logical.
280 Jonathan KeIterman
As the insights hit I was seized with acute claustrophobia
and grew rigid with tension. Sweat ran
down my back. My heart pounded and my breathing
quickened. The room was an evil place and I
had to get out.
Frantically I gathered up several of the blue cloth
binders-and placed them in a cardboard box. I carried
it and my tools down the ladder, bolted the
bedroom, and rushed to the landing. Teetering with
vertigo, I ran recklessly down the stairs and crossed
the frigid living room with four long strides.
After fumbling with the latch I managed to throw
open the front door. I stood on the rotting porch
until I caught my breath.
Silence greeted me. I’d never felt so alone.
Without looking back I made my escape.
22
ALONG WITH everyone else, I’d dismissed Raoul’s
conviction that Woody Swope had been abducted
by the Touch. Now I wasn’t so sure.
I’d seen no aberrant crops growing in the gardens
of the Retreat, which meant Matthias had lied about
buying seeds from the Swopes. On the surface it
seemed a petty falsehood, serving no purpose. But
habitual liars often lace their stories with demitruths
for the sake .of realism. Had the guru fabricated a
casual connection between his group and the Swopes
in order to obscure a deeper relationship?
The lie stuck in my craw. Along with the memory
of my first visit to the Retreat, which, in
retrospect, seemed suspiciously well orchestrated.
Matthias had been too gracious about my intrusion,
too pliant and cooperative. For a group that had
been described as reclusive, the Touch had been
strangely willing to endure scrutiny bya total
stranger.
Had the generous welcome meant they had noth-
281
282 Jonathan Kellerman
ing to hide? Or that theyhad hidden their secret so
well that discovery was out of the question.
I thought of Woody and allowed myself the luxury
of hope: the boy might still be alive. But for
how long? His body was a biochemical minefield
ready to explode at any moment.
If Matthias and his cultists had stashed the boy
somewhere on their grounds, a more spontaneous
inspection was in order.
Houten had gotten to the Retreat by’driving
through La Vista and turning right at a fork just
outside the town limits. I wanted to avoid being
seen and if my recollection of the county map was
correct, the. road I now traveled intersected the one
from town, forming the right prong of the fork. I
sped along, headlights off, and soon found myself
nearing the gates of the former monastery.
Once again I hid the Seville under tall trees and
walked to the entrance on foot. The bolt cutter was
in my waistband, the flashlight in my jacket pocket,
and the crowbar up one sleeve. I wouldn’t stand a
chance in an electrical storm.
My hopes for surreptitious entry were dashed by
the sight of a male cultist patrolling inside the
gates. His white uniform stood out in the darkness,
the loose-fitting garments billowing, as he walked
/back and forth. A leather stash bag swung from the
sash around his waist.
I’d come too far to turn back. A plan presented
itself. I moved forward cautiously. Closer inspection
revealed the guard to be Brother Baron, nee
Barry Graffius. This cheered me greatly. I’m not a
violent person by inclination and had begun to feel
more than a little guilty about what I was about to
BLOOD TEST 283
do. But if anyone deserved it, Graffius did. The
rationalization didn’t remove the guilt,-but it did
serve to lower it to a tolerable level.
I timed my footsteps to coincide with bis and
drew closer. Unloading my tools, I waited, concealed
behind high shrubbery, but able to see him
through the branches. He continued his walk for a
few minutes, then obliged me by stopping to scratch
his rear. I gave a low hiss and he snapped to attention,
straining to locate the source of the sound.
Edging Closer to the gate he peered out, sniffing
like a rabbit.
I held my breath until he resumed pacing. Another
pause, this one deliberate, inquisitive. Hiss.
He reached under his blouse and drew out a little