Chapter Fifteen

ON the knife edge of a scream, the world shuddered to a halt. Claire's eyes were open now, wide and glazed like those of a hare mesmerized by fright, staring straight into the glare of the remembered headlamps. Her pupils were even contracted, her lips parted for the scream Adam had interrupted. Seizing upon that moment of paralysis, he moved in with surgical delicacy to direct her perceptions.

"Can you see him?" he asked softly. "I know there's a glare from the headlights, but can you see his face behind the windscreen?"

"Too bright," she murmured. "And still too far away…"

"Adjust your video machine," Adam urged. "It can do all kinds of things that an ordinary machine can't do. You can step down the light level, filter it, zoom in on his image…. Make the necessary adjustments, Claire. You can see him…."

Adam could not see the face, try as he might. For Claire, however, her adjustment of perception seemed to achieve the desired effect.

"It's him!" she murmured breathlessly. "I can see him now - see him clearly!"

"Describe him to me, then," Adam ordered. "Tell me what he looks like, in as much detail as you can manage."

He could not spare a glance for anyone but Claire - indeed, had almost forgotten the presence of McLeod and the enrapt Peterson - but McLeod was already glancing back at the artist - who was leaning forward avidly, his eyes slightly glazed, pencil poised above his sketch pad. A shiver passed through Claire's seated body before she began haltingly to speak.

"He's young - early twenties, maybe… clean-shaven… hair straight and dark, cut longish… good-looking, actually. The face is square, with hollow cheeks and high cheekbones…."

"Alec, are you getting all this?" McLeod whispered to Peterson, whose response was a distracted nod. The artist's pencil flew, executing swift strokes across the page as he strove to capture what Claire was describing.

"Full lips… longish nose, narrow at the bridge, with nostrils a bit flared… There's a - a sort of a bump, like he might have broken it once…."

Peterson kept drawing for several minutes after she had wound to a halt, at length passing the sketch pad over to McLeod.

"Is it possible for her to look this over, see if I'm getting it right?" he asked in a shaky undertone.

McLeod glanced at the drawing in his hands, then passed it to Adam. The face that looked back at them from the paper was that of a spoilt, impetuous youth.

"Claire, I'd like you to take a look at Mr. Peterson's sketch and tell me what you think," Adam said quietly. "Keep the actual image on your video screen strongly before you, then compare it with the sketch."

He put the sketch pad into her hands. Dispassionately the blue eyes tracked down to the drawing, flicking across it without reaction as she slowly nodded.

"It's very close," she said. "The chin needs to be sharper and the ears neater. And the hair's a little too clean-cut. It should be a bit longer on top, like a pop star's. It's quite dark, by the way - maybe black. And the eyes are light; I couldn't see the color."

When she made no further comment, Adam reclaimed the sketch and returned it to Peterson. Tongue between his teeth, the police artist went back to work. After a short interval, he returned the amended sketch for Claire's inspection. Again she pointed out necessary refinements, which Peterson dutifully made. It took four tries before she pronounced herself satisfied.

"That's the man," she said, holding it at arm's length before her. "That's him exactly."

"Excellent," Adam said. "Close your eyes now, and relax for a few minutes. Go deep asleep and take a nice rest until I touch your hand and call you by name."

As she subsided, eyes drifting closed again, Adam took the sketch pad from her slack hands and shifted his attention to Peterson, intending to compliment him on his work. The police artist looked bewildered and just a little distressed. McLeod had noticed it, too, and laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"What's the matter, son?" he asked.

Peterson ducked his head, just missing a shiver. "Sorry, sir," he said with some difficulty. "It's just that - if you don't mind my saying so, this is pretty spooky stuff. Would you mind if - if I went and got a cup of coffee?''

"Not at all," Adam said, before McLeod could reply. "I think that's a very good idea. But would you close your eyes for a moment first, please? I think you may have gone a little into trance there, and I want to make sure you're fully back to waking consciousness. It's perfectly normal," he added with a smile, at Peterson's delayed look of startled surprise. "Happens quite frequently."

