Blindsighted

Chapter Twenty-five

SARA woke with a start, not certain where she was for a brief, panicked second. She looked around her bedroom, keeping her eyes on solid things, comforting things. The old chest of drawers that had belonged to her grandmother, the mirror she had found in a yard sale, the armoire that had been so wide her father had helped her take the hinges off the bedroom door so they could squeeze it in.

She sat up in bed, looking out the bank of windows at the lake. The water was rough from last nights storm, and choppy waves rode across the surface. Outside, the sky was a warm gray, blocking the sun, keeping the fog down low to the ground. The house was cold, and Sara imagined that outside was even colder. She took the quilt from the bed with her as she walked to the bathroom, wrinkling her nose as her feet padded across the cold floor.

In the kitchen, she started the coffeemaker, standing in front of the unit as she waited for enough to fill a cup. She went back to the bedroom, slipping on a pair of spandex running shorts, then an old pair of sweatpants. The phone was still off the hook from Jeffrey's call last night, and Sara replaced the receiver. The phone rang almost immediately.

Sara took a deep breath, then answered, "Hello?"

"Hey, baby," Eddie Linton said. "Where you been?"

"I accidentally knocked the phone off the hook," Sara lied.

Her father either did not catch the lie or was letting it pass. He said, "We've got breakfast cooking here. Wanna come?"

"No, thanks," Sara answered, her stomach protesting even as she did. "I'm about to go for a run."

"Maybe come by after?"

"Maybe," Sara answered, walking toward the desk in the hallway. She opened the top drawer and pulled out twelve postcards. Twelve years since the rape, one postcard for every year. There was always a Bible verse along with her address ty ped across the back.

"Baby?" Eddie said.

"Yeah, Pop," Sara answered, keying into what he was saying. She slid the cards back into the drawer, using her hip to shut it.

They made small talk about the storm, Eddie telling her that a tree limb had missed the Linton house by a couple of yards, and Sara offering to come by later and help clean up. As he talked, Sara flashed back to the time just after she was raped. She was in the hospital bed, the ventilator hissing in and out, the heart monitor assuring her that she had not died, though Sara remembered that she had not found that reminder in the least bit comforting.

She had been asleep, and when she woke, Eddie was there, holding her hand in both of his. She had never seen her father cry before, but he was then, small, pathetic sobs escaping from his lips. Cathy was behind him, her arms around his waist, her head resting on his back. Sara had felt out of place there and she had briefly wondered what had upset them until she remembered what had happened to her.

After a week in the hospital, Eddie had driven her back to Grant. Sara had kept her head on his shoulder the entire way, sitting in the front seat of his old truck, tucked between her mother and father, much as she had been before Tessa was born. Her mother sang an off-key hymn Sara had never heard before. Something about salvation. Something about redemption. Something about love.

"Baby?"

"Yeah, Daddy," Sara answered, wiping a tear from her eye. "I'll drop by later, okay?" She blew a kiss to the phone. "I love you."

He answered in kind, but she could hear the concern in his voice. Sara kept her hand on the receiver, willing him not to be upset. The hardest part about recovering from what Jack Allen Wright had done to her was knowing that her father knew every single detail of the rape. She had felt so exposed to him for such a long time that the nature of their relationship had changed. Gone was the Sara he played pickup games with. Gone were the jokes about Eddie wishing she had become a gynecologist, at least, so that he could say both his girls were in plumbing. He did not see her as his invulnerable Sara anymore. He saw her as someone he needed to protect. As a matter of fact, he saw her the same way Jeffrey did now.

Sara tugged the laces on her tennis shoes, tightening them too much and not caring. She had heard pity in Jeffrey's voice last night. Instantly, she had known that things had irrevocably changed. He would only see her as a victim from now on. Sara had fought too hard to overcome that feeling only to let herself give in to it now.

Slipping on a light jacket, Sara left the house. She jogged down the driveway to the street, taking a left away from her parents' house. Sara did not like to jog on the street; she had seen too many injured knees blown from the constant impact. When she worked out, she used the treadmills at the Grant YMCA or swam in the pool there. In the summertime, she took early morning swims in the lake to clear her mind and get her focus back for the day ahead. Today, she wanted to push herself to the limit, damn the consequences to her joints. Sara had always been a physical person, and sweating brought her center back.

About two miles from her house, she took a side trail off the main road so that she could run along the lake. The terrain was rough in spots, but the view was spectacular. The sun was finally winning its battle with the dark clouds overhead when she realized she was at Jeb McGuire's house. She had stopped to look at the sleek black boat moored at his dock before she made the connection as to where she was. Sara cupped her hand over her eyes, staring at the back of Jeb's house.

He lived in the old Tanner place, which had just recently come on the market. Lake people were hesitant to give up their land, but the Tanner children, who had moved away from Grant years ago, were more than happy to take the money and run when their father finally succumbed to emphysema. Russell Tanner had been a nice man, but he had his quirks, like most old people. Jeb had delivered Russell's medications to him personally, something that probably helped Jeb get into the house cheap after the old man died.

Sara walked up the steep lawn toward the house. Jeb had gutted the place a week after moving in, replacing the old crank windows with double-paned ones, having the asbestos shingles removed from the roof and sideboards. The house had been a dark gray for as long as Sara remembered, but Jeb had painted over this in a cheery yellow. The color was too bright for Sara, but it suited Jeb.

"Sara?" Jeb asked, coming out of the house. He had a tool belt on with a shingle hammer hanging from the strap on the side.

"Hey," she called, walking toward him. The closer she got to the house, the more aware she became of a dripping sound. "What's that noise?" she asked.

Jeb pointed to a gutter hanging off the roofline. "I'm just now getting to it," he explained, walking toward her. He rested his hand on the hammer. "I've been so busy at work, I haven't had time to breathe."

She nodded, understanding the dilemma. "Can I give you a hand?"

"That's okay," Jeb returned, picking up a six-foot ladder. He carried it over to the hanging gutter as he talked. "Hear that thumping? Damn thing's draining so slow, it hits the base of the downspout like a jack-hammer."

She heard the noise more clearly as she followed him toward the house. It was an annoying, constant thump, like a faucet dripping into a cast-iron sink. She asked, "What happened?"

"Old wood, I guess," he said, turning the ladder right side up. "This house is a money pit, I hate to say. I get the roof fixed and the gutters fall off. I seal the deck and the footings start to sink."

Sara looked under the deck, noting the standing water. "Is your basement flooded?"

"Thank God I don't have one or it'd be high tide down there," Jeb said, reaching into one of the leather pouches on his belt. He took out a gutter nail with one hand and fumbled for the hammer with the other.

Sara stared at the nail, making a connection. "Can I see that?"

He gave her a funny look, then answered, "Sure."

She took the nail, testing its weight in her hand. At twelve inches, it was certainly long enough for the job of tacking up a gutter, but could someone have also used this type of nail to secure Julia Matthews to the floor?

"Sara?" Jeb asked. His hand was out for the nail. "I've got some more in the storage shed," he said, indicating the metal shed. "If you want to keep one."

"No," she answered, handing him the nail. She needed to get back to her house and call Frank Wallace about this. Jeffrey was probably still in Atlanta, but certainly someone would need to track down who had bought this type of nail recently. It was a good lead.

She asked, "Did you get this at the hardware store?"

"Yeah," he answered, giving her a curious look. "Why?"

