his head ache even more. He had never liked women all that much except when he was in need of a fuck. He didn’t trust their lying ways, and he’d come to the conclusion that he probably hated this one most of all.

“There ain’t no one left to help you, bitch, so you might as well shut up.”

The gunshot was startling, as was the plastic that went flying when the bullet took apart the radio, instantly silencing the song.

Both Carney and Ginny froze, staring first at each other and then in the direction the shot had come from.

“You son of a bitch,” Sully said.

Ginny had only a fleeting glimpse of the blood running down Sully’s face before she saw the gun in his hand. A millisecond later he fired again, this time sending a bullet ripping through Carney’s shoulder. The knife he was holding fell to the floor, and he followed it with a lifeless thump.

For a second there was nothing but the labored sounds of Sully’s breathing and the thunder of Ginny’s heartbeat pounding against her eardrums. Then Sully staggered forward, pulled Carney’s unconscious body off Ginny and lifted her into his arms. At that moment men began spilling into the doorway. It was the fishermen from the neighboring cabins, all talking and shouting at once.

Sully made it to the bed before his knees gave out. He sat, still holding Ginny so close she could hardly breathe.

“Someone call 911 and do it fast, because if that son of a bitch comes to before the ambulance gets here, I’m going to kill him.”

Two men bolted toward the pay phone, while the others came inside to help. There was no mistaking what had happened, or what Carney Auger had tried to do. The state of Ginny’s face and clothes was frightening, as was the look in Sully’s eyes.

“What can we do, man?” someone asked.

Sully felt himself starting to black out and shook his head hard, knowing that pain would be the jolt he needed to stay focused. Clenching his teeth to keep from groaning, he pointed at a blanket that had been tossed on one of the chairs.

“Hand me that blanket,” he muttered. “The bastard nearly stripped her naked.” Gently, he covered her nudity and faced the fact that he’d come too late to keep her from harm.

Ginny’s head was throbbing, her body a mass of pain. Added to that, shock was beginning to set in. When she started to shake, Sully pulled the blanket a little closer around her and began to rock her in place.

“It’s all right, baby,” he said softly. “It’s all right. I’ve got you now. He can’t hurt you again.”

Ginny needed to talk, to find out why one side of Sully’s face was covered in blood, but her teeth were chattering too hard for her to speak.

Someone laid a cold washcloth on the side of her face where it was starting to bruise. Ginny moaned.

“Easy, damn it,” Sully said.

“Sorry,” the man said. “Here, maybe you should do it.”

With one arm still holding her close, Sully turned loose of her long enough to wipe the blood from her mouth. Just looking at the split in her lower lip and the blood oozing from her nose came close to sending him over the edge. He was contemplating the idea of putting another bullet into Carney Auger’s body when the old man came running into the cabin.

“What the hell’s been happening here?” Marshall cried.

Sully pointed. “Your son tried to kill us, and before you say a damned thing in his favor, you better know it took every bit of restraint I had not to put that bullet into his brain.”

Marshall stared, momentarily too shocked to speak, and then his voice filled with tears as he shook his head in disbelief.

“Sometimes a parent knows things about his children that he don’t want to face.” He looked first at Sully, then at the woman in his arms. “Is she…? Did he…?”

“She’s hurt, but he didn’t get the chance to rape her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The old man’s shoulders slumped, and it seemed as if he aged ten years before their eyes.

“I’m as sorry as a man can be.” He looked down at the limp body of his eldest son. “You would have done us all a favor if your first shot had been his last.” Then he lifted his head and took a deep breath. “I’m going to drive out to the main road and make sure the ambulance and the police don’t miss this turn. It’s hard to see in the dark.”

The trio of fishermen were soon joined by the other two, and they stood guard at the door and around Sullivan and Ginny. Not because it was necessary anymore, but because it was the only thing they could do.

The paramedics took them by ambulance to Hattiesburg, running hot all the way into the city. The shrill bleat of the repeating siren was like a knife being thrust into Sully’s brain, and yet the pain was nothing compared to the fear in his heart. The paramedics had tended his head on the scene. It would need stitches, and he knew from past experience that he had some degree of concussion. That would heal. It was what he’d let happen to Ginny that was a festering sore.