"But I - "

"Close your eyes, Alec," Adam commanded, leaning forward without warning to lay his hand across the artist's brow. "Don't fight it; just relax and let that breath all the way out. That's right," he added, dropping his hand as Peterson subsided without resistance - indication that, indeed, he had been in trance and still was. "You're perfectly fine, and nothing happened at all out of the ordinary. There's nothing frightening about hypnotic regression; it's simply a tool like any other. Between your efforts and Claire's, we may well bring our man to justice. You've both done very well. You can take pride in your work. It was very well done, indeed."

He cast a cautionary glance at McLeod as he went on, sitting back in his chair.

' Take another deep breath now, and let it all the way out. And when I count backward from five to one, on one, you'll come back to normal waking consciousness, feeling fine, with what happened here just a little hazy - which is just the way you want it to be. And five… four… three… two… and one. Open your eyes now, Alec, and have a nice stretch. You might like to go on down to the hospital cafe and wait there for Inspector McLeod, have that cup of coffee."

"Aye, I'll join you in a bit," McLeod added, on cue, as Peterson's eyes fluttered open and he heaved a heavy sigh. "Dr. Sinclair and I have one or two points yet to clear up, but it shouldn't take long. Just leave the sketch pad here for now. I'll bring it when I come down. And congratulations; you did a nice piece of work." "Thank you, sir."

Without demur, Peterson packed up his art satchel and took himself off, clearly relieved to be going. As the door closed behind him, Adam murmured with a wry smile, "I do believe we gave Mr. Peterson a fright."

McLeod allowed himself a dour chuckle. "Well, he isn't a Peregrine Lovat, but he did all right, didn't he? And we can hardly blame him for getting the wind up. I dare say this kind of thing would raise my hackles, too, if I'd never seen anything like it before - and it did, as I recall." "It did," Adam agreed with a smile. "In any case," McLeod went on, "I'll take Alec's sketch and get Donald to fax copies to all and sundry. It won't necessarily guarantee that our hit-and-run driver will be picked up, but it'll certainly help reactivate the search."

"It will that," Adam said. "In the meantime, there's still the question of Carnage Corridor. This should make the difference, break the dream cycle, but before I bring Claire fully out of trance, I'd like to find out if seeing that driver's face has made any difference in her outlook - and if it hasn't, see what can be done about it."

Claire Crawford was sitting as Adam had left her, eyes closed and head slightly bowed, her hands at rest in her lap. Lightly touching her left wrist, he said, "Claire, it's Dr. Sinclair again. I have one last task for you, before we bring today's session to a close. Now that you've given us a description of the man who ran you down, I'd like you to study his likeness and tell me what you make of him. I'd like you to try and imagine what you would say to him if you were to find yourself face to face with him in this room. Open your eyes and look at the picture of him. Use that as your focus, and tell me what you see."

He put the sketch pad in her hands as she opened her eyes. For long seconds she stared at the likeness in front of her with silent, penetrating intensity. Then all at once she uttered a small gasp and rocked back in her chair.

"Dear God, I think I - I touched him!" she breathed agitatedly. "It was just for an instant, but I - actually came into contact with him - the man who killed my husband! The man who crippled me!"

McLeod glanced at Adam, suppressing a startled exclamation, but Adam was already leaning forward, setting a hand on her wrist again.

"I understand," he said quietly, his voice betraying none of his own rising excitement. "Please go on."

Claire took a gulp of breath, her words tumbling over one another in her excitement, but still focused, still deep in trance.

"So very strange," she murmured. "What his name might be, I still don't know. All the same, for a second or two it was as if I was - inside his head! I could see what he was like - knew exactly what he was feeling - "

"Describe your impressions," Adam prompted, as she broke off with a shudder.

The sound of his voice seemed to steady her. "He's younger than he looks," she whispered. "And smart - so smart, he used to think there wasn't anything he couldn't do. He was ambitious… wanted to get ahead in the world…."

"Do you know what he was doing out on the road that night?" Adam asked.

