One Last Scream

Chapter Twelve

“Your homework assignment this week is to be good to yourself,” Karen said, walking out of her office with her last patient of the day. Cecilia was a divorced forty-something woman with curly gray-brown hair and low self-esteem. Karen opened the front door for her. “List ten things you consider life’s little pleasures and do three of them for yourself this week. Treat yourself, okay?”

Nodding, Cecilia smiled at her. “Okay, Karen. Thanks. See you next Monday.”

Ordinarily, Karen would have gone back into her study and jotted down some notes about the session, but she still hadn’t heard back from Amelia. Twenty-four hours, and still no word. No one had heard from her-not George, Shane, or Amelia’s roommate.

Karen always switched off her cellular and set the home phone answering machine for immediate pickup during client sessions. Between each of her three sessions today, she’d anxiously checked her messages.

With Cecilia out the door, Karen made a beeline to her purse, which was on the chair in the front hallway. She dug out her cell phone and clicked on the messages display. There was one. She recognized Amelia’s cell phone number. She knew it by heart, now. Karen pressed the playback code. “Hi, Karen. You’re not answering at home, either. You must be with a client. Um, looks like you called me a bunch of times. Sorry, but I’ve been out of town, and I switched off my phone. I just had to get away from everything and everyone. Shane and my Uncle George left a ton of messages too. I didn’t mean to worry you guys. Anyway, I’m back. Call me, and I’ll answer this time, I promise! Bye.”

Baffled, Karen played the message again. It didn’t make sense. Amelia was acting as if yesterday with Koehler had never even happened.

She hit the last caller return, and Amelia answered after two rings. “Karen, is that you?”

“Hi, Amelia. I just got your message.”

“And I just got all of yours. Sorry if I gave you a scare. I should have told you-”

“You were out of town?” Karen asked, cutting her off.

“Yes. I rented a car and drove up and down the coast. Now that my credit card’s working again, I-”

“And you just got back today?”

“Yes, about an hour ago. I blew off a morning class. Why? What’s going on, Karen?”

“Did you happen to have a blackout over the weekend? Any lost time?”

“Why do you ask that?” Amelia replied, a sudden edge in her voice.

“Well, I…” Karen trailed off at the sound of someone on the front stoop. Rufus started barking in the kitchen. Then the doorbell rang. “Amelia, just a minute,” she said, moving to the door. She glanced through the peephole to see a petite, very pretty black woman and a stocky, Caucasian man in his late forties with a bad comb-over. From their somber expressions, office clothes, and the odd pairing, Karen figured they were police detectives.

She backed away from the door. “Listen, Amelia,” she whispered into the phone. Rufus’s barking competed with her. “I have to call you back.”

“Karen, for God’s sake, you can’t just ask me if I’ve had a blackout, then say you’ll call me back. What’s going on? Did something happen over the weekend that I should know about?”

“I can’t talk right now,” Karen whispered urgently. “There are people at my front door. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” She clicked off the line. “Rufus, calm down!” she yelled. Then she opened the door, and put on her best cordial smile for the two of them. “Can I help you?” She still clutched the cell phone in her hand.

The woman flashed her police badge. “Karen Carlisle?”

She nodded. “Yes?”

“Good afternoon, I’m Jacqueline Peyton and this is Warren Rooney.” Behind her, the man gave a little nod. Neither one of them cracked a smile. “We’re with the Seattle Police,” she continued. “We’re hoping you might help us locate a missing person. I understand Detective Russ Koehler was here yesterday afternoon.”

Karen stared at them and blinked. “He’s missing?”

“Was he here yesterday afternoon?” the woman pressed.

Karen nodded more times than necessary. “Um, yes, he showed up around this time yesterday-two o’clock. He was here for about ten minutes.”

“Mrs. Koehler said you telephoned her last night.”

“Yes, I thought I’d be hearing back from him, and never did.” Karen opened the door wider. “I’m sorry. Would you like to come in?”

The two detectives stepped inside the foyer. Karen closed the door after them. The cell phone went off in her hand, and she glanced at the caller ID: Amelia again.

She switched off the phone and stashed it in her purse. “I always thought a certain amount of time had to go by-like forty-eight or seventy-two hours-before the police considered anyone officially missing.”

