"That may be really important," she told him. A silence came between them.
"We're heading for the hospital, to see about Doug," Stephanie told her.
"Good idea. Make sure he's still wearing that cross."
"What?" Stephanie said.
"We got a cross on him last night. Make sure he's still wearing it."
"We—we took it off him. It seemed that the metal was bothering his throat," Stephanie told her.
"I'd better come with you," she said.
Drew rushed in.
A fierce struggle was ensuing—an elderly man with a huge knife was busy attacking Doug.
Doug was doing his best to defend himself, rolling, sliding, and then leaping as the man savagely struck at him.
"Hey!" Drew cried. "Get off of him!"
He charged the man.
The old man turned on him. Drew backed away, catching Doug's eye across the bed. The old man was crazy—and he was lethal.
"What the hell?" Drew said to Doug.
"The old geezer just came in and attacked me!" Doug shouted back.
The man began to speak to Drew in rapid Italian, his words earnest.
Drew shook his head, trying to indicate that he didn't understand. The man waved the knife. It appeared to be a butcher's knife. One slash from that, and…
"Now, sir, I can't let you chop up my friend," Drew said, keeping his voice low and even. That's how you were supposed to talk to the crazed, right? They needed to get the knife away from the fellow.
Where was the hospital staff? If the cops were here, and they were looking into a blood theft, why the hell weren't they coming now? Surely, someone was hearing this commotion.
But then, maybe not. People were awaiting their turn to talk. They were all distracted.
All right, he had to handle it himself. He took a step toward the fellow. "Now, buddy, listen, I need you to give me the knife."
The man took a step toward him then, the knife swinging.
"No! Dear God, what the hell… no, no, no! I don't have a weapon, see?" Drew said.
Doug was trying to get around the bed and make for the door, the exit. The Italian man might have been as old as God himself, but he was sharp as a tack. He lunged toward the foot of the bed, sending Drew back to the far corner of the room.
Drew looked wildly around himself. "Someone, help!" he shouted as loudly as he could. There was nothing.
He grabbed a bedpan, putting it in front of himself as a poor excuse for a shield.
He was quickly sorry that he did so. The old man bunched his slender muscles and started across the room with wild intent in his eyes.
"No!" Doug shrieked, coming forward.
The old man stopped and spun quickly, heading for Doug once again. He was nearly upon him when suddenly a figure burst into the room, making a flying tackle for the old fellow. He heard a shriek; the body that had flown in, catching the fellow's feet, bringing him down hard on the hospital bed, was Grant Peterson. Stephanie had let out the scream, and she and Liz were now standing in the doorway.
The old man twisted around, still fighting, slashing. Grant jumped back just in time, then lashed out with his leg. His foot connected with the old man's wrist, and at last, the knife went flying from his hand, slammed against the wall, and fell to the floor.
Doug made a dive for it.
"Whew!" Doug let out, doubling over, gripping his knees.
The old man just lay on the bed then. His head was twisted to the side. His eyes stared vacantly, glazed, across the room.
"Hey!" Grant said softly, approaching him. "Are you all right, is your wrist… can you move it?"
Liz hurried into the room, coming to the fellow's other side. She began to speak in Italian to him.
He didn't respond.
At last, the nurse, Antoinette, came to the door as well.
"What is going on here?" she demanded indignantly. "What have you done to him?" she cried, seeing the old man on the bed.
"Done to him!" Drew said indignantly. "He tried to kill Doug. Then he tried to kill me, and my friend Grant got here just in the nick of time to stop him!"
Antoinette stared at all of them. She walked in, pushing both Liz and Grant aside. She began to speak to the old man, smoothing back his white hair.
Suddenly, as if he were an infant, he began to cry, leaning against her. She got him up. Still casting warning glances over her shoulder, she led him out of the room.
"I hope you're getting him a straightjacket!" Drew yelled, shaking now that it all seemed to be over.
"He's harmless!" Antoinette called back.
"Harmless!" Doug looked at the butcher's knife he was holding. He stared across the room at Grant, who appeared to be just as baffled.
"Are you both all right?" Grant asked.
"Yeah, thanks to your rather timely arrival," Drew said dryly. "Nice kick. A bit of Jackie Chan action, huh?"
