Deeper than the Night

Alexander prowled the city, searching for Kara. He looked up Barrett's home address and went there, but the house was dark, and he sensed no human presence inside.



He went to the hospital in Grenvale, but they had no record of her there, and he had no sense of her presence in the building.



Where was she?



Knowing it was dangerous, he droveup and down the city streets, his eyes burning from the light of the rising sun until, with a cry of rage and frustration, he headed for home.



He was trembling with pain and an overpowering sense of weakness by the time he reached the shelter of the house.



Locking the door behind him, he staggered into the den and sank down on the floor. Eyes closed, he took several deep breaths, wondering if he would ever overcome the ill effects of the earth's sun, if he would ever be able to walk in the light of day without experiencing pain and weakness.



Gradually, the pain lost its intensity and he opened his eyes, staring at the painting over the fireplace. He had often imagined that he was the man in the painting, that, just once, he could stand atop a mountain and bask in the warmth of the rising sun.



With an effort, he gained his feet, then climbed the stairs to the bedroom. He needed sleep, needed to replenish his energy, his strength, before nightfall.



Stretching out on the bed, he opened his mind, searching for Kara. Call me, he begged. Whisper my , name, tell me where you are, and I'll come for you.



But no answer came to him.



Feeling helpless and alone, he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, knowing that, for the moment, there was nothing else he could do.



Barrett stood at Kara's bedside, his hands fisted on his hips. "I want you to call him. Now."



"I can't. He doesn't have a phone."



Barrett laughed humorlessly. "Call him with your mind!"



Kara shook her head. "I can't."



"You can, and we both know it. Don't make me angry, Kara. You won't like what happens if you do."



"Threaten me all you want. I won't call him."



Barrett swore under his breath. The girl had been defying him for two days. At his wit's end, he had gone back to her house, intent on bringing her sister back to the lab with him, certain Crawford would relent if he threatened her sister's life, only to find the man he left to watch three seemingly helpless females locked in a closet and the girl, her grandmother, and the nosy neighbor all gone without a trace.



He shook his head. He should have known better than to leave Mitch Hamblin behind. The kid was eager and willing, but he was young. Fortunately, youth was something he'd outgrow, if he lived long enough.



Barrett grinned humorlessly. Hamblin had looked as sheepish as hell when he emerged from that closet. When asked for an explanation, Hamblin had replied that the girl had asked him to get something off the shelf in the closet and then had slammed the door and locked him in.



Barrett turned away from the bed and stared at the vials of blood on the metal table beside the door. He had performed every test he could devise, but to no avail. Whatever healing properties the girl's blood had once possessed had disappeared completely.



His only hope was to find the alien.



"I can make her do whatever you want."



Barrett grimaced at Handeland's quiet words. Joe Handeland was a brute of a man. Barrett had no doubt he could do exactly what he said.



Barrett sighed heavily. He didn't approve of violence, but the girl was stubborn, and he was desperate. "All right," he said, "just don't kill her."



Handeland nodded. "Maybe you'd better leave the room."



Fear turned Kara's blood to ice as the man called



Handeland loomed over her. She cried Barrett's name, her voice shrill.



"What do you want?"



"You can't mean to leave me alone with this . . . this man."



"That's up to you," Barrett replied. He stood on the other side of the bed, staring down at her. "Will you call Claybourne?"



"I can't," Kara sobbed. "You know I can't."



Barrett shrugged. "Remember what I said, Handeland. No permanent damage."



"Yeah, yeah," the big man muttered impatiently. "Go on, get out of here."



Kara stared at Handeland. Strapped to the bed, she was as helpless as a butterfly pinned to a board. Her blood thundered in her ears as she watched Handeland roll up his shirt sleeves. He had arms as big as tree trunks and the biggest hands she had ever seen. She remembered those hands grabbing her, holding a rag over her nose and mouth.



"Last chance, girl," he said.



Kara stared up at him. For all his bulk, he was a soft-spoken man, with mild gray eyes and wheat-colored hair.



