Seevers was emptying chemicals into a tub of water in the basement when a monk hurried in to tug at Mendelhaus’ sleeve.
“Father, the sisters report that the girl’s not in the building.”
“What?
Well, she can’t be far!
Search the grounds.
If she’s not there, try the adjoining blocks.”
Paul stopped unbuttoning his shirt.
Willie had said some mournful things about what she would rather do than submit to the craving.
And her startled scream when he had cried out in the darkness—the scream of someone suddenly awakening to reality—from a dream-world.
The monk left the room.
Seevers sloshed more chemicals into the tub.
Paul could hear the wind whipping about the basement windows and the growl of an angry surf not so far away.
Paul rebuttoned his shirt.
“Which way’s the ocean?” he asked suddenly. He backed toward the door.
“No, you fool!” roared Seevers. “You’re not going to—get him, preacher!”
Paul sidestepped as the priest grabbed for him.
He darted outside and began running for the stairs.
Mendelhaus bellowed for him to stop.
“Not me!” Paul called back angrily. “Willie!”
Moments later, he was racing across the sodden lawn and into the street.
He stopped on the corner to get his bearings.
The wind brought the sound of the surf with it. He began running east and calling her name into the night.
The rain had ceased, but the pavement was wet and water gurgled in the gutters.
Occasionally the moon peered through the thinning veil of clouds, but its light failed to furnish a view of the street ahead.
After a minute’s running, he found himself standing on the seawall.
The breakers thundered a stone’s throw across the sand.
For a moment they became visible under the coy moon, then vanished again in blackness.
He had not seen her.
“Willie!”
Only the breakers’ growl responded.
And a glimmer of phosphorescence from the waves.
“Willie!” he slipped down from the seawall and began feeling along the jagged rocks that lay beneath it.
She could not have gotten down without falling.
Then he remembered a rickety flight of steps just to the north, and he trotted quickly toward it.
The moon came out suddenly.
He saw her, and stopped.
She was sitting motionless on the bottom step, holding her face in her hands.
The crutches were stacked neatly against the handrail.
Ten yards across the sand slope lay the hungry, devouring surf.
Paul approached her slowly.
The moon went out again.
His feet sucked at the rain-soaked sand.
He stopped by the handrail, peering at her motionless shadow.
“Willie?”
A low moan, then a long silence.
“I did it, Paul,” she muttered miserably. “It was like a dream at first, but then… you shouted… and…”
He crouched in front of her, sitting on his heels. Then he took her wrists firmly and tugged her hands from her face.
“Don’t—”
He pulled her close and kissed her.
Her mouth was frightened.