He was relieved. And sick.
His lips were dry. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. ‘Do you know what research Willy was doing after he was booted out of UCLA?’
‘No.’
‘What project were he and Dylan McCaffrey working on?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you ever see the gray room in Studio City?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know a man named Ernest Andrew Cooper?’
‘No.’
‘Joseph Scaldone?’
‘I wish you would go away.’
‘Ned Rink?’
‘No. None of them.’
‘What did those men do to Melanie McCaffrey? What did they want from her?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Who was funding their project?’
‘I don’t know.’
Dan was sure she was lying. Along with her self-assurance and self-respect and independence, she had also lost the ability to prevaricate with confidence or conviction.
Now that he’d seen Regine and knew the amazing, monstrous thing that had been done to her, Dan had no respect for Hoffritz as a man, but more than ever he feared Hoffritz’s manipulative abilities, his vicious cruelty, and his dark genius, and more than ever he realized the need to arrive at a timely solution in this case. If Hoffritz had transformed Regine this completely, what might he have achieved in his research with Dylan McCaffrey, for which he’d had more time and resources? Dan had a new sense that time was swiftly running out, a growing urgency. Hoffritz had set some terrible engine in motion, and it would crush many more people, soon, unless it was understood, located, and stopped. Regine was lying to him, and he couldn’t allow that. He had to find some answers quickly, before he was too late to help Melanie.
24
They retreated from the flower- and dirt-strewn kitchen, but Laura felt no safer. One weirdness had followed another since they had come home that afternoon. First, Melanie had awakened from her nap, screaming in terror, clawing and punching herself as if she were a penitent religious fanatic scourging the devil from her flesh. Then the radio had come to life, followed by the whirlwind that had burst through the back door. If someone had told her that the house was haunted, she would not have scoffed.
Apparently, the move from kitchen to living room didn’t make Earl feel any safer. He shushed Laura when she tried to talk. He led her and Melanie into the study, found a pad of paper and a pen in the desk drawer, and quickly scribbled a message.
Baffled by his mysterious behaviour, Laura stood beside him and read what he wrote: We’re leaving the house.
Laura wasn’t reluctant to comply. She vividly remembered the warning that had been delivered to them through the radio: It was coming. The flower-filled whirlwind had seemed to be another warning with the same message. It was coming. It wanted Melanie. And it knew where they were.
Earl wrote more: Pack a suitcase for yourself and one for Melanie.
Evidently, he was prepared to believe that someone had planted listening devices in the house.
Apparently, he also believed he might not be able to spirit Laura and Melanie away if the listeners knew that they planned to leave. That made sense. Whoever had financed Dylan and Hoffritz would want to know where Melanie was at all times, so they would eventually have a chance to either kill her or snatch her away. And the FBI would want to know where she was at all times, so they would be able to nab the people who tried to nab Melanie. Unless it was the FBI that wanted her in the first place.
Laura had that trapped-in-a-nightmare feeling again.
Maybe everyone in the world wasn’t out to get them, but it sure seemed that way. Worse, it wasn’t only someone out to get them — it was something.
Hide. That was all they could do right now. They had to go where no one could follow or find them.
Laura grabbed the pencil and wrote: Where will we go?
‘Later,’ he said softly. ‘Now, we’ve got to hurry.’
It was coming.
In the bedroom, he helped Laura pack two suitcases, one for Melanie and one for herself.
It was coming. And the fact that she didn’t know what It was — that she even felt slightly foolish for believing It existed in the first place — did nothing whatsoever to alleviate her fear of It.