He was getting bored. Wouldn’t she do anything? Wouldn’t she start yelling? Something? He had nearly turned to go when at last she raised her head and he saw tears streaming down her cheeks.

This was better. Soon she would be ready to listen to him. Soon now. He would hold off on another shot for an hour or so. He turned away and unlocked the door of the tiny room.

Sally knew she was crying. She could feel the wet on her face, taste the salt when it trickled into her mouth. Why was she crying? James. She remembered James, how he lay there, blood streaming from the wound over his left ear. He’d been so still, so very still. Beadermeyer had promised he wasn’t dead. How could she believe that devil?

He had to be all right. She looked at the soft silk gown that slithered against her skin. It was a lovely peach color with wide silk straps over her shoulders. Unfortunately it bagged on her now. She looked at the needle marks in her arm. There were five pinpricks. He’d drugged her five times. She felt her head begin to clear, slowly, so very slowly. More things, memories, began to filter through, take shape and substance.

She had to get out of here before he either killed her or took her someplace else, someplace where nobody could find her. She thought of James. He could find her if anyone could.

She forced herself to her feet. She took one step, then another. Soon she was walking slowly, carefully, but naturally. She stood in front of the narrow window and stared out onto the sanitarium grounds.

The mowed lawn stretched a good hundred yards before it butted against a heavily wooded area. Surely she could walk that far; she had before. She just had to get to those woods. She could get lost in those woods, just as she had before. Eventually she’d found her way out. She would again.

She walked back to the closet. There was a bathrobe and two more nightgowns, a pair of slippers. Nothing else. No pants, no dresses, no underwear.

She didn’t care. She would walk in her bathrobe, to the ends of the earth if necessary. Then another veil lifted in her brain, and she remembered that she’d stolen one of the nurse’s pantsuits that first time, and her shoes. Would it be possible to do that again?

Who had done this to her? She knew it wasn’t her father. He was long dead. It had to be the man pretending to be her father, the man who’d called her, who’d appeared at her bedroom window. It could have been Scott, it could have been Dr. Beadermeyer, it could have been some man either of them had hired.

But not her father, thank God. That miserable bastard was finally dead. She prayed there really was a hell. If there was, she knew he was there, in the deepest pit.

She had to get to her mother. Noelle would help her. Noelle would protect her, once she knew the truth. But why hadn’t Noelle ever come to see her during the six months here? Why hadn’t she demanded to know why her daughter was here? As far as Sally knew, Noelle hadn’t done anything to help her. Did she believe her daughter was crazy? She’d believed her husband? She’d believed Sally’s husband?

How to get out of here?

Amabel said, “Would either of you gentlemen care for a cup of coffee?”

“No,” Quinlan said curtly. “Tell us where Sally is.”

Amabel sighed and motioned the two men to sit down. “Listen, James, I already told the sheriff here that Sally must have gotten scared when she saw you were hurt, and she ran. That’s the only explanation. Sally’s not a strong girl. She’s been through a lot. She was even in an asylum. You don’t look shocked. I’m a bit surprised that she told you about it. Something like that shouldn’t be talked about.

“But listen, she was very ill. She still is. It makes sense that she would run again, just like she ran away from what happened in Washington. If you doubt me, just go to Thelma’s. Martha told me that all of Sally’s things were gone from James’s room. Isn’t that odd? She left not even a memory of herself in that room.

“It was like she wanted to erase her very self.” She paused a moment, then added in a faraway gypsy’s voice, “It’s almost as if she’d never really been there at all, as if we all just imagined she was here.”

Quinlan jumped to his feet and stood over her. He looked as menacing as hell, but David didn’t say a word, just waited. Quinlan stuck his face very near hers and said slowly and very distinctly, “That’s bullshit, Amabel. Sally wasn’t an apparition, nor was she nuts, as you implied to her, like you’re implying to us now. She didn’t imagine hearing a woman scream those two nights. She didn’t imagine seeing her father’s face at her bedroom window in the middle of the night. You tried to make her doubt herself, didn’t you, Amabel? You tried to make her think she was crazy.”