_Wednesday, April 8
12:32 P.M.
_
"You think you've got _what_?" Stone Aimes sounded like he'd just won
the lottery. "For the patient who was 'terminated'? My God, Ally,
you're incredible."
"Possibly. But what I know I am is very worried. For one thing, if this
is the person you're looking for, the one who got dropped from the
trials, it's somebody you've probably heard of, and for another, I've
just had a series of very disturbing experiences. . . ."
She'd called him on her cell phone the minute she cranked up her Toyota
to return to the city. She couldn't get away from the Dorian Institute
fast enough.
After leaving Karl Van de Vliet, she'd taken the elevator up to the
second floor to check in on Nina.
"What's all the excitement?" her mother had asked. "One of the nurses
just told me that a deranged woman with a gun barged into the lobby
looking for Dr. Vee. Then she shot herself."
"It's nothing, Mom. Everything is all right now." She hadn't wanted to
upset Nina, but she was convinced Karl Van de Vliet had just done some
major lying. His uneasy body language told her he knew a lot more about
Kristen Starr than he was admitting; for that matter, Debra Connolly
probably did too.
"Well, thank goodness," Nina had said. "Are you going to start the
procedure for your heart today?"
"Not yet. I want another day to think about it. But tell me how you're
doing really. I mean, are you comfortable with how everything's going
here? You can still stop if things don't feel right."
Ally half wanted to get her out of the Dorian Institute immediately.
She didn't know what either of them had stumbled into. She just knew
now that, along with the possibility of miracles, the Dorian Institute
had a lot of questions that needed straight answers. She no longer
trusted Karl Van de Vliet. She had seen his facade crack momentarily
and what lay beneath it made her very uncomfortable.
Furthermore, she thought he realized she knew he was lying. And it
seemed to make him even more desperate to keep her there.
"Ally, what a silly thing to say. Of course I want to stay." She'd
fluffed up her pillow and reached for the TV remote. "Some of the smoke
has already been blown out of my mind. I'm feeling clearer by the
minute."
There's surely got to be some "placebo effect" at work here, Ally
thought. But still, she does seem more aware.
"Okay, Mom, I'm going back into the city now. But I'll be here tomorrow
and every day to check on you. Just don't . . . don't let them do
anything to you that seems strange."
With that, she had given Nina a kiss on the forehead and taken the
marble stairs down to the first-floor reception.
It was now time to find Kristen Starr.
The nurse at the desk was a woman named May Gooden. The main floor had
returned to normal after all the excitement, with patients passing
through as they came back from the cafeteria.
Ally had decided to try a long shot and see if she could pry out any
information about Kristen from the patient files. She asked point-
blank.
"I guess Dr. Van de Vliet was not aware of the legal strictures in our
NIH agreement," May had said. "No personal information can be released
without a patient's signed authorization."
"You do remember her being here, though? Kristen Starr."
"My Lord, that's not something that goes unnoticed. She had an assumed
name but everybody knew who she was. A nice girl. Nicer than you'd
expect from seeing her on television."
"So when, exactly, did she leave? Surely you can tell me that harmless
piece of information? It was several months ago, right?"
May got a strange look in her eyes. "Who told you that?"
"I . . . I was downstairs when her mother showed up. I just got the
impression that it was--"
May glanced furtively around. "I shouldn't be telling you this, but the
truth is, I think she was still here until just a few days ago. She was
down in intensive care. No nursing staff is allowed down there, just
those medical-research people he has working for him, what some of the
nurses call the Gang of Four. But they brought her up in the elevator
and then an ambulance took her away."
"When, precisely, was--"
"I've said too much already." She glanced around again. "And I can
assure you that Kristen didn't sign an authorization to give out her
personal information." She abruptly turned frosty and officious, as
though rethinking how open she'd just been. What was she afraid of?
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some things I need to do."
Ally had nodded and thanked her and split.
Thus the search had already produced an interesting factoid. Karl Van
de Vliet was most assuredly engaged in the practice of a big lie about
Kristen. . . .
"Maybe you should start by telling me about the disturbing experience,"
Stone was saying.
As the shadows of the trees that lined the leafy driveway glided past
the Toyota's windshield she told him about Katherine Starr and Kristen
Starr. She also told him the disparate versions of Kristen's departure
as recounted by Van de Vliet and May Gooden.
"Sounds like they've got a situation," Stone declared. "They're trying
to hide somebody who's well known. But you've got a number?"
"Like I said I palmed Katherine's little black book and it's got what
could be the last known phone number for Kristen. Since she probably
left the institute in an ambulance a few days ago, I doubt if she's at
that number now, but it's someplace to start. I assume the area code is
two-one-two. There're reverse directories where you can find the
address for a phone number, right? In fact, I think there's a site on
the Web that--"
"Leave that part to me. If the number's still good I'll have it in five
minutes. Then I'll call you back and maybe you could meet me there,
assuming it's somewhere in the city. Just give me your cell number."
