U nrecognizable voices were speaking in hushed tones when Sheila awoke, but it was the strong smell of antiseptic that told her she was somewhere new.
“I’m telling you, Kim, it was the creepiest shit I ever saw,” the man said in a low voice. “All these masks, like real human faces, lined up neatly. A whole shelf of them. At first I thought they were actual heads with the eyes gouged out. I didn’t think they could make masks that looked so real. Sick motherfucker.”
“What about the wall?” The female was whispering, but there was no mistaking the horror in her voice. “Jesus, they think there could be a dozen women inside there. And those are the ones he kept. Who knows how many others there were?”
Sheila blinked, her eyes crusty with sleep. A pretty blonde was sitting at her bedside, wearing a fitted jacket, a small black notebook in hand. Her young face was expectant, and she was staring at Sheila with an intensity that was frightening.
“Stop looking at her like that.” The dry, male voice came from somewhere in the corner of the room. “You’re gonna scare the shit out of her.”
Too late. The panic of not knowing where she was had already begun to ball up inside her. What was this place? Was Ethan here? Where was Morris?
The blonde put her hand gently over Sheila’s fingers. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” A smile lit the younger woman’s pretty features. “Welcome back, Dr. Tao.”
Sheila turned her head and saw the medical equipment, the light-mint-colored walls, the large window with the blinds rolled all the way up. A snippet of sunshine streamed into the room through a hole in the clouds. Her hand was stinging and she looked down. An IV needle was burrowed into the back of her hand near her bruised wrists. The tears came then.
“I’ll give you a minute.” The blonde retreated into a shadow before Sheila could say anything.
A nurse clad in cheerful pink scrubs entered the room. She headed briskly toward Sheila, checking the monitors. “She’s awake? How wonderful. Hi, honey.” She dabbed gently at Sheila’s cheeks with a warm, moist cloth. Turning to the man and the woman in the corner, she said, “You two wait outside until the doctor’s had a chance to look her over.”
They didn’t move fast enough and the nurse jerked her thumb. “Out. Now. ”
The story came out in a steady stream, though Sheila honestly didn’t feel there was much to tell. She was so, so tired, and she thought at one point she might have actually fallen asleep midsentence. If she had, the police detectives who had come to take her statement were polite enough not to say so. The young, kindly doctor-Sheila couldn’t remember his name-had explained that her crushing fatigue was normal after such a stressful experience, and he advised her to sleep as much as she needed to. They’d given her a mild sedative, which helped stave off the bouts of panic. There were no dreams.
The doctors had left, the detectives were gone, and the nurse had dimmed the lights in the room. Visiting hours were over and the hospital was quiet. The clock on the wall told Sheila it was 9:00 p.m., but time felt meaningless to her. She lay on her side, her back to the door, staring out the window at the moon. She wished to God the sun-which she hadn’t seen for three weeks until earlier today-would come back out. The darkness was awful.
It was coming back to her in bits and pieces. Ethan was dead. Morris had come for her. And Morris had killed him-he’d shot Ethan in the back with his hunting rifle. If he’d come a second later, it would be Sheila downstairs in the morgue.
It would be weeks before the bodies encased in cement at the Lake Stevens house could be removed and identified, assuming they could be identified. Sheila had told the detectives what she knew about Marie, the homeless woman, and also about Diana St. Clair. It turned out they already knew.
They also knew all about Ethan’s girlfriend, Abby Maddox. Abby had cut the throat of the private investigator Morris had hired, the man who’d been instrumental in helping to find her. Then she’d escaped the police station. Amazingly, Abby had missed Jerry’s carotid artery. The officer on duty at the precinct had found him only a few minutes later and was able to stop the bleeding before the paramedics arrived.
Why she had tried to kill him was anybody’s guess.
Thinking about the private investigator now, Sheila choked back a sob. Poor Jerry. He’d been her student a long time ago and she hadn’t seen him in years. A hard worker, juggling school with career. She and Marianne had been meaning to get their men together for a double date for a while now, but it had never happened. Careers got in the way, and there’d been no time for socializing beyond therapy sessions and cups of coffee. And now Marianne’s husband was in critical condition because of Sheila. The guilt was consuming.
She had done this. She had brought Ethan Wolfe into their lives.
