Chapter Thirteen

When Perry got out of the car at the Petersons' home, to his surprise Howie burst through the door and ran onto the porch. "Mr. Mason!" he called, his eyes wide and worried. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Perry glanced at his bandaged arm and the torn and bloodied coat sleeve. "Why, yes," he said. "But Howie, how do you know who I am? We haven't met."

Howie shifted. "I know, and that's the weird part," he said. "It feels like we have." He shrugged. "Mom says I've got too much imagination and that I'm making up the whole thing after seeing you in the newspapers and on TV. But I don't know if it's true or not."

Perry's frown deepened. "What about this gentleman here?" he queried, indicating Andy as he stepped out from the driver's seat. "Do you feel you've met him too?"

Howie nodded vigorously. "Oh, I've met him, Mr. Mason," he said. "He's the principal. Hello, Mr. Anderson."

Andy nodded in return. "Hello, Howie."

Howie cocked his head to the side. "It's weird, though," he continued.

Andy blinked. "How do you mean?"

Howie shivered. "I've always had a creepy feeling when I see you, Sir," he said. "Like . . ." He frowned. "Like I know something really awful or really sad about you." He looked at the porch. "I don't know why."

Andy exchanged a look with Perry. He had been shot right in the Petersons' home, according to Hamilton and Paul. Could that be what Howie was thinking of?

Embarrassed now, Howie kicked at the porch. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't know why I said that. Mom would be mad if she knew."

Andy hastened forward. "No," he exclaimed. "Don't apologize, Howie. I want to know these things. Mr. Mason does too."

Perry sighed. On the way there, Andy had told him that Howie often escaped into his shell. According to Andy, Howie had been far more open and friendly when Hamilton had been allowed to see him as his godfather. Since the supposed fight with Mignon and his parents' refusal to let Hamilton continue in that role, Howie had withdrawn a great deal. Perry was surprised that the boy had been as talkative now as he had been.

A surge of anger went through his veins. If everything was true, it was not only adults who were suffering from Vivalene's and Judge Heyes' selfishness.

He came closer. "Howie, are your parents home?" he asked.

Howie shook his head. "They're probably trying to get home now," he said. Fear flashed in his eyes. He did not want to say it and make it seem more real, but he was terrified that they had been hurt in the earthquake.

Andy frowned. "Why did they go away and leave you here by yourself?" he said in disbelief.

"They got a sitter, but she wasn't any good." Howie frowned. "She left with her boyfriend and said she'd be back in a while. That was a long time ago!"

"Well, we certainly can't leave you all alone," said Perry. "There may be more aftershocks." He straightened, debating with himself before at last relenting to ask what was on his mind. "Howie, do you know if there was a metal box in your house?"

Howie bit his lip. "I don't know," he said. "I don't think so."

"Do you know what Mr. Burger has been saying about that box?" Andy chimed in.

"Uh uh." Howie's face fell. "Mom and Dad won't let me talk to Mr. Burger. But I called him last night to tell him something was wrong at Mignon's house! He called back to tell me what happened." He looked up again. "He tried to call this morning and let me know more, but Mom answered the phone. She wouldn't let me have it." He scowled then sighed. "She did tell me what he said, though. Larry's going to be okay."

"That's right," Perry said.

"I thought maybe Mignon would have told you something of what Mr. Burger has been saying," Andy said.

Howie hesitated. "Well, she did tell me that Mr. Burger and Mr. Drake think something really bad is going on," he said at last. "They're saying we aren't remembering things the way they really are. She thought I should know about it. Mom and Dad couldn't believe she would listen to anything he said."

"And what do you think, Howie?" Perry returned.

Howie considered his answer. "I think Mr. Burger wouldn't say it if he didn't believe it," he said. "He doesn't believe in weird stuff. And . . ." He shifted his weight again. "It'd make sense with me thinking I know you, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," Perry consented, slowly. "It would." He glanced to Andy. "Howie, will you excuse us for a moment?"

Howie nodded. "Sure."

The two men stepped away from the porch. "Mr. Mason, what do you plan to do?" Andy frowned. "Of course we'll have to take him with us, but his parents will be furious if we involve him with Mr. Burger's theories."

"Right now, I'm not sure we have a choice," Perry said. "I wouldn't think of taking Howie if there was another option. When we leave, everything else we do—even looking for the missing people—depends at least partially on these theories. And the sky is getting darker. I think that whatever is happening is only going to continue to get worse."

Andy sighed. "You might be right, but I still don't feel good about this." He pondered the problem. "Maybe we should take him to the hospital and leave him with Mrs. Germaine, if she's still there."

