them.
He steepled his fingers. 'You look pathetic, Sally, in those gray sweats. And just look at your hair, all stringy, and no makeup on your face, not even a touch of lipstick in honor of coming to see me. Next time I'll have to ask them to do something with you before bringing you to me.'
She heard every word, felt the hurt that every word intended, but the comprehension quickly died, and she only shrugged, a tiny movement because it was so much work to make her shoulders rise and fall to produce a shrug.
'You've been with me now for nearly a week and you're not a bit better, Sally. You're still delusional, paranoid. If you're too stupid to understand what those words mean, why, then, let me get more basic with you. You're crazy, Sally, just plain crazy, and you'll stay that way. No cure for you. Now, since I've got to look at you for a while longer, why don't you at least say something, maybe even sing a little song, maybe a song you used to sing in the shower. Yes, I know you always sang in the shower. How about it?'
Oddly, even though the comprehension didn't remain long in her brain, the viciousness of the words, the utter cruelty of them, hung on. She managed to rise, lean forward, and spit in his face.
He lunged around his desk as he swiped his hand over his face. He jerked her to her feet and slapped her hard, sending her reeling to the floor. The door to his office flew open, and the two men who'd brought her came banging through.
They were worried about him?
She heard him say, 'She spit on me and then attacked me. Bring me three milligrams of Haldol. No pill this time. That should calm our poor little girl down.'
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
No. She knew that if they gave her any more of that stuff she'd die. She knew it, knew it. She staggered to her feet. She ran to those wide windows. She heard shouts behind her. She dove through the glass.
For an instant she was flying, white shards of glass falling from her, letting her soar higher and higher above that beautiful lawn, flying away from the horror of this place, the horror of him. Then she wasn't flying anymore. She heard screams and knew it was she who was screaming. Then she felt the pain drag at her, pulling her down, down, until there was blackness and beautiful nothingness.
But the screaming went on. That wasn't right. She was unconscious, no longer screaming.
Another scream jerked her awake. Sally reared up in bed, straining to hear those screams. They'd been here, in The Cove, in Amabel's house, not in her dream back there. She didn't move, just waited, waited.
A cat? No, it was human, a cry of pain, she knew it was. God knew, she'd heard enough cries of pain in the last year.
Who? Amabel? She didn't want to move, but she made herself slip out from under the three blankets Amabel had piled on top of her at nine o'clock the previous evening. It was freezing in the small guest room and black as the bottom of a witch's cauldron. Sally didn't have a bathrobe, just her long Lanz flannel nightgown. Scott had hated her nightgowns, he hated... no, forget Scott. He truly didn't matter, hadn't mattered in a very long time. The room was very dark. She made her way to the door and gently shoved it open. The narrow hallway was just as dark. She waited, waited longer, not wanting to hear that cry again, but knowing she would. It was a cry of pain. Perhaps there had been surprise in it. She couldn't be sure now. She waited. It was just a matter of time. She walked in her sock feet toward Amabel's bedroom.
She stumbled when she heard another cry, her hip hitting a table. This cry came from outside. She was sure of it. It wasn't Amabel; thank God, she was safe. Amabel would know what to do.
What was it? She rubbed her hip as she set the table against the wall again.
Suddenly Amabel's bedroom door flew open. 'What's going on? Is that you, Sally?'
'Yes, Amabel,' she whispered. 'I heard someone cry out and thought it was you. What is it?'
'I didn't hear a thing,' Amabel said. 'Go back to bed, dear. You're exhausted. It's probably the leftovers of a bad dream. Just look at you, you're white as the woodwork. You did have a nightmare, didn't you?'
Sally nodded because it was the truth. But those screams had lasted, had gone on and on. They'd not been part of the dream, the dream that was a memory she hated, but that always came in her sleep when she was helpless against it.
'Go to bed. You poor baby, you're shivering like a leaf. Go back to bed. Hurry now.'
'But I heard it twice, Amabel. I thought it was you, but it's not. It's coming from outside the house.'
'No, baby, there's nothing out there. You're so tired, so much has happened in the past few days I'm surprised you haven't heard the Rolling Stones bawling at the top of their lungs. There's nothing, Sally. It was a nightmare, nothing more. Don't forget, this is The Cove, dear. Nothing ever happens here. If you did hear something, why it was only the wind. The wind off the ocean can whine just like a person. You'll learn that soon enough. You didn't hear anything. Trust me. Go back to bed.'
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Sally went back to bed. She lay stiff and waiting, so cold she wondered whether the tears would freeze on her face if she cried. She could have sworn that she heard a door quietly open and close, but she didn't have the guts to go see.
She would relax, then stiffen again, waiting to hear that awful cry. But there weren't any more cries.
Maybe Amabel was right. She was exhausted; she had been dreaming and it had been hideous and so very real. Maybe she was paranoid or psychotic or schizophrenic. They had called her all those things for six months. She wondered-if she saw the person actually cry out would that be a delusion? Just a fabrication of her mind? Probably. No, she wouldn't think about that time. It made her hurt too much.
She fell asleep again near dawn.
It was a dreamless sleep this time.
3
JAMES RAILEY QUINLAN had more energy than he'd had just twenty minutes before. His body was humming
