Shadow Mountain – Part 1

SHADOW MOUNTAIN

by Sidney Spies

CHAPTER ONE

After the turn of the century, during the last of Southern California’s “Great Hiking Era,” the trailhead to Shadow MountainCoriginally called La Montaña de las sombras by its Spanish discoverersCwas reached by an asphalt road. Since then, it had been unmain­tained and was no longer listed on the latest Los Padres Forest Service map. No sign marked the starting point, a small rock-and-clay break in the dense chaparral which wouldn’t be noticed by anyone who hadn’t been there before. Only a tiny few of the millions who lived in the smoky haze of the Los Angeles basin eighty miles to the south knew the trail existed.

Luke considered this absence of publicity as fortunate, because the solitude of the mountain was a large part of the peace and fulfillment he felt when he was there. His roommate and fellow third-year resident, Jeremy, disagreed. “You’ve gotta be crazy to go up there alone,” he said.

“I’ve been there before,” Luke said. “I know my way.” Actually, he’d climbed Shadow Mountain many times. During his four years of med school, when feelings of being trapped over­whelmed him, he often escaped to this refuge, but during the two years of residency he just finished, he was kept too busy. Except for a three-day weekend taking Vivian to visit his folks in Houston, Luke had made rounds on his patients every day, rarely taking even a weekend day free. Now, in his third year as resident, he could take more time offCand this weekend, with Vivian away at a meeting of hospital administrators in Phoenix, was a perfect opportunity to return to the mountain.

With the first light of sunrise, he was heading north on the 405. Two hours later he drove up a miserable, potholed road  and parked on the rutted shoulder across from the trailhead. He covered the windshield with a silvery sun reflector, then shouldered his pack and began the five-mile climb.

With fall, the chamise and wild buckwheat had turned brown, and only scattered stands of lupine and bush poppy remained from summer’s wildflower color. At first, Luke barely noticed them. His mind kept returning to Sixth Floor General Medicine, which he=d left under the supervision of Jeremy and his first­­-year resident, Chris. The diverticulitis looked as though he wouldn=t need surgery, but one this acute could still perforate with little warning. Had Jeremy checked the blood culture results?  The antibiotic sensitivities?  What about the old pharmacist with the bellyache on Six A?  He looked like an early pancreatitis, but the pain hadn’t fully localized. Could Luke have missed an appendicitis?  Perhaps he should have had the surgical resident check him.

As he climbed, the surrounding scenery began to register, and the hospital faded. The chaparral of lower elevations became mixed with pine, bigcone spruce, and oak. Since the last time he was there, parts of the trail had become totally overgrown. Above Halfway Spring a rockslide had wiped out a ten-yard segment, and he had to carefully scale the crumbly scree. His breath came hard. That was all right. In fact, it was more than all rightCit felt great to have a genuine reason to fight for breath instead of the desperate spells of hyperventilation that bore down on him the frequent times he felt boxed in. OthersCexcept JeremyCrarely recognized these inner storms because of Luke’s outwardly calm handling of emergencies and his warmth with patients. This same turbulence was further camoflaged by his low-pitched, southern gentleman voice and his appearanceChe was just over six feet tall, had long gangly legs, a slim build, a smile that evoked a return smile in almost everyone who encountered it, and tan hair that fell like unwelcome bangs over his forehead when he ran or when the wind sprang up.

He gazed around him as he walked. He was coming back to familiar grounds where he could stretch his limbs and again breathe clear air, where there were no hospital smells, no calls crackling from his beeper. As he climbed higher, his senses seemed to sharpen. He clearly remembered landmarks of prior trips: the sharp switchback over Horseshoe Canyon; Turtle Rock, where a granite outcropping protruded like a tortoise head beneath a bare dome; the hollow in the sandstone cliff where he’d ducked for cover in a sudden rainstorm. He paused and stared overhead while two hawks soared in wide overlapping circles, their shadows chasing each other on the brown brush cover below. A gray squirrel dashed across the trail, its white cheek pouches bulging with pine nuts for the winter. Partway up the trunk of a canyon oak it stopped and looked curiously at him. Luke whistled. It blinked back. Luke took a deep breath and walked on.

Almost three hours later he reached the clearing on which stood the ruins of Moorfield Lodge, a once luxurious rustic hotel near the summit. Buildings that formerly housed eighty guests had succumbed to fires, storms, and isolation, and were now weathered to a jumbled gridwork of stone and cement foundations covering three terraced levels. The Forest Service had once restored the grounds as a low maintenance trailcamp, but only two rusting iron firegrills remained from these efforts. Luke paused by another familiar landmarkCa broad, gnarled western juniper, the only tree that survived the `31 fire, making it the grand­daddy of the encroaching pine, fir, and oak. Behind the juniper, partly hidden by it, was a large stone fireplace. Algae ­had coated it to create the effect of a shallow man‑made cave.

He slipped his pack off his shoulders and took a long swallow from his canteen. While his head was tilted back, a movement caught the corner of his eye. He quickly dropped the canteen from his lips.

In the fireplace sat a woman, ragged and wild in appearance. She looked at him.

He felt stunned. His voice box refused to function. Finally he cleared his throat. AHello,@ he managed to blurt out.

She nodded.

AAre you all right?@ he asked.

AYes, thank you.” She turned away.

He shifted from foot to foot. Unable to think of anything else to say or do, he walked a short distance through the forested grounds until he thought he was out of her sight and sat on a fallen log. His mind raced. Had he imagined her? Had the hospital finally gotten to him?

The question resolved itself. She was standing in front of him.

He stared.  She was young, perhaps in her early twenties. Her bare feet were scratched and torn. She wore a crinkled and tattered blouse‑‑ its print pattern had faded into the brown and gray hues of forest soil. Her frayed green skirt was ripped at the left thigh. She was slender, of medium height. Dirt streaked her cheeks and forehead. Twigs and pine needles speckled her disheveled, dark brown hair.

In spite of thatCshe had a strange, haunting beauty.

Her dark eyes gazed into his. She asked softly, “Do you have any extra food you could let me have?”

“What?” was all Luke could stammer.

“Do you have extra food?  I misjudged how much I would need.”

“Yes… of course!” He scrambled for his pack, rummaged through it, and came up with a bag holding a sandwich, an apple, and three packages of string cheese. He held them toward her.

She stepped forward. AThank you.” As she reached for them, she winced, as if in pain.

She had a gentleness and grace that certainly didn’t fit her wild state. Although scratched and soiled, her fingers were long and graceful, as if they had been trained on a piano. A thin ring with a moonstone encircled her fifth finger. She bit hungrily into the apple. “Are you sure you left enough for yourself?”.

“I’m really not hungry. I’m here for only a short time anyway.” That wasn’t true. He was planning to stay for the night, but he was beginning to realize that he had to get help for her. His eyes drifted down to her bare feet. On one of them blood had caked over a cut. He lifted his eyes. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long. I’m meeting friends.” She hesitated, then asked: “Do you have water?”

He hurriedly held out a full liter of bottled water. “Please, take this. I have plenty more.”

She shook her head. “I just wanted to make sure I left you enough.” Her voice had a softness that would be hard to forget.

Holding the food, she headed back in the direction of the fireplace. She carried one arm stiffly, as if she were guarding it.

Anticipating her return, he moved over to make extra room on the flat portion of the log. There he had a view of Los Muertos, the cliff precipice where the cog railroad once unloaded onto the peninsula-shaped patio. It had derived its ominous name from a number of suicide leaps, all in the distant past.

After about ten minutes in which she wouldn’t leave his mind, he gulped down the rest of his lunch and shouldered his pack.  AWhat are you getting yourself into, Luke old man?@ he mumbled as he headed back the same route he’d come. She was again seated in the fireplace. Next to her were a torn sweater, a blanket, two water‑filled plastic bottles, and a nylon shoulder-pack. She seemed not to notice him.

He stopped at the juniper, and cleared his throat.

She turned and looked at him.

His eyes for the first time caught the delicate oval gold locket hanging from her neck. Its contrast with the rest of her attire was stark. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” he asked.

“My friends should be along soon.” She drew her feet under her. As she shifted position, she again winced.

“You=re in pain. You’ve been hurt.”

“It’s only a scratch.”

“I’m a doctor,” he said. “Let me take a look.”

She studied him a moment. Then, she loosened the buttons on her blouse and, with no apparent self-consciousness, slipped her arm out. She wore no bra. The blouse dangled from her opposite shoulder.

He crouched beside her. Her skin was ivory cream next to the roughened reddish tan of her exposed arms and neck. On so slender a figure, her breasts could have been sculptured. When she lifted her arm, the smooth contour of the soft tissue just inside the front of the armpit was broken by an angry red swelling.

Luke palpated it gently. It was hot. At its center a dark blister had formed. “That must be very painful,” he said softly.

She said nothing.

His finger probed upward. An olive-size lymph node rolled beneath them. He felt her muscles contract in pain. “I think it has a foreign bodyCa splinterCin it,” he said.

She lowered her arm. His hand was nestled for a moment between her arm and breast. He carefully withdrew it. “It’s infected,” he said. “It needs to be opened, and you need to be on antibiotics. I can take you down to a hospital emergency room to get it done.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “I’ll be all right.”

“If you’d rather, I’ll drive you to the hospital I work at, and personally see that it’s taken care of.”

Like the breeze springing up in the afternoon mountain air, her voice grew chilly. “It’s kind of you to offer. But I don’t need help.”

He studied her grimly. Whatever else was going on with her, she needed medical attention. “Something has to be done about that infection.”

Her lips tightened.

He let out a resigned breath. “Okay, I’ll try probing it with my knife, and see if I can dislodge the splinter.”

She continued looking at him. Then, her eyes softened. She gave a single nod.

He said: “I have to sterilize the blade.” He fished in his backpack for matches, a pocket-knife, Wash-and-Dry, and a small Kleenex pack. “Hold your arm up again,” he said, tearing open the Wash-and-Dry. He sponged the swollen red area, then opened the knife blade. “Try to keep holding it up,” he said, as he lit a match and flamed the tip of the blade.

He gave the blade a moment to cool, then touched the point of the knife to the central blistered area. With a quick movement he pricked the knife point into the blister, flicked out a small brown object. It landed on his shirtsleeve. All the while she didn’t move, didn’t flinch, continued looking at him with eyes that wrenched at something deep inside him.

He held the particle between his fingers. “Looks like a thornhead.” He probed the blister farther with the knife blade. Several drops of dark serum appeared. “I don’t think there’s anything else in it,” he said. He pulled out folded pieces of Kleenex, held them against the draining cut. “I should’ve carried a first-aid pack. I don’t suppose you have any bandages.”

For the first time, she smiled. “I’m afraid I didn’t come that well prepared, but it already feels better. I’ll hold it.” She reached for the Kleenex.

He dropped his hands, closed his knife, placed it back in the pack. “It really does need more medical attention.”

Her voice grew softer. “I appreciate what you’ve done, but I’ll be just fine until my friends come.”

He was certain she wasn’t actually waiting for anyone, not in her condition. Was she deliberately lying to put him offCor was she delusional?  “My name’s LukeCLuke Burnam.”

“Thank you very much for your help.”

“What’s your name?”

She gazed at him, biting her lip. Then she turned away and said quietly, “I don’t have a name.”

He flushed. “Right. It’s none of my business.”

She fingered a tear in her skirt. A jagged scratch ran down her thigh. By her feet the forest floor rustled, and a speckled lizard scooted from beneath a layer of leaves. The raucous call of a Steller’s Jay sounded in the distance. Luke cleared his throat, but said nothing.

It was she who broke the silence. “Do you come up to the mountains often?”

The muscles between his shoulder blades grew less tight. “I used to. I work in a hospital now, and haven’t been able to get away.”

“You must be very busy,” she said softly.

He lifted a twig, broke it between his fingers. “Perhaps more than I need to be.”

She gazed at him a moment longer, then her eyes dropped. “You’ll have to leave now to get down before dark.” She turned away.

He felt dismissed. “Look,” he said with all the authority he could put behind his words, “you need more medical attention. I can’t leave you here alone. Come down with me and I’ll take you to your friends.”

She lifted herself onto her knees and looked at him deliberately. Her voice hardened. “I told youCI’ll wait here until they come.”

“You need bandages. And more blankets. And food.”

“My friends will bring them.”

In his frustration, his voice grew louderC AThere=s no way I can leave you here alone!@

AI appreciate your concern but I=ve been  in the mountains before. I=ll be fine until my friends come.@

“But….” He stopped. There was no mistaking the determination in her eyes. Whatever was going on with her, he couldn’t force her to leave that mountain.

Defeated, he rose to his feet. “When I get down, can I phone anyone for you?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

There was nothing more he could say or do. This was a matter for the authorities. As soon as he could get to the station, he’d notify the Forest Service. He hitched his pack over his shoulders. “Goodbye,” he said.

She gave a slight smile, and he was struck by the sorrow in it. “Thank you for the food,” she said.

As he headed down the trail he continued to see her troubling face, wide, dark eyes, the sadness behind her smile. Something was seriously wrong. Her speech, the appealing resonance of her voice, her graceful handsCthese in no way fit the wildness of her state and her refusal to leave the mountain.

A couple of hundred yards down the trail, he stopped, angry at himself. He should have been more forceful in urging her to come down with him. If there had been an accident scene, he would have insisted. As a doctor, he couldn’t just leave her. He turned back.

And froze.

His heart pounded in his throat. A rattlesnake stretched across the section of trail he was now on. Large, at least five feet, it lay almost motionless, but its head and upper body were coiled and its tongue flickered in and out. Luke’s last footprint was barely on the distant side of it, which meant he had walked over the snake and barely avoided treading on it. He stood transfixed.

The snake’s tongue continued to flicker in a slow, hypnotic cadence.

The air was still, the forest quiet. Strangely, the common wave of anxiety and hyperventilation didn’t strike. The pounding in his throat slowly subsided, and he began to feel an unaccountable weariness. Neither he nor the snake moved. Perhaps it was caught in the same trance he was. The diverticulitis on Six B, the pancreatitis on Six A, no longer existed. There were only he and this unmoving creature blocking the path.

A breeze started up and gusted through the overhead crown of oak and pine. Near the trail the brush rustled, as if a small forest creature had sensed the snake and scurried for safety. Far in the distance, a mountain cat wailed.

The snake made the first move. Its head rose farther as it turned toward him, and from its tail emerged a high-pitched rattle. Slanted obsidian eyes widened as they fixed on him. Like an omen, they glinted.

Stay away.

After an eternity, the eyes narrowed back to slits. The head turned away. The snake began to uncoil, and the rattle stopped. The snake began an undulating movement. Inch-by-inch it disappeared into the brush alongside the trail.

Luke stared at the spot where it had disappeared. Not a trace of movement nor a wisp of sound broke the stillness. His eyes moved back to the trail. Its dusty surface was unbroken except for the tread of his boots and the imprint of the snake. He gave a quick shake of his head, thinking: I truly am hallucinating. The damn snake was nothing but a snake, not an omen.

BesidesCshe’d made it clear she’d permit him to do nothing more. There was no way he could carry her down the rugged trail against her will. That would be a sure way of getting both of them killed. And if he went back up, he would be as useless as before. Resignedly, he turned and continued down the trail. The sooner he notified the Forest Service, the better.

But a feeling of unreality akin to longingCstayed with him for the rest of the descent.

Chapter 2

The Oakwilde Ranger Station was a group of one‑story buildings nestled in a ravine off State Route 133. At the side of the ranch‑style main building a green pick‑up, its doors imprinted “Department of Agriculture,” faced a squat orange tractor. In a nearby corral, three horses lazed in the early twilight. A cluster of employees= cottages was tucked farther into the small valley.

Luke walked up while a woman dressed in a Forest Service uniform stood outside the entrance to the office, locking the door. She was hefty, not fat, but wide and angular as if built of solid triangular blocks. Probably in her fifties, she had graying sandy hair and wore large, tinted horn‑rimmed glasses. Her stern-looking face was covered with surgical scars and scaly pink patches from years of exposure to sun and derma­tologists. On her forest‑green twill blouse a wood‑grain plastic name‑tag read “Beatrice Kornwald.”

Luke said, “I hope I’m not too late to talk to the ranger.”

“You are late, and you are talking to her.”

He stood straighter and introduced himself as Doctor Luke Burnham. “I want to report a young woman I found up on Shadow Mountain today. She was alone, and I think she=s in trouble.”

The forest ranger’s look said that if only she could glare him away, she could get on to dinner. Finally, with a weary sigh, she turned back to unlock the door. “Okay, come in and I’ll fill out a report.”

Luke entered an office the size of a large living room. Separating the work space from the reception area was a full‑length counter topped with green‑and‑yellow Forest Service maps. Bulletin boards on either side of the entrance door were posted with trail notices, lists of regulations, and pictures of Smokey the Bear recoiling in horror from fires set by careless campers and smokers. The ranger lifted a panel in the counter, stepped through, and flicked on the lights. She sat at a desk and pulled out a pad of paper from a drawer and  slipped the cap off a pen. “All right, report.”

