On, Off
The captivating novel from the international bestselling author of ‘The Thorn Birds’.Innocence is no protection…In Holloman, Connecticut, someone is preying on the innocent. At a prestigious research centre fondly known by its staff as the 'Hug', parts of a mutilated body are found. Lieutenant Carmine Delmonico of the Holloman Police learns that a string of horrifying murders – each with the same modus operandi as the one at the Hug – have been commited throughout the state. When another body is found, the medical staff become prime suspects.With the powers that be in turmoil and every member of staff hiding something, Delmonico must delve into the lives of each and every Hug employee. This is the case of his career and he is determined to solve it. But how, when he is hunting a monster who leaves no clues and is always two steps ahead?
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On, Off
Colleen McCullough
For Helen Sanders Brittain With fond memories of the old days, and much love.
Table of Contents
PART ONE October & November, 1965
PART THREE January & February, 1966
PART FOUR February & March, 1966
JIMMY WOKE UP GRADUALLY, conscious at first of only one thing: the perishing cold. His teeth were chattering, his flesh ached, his fingers and toes were numb. And why couldn’t he see? Why couldn’t he see? All around him was pitch darkness, a blackness so dense he had never known anything like it. As he grew wider awake he realized too that he was imprisoned in something close, smelly, alien. Wrapped up! Panic set in and he began to scream, to claw frantically at whatever was confining him. It ripped and tore, but when the stygian coldness persisted after he managed to free himself, his terror drove him mad. There were other things all around him, the same smelly kind of restraints, but no matter how he shrieked, ripped, tore, he couldn’t find a way out, couldn’t see a particle of light or feel a puff of warmth. So he shrieked, ripped, tore, his heart roaring in his ears and the only noises his own.
Otis Green and Cecil Potter came into work together, having hooked up on Eleventh Street with a broad grin for each other. Dead on 7 a.m., but wasn’t it great not to have to punch a time clock? Their place of work was civilized, man, no arguments there. They put their lunch pails in the small stainless steel cupboard they had reserved for their own use—no need for locks, there were no thieves here. Then they started the business of their day.
Cecil could hear his babies calling for him; he went straight to their door and opened it, speaking to them in a tender voice.
“Hi, guys! How ya doin’ huh? Everybody sleep well?”
The door was still hissing shut behind Cecil when Otis saw to the least palatable job of his day, emptying the refrigerator. His wheeled plastic bin smelled clean and fresh; he put a new liner in it and pushed it over to the refrigerator door, a heavy steel one with a snap lock handle. What happened next was a blur: something streaking past him as he opened the door, screaming like a banshee.
“Cecil, get out here!” he yelled. “Jimmy’s still alive, we gotta catch him!”
The big monkey was in a state of gibbering frenzy, but after Cecil talked to him a little while and then held out his arms, Jimmy bolted into them, shivering, his shrieks dying to whimpers.
“Jesus, Otis,” Cecil said, cradling the beast like a father his child, “how did Dr. Chandra miss that? The poor little guy’s been locked in the fridge all night. There there, Jimmy, there there! Daddy’s here, little man, you’re okay now!”
Both men were shocked and Otis’s heart had a jelly roll beat to it, but no real harm was done. Dr. Chandra would be pleased as punch that Jimmy hadn’t died after all, thought Otis, returning to the refrigerator. Jimmy was worth a hundred big ones.
Even two cleanliness fanatics like Cecil and Otis couldn’t banish the smell of death from the refrigerator, scrub it with disinfectant and deodorant though they did. The stench, not of decay but of something subtler, surrounded Otis as he flipped the light switch to reveal the chamber’s stainless steel interior. Oh, man, Jimmy had made a regular mess of it! Torn paper bags were strewn everywhere, headless rat carcasses, stiff white hair, obscenely naked tails. And, behind the dozen rat bags, a couple of much bigger bags, torn up too. Sighing, Otis went to fetch more bags from a cupboard and began to make order out of Jimmy’s chaos. The dead rats properly bagged again, he reached in to the chilly chamber and pulled the first of the two big bags forward. It had been rent from top to bottom, most of its contents on full display.
Otis opened his mouth and screamed as shrilly as Jimmy, was still screaming when Cecil erupted out of the monkey room. Then, not seeming to notice Cecil, he turned and ran out of animal care, down the halls, into the foyer, out the entrance, legs opening and closing in a punishing run down Eleventh Street to his home on the second floor of a shabby three-family house.
Celeste Green was having coffee with her nephew when Otis burst into the kitchen; they leaped to their feet, Wesley’s passionate diatribe about Whitey’s crimes forgotten. Celeste went for the smelling salts while Wesley put Otis on a chair. Back with the bottle, she pushed Wesley roughly out of her way.
