Season Of Strangers

A tightness pinched in Julie’s chest. “She’s been to counseling. Her childhood was extremely difficult. She had occasional bouts of depression, but she’s never seen a psychiatrist. Are you implying my sister may be suffering from some sort of mental disorder?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m simply telling you that no one is trying to break into this apartment. It seems to me your sister may need psychiatric help a lot more than police assistance.”

Julie mulled that over. Laura had been acting strangely. “I’ll speak to her, Officer. It was my fault she called you again tonight. I didn’t realize she had done it four times before.”

“No problem. Besides, it’s always better to play it safe. At any rate, good luck with your sister.”

“Thank you.” They returned to the living room. The policeman said his goodbyes to Laura, and Julie sat down beside her on the sofa.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes…much better. I’m glad you came.”

Julie reached over and clasped Laura’s hand, gave it a comforting squeeze. “The officer says this is the fifth time you’ve called the police.”

Laura straightened a little on the sofa, began to fidget with the cord of her blue velour robe. “I-I didn’t realize I had called them so much.”

“Want to tell me about the other times?”

Laura sagged back against the sofa, resting her head against the top, catching her long blond hair beneath her shoulders. “I thought I heard something, that’s all. I thought someone was trying to break in.”

“You heard noises, something that frightened you?”

“Not noises exactly, more like just a feeling. It was terrifying, Julie. I’m sure someone was out there. I didn’t know what else to do.”

For a moment Julie said nothing. “You always said you liked living alone. You never used to be afraid.”

“I know. It’s just that lately…I don’t know what it is…I just feel scared all the time.”

Julie rubbed her temple, praying the slight nag of pain wasn’t the start of another headache. “You haven’t been frightened like that since we were children. When did all of this start?”

“I don’t know exactly. Not that long ago. Sometime after the day we spent together out at your place.”

“The policeman assured me no one was trying to break in, but if you’re frightened, maybe you should come home with me, spend a few days in Malibu lying on the beach.”

“I’d rather stay here. Besides, I can’t take time off from work.”

“It’s only a part-time job.” Laura worked in a little boutique called The Cottage down on Main Street, one of a dozen different jobs she had had since she dropped out of college. “You could always drive in to work from my house.”

Laura chewed her bottom lip. “Yeah, I guess I could.” She glanced at the door and then at the window. “Maybe if I just stayed there until the weekend. By then Jimmy will be back in town—”

“Jimmy Osborn? I thought you weren’t seeing that creep anymore.”

Laura straightened, pulling her hand away. “He isn’t a creep.”

“He hit you, Laura. If you want to be frightened of something, you ought to be frightened of him.”

“He just lost his temper, that’s all. He promised it won’t happen again.”

“He’s bad news, Laura. Forget about Jimmy Osborn, pack a bag and let’s go.”

She hesitated only a moment, then she got up from the couch and went into the other room. A few minutes later she returned with a small vinyl suitcase, enough clothes to last through the end of the week. She wouldn’t stay longer than that, Julie knew. Laura liked being on her own too much, and even if she didn’t go back to dating Jimmy Osborn, there were a dozen more men standing in line to take his place.

As they walked out to the car, Julie caught a glimpse of Laura’s strained, wary expression. Her sister glanced over her shoulder, looking right and left, then finally climbed into the passenger seat.

What was the matter with Laura now?

She’d always had a tendency to illness, both real and imagined, but this was something else. Julie wondered if the policeman might have been right, and silently vowed to find the name of a good psychiatrist.

Three

Julie walked out of her office, heading toward the front door at the opposite end of the room.

“Always in a hurry.” Seated at his desk, Fred Thompkins chuckled. “I told you what my doctor said about that.”

She paused beside his chair and smiled down at him. “He said you have high cholesterol and a heart condition. That you had better learn to slow down. You said that also applies to me, that I should stop and smell the roses. I believe you’ve mentioned that, Fred.”

“Maybe I have…a couple of dozen times.” He was an overweight retired math professor who wore funny little paisley bow ties. He grinned above the starched white collar that cut into the folds on his neck. “Unfortunately, you never listen.”