While he talked, she took off her glasses, studied them, and blew on the lenses. She wrote nothing, and he wasn’t sure she listened to a word he said. He was relieved when she finally interrupted him. “Was she spaced out?”

“I don’t think she was on drugs. She spoke clearly.” Luke could see the young woman’s imageCthe resignation on her face, her soft gentle voice, the sorrow in her eyes.

The ranger rummaged in a drawer for a tissue, wiped her glasses, and held them up to the light. “Did she look sick?”

“She was covered with cuts and scratches@ C he described the infected blister in the armpitC@but no, she didn’t act sick.”

The ranger looked up at him sourly, lips pursed. Finally, she shrugged, and jotted something on the pad of paper. “She hasn’t been there long,” she said with finality. Most could have been three days, after I was last there.” She slipped the report pad into the drawer, slammed it shut, and stepped back into the reception area. “Weather’s still holding and she clearly knows her way around. She’ll be okay in the trailcamp tonight.”

Luke continued standing at the counter. He wasn’t going to settle for this bureau­cratic bullshit.

She turned back to him. “Do you plan to camp here for the night?”

“I=m not leaving until I have an idea what you’re planning to do about her.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “You did say you didn’t know her?”

He tightened his lips. “I’d never seen her before in my life. Look, she’s a young woman in a wild setting, and something is seriously wrong with her. I just want to be sure someone helps her.”

She fixed him with a hard look, but he didn’t drop his eyes. Finally, she sighed. “I plan to go up and get her tomorrow.”

He heaved a breath of relief. “Should I come with you?”

From her reaction, he might have just proposed building a campfire during the dry season in a grove of redwoods. “Good lord, no!  I’m going horseback. If I take anyone, it’ll be another ranger.”

His face flushed. After all, when he’d started down from the trailcamp he’d said to himself all he wanted to do was get word to someone in authority. “I appreciate what you’re doing,” he said.

She reached for the door, paused, looked at him a moment longer, then returned to the counter and pulled out a notepad. “If you want, you can call during the week. My name’s Bea.” She scribbled a phone number and handed it to him.

It was after ten by the time he finished the drive from the ranger station and pulled into the alleyway behind his apartment building. He groanedCevery spot in the covered car shed was filled. He finally parked his silver-blue Camry on the street a block away. He always tried to avoid street parkingChis apartment was a mile and a half south of the medical center hospital, and the neighborhood streets there weren=t the safest place to leave a car.

He hoped his roommate Jeremy would be home. With someone to talk to he might be able to put the day into some kind of perspective. Of course, tomorrow he’d be able to talk about it with Vivian.

He paused in his walk to the apartment and shook his head. No, not Vivian.

Partway up the stairs, he again stopped. Why not?  What was wrong with telling Vivian?  He was acting as if . . . as if he were guilty of something. That was stupid. He had simply tried to be a good samaritan and had done the best he could under the circum­stances.

He frowned and continued up the stairs.

“I didn’t rescue anyone.” Luke fought to free himself from the stubborn sleeves of his gray pullover sweater. “That’s the trouble, Jeremy. I’ve never felt more useless.”

Observing his fight with the sweater sleeves, Jeremy’s dog Wolfgang gave his penetrating foghorn bark and leaped off the kitchen chair. His feet whirred like a buzz‑saw on the slick tile floor as he tried unsuccessfully to gain enough traction to dash to the attack. He wasn’t sure whom Luke was fighting, but Wolfgang never settled for the role of uninvolved bystander. He was a genetic bouillabaisse: spaniel ears, beagle body, black and white Dalmatian coat, short legs, and a bark that would have done service to an Amtrak approaching an intersection. People first meeting Wolfgang were often puzzled about his nameChis stentorian woof was certainly more Wagnerian than Mozartian. Actually, his name had nothing to do with the composerCwhen he was a pup, the white circle around his left eye had reminded Jeremy of a monocle worn in a World War Two movie by a German U‑Boat captain named Wolfgang Hofnagel.

At twenty-nine, a year older than Luke, Jeremy Ross was also in the early months of his third year of Internal Medicine residency at University Medical Center. He was shorter but a good deal heavier than Luke. His face was ruddy, he had a broad, bushy mustache, and his uncombed oat‑colored hair flew in helter‑skelter lines over his head and ears, giving him a constantly windblown appearance. He looked like a peasant who’d just come down from a stormy mountain top, even though he’d never climbed a mountain in his life.

But Jeremy was no peasant. He had fought his way up through obstacles that would have ruined most young folks. He grew up in poverty in a gang-riddled neighborhood in the Bronx, where he learned to fight in order to exist. His mother died when he was twelve; and his father sunk into a drugged existence, spending most of their welfare money on drugs. He died of hepatitis when Jeremy was sixteen. By then, Jeremy had long managed to fend for himself. Living on scholarships and nighttime jobs, he kept out of the way of social workers who would store him in a foster home. Luke thought that Jeremy reached closer to true genius than anyone he’d ever known. By the age of twenty-nine, when he and Luke began sharing an apartment, Jeremy had a PhD in nuclear biology, had published a number of papers, and in his spare time (nights, while others slept), was working at University in the lab of Dr. Zabrodsky, a Nobel-prize winner in nuclear biology. Jeremy seemed to have no need of sleep.

The toaster‑oven beeped, and Jeremy gingerly pulled a smoking slice of blackened rye from it. “Shit!” He dropped it onto his plate, shook his hand and blew on his fingers. He sat in a chair at the small chrome‑and‑formica dinette.

Jeremy=s mustache changed with his mood swings, which were often considerable. It was bushy and full when he was feeling up, but the corners drooped like soggy linguini when he was low. Today, his mustache was bushy. He tore a wing off a supermarket barbecued chicken. “If you ask me, you fell for the old waif‑in‑the‑forest trick. That’s as ancient as the hills.”

Luke finally extricated himself from his sweater. Wolfgang dashed for it, then looked up at Luke, puzzled. “Come on, Jeremy,” Luke said, “how many times have you found an injured woman alone on top of a mountain?”

ACommonplace.” Jeremy gave an off-handed wave. “Every time I’ve climbed a mountain.” He bit into the toast. Wolfgang gave up the attack on the peculiar assailant and swooped under the table to vacuum up the crumbs. Jeremy pushed the styrofoam container with the chicken across the table. “Better dig in, old buddy. You keep giving away your lunch to every sex‑starved woman you find up a mountain, you’ll get even skinnier than you are.” He gestured with a chicken wing. “You’ll also piss off Vivian.”

“Come off it, Jeremy. One thing Vivian isn’t, is jealous.”

“You just try her. Ever notice that the only shoes she ever wears are pointy-toed pumps?@

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“I=ll tell you,@ Jeremy said, Aif I planned to say anything she wouldn’t like, I wouldn=t stand within six feet of her unless I was wearing a steel jock strap.@

That evening a snake returns in Luke=s dreams.

He’s once again in his first undergraduate year, back in the Zoology lab in college. Countertops lined with microscopes and flasks and specimen jars stretch before him. In one section, he finds a door he can’t remember. He opens it, and stands at the entrance to a deep cavern. Limestone columns, wet and shiny from the drippings of an underground spring, glisten in a soft misty light that filters down from above.

Guarding the entrance is a snake.

It’s larger than the snake he encountered on the trail. Its diamond‑checkered body, thick as a man’s calf, is coiled. Above its pits, creviced eyes glitter at him.

When Luke was four years old, his father surprised him with a battery-operated rubber snake that he slipped under the covers of Luke’s bed. The snake was programmed to begin its rattle when Luke rolled over on it. It worked exactly as his father had planned. “Ah’ll make a re-yal man of you, boy,” he pronounced to the screaming, gasping child.

In the dream, Luke cries out: AIs anyone there?” The words rebound: Is anyone there . .  . Is anyone there . . . . They remind him of the Shadow at Moorfield Lodge. His limbs are so heavy he can’t will them to move. With a struggle he manages to lift one foot and take a step forward. The head of the snake rises, and its tail begins to vibrate with an ominous rattle. He steps back. The snake returns to its tight coil and the rattle dies down.

In the filtered light between the columns of moist sandstone she appears. It’s as if the softly swirling mist that filled the cavern had condensed and taken shape into her.

He catches his breath. Her face is hauntingly lovely as it changes in hue in the shifting, wavering light. Her slim, lithe body is bare. It glistens with fine droplets of moisture from the damp air of the cavern. The misty light coming from above glimmers on her smooth, firm breasts. Her dark hair, flecked with orange and gold fragments of leaves, spills onto her shoulders.

“Who are you?” he says.

Her lips part, but no words come. Dark, depthless eyes reach out to him with a silent plea.

He again struggles to move. One foot steps inches closer. The snake again rises from its coil. Its head swells, its rattle returns. Its red forked tongue darts in and out.

“Let me by!” Luke cries.

The snake’s head sways before him and its tongue flickers more rapidly.

With a look of wrenching sadness, the girl in the cave begins to back away.

“No, wait!” His feet won’t move another inch. He stretches his arms toward her.

The rattle grows louder.

With a supreme effort, he takes another step forward.

The terrible din of the rattle rises to a scream. Luke’s throat closes off as he hears the scream of the four-year old boy. From its coil, unwinding as in slow motion, the snake strikes.

Luke awakened. Heart pounding, he stared blindly across the dark bedroom. The covers had been thrown off and lay on the floor. He was sitting straight up in bed, fighting frantically for air in a spell of hyperventilation that brought Jeremy running.

”                 ”                 ”

At the airport Sunday evening Luke joined the line‑up of cars outside the baggage area. Vivian was due back from the hospital administrators’ meeting in Phoenix. She wasn’t in sight, so he sat back and scanned the crowd. A young couple carrying bulging backpacks trudged out the sliding panel door. The woman’s long braided hair humped over her pack like a mountaineer’s rope for a belay. Six members of a southeast Asian family, the father’s head swathed in a white turban, clustered inside a circular wall of luggage like a wagon‑train under siege. Three stewardesses, in formation like majorettes at half‑time, marched out pulling identical navy suitcases on attached wheels.

Like a spotlight had been turned on, Vivian emerged from the baggage room. She wore a tan gabardine suit that showed not a wrinkle from the one-and-a-half hour flight from Phoenix. She was five-feet-five, with an erect, confident carriage that made her seem taller. Her lustrous auburn hair was cut in a sharp line across her forehead and swept smoothly back and under her ears and neckline. The sunlight glinting off it gave it a golden cast.

Luke saw her the moment she came out the door. There was nothing remarkable about that; when Vivian appeared in a crowd, she wasn’t easily missed. She had a crisp, attention-demanding beauty that made people lift their heads from their news­papers or spin around and look as she walked past. She was like the central figure in a Maidenform bra ad in which the camera focused only on her and blurred the figures around her. Jeremy described her as a centerfold for Business Week.

Luke jumped from the car and waved. When he caught her eye she smiled and signaled to the porter who doggedly trailed her with a suitcase and hanging bag.

“The damn plane was a half‑hour late taking off.” She had a confident, smoothly modulated voice, the kind that sells luxury cars on TV. She kissed him solidly. Her lips tasted of chocolate. “Did you miss me?”

“Like a hot dog misses mustard.” Luke had only a trace of Texas left in his speech. His drawl had dissipated during his four undergraduate years at Stanford, but there was still a slow lilt to his voice that gave it a courtly southern flavor. At times, he wondered if he’d purposely trained himself to keep away from the bravado drawl of his father.

Vivian wiped her lip with her tongue and grinned wickedly. “I’ll have to think about you as a frankfurter. It’s an intriguing idea.” She slid into the front seat. “Now that you’re finally able to take some time off, I hate to have wasted any of it on an inane business meeting.”

Luke had told her earlier about his anticipated trip to the mountain, but was reluctant to bring it up again. He=d planned the trip to find time to be off by himselfCnot just to get away from the tension of the hospital, but also to get away from Vivian. Not that he didn=t enjoy her company, he certainly did, but the five years during which they=d been passed off as an insepar­able couple were a long time, and everyone treated them as if they were already engaged. They were not. They were to be married in eight months when he finished residency. Luke couldn’t picture a future without Vivian; if he had his way, they’d get married now, but Vivian wanted to marry a full doctor, not one still in training. “Long engagements are meaning­less,” she’d said. “If we’re going to fool with an engagement, let’s do it close to the wedding.”

The traffic out of the airport was heavy for a Sunday evening. They crept along in a line of cars, taxis, airport vans, and buses. Vivian rolled the window partway down and tapped her right foot on the floorboard. Her foot stayed busy whenever she was impatient, and Vivian was usually impatient. “The entire meeting was one‑quarter business and three‑quarters bullshit,” she said.

“Explain,” Luke said, knowing full well that she would anyway. Vivian wasn’t reticent about presenting her viewpoint.

She twirled a lock of hair between her thumb and index finger. “Most of the time was taken up by overstuffed windbags crying over how Medicare’s policies will wreck the hospital industry. It took two days before anyone could come up with even a half constructive suggestion about cost containment.” She turned toward Luke. “Whether we like it or not, we’ve got to live with these limits. The days when third‑party payers let us charge what the traffic would bear are over.” Her foot tapped faster. “The medical care pie is shrinking, dammit, and the sooner we all accept it the better.”

Luke held up a hand. “Whoa. I’m not the enemy. My slice of the pie isn’t even a crumb yet.”

He glanced at her. Her beautiful face loosened. She straightened her shoulders. “Hmmmph. You just wait. One of these days we’re going to have a whole pie all to ourselves.”

He grinned. When the traffic again crawled to a halt he turned to have a good look at her. Her eyes still flashed blue‑green opals. She stared straight ahead, lips tight, jaw set, as she reflected on the dinosaur-like thought processes of the speakers at the meeting.

Vivian had been the administrator at three-hundred bed John F. Kennedy Memorial Hospital since she’d graduated with her PhD in Hospital Administration a year and a half earlier. Now, at twenty‑seven, she was probably still the youngest administrator of a major hospital in the Los Angeles area. When she was first offered the job, there were rumors of unfair influence, considering that her father was the principal architect for the hospital; but soon everyone agreed that Vivian filled the job with competence. Heads of other hospitals often turned to her for advice.

She and Luke had met in his third year at medical school during a six-hour lecture series in Public Health, which the medical students shared with students in Hospital Administration. Twenty minutes before the final class, Luke sat in the lecture hall trying to rush through his hand-in assignment. He’d been up half the preceding night on his Surgery clerkship, assisting on a perforated ulcer and a gangrenous gall bladder. Two-bit courses like Public Health were a pain in the ass compared to this new and exciting hospital work.

He should have taken time to finish the assignment in the library the day before. Statistics were not his thing. He was trying to plot the distribution of cases of tuberculosis in the state, interpolating points on the graph from data in the public health bulletinCand his graph looked nothing like the sample graph in the textbook.

His work was interrupted by a pleasant female voice. “Having trouble?”

He turned. In the seat next to him was a beautiful auburn-haired woman. She wore an unadorned black jersey dress and a single-strand thin gold necklace, but somehow she looked more stylishly dressed than any fellow student he could remember. She had to be one of the Hospital Administration students; no woman in the medical school looked like that. “My bell-shaped curve looks more like a two-humped camel,” he said.

AWould you settle for a breast-shaped curve instead?@

He blinked. Was she making a joke? AThat sounds better,@ he said.

“Let me see your data.” As she leaned over his chair’s desk arm, he became aware of a subtle perfume. She pointed to a column. “Here’s your problem.” She reached

over, scribbled some quick calculations, erased several points on the graph sheet,

reinserted x’s. Instead of two humps, the curve now had a single one at the center.

He nodded appreciatively. “I seem to have forgotten the little statistics I once knew.” He closed his textbook. “I’m Luke Burnham. After class, maybe you’ll give me a short refresher course over some coffee.”

She smiled brightly. “You’re in luck. I’m Vivian Dufrene, and statistics are one of my strong points.”

Not the only ones, Luke thought.

Two hours later they sat in the mid-campus outdoor cafeteria quadrangle. Luke had coffee and a buttermilk donut. Vivian dipped a teabag in and out of her cup.

Luke gazed admiringly at the striking woman across from him. “How’d you get into Hospital Administration?” he asked.

She lifted the teabag, let it drip, then deposited it on a napkin. “I think it was Pop’s idea more than anything. He’s an architect; but he says that with the coming changes in medical care delivery, hospital administration is where the power will lie.” She shrugged. “I know that’s not exactly the thing to tell an up-and-coming doctor.”

“From what some of my attending men tell me, he’s absolutely right,” Luke said.

“That’s what’s so exasperating,” Vivian said. “Pop=s almost always right.” She took a sip of tea. “Oh, he would have settled for me going into architecture‑he wouldn’t mind an heir apparent to his empire. But hell, if I followed exactly in his footsteps, I’d always be afraid I=d see his shadow looming over me.”

“What about the other children?” Luke asked.