"I hate to do that," Perry said. "She needs rest so badly. But he would surely be safer there than out with us."

"Then let's do it," Andy encouraged. "I'll write a note and leave it in case Mr. and Mrs. Peterson come back." He reached for a small notepad in his pocket.

Perry mulled over the idea for only a moment more. "Alright," he agreed.

He walked back to the porch. "Howie, we're going to try to find Mignon," he said. "If we can, do you want to stay with her for now?"

Howie nodded. "I want to see how Larry's doing, too," he said.

Andy came over with the quickly scribbled note. "Where can I put this where your parents will see it?" he queried.

"Oh." Howie pointed inside. "Just anywhere, I guess. Maybe on the table there."

Andy stepped inside the entryway and slipped the note on the end table under a paperweight. He started to pull the door shut after him when he came back out. "Do you have a key to the house, Howie?" he questioned.

Howie shook his head. "Mignon has one," he said.

"Alright then." Andy resumed closing the door.

Suddenly Howie ran over and grabbed his sleeve. "Just a minute!" he exclaimed. "I wanna get something first. Is that okay?"

Surprised, Andy stepped back. "Of course," he said.

Howie ran inside and up the stairs. A few minutes later he was back, lugging a heavy pack. "Okay," he said.

Andy pulled the door shut and locked it. Perry regarded Howie curiously as they went down the stairs. "What have you got in there, Howie?" he wondered.

"Some stuff," Howie said. "My dumptruck and some other things." He looked up at Perry, his eyes woebegone. "Mr. Mason, do you think my parents are safe?"

Perry hesitated. He disliked being put on the spot in this way. What could he say? He had no idea of the answer. And while he did not want to lie to Howie, he also did not want to frighten the boy more than he already was.

"I don't know," he admitted. "They're very likely just fine and worried about you."

"But they could be hurt," Howie said, his voice quiet.

". . . Yes," Perry said. "They could be."

"Let's not think about that," Andy interjected. He led the way to the car.

Howie pulled open the door to the backseat and climbed in. He remained silent until Perry and Andy had entered as well and Andy had started the engine. Then he leaned forward, gripping the edges of both front seats. "Is Mr. Burger okay?" he asked plaintively. "Do you know?"

Perry frowned again. "I don't know where he is right now," he said. "I hope he's alright." He said the last part half to Howie and half to himself.

xxxx

Judge Heyes glowered to himself as he sat in his chambers, gripping the edge of his desk for dear life as another aftershock began. He dove under the piece of furniture, muttering to himself.

Vivalene thought that she was the one pulling all the strings. Well, he was tired of allowing her to think that. And he was tired of her hocus-pocus. This was not the way he had wanted to run this campaign.

His methods ran more along the line of dirty politics. He had tried that a bit by using Mr. Vann to attempt to bring Larry Germaine onto their side. It had failed, miserably. But there was no reason why he could not try some more.

He could take a page from Vivalene's book and try a smear approach. He could see that Hamilton Burger was branded an incompetent. Or worse, a man gone mad. He could have him removed from office. That would devastate him; he liked what he did. The people of Los Angeles evidently did as well, or they would not keep re-electing him.

Heyes frowned deeper. It would take a long time to turn the people against Hamilton Burger. And time was something he did not have. He always came back to that reasoning for not trying that method. And despite feeling that she had the time, Vivalene had not been interested in it; she had preferred to hit his personal rather than his professional life.

"Judge Heyes?"

He looked up with a start. The aftershock had ended. Mr. Vann was standing in the doorway, all smooth and smug. But his visage flickered with faux concern.

Heyes climbed out from under the desk. "What is it?" he snapped.

Mr. Vann brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I thought you'd like to know," he said. "Perry Mason and the former Lieutenant Anderson picked up Howie Peterson."

Heyes' eyes immediately glimmered. "I see," he mused. "This is interesting."

Vann smiled. "We are on the same wavelength then."

Heyes nodded. "See that they're followed," he ordered. "At the right time, the boy will come into our . . . watchful care. Hamilton Burger is very protective of him. We can easily use him to get what we want."

Vann looked more entertained than anything else. "You're not going to sit and wait, as Vivalene has told you?"

"Of course not," Heyes retorted. "I'm sick of her black magic. Now look what it's doing! It's tearing Los Angeles apart!"

Vann chuckled. "Well. Things are bound to become even more interesting around here," he said.

"Nevermind that," Heyes said. "Just go to the house and check on a couple of people I ordered picked up."

