Hosts

A song. For some reason the inane lyrics of an old nursery song, "The Muffin Man" popped into her head: Do you know the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man … She'd sung it to Kevin and Lizzie—Lord, she'd even sung it to Jack when he was a baby.

Kate closed her eyes a moment, gathered her courage, then leaned again into the hum, stretching her hand, arm, and fingers to the limit while mentally chanting the tune.

Kate? Are you there, Kate?

Just get-ting a plas-tic box, a plas-tic box, a plas-tic box, just getting a plas-tic box—

Her fingers found a plastic object with corners and she snatched the little portable alarm clock back into the free zone.

Got it! And she'd kept the Unity from knowing what she'd done. At least she prayed she had.

Kate placed the clock and its dangling wires atop the microwave oven, then approached the secretary again. She chanted the same tune, changing a few words.

Just get-ting some bat-ter-ies, some bat-ter-ies, some bat-ter-ies, just get-ting some bat-ter-ies—

Her hands scrabbled through the drawer, grabbing everything they touched, and retrieved into the free zone the two little cylinders Jack had called detonators. And something else: the tiny pistol she'd seen the other day. She placed that and the rest on the microwave.

Now… the last thing, the most important item: the block of explosive. What could she call it—or rather, think it? It would have to be good because the explosive sat at the far edge of the drawer. It had weight and was wrapped in paper. And then she knew.

She stepped toward the secretary again, inches closer this time, into the hum, into a blush of warmth, into the voice…

Kate? Why do you keep fading in and out, Kate? We need you…

Just get-ting an ad-dress book, an ad-dress book, an ad-dress book, just get-ting an ad-dress book—

Her fingers closed around the long edge of something, an inch or so thick, waxy paper against her fingertips.

Kate? What are you doing?

Doing? Yes, what was she doing? Getting something from this drawer, obviously. But what?

Kate?

She leaned back, not to escape the voice, certainly not to escape that nice pool of warmth, merely to straighten her spine because it was uncomfortable and so awkward leaning over like that—

And she was freed.

And in her hand, the block of clay-like explosive.

Kate knelt beside the microwave and sobbed. Not with joy, not with relief, but with an aching terror in her bones. She didn't want to do this.

Kate allowed herself some self-pity for a moment, then began sliding the microwave back across the floor toward the cabinets. She had work to do.

She used a steak knife from the utensil drawer to strip the ends of the wires leading from the clock and the detonators. She twisted them back together and wrapped the splices with scotch tape.

Almost there. One more thing to do, the hardest of all, and then she'd be ready.

13

Jack cruised right past Holdstock's house on the first pass. He'd only been here once before, and he missed it in the dark. The pelting rain didn't help. Doubled back and found it, and realized why he'd missed it: not a light, not a sign of life.

Alarm bells clamored in his brain as he left the car and ran up the walk. Quick look though the front windows—not even a glimmer; around back—same story. A tomb had more activity.

Returned to his car and sat dripping in the front seat, staring at the dark house.

Suckered.

If you want us, you know where to find us.

Jeanette—or rather the Unity speaking through her—had misdirected him. Why? Just to waste his time? Or—

Oh, hell. Kate.

Grabbed his cell phone and dialed. Kept it for emergencies only and was always careful about what he said. This was an emergency.

Busy signal. Good sign. The Unity didn't seem to need phones to communicate and Kate had said she had calls to make.

Question was: did the Unity know where he lived? He had to assume that it had acquired most of Kate's knowledge, and Kate did know his address. Somebody from the Unity could be heading for his place now. He or she wouldn't be able to get in, but Jack would feel better being at Kate's side.

He gu

14

Ron answered the phone. She could hear irritation battling with relief in his tone as the words poured through the receiver in a rush. "Jesus Christ, Kate, where have you been? Are you all right?"

"I'm okay," she said.

His voiced faded as she heard him say, "It's Mom. She's okay." Relieved murmurs from Kevin and Lizzie in the background, then his voice louder again. "We've been worried sick about you. Why didn't you call? It was like you dropped off the face of the earth. When you didn't show up this afternoon I started calling your friend's phone, your cell phone—no answer anywhere. We've been frantic. I was just about to call the New York police!"

"It's been terrible here, Ron," Kate said. "Jeanette's in a coma. I don't think she's coming out of it."

She wanted to tell as few lies as possible, but since no one would believe the truth, she'd have to stretch it. Jeanette—the real Jeanette—was in a coma of sorts.

"Oh," Ron said. "I'm sorry. But you could have called."

"And then there's my brother Jack."

"The long lost Jack?"

"I ran into him here and three or four days later he becomes seriously ill—high fever, delirious. So it's been one thing on top of another."

"Sounds terrible." His voice descended from anxiety to understanding. That had always been Ron's strong suit: understanding. "And you don't sound so hot yourself."

"I haven't been feeling quite myself."

"Still… you could have called. Are you still in New York?"

Yes.

"Then there's no way you can make the concert." He lowered his voice. "Lizzie will be heartbroken."

"I know that, Ron. Don't you think I feel bad enough? Put her on, will you.

And then her dear sweet daughter came on and Kate pleaded for understanding and Lizzie told her it was all right, there'd be other concerts—she'd do a command performance for her mother when she came home—and Kate burst into tears and promised that as long as she lived she'd never miss another recital.

"You know I love you more than life itself, Lizzie," she said. "Never forget that, no matter what happens."

And then she spoke to Kevin.

"I feel so bad," she told him. "After my big lecture about doing things as a family, I'm the one who's not going make it. But if there was any way I could be there you know I would."

"Sure, Ma."

"So be there in my place, okay, Kev? Be my surrogate."

And then she told him how proud she was of him, how she loved him and wanted only the best for him, always and forever.

Ron came back on, his voice hushed. "Is something wrong, Kate? You sound so strange. You've spooked the kids."

"I don't mean to upset them," she said. "Maybe it's all the terrible luck Jeanette's been having. It's makes you think of all the good fortune you've had in your life. And the not-so-good things you've done. I'm sorry I messed up your life, Ron."

"You? No, it was—"

"Me, Ron. Me all the way. You're a good man and you'd have been better off if we'd never met."

"But then there wouldn't be Kevin and Lizzie."

"Yes, there's that. Our crowning achievements." She swallowed. "Are you happy, Ron?"

"Me?" He seemed surprised. "Not perfectly, but reasonably. Can't expect perfect happiness twice."

The remark bewildered her. "Twice? When was the first?"

"Maybe ten years ago when we were still building our practices and the kids were just starting school. I… I thought we were the perfect team, you and I, and the possibilities seemed limitless. I'd never been that happy before in my life. I'd never dreamed I could be that happy. And you were part of that, Kate. You made it possible. So don't ever say I'd have been better off without you."