She did and then clicked off the handset.
My God, she thought, that's the first time I've "given my number " to a
man--not a business acquaintance--since Steve died. Okay, there were
dinners with a couple of bachelor clients that turned out to be more
than dinner. But neither relationship had lasted past a month. Both the
men, nice guys, had complained she wasn't there for them--she wasn't--and
had broken it off.
She meditated on that as she went through the iron gates (which opened
automatically) and headed down the leafy, twisting roadway leading to
the expressway.
She also found herself wondering what Stone Aimes was really like.
There was an openness now that made her feel comfortable--though maybe
that was just his deceptive reporter's manner, his calculating way of
getting below her radar. He'd definitely picked up a few social skills
over the past years. God knows he needed them.
Whatever was going on, it was good to have him around again. There was
something different about talking to him than talking to Jennifer,
though Ally wasn't quite sure what it was--and she was afraid to think
too hard about it. But whatever that difference, it was one of the
million reasons she so missed having Steve around.
Because if there ever was a time when she needed somebody to talk to .
. .
Why am I thinking all this? she chided herself. I'm trying to
psychoanalyze him and put him in a category when I don't know the first
thing about what he's actually turned into after all this time. Is all
the warmth and sincerity for real? Back in the old days he'd make nice
whenever the stakes were low, but then when he had something on the
line, he'd push as hard as he needed to get what he wanted.
Well, she reminded herself, I'm that way too. That was part of our
problem.
The phone beeped.
"Voila," Stone's voice announced. "I got an address in the West
Village. It's Two-Seventeen West Eleventh Street. The phone is unlisted
but it's billed to her name, so you were right about the number. And
get this, it hadn't been turned off. So I thought, idiot, why don't you
do the obvious and just try calling?"
"But her mother said she'd disappeared. . . ."
"Well, that's highly plausible. There's an answering machine there with
a very strange message. It doesn't give a name, but it's a woman's
voice and it's like a _cri de coeur_. She's away but she--quote--can't
say where. You should listen to it."
Greenwood Lake Road had now become Skyline Drive,
for no discernible reason, and the traffic was picking up. Ally put on
some speed and passed a truck.
"I'll do that. But we don't actually know for sure if it's the same
Kristen Starr, though it surely has to be. Did you recognize her
voice?"
"I've never watched her cable show. I just sort of know who she is. But
you'd better listen to her announcement. How could there be two
screwed-up young women named Kristen Starr in the same town, even if it
is New York?"
"I'll listen. It's got to be her, though. Give me the address." She
hesitated a moment after he did then, "Would you like to meet me there?
I think I could probably make it in an hour, or an hour and a quarter
to be safe. We could ask around see if anybody in her building or the
neighborhood has any idea what's going on with her. Maybe somebody's
seen her."
"I was supposed to head into the office, but nothing could keep me
away," he declared with enthusiasm.
A patrol car was speeding by in the opposite direction, siren blaring.
She waited for the noise to subside.
"Great. I'll try for an hour. Unless the traffic really gets crazy. You
never know what to expect at the GW Bridge, even in the middle of the
day."
She clicked off the phone, then checked the number in the front of the
black address book and punched it in.
The phone rang twice and then an answering machine started. The voice
making the announcement sounded thin, tiny, and fragile. Just hanging
on. It was the verbal equivalent of the loopy handwriting on the
letter, a transparent attempt to bolster nonexistent courage.
"Hi. I'm away for now--I can't say where--and I'm not sure when I'll be
back. But you can leave a message or whatever, in case I get a chance
to pick them up at some point. Or you don't have to. That's okay too."
What an odd thing to say, Ally thought. It's like she s trying not to
sound too needful.
But it was definitely the Kristen Starr. The slightly ditzy tone was
right there.
Next came a long series of beeps as the machine proceeded to rewind.
This is surreal, she thought. I'm about to leave a message for a person
who's God-knows-where.
While the machine beeped, she tried to rehearse what she wanted to say,
to make it as non-threatening as possible. Finally the machine stopped
rewinding.
"Kristen, hi, my name is Ally Hampton. You may remember I did an
interior-design job for you when you lived in Chelsea. CitiSpace? I
just met your mother. She got your letter." Should I tell her about the
gun accident? Ally wondered. No, she's weirded-out enough already.
"Your real name is Kristen Starr. You seemed a little confused about
that in your letter to her, which I read part of. You'd been at the
Dorian Institute in New Jersey. Listen, it's really important to me,
and to your mother, that you get in touch. I'd like to help you if I
can, because from what I saw of your letter. . . Anyway, let me give
you my cell phone number. If you pick this up, you can call me anytime,
night or day. It's--"
"How did you get this number?" a frightened voice burst through. Ally
recognized it, though it was nothing like the one she remembered from
the confident, brassy TV personality that Kristen used to be. "I just
got away and came here. And right after I got here, someone called my
machine and then hung up. Are you tracking me? Who are you?"