Her expression changed. She ran her tongue under her cheek before answering. “You’re looking at the whole brood. Mine was probably the last egg to escape Mom’s fallopian tubes before endometriosis put up a roadblock. I’m sure he would’ve liked a son to carry on in his footsteps.” She studied the cup thoughtfully, as if it held something more for her to say; instead she lifted her eyes back to Luke and smiled sadly. “He had to settle for a daughter.”

“From what I’ve seen of the way you handle statistics, he didn=t do badly.” Luke grinned. “And in view of what your father has pointed out, I think a young doctor would be well advised to get to know a hospital administrator closely. What’re you doing this Saturday night?”

She pursed her lips. “I think I just might be able to work an appointment into my schedule.”

Luke finally broke out of the Sunday night airport traffic and drove north on Sepulveda Boulevard. “Did you have any comments to make at the meeting?”

Vivian smiled. “You know me. Of course. I think I’ve mentioned Arnold Hampshire of Bay Area Central. When he finished presenting his beautiful rainbow‑colored charts and graphs illustrating how DRG allowances on a cholecystectomy fell short of his hospital’s average six day costs, I asked why they didn’t cut the stay by requiring more pre‑admission studies like we’ve done at Kennedy. The son of a bitch just smiled tolerantly at me‑‑ as if to say, `Why don’t you stay in the kitchen where you belong, young lady?’‑‑ and went on as if I hadn’t even spoken.” She pressed her lips together. “Then, you know what he did?  You know what that pompous ass had the nerve to do?  At the afternoon coffee-break I was heading back from the john when I felt his cold, wet  hand on my arm. Hampshire was wearing his best shit-eating grin. `Vivian,'” she mimicked a syrupy voice, “`those were some very astute comments you made after my talk.’

“Well, I told him he certainly didn’t act as if he thought so at the time. `Oh but I did,’ he told me. `I figured we might talk about your ideas over a nice private dinner tonight.’  And the next thing I knew, his clammy little hand had slid down and was holding mine.” She gave a short laugh. “I didn’t even bother to answer the assholeCor even take my hand away. I just gave him a look. He let go as if he’d touched a live wire.”

Luke grinned knowingly. “I can feel for Hampshire. I can remember being the recipient of one or two of those looks.”

She laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Come on Cookie, you’ve never had one of my real zaps.” She made a slight face. “Oh, maybe an occasional little glance when you get in one of your distant moods and I’ve got to remind you that I’m really around.” She snapped her fingers. “I forgot. Yesterday was supposed to be your day up in the mountains. Did you go?”

“Yeah.”

“By yourself?”

Defensively, he said:  AI did a lot of hiking by myself before I started residency.”

“No reason why not, my tall, sensitive mountain man. I just wondered if you grew lonely with most of the weekend off when I was gone.”

He laughed, then uncomfortably cleared his throat as he felt her eyes stay on him. “As a matter of fact, I did find some company up on the mountain.”

“I worry about that,” she said. “It’s hunting season. I hope you wore bright clothes so no one thought you’re a deer.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Oh, it would be a moose, wouldn’t it?”

“A stag. Anyway, it was… I mean she was… a woman.”

“A woman?  By herself?”

The traffic light turned green. He started up so fast that he had to brake quickly to keep from rear‑ending the van ahead of him. “She said she was waiting for friends.”

“Oh. Sounds like you two became chatty.”

“Not exactly. She was out of food and asked me for some.”

“Did you give it to her?”

“Sure.”

Vivian was silent for a moment. He felt her eyes on him. “How old was she?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere in her twenties, I guess. She had an infected area from a thorn that got dug in.” As he turned onto the freeway on‑ramp he felt Vivian’s eyes still on him. There was nothing to explain, damn it. It was time to leave the subject. “How’re your folks?” he asked.

Vivian ignored his question. “And you just left her up there?”

“I tried to get her to come down with me, but she wouldn’t leave. I reported her to the ranger when I got down.”

She made a little clicking sound while she sucked at her lip. “Oh well,” she finally said, “if she’s up there alone, she’s certainly got more courage than I have.” She gave a brief laugh. “But it sounds more like she’s nuts.”

When they reached her apartment building, he parked at the curb and walked her to the door. He opened it with his duplicate key, and carried her suitcase and garment bag into the bedroom. Vivian slipped off her jacket, threw it on the bed. “Can you stay?”

He checked his watch. 11:30. “I have to meet my intern and medical student at the hospital real early tomorrow morning to get ready for attending man rounds.”

She thought for a moment, then made a face. “Maybe you’re right. If you stay I’ll never finish my report of the meeting for the Executive Board. Let’s take a raincheck for tomorrow night.”

He kissed her. Before he turned to the door, he said, “I missed you, Viv.”

She gave a mischievous smile. “Good. This time I didn=t have to fish for it.” She threw a kiss. “I missed you too, honey.”

After he climbed into his car, he sat for a moment behind the steering wheel before turning the ignition.

                                                                                Chapter 3

Monday morning, in the small conference room behind the nurses’ station, Luke reviewed the weekend changes in the service with his first-year medical resident, Chris TraversonCtall, slightly stooped, straw-blond hairCand his senior medical student Lisa Stebbins, a sparkling-eyed, five-foot-two blonde who had a terrific figure and was tough as nails. Both of them had covered the 35-patient service for the weekend Luke was gone. Jeremy had been the supervising, on‑call resident.

“The patients were okay,” Chris said, “but Jeremy insisted on going over the new admits around midnight. Shit, the guy doesn’t need any sleep‑‑ he worked our balls off.”

“Not exactly.” Lisa crossed her legs and smiled sweetly.

“So to speak,” Chris added.

“Jeremy’s okay, though,” Lisa said. “He let me do my first sigmoidoscopyC” she made a wry faceC”on an obese 65-year old alcoholic who’d taken his last bath the Fourth of July. His butt was so big it took me three minutes just to find the rectum.”

Luke smiled. “How’d it go after you found it?”

“Crummy. I couldn’t get past the sigmoid turn at fourteen centimeters.”

Chris added. “It wasn’t a complete failure. The patient asked her for a date.”

Luke tried to keep a straight face. “What happened?”

Lisa shrugged. “He asked for a date when I got up to eight centimeters, but at fourteen he changed his mind.”

Laughing, Luke stood up. “Let’s get started. Anything immediate?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Chris said. “The lab grew out a staphylococcus on the toxic shock’s blood cultures. She’s doing fine. Beasley started bleeding againChis hemoglobin dropped below seven so we gave him another two units of blood. And Osborne went into DT’s in the middle of the night, carefully keeping count of the spiders and scorpions crawling on the ceiling. So far, 30 milligrams of Valium has only increased the bug count.”

Luke frowned. “I didn’t think Osborne was a boozer.” Hazel Osborne was a Skid Row bag lady whose shriveled body was contorted with rheumatoid arthritis. She’d been brought to University with ulcerations on her back and heels from lying for hours on the sidewalk without moving.

“Find me a Skid Row native who isn’t a boozer,” Chris said.

“Let’s start with her,” Luke said.

They filed into 613. Hazel Osborne was in Bed A. The head of the bed was tilted up at a 30‑degree angle, and she’d slid toward the foot. Her wizened body was so curled up from arthritis that it covered less than half the length of the bed. Plastic prongs fed oxygen into both nostrils. Wide eyes stared in terror at the ceiling. Claw‑like hands shook.

Luke reached down and held a matchstick arm. “What’s the matter, Hazel?”

Her wide eyes left the ceiling and fixed on him. “They’re eating me! They’re crawling over me and eating me! God, do something!  Please, do something!” Her rapid breaths were so deep it was hard to believe someone so frail could make them.

Luke studied her lips. Through the dark pigment he thought there was an extra tinge of purple. He checked the nailbeds. “We won’t let anything hurt you, Hazel.” He applied the rubber‑lined bell of his stethoscope to both sides of her chest. No rales or wheezing. When he percussed the chest, it was resonant. In spite of these nearly normal findings, her heart rate was 138 with a moderate high-pitched mitral murmur. He felt her legs. Both feet and ankles were swollen up to mid-calf. An angry ulceration dug into the right heel.

“Chest films?” he asked Chris.

“Clear.”

He turned to the medical student. “Lisa, get Respiratory up here for stat arterial blood gasses. And call the lab for baseline coagulations.”

Lisa gave a short whistle. Chris looked at him uncertainly. “Christ, Luke, don’t tell me I missed a pulmonary embolus?”

As Lisa headed off, Luke felt sorry for Chris. He=d once made the same mistake himself. “Her breathing’s awfully labored for the average DTs. A low blood oxygen can mimic the same symptoms.”

“But her chest film’s clear,” Chris said weakly.

“A pulmonary embolism often doesn’t show on a plain chest film.” Luke gently rested his hand on one of the patient’s bent legs. “With these swollen legs, she’s a good candidate for a venous clot to the lungs from one of them. If she’s as anoxic as I thinkCwe’ll get her started on anticoagulants before moving her to Radiology for a lung scan.”

While Luke kept busy he was able to forget the strange woman on the mountain. But when he pausedCwhen he looked out the window or sat in the cafeteria for a coffee break or lay in bed before falling asleepChis thoughts kept drifting back to her.

It was purely curiosity. Now that the matter was in the hands of the authorities, he should forget about it. He’d been foolish in the first place to feel responsible for her once she refused to go down the mountain with him. Quit acting like a fool, he told himself.

But he was the one who’d found her, wasn’t he?  What if the infection from the thorn had spread?  All he wanted to do now was make certain she was safe. Surely, the Forest Service had taken care of her; once he made certain of that, he’d truly forget about her. The curious encounter on Shadow Mountain would become just another of those funny happenings that seem important when you’re in the middle of them but quickly fade away afterwards.

The least he could do was call the ranger station and find out what happened after he saw the girl. He phoned from the sixth-floor nurses’ station. “It’s Tuesday, so Ranger Kornwald’s in the field,” the secretary answered. “She’s off tomorrow, due back in the office Thursday.”

“Can you tell me anything about a lone woman she went up Shadow Mountain to check on?” Luke asked.

“I know nothing about it,” said the secretary.

He hung up and irritably tapped his fingers on the desk. Why not drive out to the ranger station Thursday?  The weather was still beautiful at the high elevationsChe could even take another hike up the mountain. His current service was light now, and with Traverson he had a good first-year resident to watch things. Besides, with two out of three nights offCwhat the hell, it was time to start taking advantage of the increased freedom of his third year.

The afternoon at the hospital was wild. Four new admissions on Six A, three on Six B. Attending rounds on BCand review of the new patients from the weekend not yet completed.

Around mid-afternoon he answered a call from Vivian. “Looks like I can finish by six, honey,” she said. “What does your schedule look like?”

“I’m swamped, Viv,” he said. “Run off when you’re finished and I’ll pick you up at home.”

“Why on earth didn’t I latch onto an astronaut or someone who leads a simple schedule?” She sighed. “Oh well, let’s have dinner at my place tonight. It’s about time you had another taste of domestic life.”

ASure, I’ve always pictured you as the domestic type.”

She laughed.

He rang the doorbell to her apartment at 8:45, and without waiting for a response opened the door with his spare key. She sang out, “Luke?”

“I’m your intruder,” he called out.

“Get comfortable in the living room, I’ll be right there.”

He scanned a familiar-size living room that appeared deceptively large because of its furnishings. The clean, uncluttered, modern lines of Ralph Dufrene’s furniture design were evident in her choiceCa small, thinly upholstered Danish teakwood couch; three light‑scale modern chairs; a curved lucite coffee table with nothing on it other than a sleek crystal replica of a Charles Moore sculpture. The walls held only a single paintingCa geometric pattern of colored rectangles, triangles, and rhomboids.

As he waited, his mind’s eye kept having glimpses of the dark-eyed young woman on the mountain.

Then, Vivian appeared from the hallway.

He gave a soft whistle as his eyes ran over her. “That is the domestic scene you want me to get a taste of?”

She was dressed in a black nightgown, without lace or frills. It didn’t need them. The silky material followed every curve of her statuesque body. The front was low cut, revealing a cleavage that would have made Moll Flanders look pre-pubescent. She wore glossy high-heeled blue velvet slippers. Her lips were a full, moist red; Luke was certain she’d never worn that lipstick to Kennedy Memorial Hospital.

“You know I don’t qualify as the domestic type.” She walked up. Puckering her lips, she blew lightly on his mouth. Her breath carried a delicate scent of orange. They kissed. Her lipstick had a warm, luxurious taste. Her tongue teased.

“I’ll settle for your other qualities,” he said. Vivian looked as arousing as when he first made love to her four years earlier. She stood with her feet apart, her body provocatively arched. Her breasts, clearly outlined by her formfit gown, rose and fell as if they were breathing on their own. Her eyes glowed an opal blue-green.

She smiled wickedly. “Perhaps there’s still more for you to learn. It’s always a good idea for a woman to save a few qualities in reserve.” She began to unbutton his shirt. “Do you want to eat first?  Or check for qualities.”

He held her waist. Beneath his hands, the silken texture of her gown felt smooth and sensuous. “Help me decide,” he said. “What’ve you got to eat?”

Her tongue moistened her lips and left them glistening. “Poached salmon or me.” She slid her hand beneath his belt to reach the lower shirt buttons. “Both are low in cholesterol.”

“That does sound healthy,” he said.

“Oh indeed they are.” She unbuckled his belt, pulled it out, and dropped it on the floor. “But of course salmon is rich in omega oils, which means it’s also good for the circulation.”

“The circulation is very important.” He didn’t realize until after he said it how mechanical he sounded.

She undid the waist button to his trousers and her hand began to slide down. Her hips slowly twisted in his hands. “Omega oils be damned, it’s my job to keep my man’s arteries clear so his blood can surge through them and fill his organs.”

She pressed against him and they kissed again. Her mouth opened. Her tongue probed. He felt the mound of her pubis rub against him.

She stepped back and peeled her gown off. She moved back against him and reached inside his fly. “You know, the blood has already filled one of those organs.”

He put both arms around her and kissed her harder this time. “Let’s go to bed,” he said.

Afterwards, while they lay in bed, Vivian propped herself up on an elbow and studied him. “Is something wrong, Luke?” she asked.

He felt flustered. “No. Nothing’s wrong.”

“I almost felt you were somewhere else.”

God, she was perceptive. Only then did he fully realize how much the scene at Moorfield Lodge had intruded on his mind. He felt as if he’d been divided into two parts. The lower part had responded as it always had, but this was independent of his brain which kept drifting back to the mountain. “I’m sorry, Viv. I’ve got a very serious case on my service, and I keep worrying about it.”

She smiled at him. He thought there was a glint of anger behind her smile. “Okay, I’ll forgive you this time.”

“You’re a saint.”

“That’s the first time I’ve been called that. Let’s get to the salmon,” she said.

They didn’t talk much that evening. When he left, he felt rotten. Perhaps he was hiding something from her. If so, he was hiding it from himself as well. After all, he cared for Vivian more than anyone else in the world. The girl on the mountainCshe was nothing more than . . . a patient.

Luke’s on-call schedule the next evening was light. From midnight, when he first climbed into a bunk in the house staff quarters, he received only six calls. He was too restless to take full advantage. At five Thursday morning he was up making rounds on the problem cases on his service. He was back at his apartment by six-thirty.

Instead of waiting to phone the ranger, he hurriedly loaded his daypack. As he stuffed in extra fruit and cheese, he smiled to himselfChe was packing as if he still expected to find her up on the mountain. He started to zip shut his pack, stopped, went to the bathroom where he rummaged in the cabinets for drug house antibiotic samples. He found Ceclor and dumped the full supply of samples into his packCon the off-chance that the ranger hadn’t handled things.

By seven-fifteen he was heading north out of the city on the I-5. The foothills had long since turned brown from a rainless Southern California summer. As the freeway climbed to the two thousand foot level, signs two miles apart told him he was entering, and then leaving, the Angeles National Forest. Here only a narrow ribbon, a few miles to the east it broadened into the San Gabriel range that separated the Los Angeles basin from the broad Mojave Desert.

He was heading instead for the southern leg of the Los Padres. Although this range began only fifty miles farther to the northwest than the San Gabriels, it was much more extensive, and its remote central reaches were rarely visited. Shadow Mountain, at seventy five hundred feet, was a bridge between the mountains of the Santa Clara and Sespe drainage to the south and the distant backcountry that led to the Big Sur to the north.

He left the freeway at the State 133 offramp and drove along a three mile mountain road to the Oakwilde ranger station. The office hadn’t yet opened, and he paced as he waited. Although the sky was cloudless, the air was brisk this early autumn day, and he zipped up his nylon windbreaker. The dry brown brush of the lower elevations was broken by expanses of Coulter and Ponderosa pine planted around the station by the Forest Service. A hedge of pomegranate shrubs, their last fruits hanging violet‑red from thinning branches, bordered the office and separated it from the work area to the rear.

At five minutes to nine, Ranger Bea Kornwald appeared from the cluster of employee cottages and walked briskly toward the office building. Underneath an open tan denim jacket she wore Forest Service green, with sharply creased pants, starched high-collar shirt, and wide hard‑brimmed hat. She grunted in answer to Luke’s “Good morning,” as she opened the screen door and fingered through a ring of keys. She fitted one into the lock and pushed open the door.

