Eye of Flame by Pamela Sargent Page B

gave up. She took a breath, then dialed another number.
    “Directory assistance. For which city?”
    “Do you have a listing for a Thaddeus Braun?” Tad, she vaguely recalled, bore his father’s name. The operator gave her the number; she dialed it quickly.
    “Hello,” a woman’s voice said.
    “Mrs. Braun?”
    “This is she.”
    “Uh, my name is Jackie Sloane. I’m calling long-distance from California. I’m staying in Hermosa Beach, and I’m an old friend of your son Tad. I wanted to look him up, but he doesn’t seem to be listed—I thought maybe you could give me his number and address.”
    There was no reply.
    “I heard he was living somewhere near L.A. Do you think—”
    “When did you know my son?” The woman’s voice sounded strained. “In college?”
    “No, in high school. He was in a couple of my classes.”
    “And you were his friend? I know who Tad’s friends were. He had few enough of them, certainly none who were girls.” She sounded angry. “Forgive me. There was one. He wouldn’t say anything about her. He’d tie up the phone talking to her, and I think he met her a couple of times. And then—”
    The woman was silent for so long that Jacqueline thought their connection had been broken. “Hello?”
    “Tad had a breakdown,” Mrs. Braun continued. “We were too ashamed to admit it at the time, but it hardly matters now. We sent him away for help and then to a boys’ school after that. If you were his friend, you might have called us then, asked about how he was.”
    “I meant to, but—”
    “Oh, I understand. So easy for all of you to ignore him, to make his life even more miserable. I’m afraid I can’t help you. We don’t know what happened to Tad. He was living near here, and then he accepted a job offer out there a couple of years ago. He told us he’d let us know when he got settled. He never showed up at the job. We finally hired someone to track him down. Apparently, Tad rented a car at the airport when he arrived and then vanished. The car was found parked near a beach.” The woman’s voice broke. “His things were in the car, and there was no sign of violence. The police think he’s dead, that he walked into the ocean to die.”
    Jacqueline nearly dropped the receiver. He’s not dead, she wanted to say, but how could she tell his mother that? The woman would think it was some kind of cruel joke. Tad must have had reasons for disappearing; she did not want to think of what they might be.
    “I’m sorry,” she said at last.
    “Sorry. It’s too late for you to be sorry.” Jacqueline heard a click as Mrs. Braun hung up.
    Someone was knocking at the door. She pulled on her robe and hurried into the living room, then halted. “Who’s there?” she called out.
    “Tad.”
    She wanted to open the door; that urge frightened her as much as Tad himself did. “I talked to your mother,” she shouted. “I don’t know why you decided to disappear, and I don’t want to know. Maybe you’re working for the CIA or the Mafia. I suppose you had plastic surgery, and maybe you use another name, too. I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’re not going to drag me into it.”
    “Jackie, let me in. I love you; I have to talk to you.”
    “Go away.” She sank to the floor and pressed her head against the carpet, longing for him in spite of what she suspected.
     
     
    She took to driving on the roads along the coast, going north past Santa Monica, then south until she came to the cliffs of Palos Verdes. She was afraid to stay in the condominium; she continued to drive along the same route, retracing it until she was too tired to drive anymore. Whenever she returned to the condominium, she made certain that the door was securely locked, then drank wine until she was able to fall asleep.
    Tad had said that he cared about her, she thought as she drove. She still wanted him in spite of what she now knew; her reason was powerless against him. Perhaps he had been planning