Sara smiled, trying to put his mind at ease. He probably thought it was odd that she was so interested in the gutter nail. It wasn't like she could tell him why. Sara's dating pool was small enough without taking Jeb McGuire out of the picture by suggesting his gutter nails would be a good way to pin a woman to the floor so she could be raped.

She watched him secure the drooping gutter to the house. Sara found herself thinking about Jeffrey and Jack Wright in the same room together. Moon had said that Wright had let himself go in prison, that the chiseled threat to his body had been replaced by soft fat, but Sara still saw him as she had that day twelve years ago. His skin was tight to his bones, his veins sticking out along his arms. His expression was a carved study in hatred, his teeth gritting in a menacing smile as he raped her.

Sara gave an involuntary shudder. Her life for the last twelve years had been spent blocking Wright out of her mind, and having him back now, in whatever form, be it through Jeffrey or a stupid postcard, was making her feel violated all over again. She hated Jeffrey for that, mostly because he was the only one who could suffer any impact from her hatred.

"Hold on," Jeb said, snapping her out of her reflection. Jeb cupped his hand to his ear, listening. The thumping noise was still there as water dripped into the downspout.

"This is going to drive me crazy," he said, over the thump, thump, thump of the water.

"I can see that," she said, thinking that five minutes of the dripping sound was already giving her a headache.

Jeb came down off the ladder, tucking the hammer back into his belt. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she answered. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

She took a deep breath, then said, "About our rain check." She looked up at the sky. "Why don't you come over to the house around two for a late lunch? I'll get some takeout from the deli in Madison."

He smiled, an unexpected nervous edge to his voice. "Yeah," he answered. "That sounds great."

Chapter Twenty-six

JEFFREY tried to keep his focus on driving, but there was too much going on in his mind to concentrate. He had not slept all night, and exhaustion was taking over his body. Even after pulling over to the side of the road for a thirty-minute nap, he still did not feel like his head was on straight. Too much was happening. Too many things were pulling him in different directions at the same time.

Mary Ann Moon had promised to subpoena the employment records from Grady Hospital dating back to the time Sara had worked there. Jeffrey prayed that the woman was as good as her word. She had estimated that the records would be available for Jeffrey's perusal sometime Sunday afternoon. Jeffrey's only hope was that a name from the hospital would sound familiar. Sara had never mentioned anyone from Grant working with her back in those days, but he still needed to ask her. Three calls to her house had gotten him her machine. He knew better than to leave a message for her to call. The tone of her voice last night had been enough to convince him that she would probably never talk to him again.

Jeffrey pulled the Town Car into the station parking lot. He needed to go home to shower and change, but he also had to show his face at work.

His trip to Atlanta had taken more time than planned, and Jeffrey had missed the early morning briefing.

Frank Wallace was walking out the front door as Jeffrey put the car in park. Frank tossed a wave before walking around the car and getting in.

Frank said, "The kid's missing."

"Lena?"

Frank gave a nod as Jeffrey put the car in gear.

Jeffrey asked, "What happened?"

"Her uncle Hank called at the station looking for her. He said the last he saw of her she was in the kitchen right after that Matthews went south."

"That was two days ago," Jeffrey countered. "How the hell did this happen?"

"I left a message on her machine. I figured she was lying low. Didn't you give her time off?"

"Yeah," Jeffrey answered, feeling guilt wash over him. "Hank's at her house?"

Frank gave another nod, slipping on his seat belt as Jeffrey pushed the car past eighty. Tension filled the car as they drove toward Lena's house. When they got there, Hank Norton was sitting on the front porch waiting.

Hank jogged to the car. "Her bed hasn't been slept in," he said as a greeting. "I was at Nan Thomas's house. Neither one of us had heard from her. We assumed she was with you."

"She wasn't," Jeffrey said, offering the obvious. He walked into Lena's house, scanning the front room for clues. The house had two stories, like most homes in the neighborhood. The kitchen, dining room, and living room were on the main level with two bedrooms and a bath upstairs.

Jeffrey took the steps two at a time, his leg protesting at the movement. He walked into what he assumed was Lena's bedroom, searching for anything that might make sense of all of this. A hot pain was at the back of his eyes and everything he looked at had a tinge of red to it. Going through her drawers, moving clothes around in her closet, he had no idea what he expected to find. He found nothing.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Hank Norton was talking to Frank, his words a hot staccato of blame and denial. "She was supposed to be working with you," Hank said. "You're her partner."

Jeffrey got a brief flash of Lena in her uncle's voice. He was angry, accusatory. There was the same underlying hostility he had always heard in Lena's tone.

Jeffrey took the heat off of Frank, saying, "I gave her time off, Mr. Norton. We assumed she would be at home."

"Girl blows her head off right under my niece and you just assume she's gonna be okay?" he hissed. "Jesus Christ, that's the end of your responsibility, giving her the day off?"

"That's not what I meant, Mr. Norton."

"For fuck sakes, stop calling me Mr. Norton," he screamed, throwing his hands into the air.

Jeffrey waited for the man to say more, but he turned suddenly, walking out of the kitchen. He slammed the back door behind him.

Frank spoke slowly, visibly upset. "I should've checked on her."

"I should have," Jeffrey said. "She's my responsibility."

"She's everybody's responsibility," Frank countered. He started searching the kitchen, opening and closing drawers, going through cabinets. Frank obviously wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing. He slammed the cabinet doors, more to work out his anger than to look for anything concrete. Jeffrey watched this for a while, then walked toward the window. He saw Lena's black Celica in the driveway.

Jeffrey said, "Car's still here."

Frank slammed a drawer closed. "I saw that."

"I'll go check it out," Jeffrey offered. He walked out the back door, passing Hank Norton, who was sitting on the steps leading into the backyard. He was smoking a cigarette, his movements awkward and angry.

Jeffrey asked him, "Has the car been here all the time you were gone?"

"How the fuck would I know that?" Norton snapped.

Jeffrey let this slide. He walked to the car, noting the lock was down on both doors. The tires on the passenger's side looked fine and the hood of the car felt cool as he walked around it.

"Chief?" Frank called from the kitchen door. Hank Norton stood as Jeffrey walked back toward the house.

"What is it?" Norton asked. "Did you find something?"

Jeffrey walked back into the kitchen, spotting instantly what Frank had found. The word cunt had been carved on the inside door of the cabinet over the stove.

"I don't give a good goddamn about subpoenas," Jeffrey told Mary Ann Moon as he sped toward the college. He held the phone in one hand and drove with the other.

"One of my detectives is missing right now, and the only lead I've got is this list." He took a breath, trying to calm himself. "I have got to get access to those employment records."

Moon was diplomatic. "Chief, we have to go through protocol here. This isn't Grant County. We step on somebody's toes and it's not like we can make nice at the next church social."

"Do you know what this guys been doing to women here?" he asked. "Are you willing to take responsibility for my detective being raped right now? Because I guarantee you that's what's happening to her." He held his breath for a moment, trying not to let that image sink in.

When she did not respond, he said, "Someone carved something on a cabinet in her kitchen." He paused, letting her absorb that. "Do you want to take a guess as to what that word is, Ms. Moon?"

Moon was silent, obviously thinking. "I can probably talk to a girl I know in records over there. Twelve years is a long time. I can't make guarantees they'll keep something like that handy. It's probably on microfiche at the state records building."