Luke had to catch the screen door to keep it from swinging shut in his face. Feeling less welcome by the second, he followed her in.

She switched on lights and stepped behind the counter that separated the staff work‑quarters from the visitors’ area. She hung her hat and jacket on a pole, sat behind her desk and examined an appointment calendar, while he stood outside the counter. As he shifted from foot to foot, he began to grow angry at being ignored.

Still without a glance toward him, she rose, opened a cupboard above a sink, measured coffee into a filter cone, and poured water into the base of the coffee‑maker. Sitting again at her desk, she thumbed through a sheaf of papers and sorted them into a file tray. With a sigh, she finally looked at him. “Yes, I found her,” she said.

He felt his pulse quicken. “What happened?”

She looked at him without speaking.

He gestured with both palms up. “Look, as a physician I’m worried about her, and from what I’ve seen, I have damn good reason to be.”

She nodded to a chair by the counter. “Come on in and sit down. I’ll get a sore neck if I keep looking up at you.”

He made his way inside the counter and took a straight-back wicker chair next to her desk.

“So what kind of doc are you?”

“A third-year medical resident at University Med Center,” he said.

She nodded. “We’ve helicoptered a few people there in my time.”

“It has a busy emergency room.”

She studied him a moment longer, then shrugged, as if she’d made a decision, and sat back in her chair. “Okay. I went up there with one other ranger. She wasn’t in the old Lodge area where you found her, but we saw fresh imprints. And before you askCwe did not wear uniforms. I figured she heard us coming and got out.”

She looked over at the coffee‑maker, which had begun to make gurgling noises. “We circled the entire campsite. Not a sign. After an hour we were about ready to give up and leave. We were unhitching the horses when she appeared out of thin air and asked if we had any food.”

The phone rang and she snatched it up. In response to a question, she said, “Fire season still holds at the lower campgrounds.” After the next question she shifted the phone to the other ear and answered more brusquely, “That’s below five thousand feet. Not until after the first rain.”

She hung up and turned back to him. “I’ll say this. You didn’t exaggerate. She looked as if she’d been up there for daysCspecially her feet. The soles were scratched and caked from walking barefoot, but she acted as if she didn’t notice it.”

“I remember,” Luke said.

Bea continued. “Anyway, I showed her my badge and told her she had to come down with us. She didn’t protest or anything, just looked at me as if I’d just shot her pet dog.”

“Did she mention an infected area under her left arm?”

Her brow lifted. “You know about that?”

“It looked pretty bad when I saw her.”

“I wasn’t aware of it until someone noticed it at the emergency room. With all her scratches and cuts, I took her there after we got down. That was the day after you found her. She must have been taken directly from the E.R. to the Neuro­psychiatric Institute.”

“That’s only five days ago,” Luke said.

While they talked, the station was coming to life. A second ranger arrived; he nodded to Bea. A middle‑aged woman in a crisp pink blouse and gabardine skirt made her way behind the counter and busied herself sorting papers. Bea leaned back, crossed her legs, and continued. “Anyway, up in the trailcamp I was relieved she didn’t raise a fuss, because I couldn’t figure any laws she’d broken. I insisted she wear shoes for the trip down. She said she was used to walking without them. No way. Even though I was going to make her share my horse, there’s that washed out quarter‑mile of trail below Halfway Spring we’d have to walk, and I couldn’t let her do it on bare feet. I told her if she didn’t have shoes we’d wait for the other ranger to go back down and bring some. She said she had some.

“I stayed with her when she went for her shoes; I wasn’t going to let her disappear after hunting for her all morning.” She frowned. “But even though she looked worn out, if she’d tried to get away, I’m not sure I could’ve stopped her. This young lady was no novice in the mountains. Bare feet and all, she could move through the woods like a deer.”

“Her things weren’t in the cave?”

Bea’s brow wrinkled. “Cave?”

“I mean the old fireplace on the Lodge grounds.”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “She’d picked a spot about a third of a mile away‑‑ between some rocks in a grove of fir. It wasn’t much. She’d stashed a blanket, a sweater, and a few little things. She put on some beat-up sneakers that didn’t seem to have much advantage over bare-feet, and stuffed the rest of her things into a nylon daypack. She was small enough to fit easily behind me in the saddle.”

“Did she tell you anything about herself?”

Bea leaned back and stretched. “Talkative she wasn’t. She wouldn’t even tell me her name. And when she did answer, she had a way of deflecting questions. The little I know about her I learned roundabout from the police.”

He felt a rush of disappointment. “The police?”

“Haven’t you been reading the papers?”

*     “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, with increasing concern.

She reached into a basket on her desk. “I saved this copy of part of yesterday’s Times. If you’ll look at the front page, you’ll see a picture of a young woman who looks very much like the one you found on the mountain.”

He stared at a picture of a young woman. She looked very much like the woman on the mountain. “ICI don’t understand.”

“Read on.”

The report began on the front page. Luke scanned the sub-headings, and continued. “When the woman was brought down from the mountain, she was so cut and scratched up she was taken directly to the emergency room at University rather than the police. What was unique was that another young woman was found dead on the floor of one of the laboratory offices at the same med center three days before this one was brought in. Both women are shown side-by-side. ‘The resemblance is uncanny,’ said Dr. Warren Lutz, the Emergency Room physician who tended the woman brought from the mountain. Drugs were suspected in both cases, but found only in the blood of the dead woman.

*     “The dead woman was named Hollis Hassen, The name of the woman from the mountain was listed on the police report as Laura Arigael. Both of them were post-graduate University students.”

Luke scanned a little farther, then laid down the newspaper. “Laura,” he said softly, as if testing the sound of the name.

The ranger said nothing.

ADo you think the woman on the mountain was involved with drugs?@

“Didn’t look like it when I saw her, but sometimes it takes just one bad trip. God knows we see enough of them up in these hills.”

“Did the police hold her?”

“I don’t know. If so, it would only be for a maximum of 36 hours at the Neuro­psychiatric Institute. I doubt that they felt they had evidence she’d done anything wrong.” She jiggled powdered milk into her coffee.  AI brought her down Saturday and attended a preliminary hearing Monday. The day after, we got two reports from hikers off Shadow Mountain about a lone woman who asked them for food. She told them she was waiting for friends.”

He stared at her. A gaping emptiness had appeared in his belly. “You mean she’s back on the mountain?”

“We got another report yesterday.”

Luke’s voice was disbelieving. “You’re not going to leave her up there?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve scoured the area the last two days in a row. I’m sure she saw me and knew I was there, but she wouldn’t come near me. Okay, Doc, what else have you got to suggest?”

He felt lost. “Isn’t it dangerous up there alone? Isn’t there a risk of someone attacking her?”

“Of course there is. In spite of the wild state she’s in, you’re not the only one to notice she’s an attractive young woman; and there are weirdos everywhere who would prey on her. But not a hell of a lot of people climb Shadow Mountain; it’s fairly far off the paved highways, and on weekdays there’s often not a soul coming up. Of those who doCwell, you don’t usually find a group of Hell’s Angels climbing five miles up a rocky trail to feel their high.” She tapped the desktop with her fingers. “On top of that, she’s gotten more cautious about whom she approaches. From the reports we’ve had, she shows up only after hikers have been there a while, as if she first sizes them up. Look, this woman’s mountain­wise. I don’t know what her background is, but she’s certainly no newcomer to the backcountry. She knows the area so well by now that I’m not sure anyone could find her if she didn’t permit it.”

She stood up. “Anyway, it appears that she’s managing all right for herself. And like I said, we can’t find any law she’s breaking.”

“It’s October,” Luke said. “The visitors who bring her food‑‑ and the weather‑‑ aren’t going to hold out much longer.”

“That’s true.” She sighed. “Look, I’m not blind. This is my territory. I intend to keep checking on her.”

“Good,” he said. But his voice had little conviction.

She tilted her head. “Doc, I still can’t figure out why you’re so involved.”

He straightened. “I’ll repeat: I think any doctor would be involved if he came across someone whose life was in danger.”

“Of course,” she said drily.

                                                                                Chapter 4

[COMMENT3]

Luke left the ranger station and climbed wearily into his car. There was nothing more he could do here; he might as well head back for the hospital. He slipped the key into the ignition but paused before turning it.

He glanced at his watch. It was only 10:45. Why head back this early?  He hadn’t come here purely because he expected to find her. He was simply taking advantage of the beautiful weather and a light schedule on his service to get back into the mountains.

Ahhh, shit!  He struck a fist against the steering wheel in exasperation. Of course he was here because of her. It was high time he quit lying to himself. What if they hadn’t taken care of the infected thorn wound at the emergency room?  OrCas disturbed as she wasCwhat if she hadn’t followed their instructions?  If he wasn’t here because of his concern about her, why was he carrying fresh bandages and antibiotics in his pack?

She’d let him find her once; she might do so again. One thing was certain: with her mountain expertise, if she didn’t want him to find her, he wouldn’t.

To hell with it. He turned the key and headed for the winding dirt road that led to the trailhead.

”                 ”                 ”

The fireplace was empty. He stood next to it, holding onto a branch of the juniper.

He spun around when he heard voices from another part of the campground, and climbed a crumbling, concrete stairway to investigate. In a clearing, a middle‑aged couple sat on cement foundation blocks. Before them, a blue tablecloth with prints of tulips, lilies, and roses was spread on the cracked concrete floor. Plastic plates held chicken salad, rye crackers, and apple slices. The couple looked up in surprise.

Luke was equally startled. He hadn’t counted on anyone else being there.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” asked the man.

“Yes it is,” Luke said. He felt a ray of hope. Maybe they’d seen her.

Before he could ask, the man said: “We didn’t expect to find anyone here. Turns out you’re not the first.”

Luke felt a growing sense of excitement. “Did you see a young woman?”

The woman answered. She had a long, thin, bony face and a high-pitched voice. “So you’re one of the people she was waiting for. I knew she’d been up here longer than a day. She hasn’t enough to eat, do you know that?  We gave her half our lunch.”

“Was she well?”

“I don’t know what you call well,” the woman said. “But a young woman doesn’t belong up here by herself.”

“Right.” Luke backed away.

The man smiled uncomfortably, as if to apologize for his wife’s behavior. “She wouldn’t agree to go back with us. I hope she’ll be all right.”

“Me, too.” Luke made his way back to the fireplace but couldn’t sit still. He was relieved when the picnicking couple passed by on their way out. Chances of the woman showing up were greatest if he was alone, but after a half-hour he couldn’t sit still any longer. He shouldered his daypack and began to wander through the grounds of Moorfield Lodge.

The ruins covered three terraced levels. The top level joined the peninsula-shaped patio leading to the precipice of Los Muertos. Between levels, wide cement stairways led nowhere. Blackened round metal pipes protruded haphazardly from patches of cement floors. Stone pillars up to eight-feet tall stood like large tombstones among the low foundation walls. Infiltrating the crumbling ruins, the forest had begun to reclaim its losses from the great fire of `32. Within the boundaries of the old lodge, low growth vegetation had sprung up: manzanita, scrub oak, mountain mahogany, bush poppyCall newcomers after the fire. Beyond the ruins, a growth of oak, Jeffrey pine and red fir competed in the higher air for space and sunlight. A carpet of yellowed oak leaves and pine cones covered the ground. Farther still, the dense conifer forest of the backcountry spread over the steep slopes that led eventually to the high peaks of Mount Robinson and Cerro Alto.

As Luke walked among the stone pillars, cement foundations, and invading shrubs, he came across droppings of coyote, deer, rabbit, and bear; but once the picnicking couple had left there were no signs that anyone else had visited. He circled the full perimeter of the grounds. Near Los Muertos he stopped, and in frustration called out the name listed in the newspaperC”Laura.” But all that returned was the fading Shadow: “Laura . . . .”

He emptied his canteen of city water and filled it with cold, clear water from the narrow, spring‑fed stream that coursed near the campground. Then, he returned to the fireplace, where he dumped his pack and sat beside it on a layer of leaves and pine needles. He leaned back against the cement wall. A fine mist softened the afternoon sun. Overhead, a woodpecker beat a hypnotic rhythm on the trunk of an oak. He gazed out into the trees. His eyelids drifted lower.

He didn’t know what sound or movement awakened him, but when he opened his eyes she was there, sitting cross‑legged barely seven feet away in front of the branching juniper.

The wind had died. Not a whisper broke the stillness of the forest. He was unsure whether he was awake or back in his dream of the cavern. Her clothes were differentCshe must have changed after the ranger brought her down. In place of the ragged skirt she wore tan slacks and a blouse that already showed dust. This time she wasn’t barefoot, but wore gray-and-blue sneakers. Her face was clean and fresh, and her brown hair glowed in the sunlight like polished agate. A shallow cut beneath her right eye broke the smooth sun‑and‑wind tint of her high cheekbones. She sat still, her dark, troubled eyes on him.

He stayed motionless, afraid she’d disappear if he moved. “I heard from the ranger that you’d come back,” he said.

She bit her lip and nodded wordlessly.

“I brought more food.”

She glanced at the pack. “Thank you,” the smooth lines of her throat rippled as she spoke, “Luke.”

A wave of pleasure ran through him. “You remembered my name.”

She looked down at her lap. With one finger she smoothed a small rip in her slacks. “You were the first person I saw here.”

“I guess I acted pretty surprised when I first saw you.”

“I remember,” she said softly. Her mouth stayed serious but the corners of her eyes crinkled. “You were… very kind.”

“I’ve been worried about youCabout the infection from the thorn.”

“I think it’s coming along well.” Without hesitation, she undid her blouse, slipped her arm from it, and held it up.

Luke examined the area. The swelling at the site of the thorn puncture had decreased. A healing crust had replaced the blister. He probed gently. The skin around it was no longer hot. The lymph node was smaller. “It’s much better,” he said.

“I’m very grateful for what you’ve done.” She slipped her arm back into the blouse.

“It probably would be a good idea for you to stay on antibiotics a few more days. I brought some along.”

She smiled. Again, he noted the sadness behind her smile. “I’m deluged in riches,” she said. “I’m still taking the antibiotics they gave me when I was discharged from the hospital.”

Luke couldn’t take his eyes off her. “I worried without reason.”

While they spoke, a stag stepped from the nearby brush. Its antlers glowed like burnished marbleCthey were still broad and tall before the change in seasons would weaken them in preparation for their winter shedding. The stag glanced warily at Luke, then at her. Slowly, without fear, it walked up the trail until it was within a yard of her. From behind it, out of the trees appeared its family, a doe and two youngsters with legs already strong and elastic from a summer’s growth. The stag gazed at the woman a moment, then turned and ambled into the trees on the other side of the campsite. Its family followed, and they were swallowed by the forest.

“I could swear it knows you,” Luke said.

“You get used to each other up here,” she said.

A black‑and‑gray squirrel appeared from behind a log. It scooted up to her and perched on its hind legs, using its tail for a tripod. It looked at her inquisitively.

She shook her head at the squirrel. “You’ve got your own food.”

Luke was certain that the squirrel nodded reluctantly before disappearing back behind the log. He felt bewildered. He was caught on one hand between the sense of wonder he felt sitting in a once familiar setting with this strange, haunting woman, and on the other hand, wondering what the circum­stances were that drove her up here.

He reached for his pack and pulled out a bag. From it he took two pears. “Why don’t we share these now?”

“I’d like that.”

As she reached for the pear, his eyes again caught her long, slender fingers. “I thought about you a lot after seeing you here last time,” he said. “It’s not safe for you to be up here alone.”

“I’m not new to the mountains,” she said quietly. “I’ve spent a lot of time in them.”

“The evenings must be getting very cold.”

“I have plenty of cover. It’s thoughtful of you to worry, but I’m really all right here.”

He gazed at her, unsure how to answer. She had to be mad to stay up here. ButCshe spoke in a deceptively sane manner.

She bit into the pear. “Have you been here before?” she asked.

Luke remembered well the very first time he’d been here. It was at the end of the six week summer break between his first and second years of medical school. He’d spent the preceding six weeks back home in Houston, surrounded by family: father, mother, aunts, uncles, their families, their friends. He was on display at his father’s car agency– “mah son, Lucas, the doctor. And his sweet little mama=s as proud of him as ah am.” Luke=s hand was wrung, his back slapped, his cheeks smeared with lipstick. “Have you heard about this new medicine for arthritis?” “Let me show you the prescription my doctor gave me.” “When are they going to come up with a treatment for my hypoglycemia?” He’d walked the sidewalks after midnight to be alone, to take deep breaths that were never deep enough to satisfy his breath­lessness. When he returned to Los Angeles three days before school started, the apartment complexes south of West Los Angeles were teeming. Never had he been more desperate to get away. He’d loaded his pack, strapped on his sleeping bag, driven north beyond the frequently visited campsites of the San Gabriels, north into the Los Padres, and headed for a remote-looking point labeled Shadow Mountain on a Forest Service map.