The door to her room opened. Surprised, she rolled over to see who it was. A police officer was posted twenty-four hours outside her door, so it was probably just a nurse coming to check on her, but her palms were already sweating. Abby Maddox was still out there. While the police weren’t convinced that Ethan wasn’t equally or even totally responsible for the dead bodies in the basement of the Lake Stevens house, Sheila believed everything Ethan had told her. Abby had killed those women. There were many unanswered questions, but about this, she was certain.
But it wasn’t Abby in her room. It was Morris. In the dim light, he was just a shadow, but she would know the outline of his face and body anywhere.
It was the first time she’d seen him since that day at her house before his business trip, the day before she’d been kidnapped. A lifetime ago.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” Her breath caught in her throat, and she was ashamed at how pitiful and small she sounded. “I can’t say I’d blame you.”
She’d put him through hell. She’d put them both through hell. Morris had never asked for any of this. The only thing he had ever done was love her.
He stood at the foot of the bed, shadows and moonlight playing against the contours of his face. He looked exhausted. She wanted to cry.
“Been here all day,” he said. “You’ve been either asleep or with the cops or doctors. Busy woman, as always.” He managed a smile. “Did I wake you?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t sleeping. Though I guess visiting hours are technically over.”
Morris walked around the bed and took a seat in the chair near her pillow. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” The lightheartedness in his voice sounded forced, and she was disappointed when he folded his hands neatly in his lap.
She ached to touch him. Her heart broke at the sight of his face, clearly visible now that he was inches away. His eyes were bloodshot and framed with lines she hadn’t seen before, his complexion blotchy and covered in three-day stubble. His hair was tousled. The strong scent of Listerine on his breath told her he’d started drinking again. Yet another thing that was her fault.
Still, he was beautiful.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m good.” Another tired smile. “More important, how are you?”
She tried to match his smile but her lips wouldn’t turn up. “I’m fine. They said I’m dehydrated but otherwise okay.”
“I talked to the doctor. You can go home tomorrow morning. Sleep in your own bed.”
“Can’t wait.” Sheila felt no enthusiasm whatsoever. Unable to restrain herself any longer, she reached for him. “Morris, I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh.” His voice was soft, and she was glad when he finally took her hand. “There’s time for all that later.”
“We need to talk about it.”
“We will. But not tonight. You need to rest.”
Was he angry with her? It was hard to tell. Before she could say anything else, a discreet cough came from the corner of the room near the doorway. They both looked up. Sheila could see the shape of a tall man but couldn’t make out his face. Instantly, her stomach tightened again.
“It’s okay, darlin’.” Morris squeezed her hand, careful not to touch the IV needle stuck there. He waved the stranger closer. “Were you able to get it?”
The man nodded and passed something to Morris that Sheila couldn’t see. Morris looked at it and grinned, and it was a typical Morris grin, ear to ear. It warmed her.
“Sheila, I’d like you to meet my son Randall. I believe the two of you have been in touch via e-mail?”
A younger version of Morris stepped closer to the bed. His hair was longer and straighter and there were fewer pounds on his tall frame, but there was no mistaking the resemblance, right down to the grin that lit the young man’s face. “Hey there, Sheila. It’s so nice to meet you finally, circumstances notwithstanding.”
Sheila stared up at Morris’s oldest son in surprise. “Randall!” Holding out her other hand, she grasped his wrist. “I can’t believe you’re really here. I’m so glad.”
“It’s because of you.” Randall bent down and kissed her cheek. Placing his free hand on his father’s shoulder, he said softly, “Thank you.”
Morris looked at his son with so much love that Sheila thought her heart would burst. Then Morris turned back to her, his eyes watering. “He’s right, darlin’. You did a good thing.”
Randall gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go. “I’ll wait for you outside, Dad.”
“No, stay. Please.” Morris looked at Sheila and cleared his throat. He seemed nervous and she felt a stab of alarm. “I have something that belongs to you. I know we have a lot to work through, and I know it will take time, but I’m hoping…” His lip trembled slightly. “I’m hoping you’ll say yes again.”
He slipped something shiny onto her finger. In disbelief, she lifted up her hand and gazed at it in wonder. Though her wrists were still bruised and a needle was stuck in her vein, she felt a smile light her face.
Morris had given her back her engagement ring.