He gave her his cell phone number before ringing off.

"What's the dorm number?" Frank asked as they drove through the gates of the college.

Jeffrey took out his notepad, flipping back a few pages. "Twelve," he said. "She's in Jefferson Hall."

The Town Car fishtailed as he stopped in front of the dormitory. Jeffrey was out the door and up the steps in a flash. He pounded his fist on the door to number twelve, throwing it open when there was no answer.

"Oh, Jesus," Jenny Price said, grabbing a sheet to cover herself. A boy Jeffrey had never seen before jumped up from the bed, slipping on his pants in one practiced movement.

"Get out," Jeffrey told him, walking toward Julia Matthews's side of the room. Nothing had been moved since he had been here last time.

Jeffrey did not imagine Matthews's parents felt much like going through their dead daughters things.

Jenny Price was dressed, more bold than she had been the day before. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Jeffrey ignored her question, searching through clothes and books.

Jenny repeated the question, this time to Frank.

"Police business," he mumbled from the hallway.

Jeffrey turned the room upside down in seconds. There had not been much to begin with, and as with the search before, nothing new turned up. He stopped, looking around the room, trying to find what he was missing. He was turning to search the closet again when he noticed a stack of books by the door. A thin film of mud covered the spines. They had not been there the first time Jeffrey had searched the room. He would have remembered them.

He asked, "What are those?"

Jenny followed his gaze. "The campus police brought those by," she explained. "They were Julia's."

Jeffrey clenched his fist, wanting to pound something. "They brought them by here?" he asked, wondering why he was surprised. Grant Tech's campus security force was comprised of mostly middle-aged deputy dogs who hadn't a brain between them.

The girl explained, "They found them outside the library."

Jeffrey forced his hands to unclench, bending at the knee to examine the books. He thought about putting gloves on before touching them, but it was not as if a chain of custody had been maintained.

The Biology of Microorganisms was on top of the stack, flecks of mud scattered along the front cover. Jeffrey picked up the book, thumbing through the pages. On page twenty-three, he found what he was looking for. The word CUNT was printed in bold red marker across the page.

"Oh my God," Jenny breathed, hand to her mouth.

Jeffrey left Frank to seal off the room. Instead of driving to the science lab where Sibyl worked, he jogged across the campus, going the opposite direction he had gone with Lena just a few days ago. Again, he took the stairs two at a time; again, he did not bother to wait for an answer to his knock outside Sibyl Adams's lab.

"Oh," Richard Carter said, looking up from a notebook. "What can I do for you?"

Jeffrey leaned his hand on the closest desk, trying to catch his breath. "Was there anything," he began, "unusual the day Sibyl Adams was killed?"

Carters face took on an exasperated expression. Jeffrey wanted to smack it off him, but he refrained.

Carter said in a self-righteous tone, "I told you before, there was nothing out of the ordinary. She's dead, Chief Tolliver, don't you think that I'd mention something unusual?"

"Maybe a word was written on something," Jeffrey suggested, not wanting to give too much away. It was amazing what people thought they remembered if you asked them the right way. "Did you see something written on one of her notebooks? Maybe she had something she kept close by that someone tampered with?"

Carter's face fell. Obviously, he remembered something. "Now that you mention it," he began, "just before her early class on Monday, I saw something written on the chalkboard." He crossed his arms over his large chest. "Kids think it's funny to pull those kinds of pranks. She was blind, so she couldn't really see what they were doing."

"What did they do?"

"Well, someone, I don't know who, wrote the word cunt on the blackboard."

"This was Monday morning?"

"Yes."

"Before she died?"

He had the decency to look away before answering, "Yes."

Jeffrey stared at the top of Richard's head for a moment, fighting the urge to pummel him. He said, "If you had told me this last Monday, do you realize Julia Matthews might be alive?"

Richard Carter did not have an answer for that.

Jeffrey left, slamming the door behind him. He was making his way down the steps when his cell phone rang. He answered on the first ring. "Tolliver."

Mary Ann Moon got right to the point. "I'm in the records department right now, looking at the list. It's everybody who worked on the first-floor emergency department, from the doctors to the custodians."

"Go ahead," Jeffrey said, closing his eyes, blocking out her Yankee twang as she called out the first, middle, and last names of the men who had worked with Sara. It took her a full five minutes to read them all. After the last one, Jeffrey was silent.

Moon asked, "Anybody on there sound familiar?"

"No," Jeffrey responded. "Fax the list to my office if you don't mind." He gave her the number, feeling as if he had been punched in the stomach. His mind conjured the image of Lena again, nailed to a basement floor, terrified.

Moon prompted, "Chief?"

"I'll have some of my guys cross-reference it with voter polls and the phone book." He paused, debating whether or not to go on. Finally, good breeding won out. "Thank you," he said. "For looking that list up."

Moon did not give him her customary abrupt good-bye. She said, "I'm sorry the names didn't ring any bells."

"Yeah," he answered, checking his watch. "Listen, I can be back in Atlanta in around four hours. Do you think I can get some time alone with Wright?"

There was another hesitation, then, "He was attacked this morning."

"What?"

"Seems the guards at the lockup didn't think he deserved his own cell."

"You promised to keep him out of the general population."

"I know that," she snapped. "It's not like I can control what happens when he goes back inside. You of all people should know those good old boys operate by their own rules."

Considering Jeffrey's behavior yesterday with Jack Wright, he was in no position to defend himself.

"He'll be out of it for a while," Moon said. "They cut him up pretty bad."

He muttered a curse under his breath. "He didn't give you anything after I left?"

"No."

"Is he sure it's somebody who worked in the hospital?"

"No, as a matter of fact."

"It's somebody who saw her at the hospital," Jeffrey said. "Who would see her at the hospital without working there?" He put his free hand over his eyes, trying to think. "Can you pull patient files from there?"

"Like charts?" She sounded dubious. "That's probably pushing it."

"Just names," he said. "Just that day. April twenty-third."

"I know the day."

"Can you?"

She obviously had covered the mouthpiece on the phone, but he could still hear her talking to someone. After a few beats, she was back on the line. "Give me an hour, hour and a half."

Jeffrey suppressed the groan that wanted to come. An hour was a lifetime. Instead, he said, "I'll be here."

Chapter Twenty-seven

LENA heard a door open somewhere. She lay there on the floor, waiting for him, because that's all she could do. When Jeffrey had told her Sibyl was dead, Lena's main focus had been on finding out who had killed Sibyl, on bringing him to justice. She had wanted nothing more than to find the bastard and send him to the chair. Those thoughts had so obsessed her from day one that she had not had time to stop and grieve. Not one day had been spent mourning the loss of her sister. Not one hour had gone by where she had stopped and taken the time to reflect on her loss.

Now, trapped in this house, nailed to the floor, Lena had no choice but to think about it. All of her time was devoted to memories of Sibyl. Even when she was drugged, a sponge held over her mouth, bitter-tasting water hitting the back of her throat until she was forced to swallow, Lena mourned Sibyl. There were days at school that were so real Lena could feel the grain of the pencil she held in her hand. Sitting with Sibyl in the back of classrooms, she could smell the ink from the ditto machine. There were car rides and vacations, senior pictures and field trips. She was reliving them all, Sibyl by her side, every one of them as if she was actually there in the moment.