“That’s because I don’t have high cholesterol and I’ve got bills to pay.” More next month, she thought grimly, when Dr. Heraldson’s psychiatric bill came in. She just hoped the sessions would be of some help to her sister.

“You still looking for Patrick?”

“I’m always looking for Patrick, for one thing or another. He hasn’t come in yet, has he?”

“He’s never here before noon. You know that as well as I do.”

“He said he’d work on the Rabinoff deal. We’ve got to get that escrow closed.”

“Shirl said he was driving out to Flintridge to see his dad. He’s supposed to be in later.”

Julie’s heart tugged painfully. “I hope Alex is feeling better. He looked pretty bad when I saw him last Saturday.” Patrick’s father was confined to a wheelchair, the left side of his body paralyzed by a stroke, his speech impaired, one side of his once-handsome face now drooping.

It was tough on a strong, imposing man like Alexander Donovan, and yet he would not give up. Instead, he’d had a therapy room installed in his lavish Mediterranean style mansion. Daily he worked with nurses and equipment to rebuild his aging, ravaged body into something that resembled the powerful figure he had once been.

“He’s a good man,” Fred said. “This place was really something back when Alex was running it. There wasn’t a real estate man in town who could shine his shoes.” He shook his head, the lamp on his desk gleaming on the bald spot in the center, fringed by his thinning gray hair. “This place hasn’t been the same since he’s been gone.”

It could be, Julie thought morosely, if Patrick would put as much effort into his work as he did getting laid. He was smart enough, and certainly he was savvy enough about business if he would only apply himself.

Instead he was driving the company further and further into debt. Several people on the sales staff had already quit. Babs and Fred would like to leave, but they stayed on for Alex’s sake, just as Julie did. She loved that old man. She wasn’t about to abandon him, no matter what kind of a jerk his son turned out to be.

“I’ve got to run, Fred.” Julie started walking.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Julie waved at him over one shoulder. “I’ll talk to you later.” And then she was out the door, heading off to Spago to meet Jane Whitelaw for lunch.

Evan Whitelaw, Jane’s husband, was a big-time movie producer. Six months earlier, he had listed his home on Burton Way and it had finally sold last week. Now his wife was ready to start searching for a larger place to live. An estate in Bel-Air, she’d said, but Julie knew better than to listen to what a client said they wanted. You had to listen past what they said, learn to look inside and discover their secret yearnings. That was how she’d made so many sales—listening for wishes, instead of just meeting needs.

She had just reached the outside wall of the restaurant when Patrick’s black Porsche pulled up to the curb. There was office parking in the rear of the building, but Patrick liked the valet to take care of it for him personally.

The pudgy youth opened the passenger door as Patrick unwound his tall frame from the driver’s side of the car, and a long-legged, willowy blonde stepped out on the sidewalk.

Julie’s chest went a little tight, but she forced herself to ignore it. It always bothered her to see him with a woman. Silly. Stupid, beyond belief. Yet she couldn’t seem to stop the twinge she always felt watching Patrick squire one of his many one-night stands.

Ignoring the woman, she stopped him before he reached the curb, which gave her the advantage of looking straight into his eyes, the brightest shade of blue she’d ever seen. “I’m sorry to bother you…I can see you’re busy…but I have to find out if the Rabinoff escrow is going to be closing on time. Were you able to get those documents drawn?”

Patrick smiled and looked over her head. “Julie Ferris meet Anna Braxston. Anna is a model with the Ford Agency. Julie is one of my top sales associates.”

Julie forced herself to smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Anna.” She returned her attention to Patrick, who looked rested for a change, his tan slacks and navy blue sport coat immaculate as always. “I have to know, Patrick. Will the escrow be able to close by the end of the month, the way it’s supposed to?”

He grinned, a slash of white in a suntanned face that would give Tom Cruise a run for the money. “Relax. I told you I’d take care of it. The docs will be ready on Friday. Get the Rabinoffs in to sign them, and the escrow can close exactly the way you planned.”

She sagged with relief. “Thank God.”

“You worry too much, you know that?”

“And you don’t worry enough.”

He frowned at her words and for a moment she wondered if he was more aware of his financial problems than he let on.

