§ § § -- September 15, 1996
Leslie made her way through the dispersing audience to where Michiko still sat with Adriana; they looked relieved to see her coming. "I'll take you two back with us," she said. "Joy Foster and I looked through her sister's dressing room and found something we need to give to the doctors, so we'll drop you off at Julie's B&B on our way there."
"Will she be all right?" Adriana asked fearfully. "I really like this group and I'd hate to see one of them die."
"We're hoping so, Adriana," Leslie said and smiled at the girl. "Come on, we have to hurry." She started back to the stage with Michiko and Adriana in her wake, and a few minutes later they were all in a jeep on the way back to the eastern end of the island. Joy, of course, recognized Michiko and gaped at her.
"I…were you watching the show?" Joy asked, stunned.
Michiko nodded and smiled sympathetically. "Yes, and I think your group has a wonderful talent. Right now you need to focus on your sister, and you have our fervent wishes for a speedy and successful recovery for her."
Joy smiled tremulously. "Thank you," she murmured. After that the conversation fell by the wayside; Leslie concentrated on the road, driving as fast as she dared, relieved that automobile traffic on the island was still all but nonexistent. On two or three occasions she caught bikers in her headlights and urgently punched the horn to warn them out of the way, but other than that they had clear roads all the way back. After leaving Michiko and Adriana at the B&B, Leslie rushed herself and Joy to the hospital, leading the way in at a run with Joy nearly stepping on her heels.
They found Roarke with Brooke, Daphne and Cyndy in the waiting area; the three women leaped to their feet when Joy and Leslie appeared. "Anything?" Cyndy asked.
Joy pulled out the syringe Leslie had given her. "We found this," she said grimly.
Daphne gaped at it as if she had never seen such a thing before, and then gawked at her sisters and cousin with stricken eyes. "Shara's hooked on drugs?" she squeaked in a voice that wobbled with disbelieving tears.
"Looks like it." Joy patted Daphne's shoulder and handed Roarke the syringe, which he examined critically at close range. "Do you think they'll find anything in that, Mr. Roarke?" she asked hopefully.
"It doesn't look too likely," Leslie interjected. "I think that's just water inside."
"You appear to be correct, Leslie," Roarke agreed gravely. "However, this should be turned over to the staff in any case. Perhaps they can find something we aren't able to."
They waited for two hours before Shara's attending doctor came out and shook his head. "I'm afraid we couldn't get anything from the syringe," he said quietly, his voice heavy with foreboding. "I'm sorry."
"Don't you know what she took?" Joy asked, aghast. "You must've taken blood from Shara when she got here…"
"Whatever it was, either it dissipated quickly from her bloodstream or our equipment isn't sophisticated enough to detect it," the doctor said. He scrubbed a hand down his face, looking weary with frustration and urgency. "All I can tell you is, unless a miracle happens and we find out what she took, she stands a large chance of dying." He sighed and shook his head; Shara's sisters and cousin gaped in horror at one another, and Roarke and Leslie looked at each other in grim silence.
"What did you find in her blood, though?" Daphne demanded suddenly.
"Nothing much out of the ordinary," the doctor said. "The only aberration was a slight case of anemia, which we're trying to treat now, but…" He broke off and shook his head. "If any of you has even the smallest clue as to what she might have been taking—that is, did you ever happen to see her injecting the drug?"
"We didn't even know she was hooked!" Brooke burst out in frustration. "She did such a great job of hiding her addiction from us, we had no idea she was even using. What sort of drug could have the kind of characteristics that prevent medicine from finding out what it was?" She turned to Roarke and Leslie. "Every time you hear about this kind of thing, the drug always leaves some trace in the bloodstream or somewhere, so that it's clear what the user overdosed on and something can be done to counteract it. How on earth could Shara have found a drug that acts like this one does?"
"We'll keep trying to find something to halt Miss Foster's decline," the doctor said, "but unless we find out what she took, we can only prolong her life by degrees. If you can think of anything that might help, please let us know as soon as you come up with it." He left the waiting area, and the Fosters and Cyndy stared bleakly at one another.
Joy sighed deeply, as if all hope had leaked out of her. "There's not much reason for you to stay, Mr. Roarke and Leslie," she said limply. "You should go on home."
Roarke frowned but arose. "Unfortunately, I do have other things that need my attention," he said, "but Leslie will be at the main house if you have any news. She will get word to me in that case. But in the meantime, consider the doctor's request and try to think back on anything unusual you may have noticed about Shara of late."
"We're racking our brains as you speak, Mr. Roarke," Cyndy assured him.
"Good," Roarke said and smiled faintly, nodding. "Don't give up hope. There may yet be an answer." He paused long enough to aim the smile at each sister in turn before nodding. "Please excuse us. Leslie?"
Outside, Roarke and Leslie exchanged keys. "If you hear nothing, Leslie," he said, "you may as well retire early. Otherwise, you know how to reach me."
"Got it, Father," she said. "Should I see about Mr. Charlimansky?"