The light came again as he entered the room. Her eyes were so dilated she could not see anything but shadows, but he still used the light to block her vision. The pain was so intense she was forced to close her eyes. Why he did this, she couldn't guess. Lena knew who her captor was. Even if she had not recognized his voice, the things he said could only come from the town's pharmacist.

Jeb sat at her feet, resting the light on the floor. The room was completely dark except for this small ray of light. Lena found it somewhat comforting to be able to see something after being in darkness for so long.

Jeb asked, "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," Lena answered, not remembering if she had felt worse before. He was injecting her with something ever)' four hours or so. She guessed from the way her muscles relaxed shortly after that it was some kind of pain medication. The drug was potent enough to keep her from hurting, but not enough to knock her out. He only knocked her out at night, then with whatever he was putting in the water. He held a wet sponge over her mouth, forcing her to swallow the bitter-tasting water. She prayed to God it was not belladonna she was ingesting. Lena had seen Julia Matthews with her own eyes. She knew how lethal the drug was. What's more, Lena doubted Sara Linton would be around to save her. Not that Lena was sure she wanted to be saved. In the back of her mind, Lena was coming to the conclusion that the best thing that could happen to her was for her to die here.

"I've tried to stop that dripping," Jeb said, as if to apologize. "I don't know what the problem is."

Lena licked her lips, holding her tongue.

"Sara came by," he said. "You know, she really has no idea who I am."

Again, Lena was silent. There was a lonely quality to his voice that she did not want to respond to. It was as if he wanted comfort.

"Do you want to know what I did to your sister?" he asked.

"Yes," Lena answered before she could stop herself.

"She had a sore throat," he began, taking off his shirt. Out of the corner of her eye, Lena watched him as he continued to undress himself. His tone was casual, the same one he used when recommending an over-the-counter cough medicine or a particular brand of vitamin.

He said, "She didn't like to take any medication, even aspirin. She asked me if I knew of a good herbal cough remedy." He was completely naked now, and he moved closer to Lena. She tried to jerk away as he lay down beside her, but it was useless. Her hands and feet were securely nailed to the floor. The secondary restraints all but paralyzed her.

Jeb continued, "Sara told me she would be going to the diner at two. I knew Sibyl would be there. I used to watch her walk by every Monday on her way to eat lunch. She was very pretty, Lena. But not like you. She didn't have your spirit."

Lena jerked as his hand came out to stroke her stomach. His fingers played lightly on her skin, sending a tremor of fear through her body.

He rested his head on her shoulder, watching his hand as he spoke. "I knew Sara was going to be there, that Sara could save her, but of course that's not how it worked out, was it? Sara was late. She was late, and she let your sister die."

Lena's body shook uncontrollably. He had kept her drugged during the past assaults, making them somewhat bearable. If he raped her now, like this, she wouldn't survive it. Lena remembered Julia Matthews's last words. She had said that Jeb made love to her; that was what had killed Julia. Lena knew if he made it gentle, if he was soft with her rather than savage, if he kissed her and caressed her as a lover, she would never be able to go back from this point. No matter what he did to her, if she lived beyond tomorrow, if she survived this ordeal, part of her would already be dead.

Jeb leaned over, tracing his tongue along her lower abdomen, into her navel. He gave a pleased laugh. "You're so sweet, Lena," he whispered, tracing his tongue up to her nipple. He sucked her breast gently, using his palm to attend to her other breast. His body was pressed into hers, and she could feel the hardness of him against her leg.

Lena's mouth trembled as she asked, "Tell me about Sibyl."

He used his fingers to gently squeeze her nipple. In another setting, under different circumstances, it would be almost playful. There was a hushed lover's tone to his voice that sent a wave of repulsion screaming down her spine.

Jeb said, "I walked around the back of the buildings and hid in the toilet. I knew the tea would make her have to use the bathroom, so…" He ran his fingers down her stomach, stopping just above her pubic area. "I locked myself in the other stall. It happened very fast. I should have guessed she was a virgin." He gave the kind of satisfied sigh a dog would give after a large meal. "She was so warm and wet when I was inside of her."

Lena shuddered as his finger probed between her legs. He massaged her, his eyes locked onto hers to see her reaction. The direct stimulation caused her body to react in ways contrary to the terror she was feeling. He leaned over, kissing the side of her breasts. "God, you've got a beautiful body," he moaned, holding his finger up to her lips, pressing her mouth open. She tasted herself as he slid his finger deeper; in and out, in and out.

He said, "Julia was pretty, too, but not like you." He put his hand back between her legs, pressing his finger deep inside her. She felt herself being stretched as he slipped in another finger.

"I could give you something," he said. "Something to dilate you. I could get my whole fist inside of you."

A sob filled the room: Lena's. She had never heard such grief in her life. The sound itself was more frightening than what Jeb was doing to her. Her entire body moved up and down as he fucked her, the chains from her restraints raking against the floor, the back of her head rubbing against the hard wood.

He slipped his fingers out and lay beside her, his body pressed into her side. She could feel every part of him, tell how excited this was making him. There was a sexual odor in the room that made it difficult for her to breathe. He was doing something, she could not tell what.

He put his lips close to her ear, whispering, " 'Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing shall by any means hurt you.' "

Lena's teeth started to chatter. She felt a pinch at her thigh and knew he had given her another injection.

" 'For a small moment have I forsaken thee; but with great mercies I shall gather thee.'"

"Please," Lena cried, "please don't do this."

"Julia, Sara could save. Not your sister," Jeb said. He sat up, crossing his legs again. He stroked himself as he spoke, his tone almost conversational. "I don't know if she'll be able to save you, Lena. Do you?"

Lena could not look away from him. Even as he picked his pants off the floor and pulled something from the back pocket, her eyes stayed on his. He held up a pair of pliers in her line of vision. They were large, about ten inches long, and the stainless steel gleamed in the light.

"I've got a late lunch," he said, "then I've got to run into town and take care of some paperwork. The bleeding should be stopped by then. I've mixed a blood-clotting compound with the Percodan. I also added a little something for the nausea. It's going to hurt a little. I won't lie to you."

Lena rolled her head side to side, not understanding. She felt the drugs kicking in. Her body felt like it was melting to the floor.

"Blood is a great lubricant. Did you know that?"

Lena held her breath, not knowing what was coming, but sensing the danger.

His penis brushed against her chest as he straddled her body. He steadied her head with a strong hand, forcing her mouth open by pressing his fingers into her jaw. Her vision blurred, then doubled as he reached the pliers into her mouth.

Chapter Twenty-eight

SARA pulled back on the throttle as she neared the dock. Jeb was already there, taking off his orange life vest, looking just as goofy as he had before. Like Sara, he was wearing a heavy sweater and a pair of jeans. Last night's storm had dropped the temperature considerably, and she could not guess why anyone would get out on the lake today unless they absolutely had to.

"Let me help you," he offered, reaching out toward her boat. He grabbed one of the lines and walked along the deck, pulling the boat toward the winch.

"Just tie it here," Sara said, stepping out of the boat. "I've got to go back over to my parents' house later."

"Nothing wrong, I hope?"

"No," Sara answered, tying the other line. She glanced at Jeb's rope, noting the girlie knot he had used looping it around the bollard. The boat would probably be loose inside of ten minutes, but Sara did not have the heart to give him a rope-tying lesson.