She nodded. "He'd just lost his job. He was angry and humiliated. He wanted to get back at somebody - anybody. That's why he stole that car. And he'd been drinking to bolster his courage.

"He - knows now what a terrible mistake he made," she continued. "He lives under a cloud of guilt and failure. He knows he's done wrong, but he's terrified to own up. All he can do is sit around wishing that he could live that night over again and make it somehow turn out differently."

"Interesting," Adam said, well aware that all this could be a fantasy - though it might be true, too. "Tell me," he added neutrally, "even though the law has yet to catch up with him, are you in any way consoled, knowing that he is far from happy in his freedom?"

"I thought I would be," Claire said, "but I'm - not."

There was a note of perplexity in her voice. Adam merely waited, giving her time to analyze her own reactions. After a long moment, she began speaking again.

"I feel I ought to hate him, but I can't," she murmured. "We're too much alike, he and I. Whatever his thoughts and intentions on the night of the accident, he surely never meant for anyone to die - any more than I meant any of those other people to die. How can I demand that he be punished for what he's done, when I'm guilty of much the same crime?"

For her own sake, Adam had been hoping that Claire would find it in her heart to forego her thirst for revenge. Instead, she seemed to be compounding her own guilt - which did no one any good.

"No," he said, "to describe your own actions as criminal is inaccurate. A crime is a premeditated act of wrongdoing." He tapped the drawing with one well-manicured forefinger. "This young man knew full well that it was wrong to steal a car and go for a drunken joy ride, and that his actions were likely to put other lives at risk. At very least, he is guilty of willful negligence.

"You, by contrast, were acting unconsciously. And now that you're aware of your own actions, you're making an effort to control them. Don't be confused into identifying with the opposition on the basis of a faulty comparison. If you're going to put yourself in the same place as the man who injured you, let it be in a spirit of forgiveness that will benefit you both."

More than this he was reluctant to say, for fear of placing Claire under any constraint while so highly suggestible. But before she could voice any response, McLeod's voice interposed with sudden, soft urgency.

"Adam," he murmured, "this is awkward, I know, but there's another presence wants a word."

Glancing at him sharply, Adam immediately touched his hand to Claire's wrist.

"Hear nothing until I touch your wrist again, Claire," he commanded. "Close your eyes and go deep asleep."

She closed her eyes and breathed out with a sigh, and Adam returned his attention to his Second. McLeod's particular gifts as a Huntsman were those of a medium. More than once in their long-running relationship, Adam had seen the bluff inspector play host to spiritual entities seeking to communicate on the material plane. Usually they were summoned for a particular purpose; occasionally they volunteered their presence. When they did the latter, it was usually because they had something to contribute.

"Have you a name?" Adam asked.

"Aye," McLeod said in a tight voice. He had put on his Huntsman's ring as Adam dealt with Claire. "The name is Malcolm Grant."

The most recent crash victim from Carnage Corridor!

"Interesting," Adam said. "They don't usually come through so soon after passing over. Do you want me to guide you down?"

"I'm on the brink already," McLeod muttered in the same taut under-voice. "He's really strong. Just stay with me, Adam. I'm not entirely sure he knows what he's doing, but I get the feeling it's fairly urgent."

"All right," Adam said quietly, slipping his hand into his lab coat pocket for his own ring. "Close your eyes and relax, but don't open to him yet. I'll have a word with him, before I let him take you. That's good. Now, on my signal, go deep."

Reaching out with his ring hand, he touched his fingertips lightly to McLeod's forehead, watching the tension melt away as the inspector slid quickly and profoundly into trance. Maintaining that point of contact, unconsciously searching the air around them - though he knew his eyes would see nothing - Adam likewise became aware of another presence very near.

"Malcolm Grant," he said softly, "if you are here of your own free will, in good conscience and of beneficial intent, this man, Noel Gordon McLeod, gives you leave to enter the temple of his body, to speak with his voice. He asks only that you come and go in peace, doing no one any harm. And I stand ready to defend him, should you seek to go beyond what is offered."

