Free Creature by John Saul Page A

to do, and she was equally certain that he would find out about it. In Silverdale, after all, everyone always knew what everyone else was doing. Not that she particularly objected to the close scrutiny of a small town, she reflected as she put the final touches to the quarterly expense report she was compiling for the R&D Division. It was just that every now and then—times like today—she would have preferred a little more privacy.
    She pressed the enter key on her computer, waited until the machine announced that the expense report had been successfully transmitted back into the main tank of the TarrenTech computer, then logged off for the day.
    Charlotte had been working for only a few months, part of an experiment the company was conducting that, if successful, would allow women in Silverdale to work part-time at home. For now, the experiment was limited to the wives of men working for the company; only one man was participating—Bill Tangen, whose wife, Irene, was a pharmaceutical expert, working full-time while Bill took care of their baby daughter. For Charlotte, the program was working outperfectly. She discovered she liked working alone and got far more done in the space of a few hours than she’d ever accomplished while working full-time in the division offices. This morning, however, she’d found it hard to concentrate, and after finishing the expense report, she decided to call it a day.
    It was Rick Ramirez who had been preying on her mind all morning. Indeed, the injured boy had never really been out of her mind. Not that his name had even been mentioned yesterday. Silence had fallen over the LaConner household since the angry scene when Jeff had stormed from the house.
    Neither Chuck nor Jeff would discuss it with her.
    And that, Charlotte now realized, was what bothered her the most. Her husband and her son had clearly put the terrible incident out of their minds as though nothing at all had happened. But she herself had been unable to escape the image of the Fairfield player lying hurt on the field, and had awakened this morning determined to go to the hospital to see how he was doing.
    But why did she feel so guilty about it? What on earth could possibly be wrong with visiting an injured boy?
    She could almost see Chuck gazing at her with that look of his, the look that told her he couldn’t fathom her thought processes, and that, therefore, there must be something wrong with them. And she could hear him, too, his voice taking on what she thought of as his “logical tone.” “But don’t you see? If you go to the hospital, it’s as much as admitting that Jeff was somehow responsible for what happened. And even if he were responsible—which he’s not—it would still be a mistake. The lawyers could make hay with something like that.”
    Or was it Chuck’s voice she was hearing? Was that really what he’d say, or was it how she herself felt, deep inside?
    It didn’t matter. Right or wrong, she was going.
    Thirty minutes later, forcing herself not to glance around to see who might be watching, she pushed through the doors into the lobby of the small county hospital and stepped up tothe counter. From behind the glass Anne Carson smiled at her, then rolled her eyes and pointed meaningfully at the phone she was cradling against her ear. Several times, as Charlotte watched, Anne opened her mouth to say something then closed it again as the person at the other end apparently went right on talking. Finally, though, Anne wearily put the phone back on the hook and slid open the glass panel that separated the waiting room from the office.
    “Charlotte! What brings you down here?” Concern spread over her face. “You’re not sick, are you?”
    Charlotte shook her head. “I … well, I wanted to find out how the Ramirez boy is. From Fairfield?”
    “Not good, I’m afraid,” she said, then forced a small smile. “He’s in room three, down the hall.” She hesitated, then understanding