She reached into the boat, taking out two plastic grocery bags. "I had to borrow my sisters car to go to the store," she explained. "My car's still impounded."

"From the-" He stopped, looking somewhere over Sara's shoulder.

"Yeah," she answered, walking along the dock. "Did you get your gutter fixed?"

He was shaking his head as he caught up with her, taking the bags. "I don't know what the problem is."

"Have you thought about putting a sponge or something in the bottom of the spout?" she suggested. "Maybe that'll help dampen the noise."

"That's a great idea," he said. They had reached the house, and she opened the back door for him.

He gave her a concerned look as he placed the bags on the counter alongside his boat keys. "You really should lock your door, Sara."

"I was just gone for a few minutes."

"I know," Jeb said, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. "But, you never know. Especially with what's been going on lately. You know, with those girls."

Sara sighed. He had a point. She just could not reconcile what was happening in town with her own home. It was as if Sara was somehow protected by the old "lightning never strikes twice" rule. Of course, Jeb was right. She would need to be more careful.

She asked, "How's the boat doing?" as she walked toward the answering machine. The message light was not blinking, but a scroll through the caller ID showed that Jeffrey had called three times in the last hour. Whatever he wanted to say, Sara wasn't listening. She was actually thinking about quitting at the coroner's office. There had to be a better way to get Jeffrey out of her life. She needed to focus on the present instead of wishing for the past. Truth be told, the past was not as great as she had made it out to be.

"Sara?" Jeb asked, holding out a glass of wine.

"Oh." Sara took the glass, thinking it was a little early for her to be drinking alcohol.

Jeb held up his glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Sara returned, tilting the glass. She gagged at the taste. "Oh, God," she said, putting her hand to her mouth. The sharp taste sat on her tongue like a wet rag.

"What's wrong?"

"Ugh," Sara groaned, holding her head under the kitchen faucet. She washed her mouth out several times before turning back to Jeb. "It turned. The wine turned."

He waved the glass under his nose, frowning. "It smells like vinegar."

"Yes," she said, taking another swig of water.

"Gosh, I'm sorry. I guess I kept it a little too long."

The phone rang as she turned off the faucet. Sara gave an apologetic smile to Jeb as she crossed the room, checking the caller ID. It was Jeffrey again. She did not pick up the phone.

"This is Sara," her voice said from the answering machine. She was trying to remember which button to press when the beep came, then Jeffrey.

"Sara," Jeffrey said, "I'm getting patient records to go over from Grady so we-"

Sara pulled the power cord out of the back of the machine, cutting Jeffrey off in midsentence. She turned back to Jeb with what she hoped was an apologetic smile. "Sorry," she said.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. "Didn't you use to work at Grady?"

"In another lifetime," she answered, taking the phone off the hook. She listened for the dial tone, then rested the receiver on the table.

"Oh," Jeb said.

She smiled at the quizzical look he gave her, fighting the urge to spit out the taste in her mouth. She walked over to the counter and started unpacking the bags. "I got deli meats at the grocery store instead," she offered. "Roast beef, chicken, turkey, potato salad." She stopped at the look he was giving her. "What?"

He shook his head. "You're so pretty."

Sara felt herself blush at the compliment. "Thanks," she managed, taking out a loaf of bread. "Do you want mayonnaise?"

He gave her a nod, still smiling. His expression was almost worshipful. It was making her uncomfortable.

To interrupt the moment, she suggested, "Why don't you put on some music?"

Following her directions he turned toward the stereo. Sara finished making the sandwiches as he trailed his finger down her CD collection.

Jeb said, "We've got the same taste in music."

Sara suppressed a "Great" as she took plates out of the cabinet. She was halving the sandwiches when the music came on. It was an old Robert Palmer CD she had not heard in ages.

"Great sound system," Jeb said. "Is that surround sound?"

"Yeah," Sara answered. The speaker system was something Jeffrey had installed so that music could be heard throughout the house. There was even a speaker in the bathroom. They had taken baths at night sometimes, candles around the tub, something soft playing on the stereo.

"Sara?"

"Sorry," she said, realizing she had zoned out.

Sara put down the plates on the kitchen table, setting them across from each other. She waited for Jeb to come back, then sat down, her leg tucked underneath her. "I haven't heard this in a long time."

"It's pretty old," he said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "My sister used to listen to this all the time." He smiled. "Sneakin' Sally Through the Alley. That was her name, Sally."

Sara licked some mayonnaise off her finger, hoping the taste would mask the wine. "I didn't know you had a sister."

He sat up in his chair, taking his wallet out of his back pocket. "She died a while ago," he said, thumbing through the pictures in the front. He slid a photo from one of the plastic sleeves, holding it out to Sara. "Just one of those things."

Sara thought that was an odd thing to say about the death of his sister. Still, she took the picture, which showed a young girl in a cheerleading outfit. She held her pom-poms out from her sides. A smile was on her face. The girl looked just like Jeb. "She was very pretty," Sara said, handing him back the photograph. "How old was she?"

"She had just turned thirteen," he answered, looking at the picture for a few beats. He slipped it into its plastic sleeve, then tucked the wallet in his back pocket. "She was a surprise baby for my parents. I was fifteen when she was born. My father had just gotten his first church."

"He was a minister?" Sara asked, wondering how she could have dated Jeb before and not known this. She could have sworn he had once told her that his father was an electrician.

"He was a Baptist preacher," Jeb clarified. "He was a firm believer in the power of the Lord to heal what ails you. I'm glad he had his faith to get him through, but…" Jeb shrugged. "Some things you just can't let go of. Some things you can't forget."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Sara answered, knowing what he meant about not being able to let go. She looked down at her sandwich, thinking it was probably not appropriate to take a bite at this moment. Her stomach growled to spur her on, but she ignored it.

"It was a long time ago," Jeb finally answered. "I was just thinking about her today, with all that's been going on."

Sara did not know what to say. She was tired of death. She did not want to comfort him. This date had been made to take her mind off what had been happening lately, not remind her of it.

She stood from the table, offering, "Did you want something else to drink?" Sara walked over to the refrigerator as she talked. "I've got Cokes, some Kool-Aid, orange juice." She opened the door and the sucking sound reminded her of something. She just could not put her finger on it. Suddenly it hit her. Rubber stripping on the doors to the ER at Grady had made the exact same sucking noise when they opened. She had never made the connection before, but there it was.

Jeb said, "Coke's fine."

Sara reached into the fridge, shuffling around for the sodas. She stopped, her hand resting on the trademark red can. She felt a light-headedness, as if she had too much air in her lungs. She closed her eyes, trying to keep her sense of balance. Sara was back in the ER. The doors opened with that sucking sound. A young girl was wheeled in on a gurney. Stats were called out by the EMT, IVs were started, the girl was intubated. She was in shock, her pupils blown, her body warm to the touch. Her temperature was called out, one hundred three. Her blood pressure was through the roof. She was bleeding profusely from between her legs.

Sara ran the case, trying to stop the bleeding. The girl started to convulse, jerking out the IVs, kicking over the supply tray at her feet. Sara leaned over her, trying to stop the girl from doing any further damage. The seizing stopped abruptly, and Sara thought she might have died. Her pulse was strong. Her reflexes were weak but registering.

A pelvic examination revealed the girl had recently had an abortion, though not one that had been given by a qualified physician. Her uterus was a mess, the walls of her vagina scraped and shredded. Sara repaired what she could, but the damage was done. Whatever healing she would do was left up to the girl.

