Ree had a shift at the hospital that night and for the first time since she’d started working part-time jobs at sixteen, she considered calling in sick. But she was already on Devlin’s radar—Dr. Farrante’s, too, unfortunately—so the best thing to do was continue her usual routine. Act as though nothing had happened. Hopefully, Tisdale’s killer would soon be caught and she could fade back into the woodwork. There was still the secret involving Violet and Ilsa to uncover, but nothing could be done about that without calling too much attention to herself. For now, her curiosity and sense of justice would have to be put on hold.
The evening went smoothly enough until Trudy summoned her to escort Alice Canton back to her room. Remembering how Alice had reacted to her two nights ago, Ree almost expected the woman to shy away from her. But instead Alice docilely followed her down the corridor, even humming under her breath as though she hadn’t a care in the world. When they got to her door, however, she turned to glance warily over Ree’s shoulder.
“Where is she?”
“Where is who?” Ree asked.
“The girl in the blue dress.”
Ree’s scalp began to prickle. “I don’t know.”
“She’ll come back.” Alice warned. Then she leaned in and lowered her voice to a terrified whisper. “They always come back.”
More than a little spooked, Ree settled Alice in and then hurried back up to the front desk.
“What’s the matter with you?” Trudy asked. “You look as if you just saw a ghost.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Ree muttered.
Trudy didn’t seem to hear her. “I need a favor before you sign out.” She shoved a thick stack of folders across the counter. “Apparently, Dr. Alden’s researching another book. He finished with these files two days ago, but nobody on days can be bothered to return them. They belong in the dungeon. You know where that is, right?”
Most of the patient records were computerized, but the archived files were stored in a separate wing in a basement-level room dubbed the dungeon. Where that designation had originated, Ree didn’t want to speculate.
“I don’t have access,” she said.
Trudy glanced around. “You didn’t get this from me.” She scribbled a number on the back of a note card and handed it to Ree. “Not that it matters. Nobody’s likely to be down there at this hour and the code changes every week. Just leave the files on the counter and skedaddle.”
The corridors were eerily silent as Ree made her way to the dungeon, but every now and then she could hear the distant wail of a restless mind. As she hurried along on her mission, she began to get the creepy sensation of being followed. Time and again she glanced over her shoulder, but the long hallway behind her was empty. She’ll come back. They always come back.
Gooseflesh quilled the hair at her nape. Ignoring a draft that could only be coming from the air-conditioning vents, Ree tapped in the code and entered the dungeon. The chill followed her in.
She gave herself a pep talk as she reached for the light switch. A moment later, the fluorescent bulbs flickered on, casting a harsh glow over the room. The area was large and well-organized, very different from the archives at Emerson. Above the long rows of metal storage cabinets, she could see darkness through the bars installed over the narrow windows.
Her sneakers made barely a sound as she moved along the tile floor. She placed the folders on the counter and started to turn. Something caught her attention, a sound that might have been a whisper.
Ree forced a laugh. Keep it together, girl. There’s nothing down here but a bunch of ancient files. Decades of recorded misery.
Then, whether it was a hallucination or another figment of her imagination, Ree couldn’t say, but suddenly she had a very clear vision of being in that room. An image formed in her mind…a young woman strapped to a gurney with electrodes attached to a metal apparatus fastened around her head.
Where is my baby? What have you done to her? Please don’t hurt her! Please don’t do this to her!
On and on the woman babbled until a long needle was inserted beneath one of her eyelids. And then her screams became incessant.
Ree clutched her head, trying to quell the disturbing tableau. It was an image from a movie, no doubt. Something that had been tucked away for years in the far recesses of her mind.
Again, she turned to leave, but something suddenly occurred to her. There was a very good chance that some of Violet Tisdale’s early records were stored down here. Confidentiality in the mental health care profession was sacrosanct so rummaging through patient files wasn’t something Ree took lightly. But this was an opportunity that might not come again.
A cursory examination revealed the files were sorted by decade. Ree had no idea when Miss Violet had first been committed. The only specific date she knew was Ilsa’s tenth birthday—June 3, 1915. Professor Meakin said she’d run off to Europe when she was seventeen, which would have been sometime in 1922. Assuming Violet had been born at a later date, the most logical place to start a search was the year of Ilsa’s disappearance. Then Ree would work her way forward until and if she found something.
As it turned out, she needed to search no further than 1922. Everything she wanted to know was in a file labeled Ilsa Tisdale.
Ilsa had also been a patient at the hospital.
It took Ree a moment to absorb the significance of that revelation. At the age of seventeen, Ilsa had been committed by her father, James, and by her doctor, Milton Farrante. And she had remained confined until her death seven years later.
Ree read through the file, so engrossed in Ilsa’s tragic history that the swish of the door barely registered. She had no idea anyone was about until she felt an icy touch at the back of her neck. A warning…
A split second later, the lights sputtered off. Ree slanted her head, listening. She heard nothing at first and then a few feet away came an infinitesimal shuffle. Stealthy and determined, someone was closing in on her.
Ree waited for a moment longer, then slipped to the end of the row and flattened herself against the metal cabinet. She could discern footfalls now and turned her head toward the sound, trying to mentally chart his course. The outside security lights filtered in through the high windows, and as her eyes adjusted, Ree could see well enough. She glanced around the edge of the cabinet and saw a movement at the opposite end of the long row.
Jerking back, she held her breath. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe it was just someone returning files the same as her. But why turn off the lights? No, whoever he was, he was coming for her.
A few heartbeats went by before she chanced a second glance. She saw nothing this time and crept to the next row. Had she made a sound? Did he know where she was?
On and on the cat-and-mouse continued as row by row, Ree inched her way back to the door. She was just about to make a run for the exit when a figure glided out into the open. He was dressed in surgical gown, mask and cap. In one hand, he had what appeared to be a long needle. Oh, Jesus.
As Ree stepped back into the shadows, her heel bumped one of the metal frames. It made barely a sound, but she saw his head come up and around, and before she could turn, he rushed her. Ree couldn’t move. Her shoe was caught on a bolt and as she wrenched free, she lost her balance and crashed to the floor. She tried to scramble away, but he grabbed an ankle and yanked her toward him.
She lashed out with everything in her—kicking, clawing, biting—as something primitive and feral took hold of her. But she couldn’t get away from him. He straddled her, pinning her to the floor with his knees as one hand clamped around her neck. With his other hand, he lifted the needle.