“The first time was about five years ago,” he said, “after I came to Los Angeles.”

“Is that where you went to medical school?”

He nodded. “At University.”

Her face lit up. “That’s where I work!” Then, she sobered. “Or… where I used to work.”

He was puzzled. “Weren’t you a student?”

A distant note appeared in her voice. “I was in post-graduate work in Library Science.” Her eyes moved away from him.

He felt a sense of warning. Don’t rush. Give her time. “Have you been on Shadow Mountain before?”

She looked around. A wisp of hair blew down over her eye and she brushed it aside. Her forehead grew ridged. “Other than before the ranger made me come down? I don’t think so. But . . . I don’t know. By now it looks awfully familiar.”

“It’s that kind of place,” he said. “Even my first time here, when I saw the old lodge grounds I felt as if I were in a place I’d known all my life, maybe in some grand old ruins, like what I pictured the acropolis would be. It became my own private acropolis, a place I could return to whenever I needed it.” He turned the pear in his hand. “I haven’t been back in a couple of years. I’ve missed that feeling. Until today.”

Her face became set in concentration.  “That’s not exactly what I mean. There’s something else. As if I really have been here‑‑ not just in imagination.” She fingered the gold locket hanging from a thin chain around her neck. “Still, I know I haven’t.”

“Are you from Los Angeles?”

She shook her head. “I grew up in Oregon. When I finished my undergraduate degree, I came here. I didn=t have much money, so at the same time I managed to get a job with the experimental animal lab here while I took my postgrad courses, mostly in the psycho­pharmacology division. The lab was where I got most of my experience with animals.”

“Why psychopharmacology?  I thought you were in Library Science?”

“That does sound odd, doesn’t it? My thesis was on the shift in psychotherapy literature from Freudian analysis to drug therapy.”

“Do you have family back in Oregon?”

“No one=s left,” she said quietly.

Her eyes drifted. As she gazed into the forest, he took in her soft, troubled face, the golden glisten of sunlight on her deep brown hair, her slim agile figure, his own indefinable sense of longing. He felt as if he were standing outside a locked gate that blocked his way to something he knew was very important, something he’d once wanted but could no longer remember.

A cool gust of wind sprang up. Her hair fell over her forehead and she gave a quick shake of her head to move it out of her line of vision. She turned back to him, hugging herself for warmth. Her blouse seemed woefully inadequate for the fall weather. Suddenly, she looked fearfully vulnerable. A feeling of apprehension struck him. He thought of the snakeCof the warning he saw in its eyes.

He set his jaw. This wasn’t a whim on his partChe had responsibilities as a doctor. He couldn’t permit her to stay here. “Come down with me, Laura. It’s not safe for you to stay here alone.”

As if his words had turned a switch, she changed.

Her face paled. Her eyes were suddenly fearful and wary. She sprang to her feet, and stood poised in a partial crouch‑‑ a mountain doe, every sense alert, body taut and lithe, ready to flee.

“What did you call me?”

“Laura.” Without thinking he reached for her hand. She jerked it away and backed off.

“It’s all right,” he said with growing alarm. “I was concerned and asked at the ranger station. The ranger who first saw you had learned your name.”

Her eyes shifted from side to side, as if she were deciding which way to run.

Alarm turned to fear. He scrambled up. “Please let me help you.”

She turned her head back and forth slowly. A low moan came from her.

Except for the solitary note of a cricket in the distance, a silence filled the forest. He spread his arms. In his desperation to reach her, he’d botched things completely. “I have to see that you’re safe. I didn’t mean to pry.”

She looked at him wildly. “It’s not that!”

His voice rose. “Then, what is it?”

She dropped to her knees by the fireplace and rested her forehead against the cement wall. “It’s not that,” she repeated.

He wanted to come closer, to touch her bowed head and comfort her. But he didn’t move. “Please. Tell me.”

She slowly lifted her head and looked at him. A wrenching sorrow filled her eyes. “I’m not Laura.”

He blinked. “ButCLauraCthat’s what the newspaper said.”

“Laura  is dead,” she said.

Bewildered, he shook his head.

“I killed her,” she said.

Luke’s mind was reeling. AYou are Laura,” he sputtered.

AWe look alike.” She stared at the ground. “I’m Holly. Laura died.”

He felt a sickness at the pit of his belly.  Of course she was LauraCshe was either a druggie or mad. More than ever, he realized, he badly she needed help. He had to bring her back to the hospital. “Please. I know that you’ve been through an awful experience. But you can work it out. We can work it out.”

The pain in her voice tore at him. “It’s too late.”

Luke knelt beside her. He had to break through. “Listen to me. It wasn’t real. You didn’t kill her.  Please, come back to the city with me,  We’ll work it out. I’ll take care of you. I’ll see that you get help. I won=t leave you as long as you need me.” His hand reached out and held her chin, lifting it.

He looked into haunted, grief-filled eyes. “So long as I’m up here, I’m Laura. As far as everyone knowsCeveryone but youCshe’s still alive. Once I’m down thereC” she gestured toward the valley belowC”they’ll find out the truth.”

She rose slowly and took the bag of food in her arm. “Thank you, Luke.” Her hand touched his cheek, lightly.

Then she turned. Before he could move, she disappeared into the forest.

He continued to stare at the brush that had swallowed her.

Moments later, he still hadn’t moved.

Finally, he left his jacket and what food still remained in his pack, and bundled them into a corner of the fireplace. Desolate, he began the trip down.

Chapter 5

He needed someone to talk to. He waited up for Jeremy, who, as usual, didn’t get home until well after midnight.

Luke poured out his story of his second visit to the mountain, but knowing Jereny’s cynicism, he held off mentioning anything about Laura’s reaction when Luke called her by her name. When Luke finished, Jeremy cleared his throat with the “Harrumph!” which alerted Luke to a coming pronouncement. “This time you’ve lost your marbles. You’ve gotta be nuts to get involved with this girl.”

“I’m only involved from normal concern.”

From the living room floor next to him, Wolfgang responded to Luke’s raised voice by lifting a monocled eye and letting out a foghorn bark.

Jeremy lifted both hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t know where I ever got such a far‑fetched idea.”

Luke dropped into the sofa. “The weather’s already changing, Jeremy. She could die up there if no one does anything.”

AYou have no idea whom you=d be risking your life for.” Jeremy leaned back in the maple rocker, and its runners creaked ominously. On the television screen, in a 1939 movie replay, a rededicated Notre Dame eleven charged out onto the football field after a half‑time pep talk by Pat O’Brien. “Look, old buddy, the Forest Service knows about itClet our public servants in green do their job.”

“They only know that she’s back up there,” Luke snapped.

“Did you tell them about this latest romantic interlude?”

“I didn’t have a chance. The ranger station was closed when I got down, so I headed straight home.”

“You sure as hell better let them know in the morning.” Jeremy groaned at the effort of getting up from the sofa. He found the TV wand on the side table and pressed the off‑switch. A football launched in a long, soaring kick‑off never landed. “You realize, don’t you, that if you go up there again, chances are you won’t find her. But what if you do?  You’re talking at best about a woman who’s crazy, or worse.” He shook his head. “You don’t need this.”

Luke’s eyes didn’t leave the blank TV screen. He spoke slowly. “I was the one who found her. If something happens to herCif she diesCand I could have prevented it . . . .”

Jeremy gestured in exasperation. “Come on, Luke, I’m the only guy who’s that powerful. You can’t be responsible for the whole, fucking world.”

“I’m not trying to save the whole world, damn it!  I’m talking about one girl.” This time when Luke’s voice rose, Wolfgang could stay uninvolved no longer. With a heroic woof he leaped onto the couch and staggered over the soft cushions to tongue-wash the side of Luke’s face.

“What about Vivian?  How does she feel about this?”

Luke’s anger choked him. Of all people, Jeremy sniped at Vivian the most, and now he was using her for his argument. “You talk about Vivian as if she’s some kind of jealous ogre. Well, you’re way off base. She’s as caring a person as you, she just doesn’t try as hard to hide it. Besides, what the hell does she have to do with it?  I’m talking about my responsibility as a human being.”

“C’mon now. If you’d climbed that mountain and found some fat ass like me, your responsibility as a human being would have ended when you phoned the ranger station. It’s testosterone‑washed brain cells that are driving you back up there.”

“God damn it, I’m fed up with your callousness and glib answers,” Luke snapped. There’s a young woman whose life is in danger, and I may be the only one she’ll approach. I have to try.”

Jeremy collapsed back onto the couch. “When do you plan to go back?”

Luke sighed. “If I’m to have a chance, first I’ll have to learn more about her, and do it quickly. Trouble is, every day that passes works against us. For now, at least, the weather is barely holding out; but with fall here, and she at seven thousand feet, I don’t know how long I can count on that.”

Jeremy’s voice became resigned. “Okay, okay. When you need help to cover your service, I’ll be available.”

After a half‑hour of tossing, Luke got up and paced the living room carpet.

There had been no need to take off on Jeremy. Considering Jeremy=s caustic wit, Luke had gotten off easy. If Jeremy let his anger loose, he could verbally tear anyone apart. Many times, Luke had watched in awe as Jeremy utterly obliterated pompous asses noted for their venom. Occasionally, a not‑so‑venomous unfortunate crossed Jeremy’s path when his mustache was drooping, and was equally destroyed.

Luke and Jeremy had started residency at the same time, Luke from Stanford and Jeremy from Columbia. In the more than two years they’d roomed together, they developed a comfortable relationship, perhaps because they were so different: Luke, the soft‑spoken, mannerly southerner; Jeremy, the brilliant, brash, moody character from a section of the Bronx you wouldn’t want to walk through without a full police escort.

Only once had Luke felt the full lash of Jeremy’s anger. During their third month of residency, both Luke and Jeremy were on General Medicine service. General Medicine was the Skid Row of the non-private section of the hospital. Its wards were filled with alcoholics and drug addicts‑‑ dragged in from the street with pneumonia, GI bleeding, DTs, coma.

When Jeremy got to the apartment, he tore open a letter and his face clouded. He read it over twice, ripped the letter into bits, and crumpled them into his pocket. After Jeremy disappeared without a word into his bedroom, Luke’s eye caught the envelope left behind on the kitchen table. The return address was from “Julia Green.”

When Jeremy returned from his room, the corners of his mustache drooped ominously. He pulled a half‑empty bottle of Canadian Club from a cabinet, poured a generous helping, and dumped in ice cubes.

“Rough day?” Luke asked.

Jeremy shrugged.

“I’ll cover for you Thursday,” Luke said.

Jeremy took a swallow of bourbon. He cleared his throat with a rolling “Harrumph!” and turned toward Luke. “And just why, please tell me, do you assume I’ll need to be covered for Thursday?”

Luke should’ve shut up when he first saw the mustache drooping. A few weeks living together should have been time enough to leave it alone. “Well, isn’t it Yom Kippur? I thought….”

“And you thought it was your special duty to tell me how I should observe a Jewish holiday because I’m a Jew?”

“Well, no, I just thought you might want to take the day off.”

Jeremy took another swallow of bourbon. “Perhaps we could work something out. We could trade off moral police duties and have me remind you of John Wesley’s birthday so you needn’t falter in your Methodism.”

“Look, I didn’t mean a goddam thing,” Luke said. “There’s no reason for you to get on your high horse.”

“I see. In addition to watching over my soul, you’re also my advisor on how I should react to your intrusions into my personal life.”

“Come off it, Jeremy, you’re being a horse’s ass. I just wanted you to know I was available.”

“Yes. I’m a horse’s ass, Luke. I fail to be properly grateful for your taking on the role of my superego and trying to save my otherwise damned spirit.” He lifted the glass in front of him and swirled the ice cubes. “But I prefer to drink my spirits rather than entrust them to your fucking hands.”

“Christ,” Luke said. “I’m going out for some air.” He strode through the door while Jeremy stared out the window, swirling his drink in front of him. Luke slammed the door behind him and gasped for breath as he tore down the stairs and strode up the street.

Jeremy, too, learned when it was prudent to stay out of Luke’s way. Those were the times Luke had what he thought was one of his breathless spells. Once, early in their apartment-sharing when Luke was in the midst of such an episode, Jeremy was particularly sarcastic about Luke’s behavior. A sudden right hook from Luke knocked Jeremy back on the couch. Jeremy got up and simply walked into his room. It never happened again.

At their worst, Luke would be seized by a feeling of suffocation and would have to leave his apartment in the middle of the night to breathe the outdoor air of the teeming westside neigh­borhood. Such feelings often made him think of the nights in his early childhood he’d spent locked in his room. His motherCsmall featured, magnolia blossoms, loved by everyoneCwas in charge of his discipline because his father was always down at his store. In his pre-school years, she never punished him physically, but locked him in his room for the night. Luke also had a recall not only of the rubber snake incident, but of children’s hospitals, asthma wards, oxygen masks, and people holding him downCprimitive memories that came back to life during the height of his agitated periods. Often the memories would end in panic. Once, during a severe bout in his pre‑med days at Stanford, he’d gone to Student Health. The Stanford doctor said it was purely psycho­genic hyper­ventilation, not asthma. ­Would Luke like to try a tranquilizer?  Too breathless to answer, Luke shook his head and ran out of the constricting, airless clinic to roam the tree‑lined campus and take deep, gasping breaths.

Only lately, when the restlessness grew intolerable, did these feelngs crystalize to where he could sometimes put them into wordsCwords he spoke only to himself as he paced the broken sidewalks and buckling streets of his west Los Angeles neighborhood. He realized he’d been programmed. He’d never broken away from the mold that was fashioned for him by the time he started first grade in Houston. He’d followed an undeviating path from private River Oaks Academy in his Houston childhood to his third year of Internal Medicine residency here at University. His father had made it clear what he wanted of him, and Luke had mechanically obliged. He’d never made his own decisionCeverything had been laid out for him.

When finally he could slow his fierce, driven walk and deep, air‑hungry breathsCat such moments, his thoughts often drifted to the free, uncrowded, clear air and spacious heights of the mountains. And now, to that picture add a haunting, dark-eyed, brown-haired young woman whose voice and eyes wouldn’t leave him.

”                 ”                 ”

Luke’s first job in the morning was to contact the police, especially since a murder was possibly involved. This might also be a chance for Luke to learn more about Laura. But he’d never betray her wild hallucination about killing. If she still had it, the police would have to learn that themselves.

The next morning, Friday, from the sixth floor nurses station he phoned the West Los Angeles Precinct Station. “If I could learn which officer handled the case, I may have important information for him,” he said to the secretary.

“Hold on, Dr. Berman,” she said.

“Burnam,” he said.

Minutes later‑‑ “Yes, here’s an entry for Laura Arigael.” She spelled out the last name. “October Fourth?”

“That sounds about right,” he said.

“Lieutenant Detective Sorenson handled that case personally. I’m sure he would like to hear from you. Hang on while I get him.”

He sat restlessly, tapping the eraser to a pencil on the nurses’ desk while the traffic of the hospital passed by. Finally, the phone silence was broken: “Dr. Berman?” A soft male voice came from the receiver.

“Burnam,” he said.

“This is Detective Sorenson. I understand you’re inquiring about Laura Arigael?”

Then, that is her name, Luke thought, with a sense of relief that she had been hallucinating after all. “Yesterday on the mountain I saw her the second time.”

“Yesterday?” Sorenson paused to digest that. “What kind of shape was she in?”

“Better than the first time, but just as reluctant to come down.”

“Are you convinced that the woman you saw was named Laura?”

Luke felt a tightening of the muscles between his shoulder blades in spite of Sorenson’s soothing voice. “Yes.”

Sorenson’s voice became even softer. “We may be able to help each other, Doctor. How soon can you come by the precinct office?  It’s on the corner of Pico and Travis.”

“Let me get someone to cover my service. I should be there within an hour.”

He hunted up Jeremy on Five West and told him about the phone call. “Traverson’s a good intern and can handle the routine calls. If you’d just keep an eye on things.”

“No sweat,” Jeremy said.

Luke hesitated. “I’ll be at Vivian’s folks Sunday night. I’d kinda like to avoid the hassle of explaining it to them.”

Jeremy stuck out his lower lip and nodded deliberately. “If she asks me, I’ll tell her you’ve donated your services for sick call at the Carmelite Nunnery.”

Luke smiled sourly. “Thanks.”

”                 ”                 ”

The West Los Angeles Police Station resembled a complex of low‑ceiling basketball courts filled with desks and coat‑racks. The decibel level from voices, phones, running feet, slamming desk drawers, and clanging metal files would have been pronounced unsafe by the Environmental Protection Agency, but seemed routine for the crowds that milled the maze‑like passages between desks and cubicles.

Luke was surprised when he met Lieutenant Detective Richard Sorenson. From the quiet voice on the phone, he’d expected someone of small size and kindly appearance. Instead, he found a hulk of a man, with wide bulging shoulders, huge squared off head, red face, and hands the size of catchers’ mitts. Luke had to strain to hear his soft voice above the surrounding hubbub.

