F. Paul Wilson - Hosts

Hosts

A Repairman Jack Novel

F. Paul Wilson

Special thanks to Charlotte Abbottfor her many valuable insights.

And thanks to the usual crew fortheir enlightened and discerning input: David Hartwell, Coates Bateman,Elizabeth Monteleone, Steven Spruill, and Albert Zuckerman.

Kate Iverson stared out the windowof the hurtling taxi and wondered where she was. New York was not her town. Sheknew certain sections, and if it were daytime she might have had some idea as toher location, but here in the dark and fog she could have been anywhere.

Shed started the trip thirtyminutes and who-knew-how-many miles ago in the West Twenties with afollow-that-cab scenarioI still cant believe I really said thatthatmoved across town and up the FDR Drive. The East River had served as acomforting landmark for a while, but as twilight had faded to night, the riverfell behind, replaced by dark shapes and fuzzy lights looming in the fog beyondthe roadway.

What road is this? she asked thedriver.

Through the Plexiglas barrier camethe accented reply, double-rolling the rs: Bruckner Expressway. The driversID tag showed a dark mustached face with glowering black eyes and indicated hewas Mustafah Salaam.

Shed often heard the Brucknermentioned in the incessant traffic reports on New York City radio but had noidea where it was.

This is Bronx, the driver added,anticipating her next question.

Kate felt a quick stab of fear. TheBronx? Visions of burned-out buildings and rubble-strewn lots swirled throughher brain.

Oh, Jeanette, she thought, staringahead at the cab they were following, where are you going? Where are you takingme?

Kate had stashed her two teenagerswith her ex and taken a short leave from her pediatric group practice inTrenton to stay with Jeanette during her recovery from brain tumor therapy. Theexperimental treatment had been a resounding success. No ill effects at leastnone that would be apparent to Jeanettes treating physician.

But since completion of thetreatment, Kate had noticed a definite personality change. The Jeanette Vegashed come to know and deeply love over these past two years was a warm, givingperson, full of enthusiasm for life, with an opinion about everything. Adelightfully edgy chatterbox. But slowly she had changed. The new Jeanette wascold and distant, rarely speaking unless spoken to, leaving her apartmentwithout a word about where she was going, disappearing for hours at a time.

At first Kate had chalked it up toan acute reactive depression. Why not? What medical diagnosis can rock thefoundations of your world more deeply than an inoperable malignant brain tumor?But depression didnt quite explain her behavior. When Jeanette should havebeen depressedwhen shed been told she had a literal death sentence growing inher brainshed remained her upbeat self. Now, after a miraculous cure, afterregaining her whole future, shed become another person.

Maybe it was a stress reaction.

Or a side effect of the treatment.As a physician Kate prided herself on keeping current with medical progress, soshe was familiar with medicines cutting edge; but the experimental protocolthat had saved Jeanette seemed damn near science fiction.

Yet it had worked. The tumor wasdead, and Jeanette would live on.

But would she live on without Kate?

That, Kate admitted, was what wasreally disturbing her. Nearing middle agein darn good shape for forty-four,she knew, but still six years older than Jeanetteshe couldnt help worryingthat Jeanette had found someone else. Someone younger.

That would be so unlike the oldJeanette. But this new Jeanette who could say?

Jeanette had been put on noticethat her remaining time on earth was numbered in months instead of decades;shed believed shed seen her last Christmas tree, tasted her last Thanksgivingdinner. And then it was all given back to her. How could anyones psychesurvive that sort of trauma unscathed?

Perhaps the ordeal had causedJeanette to reassess her life. Maybe shed looked around and asked, Is thiswhat I want? And perhaps, in some new back-from-the-brink perspective,shed decided she wanted something else. More. Different.

At least she could tell me, Katethought. She owes me that much.

Jeanette hadnt asked her toleaveshe had the right since it was her apartmentbut she had moved out of thebedroom theyd always shared on Kates visits and into the study where sheslept on the couch. No amount of questioning from Kate had elicited a reasonwhy.

The not knowing gnawed at her. Sotonight, when Jeanette had walked out the door without a word, Kate hadfollowed.

Never in a million years would shehave imagined herself trailing the woman she loved through the night. Butthings change. It hadnt been all that long ago that she never would haveimagined herself loving another woman.

Up ahead, Jeanettes cab turned offthe Bruckner and Kates followed it onto a road the signs identified as theBronx River Parkway. And after a few miles the city suddenly disappeared andthey were in the woodsin the Bronx?

Stay closer, she told the driver.Youre letting them get too far ahead.

She didnt want to come all thisway just to lose her.

Then Kate saw signs for the BronxZoo and New York Botanical Gardens. More turns, each new road smaller than thelast until they were traveling a tree-lined residential street.

Are we still in the Bronx? sheasked, marveling at all the well-kept homes trailing by on either side.

Still Bronx, yes, the driver toldher.

How come it never looks like thison TV? she wondered.

Keep going, Kate said when shesaw Jeanettes cab pull into the curb before a neat brick colonial.

Her anxiety soared as a thousandquestions cascaded through her mind. Who lived there? Another woman?

She had the driver stop half a blockbeyond. She watched Jeanettes cab leave her on the sidewalk and pull away. AsJeanette started up the walk toward the house, Kate opened her own cabs door.

Wait here, she said.

No-no, the driver said. You mustpay.

Nice neighborhood or not, this wasstill the Bronx, and a long way from Jeanettes apartment. Kate did not want tobe stranded here. She glanced at the meter and fished the exact amount out ofher wallet.

Here, she said, keeping her voicelow as she handed him the money. Youll get your tip when we get back to thecity.

He seemed to accept that, noddingwithout comment as he took the money.

She pulled her raincoat tightlyaround her. A chilly night for June. The fog was thinning and the wet streetglistened in the glow from the streetlights; every sound seemed amplified. Katewas glad shed worn sneakers as she padded along the street, keeping the parkedcars between her and Jeanette.

When shed approached as close asshe dared, she stopped behind a tree trunk and watched Jeanette walk up thefront steps of the house. Kates heart ached at the sight of her: a yellow rainslicker and loose jeans hid her feminine curves; a Yankees cap hid much of herstraight, jet black hair, but Kate knew those curves, remembered the strawberryscent of the shampoo Jeanette used to wash that hair.

Suddenly Kate wished she hadntcome. Who was going to open that door? Forty minutes ago shed been dying toknow, now she was terrified. But she couldnt turn away. Especially not now,because the door was opening and a man stood there, a heavyset fiftyish manwith a round face and small eyes and a balding melon head. He smiled and openedhis arms and Jeanette embraced him.

Kates stomach lurched.

A man? Not Jeanette! Anyone butJeanette! It simply wasnt in her!

Stunned, she watched Jeanettefollow him inside. No, this couldnt be. Kate moved out from behind her treeand approached the house. Her sneaker slipped on a wet tree root and she nearlyfell, but kept going, stumbling on until she reached the foot of the frontstoop. She saw the name