Passage

Don’t lead, Richard thought, and looked anxiously at Carl, but he was nodding. “Joanna,” he said. “She came to see me. The day I…” His voice trailed off and he looked past them out the window at the icy stream.

At the water, Richard thought. It flowed dark and clear, half under and half over a thin film of ice.

“The day you regained consciousness?” Kit prompted.

“Yes. She died,” Carl said, and then after a moment, “Didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Richard said. “She was killed later that same day.”

“I thought so,” Carl said. “I get it confused sometimes, what really happened and what…” his voice trailed off again.

“Dr. Cherikov said you’d be a little confused at first,” Mrs. Aspinall said, “because of all the medications.”

“That’s right. The medications,” he said. “Are you doing something in Joanna’s memory?” he asked. “A charity fund or something? I’d like to contribute.”

“No,” Richard said, “that isn’t why we came—”

“There is something we’re trying to do for Joanna,” Kit said earnestly, “and we need your help. We think Joanna found out something important that day about the research she and Dr. Wright were doing. We’re trying to find out what it was. We think she may have said something to someone about it.”

“And you think she said something to me?” Carl said, already shaking his head. “She didn’t say anything about a discovery—”

“No, we don’t think she said anything directly,” Kit said hastily. “But we thought if we could talk to the people she talked to that day, there might be a clue of some kind.” That’s why I brought you along, Richard thought, looking at her gratefully. “Can you tell us what you talked about, Carl?”

“Talked about?” He looked past them again at the dark water. His hands fidgeted on the arms of the chair.

“Yes,” Kit was saying. “Can you tell us what you and Joanna talked about?”

“Are you sure you’re up to this, Carl?” Mrs. Aspinall asked anxiously, stepping between them. “I’m sure Dr. Wright and Ms. Gardiner would understand if—”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Stop fussing. Why don’t you go make us some tea?”

“They said they didn’t want any—”

“Well, I do,” he said. “Go make me a cup of tea and stop fussing over me like a mother hen.”

Mrs. Aspinall left, still looking anxious, and Carl smiled at Kit and said, “Now what were we discussing?”

“What you and Joanna talked about,” Kit said.

“Nothing very important,” he said. “She asked me how I felt. She told me she was glad to see I was awake and said I should get well. And that’s what I’ve been doing, resting, getting my strength back, doing what Dr. Cherikov says. Focus on the present, Dr. Cherikov says. Don’t think about what’s past. That’s over and done with. Think about getting well.”

“You mentioned being in the coma,” Richard said. “Did Joanna ask you what happened while you were in the coma? About having dreams?”

“They weren’t dreams.”

Richard’s heart leaped. “What were they?” he asked, his voice and face carefully impassive.

Mr. Aspinall looked toward the door, as if willing his wife to come back. “Mr. Aspinall, this is important,” Richard said. “Joanna tried to tell us something as she was dying. We think it has something to do with something you told her, something about what you saw when you were in the coma,” but Carl had stopped listening.

“I thought she died instantly,” he said accusingly. “The nurses told me she died instantly.”

Richard looked at him in surprise. What was going on here?

“You said she talked to you,” Carl said, his voice rising. “You said she tried to tell you something.”

“She did, but she didn’t live long enough to tell us. She died almost instantly.”

“There wasn’t anything anyone could have done,” Kit said.

He ignored her. “How did she die?”

Richard looked at Kit. She looked as bewildered as he felt. He wondered if they should call Mrs. Aspinall, but if they did, it would be an end to the interview. “How did she die?” Carl demanded.

“She was stabbed by a patient on drugs,” Richard said.

“Stabbed?” Carl said, and his hands clenched uncontrollably in his lap. “With what?”

“A knife,” Richard said, and, surprisingly, the answer was the right one. Carl’s fists unclenched and he leaned back into his chair. “And she died almost instantly,” he murmured. “She was only there a few minutes.”

“Where, Carl?” Richard said. “Where were you when you were in the coma?”

Carl’s hands clenched again, and his eyes strayed to the muted TV. Like Maisie’s when she didn’t want to talk. “You said it wasn’t a dream,” Richard said, leaning forward to put himself between Carl and the TV. “What was it? Was it a place?”

“A place,” he said and looked past them, at the dark, icy stream. What was he seeing, staring out at it? The water, creeping up the deck? Or roaring in through the injured side?

“You said Joanna was only there a few minutes,” Richard said. “Where? What were you afraid she’d been stabbed with?”