"I was in a few kung fu movies," Grant explained briefly. "Doug—let's get you back into bed. Maybe this could cause a major setback for you."
"Are you kidding me? Back to bed—I've got to get the hell out of this loony bin!" Doug told him.
Grant didn't seem to hear. "Where are the doctors? Nurses, orderlies—anyone? What, is the staff around here nuts? What's going on? There's no one around? We heard you from the lobby!"
"Someone knocked over the blood bank this morning—the cops are talking to the staff," Drew explained.
"What?" Liz demanded sharply.
"Whatever supplies of blood were left are gone. Stolen. I didn't get what happened, either," Drew said, trying to make the story as short as possible.
"Please, while they're all tied up, can you get me the hell out of here before someone does kill me?"
Doug pleaded.
"Doug, are you sure?" Stephanie asked anxiously.
"Please?" he repeated. "Come on, now. Before Attila-the-nurse comes back. Ask Drew—that guy nearly killed us!"
"But Doug… you were nearly dead!" Stephanie told him.
"I feel great," he assured her.
"I think we should get him out of here," Liz said.
"Yes, and quickly, please!" Doug urged.
Something had changed, suddenly and abruptly, in the night.
Lucien stood on the precipice, drawing pictures of the distant past in his mind.
This was where it had happened.
At that time, the outcropping of earth had gone much farther. That was the part that had broken cleanly from the cliff, tumbling downward in a rumble of the ground's power and fury.
If they wanted to find the remains of Conan de Burgh, they would be almost dead set below.
He shifted his gaze. There was a lot of activity in the camp, but around the sites where many of the men belonging to the ranks of both de Burgh and de Venue had fought and died, only a few workers were busy.
He closed his eyes, trying to see.
He felt the breeze, struggled to reach the plane where he could recall, and see with an ancient instinct and vision. For a moment, he could hear the clatter of armor, shouts and screams, the whinny of a horse, a howling sound… the world in his mind began to take shape out of the mist… he could see. Warriors with helmets and great shields, swords that glinted in the sun… swords, no longer glinting, for they were red with the blood of the fallen…
Then…
He lost it.
It was almost as if someone had stepped into his mind, and pulled a curtain.
He swore, and started the climb back down the cliff. Dusk was coming. It was important that he discover where the curtains were coming from, exactly what was happening here when the sun went down, here, where the core of it all existed, close, so close… just out of reach.
He needed to stay.
He couldn't stay.
Already, he sensed that there was trouble.
He had to get back.
But he would be going back with nothing! He still had no clues as to how to arrest the power that was different from his own.
He felt the wind again, and determined that he had to find some truth with which to fight.
Stephanie stayed behind when the group hurried through the lobby with Doug. She thanked God that he was all right, but it disturbed her that the old man who had attacked Doug was the same old man who had forced the cross on her the night before.
She felt around her neck, and remembered that she'd given the man's gift to Suzette. The old fellow was a jeweler.
It was unlikely he'd be making any sales that day.
She lagged behind the others, afraid that Grant would try to stop her if he knew that she wanted to stay behind, just for a few minutes. But though she thought it might not be a bad idea to get Doug out of the hospital now that he seemed to be so well, she couldn't forget the work that Dr. Antinella had done to save him. He had to be thanked.
She also wanted to do her best to talk to Merc and find out what he thought about the gentleman attacking Doug.
Did people around here really believe that legend? Why not— she was believing it! But she had some reason to do so now, while the average townsman or woman…
Lucretia Britto had severed her daughter's head.
This fellow had come to the room to decapitate Doug!
Thankfully, the hospital was small. It wasn't terribly difficult to find the corridor that led to the staff offices, and since there weren't many, she found the door with the plaque reading "Dr. Antinella" very easily.
She was afraid he'd still be involved with the police, or attending a patient in the hospital, or even out and about in the town, but to her relief, when she tapped at the door, he bid her to enter.
He looked at her suspiciously as she came in and sat down.
" Buonasera," she told him.
He nodded.
"We've taken Doug out of the hospital," she said.
"I didn't release him."
She nodded. "I know, and that's why I've come to apologize. But, surely you're aware, the old man, the jeweler… he just tried to kill Doug."