Sara went to her car to change her shirt before talking to the girl's parents. She found them in the waiting area and told them the prognosis. She used the right phrases, like "guarded optimism" and "critical, but stable." Only the girl did not make it through the next three hours. She had another seizure effectively frying her brain.

At that point in her career, the thirteen-year-old girl was the youngest patient Sara had ever lost. The other patients who had died under Sara's care had been older, or sicker, and it was sad to lose them, but their deaths had not been so unexpected. Sara was shocked by the tragedy as she made her way toward the waiting area. The girl's parents seemed just as shocked. They had no idea their daughter had been pregnant. To their knowledge, she had never had a boyfriend. They couldn't understand how their daughter could be pregnant, let alone dead.

"My baby," the lather whispered. He repeated the phrase over and over, his voice quiet with grief. "She was my baby."

"You must be wrong," the mother said. Rummaging around in her purse, she pulled out a wallet. Before Sara could stop her, a photograph was found-a school picture of the young girl in a cheerleading uniform Sara did not want to look at the picture, but there was no consoling the woman until she did. Sara glanced down quickly, then looked a second, more careful time. The photograph showed a young girl in a cheerleading outfit. She held her pom-poms out from her sides. A smile was on her face. The expression was a sharp contrast to the one on the lifeless girl lying on the gurney, waiting to be moved to the morgue.

The father had reached out, taking Sara's hands. He bent his head down and mumbled a prayer that seemed to last a long time, asking for forgiveness, restating his belief in Cod. Sara was by no means a religious person, but there was something about his prayer that moved her. To be able to find such comfort in the face of such a horrible loss was amazing to her.

After the prayer, Sara had gone to her car to collect her thoughts, to maybe take a drive around the block and work her mind around this tragic, unnecessary death. That was when she had found the damage done to her car. That was when she had gone back into the bathroom. That was when Jack Allen Wright had raped her.

The picture Jeb had just shown her was the same picture she had seen twelve years ago in the waiting room.

"Sara?"

The song changed on the stereo. Sara felt her stomach drop as the words "Hey, hey, Julia" came from the speakers.

"Something wrong?" Jeb asked, then quoted the words from the song. " 'You're acting so peculiar.' "

Sara stood, holding up a can as she closed the refrigerator. "This is the last Coke," she said, edging toward the garage door. "I've got some outside."

"That's okay." He shrugged. "I'm fine with just water." He had put his sandwich down and was staring at her.

Sara popped the top on the Coke. Her hands were shaking slightly, but she didn't think Jeb noticed. She brought the can to her mouth, sipping enough to let some of the Coke spill onto her sweater.

"Oh," she said, trying to act surprised. "Let me go change. I'll be right back."

Sara returned the smile he gave her, her lips trembling as she did so. She forced herself to move, walking down the hall slowly so as not to raise the alarm. Inside her room, she snatched up the phone, glancing out the bank of windows, surprised to see the bright sunlight pouring in. It was so incongruous with the terror she felt. Sara dialed Jeffrey's number, but there were no corresponding beeps when she pressed the buttons. She stared at the phone, willing it to work.

"You took it off the hook," Jeb said. "Remember?"

Sara jumped up from her bed. "I was just calling my dad. He's coming by in a few minutes."

Jeb stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. "I thought you said you were going by their house later."

"That's right," Sara answered, backing toward the other side of the room. This put the bed between them, but Sara was trapped, her back to the window. "He's coming to get me."

"You think so?" Jeb asked. He was smiling the same way he always did, a lopsided half grin that you would find on a child. There was something so casual about him, something so nonthreatening, that Sara wondered for half a second if she had drawn the wrong conclusion. A glance clown at his hand snapped her out of it. He was holding a long boning knife at his side.

"What gave it away?" he asked. "The vinegar, wasn't it? I had a bear of a time getting it in through the cork. Thank God for cardiac syringes."

Sara put her hand behind her, feeling the cold glass of the window under her palm. "You left them for me," she said, going through the last few days in her mind. Jeb had known about her lunch with Tessa. Jeb had known she was at the hospital the night Jeffrey was shot. "That's why Sibyl was in the bathroom. That's why Julia was on my car. You wanted me to save them."

He smiled, nodding slowly. There was a sadness around his eyes, as ü he regretted that the game was over. "I wanted to give you that opportunity."

"Is that why you showed me her picture?" she asked. "To see if I would remember her?"

"I'm surprised you did."

"Why?" Sara asked. "Do you think I could forget something like that? She was a baby."

He shrugged.

"Did you do that to her?" Sara asked, recalling the brutality of the home abortion. Derrick Lange, her supervisor, had guessed a clothes hanger had been used.

She said, "Were you the one who did it?"

"How did you know?" Jeb asked, a defensive edge to his tone. "Did she tell you?"

There was something more to what he was saying, a more sinister secret behind his words. When Sara spoke, she knew the answer before she even finished her sentence. Taking into account what she had seen Jeb was capable of, it made perfect sense.

She asked, "You raped your sister, didn't you?"

"I loved my sister," he countered, the defensive tone still there.

"She was just a child."

"She came to me," he said, as if this was some kind of excuse. "She wanted to be with me."

"She was thirteen years old."

" 'If a man shall take his sister, his father's daughter, and see her nakedness and she see his nakedness, it is a wicked thing.' " His smile seemed to say he was pleased with himself. "Just call me wicked."

"She was your sister."

"We are all God's children, are we not? We share the same parents."

"Can you quote a verse to justify rape? Can you quote a verse to justify murder?"

"The good thing about the Bible, Sara, is that it's open to interpretation. God gives us signs, opportunities, and we either follow them or we don't. We can choose what happens to us that way. We don't like to think about it, but we are the captains of our own destinies. We make the decisions that direct the course of our lives." He stared at her, not speaking for a few beats. "I would have thought you learned that lesson twelve years ago."

Sara felt the earth shift under her feet as a thought came to her. "Was it you? In the bathroom?"

"Lord, no," Jeb said, waving this off. "That was Jack Wright. He beat me to it, I guess. Gave me a good idea, though." Jeb leaned against the door jamb, the same pleased smile twisting his lips. "We're both men of faith, you see. We both let the Spirit guide us."

"The only thing you both are is animals."

"I guess I owe him for bringing us together," Jeb said. "What he did for you has served as an example for me, Sara. I want to thank you for that. On behalf of the many women who have come since then, and I do mean come in the biblical sense, I offer a sincere thank-you."

"Oh, God," Sara breathed, putting her hand to her mouth. She had seen what he had done to his sister, to Sibyl Adams, and to Julia Matthews. To think that this had all started when Jack Wright had attacked her made Sara's stomach turn. "You monster," she hissed. "You murderer."

He straightened, his expression suddenly changed by rage. Jeb went from being a quiet, unassuming pharmacist to the man who had raped and killed at least two women. Anger radiated from his posture. "You let her die. You killed her."

"She was dead before she got to me," Sara countered, trying to keep her voice steady. "She lost too much blood."

"That's not true."

"You didn't get it all out," she said. "She was rotting from the inside."

"You're lying."

Sara shook her head. She moved her hand behind her, looking for the lock on the window. "You killed her."

"That's not true," he repeated, though she could tell from the change in his voice that part of him believed her.

