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boyfriend, and some of the things that have been happening to you happened to me, too. I always found a way to fool myself into thinking I should stay with him. Things got worse. They can get a whole lot worse than I ever imagined in about a second.'

'What's your real name? Who are you?'

'Sharon Curtis is my real name. It's the one I agreed to, and it's the name of the person I am now. We don't really have time for questions about the person I used to be. Not if Richard is in the habit of hurting you and knows you could reveal things that will get him arrested.'

'I don't know what to do. He has those people I told you about. They sometimes hunt people down for him, ones who don't pay what they owe or something. I know he'll send them after me.'

'Then you've got to be gone before that happens.' Sharon looked at Christine with a sad expression. 'You've got to disappear.'

'But I don't know how.'

'There's a woman. About ten years ago, somebody sent me to her. If they hadn't, I'd be dead.'

'Who is she?'

'Her name is Jane. You have to go to her. The first thing you do is tell her that I sent you. Then you tell her about yourself, and about Richard and his people.' Sharon tore a piece of scrap paper from a pad beside her telephone and wrote the name Jane Whitefield and an address on it in her neat schoolteacher handwriting, then handed it to Christine. 'Memorize this and then give it back and I'll destroy the paper.'

'Like in the movies.'

'Not like the movies. This is real. Don't be careless. The address on that paper has been more precious to some people than anything in any bank. If anything happens to her, a door will close, and nobody will ever be able to go through again.'

'I'll be careful. I promise.'

'I'm going to drive you to the L.A. airport, just in case he's noticed you're gone and he's watching the San Diego airport. Fly to Buffalo, New York, tonight, and take a cab. If she's not there, wait for her.'

'What if she doesn't come?'

'Then try going to Buffalo General Hospital and asking for her. There are people there who know her.'

'What does she look like?'

'Tall and thin, with black hair. She wore it long when I last saw her. She has dark skin, and eyes that look as though she can see through you. They're the part that might help. They're blue—bright, clear blue, like water is supposed to look but doesn't. And that reminds me. Don't ever lie to her, not even an innocent little lie.'

As Christine thought about that night, she missed Sharon even more than before. Now that she'd had the experience that Sharon had prepared her for, she wanted to tell her about it. She wanted to thank Sharon for taking the risk of telling her she was living under a name she'd only had for ten years. Now that Christine had become Linda Welles, she knew what an extravagant gift that information was. But there was one extra question that hadn't existed for Christine before. She wanted to know why Sharon, the person in her life who always seemed to be in complete control, had ever needed the kind of help that Jane Whitefield offered.

There had been hints that night, but Christine wanted the whole story. Now it was important to Christine to know. Maybe Sharon Curtis was somebody Jane had invented because she wasn't much like the young girl whose life was in danger, and the young girl had worked and studied until she had grown into being Sharon. Christine hoped so. Sharon had a stronger sense of who she was and how that person was supposed to behave than anyone else Christine had met. Was that something Sharon started with, or something she had been able to earn? After ten years, was her identity a disguise, or was it the person she had grown to be?

Christine was up off the couch and pacing, ranging the room the way Sharon did when she was running a science lab. Without really thinking about it, Christine went to the telephone and picked it up. The loud dial tone startled her. She had half-expected the phone to be dead, because nobody had ever called her. The message from Jane about her father was the only call she'd had since she'd bought the phone, and she had missed even that one. All she had heard was the voice mail Jane had recorded.

As Christine stared at the telephone, the dial tone seemed to get even louder and more insistent. She dialed Sharon's number and waited. It was ten here in Minnesota, so it was only eight in San Diego, a perfect time to call on a weeknight, when Sharon probably hadn't gone out.

'Hello?' It was Sharon's voice, sounding a bit tired from a day of teaching, and yet, there was something else. It was something Christine had never been sensitive enough to hear before. The tone was guarded, as though some small part of Sharon was prepared for a voice from the distant past.

'Hi, Sharon. It's me, Christine.'

'Are you all right?'

'Yes,' she said. 'I found the woman you told me about, and she moved me to—'

'Don't!' she interrupted. Then she said more gently, 'Don't say where.'

'To a safe place. I was just going to say it was a safe place. Don't worry,' said Christine. 'I'm not stupid.'

'You're okay, though?' Sharon asked. 'You're healthy? You're getting enough to eat and everything?'

'I'm fine and the baby's fine. The doctor says everything's fine. That's one of the reasons why I called. I was sure you would be worried about me since I left, and I wanted you to know that things worked out. She set me up in a safe, dull place and told me how to get by without drawing much attention to myself. She says she'll be back in time for the baby, and then help me move again.'

'I'm so glad,' Sharon said. 'Tell me something without saying anything specific that we'll regret. How is she? I haven't seen her in over ten years.'

'She's just the way you said she was—like nobody I ever met before. To tell you the truth, while I was with her, I was a little bit afraid of her.'

'Don't be. But take her seriously and do everything she says, to the letter. I'm really happy to know that you made it. You were right that I was afraid something would happen to you on the way. But—'

'A lot did happen, and if she hadn't been with me, I'd have been caught. Let me tell you—'

'Honey,' said Sharon. 'I'm sorry to interrupt you, but don't tell me what happened. In fact, this is a problem.'

'What's a problem?'

'This call. Making phone calls to people you knew before you left. Didn't she say anything about that?'

'Well, sure. But she called me once, and I thought you'd want to know what happened to me.'

'I did, and I do. But this is one of the small things that can get you into trouble. If someone is watching me, they'll now have your number and can get your location. If they've got the right equipment they're recording the call, and may be able to trace it. When you run, you have to give up some important, valuable things. One of them is talking to relatives and friends.'

'You're telling me never to call you again?'

'I'm telling you not to do things she tells you are dangerous. She's taken you out of your old life and into a new one. That life will be hard to get used to, but sooner than you think, you'll be comfortable. Pretty soon you'll be too busy and preoccupied with being a mother to waste much time on anything else. I want you to know that I'll be thinking about you often, and I'll feel happy because I know you'll be happy—if not tonight, then in a few months. We'll still be just as close, even if we can't talk to each other. We're on the same side, and want the same things for each other. You've always been one of my favorite people, and that will never change. But look ahead now, not back.'

'Oh, my God,' said Christine, and she realized she was crying. 'I'll miss you.'

'And I'll miss you.'

'We'd better get off now, huh?'

'Yes. If we don't talk very long it's harder for them. Good luck.'

'Good luck to you.'

They both hung up, and Christine lay back down on the couch. She cried for a long time, but then she awoke, still on the couch, and it was four A.M. For a few seconds, as she was making her way to her bed, undressing as she went, she wondered if the telephone call might have been a dream.