“I was trying to protect her…”
The door closed, but Abe had not missed his words.
The man denied it. Of course, he did, and yet… Something niggled at Abe. He thought about the folder stuffed with experiments, the midwife’s comment about the health of that first child, and then there’d only been one child. It shouldn’t matter. They’d found Orla’s clothing, and Ben had buried it.
Abe imagined the very first tipster at the diner, the man who’d insisted he saw Orla in the asylum.
He couldn’t shake the sense that he’d gotten it all wrong.
He ran into the rain-swept night.
Orla
Orla paced around the cabin. The sedative had not completely worn off. She turned on the faucet in the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on her face. She wanted to go home, but there was no phone in the cottage, no driveway even. The place stood in the middle of a dark forest. She half-considered running into the rainy night, but the terror of her dreams, of the previous weeks, made her legs feel weak at the thought.
She found a paperback copy of Carrie by Stephen King. She’d never read the book, though Liam loved Stephen King. She sat down on the couch, gazing again at the rain-spotted window, and tried to read. She’d barely read the first paragraph when the door burst open.
She jumped up, expecting Ben. Instead, it was Spencer who stood dripping in the doorway.
He looked at her, surprised.
“Orla?” he said, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Spencer?” She lifted a hand to her throat, realizing she still wore her nightgown from the hospital. Self-consciously, she tugged the hem toward her knees.
“Where have you been?” he asked. “I was worried sick. You’ve been all over the news. You disappeared that morning.” He stepped into the cabin, shrugging off his raincoat.
His blond hair was dry thanks to his hood, and he studied her with a mixture of surprise and intrigue.
“I’ve been held hostage in the Northern Michigan Asylum. It’s been…, I don’t even know how long it has been. What’s the date?”
“It’s July 25th.”
Orla shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms.
“Would you like some clothes?” he asked. “Here.” He slipped across the room and pulled a heavy trunk from a closet, flipping back the lid. He drew out a gray University of Michigan sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, stained with dark patches.
“These might be a little small,” he told her.
She took them, grateful, and slipped into the pants. They ended at mid-calf, more like pedal pushers than full pants. She slipped the sweatshirt over her head. Her fingers brushed against her ribs, and she realized she must have lost weight in the hospital. Her bones felt sharp and close to the surface.
She touched her face, feeling the hollows of her cheeks and eye sockets.
“Were you sick, Orla?” he asked.
She shook her head. How did she tell this man that his mother had injected her with something, that his uncle had forced her into the asylum and spent weeks experimenting on her?
“Did Ben tell you I was here?” she asked, hoping to push the confessions off a bit further.
“No.” Spencer shook his head. “I was out for a walk and saw lights, figured I’d come check it out. How do you know Ben?”
“Where are we?” she asked, ignoring his question.
He looked at her funny.
“In a cabin behind my house, and behind my uncle’s house. My mom and uncle live across the woods from each other.”
“And Ben lives with your uncle, Dr. Crow?”
Spencer gazed at her and nodded.
“I’m on Sapphire, and Ben’s on Misty Lane. This cabin is somewhere in the middle. We used to play in here when we were boys.”
Orla’s tried to focus, but her thoughts lay jumbled in her mind.
She yawned and rubbed her eyes.
The rain grew louder, beating against the roof and the trees outside.
Beneath the rain, an odd sound emerged, like muffled crying.
“Do you hear that?” she whispered, putting her feet on the ground and standing.
Spencer shook his head.
“What?”
Orla walked to the locked door. She pressed her ear against it. The sound was clear: a woman crying and calling out.
“Oh my God.” She backed away, staring in horror at Spencer. “There’s someone in there! A girl.”
Spencer stared at her, confused. He turned the door handle, but it didn’t budge. He too pressed his ear against the wood, his eyes growing wide.
“But why…?” he murmured.
“Ben,” she breathed. “Ben must have killed the girl with the tooth. Her name was Susan.” Orla’s legs quaked beneath her. “Is that why he brought me here?”
Spencer stepped back from the door, horrified.
“Ben…” he muttered. “I always knew he was screwed up.”
“He’s going to come back at any moment,” Orla stammered. “We have to help her. We have to get out of here.”
“Let me find something to jimmy this door open.”
Orla watched Spencer move into the little kitchen, opening and closing drawers.
As he rifled through the contents of a drawer, Orla glanced back at the room, no longer hearing the girl inside.
Odd, she thought, that Spencer would have been out walking in the rain.
She looked down at her sweatpants, at the dark stains marring the fabric.
Without making a sound, she slipped off one of her gloves and touched a finger to the stained fabric.
The vision jolted her. She saw a girl in the sweatshirt and sweatpants, smiling at Spencer, his arm in a sling. She was helping carry his books to the gold sports car. As she stepped out of the streetlight into a patch of darkness, he struck her. The blow caved in the back of her skull, and she fell to her knees.
Orla wrenched her hand away from her leg, her eyes bulging as the room around her refocused.
Spencer watched her strangely.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, gazing at her bare hand hovering above the stained pants.
Orla swallowed and stepped behind the couch, putting a barrier between them.
“Nothing. They drugged me at the hospital. I’m nauseous. I think I need some air.”
She started around the couch, walking quickly toward the door, but Spencer’s hand shot out and caught her wrist. He held her arm, his eyes probing hers.
The truth hovered between them, evident on both their faces.
Chapter 49
Abe
The gate at 311 Sapphire stood open, and he screeched into the driveway, sliding to a halt in front of the wide steps that led to the front door.
The house was dark except for a single light in a first-floor window.
Abe held his jacket over his head as he sprinted to the front door, protected from the rain by a second-floor balcony. He pounded on the door.
When no one answered, he beat harder with both fists.
Virginia Crow opened the door, looking irritated but well put together. Dark eyes stared out from her powdered face. She wore a black sweater over black slacks, a string of pearls resting on her chest.
“I’m here to see your son, Spencer.”
The woman’s eyes darted behind him, and Abe whirled around, expecting to find the man creeping up behind him. Through the rain, he saw only darkness.
“He’s not here,” the woman said, trying to close the door in his face.