Sara found the lock, tried to twist it open. It wouldn't budge. "Sibyl died because of you, too."

"She was fine when I left her."

"She had a heart attack," Sara told him, pressing against the lock. "She died from an overdose. She had a seizure, just like your sister."

His voice was frighteningly loud in the bedroom, and the glass behind Sara shook when he yelled, "That is not true."

Sara gave up on the lock as he took a step toward her. He still held the knife down at his side, but the threat was there. "I wonder if your cunt's still as sweet as it was for Jack," he mumbled. "I remember sitting through your trial, listening to the details. I wanted to take notes, but I found after the first day that I didn't need to." He reached into his back pocket, taking out a pair of handcuffs. "You still got that key I left for you?"

She stopped him with her words. "I won't go through this again," she said with conviction. "You'll have to kill me first."

He looked down at the floor, his shoulders relaxed. She felt a brief moment of relief until he looked back up at her. There was a smile at his lips when he said, "What makes you think it matters to me if you're dead or not?"

"You gonna cut a hole in my belly?"

He was so shocked that he dropped the handcuffs on the floor. "What?" he whispered.

"You didn't sodomize her."

She could see a bead of sweat roll down the side of his head as he asked, "Who?"

"Sibyl," Sara provided. "How else could shit get inside her vagina?"

"That's disgusting."

"Is it?" Sara asked. "Did you bite her while you fucked the hole in her belly?"

He shook his head vehemently side to side. "I didn't do that."

"Your teeth marks are on her shoulder, Jeb."

"They are not."

"I saw them," Sara countered. "I saw everything you did to them. I saw how you hurt all of them."

"They weren't hurting," he insisted. "They didn't hurt at all."

Sara walked toward him until she was standing with her knees against the bed. He stood on the other side, watching her, a stricken look on his face. "They suffered, Jeb. Both of them suffered, just like your sister. Just like Sally."

"I never hurt them like that," he whispered. "I never hurt them. You're the one who let them die."

"You raped a thirteen-year-old child, a blind woman, and an emotionally unstable twenty-two-year-old. Is that what gets you off, Jeb? Attacking helpless women? Controlling them?"

His jaw clenched. "You're just going to make it harder for yourself."

"Fuck you, you sick bastard."

"No," he said. "It'll be the other way around."

"Come on," Sara taunted, clenching her fists. "I dare you to try."

Jeb lunged toward her, but Sara was already moving. She ran full force toward the picture window, tucking her head as she broke out the glass. Pain flooded her senses, shards of glass cutting into her body. She landed in the backyard, tucking as she rolled a few feet down the hill.

Sara stood quickly, not looking over her shoulder as she ran toward the lake. Her arm was cut across the bicep and a gash was in her forehead, but these were the least of her concerns. By the time she got to the dock, Jeb was close behind her. She dove into the cold water without thinking, swimming under the water until she could no longer breathe. Finally, she surfaced ten yards from the dock. Sara saw Jeb jump into her boat, too late remembering she had left the key in the ignition.

Sara dove under the water, pushing herself, swimming as far as she could before surfacing. When she looked back around, she could see the boat coming toward her. She dove down, touching the bottom of the lake as the boat sped over her. Sara turned underwater, heading toward the rock field lining the far side of the lake. The area was no more than twenty feet away, but Sara felt her arms tiring as she swam. The coldness of the water hit her like a slap in the face, and she realized that the low temperature would slow her down.

She surfaced, looking around for the boat. Again, Jeb came at her full throttle. Again, she ducked under the water. She came up just in time to see the boat skimming toward the submerged rocks. The nose of the boat hit the first one head-on, popping up, flipping the boat over. Sara watched as Jeb was thrown from the boat. He flew through the air, splashing into the water. His hands clawed helplessly as he tried to keep himself from drowning. Mouth open, eyes wide with terror, he flailed as he was pulled down below the surface. She waited, holding her breath, but he did not come back up.

Jeb had been thrown about ten feet from the boat, away from the rock field. Sara knew the only way she would make it to the shore was to swim through the rocks. She could tread water for only so long before the cold enveloped her. The distance to the dock was too great. She would never make it. The safest route to the shore would take Sara past the overturned boat.

What she really wanted to do was stay where she was, but Sara knew the cold water was luring her into a sense of complacency. The lake's temperature wasn't down to freezing, but it was cold enough to bring on moderate hypothermia if she stayed in too long.

She swam a slow crawl to conserve body heat, her head just above the water as she made her way through the field. Her breath was a cloud in front of her, but she tried to think of something warm; sitting in front of a fire, roasting marshmallows. The hot tub at the YMCA. The steam room. The warm quilt on her bed.

Altering her course, she went around the far side of the boat, away from where Jeb had gone down. She had seen too many movies. She was terrified he would come from the deep, grabbing her leg, pulling her down. As she passed the boat, she could see a large hole in the front where the rock had torn through the bow. It was overturned, the belly up to the sky. Jeb was on the other side, holding on to the torn bow. His lips were dark blue, a stark contrast against his white face. He was shivering uncontrollably, his breath coming out in sharp puffs of white. He had been struggling, wasting his energy trying to keep his head above water. The cold was probably lowering his core temperature with every passing minute.

Sara kept swimming, moving more slowly. Jeb's breathing and her hands pushing through the water were the only sounds on the still lake.

"I c-c-can't swim," he said.

"That's too bad," Sara answered, her voice tight in her throat. She felt as if she was circling a wounded but dangerous animal.

"You can't leave me here," he managed around chattering teeth.

She started to sidestroke, turning in the water so as not to put her back to him. "Yes, I can."

"You're a doctor."

"Yes, I am," she said, continuing to move away from him.

"You'll never find Lena."

Sara felt a weight drop onto her. She treaded water, keeping her eyes on Jeb. "What about Lena?"

"I't-t-took her," he said. "She's somewhere safe."

"I don't believe you."

He gave what she assumed was a shrug.

"Where's somewhere safe?" Sara demanded. "What did you do to her?"

"I left her for you, Sara," he said, his voice catching as his body started shaking. From the recesses of her mind, Sara recalled that the second stage of hypothermia was marked by uncontrollable shaking and irrational thought.

He said, "I left her somewhere."

Sara moved slightly closer, not trusting him. "Where did you leave her?"

"You n-n-need to save her," he mumbled, closing his eyes. His face dipped down, his mouth dropping below the waterline. He snorted as water went up his nose, his grip on the boat tightening. There was a cracking sound as the boat moved against the rock.

Sara felt a sudden rush of heat through her body. "Where is she, Jeb?" When he didn't answer, she told him, "You can die out here. The water's cold enough. Your heart will slow down until it stops. I'd give you twenty minutes, tops," she said, knowing it would be more like a few hours. "I'll let you die," Sara warned, never more certain of anything in her life. "Tell me where she is."

"I'll tell you on th-th-the shore," he mumbled.

"Tell me now," she said. "I know you wouldn't leave her somewhere to die alone."

"I wouldn't," he said, a spark of understanding in his eyes. "I wouldn't leave her alone, Sara. I wouldn't let her die alone."

Sara moved her arms out to her side, trying to keep her body moving so that she would not freeze. "Where is she, Jeb?"

He shook so hard the boat shuddered in the water, sending small wakes toward Sara. He whispered, "You need to save her, Sara. You need to save her."