She smiled faintly at the woman. “Nice to meet you, Anna. Patrick, I’ve got to run.”

“I’ll see you back at the office,” he said. Julie waved and hurried off toward the posh, high-walled interior of her favorite lunching spot.

Sometimes she imagined he watched her, though why he would when he was with a woman as beautiful as the blonde she couldn’t guess. Sometimes she pretended he was different, that he was more like his father, more like the man twenty-year-old Julie Ferris had once believed he was.

He wasn’t. He never would be and both of them knew it. As always the thought made her sad.

Laura lay awake in the guest room of her sister’s Malibu beach house. The antique iron bed had been painted a dull brick red and an old-fashioned quilt served as a spread. Throw rugs covered the hardwood floors, and a wall of windows led out to a deck overlooking the sea. Before tonight, Laura had envied her sister this house on the beach, envied the privacy afforded by the hundreds of acres of the exclusive Mallory estate next door.

Now she leaned back against her pillow, thinking tonight she wished the house was sitting on a lot in the center of the city. That it was surrounded by dozens of people, that it was the middle of the day instead of so late in the evening.

A series of waves, loud as gunshots, crashed against the shore outside the window, but they couldn’t quite block the dense dull hum Laura could barely hear above the roar of the ocean, a noise that had settled like a weight around the two-story batten-board structure. She tried to tell herself it was only her imagination, tried to concentrate on the pounding of the surf and the old Kirk Douglas movie on the television screen, though the volume was turned so low she couldn’t really hear it.

It was three o’clock in the morning, dark outside, a cloudy night with no moon. She had always liked staying in Julie’s guest room, but tonight the ceiling seemed lower than it usually did, the walls a little closer, the sound of the waves more irritating than soothing. Her palms were sweating, her pulse beating faster than it should have.

“Julie’s right next door,” she told herself, speaking the words aloud. “All you have to do is call out and she’ll come running.” Perhaps her sister would come even without the call. If anything was wrong, Julie seemed to sense it. Her sister had a way of doing that. Julie would protect her. Just like she always did.

Then the television set went off and the night light on the wall near the bathroom dimmed and finally sputtered out. Laura swallowed against the fear that was building in her chest.

A whispering noise sifted down from somewhere above her. She tried to cry out, but the sound lodged tight in her throat. She tried to get up, tried to swing her legs to the side of the bed, but her body was rigid, completely unwilling to move.

It was dark in the room, but now the darkness lifted and a blinding light filled the bedroom. Laura’s eyes slammed closed against the stab of brightness shooting into her skull. Her muscles strained to move so hard she quivered all over and arched up off the bed.

Help me! Julie, help me! But the words remained locked in her throat and the silent scream never emerged. Then the light began to fade. She heard a noise on the stairs leading up to the deck. Small, scampering footfalls that paused outside the door.

A strangling sensation engulfed her, a terror so great it throbbed through her body in great tormenting waves. She tried to move, but only her eyes responded, rolling in their sockets, darting wildly around the room, then fixing on the door. They were coming for her. She could feel it in every nerve ending, every fiber and cell in her body. They would take her as they had done before, strip her naked, use their cold metal projectiles to invade her body. Until now she hadn’t remembered.

Help me! she silently screamed, thrashing like an animal caught in a trap, yet her body never moved on the bed. Julie, where are you? But maybe her sister was also ensnared, caught as readily as she. Fresh terror speared through her. She remembered the pain of before, the humiliation she had felt, and prayed it wouldn’t happen again. Prayed that if it did, she would be able to endure it.

The shuffling continued outside. They were coming, just as she had feared. When the door slowly opened and she saw them, her mouth formed a stark O of terror and the bile rose in her throat.

Seconds passed. She blinked and they appeared all around her, lining the sides of the bed. Her terror inched deeper, long thin tentacles reaching down into her belly. Circles of blackness whirled, clouding the edges of her mind, carrying her toward the safety of unconsciousness. Finally the darkness overtook her, freeing her from the fear, sealing her mind from what was to come. Laura welcomed the descent into oblivion.

