Blood Pact

across the street, his footsteps hesitant because . . . well, because both he and Henry had been hesitant around her since they'd arrived. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate their help, because she did, but she wished they'd get it through their mutually thick heads that she could take care of herself.

    Something brushed against the living room window.

    Vicki straightened. The large ground level windows of the basement apartment had always been a tempting target for neighborhood kids and over the years had been decorated with soap, paint, eggs, lipstick, and, once, with Smurf stickers. Standing, she walked over and flicked on the floor lamp with its three, hundred watt bulbs. With luck, enough of the brilliant white light illuminating the living room would spill out into the night and she'd actually be able to see the little vandals before they ran.

    She paused at the window, one hand holding the edge of the curtain, the other the cords of the Venetian blind that ran behind.
    This close, she could hear that something was definitely rubbing against the other side of the glass. With one smooth, practiced motion, she threw the curtain aside and yanked the length of the blind up against its top support.

    Pressed up against the glass, fingers splayed, mouth silently working, was her mother. Two pairs of eyes, an identical shade of gray, widened in simultaneous recognition.

    Then the world slid sideways for a second.

    My mother is dead.

    * * *
    Fragmented memory fought to become whole. Desperately, she grabbed at the pieces.

    This is my . . .

    This is my . . .

    She couldn't find it, couldn't hold it.

    A teenager, legs pumping, a ribbon breaking across her chest. A tall, young woman standing proudly in a blue uniform. A tiny pink mouth opening in what was surely the first yawn in creation. A child, suddenly grown serious, small arms reaching out to hold her while she cried. A voice saying, "Don't worry, Mother.”

    Mother.

    This is my daughter. My child.

    She knew now what it was she had to do.

    The window was empty. No one moved in the parking lot as far as the spill of light and Vicki's vision went.

    My mother is dead.

    Around the corner, out of sight on the gravel path that lead to the entrance of the building, the same faltering footsteps sounded.

    Vicki whirled and ran for the apartment door.

    She'd turned the lock behind Celluci, a habit ingrained after years spent in a larger, more violent city.

    Now, as trembling fingers twisted the mechanism, the lock jammed.

    "GODDAMNED FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!”

    She couldn't hear the footsteps any longer. Couldn't hear anything but the blood roaring in her ears.

    She'll be on the step now . . . The metal pushed bruises into her hands. . . . opening the outer door . . . Had the security door been locked when Celluci left? Vicki couldn't remember. If she can't get in, she'll go away. The whole door shuddered as she slammed the lock with her fists. Don't go away! Through fingers white with strain, she felt something give.

    Don't go away again. . . .

    The hall was empty.

    The security door open.

    Over the scream of denial that slammed echoes up against the sides of her skull though no sound passed teeth ground tight together, Vicki heard a car door slam. Then tires retreating across gravel.

    Adrenaline catapulted her up the half flight of stairs and flung her out into the night.

    "That was close, Cathy, too close. She was inside the building!”

    "Is she all right?”

    "What do you mean, is she all right? Don't you mean, did anyone see you?

    "No." Catherine shook her head, the flying ends of hair gleaming ivory under the passing street lights. "The repairs we did aren't designed for so much activity. If any of those motors have burned out . . .”

    Donald finished strapping the weakly struggling body in and made his way to the front of the van. "Well, everything seems to be working," he sighed, settling into his seat. "But it sure didn't want to come with me.”

    "Of course not, you interrupted the pattern.”

    "What pattern?”

    "The body was responding to leaving the Life Sciences building by retracing a path followed for years.”

    "Yeah? I thought it was going home.”

    "Her home is with us now.”

    Donald shot an anxious glance over his shoulder into the back of the van. Number nine lay passively by, but number ten continued to push against the restraints. It had followed on his command, but he'd be willing to bet his chances for a Nobel