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"The other woman is dead," Freeman shot back at him. |
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"Was that Ruthie?" the thing in Bartholomew questioned. |
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"The one called Ruthie is gone," Linda said evenly. |
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"If you will not tell me, then I will have to kill you all." The voice had become menacing, unrecognizable, sinister, something apart. |
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Linda struggled to her feet. She was frantically trying to get away from the man she had made love to only the night before. "Doc," she stammered, "what's wrong with him?" |
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Freeman fixed the unsteady beam of light on Bartholomew's changing face. His hand trembled as he studied the deputy's constantly evolving features. The once youthful, ruggedly handsome face was being transformed into a nightmarish mask of hate and revenge. He stepped forward and aimed the light directly into his patient's eyes. |
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"Where's Ruthie's present?" he choked out. He was sure now that he already knew, but the reality of it was too bizarre, too incomprehensible to acknowledge. It was preposterous, beyond logic. |
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Slowly, stiffly, Bartholomew raised his hand and pointed to his heavily bandaged head. "It's in here, Dr. Freeman, it's in here. I am that thing. It is me." |
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