"Please," she whispered. "Please don't hurt me."



"That's up to you. You do what the doc wants, and I'll leave you be."



"What are you going to do to me?"



Handeland picked up a scalpel. It looked no bigger than a toothpick in his hand. "Guess."



Kara watched in morbid fascination as he turned the surgical instrument this way and that. Lamplight reflected off the shiny metal blade. She cried out as he dragged the flat part of the knife over her cheek, down her throat, over her breast.



"I spent a year studying to be a doctor," Handeland mused. "I always wanted to perform an operation. Ever had your appendix removed?"



Kara shook her head. In spite of her resolve to suffer in silence, a scream rose in her throat as Handeland lifted her hospital gown and made a small incision over the site of her appendix, just deep enough to draw blood.



Plucking a white towel from the table, Handeland wiped up the blood. "A little deeper, I think."



"Stop, please!"



"Sure thing. All you've got to do is call him."



"Why are you doing this?"



"The oldest reason of all," Handeland replied. "Money. Barrett promised to make me a rich man." He ran the edge of the blade over Kara's cheek.



The metal felt like ice as it cut her skin. She gasped as a thin trickle of blood slid down the side of her face.



"I could peel your skin off an inch at a time."



"Do it then!" she screamed. "Do it!"



With an oath, Handeland placed the knife under her left breast. With deliberate slowness, he pressed the point of the blade against her skin.



"Call him," Handeland said, "or he won't want what's left."



Kara's scream rang in Alex's mind. Anguish and fear clawed at him, as real as if he were experiencing them himself. And then, into his mind flashed an image of Kara writhing in pain, her body streaked with blood.



Crying her name, he sprang out of bed, his mind opening, expanding, searching for her.



"Kara!" Her name was a sob on his lips. "Kara, where are you?"



Alexander. . .



His own name resounded in his mind, followed by a low moan, and then there was nothing.



But it was enough.



Moments later, he was in his car, Kara's anguished cries burning like a beacon in his heart and soul, leading him out of the city.



He drove steadily through the darkness, his every thought focused on Kara. He knew he was probably walking into a trap, but it couldn't be helped. He couldn't risk going to the police, didn't want Kara to be subjected to their questions. Even if they believed Barrett had kidnapped her, they would want to know why. If Barrett revealed what he knew about Kara's blood, there would be other doctors eager to take up where Barrett had left off. He couldn't subject her to that, couldn't take a chance that his own identity might be discovered. And yet, what if he couldn't save her? What if going to the police was the only way to save her?



He lifted his foot from the accelerator as doubts crowded his mind. And then her voice sounded in his mind again, erasing every other thought but the need to find her, to destroy the man who was causing her pain.



"Is everything ready?"



Kelsey nodded. "Stop worrying, Barrett, he won't get away."



"We've got to take him alive. He'll be no good to us dead."



Kelsey let out a sigh of exasperation. "You've told me that about ten times. I think I've got the message."



"Sorry," Barrett muttered. "It's just that I've never been this close to being rich before."



"You really think this guy's blood is going to pave our way to fame and fortune?"



"I'm counting on it."



Kelsey shook his head skeptically. "Aliens from outer space. I can't believe you fell for that crap."



"I believe her."



"Whatever." Kelsey went suddenly still, his head cocked to one side. "He's here."



"You know what to do. I'll be waiting."



With a curt nod, Kelsey drew his revolver as he hurried down the darkened hallway. He heard a faint clanking sound as the heavy iron outer door swung open, followed by the sound of footsteps as Claybourne entered the passageway.



The trap was set. Kelsey grunted softly as he heard the outer door slam shut behind the alien.



A dozen high-powered spotlights flooded the corridor with light.



Kelsey grinned as a net woven of thick nylon cord dropped over the alien. Handeland ran forward and grabbed the rope, securing the ends.



A roar of outrage rose in Alexander's throat. Blinded by the lights, he struggled to free himself from the net, but the harder he struggled, the more entangled he became.



And then he felt a sharp prick in his arm and the world went black.