A deep blue glow resonated up from the floor of the examining room, lighting the rounded girders along the curving walls behind his back. A bank of diodes, dials and gauges spread across the console down at one end, and air hissed through vents in a pulsing rhythm that matched the bleeps of the heart being monitored on the glowing blue screen.

Val Zarkazian stared down at the subjects lying on the table. Their scanty night clothes had been removed, and the younger woman had already been examined.

It was the second woman, the one with the dark red hair, who had brought him out from behind the monitors of his research laboratory down the hall.

He surveyed the nude figure tossing restlessly on the stark blue surface of the table, her small hands clenched so tightly the muscles in her forearms quivered. A tongue block had been inserted, but not before she had bitten into her bottom lip, leaving a slight trace of blood.

He studied her with the same objectivity he had used on a dozen subjects before, noting the woman was smaller than average but well-developed, and in healthy physical condition. She was a normal female, except that she was far more resistant to any sort of mental intrusion than most of the larger male specimens who had been brought in for study.

The woman shifted restlessly on the table, fighting the tests with the same fierce determination she had shown on her visit several weeks ago.

He glanced down at a short thin figure in dark blue protective covering, one of the lab technicians, who stood beside the table studying the subject with puzzlement and concern. Behind him, just outside the door, several soldiers milled about, members of the team who had brought the women aboard.

They were troubled by her reaction and rightly so. The first time the study had been done, she had resisted so strongly they thought they were going to lose her.

This time they had done only cursory testing, nothing intrusive into the body, and only the mental scanning that could be done without a probe. He looked at the monitor at the end of the table. The subject, a healthy female in her twenty-eighth year, had suffered normal childhood diseases—what was known here as measles, mumps and chicken pox; a broken wrist at the age of eight; minor scars and healed abrasions.

Her vital signs were strong, but just as before, they had begun to shut down the moment they started their assessment of the brain.

A row of symbols came across the glowing blue screen. Is it happening again? The message came from the viewing area where senior officers and staff watched the proceedings.

He confirmed it was so and watched the corresponding symbols pop up on the screen. The last similar case had occurred six months ago, an artist taken from the hills outside Santa Fe. Over the years, there had been quite a number, from a variety of different backgrounds. Neither race nor gender seemed to be a factor in the degree of resistance, which could result in the subject’s mental incapacitation or death.

More questions appeared on the screen, one in regard to the proceedings.

Yes, he replied, the tests have been stopped. We don’t want to lose another subject.

He turned to the short lab technician and ordered him to finalize the tests on the younger sibling, to complete the external examination of the older, and return them both to the point of origin.

The screen on the console began to flash another communication, countering his orders. You must proceed, Commander. We must discover the cause of the older sibling’s reaction. We cannot afford to let her go.

He had known his superiors would want to continue, no matter how dangerous it was. Probing the outer boundaries of scientific knowledge was the first directive of their mission, one of the reasons others had come here before. It was an accepted fact that furthering that knowledge inevitably demanded a percentage of casualties.

But Val wasn’t prepared to lose the woman, or any more subjects in the future.

He turned back to the screen. There is another, better way. We have the technology. Why should we not proceed?

The symbols flashed in rapid succession. Such an undertaking would be dangerous. Who would take the risk?

He logged in the reply he had thought long and hard about. I have been working on this project for years. I am the logical choice.

The Ansor cannot afford to lose its most valuable research officer.

All men are expendable in the name of science. It was a basic tenet of their work.

The screen went blank. He waited with less patience than he usually displayed and even a hint of anxiety.

The recommendation will be made to the council at our next session.

Relief filtered through him. He didn’t want to see the woman die, and ever since his arrival three years ago, he had hoped for a chance like this. I am grateful for your assistance.

A long line of symbols appeared. I hope you will still be grateful once you are confined in such an uncivilized environment.

Four

Pain. Excruciating pain. Julie felt the throbbing, pulsing ache well up from the deepest part of her brain.

The slatted wooden blinds over the bedroom windows were closed, yet tiny cracks of light seeped in, stabbing like white hot rays behind her eyes. The hot, damp skin across her forehead felt stretched and swollen as if it might burst. Her lips were dry. She moistened them with her tongue. Nausea threatened, a reaction to the incredible pain in her head.