An eyebrow rose. "Oh? Which people are those?"

Heyes fixed him with a cold gaze. "Mr. and Mrs. Peterson."

xxxx

Tragg pressed himself against the side of a building in a darkened alley. His head was pounding, his heart racing. Shaking, he held a hand against his right temple.

"What have I done?" he whispered, somewhere amid the swirling mists of confusion. "I left a man to die. How could I have done that? I swore to protect . . ."

The squeezing pain gripped him again. His face twisted in his agony. He reached out, clutching at the bricks of the building.

"All that matters is what you hear from me, Arthur. Keep coming. I need you with me. You can't ignore me! You don't have the heart."

Tragg pressed himself harder into the bricks. If only they would just swallow him up and free him from this! "No, no. . . ." He shook his head. "I can't go to you. I have to find Steve Drumm."

It felt like a stake being pounded into his heart. He fell back, his mouth open in a silent cry. Whenever the pain worsened and that humming noise started, he began to lose control of himself. From there it was not long and he was at the mercy of the fake Maureen, viewing what he was doing through a strange fog but being unable to do a thing to stop it.

After a moment he pushed away from the building. Now he was no longer bent over in anguish; he walked firm and resolute. But he was also no longer operating under his own power.

xxxx

Hamilton gave an exhausted sigh as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. The building was overly crowded now, with earthquake injuries and the loved ones of those who had been hurt. The only parking spot he could find was far from the doors.

Unsuccessful in locating any of the missing, and with cellphone communication down, they had at last come across a working landline telephone and called the hospital. Mignon had said that Larry was awake. And she had told of what he had said about the mysterious man named Greenbrier. She had also mentioned that the others were starting to convene at the hospital. Paul had come in not long ago with Steve Drumm. Both were hurt. And now Perry and Andy had arrived with Howie Peterson. Perry was hurt as well.

As Hamilton parked and shut off the engine, Della was scrambling for the door. "Do you think they're hurt bad?" she fretted as she fumbled with the handle and then finally forced the door open.

"I don't know," Hamilton said. Since it was pointless to go around and open the door for Della, he just got out, shut his door, and met her on the pavement. "Mignon said she didn't think it was serious, for any of them."

"Well, of course they wouldn't let her think it was!" Della exclaimed.

Hamilton fixed her with a Look. "How do you know that?" he countered.

Della paused and blinked. "I suppose old memories are slowly coming back to me," she said.

"And not any time too soon, I can tell you that," Hamilton said.

They walked briskly over the asphalt and to the doors. The waiting room beyond was overcrowded with worried, nervous people. Some of them bore bloodstains on their clothes and skin—blood that was generally not their own. The nurses and other staff looked overwhelmed.

As they stepped inside Della looked around in sickened worry. "Oh, these poor people," she declared. "Where do we go from here?"

"Let's just try Larry's room," Hamilton suggested. "Maybe they're gathering in there."

"If they're well enough," Della said quietly.

They managed to maneuver around the frightened crowds and down the halls until they reached Larry's room. Hamilton knocked, waiting to hear an answering "Come in" from Mignon before pushing open the door.

A small blur ran to him in the next moment. "Mr. Burger!" Howie cried, hugging him around the waist. "It's been so long!"

Surprised, Hamilton returned the hug. "I know," he said. For him it had technically been only a few days, although it felt an eternity. And for Howie, whose memories had been altered, who knew how long it had seemed.

"I don't want Mom and Dad to make you stay away any more," Howie said. "It's not fair."

Hamilton was about to reply when Mignon spoke up. "Perhaps, if we can solve this mystery, they will change their minds."

Howie gave a determined nod. "We're going to solve it, aren't we, Mr. Burger? We're going to find that box thing?"

"We're going to try," Hamilton said. He was still a bit surprised, by Howie as well as Mignon. Apparently Howie knew and believed at least some of what was happening.

Della, meanwhile, had immediately spotted Perry and run over to him. "Perry!" she called. "Are you alright?"

Perry, standing near the window, looked up with a smile. "I'm just fine," he said. "It's not serious. The doctor confirmed it." He gave Della a searching look. "And you're not hurt, I hope."

Della shook her head. "Mr. Burger and I didn't have any trouble," she said. Her mind eased about Perry, she focused on her other worry. "What about Paul? And that Mr. Drumm?" She looked around the room.

"They're lucky they weren't hurt worse than they were," Perry said. "Mr. Drumm is quite shaken up. His car tipped over. And Paul was knocked unconscious by a falling tree branch during the earthquake. The doctors wanted to run a few more tests, but it doesn't look bad for either of them."