The man shook his head. “In Washington State, there’s no waiting period. He’s been missing since yesterday afternoon. And at three o’clock this morning, we picked up a DUI driving Koehler’s car, a brand-new Audi. He claims he found it-abandoned, unlocked with the keys inside-on Aurora Boulevard.”

“What was the nature of Detective Koehler’s visit here?” the woman asked.

Karen hesitated. She remembered Koehler walking off with Amelia yesterday. “My car’s parked just down the block,” he’d told her. “We can go for a drive.”

“Ms. Carlisle?” the policewoman said.

Karen folded her arms in front of her. “Um, I’m a therapist, and Detective Koehler was asking about one of my clients, Amelia Faraday. I believe he was conducting some sort of follow-up investigation into the deaths of her parents and aunt in Wenatchee last week.” She figured this wasn’t any news to them. George had already told her that other cops on the force knew about Koehler’s interest in the case. But they didn’t know Koehler had driven off yesterday afternoon with Amelia.

She needed to talk to Amelia before the police did.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t much help,” Karen added. “I told Detective Koehler it would be unethical to repeat anything a patient shared with me during a session. Not that there’s anything to conceal. I’ve read the newspaper reports, and I don’t think Amelia held back on anything when she spoke to the police.”

The policewoman cocked her head to one side. Her eyes narrowed at her. “When Detective Koehler left here yesterday, did he indicate where he was going?”

Karen shrugged. “I have no idea where he was headed.” All the while, she thought, God, I’m lying to the police now.

“But he said he’d call you,” the man interjected. “What about?”

Karen shrugged again. “I’m not sure, actually. He didn’t specify the reason.”

“And when you didn’t hear from him, you tried calling him.”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

“You told Mrs. Koehler you’d been trying his cell before phoning his home.” The cop finally cracked a tiny smile. “Sounds like you felt his calling back was pretty darn important.”

Karen swallowed hard. “I just didn’t like the idea of having unfinished police business hanging over my head at the end of the day,” she answered carefully.

Neither one of the detectives seemed to be buying her story. The woman cleared her throat. “Ms. Carlisle-Karen, you don’t have to answer this. But it would be a big help to us. Do you have a-a personal relationship with Russ Koehler?”

“With Detective Koehler?” She let out a little laugh. “God, no, I only just met him the day before yesterday. What, did his wife think that I-”

“Do you suppose Koehler went to see Amelia Faraday after leaving here?” the man asked, cutting her off.

“Um, I really can’t say,” Karen replied, shrugging.

“Do you have a contact address and phone number for Ms. Faraday?” he asked.

“Yes, I have that on file. I’ll write it down for you.” She retreated into her office, took a deep breath, then looked up Amelia’s campus address and phone number. She scribbled down the information, then returned to the foyer and gave the piece of paper to the policewoman. “That’s her room number in Terry Hall, along with the phone there.”

The woman took it. “You don’t happen to have her cell phone number, do you?”

Karen hesitated. “Um, I…”

“Never mind,” she said. “This is good enough. Thank you for your time, Ms. Carlisle.”

As soon as Karen ushered them out the door, she ducked back inside, and dug her cell phone out of her purse again. Amelia answered on the first ring. Karen asked her if she was in her room at the dorm.

“Yeah,” Amelia replied. “Why did you ask me if I had a blackout? What’s going on?”

“Listen,” Karen said. “Do me a favor. Finish up whatever you’re doing there and get out. Some people might be on their way to see you, and it’s best you don’t talk to them until I meet with you. Don’t answer the phone either. I’ll meet you in twenty minutes at the U Library, the Graduate Reading Room. Don’t tell anyone else where you’re going, okay?”

“Well, okay, I guess. But I wish I knew what the hell was going on.”

“I’ll explain everything when I see you. Take care.”

Karen clicked off the line. Then she headed to the closet and grabbed her coat.

“So, the way I understand it, your niece was adopted through the agency when she was four and, within a month, this Duane Lee Savitt character walked into the adoption place, shot three employees, and set their offices on fire. Is that about right?”