Introductions completed, Sorenson led Luke into a partially walled‑off cubicle and lowered himself into a metal desk chair whose arms spread apart as his body squeezed between them. He looked at Luke over half‑moon reading glasses. “You’ve never met Ms. Arigael before these two episodes, Doctor?”

“That’s right.”

Sorenson folded his hands together. “Tell me in as great a detail as you can what happened each time.”

Luke described the first meeting when he passed the fireplace, her refusal to leave the mountain with him, and the second encounter when she fled. He omitted her reaction to his using the name, “Laura.”

Sorenson asked a number of other questions related to her clothes, her wounds, her back­ground, and her description of her work at University. A pause followed before he added: “One more question, Doctor: Why are you so interested in her?”

It seemed that everyone he talked to managed to get around to that same question. Luke had prepared his answer. “I’m concerned about her healthCand her safety. I need information that can help me convince her to leave a dangerous situation. I know I don’t have an official role, but if nothing’s done, a lot of people will eventually become involved in a rescue attemptCone that could be too late.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Why you?”

“I was the first one to find her. She trusts me. She’s more likely to come with me than one of the rangers.”

Sorenson’s face was impassive as he started to rise from his chair, then sank back into it. “I’m not sure that fully answers my question, but I guess it will do. I appreciate your coming.”

Luke spoke. “I still have a few questions of my own.”

The detective frowned. “Yes?”

“Tell me anything you can tell me about her. Right now, I’m operating in the dark.”

Sorenson glanced at the folder on his desk and pursed his lips. He slowly touched his fingertips against each other, one by one. “Most of it’s public record that came out at the Coroner’s Jury.” When he looked back at Luke, his eyes were gray and opaque. He made a sucking sound between his teeth.

Luke returned his gaze. He felt a dull edge of anger. The man was trying to stare him down.

Sorenson studied him a moment longer, then sighed, as if he’d made a reluctant decision. “I saw her in the emergency room nine days ago, four days after the dead college student was found. The body was identified as that of a post-graduate psycho­pharmacology student named Holly Hassen. The professor who found her was her mentor, Dr. Elliot Salder. I understand he was also the mentor of the woman you found on the mountain.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Luke said.

“By the time I saw the girl, she seemed rational. But the shrink who took care of her for 2 2 days at University’s Neuropsychiatric Institute thought she was too emotionally fragile to testify at the Coroner’s JuryCalthough it beats me how she could be so fragile one day and discharged by the same doctor the next.” Sorenson lifted a ball‑point pen from the desk and rotated it in his large hand. “Have you been exposed to many drug scenes, Doctor?”

“I’m a third-year resident at University Hospital, Detective.”

Sorenson’s sucking between his teeth sounded like a paintbrush being pulled from a can of overly-thick paint. “Then you can appreciate how quickly a person can change.” He fingered the file on his desk without looking at it again. AWe had reason to check out Dr Salder four years ago­. His late wife was also a PhD in psycho­pharmacology and had been heavy in drug research for a number of years. She was alone in the lab one day working with a new drug. According to our police records, she gave herself an injection of it and apparently had some kind of weird reaction. She died on the spot. Salder cracked up and got stashed away in a mental hospital for a couple months. When he got out, he left Portland and ended up here.”

“What about the woman on the mountain?”

“She’s charged with no crime, but a trace of LSD still tested out in her blood. A teacup in his office was loaded with it and had only her fingerprints. After the rangers brought her into the E.R., they put her in the psych unit at University for a mandatory seventy‑two hours observation. The Coroner’s Jury hearing was carried out while she was held there. Holly’s death was ruled as accidentally self-inflicted.”

AHow was she identified?”

“Holly’s purse was in the lab, and her driver’s license picture matched her perfectly. Other faculty members identified her corpse. The needle was still in her arm vein. The fingerprints on the syringe and vial matched the prints of both the corpse and Holly’s driver’s license, and there were fingerprints of no one else on either. There’s more, but I don’t think I need to go into every detail.”

ADid Holly Hassen have access to the RS41?@

AThat was the cause of death. Halder said she had unrestricted access to it for animal research.”

Luke felt he had wrung as much information from Sorenson as he was going to. “Could you give me the name of her faculty adviser?”

Sorenson pursed his lips. “First, doctor, let me get back to my earlier question that you conveniently side-stepped. Why are you getting tangled up in this?”

“I told you I was the first to find her on the mountain. Someone’s got to take responsibility. You said it’s out of your hands since she committed no crime.”

“You misunderstood me. I did not say she committed no crime. I said she wasn’t charged.” He looked steadily down at Luke. “Tell me, did the young lady identify herself to you as Laura?”

“No.”

“Then, who did she say she was?”

Luke was careful not to hesitate. “She gave me no name.”

“Weren’t you curious?”

“Of course I was, but she was about to flee any second, and I didn’t want to scare her. As it is, I failed miserably.”

Sorenson paused before continuing. “Let me give you a little advice. I’m sure you’re good at what you do, Doctor, but you’re getting in over your head. I’ve dealt with messed up girls like Laura before‑‑ drugs, killings, psycho. They’re bad news. In case you don’t know it, you may be playing with real trouble.”

Luke stood up, his voice tight and controlled. “I’m not playing with anything. I have to try to help. As far as I’m concerned, she’s as much a victim as the dead girl.”

The detective scowled. He pulled his glasses down and looked at Luke over the top rim, only half-pupils showing. “You may leave now. But if you insist on involving yourself further in this matter, Doctor, I’ll probably be seeing you again.”

                                                                                Chapter 6

(4070 words)

The image of the dark-haired young woman wouldn’t leave Luke’s mind. Why couldn’t he forget her, even for a few hours?

He answered himself. She’s sick, that’s whyCand since he was the first to reach her, he was responsible. She was no different from any patient who depends on a doctor for her life.

He shook his headCno, not like a patient. He’d had many a life depend on him in the hospital, but never out in the open, never in the desolation of the mountain. In the isolation there, no one could take his place. He seemed to be the only one she trusted.

He thought of Vivian’s concern. Had she seen something in his eyes that he himself couldn’t recognize?

Regardless, he had to learn more about Laura before he went back up the mountain; and because of the unpredictability of weather at seven thousand feet,  he had to learn quickly. From Sorenson he’d already found that she=d worked on her Master=s under Dr. Elliot Salder; from the registrar’s office that she had a roommate named Evelyn Gerson and from the university directory that she was under the general supervision of one of the librarians, Dr. Marilyn Carruthers. Interviews with the three of them were a must.

First he called Dr. Salder. He was out of town giving a talk, said his secretary, and he=d be back Monday afternoon. The answering machine at Laura=s apartment gave only the pre-recorded voice of Evie Gerson. After many attempts, he finally reached Marilyn Carruthers, who was co‑director of the huge Research Library on the North Campus. “I’m so relieved you’ve seen Laura,” she said. “I haven’t heard from her since the beginning of the month, and I’m very worried.”

“Could I come by and see you?”

“I’m afraid you’re reaching me on my cellular phone; I’m at a conference in San Diego, and won’t be back until Monday morning.” She’d meet him then at 8:30 at the Research Library.

Saturday night, Luke barely left the hospital to get to Vivian’s parents on time. He wasn’t on call, but in the late afternoon he was in Xray going over the chest films on a new admission when a terse announcement broke the silence. “Code Blue in CCU… Code Blue in CCU…”

He gave a low groan and headed down the hall at a trot. The announcement itself was unusualCCodes Blue for the Coronary Care Unit were rarely announced through the speaker system. The service was covered by one of its own residents who was supposed to always stay a beeper signal away.

CCU was on the floor above. Luke took the stairs, ran down the hallway and strode through the wide double doors. The monitor tech seated at the central nurses desk gestured down the corridor. “Try the madhouse in Room D.”

A first-year resident, two nurses, and a respiratory therapy technician already crowded the tiny cubicle called Room D. In the bed lay a man with a rebreathing mask clamped over his mouth and nose. The inexperienced resident, Pete Ferillo, was just slipping his hands into sterile gloves. He was small, dark-haired, and wore large, horn-rimmed glasses. His short white jacket was wrinkled, and spotted with blood. When his eyes caught Luke, the lines in his forehead relaxed. “God, Luke, am I glad to see you! Bruce Hanker’s supposed to be on call, but he hasn’t answered his page.” He nodded toward the bed. “And this guy’s turning into hamburger under my eyes.”

Luke scanned the patient. He looked in his mid-fifties. His bulging eyes moved blindly around the room as if they were on automatic pilot. His breathing was deep and gasping; with each breath he gave a short grunt, like the croak of a frog. “What’s the story, Pete?” Luke asked.

AThe jackpotCheart failure and vascular shock. Came in three days ago with a fresh coronary. Seemed okay until the past couple hours when he started to have trouble breathing. In the last half-hour we can’t keep his blood pressure above 50 in spite of a decent hemoglobin of twelve and a full drip of dopamine.” He held up his gloved hands. “I’m trying to start a right heart line on him, but shit, I’ve never put one in by myself. That’s only one reason I’m so damn glad to see you.”

How many times during his training had Luke gone through this experience? Not just himCevery resident here. First-year residentsCthe title that had replaced internsCwere particularly vulnerable, but so was the whole medical hierarchy. They ended up using every facility of the medical center, spending tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars just to escort a terminal case to the morgue. Luke glanced at the oxygen delivery gauge on the wall. Ten liters– the maximum feasible without a ventilator tube in the trachea. The man’s face was purple in spite of the high oxygen flow, and cold sweat covered his body. His neck veins were bulging. Luke felt the carotid artery in the neck– each time the patient took in a gasping breath the pulse disappeared. He checked the lungs– bubbling rales with each inhalation. Heart sounds were barely audible. He dug his thumb into a shin. No withdrawal response. This man was beyond feeling pain.

He spoke to the nurse across the bed from him. “Helen, get me a 5-inch 18 gauge needle and a 50 cc Leur-lock syringe. Size 7 2 gloves. We’ll use the central venous catheter tray you brought for Dr. Ferillo.” He turned to the second nurse at the foot of the bed. “I need a portable EKG monitor. The one on the crash cart will do. See if you can find an alligator clamp to attach the EKG lead to the needle. And a suction bottle with connecting tubing.”

Ferillo looked at him. “All this for a right heart line?”

“I think he’s got a pericardial tamponade, Pete.” Luke lifted the patient’s wrist. “He has all the signs: paradoxical pulse, bulging neck veins, progressive drop in blood pressure. He’s leaking blood through the heart wall.”

The nurse at the foot of the bed looked puzzled as she was setting up the monitor on the crash cart. “Tamponade?”

Luke spoke rapidly. “The pericardium is a closed sac around the heart. Tamponade is when the sac fills with fluid under pressure and chokes off the heart.” He nodded to the patient. “Third day after a coronary, the heart wall in the damaged zone is at its weakest. The heart muscle can break and fill the pericardial sac with blood.”

Ferillo’s eyes were wide. “I’ll see about getting an echocardiogram.”

“There’s no time to confirm it with one. He’s about gone. After we relieve the pressure, then we can worry about the fine points.” And if I’m wrong, Luke thought, I’ll crawl out of here.

The other nurse returned with packages of sterile gloves. Luke donned a set and hurriedly swabbed the area below the patient’s breastbone with Betadine Solution. With the other hand he took the five-inch needle by the stem and positioned it at the narrow angle of the xiphoid process which hangs like an arrowhead from the breastbone, probed the needle through the skin, and threaded it upward and slightly to the left. At two inches, he nodded to the nurse. “Use the clamp to attach the EKG lead to the hub of the needle.”

He checked the monitor on the crash cart. EKG complexes marched across the screen. The needle itself now behaved like a monitoring electrode.

Luke pushed the needle up farther, a small fraction of an inch at a time, glancing after each move at the monitor screen.

Suddenly the flat segments between heartbeat complexes arched high above the baseline. “Look at that,” Ferillo said.

“We’re at the pericardium,” Luke said. “Let me have the syringe.”

He attached the large syringe to the hub of the needle, tightened his lips, pushed the needle farther in. Blood gushed into the syringe. It was under such pressure that it would have pushed the plunger from the barrel if Luke hadn’t held onto it.

Within seconds the patient’s bulging neck veins flattened and the purple left his face. His breathing eased. So did Luke’s.

Staring at the digital blood pressure monitor the nurse at the foot of the bed said in a hushed voice, “Systolic pressure’s 110.”

“Okay,” Luke said as he attached another large syringe, “let’s thread the catheter in. He’s may lose a lot more blood before we’re through, so save as much of it as you can in a Vacu-bottle for transfusions.” He was already sprayed with blood from the spurt during transfer of syringes. He secured the catheter drainage, called in the cardiac surgery resident for emergency standby, and arranged for cross-matching for further transfusions by the time the regular resident on CCU arrived. The CCU resident shamefacedly reported that he’d fallen asleep without turning his beeper on.

After filling him in, Luke left the room, his ears burning from congratulations by the crowd of medical personnel that had gathered. He hoped no one could see the sweat that drenched him.

He took a shower in the house staff quarters, and arrived at the Dufrenes’ only three minutes late. The Dufrene home in Pacific Palisades was built like a clover into the side of a hill. Its three leaves surrounded a central courtyard. It had Dufrene’s touch‑‑ a spacious uncluttered look, sleek Scandinavian furniture, light airy colors. In the living room, the broad picture window of the central cloverleaf faced over the lowland houses onto the Pacific, and on a clear day the island of Catalina seemed a stone’s throw away. Designed by Ralph Dufrene, AIA, the house had been featured in American Architecture, Architecture Today, and Modern Design. Its uncluttered, spare gardens, sculptured with bonzai trees, had also been displayed in numerous landscape magazines.

Luke parked on the serpentine flagstone driveway. Ralph Dufrene answered the door. He was of average height and somewhat stocky build, with a hearty, outgoing manner. His full head of brown and gray hair was combed straight back without a part. He had large bushy brows, round cheeks that were almost unlined, and a strong chin. He looked younger than his sixty‑one years.

“It’s good to see you, Luke,” he said in his normal, booming voice. “The ladies are still putting on their faces, and I badly need company for a drink.” He clasped Luke’s hand in his strong grip.

“Thank you, sir.” Luke stepped into the crescent shaped living room.

“Wine, beer, or the real stuff?” Dufrene asked.

“Beer sounds great.”

Luke walked with him to the wet bar in the corner. Dufrene pulled out two Heinekens and poured them into frosted glass mugs. “Vivian tells me you’re working too hard on your new service. What is itCCardiology?”

“I’m back on one of the General Medicine services. Actually, I’m not working nearly as hard as my first two years. I’m only on call every third night, and have junior house staff to do the slave work.”

Dufrene took a swallow of beer. “Good. Maybe you’ll have time now to take my daughter away from her infernal graphs and charts. She takes that damn job of hers too seriously.” He pointed to the couch. “They should be down in a minute. Come on, let’s get comfortable.”

Luke sat on the long clean‑lined couch. He was no stranger to the Dufrene living room. It had been five years since he and Vivian had met in the Life Sciences Building.  Luke’s folks certainly had no reservations about Vivian. “She’s mah kind of girl,” his father, Neal Burnam, drawled. “You’d better hurry up and marry her, Lucas, before somebody else latches onto her.”

It wasn’t that Luke’s father was a interested in the Dufrene money; Burnam Chevrolet was the largest Chevy dealership in southeast Texas. “You can deal with Neal!” he’d proclaimed expansively on three television stations for the past fifteen years, always wearing his trademark Stetson hat. He looked somewhat like a portly John Wayne.

No, it wasn’t their wealth, it was the entire Dufrene mystique. “That girl’s got class!” Neal Burnam had always admired class. Being a car dealer meant making money‑‑ but it wasn’t class. An architect, a doctor, a corporate lawyer‑‑ that was class. He sent Luke to the best schools‑‑ River Oaks Academy for primary grades, then Deerwood Prep. After that, get out of the South, he told him, go where there’s prestige. If he had to buy Luke’s way into Stanford, Yale, or Harvard, he would have done so. But that wasn’t necessary. Luke was at the top of his graduating class at Deerwood and scored in the ninety‑ninth percentile on his SAT’s. At Stanford he was Phi Beta Kappa. After graduation, University was his first choice of medical schools.

It had taken a while for Luke to become comfortable with Ralph Dufrene. Now, on the nights he slept over at Vivian’s apartment, the bottom no longer dropped out of his stomach if he answered the phone and heard her father’s voice on the other end. Dufrene sat across from him. “Luke, I’ve been reading reviews of the article in the New England Journal about the big cholesterol study in Finland. What do you think about it?” When he wanted to make someone feel at ease, Ralph Dufrene had a talent for directing questions to that person’s field of expertise.

“Most of the university people I’ve talked to take it seriously,” Luke said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dufrene said. “I’m already in mourning over having to limit my bacon and eggs to two breakfasts a week. I’m afraid they’re telling me now I’ll have to change that to oatmeal.”

