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The only way to get free of the straps was to stay calm.

So the next time the nurse came in, Caroline had smiled at her, and asked if she could go to the bathroom. The nurse — who’d said her name was Bernice Watson — had eyed her appraisingly, but when Caroline had managed to betray none of the emotions that were raging through her, carefully concealing not only her terror for her children but her rage at her husband as well, Bernice Watson had decided it was safe. Releasing Caroline from the straps, she’d helped her to her feet and guided her to the bathroom. Then she waited with the door open until Caroline was through, and guided her back to bed.

Caroline had found herself far too weak even to resist, let alone attempt to escape.

She hadn’t objected when Bernice Watson reattached the straps, and she had gratefully ate every bite of the food the nurse had brought her. When the man who called himself Dr. Caseman came in, she’d assured him she felt much better, and talked a little about the “dreams” she’d had — the dreams that had upset her so much that Tony had had to bring her here. She’d even apologized for her behavior earlier, when he’d had to give her a shot.

And he hadn’t insisted on giving her another.

Now she was facing another meal, and Bernice Watson had released her arms so she could eat. Once again, she ate everything on the tray.

Once again she made no objection to having the straps refastened after the nurse accompanied her to the bathroom.

“Now all that’s left is our sleeping pill, and by morning we’ll feel much better,” the nurse said after an orderly had taken the tray away.

Caroline obediently opened her mouth and accepted the two small pills in the tiny paper cup the nurse held in one hand, then drank from the glass of water she had in the other. “Thank you,” she said after drinking half the water.

“By tomorrow, we’ll feel much better,” Bernice Watson assured her. A moment later, she left the room, and Caroline heard the click of the lock as the nurse turned the key.

And a moment after that, she spat the pills out of her mouth.

CHAPTER 37

His body still hurtling forward, Ryan’s left foot, stretched out as far as he could reach it, hit the top of the low balustrade on the roof of the building behind The Rockwell. As he felt himself start to pitch forward, he threw out both arms and his right leg, but it wasn’t enough to break the momentum of his jump and he sprawled out face down, feeling a sharp stinging in his left hand as something on the rooftop cut into it. Rolling over and sitting up, he instinctively started sucking on the wound on his hand. As the pain began to die away, he took a quick inventory of the rest of his body. Except for his left hand, and a bruise on his right knee, he was uninjured. Next he began checking the contents of his pockets. The flashlight was still there and still worked, although the lens had cracked. The last four batteries were still in the left pocket; the key ring was in the right, along with the marking pen and his knife. Satisfied, he got gingerly to his feet. Except for his right knee and his scraped hand, nothing hurt.

He headed toward the closest fire escape, and peered over the edge of the balustrade. A rusty ladder bolted to the wall went straight down to the top landing, but after that there was a series of metal stairs. It was too dark to see clear to the bottom, but he was pretty sure that once he got to the second floor, there would be another ladder, one that would drop down to the sidewalk.

Climbing onto the balustrade he turned around, then clung to the rails of the ladder so hard his fingers hurt as he felt for the top rung with his right foot. Finding it, he tested his weight on it, but despite the rust, it felt solid. He moved his left foot down, then lowered his hands one at a time so one of them always had a tight grip on the ladder’s rails.

Moving slowly and carefully, but with his nerves steadying a little more with each rung he conquered, he finally came to the highest landing. Something creaked as he put his full weight on it, and for a moment he froze. The night seemed suddenly quiet.

Too quiet?

He looked around. The window opening onto the fire escape was dark, but there was just enough moonlight so that he could see the backs of the drapes that were pulled across it. His heart began to pound as he imagined the drapes suddenly being opened, and someone looking out at him. He froze, just the thought of being caught on the fire escape petrifying him. Then the sound of a car horn startled him, making him jump so badly he grabbed at the rail with his injured hand.

The sting of the rusty metal grinding into the raw flesh of his palm galvanized him into action, and he started scurrying down the flights of steps, moving as silently as he could, but not pausing on any of the landings even long enough to see if any of the windows were uncovered. In less than a minute he came to the lowest landing, and was peering down into the narrow gap that separated the building from The Rockwell.

A rat was working its way along the bottom of The Rockwell’s back wall, and as Ryan watched it scuttled up the wall then leaped into one of the garbage cans whose lid didn’t fit right. A couple of seconds later another rat followed. Shuddering, Ryan looked away from the trash barrel, and concentrated on the ladder that would get him to the ground. It turned out to be easy — there was nothing more than a simple hook holding it in place, and as soon as he released the hook, he could push the ladder down to the ground. Once he’d climbed down, its counterweights took it back up. With one last glance at the trash barrel the rats had disappeared into, Ryan scurried out of the alleyway into 70th Street, turned left, and headed west.

The Biddle Institute on West 82nd.

Coming to Columbus, he turned north and hurried along the sidewalk. He’d never been out this late by himself, and tonight the streets seemed a lot scarier than they ever had before. The sidewalk was busy, and Ryan kept dodging in and out, threading his way uptown as quickly as he could. He could feel people looking at him, but Ryan was careful not to look back at them. Then, when he finally came to 82nd Street, he realized he had no idea which direction to go. He peered first one way, then the other, but neither of the blocks he could see looked much different from the other. Then he figured it out — he’d start by going toward the park, looking at every building on the south side, then cross to the north side and head west again. When he got back to the corner he was on, he’d keep going west, going back and forth across the street if he couldn’t see a sign clearly.

But what if there wasn’t a sign? What if it was one of those places that only had an address showing from the sidewalk?

He decided not to think about it.

Turning east, he started along the narrow sidewalk, reading every sign and examining every building that had no sign as carefully as he could. A couple of times he even snuck up onto the steps to read the names by the mailboxes.

When he finally came to Central Park West, he crossed the street and started back west.

Nothing.

He crossed Columbus and worked his way toward Amsterdam. He was staring at one of the buildings on the south side, trying to read the address, when suddenly he heard a voice.

“Looking for something, son?”

Jumping, Ryan spun around to see a tall man dressed in khaki pants and a tee shirt looking at him, his head cocked slightly to one side. ‘Never talk to strangers,’ he heard his mother’s voice whisper inside his head. ‘And if a stranger tries to talk to you, run away. If he chases you, start yelling as loud as you can.’

“It’s kinda late for a kid your age to be out, isn’t it?” the man said. Now he glanced up and down the street. To see if there was anyone else on the block? To see if anyone was watching? Ryan’s heart pounded harder, and he tensed himself, ready to run if the man came any closer. But then the man spoke again. “Look, kid — I don’t know what you’re doing out here by yourself, but it’s not very safe. All kinds of—” He hesitated, then finished. “There’s all kinds of weirdos in this city. So if you’re lost, just tell me, and I’ll help you find where you’re going.”