"Thank goodness." Della turned to Mignon and Larry. Larry's glance was without recognition. Mignon nodded in response to Della's silent query.

"Larry is doing well," she said. "The doctors want him to stay here another night, at least, but then he should be able to rest at home."

"I'll be glad when this day is over," Larry complained.

"You're not the only one," Hamilton said as he came over. "I'm glad to see you looking better than you did last night, Larry."

Larry looked a bit awkward and even sheepish. "Thank you, Mr. Burger," he half-mumbled.

"So," Perry said, "I've heard that we may finally be getting somewhere." He glanced at everyone in the room, his gaze resting particularly on Hamilton and Della. "Mr. Anderson and I found an incomplete file in the school basement, listing a man named D. Greenbrier."

Hamilton started. "The same person who was bothering Larry?"

Perry nodded. "It looks that way. And to make things even more interesting, Steve Drumm has the address of a Mr. Greenbrier who uses his house as a museum."

Della was amazed. "Then this is our best lead yet!" she exclaimed. "Are we going to go out there?"

"Of course," Perry said. "The question is, who all is going?"

"Well," Hamilton said, "I can't think that any of us would want to stay behind." He looked from Della to Andy and then to Mignon, questions in his eyes. He wanted her to come. And she, perhaps, needed to come more than any of them, with her knowledge of magic.

Mignon nodded, albeit with some reluctance. "I'll come," she said. "But Howie should stay here with Larry." Her eyes carried a silent message—they still knew nothing of his parents' whereabouts.

Howie exclaimed in protest. "But Mr. Mason said the box was stolen from our house! I should come so I can claim it!"

Perry tried and failed to hide a smile. "If it is the box that was in your house, Howie, I'm afraid we'll know it right away. And I don't know that you'll be able to take it back. If it does all that Mr. Burger and Mr. Drake have claimed, it's very dangerous."

Howie pouted. "I don't want to stay here," he protested.

"I don't either, but I don't have much choice," Larry said. "It won't be so bad, Howie. We can keep each other company."

"Is Paul coming?" Della asked.

The door opened at that minute. "He sure is," Paul declared. "And so's Steve."

Della smiled in relief. Both men bore bandages over their injuries, but seemed otherwise fine.

Perry looked to them. "No concussions?"

"Nope. And we were just lucky." Paul sighed. "Tragg's still missing. We looked high and low for him while we were coming to the hospital."

Mignon looked to Hamilton. "Lieutenant Tragg lost control of himself," she said. "He ran Mr. Drumm's car into a tree branch and then fled, leaving Mr. Drumm stranded inside the car."

"What?" Hamilton stared at her. "Lieutenant Tragg would never do something like that!"

Steve stepped forward. "He told me he was hearing a voice in his head and that it was trying to take over his body," he frowned. "I don't know what's wrong with him. He said the voice sounded like someone named Maureen."

Hamilton gaped at him, at a loss for words. ". . . So now what?" he burst out at last. He looked to Mignon. "Are you trying to say we're dealing with possession?"

"I don't know," Mignon said. "Clearly it's some form of mind-control. But if Lieutenant Tragg's wife was a decent person, then what has happened now must be the result of the missing impostor rather than the real Maureen. The fraud must be using what she did to him to manipulate his actions from afar." She looked from Hamilton to the others in the room. "And as long as Lieutenant Tragg is being influenced to this extent, I'm afraid he must be considered an enemy. He may be capable of anything."

Hamilton threw his hands in the air. He thought he had been taking this quite well, putting up with all manner of preposterous notions and concepts throughout this ordeal. But now he was fed up. "This is ridiculous!" he cried. "People are starting to remember. But it's not bad enough that now we have to deal with earthquakes and lightning storms because of it. We have to consider that one of our own isn't on our side?"

"Not by his own free will," Mignon asserted. "I'm sorry."

"I am too."

Hamilton looked up in surprise. It was Paul who had spoken. Now he had come to stand near Hamilton, genuinely regretful.

"I saw him," Paul confessed. "I was still dazed, but I watched him climb out of the car and run away. I was going to chase after him until I heard Steve calling for help."

Hamilton averted his gaze. "You know, out of everything that's happened, I thought the hardest thing for me to deal with was the effects of Vivalene's lies about me," he said, bitterness slipping into his voice. "But realizing that a friend might be an honest-to-goodness enemy . . . that's much worse."

Paul nodded. "There has to be a way to get through to him," he said. "Tragg's nothing if not stubborn. I can't believe he'd just let Vivalene or anyone else control him."