"Tell me or I'll let you die, Jeb, I swear to God, I'll let you drown out here."

His eyes seemed to cloud and a slight smile came to his blue lips. He whispered, " 'It is finished,' " as his head dropped again, but this time he didn't stop it. Sara watched as he let go of the boat, his head slipping under water.

"No," Sara screamed, lunging toward him. She grabbed the back of his shirt, trying to pull him up. Instinctively, he started to fight her, pulling her down instead of letting her pull him up. They struggled this way, Jeb grabbing her pants, her sweater, trying to use her as a ladder to climb back up for air. His fingernails raked across the cut in her arm, and Sara reflexively pulled away. Jeb was pushed back from her, the tips of his fingers brushing across the front of her sweater as he tried to find purchase.

Sara was pulled down as he climbed up. There was a solid thud as his head slammed against the boat. His mouth opened in surprise, then he slipped soundlessly back under the water. Behind him, a streak of bright red blood marked the bow of the boat. Sara tried to ignore the pressure in her lungs as she reached toward him, trying to pull him back up. There was just enough sunlight for her to see him sinking to the bottom. His mouth was open, his hands stretched out to her.

She surfaced, gasping for air, then ducked her head back underwater. She did this several times, searching for Jeb. When she finally found him, he was resting against a large boulder, his arms held out in front of him, eyes open as he stared at her. Sara put her hand to his wrist, checking to see if he was alive. She went up for air, treading water, her arms out to the side. Her teeth were chattering, but she counted out loud.

"One-one thousand," she said through clicking teeth. "Two-one thousand." Sara continued counting, furiously treading water. She was reminded of old games of Marco Polo, where either she or Tessa would tread water, their eyes closed, as they counted out the requisite number before searching each other out.

At fifty, she took a deep breath, then dove back down. Jeb was still there, his head back. She closed his eyes, then scooped him up under his arms. On the surface, she crooked her arm around his neck, using her other arm to swim. Holding him this way, she started toward the shore.

After what seemed like hours but was only a minute at most, Sara stopped, treading water so that she could catch her breath. The shore seemed farther away than it had before. Her legs felt disconnected from her body, even as she willed them to tread water. Jeb was literally deadweight, pulling her down. Her head dipped just below the surface, but she stopped herself, coughing out the lake, trying to clear her mind. It was so cold, and she felt so sleepy. She blinked her eyes, trying not to keep them closed too long. A small period of rest would be good. She would rest here, then drag him back to the shore.

Sara leaned her head back, trying to float on her back. Jeb made this impossible, and again she started to dip below the water. She would have to let Jeb go. Sara realized that. She just could not force herself to do it. Even as the weight of his body started to pull her down again, Sara could not let go.

A hand grabbed her, then an arm was around her waist. Sara was too weak to struggle, her brain too frozen to make sense of what was happening. For a split second she thought it was Jeb, but the force pulling her up to the surface was too strong. Her grip around Jeb loosened, and she opened her eyes, watching his body float back down to the bottom of the lake.

Her head broke the surface and her mouth opened wide as she gasped for air. Her lungs ached with each breath, her nose ran. Sara started to cough the kind of wracking coughs that could stop the heart. Water came out of her mouth, then bile, as she choked on the fresh air. She felt someone beating on her back, knocking the water out of her. Her head tilted down into the water again, but she was jerked back by her hair.

"Sara," Jeffrey said, one hand around her jaw, the other holding her up by the arm. "Look at me," he demanded. "Sara."

Her body went limp, and she was conscious of the fact that Jeffrey was pulling her back toward the shore. His arm was hooked across her body, under her arms, as he did an awkward one-handed backstroke.

Sara put her hands over Jeffreys arm, leaned her head against his chest, and let him take her home.

Chapter Twenty-nine

LENA wanted Jeb. She wanted him to take the pain away from her. She wanted him to send her back to that place where Sibyl and their mother and father were. She wanted to be with her family. She did not care what price she had to pay; she wanted to be with them.

Blood trickled down the back of her throat in a steady stream, causing her to cough occasionally. He had been right about the throbbing pain in her mouth, but the Percodan made it bearable. She trusted Jeb that the bleeding would stop soon. She knew he was not finished with her yet. He would not let her choke to death on her own blood after all the trouble he had gone through to keep her here. Lena knew he had something more spectacular in mind for her.

When her mind wandered, she imagined herself being left in front of Nan Thomas's house. For some reason, this pleased her. Hank would see what had been done to Lena. He would know what had been done to Sibyl. He would see what Sibyl had not been able to see. It seemed fitting.

A familiar noise came from downstairs, footsteps across the hard wooden floor. The steps were muffled as he walked across the carpet. Lena assumed this was in the living room. She did not know the layout of the house, but by listening to the distinct noises, making the connection between the hollow taps of his shoes on the floor as he walked around the house and the dull thud as he took off his shoes to come see her, she could generally tell where he was.

Only, this time there seemed to be a second set of footsteps.

"Lena?" She could barely make out his voice, but she knew instinctively that it was Jeffrey Tolliver. For just a second, she wondered what he was doing there.

Her mouth opened, but she did not say anything. She was upstairs in the attic. Maybe he would not think to look here. Maybe he would leave her alone. She could die here and no one would ever know what had been done to her.

"Lena?" another voice called. It was Sara Linton.

Her mouth was still open, but she could not speak.

For what seemed like hours, they walked around downstairs. She heard the heavy scrapes and bangs as furniture was moved around, closets searched. The muffled sounds of their voices sounded like a disjointed harmony to her ears. She actually smiled, thinking they sounded like they were banging pots and pans together. It wasn't like Jeb could have hid her in the kitchen.

This thought struck her as funny. She started to laugh, an uncontrollable reaction that shook her chest, making her cough. Soon, she was laughing so hard that tears came to her eyes. Then, she was sobbing, her chest tightening with pain as her mind let her see everything that had happened to her in the last week. She saw Sibyl on the slab in the morgue. She saw Hank mourning the loss of his niece. She saw Nan Thomas, eyes red-rimmed and stricken. She saw Jeb on top of her, making love to her.

Her fingers curled in around the long nails securing her to the floor, her entire body seizing up at the knowledge of the physical assaults against her.

"Lena?" Jeffrey called, his voice stronger than it had been before. "Lena?"

She heard him moving closer, heard knocking in quick staccato, then a pause, then more knocking.

Sara said, "It's a false panel."

More knocking came, then the sound of their footsteps on the attic stairs. The door burst open, light cutting through the darkness. Lena squeezed her eyes shut, feeling like needles were pressing into her eyeballs.

"Oh my God," Sara gasped. Then, "Get some towels. Sheets. Anything."

Lena slit her eyes open as Sara knelt in front of her. There was a coldness coming off Sara's body, and she was wet.

"It's okay," Sara whispered, her hand on Lena's forehead. "You're going to be okay."

Lena opened her eyes more, letting her pupils adjust to the light. She looked back at the door, searching for Jeb.

"He's dead," Sara said. "He can't hurt you-" She stopped, but Lena knew what she was going to say. She heard the last word to Sara's sentence in her mind if not her ears. He can't hurt you anymore, she had started to say.

Lena allowed herself to look up at Sara. Something flashed in Sara's eyes, and Lena knew that Sara somehow understood. Jeb was part of Lena now. He would be hurting her every day for the rest of her life.