House of Bathory(70)
“You might try her at her hotel.”
“She didn’t give me the address. Only that something was wrong—”
“Just a moment. Hotel Arcadia is the listing I have for her.”
“Thank you. I’ll call them immediately.”
“Please know that the ambassador is looking into the matter. And if your sister locates your mother, she should call us immediately so that we can close the file. Good luck.”
Daisy pressed the END button on her cell phone. She narrowed her eyes, thinking.
Chapter 55
BRATISLAVA, SLOVAKIA
DECEMBER 24, 2010
Betsy’s computer pinged, signaling an incoming e-mail. She frowned at the UK address, a username that she did not recognize.
DEAR DR. PATH,
I AM AN EDITOR-AT-LARGE FOR THE PSYCHOLOGY TODAY PUBLICATION. I HAVE BEEN TRAVELING AND WAS NOT PRESENT WHEN MY COLLEAGUES SENT THEIR CORRESPONDENCE TO YOU, CONCERNING YOUR WORK WITH SCHIZOPHRENIA, EMPLOYING FREE ASSOCIATION WITH THE RED BOOK PLATES.
HAVE YOU CONSIDERED EMPLOYING PLATE 34, WITH THE HIGH MOUNTAIN, WHICH COULD APPEAR INSURMOUNTABLE TO A PATIENT, ESPECIALLY DURING A FUGUE EPISODE? IT WOULD BE INTRIGUING TO SEE HOW THE PATIENT REACTS 4-6 HOURS (FROM P.) AFTER A ROBUST DOSE OF CLOZAPRINE, WITH THE CHALLENGE OF LOCATING THE WINDING ROAD TOWARD REALITY.
MOST IMPORTANTLY, IT IS PARAMOUNT THAT THE PATIENT REALIZES HE IS NOT ALONE. THERE ARE MANY OTHERS WHO SUFFER DELUSIONS AND NEED HELP.
Betsy became aware of the warmth of John’s breath on her neck as he hovered, reading over her shoulder. Her skin prickled.
“Let me guess—” said John. “There is no plate thirty-four showing a mountain.”
“No. No, there isn’t.”
“So she’s—what? Four to six hours? P stands for ‘probability’?” said John. “What does probability have to do in the syntax of the letter?”
“It’s not p for probability, John. It’s a capital P. Piestany. She must have had on her watch and timed the trip, even if she didn’t know where she was going.”
“Piestany?”
“John! She was kidnapped, like those girls. They disappeared from Bratislava and Piestany!”
Betsy stood up and ran her hand through her hair. Then she caught a fistful of it, twisting it violently as she thought.
“Four to six hours. East or west, north or south?”
“Let me get a map,” said John, sitting down at her computer. He clicked on Piestany and slid the map into a wide focus, scanning the topography for high mountains.
“How is she getting these messages to us? There must be someone helping her,” said Betsy.
“Look! The only big mountains lie east—the Tatras. Three thousand meters. That’s—what? Ten thousand feet.”
Betsy sat beside him. She leaned over to peer at the screen. His breath smelled of peppermint gum.
“Can I see something?” she said, taking the computer from him.
Betsy clicked on a tourist site for the Tatras advertising skiing and hiking. “A castle with a high wall in the Tatras. Not much to go on.”
“The mountains are pretty remote,” said John. “There might not be too many castles.”
“And we’re looking for one that is still inhabited. That’s something.” Betsy tapped the screen. “What about the last bit. ‘There are others who suffer.’ What do you think she means by that?”
John took a deep breath. Betsy waited for the warm scent of peppermint when he exhaled.
“I think there may be other kidnap victims,” he said.
Chapter 56
ASPEN, COLORADO
DECEMBER 24, 2010
One advantage of being a weird kid of a rich divorced couple—Daisy had her own Visa card. Gold, of course. Without wasting any time thinking about whether it was a good idea, she bought an airline ticket to Bratislava via Denver-Frankfurt as soon as she finished talking to the embassy.
She wondered if she’d have to tell her mother about the trip. Maybe she could just go. Leave a note saying she would be back in a week or two. And school…well, it would still be there when she got back. It was winter break now anyway. Besides, kids on ski teams disappeared for weeks at a time, and the teachers posted all their assignments on the high school website. She could keep up—if she wanted to.
Daisy did a search for weather forecasts in Slovakia.
“Wow. Cold over there, too.” She was going to need woolen sweaters and jeans, warm socks, and her black boots. She rummaged around in her desk drawer to find her passport, from the trip to France she had made with her mother.
When her mother got home from playing tennis at the Aspen Club that morning, Daisy took a deep breath and jumped right into it.
“Mom, do you know where Bratislava is?”