"I believe he was pursuing a…'hot lead'," said Roarke with some amusement. "It seems he is handling his fantasy admirably. Unless he comes to the office and specifically requests your assistance, you can set aside any worries about that. Just take any messages and be ready to handle anything that may suddenly come up. I must hurry."
She tipped forward and kissed his cheek unexpectedly. "Be careful, Father," she said. He smiled at her and brushed back her hair before turning and going to the jeep in which she and Joy had arrived; Leslie watched it disappear down the Ring Road before taking the station wagon back to the main house.
She was surprised to note that the grandfather clock showed past nine; she'd had no idea they'd been waiting so long. There was nothing on the answering machine, and no pressing paperwork; so she went to the computer and idly checked her e-mail, sitting up in surprise to find no fewer than three messages from Christian. The first one was a cheery reply to her last missive; the second wondered if she was unusually busy. The third sounded a little frantic, she thought, reading it over with a grin. "Where are you, Leslie Rose? I know it isn't so late on your side of our little planet. I hoped to chat a bit with you before you go to sleep tonight. Please answer. I love you."
Leslie chuckled. "Poor Christian," she murmured and clicked on the reply button to compose her response to him.
Hi, my love...
I'm sorry I didn't reply till now. We had an urgent situation here. Remember the singing group I mentioned before? It turns out that one of the sisters overdosed on some mysterious drug and is now in the hospital. Unfortunately, the doctors can't figure out what she took. Apparently the drug leaves no trace in the system, even though we had her at the hospital within half an hour of her collapse. The doctors are completely stymied, and her sisters and cousin are frantic, trying to come up with some clue that might help her. There wasn't anything we could do at the moment, so they let Father and me go. He's out making rounds, and I'm here holding down the fort till he gets back, or something happens, whichever comes first. I'll be up for some time yet, so we can have that chat you wanted. :)
Love, Leslie
She settled back in her chair and gazed out the French shutters, waiting patiently. After a moment she rose and headed for the kitchen to get some lemonade; when she came back, there was a reply from Christian. Its content surprised her greatly:
Leslie, my Rose,
I'm glad you're all right. I must say I was very startled and alarmed to read your account of the sister who overdosed. You didn't give much information, but what little you provided made me think of something. A drug that leaves no trace in the system within half an hour of ingestion? I can't remember where I heard of such a thing, but I know I have. Marina is here as well, and I can check with her if my hunch plays out. Tell me, my darling, what kind of symptoms your guest had, if you can. If either Marina or I can help, we will. Hurry!
All my love, Christian
Leslie stared at the message for a moment, then gnawed unconsciously on her lip as she rapidly typed out her reply, enumerating what Cyndy and Brooke had related having seen in Shara throughout the day as well as her habits over the last year or so. She hit the send button and waited tensely, staring at the screen and hoping against hope that Marina and Christian could provide the answers they needed so badly.
It was perhaps five minutes before his reply appeared in her e-mail in-box, but it felt like the longest five minutes she'd ever spent. She immediately opened the message.
Dearest Leslie,
I just spoke with Marina, and she knows exactly what your guest took. She tells me that the symptoms and characteristics of this addiction precisely match those of a drug called "black lightning". It is derived from amakarna; the properties that lessen one's need for sleep and increase one's energy and general well-being can be separated out and distilled into a fairly potent narcotic. It isn't well-known because of the rarity of amakarna, which also makes it quite expensive. But Marina knows of a lucrative trade in the drug. She won't explain how she knows; it seems to me as if she is hiding something, or trying to protect someone. In any case, an overdose is always fatal without the antidote.
Now the very bad news, my darling...Marina doesn't know what the antidote is. My only suggestion is that you tell Mr. Roarke immediately if you can. If anyone knows what to do, he will, I'm sure. Please let me know if we have been able to help. I will be here throughout the day, so I'll be waiting.
My love always, Christian
"Oh my God," Leslie whispered, barely audible even to herself. There was only one way to find Roarke. She seldom used the ability he'd long ago revealed to her of making quick appearances in and out of a fantasy; usually that was his domain. But this was an emergency, and she could only hope it would work. She typed and sent a quick thanks and acknowledgement to Christian before heading for the time-travel room.
Out of reflex Leslie always shut her eyes when she performed this little trick, so that when she opened them this time, she was surprised to see where she had ended up. It was a dirt lot fronting a seedy bar just outside the fishing village; a police jeep, lights flashing, sat beside Roarke's jeep, along with the green medical jeep belonging to Dr. Fernando Ordoñez. Two policemen, Roarke, and a small crowd of native villagers stood watching while Fernando bandaged the evidently broken ankle of an overweight young man who sat on the ground wincing and looking very embarrassed.
Roarke apparently sensed something because he looked around seconds after she got there and focused on her with some surprise. With a quick word to one of the cops, he came to her and asked, "Has something happened, Leslie?"
She nodded. "I was e-mailing Christian, and I told him a little about what happened to Shara Foster. Something about the symptoms struck a chord with him, and he conferred with Marina. They figured out what she overdosed on—something called black lightning. Christian said Marina told him it's distilled from amakarna."
Roarke's dark eyes widened with what appeared to be shock. "Black lightning," he breathed, as if stunned.
