The Blackstone Chronicles - By John Saul Page 0,178

edge ready to slice deep into her throat in obedience to his father’s order.

Then, in the last instant, the blade millimeters from her neck, his arm jerked, changed course, and instead of cutting into Rebecca’s flesh, the blade released her from the bonds that held her. The razor clattered to the floor. As Oliver stood, shocked into immobility by the realization of what he had nearly done, Rebecca’s arms slid around his neck and she buried her face in his shoulder.

Cradling Rebecca in his arms, Oliver carried her out of the bathroom, through the empty room that had once been his father’s office, and out into the corridor. A moment later he kicked the front door of the Asylum open and stepped out into the warm sunshine of the spring afternoon.

Chapter 10

Oliver set Rebecca down only long enough to open the front door to his house, then gathered her into his arms again, carried her inside, and up the stairs to the guest room. Lowering her gently onto the bed, he pulled a blanket over her. “I’ll get you some towels and a robe,” he said as he started toward the door.

By the time he returned, the clothing Rebecca had been wearing since the moment she’d run out of Clara and Germaine Wagner’s house was lying in a heap next to the bed, and Rebecca was huddling under the covers, shivering so hard her teeth were chattering. Her skin was so pale it had taken on a bluish color, and her hair, matted, wet, and filthy, hung limply around her haggard face.

I did this, Oliver thought wretchedly. I did this to Rebecca. Dropping to his knees, he took her hand in both of his. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Oh, God, Rebecca, I’m so sorry. I’ll never—”

Rebecca frowned. “Sorry for what?” she asked. “You saved me, Oliver. You saved me from that horrible man who …” Her voice died away as a shudder shook her entire body at the memory of what she’d just gone through. Then, as Oliver started to speak again, she held her fingers to his lips. “Not now,” she pleaded. “Please? I’m so cold, and so tired, and so hungry.” Oliver choked as a sob rose to his throat, and Rebecca squeezed his hand. “Could you maybe make me some soup?” she asked. “Maybe if you could make me some soup, I could take a shower and get warmed up again, and then you can tell me all about how you found me.”

Oliver felt a terrible pain in his chest—a pain that stabbed directly at his heart—and wondered if it was possible his heart could actually be physically breaking. She doesn’t understand! She doesn’t understand at all!

“Please?” Rebecca asked again. “Just not right now, Oliver.”

Oliver hesitated, his mind churning, needing to make her understand the magnitude of the terrible thing he had done, but at the same time wishing there were some way he would never have to tell her at all. Even as the wish rose in his mind, he knew it was impossible. But certainly he could spare her the knowledge of what he’d done for a few more minutes. “Of course,” he whispered. “I’ll go find something for you. The bathroom’s just through there.” He started toward the door once more, but then looked back at Rebecca. “You’ll be all right by yourself?” he asked anxiously.

“Of course I will,” Rebecca assured him. “Besides, you’ll be right downstairs. What could happen to me?”

She smiled at him then, and Oliver tried to etch that smile so deeply into his memory that he could never forget it. Once she understood what he had done, he would never see her smile again. Then he turned away and left Rebecca alone.

He found a can of chicken soup in the kitchen, opened it, and emptied its contents into a bowl, which he put in the microwave. While the soup heated, he picked up the telephone and punched Phil Margolis’s number into the keypad. “It’s Oliver,” he said when the doctor came on the line. “I’ve found Rebecca.” Before Margolis could ask any questions, Oliver spoke again. “She was in the Asylum. I think she’s all right, but if you could come over to my house—”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Philip Margolis broke in.

Oliver hung up, then picked the receiver up again, and this time called Steve Driver. “Steve?” he said, after explaining that Rebecca was with him. “Edna Burnham was right. It was all connected.” A pause. Then: “And