George nodded. He stood by Professor Lori Kim’s desk and watched her load her briefcase with books and papers. Her Family and Juvenile Law class had just let out, and the classroom was empty except for the two of them. Lori Kim was a stout Asian woman in her late thirties. She had a few gray streaks in her close-cropped hair and wore designer glasses with her dark-blue power suit. Lori’s brisk, no-nonsense manner was occasionally punctuated by a sweet, disarming smile. George had called a few friends at the university, and had heard Professor Kim had a background in law enforcement as well as child psychology.

“I’m wondering if there’s a connection between this girl and the shootings at the adoption agency,” George explained. “I heard you know something about adoption laws. Do you think Savitt might have gone to the agency, trying to track down the child? At the same time, he torched the place, so I’m wondering if he wanted to destroy records that might link him with one particular child.”

“That one particular child being your niece?” Lori Kim asked.

“It’s a stretch, yes. But she does have vague memories of an Uncle Duane. “

Professor Kim zipped up her briefcase. “Do you mind if we walk and talk? I have a dental appointment at two-fifteen, and my car’s parked on the other side of the campus.”

“Not at all,” George replied. “In fact, I’ll even carry your briefcase for you. I was hoping to get some information on my niece’s biological parents, but-”

“Oh, that won’t be easy,” she cut in. She unloaded the briefcase on him, and it was damn heavy. “Those records are closed in Washington State.”

George had already found that out the hard way. He’d been on the phone for two hours this morning with several government agencies, talking to a lot of apathetic, curt, and often rude clerks who had told him the same thing: the information he wanted was “confidential…unavailable…restricted.” Finally, he’d given up and started phoning people, asking if there was a professor who knew a lot about adoption procedures. He hoped against hope that Lori Kim might know a way for him to get past all the legal stumbling blocks.

Lugging the briefcase, he walked down the corridor with her on the law school’s second floor. She moved at a brisk clip. “If your niece remembers an Uncle Duane before she was adopted by your in-laws, it means she had to be at least three or four years old before she lost her parents-or they gave her up. It’s unusual that she’d end up adopted through an agency. She should have gone through the foster care system.”

“She did spend time in some foster homes before my in-laws took her,” George said. They ducked into the stairwell and started down the steps. “I was still dating Amelia’s aunt when Amelia’s parents were going through the adoption process. They lived in Spokane at the time. But I know they had a lot of visits back and forth, and a trial period.”

“That’s how they do it in foster care. Maybe the adoption agency was involved for some other reason.” Professor Kim stopped at the bottom of the steps. “You said your niece spent time in other foster homes. Did the child have any problems or disorders?”

He nodded. “She had frequent nightmares, and she got these phantom pains and illnesses. She practically drove her parents nuts. But that didn’t start up until after the adoption went through. By then my in-laws had moved to Bellingham and had a baby boy of their own. We figured Amelia was just vying for their attention.”

Lori Kim frowned. “Then again, maybe those nightmares and phantom pains were what got the child bounced out of one foster home and into the next. Might even be why her real parents gave up on her. Children learn very quickly. Your niece might have been on her best behavior with your in-laws during that trial period. When she saw her baby brother cried without getting the boot, she might have figured it was safe to let her pain and fear be heard.”

They stepped outside into the sun and a cool autumn breeze. This section of the campus was graced with stately old buildings and magnificent trees with their leaves changing. The grounds were bathed in a riot of fall colors. Classes were in session, so there wasn’t the usual mob scene. Only a few students and teachers lingered about.

“Of course, I’m just speculating,” Professor Kim continued, as they walked along a paved pathway across the leaf-scattered lawn. “Once in a while, if the foster system has problems placing a child, they may turn to an adoption agency for assistance. It’s possible that’s what happened with your niece.”

“I always assumed Amelia’s biological parents were dead,” George remarked. “But you mentioned they might have just given her up. Do you think they could still be alive?”

“Anything’s possible,” Lori Kim replied. “If you want me to come up with a potential reason for why this Duane Lee Savitt did what he did, I can give you about a dozen different scenarios.”

“Give me your best one.”

“Well, since there weren’t any state, city, or county records connecting Savitt with the adoption agency, I’d say he wasn’t the child’s legal father. But there’s a chance he was the birth father. The mother could have lied about it on the birth certificate and transfer papers. Savitt may have also been your niece’s natural uncle, just as she remembers. But once again, they didn’t come across his name in any records, which means he was most likely a family friend or possibly a blood uncle on the mother’s side, and she was married. The maiden names aren’t always flagged on those records.”