Julie rolled to her side, her small hands fisting the pillow, her teeth biting into her lower lip. It wouldn’t last much longer. It never did. No more than a couple of hours. The brief duration made them bearable, and the fact she had never had them until these past few weeks.

Perhaps it was some sort of virus, an illness that was fleeting. She could stand the pain, if only she knew the cause.

Knew for certain the headaches wouldn’t get worse.

A second hour passed. Her body lay on the sheet bathed in perspiration, but the pain had begun to recede. She felt limp and drained. It was nine o’clock in the morning. She was late for work, had already missed the weekly office meeting. She wished she could just stay in bed, but headache or no, she had to go in. There was too much to do, too many clients who depended on her.

Another fifteen minutes and the last of the vicious migraine—the worst she’d suffered so far—had ebbed away. Julie gripped the pine headboard, used it as a lever to swing her legs to the floor and ease herself up off the bed. As she passed the mirror over her dresser, she paused, took in the dishevelment of her hair, and the pallor of her face that made the freckles stand out across the bridge of her nose. She headed into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped in before the water got good and hot.

Perhaps the test Dr. Marsh was giving her this afternoon would provide the answer. A dozen horrible scenarios flashed through her mind, everything from cancer to the brain tumor the doctor had mentioned.

She had to find out. Then again, maybe she didn’t want to know.

Julie washed her hair, grateful for the soothing feel of the water running over her scalp. She shaved her legs, lathered her breasts and belly, then moved lower. She felt a twinge as her hand brushed sensitive flesh. It had been so long. Three years since she had been with a man.

Not like Laura. Laura had to have a man, needed one like people need to breathe. And her sleek model’s figure and glorious long blond hair made attracting them easy. But Julie wanted more from a relationship than just a sexual fling, and if she couldn’t have it she was happy to do without.

She stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. Her head still throbbed and her hands were a bit unsteady, but her strength had begun to return. Maybe the headaches would disappear as quickly as they had started. She hoped so. With her worry for Laura, the problems she was facing at work, and her burgeoning expenses, she had enough problems already.

She sighed as she walked to the closet and slid open the mirrored doors. Her beige suit would do. She wasn’t in the mood for anything but plain-and-simple. She took her time dressing. Her muscles ached and she still felt a little bit shaky. As soon as she stepped into her matching leather pumps, she made her way to the guest room in search of Laura, but her sister wasn’t there.

The guest room looked a shambles. The bed was unmade, the sheets thrashed off haphazardly, the bright-colored quilt shoved carelessly onto the floor. Julie crossed to the closed bathroom door.

“Laura, are you in there? Are you all right?”

“I-I’m fine,” she answered through the door. “I’ll be out in just a minute.”

When Laura finally appeared, Julie was stunned at the sight of her sister’s pale, haggard face, at the faint purple smudges beneath her brown eyes and the sunken hollows in her cheeks. “My God, are you sick? You should have said something.” She set her palm on Laura’s forehead, checking for any sign of temperature, but the skin felt cold and slightly damp instead of warm, as she had expected. “Get back in bed. I’ll go down and get you something to eat.”

“I-I’m all right, Julie. I’m just a little tired is all.”

“You look like you’re a lot more than tired. Maybe you’ve got the flu or something.”

“Maybe. That’s kind of the way it feels.” A hint of embarrassed color rose into her ashen cheeks. “I-I was bleeding this morning…from inside. It wasn’t much, just a trace or two. You don’t think it’s anything serious, do you?”

“I-I don’t know. Has it happened before?”

“Only once. The morning after we suntanned in the cove on the beach.”

“I think we’d better have Dr. Marsh take a look at you. I have to go in for a few more tests this afternoon. You can come with me.”

“You’re still having those headaches?”

“Bad one last night. I finally took some sleeping pills and eventually fell asleep. I must have slept pretty hard once I did.”

Laura frowned. “I had a terrible dream last night. I can’t remember it now, but I remember at the time it was really scary.”

“It probably is the flu. You’d better stay here through the weekend, at least until—”

“No! I-I don’t want to stay here. As a matter of fact, I’m going home this afternoon. I’ll feel better sleeping in my own bed. That’s probably all that’s wrong with me. Too much dampness in the air.”