Lifting his hand from McLeod's forehead, he sketched in the air a symbol of power that would give binding force to his words. A flash of blue light from the sapphire in his ring marked the completion of the gesture. McLeod gasped, and his grizzled head snapped back. When he straightened up again, the intelligence cautiously looking out from behind the gold-rimmed aviator spectacles was other than his own.

"You were there when I passed over," the newcomer said to Adam. "You tried to help me."

Adam inclined his head. "I regret I could not do more."

"You can do more now," said the entity who had been Malcolm Grant. "You must let me speak with Claire Crawford. I have something to say to her, which I believe might help her."

Adam inclined his head again. "I will relay your message," he told the spirit inhabiting McLeod's body, "but she will have to decide whether or not to hear you out. Please wait."

His hand sketched a different symbol above Claire's head, of protection rather than binding, then lightly touched her wrist.

"Claire, the spirit of one of the crash victims is here: a man by the name of Malcolm Grant. He wishes to communicate with you. Are you willing to listen?"

"Has he come to accuse me?"

"He has said he wishes to help."

"I will speak to him."

She turned her face toward McLeod's body, obviously seeing beyond the physical.

"Malcolm Grant," she said. "I recognize your name. I know you have come because I am responsible for your death. I caused you to run your car off the road. I can offer no excuse for my action. Though I had no intention of injuring you, the consequences to you were the same. That being so, I accept any blame you wish to lay upon me, together with any penance you may ask of me."

McLeod's blue eyes searched her face with lively interest.

"You misunderstand," said the voice of Malcolm Grant.

"I haven't come here to condemn you - but rather to urge you not to condemn yourself."

"Why should you not condemn me? I cut your life short."

"Our paths crossed entirely by accident. If the consequences were tragic, that is neither your fault nor mine. By definition, an accident is an unforeseen event, something none of the parties involved might have intended or anticipated. Since you had no more foreknowledge of what was going to happen than I had, you can hardly hold yourself morally responsible for what happened to me."

"But I was responsible, if only indirectly," Claire insisted. "Surely it is only just that I should render you compensation?"

"What are you prepared to offer me?" Grant asked. "Can you give me back the rest of my life? Or take away the grief of my family and friends?"

The questions seemed to take Claire slightly aback. "I would, if only I could. But what you are suggesting is impossible."

"Then I will offer you another proposition - some other thing that you could give me," Grant said.

Claire's head lifted. "What is that?"

McLeod's craggy face assumed the trace of a whimsical smile. "Your promise," Grant said. "Your promise that you will put aside this burden of guilt you seem so determined to lay upon yourself. No amount of further suffering on your part will serve any useful purpose. By the same token, don't be afraid of your memories. If you wish to redeem your present life, the key to that redemption is to be found in your past."

"I - I'm not sure I understand," Claire said, her voice faltering.

"Then ask your mentor. He will guide you in life, as he guided me in death."

Claire turned her entranced gaze toward Adam, like a blind woman turning her face toward the heat of a sun she could not see.

"Dr. Sinclair?" she whispered.

"I cannot give you peace, but you can find it," Adam said softly, recalling the words of the Master, and grateful to Malcolm Grant for this opportunity to apply those words. "You have the knowledge within you to release yourself from the guilt that binds you. There is a part of you which understands completely everything that has happened to you. Welcome your past back into your present life - all of your past - and it will bring you all the strength and comfort that you need."

"But, how do I do that?" Claire asked, her eyes a-brim with tears. "Can you help me?"

"I can - but only if you truly wish and will it."

"Oh, I do!" Claire cried. "With all my heart, I do!"

Her consent, thus given, gave Adam all the mandate he required. In that instant he knew the images that would set her free, and his heart lifted as he realized that healing was now within her grasp.

"Very well," he said. "Close your eyes and go even deeper within your heart of hearts… deeper… and now deeper still. And now you find yourself standing at the bottom of a vast well. It represents the very depths to which your soul may sink in despair, but it also contains all the richness of your past, in all its times and facets and wisdom.