They both turned as Madeline Dufrene opened the door from the adjoining dining room. Luke was fond of Mrs. Dufrene. She was a thin, gray‑haired woman‑‑ quiet, soft‑spoken. She had a fine tremor to her head and hands when she sat still. Although a year younger than her husband, she looked considerably older. She usually managed to get in no more than one word to every ten of Ralph’s. Luke rose from his chair

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I haven’t seen you for weeks, Luke. I’ve missed you.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Dufrene. It’s sure good to see you again.”

“How about me?” Vivian followed her mother into the room. She wore a red satin dress with a low-scooped back. “Are you glad to see me too?” She kissed him on the mouth.

Luke liked the taste left by the lipstick. “Of course I am. You look beautiful, Vivian.”

Vivian laughed. “I had to fish for the compliment, but I’ll settle for it anyway.”

Ralph Dufrene waved expansively toward the chairs. “Let me pour some wine for the ladies. We can get comfortable and find out what’s happening to Luke before Maria announces dinner.”

                                                                 ”                 ”                 ”

After dinner, they drove to Vivian’s apartment. Luke opened the apartment door and Vivian flipped on the lights. Tonight Luke wouldn’t mind just dropping her there and heading for his own place.

He slipped his hands around her waist. “I’d better get back to my place. I’ve got to be at the hospital early tomorrow.”

Her brow wrinkled as she looked at him. He caught the appealing scent of her perfume. “I thought they weren’t supposed to be working you as hard this year.”

“Usually not, but tomorrow I have two meetings to chair, as well as present a case for Grand Rounds.”

“Uh‑uh.” Her arms reached around his neck. She moistened her lips with her tongue, then turned her head slowly back and forth so that her lips brushed lightly against his. “After the way we worked to sneak in an hour or two through those first years of residency, we’re not passing up a night off.”

Her body pressed against his. He felt the familiar tumescence. She felt it too.  Her pelvis ground against his straining organ. Her tongue probed his lips.

Luke realized that he wouldn’t be heading for his apartment in the next few hours.

Afterwards, Luke’s mountain reveries broke through when Vivian reappeared from the bathroom. She wore a glossy silver‑gray slip that form‑fitted her so closely that the points of her nipples protruded like ripened manzanita berries. She climbed back into bed, propped herself on her elbow, and looked at Luke with bright, alert eyes. Vivian never got sleepy right after sex, but each time spent countless minutes galvanized into talk. Luke had finally gotten used to this disconcerting trait, but he sometimes wished he could simply fall off to sleep.

At these moments following sex, Vivian’s memory for detail became painfully acute. Tonight she went word‑for‑word over each confrontation she’d had the past three days with the well‑meaning but fossil‑minded state hospital administrator. She gave a biography of the newest member of the Board of Directors. The whole board should be running a public transit system rather than directing a hospital’s policies. She informed Luke of the pending changes in HMO Utilization Reviews. Luke struggled to keep his eyes open.

They must have closed, because he opened them again when he felt her shaking him. “Do you want to go to sleep?” she asked.

“Don’t have a choice,” he mumbled.

She sighed, and plopped her head down onto the pillow. “Okay,” she said, and he was relieved to finally hear a sleepy tone in her voice. “Goodnight, Cookie.”

“Goodnight, Viv.”

“Did you set the alarm?”

“Yep”

“Then, wake me up when you leave in the morning.”

“Sure.” He closed his eyes.

He was pulled back from the deep. “Luke?”

“Uh‑huh.”

“Was she pretty?”

He was suddenly wide awake. “Who?”

“You know. The crazy woman on the mountain.”

His voice grew tight. “I suppose so.”

“Oh…” Long pause. AWell, goodnight.”

Long after he began to hear the even breathing of her sleep, he lay awake staring at the ceiling, with its filmy image of the dark-haired woman. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of the image. What am I getting myself into? his mind kept hammering. It wouldn=t let him sleep.

”                 ”                 ”

Sunday, while Luke was on call at the hospital, he got another call from Vivian. “I need to talk to you today.”

“What’s up?” he said with a sense of foreboding.

“I’d rather talk about it when I see you. Can we meet for dinner?”

“I’m way behind. I won’t be able to get away `til past eleven. And we just talked last night.”

The other end of the line was quiet. Then, she said, “I’ll come by the hospital at seven. We can have a bite in the staff cafeteria.”

Puzzled, he hung up and sat quietly for a moment at the nurses’ desk. The University Hospital cafeteria wasn’t Vivian’s favorite place to dine. Actually, it wasn’t anyone’s favorite place to dine. He shrugged, then picked up the charts of the five patients who’d been admitted during the afternoon.

At the appointed time, he answered her page. She was waiting inside the cafeteria entrance. She wore a brown gabardine suit with an open collar silk beige blouse. Few people entering the cafeteria failed to turn their heads to lookCeven her business suits seemed molded to Vivian’s figure.

Luke kissed her lightly on the lips, then pulled out two trays, handed her one, and followed her in the serving line. She picked up a small salad and coffee. He selected spaghetti with meat balls, garlic bread, and a coke.

Most of the house staff who were stuck this late at the hospital had finished eating and already left. Luke motioned toward Jeremy, who was still there. “Do you want to join Jeremy?”

“I’d rather we talk by ourselves.” Actually, Vivian never wanted to join Jeremy. From the start, she and Jeremy had maintained an adversarial relationship. Jeremy was never one to hold his temper. In an argument, Vivian herself was hardly defenseless‑‑ when challenged, she had a sharp wit and acid tongue, and during the times that Jeremy’s mustache was erect she could hold her own. But when his mustache drooped no one could, and more than once she’d come away bloodied.

They set their trays at a table near the window. Vivian slipped off her jacket and draped it on the back of the chair. She glanced at Jeremy, who had just stood up to leave. “Your friend is working late too, I see.”

Luke lifted a slice of garlic toast from his plate and frowned as it sagged over his fingers. “Jeremy’s gets by with less sleep than anyone I know.”

“That may be the least of his peculiarities,” Vivian said as she spooned French dressing onto her lettuce.

Jeremy paused by their table.

Luke was relieved to see that Jeremy’s mustache pointed upward. Vivian didn’t look up from her plate. Her voice was ice. “Hello, Jeremy.”

“It isn’t often that Miss Business Week graces our humble hospital with her presence.”

Luke sighed. He wished that Jeremy could refer to Vivian by name.

“Humility doesn’t become you.” Vivian stabbed a cherry tomato with her fork as if she were wielding a sword.

Jeremy drew back and performed a fencing pirouette as he staggered backward. “Lady de Winter gravely wounds d’Artagnan.”

She looked up at him for the first time and smiled sweetly. “Monsieur Jeremy, if the age of chivalry still lived, your d’Artagnan would have been its death knell.”

Jeremy bowed, smiled at Vivian, and sauntered off.

She stared after him for a moment, then wiped her hands and reached for her purse. “I brought something you left at the apartment.” From her purse she pulled out Luke’s small brown loose‑leaf notebook in which he carried his notes about patients.

Luke stopped twirling strands of spaghetti around his fork. “So that’s where I left it.” He reached for the notebook and dropped it into the pocket of his lab coat. “You may have saved some poor soul from being forgotten on General Medicine wards.”

“I couldn’t help noticing the first pages.”

He felt suddenly defensive. He retrieved the notebook from his pocket and opened it. The first two pages held phone numbers and addresses. The West L.A. Police Station. Detective Richard Sorenson. The Oakwilde Ranger Station. And two other names.

Vivian laid her fork down on her tray. Her eyes dropped to her plate. She seemed to struggle for a moment before speaking. It wasn’t often that Vivian was at a loss for words. “Who is Holly Hassen?”

He closed the notebook and dropped it into his pocket. “She’s the graduate student who died.”

“Yes, I thought that was it.” Her eyes stayed fixed on her plate. “Who is Laura Arigael?”

“Do you remember me telling you about the girl on the mountain?”

She looked up and faced him quietly.

He took a deep breath. “Her name is Laura. She’s involved with serious problems.”

“What kind?”

Luke pushed himself back from the table. “Holly was her best friend and co-worker. She was killed by self-administering an unauthorized experimental drug in the lab office they shared. Laura apparently cracked when she learned about it, and fled to the mountain.@

“Is there more to this than you’re telling me, Luke?”

“No, Vivian. She’s just somebody I’m concerned about. When I found her, she was injured. I feel I should keep in touch with the Forest Service until I know she’s okay.” What was wrong with her? She was delusional, had cuts and scratches from the forest brush and an infected lymph node in her left axilla. What else?

Vivian’s forehead was ridged. Her eyes didn’t leave him. She laid her fork down and put her hand over his. “I’m afraid.”

“Why?”

“When I look in your eyes, I’m afraid of what this may do to youCand to us. Please, stay out of it, Luke. I want you to stay out of it.”

“I have to be sure she’s safe.” He winced at the hurt in Vivian’s eyes. “That’s all. Just a few days. Then I’m finished.”

Vivian=s voice took on a pleading quality that Luke had never heard in it. AYou don’t realize what you’re getting yourself into. It could be criminal or drug activity or worse. LukeCleave it to the experts.@

My God, Luke thought, she’s actually jealous. He shook his head sadly. The last person on earth he’d want to hurt was Vivian. But he answered: AI can=t, Vivian.@

                                                                                Chapter 7

The second name about which Sorenson asked, that of the dead girl, Holly, continued to eat at Luke. The girl on the mountain had claimed she herself had killed Laura. She was mad, of courseCSorenson had said there was no trace of anyone else in the office except for a single teacup with Laura’s fingerprints on it. Luke knew full well that severely disturbed people may believe they killed themselves. LSD-like drugs can leave residual psychoses, and she’d be particularly vulnerable after the horrible scene she dreamed up in Salder’s office. Worse still, if she=d truly been there when Holly killed herself, what she’d been through would have been enough to create madness even without LSD.

Luke rubbed his hand over his forehead. At times he felt he’d taken the psychedelic drug himself. Vivian was right. He should back off, forget about it.

ButCshe needed help.

The ranger had said that she no longer trusted anyone. But he remembered her childlike trust in him when she slipped off her blouse to let him tend to her wound. He might be the only one who had a chance to bring her down from the mountain.

It was already mid-October. If he were lucky, he still had a week, at most two, of benign weather to count on.

One more time. No matter what, he would go up there one more time after he talked to Halder. Because if he didn’t help her, she would surely die.

”                 ”                 ”

Luke left Monday morning rounds early and headed for Marilyn Carruthers’s office. On the North campus, “Day Passes Only” signs turned him away from each parking facility close to the Research Library. By the time he found a place far to the south in the familiar medical school parking lot, he had only twelve minutes until his appointment. He ran up Westridge Plaza, past Goldblum Student Union, took Jones Stairway three steps at a time, dashed between Shepherd Hall and Prowse Library through the old school quadrangle, ran up another flight of stairs past Magellan Hall, and arrived panting in the foyer of the library. The young woman at the information desk steered him to the director’s office. He stumbled in ten minutes late.

Most of the space in the crowded wood‑paneled office was taken up by file cabinets, bookshelves, loose books and journals. Marilyn Carruthers sat behind a cluttered desk. She was a very tall red‑faced woman in her forties who carried her height awkwardly as if she’d spent years trying to shrink to ordinary size. Her shoulders hunched slightly forward, she wore ungainly flat‑heeled oxfords, and her loose fitting blue and gold floral skirt hung almost to her ankles.

Her handshake was surprisingly strong. “As I told you, I’ve been terribly worried about her. Are you a relative?”

He still was breathing hard from the run. “I only met her a few days ago. I’m a resident at University Hospital, and had taken the day off to climb Shadow Mountain. I didn’t expect to find anyone there.”

Her face clouded. “Is she in the hospital?”

Luke shook his head. “She’s not exactly sick. It’s a long story.”

The lines in Marilyn Carruthers’s face eased. She gestured to the chair next to her desk. “Please have a seat, Dr. Burnam.”

She listened without interruption. He told of both trips up Shadow Mountain and the visit to the West Los Angeles Police Station. He omitted her denial that she was Laura . By now he wasn’t certain he hadn’t dreamed it.

When he finished, Carruthers was quiet. Finally, she took a deep breath. “Where do you think I can help you?”

“Did you see her the day after she was brought down?@

“No. I remember the phone call from the police. I spoke to someone‑‑ a Miss Felander.”

“I believe she’s the desk sergeant.”

“I see. I was worried about it afterwards‑‑ I mean, why Laura hadn’t come by the library to meet me. After a few hours, I called the number listed for her apartment, but got no answer. I didn’t follow through. I should have.” She slowly shook her head. “I just can’t believe it.”

“I realize it’s a strange story.”

­       “That’s not what I mean. The girl you describedCdisheveled, ragged, wild. That’s not the Laura I know.”

Luke hesitated. ADid she ever mention the girl who died, Holly Hassen?

AOf course. Holly was her partner in in the RS41 project; the two of them were the pride of Dr. Salder.” She gazed at Luke sadly. AAnd now to think that Holly=s dead.” After a moment of silence, Marilyn Carruthers continued: “Let me tell you about Laura .”

She was again silent as she seemed to study an internal script. Her fingers interlocked together on her desk. They were large bony fingers, red‑skinned as if they belonged to someone who’d spent hours on laundry or floor‑washing rather than the catalog and desk work required of a director of a major library. “Laura  enrolled in our department a little over two years ago. She’d been accepted for the Master’s program in Library Science.”

“Is that when she first came here from Portland?”

“Yes. She got her Bachelor’s in Philosophy from the University of Oregon. Exceptional grades. A gentle young woman. Reserved. Studious. There was a sad, almost fragile quality about her, although her workload was anything but fragile. I was assigned to be her faculty adviser. That didn’t mean she’d be taking my classes‑‑ we’ve started this program to give students a home base, hopefully someone they can turn to, like family. Laura’s the type most vulnerable to the depersonalization of the giant university‑‑ no nearby family, all of her time spent at her work, no evident outlets.”

Luke had already built up a liking for this rustic-appearing woman. It was as if he’d found a segment from Laura’s family. Carruthers continued: “I understand you’ve already met her mentor, Dr. Elliot Salder.”

Luke nodded.

“I’m sure you couldn’t have missed his facial abnormality. It’s part of his tragic life, and I’m sure you’ve heard something of it. He was married to a fellow PhD in the same field. In fact, they were working on development  of a drug similar to SR41 at the University of Oregon. One night when he was out of town on a lecture tour, she gave herself an unauthorized injection of the drug. She must have had an anaphy­lactic reaction, because she apparently died almost instantly. In his grief, Salder tried to kill himself. He held a revolver to his temple, but when he pressed the trigger, his hand must have jerked, because instead of going through the brain, the bullet severed the left facial nerve before it exited. He was under neuropsychiatric hospitalization for the next three months.”

Luke swallowed. This was a horror he hadn’t imagined. It explained a lot.

Carruthers stroked one of the journals on her desk. “One very strange thing about Laura was her ability to communicate with animals. She had a part-time job in the experimental animal lab, and I’ll swear that at times she seemed to talk to the animals and they to her. I’ve never quite seen anything like it.”

Luke remembered the deer that walked up to her as if she were a personal friend. He recalled the squirrel that put both front paws next to her foot. If Luke needed anything to settle in his own mind that the girl on the mountain was Laura, Carruthers’s description confirmed it.

Carruthers leaned forward. “Laura had already decided what she wanted to work on for her thesis. It involved the transition in recent literature from the primary clinical role of Freudian and Jungian psychology to the use of mind-altering or psychedelic drugs. An ambitious project, but she already had a strong background in biochemistry and psychology, and I thought she was capable of handling it. It brought her into contact with Dr. Elliot Salder.”

*     The librarian gazed for a moment at her red, chapped, interlocked hands, then moved them from the desktop to her lap. “I barely knew him, until he came here. You see, I got my doctorate in Library Science at Washington, during the brief time Salder was there after transferring from Harvard. Although Dr. Salder’s main body of research had been in psychopharmacology, he also had a special interest in the history of psychology. It fit right into Laura’s plans. She started with some of his courses, then began working with him on her thesis.”

“She must have spent a great deal of time with him,” Luke said.

ABoth she and Holly. He became Laura=s principal mentor. You’ll like him when you meet him. He=s a fine teacher, exceptionally kind, and with the death of Laura’s father several years earlier, I can see how he became a father substitute. I thought that it was a wonderful opportunity for her. ICI thought that his earlier problems had been put to rest.”

“You mean, his own drug use?”

She nodded. “I came here from Seattle four years ago, when he was still hospitalized. His wife had recently died from a chemical explosion in the lab.”

She swallowed before she continued. AAfter he came out of the psychiatric hospital, he came to University. I’d transferred here several months earlier and got to know him because he spent so much time in the Research Library. Even before his faculty appointment, he spent days and nights here. He was often at my desk for help in locating texts and references. On his own, he completed a landmark text on symbolism. After a year and a half, he was elevated to chief of the department.”

Luke leaned forward. “Ms. Carruthers, did Laura ever discuss her family back in Oregon?”

Carruthers seemed lost in thought. She didn’t answer.

