The Blackstone Chronicles - By John Saul Page 0,47

gone crazy.

* * *

“Oliver?” Lois Martin asked. Ed Becker had left the offices of the Blackstone Chronicle, having found out nothing more about what might be bothering Jules Hartwick than he’d known when he’d arrived half an hour earlier. Oliver had been sitting silently, head in hands, ever since. “Oliver?” Lois repeated. “Are you all right?”

The Chronicle’s editor and publisher pressed his fingers against his temples in a vain effort to stem the rising tide of pain. The headache had begun ten minutes ago, and was now threatening to overwhelm him not only with throbbing pain but with nausea as well. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The fluorescent light in the office, though no brighter than usual, was suddenly blinding him. “Have you ever had a migraine headache?” he asked.

“A long time ago,” Lois replied, grimacing at the memory. “I had a few when I was in college. Worst thing I’ve ever been through.” She lowered herself onto the chair that Ed Becker had vacated just minutes before, and regarded her boss worriedly. “You sure it’s a migraine?”

“My head throbs, the lights are killing my eyes, and I’m starting to feel queasy. It’s like someone’s driving a spike right into the center of my head.”

“Sounds like a migraine,” Lois agreed. “When did it start?”

“This one? Maybe ten minutes ago. But this is maybe the third or fourth one I’ve had in the last month.”

“Maybe you’d better go see Dr. Margolis.”

“Or maybe Jules Hartwick ought to,” Oliver countered. “Did you hear much of what Ed was saying?”

“I heard, but I can’t believe it,” Lois replied. “It just doesn’t sound like Jules. I mean, the whole idea of Madeline Hartwick having an affair is ludicrous! And even if there’s a major problem at the bank, Jules just isn’t the type to go off the deep end.”

“He’s not the type to fire his lawyer over the phone either.” Oliver sighed. “But he did it. What the hell is going on around here, Lois? Last month Elizabeth McGuire commits suicide, and now it sounds like Jules Hartwick is turning paranoid.”

Lois Martin frowned. “You’re not suggesting there’s any connection between the two, are you?”

Before Oliver could reply, another stab of pain slashed through his head. He felt his skin turn cold and clammy, and his stomach began to churn. “Is there anything going on you can’t handle?” he asked weakly when the wave of agony had receded to the point where he trusted himself to speak.

“There hasn’t been anything going on that I couldn’t handle for the last five years,” Lois told him. “Go see the doctor, Oliver. Or at least go home, close the curtains, and lie down for a while.” Oliver managed a nod and got shakily to his feet. “Can you drive?” Lois asked anxiously as Oliver used the desk to brace himself against the dizzy spell that struck him as he stood fully upright. “Maybe I better lock the office up for a few minutes and—”

“I’ll be all right,” Oliver assured her as the dizziness passed. He took a couple of experimental steps toward the front door, then managed a weak smile. “See? Perfectly steady.”

“Just be careful,” Lois cautioned as she helped him pull on his coat. “And call me when you get home. Otherwise, I’ll come up to your house and fuss over you like an old hen. You’ll hate it.”

“I’ll call,” Oliver promised.

Getting into his Volvo, he winced as the engine caught and surged into noisy life, but a moment later, as the motor settled down to its normal rough idle, the throbbing pain in his head eased slightly. Pulling out of the parking space in front of the Chronicle office, he drove down Prospect to Amherst and started up the long slope of North Hill. Though the road was slick with packed snow, the Volvo threatened to go into a skid only once, and less than five minutes later Oliver pulled through the gates of the old Asylum and turned left, onto the side road that led to his cottage.

He pressed the remote control as he approached, and the door to his garage drew fully open just as he pulled into it. Getting out of the car, he opened the door that led directly into the laundry room of his house, but as he reached for the wall button that would close the garage door, he caught sight of the Asylum itself, looming on the crest of the hill half a hundred yards