an intervention. Everyone greeted Laura graciously, especially Celeste, who was plainly relieved that Reuben was already with someone else, though Mort seemed predictably and loyally miserable, at least when he glanced at Reuben, who just made a fist and punched Mort lightly on the arm. Rosy threw her arms around Reuben.
Grace wanted to corner him, yes, but she couldn,t leave the steaks on the broiler, and the broccoli she was sauteing with garlic, and she settled for being kissed tenderly by him and the confidential whisper that he loved her.
"I wish you,d stay, of all nights, I wish you,d stay."
"Mom, we already had supper," he whispered.
"But there is someone coming tonight."
"Mom, I can,t."
"Reuben, will you listen to me? I want you to meet this man, Dr. Jaska."
"This isn,t the night, Mom," said Reuben and he made for the stairs.
With Rosy,s help, Reuben had been able to collect the very last of his books, files, and photographs and load them into the Porsche.
Then he,d taken one last look around the pretty dining room with its many candles on the table and on the mantel, and with a kiss thrown to Grace, he,d started to head out. Phil had given him an affectionate wave.
The doorbell startled him, and he opened the door to see a tall gray-haired man there, not a very old man, really, with hard gray eyes and a square face. He had a curious but very slightly hostile expression.
At once, Grace appeared, drawing the man into the house with one hand while she held fast to Reuben with the other.
The man didn,t take his eyes off Reuben. Clearly, he hadn,t expected to come face-to-face with him just yet.
A strange stillness settled over Reuben. A scent came from the man, a very faint scent that Reuben knew only too well.
"And this is Dr. Akim Jaska, Reuben. I,ve spoken to you about Dr. Jaska," Grace said quickly, awkwardly, uncomfortably. "Come in, Doctor. Rosy, please get the doctor his usual drink."
"Very pleasant to meet you, Dr. Jaska," said Reuben. "I wish I could stay but I can,t." He glanced around anxiously for Laura. She was right behind him. She pressed his arm.
The scent was growing stronger as he looked into the man,s strangely opaque eyes, and what if the scent triggered the change?
Grace was conflicted, not herself. She seemed to be watching this little exchange intently. "Good-bye, Baby Boy," she said suddenly.
"Right, love you, Mamma," said Reuben.
Laura glided out of the door in front of him.
"Have a pleasant evening, Doctor. Mamma, I,ll call."
As he walked down the steps, he felt the faintest spasm in his gut. It was like a warning, the spasm. He wasn,t changing. No, he must not change. And he knew he could hold fast against it, but the scent was still in his nostrils. He looked back at the house, and he listened. But all he could hear were pleasantries, and meaningless words. And the scent lingered. The scent even grew a little stronger.
"Let,s get on the road," he said.
The traffic had rumbled swiftly over the Golden Gate in the heavy winter darkness, but the rain had not started.
On they traveled. And he slept.
Somehow in his thin but delicious sleep, he knew they were just nearing Santa Rosa.
And when he heard the voices, they were like an ice pick to his brain.
He sat bolt upright.
Never had he heard sharper panic, pain.
"Pull over," he shouted.
The spasms had already begun. His skin was sizzling. The scent of cruelty suffocated him - evil at its most rank.
"Into the trees," he said as they rolled into the nearby park. He was out of his clothes and sprinting through the darkness within seconds, plunging headlong through the prickling transformation as he moved up and into the trees.
Again and again, the cries ignited his blood. These were two young boys, terrified boys, being beaten, in fear of being cruelly mutilated, in fear of dying, and the seething hatred of the executioners poured out in a riff of filthy curses, sexual denunciations, grinding taunts.
They weren,t in the park but in the dim long overgrown backyard just off it, behind a darkened ramshackle old house, a gang of four who,d brought the boys here for a slow ritualistic bludgeoning and bloodletting, and as Reuben closed in, he realized one of the two victims was on the edge of his last breath. Sharp scent of blood, of rage, of terror.
He couldn,t save the dying boy. He knew it. But he could save the defiant one who was