Part 50 (1/2)
She was visibly struggling to grasp the situation, and to control her anger. ”Why didn't you tell me?”
”I didn't know how.”
Her face had grown pale. When he'd finished explaining, her eyes looked empty. ”You can take us back, right?”
”Home? Yes.”
”Where else?”
”Anywhere. Well, there are range limits, but nothing you'd care about.”
On the street, a couple of kids with baseball gloves hurried past. ”And he thinks it's inevitable that he'll eventually get put in that graveyard?”
”Yes.”
”I don't understand why he would.”
”There seems to be a force that doesn't allow paradoxes.” He told her about Ivy, and about Shel falling into the ocean.
”So what do we do?”
”I don't know whether we should do anything anything. With this crazy logic, he may be right. I wouldn't go back either to get hit in the head and thrown into a fire. Would you?”
”No,” she said. ”I guess not.”
”I have an idea how we might be able to resolve things, though,” Dave said.
”Hold on a second. Start with this: Do we have any idea at all where to find him?”
”I know some places to look.”
”Will you take me to him?”
”Yes. I think he needs you.”
A horse-drawn carriage clopped past. She stared at the quiet little buildings. White clapboard houses. ”Nineteen-five,” she said. ”Shaw's just getting started.”
CHAPTER 40.
There was a young lady named Bright Whose speed was far faster than light; She set out one day In a relative way And returned on the previous night.
-PUNCH
MARK S. Hightower had been Shel's dentist for years. He operated out of a medical building across the street from the University Hospital, where Helen had interned and still served as a consultant. S. Hightower had been Shel's dentist for years. He operated out of a medical building across the street from the University Hospital, where Helen had interned and still served as a consultant.
Dave had met Dr. Hightower once. He was short, barrel-chested, flat-skulled, a man who looked more like a professional wrestler than a dentist. But he was soft-spoken and, according to Shel, a guy who was great with his patients.
Helen and Dave, in a taxi, pulled up in front of a brownstone building. The doctors' names-there were four of them-were posted on s.h.i.+ngles. Hightower was on the first floor. A sign in the window read: WE CATER TO COWARDS.
Dave asked the driver to wait, and, carrying a converter in a laptop bag, went into the office. One patient and a guy who was probably a salesman were seated in the reception room while two people on TV discussed the latest misadventure of a prominent actress. The receptionist looked up from behind a gla.s.s panel. ”h.e.l.lo,” she said, opening a window and sliding the sign-in sheet toward him.
”I'd like to make an appointment.”
”Are you having a problem, Mr.-?”
”McCloskey. I'm new in Philadelphia. I just wanted to get a routine checkup.”
She nodded, gathered some papers, and pushed them in his direction. ”Fill these out, please.”
”Thank you.” He started toward one of the chairs, laid the papers on a side table, then turned and went back to the window. ”Excuse me. Do you have a washroom?”
She pointed at a double door. ”Through there, and on your right.”
The doors opened into a corridor. He could hear a drill in back somewhere, but the corridor was quiet. He took the converter out of the laptop bag and went into the washroom. It was empty. He moved himself forward ten seconds. Got a reading on the location of the washroom so he could come back to it later.
He washed his hands and returned to the waiting room. ”I'm sorry,” he said to the receptionist, ”but I think I came to the wrong place. This isn't Dr. Vester's office, is it?”
”No,” she said. ”This is Dr. Hightower.”
”Oh. I'm sorry for wasting your time.” He returned the papers and went outside.
Helen looked his way. ”How'd you make out?”
”Okay.”
CHAIN-REACTION collisions have become an increasingly dangerous occurrence on limited-access highways around the world. Hundreds die every year, thousands are injured, and property damage runs well into the millions. On the day that Shel was buried, there had been a pileup in California. It had happened a little after 8:00 A.M. on a day with perfect visibility, when a pickup rear-ended a station wagon full of kids headed for breakfast and a day at Universal Studios. collisions have become an increasingly dangerous occurrence on limited-access highways around the world. Hundreds die every year, thousands are injured, and property damage runs well into the millions. On the day that Shel was buried, there had been a pileup in California. It had happened a little after 8:00 A.M. on a day with perfect visibility, when a pickup rear-ended a station wagon full of kids headed for breakfast and a day at Universal Studios.
Helen and Dave materialized well off the highway moments after the chain reaction had ended. The road and the shoulder were littered with wrecked vehicles. Some people were out of their cars trying to help; others were wandering dazed through the carnage. The morning air was filled with screams and the stench of burning oil.
”I'm not sure I can do this,” Helen said, spotting a woman bleeding in an overturned Ford. She went over, got the door open, and motioned Dave to a.s.sist. The woman was alone in the car. She was unconscious, and her arm looked broken.
”Helen,” Dave said, ”we have a bigger rescue to make.”
She shook her head. No. This first.
She stopped the bleeding, and Dave got someone to stay with the victim. They helped a few other people, pulled an elderly couple out of a burning van, stopped a guy who was trying to move a man with two fractured legs. But Dave was unhappy. ”We don't have time for this,” he pleaded.
”I don't have time for anything else.”
Sirens were approaching. Dave let her go, concentrating on finding what they'd come for.
He was in a blue Toyota that had rolled over several times before crumpling into a tree. The front of the car was crushed, a door was off, and the driver looked dead. He had bled heavily from a head wound. One tire was spinning slowly. Dave could find no pulse.
The guy was about the right size, tangled in a seat belt. When Helen got there, she confirmed that he was dead. Dave cut him free with a jackknife. EMTs were spreading out among the wrecked cars. Stretchers were appearing.