"High above, see the bright circle of light, which is your present life, and which holds revelation, if you will only rise to meet it. As you ascend, embracing your past, you will see your reflection mirrored above. When you get close enough to touch it, the past and the present will meet in you and become one, and reveal to you a truth that will give you strength to go on… but it is you who must choose to venture closer to the Light…."

"Yes… I choose!"

Claire's head fell back, her arms outfiung and trailing to her sides. With her face turned upward toward the ceiling, she looked like a swimmer coming to the surface to breathe, her expression ever more joyous.

"Yes!" she murmured again, breathing out with a long sigh. "I see it. I see it all now…."

A small quiver rippled down the length of her relaxed body, and when it passed, she lowered her head slightly, her eyes opening dreamily to stare unfocused past Adam.

"How could I have forgotten?'' she whispered. "Oh, I do understand. There is no evil committed in this world that cannot be redeemed by a greater love. For a will to love will always find a worthy object…."

The voice was Claire's, but the words belonged to Annet Maxwell. Hearing this echo from Claire's historic past, Adam knew that the gap between these two aspects of her being had been bridged, and that healing now would come. It was only a matter of time. A smile stole unconsciously across his own lips as he briefly touched her hand again.

"You've been through a very great trial, Claire," he said gently. "In a moment I'll ask you to sleep - true sleep, deep and undisturbed, so that you may wake up later this afternoon, refreshed and clear-headed. You will remember nothing alarming in what was said and done today, but the essence of what has been accomplished will filter through to you in your dreams, replacing visions of destruction with visions of peace. Those visions will guide you, if you let them, helping you to find fulfillment in the future.

"Sleep now, deep and restful. A little later, I'll have the nurses put you to bed, but you will not rouse."

As he touched her hand again, Claire's blue eyes closed. She breathed out with a sigh, and her respiration shifted. Her expression in sleep was like that of a weary child. With his own sigh, Adam turned at last toward the witness still present in McLeod's body.

"Malcolm Grant, are you satisfied with what has been accomplished here today?" he asked.

"I am."

"Then go, as you came, in peace," Adam said quietly. "And may all the blessings of the Light attend you."

So saying, he raised his ring hand to touch McLeod lightly on the forehead with the sapphire. The inspector exhaled softly as the spirit of Grant withdrew, and sagged forward against the hand Adam shifted to steady him.

"Your guest has gone, Noel," he said quietly. "Draw a deep breath, take a moment to reorient yourself, and come back when you're ready. When you open your eyes, you will find yourself once more firmly grounded in the present, feeling relaxed and renewed."

Obedient to his superior's instructions, McLeod inhaled deeply. A slight tremor registered in his extremities, and Adam sat back to wait. When McLeod roused a moment later, his gaze was fully awake and aware.

"Welcome back," Adam said. "How are you?"

"Not bad at all," McLeod said. "My visitor made a most courteous withdrawal. I guess he was more experienced than I first thought." He looked from Adam to Claire's sleeping form and back again. "What happened while I was out?"

Briefly Adam acquainted him with what had taken place. McLeod heard him out in thoughtful silence.

"Well," he exclaimed, when Adam had finished. "This has been a very busy day - and it's only half over. By the way, did I think to tell you earlier that the Scanlan postmortem's at two?"

Adam rolled his eyes heavenward. "No, you did not."

"Sorry. Is it a problem?"

"No. It's - nearly eleven now, though," Adam said, consulting his pocket watch, "and I promised to look in on that other patient before lunch. If we hustle, though, we ought to just make it."

"Ready whenever you are," McLeod replied, getting to his feet. "At least it appears we've accomplished one worthwhile objective today."

As he glanced at Claire, Adam smiled and nodded.

"Quite true - and in a rather spectacular fashion. Unless I'm very much mistaken, when Claire next wakes, she'll be on her way to becoming a complete woman again."

"Aye, thank God for that!" McLeod murmured fervently. "And Carnage Corridor will be a safe stretch of road to travel again. Now all we have to do is hie ourselves off to Dumbarton. Your car or mine?"