He should have known from Auger’s rap sheet that he wasn’t the kind of man to let someone put him in the dirt without payback. He should have moved them from the cabins the same day the incident happened, despite what Ginny had wanted. And he should have been more observant when he’d gone to the car to get that yearbook. He kept looking at her there on the stretcher as the ambulance flew down the highway. She had paid dearly for his mistakes.

By the time they reached the hospital, he knew he was fading fast. His thoughts kept going in and out of focus, and he didn’t trust the local authorities to keep Ginny safe. As they unloaded the stretcher Ginny was on, he began to follow.

“Hold on there a minute, buddy,” one of the orderlies said, and seated him in a wheelchair.

Sully tolerated it long enough to get him inside, but as they passed the front desk, he dragged his feet and got out, swaying where he stood as he reached for a phone.

“I’m sorry,” a nurse said. “That’s not for public use.”

“Come on, buddy. You need to get that head looked at,” the orderly urged, and tried to get Sully back in the chair.

Ignoring both of them, Sully pulled out his badge. “It’s an emergency. How do you get an outside line?”

The nurse’s eyes widened. “Punch nine.”

He pointed at the disappearing stretcher with Ginny on board.

“Nurse, you stay with that woman and don’t take your eyes off her until I say so. Don’t let anyone near her but the attending physician.”

She hesitated but a moment, then called for another nurse, who was just coming down the hall.

“Watch the desk until I get back,” she said, and took off after the paramedics who’d taken Ginny into the examining room.

Sully closed his eyes, trying to remember the numbers he needed to call, but they were all jumbled up in his head. If only he had his cell phone, he could have used speed dial and saved himself the trouble. Finally he took a deep breath, making himself relax, and as he did, the numbers fell into place.

The call was answered on the second ring.

“Howard.”

Sully stifled a groan as a sharp pain shot behind his eyeballs. “Dan, it’s me, Sully. We’ve had a situation here totally unrelated to the case, but I’m going to need help.”

Agent Howard frowned. Sullivan Dean wasn’t the kind of man to ask for help unless something was really wrong.

“What happened?”

“Long story,” Sully muttered. “But we’re in a hospital. I’ve got a concussion, and they’re working on our witness right now.”

“Damn it, Sully, what do you mean, working on her? Were you in an accident?”

“It was an assault by a local…completely unrelated to the other.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. But I don’t dare trust the local authorities on this one. There are too many variables that could mean the end of her life.”

“Where are you?”

“Hattiesburg, Mississippi, but I’m not sure which hospital.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Dan said. “I’ll get it from my caller ID. You just sit tight, buddy. I’ll have someone there within an hour.”

“Thanks,” Sully said. “I owe you.”

“Uh…Sully…?”

“Yeah?”

“The woman…is she going to be all right?”

Sully sighed. “Physically, yes.”

Dan Howard grunted. It was what Sully hadn’t said that worried him.

“What happened to her?”

“She was beaten within an inch of her life in a rape attempt.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“Just get me some help,” Sully said. “I can’t talk anymore.”

Howard was still talking as Sully slid to the floor.

Emile Karnoff frowned as he hung up the phone. Damn this age of answering machines. If he couldn’t complete this call, he would never be able to rest. In less than fifteen minutes his driver was going to pick him up and take him back to the hospital. One last session today and he would be finished here in Dublin, although he had unfinished business at home. The young cancer patient was already showing signs of improvement. Her white count was up, and the fever was down. A couple of doctors in the Dublin Hospital were claiming it was nothing more than the results of chemotherapy finally kicking in, but most of the others were in awe of the results of his treatments. Although Emile never worked with anyone in the room besides him and the patient, he had allowed video cameras to film him in action.

It seemed so simple to the naked eye. Putting someone into a hypnotic trance, then basically telling them to get well. Only it wasn’t that simple. It was a complex treatment—as complex as the mind itself.

