The House of Thunder by Dean Koontz

her to call him again, any time, if she thought it would help, and he suggested that she call some of the others at Milestone, too.
    “And listen,” he said, “no matter how long it takes you to recuperate, your job will be waiting for you here.”
    “Thank you,” she said, touched by his generous spirit and by the depth of his concern for her.
    “No need to thank me,” he said. “You’re one of the best we have here, and we don’t want to lose you. If you weren’t nearly a thousand miles away, we’d be there, camping out in your hospital room, doing our best to cheer you up and speed along the healing process.”
    A minute later, when Susan finally said goodbye to Gomez and hung up, McGee said, “Well? Any luck?”
    “None. I still can’t remember a thing about my job. But Phil Gomez seemed like a sweet man.”
    In fact Gomez seemed so nice, seemed to care about her so much, that she wondered how she could have forgotten him so completely.
    And then she wondered why a dark dread had grown in her like a malignant tumor during the entire conversation. In spite of Phil Gomez, even the thought of the Milestone Corporation made her uneasy. Worse than uneasy. She was ... afraid of Milestone. But she didn’t know why.
     
 
Later Monday morning, she sat up on the edge of her bed and swung her legs back and forth for a while, exercising them.
    Mrs. Baker helped her into a wheelchair and said, “This time I think you ought to make the trip yourself. Once around the entire second floor. If your arms get too tired, just ask any nurse to bring you back here.”
    “I feel great,” Susan said. “I won’t get tired. Actually I think maybe I’ll try to make at least two trips around the halls.”
    “I knew that’s what you’d say,” Mrs. Baker told her. “You just set your mind to getting around once, and that’ll be enough for now. Don’t try to make a marathon out of it. After lunch and a nap, then you can do the second lap.”
    “You’re pampering me too much. I’m a lot stronger than you think I am.”
    “I knew you’d say that, too. Kiddo, you’re incorrigible.”
    Remembering yesterday’s humiliation—when she had insisted she could walk but then hadn’t even been able to lower herself into the wheelchair without Mrs. Baker’s assistance—Susan blushed. “Okay. Once around. But after lunch and a nap, I’m going to make two more laps. And yesterday you said I might try walking a few steps today, and I intend to hold you to that, too.”
    “Incorrigible,” Mrs. Baker repeated, but she was smiling.
    “First,” Susan said, “I want to have a better look out of this window.”
    She wheeled herself away from her own bed, past the other bed, which was still empty, and she stopped alongside the window through which she had been able to see (from her bed) only the sky and the upper portions of a few trees. The windowsill was high, and from the wheelchair she had to crane her neck to peer outside.
    She discovered that the hospital stood atop a hill, one of a circle of hills that ringed a small valley. Some of the slopes were heavily forested with pines, fir, spruce, and a variety of other trees, while some slopes were covered with emerald-green meadows. A town occupied the floor of the valley and extended some of its neighborhoods into the lower reaches of the hills. Its brick, stone, and wood-sided buildings were tucked in among other trees, facing out on neatly squared-off streets. Although the day was drab and gray, and although ugly storm clouds churned across the sky, threatening rain, the town nonetheless looked serene and quite beautiful.
    “It’s lovely,” Susan said.
    “Isn’t it?” Mrs. Baker said. “I’ll never regret moving out of the city.” She sighed. “Well, I’ve got work to do. Once you’ve made your circuit of the halls, call me so that I can help you get back into bed.” She shook one plump finger at Susan. “And don’t you dare try climbing out of that chair and