Wendsday morning:
Why, Sammie? Why?
Claire looked at the corpse, which was crammed in between the tool bench and the garage wall. There was no mistaking one of Samara's victims—the features contorted in the face of an unspeakable horror, combined with the bloated, waterlogged look of a 'floater'. Although she had only seen one other, the corpse of Noah Clay, she recognized it.
Samara had killed this man, Eric Wechsler, a minor executive for a banking firm, and Claire had no idea why. Nor did she know how. Was there another videotape for the curse to work through?
She raised a gloved hand to rub at the back of her neck through the biohazard suit. Never comfortable at their best, this suit seemed especially designed to irk her. There was a rough spot back there which was rubbing her skin raw. "Is his wife available?"
"She's inside." All around her, technicians from the CDC were working on the quarantine bubble.
"Thanks."
Pausing as she passed the SUV parked in the garage, she stopped. Something about demanded her attention. What? Then she realized. It was midnight blue. She circled around it. Sure enough, the front end was crumpled in. Although it had been washed and scrubbed until it gleamed, that would not eradicate the microscopic traces of blood and tissue—if there were any to find. Blood was unbelievably tenacious, and a vehicle's front end had so many places where it could lodge.
"Phil?" One of the techs straightened up from the body. "I autopsied a hit-and-run last week." Exactly seven days ago, in fact. "He was hit by a midnight blue SUV, and here's a midnight blue SUV with front end damage. Are my instincts good enough for you?"
"You want me to check this one out for DNA that matches your hit-and-run victim?" He scratched his head through the biohazard suit's hood. "Wouldn't that be one for the books, if it is. We're sampling everything else around the house, so why not?"
"Would it be admissible in court?" Not that this is likely ever to go to court. Now I know why Samara killed him. Because I talked about how much I hoped they would get this man.
"It'll show probable cause for a search warrant, and the evidence from that will hold up." Phil got out his kit and went to work.
"Thanks." She killed him because she thought that was what I wanted. Sammie, we are going to have a serious discussion about this.
I'm trying to parent a ghost. She shook her head as she passed through the garage door and into the kitchen. I think I'm going insane…At least this is keeping me from thinking about Drew. He had not 'come up for air' since his call on Monday.
The widow, a woman in early middle age who was fighting it with all her might, was sitting on the sofa in the living room as Marty drew a blood sample. She was staring straight ahead, glassy-eyed.
Rachel Keller said Becca, the girl who witnessed her niece's death, went insane. I hope Mrs. Wechsler proves more resilient.
"Mrs. Wechsler? Can you answer a few questions for me about your husband's death? I was told you witnessed it." Claire looked to Marty, who nodded through his biohazard suit, making the hood bounce off his glasses.
Marty was as good a colleague as anyone could find, and an excellent virologist, but the sad truth was that he was a terrible geek. It had nothing to do with being an Asian-American, which he was, albeit, at 6' 3" tall, an unusual one. It was the eyeglasses he wore. Thick and heavy horn rims with an awkward, blocky shape, they screamed 'Geek'. They said, 'I wear socks with sandals, I live at home with my mother, and I have an unhealthy obsession with at least one science fiction series.'
Claire did not know if any of those things were actually true. Besides the glasses, Marty seemed otherwise normal, but the glasses were bad enough.
Focusing her attention back on her work, she sat down next to Mrs. Wechsler. "Your husband died of a very rare virus. The good news is that it's difficult to catch and usually not fatal. It has very unusual symptoms. Now, did your husband tell you he was having hallucinations, in the week before he died?"
"Yes. He said he saw rings. Rings everywhere. On the ground. In the sky."
Such coherence was better than Claire had hoped for.
"That goes along with accounts others have told. What else, if anything, did he see?"
Mrs. Wechsler nodded. "I saw her, too." The woman's voice broke on the word 'her'. "Just before he died. She killed him."
"Who, Mrs. Wechsler?" Claire asked, although she knew the answer.
"Water. The water poured out of nowhere. It was real. She was real." The widow giggled, but not happily. This giggle suggested a hysterical breakdown was near. "Just a little girl. She was wet."
"What did she look like?" Claire pushed on.
"She had dark hair. You couldn't see her face, until—HER EYE OH GOD HER EYE!" Her voice rose to a scream.
"Mrs. Wechsler!" Claire put both hands on the woman's shoulders. "Calm down. You have to calm down. That child—wasn't really there."
"She touched his chest over his heart and he died. Right there." Mrs. Wechsler's voice dissolved into a gurgle. "Just a little little girl. I SAW HER!"
"Mrs. Wechsler, believe me when I tell you she wasn't really there. She was a hallucination. A strange side-effect of this virus, the virus your husband died of, is a hallucination of a child, a dark-haired child. It was only a hallucination."
Claire caught Marty's eye, trying to communicate Don't question this now, and I'll tell you all about it later. Marty looked dubious.
"That means I must have it too. Does that mean I'm going to die, too?" The bereaved woman gripped Claire's shoulders. "Is she coming back for me?"
"Did you see the ring?"
"No."
"Then you won't die. Now, you're going to have to go to the hospital for a few days for some tests, and your home will be under quarantine…" Claire rattled off the rest of the information she had to give, and let Marty lead Mrs. Wechsler off to the ambulance. Various other tasks claimed her attention, and she lost track of Marty until they were out of the mobile decontamination unit and back in street clothes. Riding back to the CDC in the center's van, she avoided his eye, hoping he had forgotten, trying to work out what she would tell him if he hadn't.
"Hallucinations of a dark-haired child, you say." Marty stated.
"Yes." Claire looked up at him, trying to look at the person behind the glasses. Where and how did a man of Asian descent come by such length of bone? Not to mention a nose like Sherlock Holmes'…
"I've spoken with both Rachel and Aiden Keller, and they were quite specific about their symptoms. My research isn't at a stage where I would publish it, but I can give you a copy of what I have so far." Once I throw something together, that is.
"I've been studying viruses for nearly eighteen years, and I have never come across any virus which had among its symptoms such curiously specific hallucinations. Hallucinations are born in the mind of an individual. For two or more people to share the same hallucination is as likely as two or more people having identical dreams."
"Nevertheless, both survivors report seeing the same hallucinations, as did Mr. and Mrs. Wechsler."
"Mrs. Wechsler tested negative for the virus."
"Oh." was all Claire could think of at that moment. "I know it defies explanation, but—."
"And I saw a dark-haired child sitting cuddled up in your lap on the ride back in the van. A child who wasn't there—at least not physically."
"Oh."
"Who is she?"
"Whose DNA is inextricably bound up in that of the virus?" Claire countered. "You discovered it yourself."
"Samara Morgan's. She is killing people."
"Yes. You're taking this in a very matter-of-fact way."
"My mother is a--for lack of a better word, a priestess. You've never met her. I think perhaps you should."
A/N: Whew! May was a rough month, but I hope things will settle down now that it's summer. Thank you MimiB.Real! As for the movie--how about Lilo and Stitch? (sort of a Daveigh Chase crossover). Thank you, Vampyro, Over the moon--I'm going to have to go and review your story, and don't think I didn't notice the Dead Wet Girl reference! And thank you Miss Janet!