He had discovered, during the experimental phases, that different parts of the brain responded to different musical tones. After that, he began to manipulate the mind with sound, using a series of chimes, not unlike running the scales on a children’s xylophone. By programming the patient to listen for the tones, he obtained entrance into the subconscious and beyond. Past buried memories into the part of the brain that controlled the nervous system, then past that into the depths that sent out warning signals when the body was in danger of dying. And with each progressively higher tone, he obtained access to the places where pain was registered and recorded—and even into the convoluted whorls within the human mind that poisoned the body with stress and tension.

It was all about trust. He taught the patient to trust him. After that, they always let him in. Once inside the human mind, he set a series of commands in place in which the mind told the body how and where to heal itself.

It sounded preposterous—like something out of an old sci-fi movie. But there had been a time in history when people had thought it preposterous that there were things called germs that could make people sick—could even kill. How could something invisible be that deadly? But time had proven the far-seeing men who espoused the germ theory to be right. And it wasn’t as if he had fought a completely uphill battle. Hypnosis had been used for years in the treatment of smoking and eating addictions, as well as a treatment for sexual traumas and the like. Many studies had been done on certain Asian religious orders and on the monks who could supposedly control pain and blood loss by the simple use of their minds.

All he’d done was take those theories a leap further. Using the human mind to heal the body seemed so simple—so logical. No transplants to be made. No anti-rejection drugs to take. And the only cutting to be done was by men like Emile, who cut through the trash littering up the human brain with softly spoken words and gentle commands. It was another step toward a perfect world, and Emile Karnoff was riding an accolade high.

Granted, he’d made some mistakes in the early years, but that was to be expected. All research had dead ends, some more dead than others. At least he hadn’t spent a lifetime pursuing the wrong paths. That had become apparent early on. It wasn’t until he’d done his first experiments on actual subjects with real illnesses that he’d begun to see the possibilities. He thought back to those times, remembering the faces of the children who’d so trustingly let him into their minds. Children were the easiest to treat and the most susceptible to his methods.

A knock on his door signaled his driver had arrived. Later, as he rode to the hospital, he thought of his son as a child and then frowned. It was a shame that the innocence of children disappeared with their maturity. Phillip had no focus—no dreams. He simply existed—a shadow of the love Emile and Lucy shared. And as he thought of Lucy, he looked again out the window of the car in which he was riding, yearning for the countryside beyond the city.

Emile sighed. He had fallen in love with Ireland. The simple lifestyle and the beauty of the country, coupled with the genuine friendliness of the people, had spoken to his soul. All during his trips back and forth to the hospital, he kept thinking of ways to approach Lucy about buying a second home. It wouldn’t have to be anything fancy, because life was simple here. He would have peace and quiet for his studies, and it would be as easy to travel from here as it was from Bainbridge, Connecticut, where they lived now.

It wasn’t as if he had an office and a roster of regular patients. He’d been in research most of his life, and it was only after receiving the Nobel Prize that he’d started getting requests for consultations. If he wanted, he could easily become wealthy in a short space of time. It would be years before his methods could be taught to other qualified doctors, and by then, he would be too old to care about making even more money. Besides, he reminded himself, he’d done this for the good of mankind.

“Sir, we’re almost to the hospital, we are,” the driver said. “Will ye be wantin’ me to wait?”

Emile glanced at his watch and then shook his head.

“No, thank you, McGarrity, you go on home. I’ll catch a cab back to the hotel.”

“I’ll not be mindin’ the waitin’,” the driver insisted.

“No. I insist. I have no idea how long I’ll be. Go home and spend an early evening with your family. I wish I could do the same.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” the driver said.

Moments later, Emile entered the hospital, his mind already shifting to the young woman and the work yet to be done. She was only thirty-two years old, with a family yet to raise. It did his heart good to know that her brain was already accessing a different route to healing her body. The proof was in her blood work as well as her appearance. The yellow, jaundiced look to her skin was almost gone. He predicted that before six months were up, she would be as good as new. Quite a miracle for a woman they’d given up as lost.

By the time he reached the fourth floor, his walk was almost a swagger, and why not? He walked with God. Only one other man on this earth had healed in that manner, and He’d been crucified. Emile was in no danger of that.