“I realize I’m prying,” Luke said, “but if I’m to help the woman on Shadow Mountain, I have to learn all I can about her.”

Carruthers quickly returned to attention. “I don’t consider it prying. I was trying to recall conversations with Laura. In answer to your question‑‑ no, I don’t remember her talking about her family background.”

“Did she ever speak of being in the mountains?”

“Growing up in Portland, Mount Hood would have been practically next door, wouldn’t it?  But the answer to your question again is, no.” She lifted her hands back onto the desk and slowly fingered a journal. “It wasn’t that she was reticent. Laura could talk with intensity‑‑ and with a surprising range of knowledge for one her age. About her classes and her thesis. But I don’t remember a word that she’d ever been in the mountains. It was as if they were off-limits.”

Luke gave a deep breath. “I see.”

“Dr. Burnam, a moment ago I was aware of cautious phrasing on your part. You said that you had to learn more about Laura  in order to help the woman on the mountain. Are you yourself questioning that she’s Laura ?”

Luke frowned. Until now, each time that question had gnawed at him, he’d quickly hidden it from consciousness. “I’m now certain she is Laura. But a few things don’t quite fit.”

“No, they don’t.” Her lips tightened. “On the other hand, I haven’t seen Laura since the day of Holly=s death.” Carruthers slowly repeated both names. She closed her eyes, as if searching, then opened them and looked at Luke firmly. “I did participate in the identification of the body on the office floor as that of Holly, although I knew her less closely  than I knew Laura. To make things more difficult, the two young women looked like sisters, but I wasn’t the only one who identified that body as Holly’s.”

Luke hesitated. “Until we’re more certain of what’s involved, I’d like to see our conversation kept unofficial.”

“You’re concerned about the police blaming Laura for the death?”

“Yes.”

She studied him quietly. “I don’t fully understand, but I respect your motives. I’ll keep it discreet.”

Luke rose. “Thank you, Ms. Carruthers.” He stopped. “I should have said, Doctor Carruthers?”

She smiled. “I have my PhD in Library Science, but please don’t be concerned. Half the time when someone calls me Dr. Carruthers, I turn around to see if there’s someone behind me.” She stood up. “You’re planning to go back up the mountain?”

He nodded. “I have an appointment to see Dr. Salder this afternoon. Tomorrow morning I=m going back.”

“If I can be of help, I’d like to.” She reached for his hand. “I hope your search is successful. From what I’ve seen of you, I think it will be.”

”                 ”                 ”

On the way back to the hospital, he stopped by his apartment to change into hospital whites. By the time he got the door open, Wolfgang was whimpering with anticipation. Tail wagging wildly, he climbed up Luke’s leg.

“Down, dog,” Luke commanded. He had other things on his mind.

Wolfgang lowered himself to the floor and rubbed his nose penitently against Luke’s shoe. His long ears hung in shame.

“Oh, shit,” Luke groaned, and bent down to scratch the desolate dog beneath an ear.

Wolfgang moaned in ecstacy.

The reconciliation was interrupted when the phone rang.

It was a woman’s voice. “Is Jeremy home?”

“He’s at the hospital.”

“I tried there. He didn’t answer his page.”

Luke glanced at his watch. He’d promised Chris Treverson he’d be back by six to take over. He had fifteen minutes. “Maybe he’s at the medical school.”

Silence. Then, “Are you Luke?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m Julia Green.”

“Hello, Julia.” He’d found two calls for Jeremy on the answering machine from her over the weekend. This was the first time he’d spoken to her.

“Jeremy’s told me about you.” Her voice was low‑pitched, fast, New York. “I’d like to meet you.”

“He’s told me about you too.” Luke had seen her picture on Jeremy’s dresser C tall, tightly wound, with a thin face, rust-red hair, intense eyes. She and Jeremy had met at Brooklyn College in their undergraduate years. Julia was a talented artist. She’d already had showings in New York, Boston, and Philadelphia. Several of her paintings hung on the walls of Jeremy’s bedroom, and a published album of her prints rested on Jeremy’s desk. Her paintings were riots of color from which shapes and faces seemed to appear, merge, separate, emerge again in other forms. When Luke studied a painting of Julia’s, the features of eyes or mouth or a limb would take form out of what had been a jumble of chaotic lines and hues, and for a moment the image might become breath­takingly familiar. But when Luke blinked, it disappeared. In spite of the profusion of color, he felt her paintings were sad and painful. Often, as his eyes clung to one, his heart would grow heavy and he’d want to turn away. “I’d like to meet you.”

“Same goes for me.” She hesitated. “How’s Jeremy?”

“Jeremy’s okay, I guess. He’s been in one of his non‑talking phases the last few days.”

“Tell him I called, Luke.” Her words came out still faster. They conveyed not only the underlying pain and sadness of her paintings, but something approaching franticness. “Please tell him to call me.”

Luke was in the living room loading his backpack when Jeremy opened the door at 11:30 that evening. Jeremy barely nodded.

Normally, Jeremy was Wolfgang’s favorite receptacle, and the dog shot for him like a cannon shell. Without a word, Jeremy shook him off his leg as he continued walking. That’s when Luke realized something wrong was in the air.

“Julia called,” Luke said. “She wants you to phone.”

Jeremy stopped suddenly. The corners of his mustache pointed downward as he turned toward Luke.

Luke braced himself.

Jeremy’s hands clenched tight, but the fire in his eyes dimmed. Without a word, he disappeared into his room.

For a moment Luke continued to stare at the closed door. What the hell was eating Jeremy?  And what was behind the frantic note in Julia’s voice?

He shrugged and returned to loading his pack. There was nothing new about seeing Jeremy in a storm. Besides, Luke had his own problems to work out.

He paused as he thought of Vivian’s worried eyes. Please… stay out of it.”

He felt badly, but he’d tried to reassure her there was no danger of his affection for her slipping nor for his putting his life in danger. He set his lips, and went back to the closet to continue packing his backpack.

Chapter 8

At 1:00 that afternoon, Luke arrived at Dr. Elliot Salder=s office in the pharma­cology building to find Salder already there. The door was open. Salder signaled Luke in and held out his hand. AMy secretary told me to expect you. I=m Elliot Salder.@

*     ALuke Burnham.” Salder was thin, not quite as tall as Luke. His voice was quiet and deep, but had a penetrating quality that would make it stand out in a noisy, crowded room. He appeared to be somewhere in his fifties although he had a full head of white hair and a white chin beard. But it was his face that immediately attracted attention, and it was all Luke could do to keep from staring. The left side of his face looked as though it had been ironed smooth, without a wrinkle, and that side of his mouth was a straight line. When he spoke, only the right side of his mouth moved.

He wore a plain gray lab coat over denim jeans and an open-collar shirt. “I was hoping I’d hear from you,” Salder said. He pointed to an armchair for Luke next to his desk and seated himself in the desk chair.

Luke looked around the room. It was small for an office, and sparsely furnished. On the secretarial L return to the desk was a computer, its screen lit but blank, and a printer on a table next to it. On Salder=s desk was a binocular microscope and a phone with extra buttons to indicate a number of lines. One wall had a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that contained mostly journals. Luke could see no room in the office for a secretary.

Salder must have picked up Luke=s thoughts. AThe office is rather small,” he said. ABut it=s sort of an accessory outlet for the pharmacologic lab work. My main office is in the Psychology Building at the south end of the Medical Center. It’s a bit larger, but I hate to admit I keep it no neater.@

“This is the office where Holly died, isn’t it?”

Salder kept his eyes firmly on Luke. They were bright, alert eyes, but they carried an aura of pain. “Yes. It’s where I found her that morning.”

Luke thought he might come to like this man. Compared to Luke’s chief of service, Dr. Fell, Salder was the kind of man who could revive Luke’s faith in the power-hungry medical hierarchy. AIt=s awfully kind of you to see me with no notice. In a strange sense I feel some responsibility for the young woman=s safety.”

“That is unusual,” Salder said. “Most people would consider their responsibility ended after reporting such an encounter to the authorities. We share each other’s concern. I can assure you it’s for a lovely individual. Laura and Holly were almost daughters to me.” Salder paused and stroked his beard. AI understand you=ve seen her twice. A mountain somewhere north of here.@

AShadow Mountain,” Luke said. “You=re familiar with the area?@

AI know very little about our nearby mountain ranges. I did a small amount of group hiking in Oregon, but since then I’ve let myself get too lost in esoteric and mostly meaningless books. I only heard about Shadow Mountain while Laura was hospitalized after the Forest Service brought her down. That was the day after you first found her, three days after Holly’s death. I wasn’t allowed to see her. Did you visit her while she was in the hospital?”

“I didn’t even know she’d been hospitalized,” Luke said, “nor did the ranger who brought her down.”

“But you went back?”

“I contacted the ranger, who said she’d been sighted again up on the mountain.”

“Almost unbelievable,” Salder said shaking his head.

“She’s very skilled in mountaineering.”

“What do you intend to do next?” Salder asked.

“I’m going back up there tomorrow.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?@

“So far,” Luke said, “I understand I=m the only person on the mountain go whom she=ll talk. I know almost nothing of her background, and hope you=d fill me in on some of it.”

“I’ll do my best. My work with her has been mostly in the lab.”

“I’ve had some exposure to psychopharmacology,” Luke said. “If I don’t understand, I’ll ask questions.”

“Good,” Salder sat forward in his chair. AThe latest, and what had been the most promising formula we’ve been working on was RS41. In animal studies until now, it promised to combine both antidepressive and anti-panic effects with only rare side-effects. If such a drug could become available and safe for humans, you can imagine what an addition it would be to our psycho­pharmacology.

*     AI haveCor hadCtwo post-grad assistants working on RS41 and its relatives, Laura and Holly Hassen. They became close friends. They were pretty far along; in addition to the usual animal studies, even a few primates had been tested, with promising results. They often met at all hours to work on the project, with or without my presence. Holly was convinced the drug was a miracle substance, and volunteered herself for the first human trial. I, of course, refused to let her do so. The night of Holly=s death, I was at a meeting in San Diego. Holly was determined to try the drug.” He chewed on his lip. “I should have had better sense and restricted it from her when I wasn’t present. My theory is that Laura was there, at least at the beginning, and Holly tried to make her a secret volunteer as well. Laura refused. We have a plentiful supply of LSD, and Holly may have slipped some into Laura’s tea to break down her resistance, which could explain her hallucinatory behavior.” He closed his eyes as if to shut out the picture he imagined. “Holly must have had a fatal anaphylactic reaction to the drug. Whether Laura was still around by then, I couldn’t even begin to speculate.@

“Thanks,” Luke said, rubbing his temple thoughtfully. “That helps a lot.” Ashe looked at Salder’s expression­less face, he decided to share the rest of the secret burden he carried with this kindly man. “There’s something more that bothers me. Laura not ony had a memory loss, but an identity loss as well. She thinks she’s Holly and that she killed Laura. She’s convinced that the body found on the office floor was Laura’s.”

“Shit,” Salder muttered, momentarily forgetting himself and moving the left side of his mouth. “That must still be an effect of the LSD. As you probably know, we’ve identified it in a teacup in the office that contained Laura’s fingerprints.”­

“Have you spoken to Laura about it?” Luke asked.

*     AI tried to talk to her during her brief hospital stay. She refused to see me. I could hear through the door when she became hysterical when asked if I could come in. Her psychiatrist, Dr. Treiger, thought it best that I stay away until more of the drug effect had worn off.” Salder stared straight ahead, as if there were no one else in the room. AI wish I had never started working in this damn field.” He went on, more slowly. “I’m sure you’ve heard about my late wife, Adriane.”

“Dr. Carruthers told me she died four years ago from a drug reaction in the lab.”

“Then you’ve already made some inquiries. Good.” His eyes stayed firmly on Luke’s. “I don’t want to be melodramatic, but Holly=s death was like reliving what happened with Adriane.”

Luke couldn’t come up with anything to say.

“I seem to have taken on the touch of death,” Salder said softly. His eyes had moved from Luke to the window, as if he were speaking to someone else.

“Laura will be all right,” Luke said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

AShe was fond of me,@ Salder said. AYou may have heard that her own father died shortly before she moved from Oregon to California. She more or less saw me as a father figure. I think it fed my egoCI’m afraid I encouraged it. I was still very lonely from Adriane’s death.” He stopped talking and took a deep swallow.

AICI=m terribly sorry,@ Luke said.

“I know you are are,” Salder said softly. Salder turned back to him. AI think you=ve already learned more about Laura=s early background than I could possibly give you. Can you think of anything else?”

Shaken, Luke could think of nothing more. “Not at the moment.”

“If there should be, call me at any time.@

Luke rose. He felt a great sorrow for both Laura and Salder. AI shall,@ he said. AI=m going back up the mountain early tomorrow morning.” He cleared his throat. “Would you like to go with me?”

AI’m afraid I=d be more of a hindrance than a help. Considering my limited mountain experience since I’ve moved here, you’d probably have to carry me down.@

Luke smiled sadly. “I=ll call you and let you know what happened.@

”                 ”                 ”

The next morning, Luke parked at the trailhead and began the climb.

At Halfway Spring he rested. After the dry Southern California summer it had shrunk to a rivulet that trickled out of the rocks into a small pool, crossed the trail, and disappeared underground. From its outlet he caught water in his cup and drank. It tasted cold and crisp. He bent forward and with cupped hands splashed water over his face, gasping with the cold shock. Drops trickled beneath his shirt like crawling fingers of ice, and he rubbed his chest hard.

He leapt up at the sound of hoofbeats. From behind a curve a horse headed down the mountain, legs lifting high as it stepped along the rocky trail. Its sleek black coat was dappled with gray; two leather side‑pouches creaked and bounced against its flanks. On it rode Bea.

She wore slacks and shirt of Forest Service green. Her wide, hard‑brimmed hat rested low over her sun‑scarred face. Tall laced boots reached over her ankles, their lug soles anchored in shiny stirrups that glinted in the sun. She tugged at the reins; the horse jerked its head and came to a stop. She looked at Luke. “I see you’re wearing a full pack. You plan on spending awhile?”

He stood up and answered stiffly, “You wouldn’t be back here this soon if you weren’t worried, too.”

“Of course I am,” she said. “The temperature was down in the high thirties last night.”

“You didn’t find her?”

She shook her head. “I had a spooky feeling she was somewhere near, watching me‑‑ but I couldn’t get a glimpse or sound of her. Trouble is, this time she was in charge. She’s become more wilderness‑wise with each passing day.”

Wild columbine with drooping scarlet heads surrounded the pool at the foot of the spring. The horse craned its neck and drank from it. “No matter how well she knows the mountains, she doesn’t have decent equipment or clothes,” Luke said. “What’s going to happen with the first storm?”

Bea frowned. “Before that I’ll get the entire Los Padres Forest Service to comb the area.”

Luke rested a hand on her wrist. He had become comfortable with this outwardly gruff woman. “You know, don’t you, that by now she can elude the entire Los Padres Forest Service?”

Bea gazed at him fixedly, then gave a nod of resignation.

“I have to look for her now,” Luke said.

“I figured,” Bea said.

He passed no one else along the trail. When he reached the trailcamp, his eyes first picked up the gnarled juniper. He headed at once for the cave it guarded.

It was empty.

He stood without moving and stared at it. He hadn’t given a thought to what he’d do when he got there. She could be anywhere. For all he knew, she might be watching him now. His head swiveled as he scanned the deserted campsite. He called out, “Laura!”

A Stellar’s Jay answered coarsely from an overhead branch of a fir.

He called her name again. Still no answer.

A gnawing sense of doubt reappeared. “Holly,” he called out this time, feeling foolish.

The name was swallowed in the silence of the forest.

He tried to collect his thoughts, but they made no sense. What was he doing in a deserted trailcamp, searching for a strange, troubling woman he didn’t know, calling out names that only left him more confused?

Why was he so involved, everyone had asked. He’d asked himself the same question a hundred times. Occasionally a further question crept into his mind. Was he in love with the girl? He’d answer himself quickly: of course not. You don’t fall in love after a chance meeting or two. Besides, he loved Vivian. He’d be marrying her before next summer was over. This was an accident of fate.

He gave a deep breath. Well, he was here. He certainly wasn’t going to turn around and head for home at this stage.

The ranger had already searched the groundsCthere was little chance that he could do better. His best chance was still that she’d come to him here, at the fireplace‑cave where they first met. He unbuckled the waist‑belt to his pack, and slid it from his shoulders. He sat on the ground, leaned back against the side of the cave, and gazed up at a ceiling of oak leaves that quivered in the breeze.

The world around him grew restless as the wind picked up. Gold leaves, swept from their branches, swirled overhead and fluttered to the ground. A hawk circled, its serrated wings spread wide as it swooped low and then soared in the shifting air currents. Even the sky wouldn’t be still. Clouds gathered from the west, stirred, changed shapes. Hazy columns of sunlight shifted to and fro as they filtered through the wind‑troubled tree cover. Luke peered through the brush and the stone pillars, searching the encroaching forest, glancing back again and again at his wristwatch.