"I . . ." Ally was so startled she couldn't think of anything to say
immediately. "Kristen, is that you? I just saw your mother. I. . . I
got this number from her. She came out to the Dorian Institute looking
for you. She's very worried about--"
"You're lying to me. You're trying to trick me and get me back." She
was breathing heavily, as though she'd just run a set of stairs. This
is a person just barely holding it together, Ally thought. "Anyway,
Kristen is not my name. My name is Kirby. They wrote it down for me and
... I'm very confused. I found a bracelet in my suitcase that had
'Starr' on it. Maybe that's my last name. It sounds right, but I can't
remember--"
"You don't remember having a show on cable?"
"I . . . I think I knew someone who had a TV show, but I don't think
it was me."
"Kirby . . . or whatever your . . . listen carefully. I think you were
undergoing an experimental procedure for your skin. At a place in New
Jersey called the Dorian Institute. The doctor was Karl Van de Vliet.
You were in clinical trials for the National Institutes of Health. Then
something happened and you left. Do you remember why you left? Or
when?"
"No." She stifled a sob. "I can't remember anything."
Ally took a deep breath, not liking the vibes she was getting. "Do you
want to talk about it?"
"No. I don't want to talk to you or to anybody. I got out of that place
and--"
" 'That place'?" Ally asked. She was being passed by a huge bus and she
could barely hear. "You mean the institute?"
"You know where I mean. And don't come looking for me down here either,
because I'm not going to be here." Jesus, Ally thought, what's with
her?
"Kris--Kirby, I'm not connected with anybody at the Dorian Institute.
I'm supposed to become a patient there myself. I'm just trying to find
out what happened to you when you underwent your treatment there."
"I can only remember little things." She was moaning. "There was this
man. He said I could have anything I wanted. I trusted him. And now . .
. I see faces but I can't remember who--"
"Kristen--that's your real name, by the way--can we meet? I promise you
won't be harmed. I just--"
"You don't understand do you? You don't know what's happening to me."
Her voice had begun to break. "It's the Beta. I don't know how long
it's going to be before--"
"Before what? What beta? What are you--Kristen, we've
really got to meet. I mean it. I desperately need to talk to you. Maybe
we could find another doctor, if that's what you need. Could I come
down--"
"I have no idea who you are. You could be . . . He says they're trying
to help me, but I'm not getting any better."
Ally was pulling onto the interstate, heading south. It was hard to
concentrate on driving, but at the same time she wanted to push the
speed limit. Kristen sounded like she was getting ready to disintegrate
or flee.
Then she had another thought.
"Kristen, it's okay if you don't trust me. But could you tell me more
about your . . . side effects? Are they--"
"I think that's why he moved me. To that place. But then he ..." She
was growing even more agitated and impatient. "Look, I really can't
talk anymore."
I'm losing her, Ally thought. Try to make her hang on.
"Kristen, would you please take my phone number? You sound like you
could use a friend."
"Oh Christ, I'm so scared. I don't--"
"Just take it. No harm. Then if something happens and you want to--"
"All right," she said finally. 'Tell me and I'll write it down."
Ally gave it to her, then added, "I run an interior-design firm. I
actually did some work for you once, so we've met. You can call my
office, so let me give you that number too. No way am I connected to
the institute where you were."
She said she was writing it down.
"You know," Kristen went on, "I think this is God's way of punishing me
for wanting something nobody should have." Then she began to sob again.
"How exactly--"
"I found a door that wasn't locked and I just came here. I don't know
what guided me. And when I got to this street, I knew exactly which
building it was. There was no name on my bell or anything, but I knew.
I even knew who had my emergency key. It's like I have a sense memory
of this apartment but I can't remember ever actually living here."
"Your name is Kristen Starr," Ally said again. "Try to remember that.
And will you please stay there till I can get there and talk to you?"
Then she made what she immediately realized was a fatal mistake.
"There's a reporter, a sweet guy who's doing a book about . . . a
medical procedure at the clinic where you were. And he's dying to talk
to anybody who's been part of the clinical trials there. Could he talk
to you too? It sounds like you've got quite a story to tell."
"You've got to be kidding. If they find me, I don't know what they'll
do." And the connection was severed.
"Shit, don't do this." She quickly tried the cell phone number for
Stone Aimes.
"It's me again. Listen, she's actually there. Kristen's in the
apartment on West Eleventh Street. I just got off the phone with her.
She's the one you want. But she's like a frightened rabbit. She said
she was about to leave, but if you get there soon, you might be able to
catch her."
"Damn, we're stuck in traffic at Fifty-ninth Street. There was a fender
bender on Lex. But I'll get there as soon as I can."
"Okay, maybe get your driver to try Fifth."
"Good idea."
She clicked off and stared at the road. The George Washington Bridge
was just ahead. If she broke the speed limit once she hit the West Side
Highway, and caught the lights right, she might even beat Stone there.