Hamilton could not fully conceal his surprise that Paul was trying to be comforting. "He wouldn't, if he could help it at all." He headed for the door. "Let's not waste any more time. Let's get going. And we'll look for Tragg on the way."

The others concurred. Most filed to the door. Hamilton and Mignon lingered a moment.

Howie looked up at Hamilton. "I'm scared," he said. His soft voice trembled. "What if something happens to you and Mignon?"

Hamilton glanced Mignon's way before lowering himself to Howie's eye level. "Well . . . I can't lie to you, Howie," he said. "Something might. But we have to do this. It's very important. It means getting all of our lives—and the lives of everyone in Los Angeles County—back to normal."

Howie glowered. "Then you've gotta come back," he said.

Hamilton gave a quiet sigh. "I told you once that I couldn't promise that," he said. "It wouldn't be fair to you. But I also said I'd promise we'd do everything we could to make it back. I'm promising that again now."

Howie bit his lip. At last he nodded his consent. "Okay," he mumbled.

Hamilton stood, laying his hand on Howie's shoulder. Mignon looked to him. "You go ahead," she said. "I'll be along in a minute."

"Alright," Hamilton agreed. He bade them and Larry goodbye before slipping out the door.

Mignon turned her attention to the dejected boy. "Be good," she instructed him. "Mind what Larry tells you."

Howie looked down. "Okay," he mumbled, grudgingly.

"Mother, I don't think you should be going along with this," Larry objected. "You could get hurt! Mr. Burger's already acknowledged that!"

Mignon straightened with a sigh. "Yes," she agreed, "he has. But this affects all of us, Larry. It may all be coming to an end tonight. I need to be with them, to do whatever I can to help."

Larry sighed too. "I know it won't do any good to try to convince you otherwise," he said. "I just wish I wasn't stuck in this bed. I'd come too!"

"Now, Larry. Your role is just as important. Keep watch over Howie." Mignon hid a smile. "I know he would come as well, if we let him."

"Yeah, I would!" Howie said.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Mignon tried to reassure them. She turned to head for the door.

At the last moment Howie chased after her. "You know Mr. Burger is telling the truth, don't you?" he exclaimed.

Mignon blinked in surprise at the frank, innocent question. ". . . Yes," she said at last.

Howie stared up at her. "Then aren't you going to be friends with him again?"

Mignon stared back. Out of the mouths of babes. ". . . Deep down, I don't think we ever stopped being friends," she said. "That's why the pain over what he did—what I thought he did—has never gone away."

"Then tell him," Howie pleaded. "Tell him it's okay and you still love him and want to be friends!"

Mignon bent down, giving Howie a quick hug. "I will," she promised.

Straightening, she opened the door and cast one last look at Larry and Howie. "Take care, both of you," she said.

Outside, the ominous lightning lit up the darkened sky.

xxxx

Maureen was standing on the porch of the grand house, leaning with crossed arms against a white pillar, as Tragg staggered through the gate and started up the driveway. She gave him a cruel smirk.

"You see?" she purred. "I knew you'd come." She shook her head and clucked her tongue. "But oh dear, you're fighting me all the same."

Tragg straightened, glowering in defiance. "You've made a complete mockery out of my wife," he said, his voice dark. "She would never stand for this. Standing there looking like her is absolutely repulsive." His heart throbbed and he gasped, clutching it as he doubled over.

Maureen pushed away from the pillar. "Be repulsed all you like," she said. "It won't help you. Flo, the box!" She clapped her hands at the command.

Tragg looked up, his eyes blearily taking in the sight of another blonde woman stepping onto the porch. In her hands she held the same box that Maureen had attacked him with earlier. It was glowing with dark purple energy as she raised the lid.

Tragg took a step back. "No," he protested, holding up a hand in a vain attempt to shield himself.

It did no good. The misty tendrils curled around his weakened body, drawing more strength from his very heart and soul. The very power to resist was being drained from him even as he fought against it. When enough opposition was gone he stood upright, his eyes glassy and blank.

Maureen smiled. "Now you're under my power all the way," she said. "Come on, Arthur, up the steps. You don't want to be late."

In perfect obedience Tragg advanced to the stairs. He ascended to the porch, walking past Maureen and Flo and into the house, heeding some unheard call.

Maureen laughed. "Yes," she purred. "You don't want to be late for your sacrifice." She followed him inside.

She missed Flo's hesitant look. Debating with herself, Flo at last closed the box and trailed after the others.