“Ummm, baby, are you awake?”

When a hand encircled his penis, Phillip gasped, then fell out of bed.

“Who the hell are you?” he mumbled, staring down in disbelief at the skinny blonde who was lying spread-eagled in the bed he’d just exited.

“Come on, baby, I’m horny,” she whined, and began stroking herself as he watched.

“My God, my God,” he moaned, and looked around for his clothes. They were nowhere in sight. And that wasn’t the worst of his awakening. He had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there.

“My clothes,” he said. “Where are my clothes?”

The woman just made a face at him and then stuck out her tongue.

“Come play with Teena, then I’ll tell you where they are.”

Phillip’s shock turned to panic. Play with her? Good lord, he couldn’t even bring himself to touch her. There were needle-marks on her arms, and a multitude of small scabs on her legs that he didn’t want to think about. Instead, he began tearing through the room, opening drawers and looking through her closet.

“Come on, baby, I’m getting hot, real hot,” the woman said, closing her eyes as her fingers began to move faster.

Phillip wouldn’t look at her for fear of gagging. He tore into the adjoining bathroom and then wished he hadn’t. Filth was everywhere.

“No, no, no,” he moaned, and dashed into the front room.

At first he didn’t recognize them, but when he realized the black pants and shirt on the floor near the door were men’s clothing, he grabbed them and began putting them on. To his horror, they fit perfectly. More pieces to a puzzle he couldn’t explain. When he pulled out the ring of keys from the jacket hanging on the back of a chair, he recognized them. They were his.

In the other room, he could hear the woman’s voice rising higher and higher in pitch as her orgasm started. He cast one last frantic look behind, him, praying that he was leaving nothing of his own behind and grabbed the doorknob.

She moaned and then started to scream.

He yanked the door open, slammed it firmly behind him and never looked back.

Lucy Karnoff slammed the phone down and then burst into tears. Everything had been so perfect, and now it was falling down around her ears. She’d spent two days trying to find Phillip, but to no avail. She’d called every place she’d ever known him to frequent and spent precious hours in taxi cabs, searching in places of such degradation that she’d burned the clothes she’d worn during the search.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. She’d spent her whole life making things perfect and pleasant for Emile so he could concentrate on his work, and now that he’d finally garnered the recognition he so richly deserved, everything was coming apart. It was her duty to make things right. She always made things right. But for the past two years she’d seen the changes in Phillip increasing in intensity. And each time the shift happened, she made sure her husband didn’t know. She’d spent a good portion of their savings bailing Phillip out of jail and paying for everything from traffic tickets to fixing the damage to other people’s cars so that it would not be reported to their insurance. Once it had cost her a thousand dollars to pay for the damage Phillip had incurred during a fight at a nightclub in a neighboring town. But he’d never disappeared before. Not for this length of time.

She slumped into the chair behind Emile’s desk and covered her face. She couldn’t find their son and was torn between the shame of what he might have done and the fact that she might never see him again. To her dismay, she caught herself leaning toward the last possibility as the best. Then she started to cry. He was her baby. Her precious only child. God forgive her for even thinking such horrible thoughts. She wanted him back, no matter what he had done.

Then she lifted her head and wiped the tears from her face. This was their child, not just hers. It was time that Emile shouldered some of the fear and responsibility. She opened the drawer to his desk, digging through the papers for the phone number and address of the hotel in Dublin where he was staying. A few moments later she found what she needed and then sat back in the chair, shaking with relief. Emile would know what to do.

She picked up the receiver and started to punch in the first set of numbers when she heard the front door slam. She stood abruptly, her heart pounding.

“Phillip? Is that you?”

Footsteps sounded on the hardwood flooring, coming nearer and nearer to the study. Unable to stand the suspense, she started moving toward the door.

And then he was there, standing in the doorway with tears running down his face. His hair was a mess, his eyes wild and bloodshot. His lower lip quivered, and then he held out his hands.

“Mother?”

She caught him to her breast, holding him close and patting his back as she’d done so often in comfort when he was a child.

“Yes, darling, Mother’s here. Whatever has happened, it will be all right.”