“I don’t know, Laura. Dr. Heraldson thought staying here was a good idea. And now that you’re sick—”

“I’m going home, Julie. I promise I won’t call the police or do anything crazy, okay?”

Julie looked at her hard. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

“And you’ll go with me to the doctor’s this afternoon?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

Julie sighed. “I don’t mean to be pushy. I’m just worried about you is all.”

“I know that.” Laura walked over and hugged her. “Thanks for caring so much. You’ve always been there for me, ever since Dad took off. Mom wasn’t much of a mother, but you were always there. I appreciate it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She smiled. “But I promise I’ll be okay, so you don’t have to worry.”

Julie fidgeted, smoothed the skirt of her tailored suit. “I guess neither one of us got a good night’s sleep last night.”

Laura just shrugged, but she looked uncomfortable with the subject. For some strange reason, Julie was uncomfortable with it, too.

“I’ll be back to pick you up around noon. In the meantime, why don’t you go back to bed for a while? You’ll be all right until I get here, won’t you?”

“Sure,” Laura said lightly, “I’ll be fine.” But as soon as her sister left, she got up and bolted the doors. She checked and locked all the windows in her bedroom, then locked the ones in the rest of the house. She didn’t open them, not even when the sun came out and the day turned warm. Not even when the temperature began to climb into the nineties and she began to perspire in the closed-up, airless bedroom.

“I’m worried about her, Babs.” Julie shifted restlessly in the black leather chair behind her desk. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong with her.”

Seated on the opposite side, Barbara Danvers made a rude sound in her throat. “You’re always worried about your sister and there’s always something wrong with her. Until she takes control of her life, there always will be.” Black-haired and dark-eyed, Babs had just turned thirty. She’d been married three times, to a banker, an actor and a successful television producer. She was divorced again, worked too hard but didn’t really have to, not after the settlement she’d received from Archibald Danvers two years ago.

“You’re too tough on her, Babs.” Julie sat forward in her chair, propping her elbows on the desk. They were working in her office, going over the Richards file, an estate in Palos Verdes that Babs had listed and Julie had sold. “You know the kind of life Laura’s had. A father who was gone by the time she was five years old, a mother who was never home. No supervision, no direction, never enough money to make ends meet. It’s a wonder she hasn’t had more problems than she has.”

“I hate to remind you, but Laura had the same childhood you had and look at the difference in the way the two of you turned out. You put yourself through college. You’re a successful real estate agent with a lovely home on Malibu Beach. Laura’s a twenty-first-century hippie.”

“Hardly that.”

A sleek black brow arched up. “No?”

“Just because she’s had a number of different jobs—”

“She hasn’t worked more than three months in a row since I’ve known her. How much did you spend on Laura’s medical bills last year?”

“That isn’t fair.”

“I’ll tell you what isn’t fair. Having to work the kind of hours you do to support your sister’s hypochondria.”

Julie glanced away. “This is different.”

“I’ll just bet it is. What does the psychiatrist have to say…Dr. What’s-his-name?”

“Heraldson.” Staring through the glass into the main part of the office, Julie jumped up from her chair as Patrick strode in, grateful for the chance to avoid Babs’ last question. She almost wished she hadn’t brought the subject up, but maybe she needed a dose of Babs’s honesty. “I have to speak to Patrick. I have an offer on one of the units in his condo project.”

“Brave girl. You’re actually going to sell something Patrick Donovan’s involved in?”

Julie jerked open the door without responding. Another shot of Babs’ honesty right now was more than she could manage. She hurried out into the office, running to catch up with Patrick’s long-legged stride.

“Sorry to bother you, Patrick. Have you got a minute?”

“Sure, come on in. Shirl said you wanted to see me.” He led her into the plush interior of his spacious office, remodeled since the days when the place had been his father’s. Instead of the understated mahogany and beige used throughout the rest of the building, Patrick’s office was bold and energetic, done in electric blue and black. Julie took a chair in front of his black lacquered desk, settling herself in one of the deep leather chairs, and Patrick sat down across from her.