George nodded. “Savitt had a sister named Joy who died just a few weeks before he went berserk at the adoption agency.”

Lori Kim stopped abruptly. “It’s strange that Savitt waited until the mother died before he tried to track down the child.”

“Well, maybe he tried to get custody after his sister died-”

“There would be a record of that,” she argued. “You said Savitt shot up the adoption place less than a month after your niece was officially adopted. But under the foster care system, it’s a gradual process toward the final adoption. And you said your niece had some false starts in other foster homes. So she had to be in foster care for at least three months, which means the mother was still alive, and therefore gave up the child. Maybe she was too sick to take care of her at the time. One thing for sure, she didn’t want her brother to have the girl or she would have given him custody. So, obviously, Savitt waited until his sister was dead before he went searching for his niece. And when he came to the agency, looking for her-”

“They couldn’t tell him where she’d gone, because those adoption records are closed,” George finished for her. “So, Uncle Duane went crazy.”

“Well, I don’t quite agree with you on that,” she said, resuming her quick gait along the path. “I doubt he’d armed himself for his first trip to that agency. He probably went there once to make inquiries, became frustrated, and then returned with his arsenal.”

George got winded carrying the heavy briefcase and trying to keep up with her. “You know, it’s weird the police couldn’t figure this out.”

“Well, they couldn’t connect him to anyone at that agency. But you have-if you’re right about him being this girl’s uncle. And so far, we’re just hypothesizing.”

“Why do you think he burned the place down?”

“Did any of those articles you read say if he used hollow-point bullets to shoot those people?”

“Yeah. How did you know-”

“Hollow-points are the bullets of choice for most mass murderers. Only God knows what other function they serve. Hunters don’t use them. Hollow-points inflict the most damage. And that’s probably why Duane Savitt set fire to the place, to inflict the most damage.”

“You don’t think he was trying to destroy some records?”

“It’s possible. But if he was really related to your niece, those same records would be in the foster care system, and he should have known that. Then again, you’re trying to figure out the logic of some asshole who took it upon himself to shoot three people who never did a single thing to hurt him. I hope I never comprehend the way someone like that thinks.”

“If those records exist in the foster care system, how can I get to them?” George pressed. “You must know some way.”

“Get your lawyer, get your niece, and file a petition.”

“There’s no alternate route?”

“Try to track down someone who knew Uncle Duane.”

“I’m giving that a shot right now,” George replied. “One of the articles I read mentioned he was buried in a cemetery in Salem, Oregon. I’m trying to track down whoever paid for the plot and the tombstone, if there is one. I figure this person must know Duane pretty well.”

“That’s good thinking,” she said. They headed toward a small parking lot.

“I called the cemetery office this morning,” George explained. “The guy there said they might be able to help me if I come down tomorrow and talk to him in person.”

“Sounds like someone wants his palm greased. Bring money.” Professor Kim took her key out of her purse and unlocked the driver door to her blue Geo. “Did you think I’d have some connection, a shortcut way of getting the lowdown on your niece’s biological parents?”

George gave her the briefcase. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for that.”

“Sorry, George,” Professor Kim said. She tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat, and then climbed behind the wheel.

“You were still a lot of help. Thanks.”

“Have a nice trip to Salem. And if you end up meeting that friend of Duane’s, would you find out something for me?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Find out why Duane waited until his sister was dead to go looking for the girl. Or maybe I should say to go hunting for the little girl. I have a feeling that’s closer to what he had in mind. Good luck, George.” She shut the door, started up the car and backed out of the parking spot.

George watched her drive away until the car disappeared around a curve in the winding road.

“Karen, I swear, I didn’t get back to town until this morning,” Amelia whispered.

They sat at the end of a beautiful long wood table. There were twenty matching tables in the Graduate Reading Room of UW’s Suzzallo Library arranged like pews in a church, ten on each side. The tall stained-glass windows, ornate hanging light fixtures, and cathedral ceiling inspired quiet meditation. Bookcases were pressed against the stone walls. There were at least sixty other students in the library, and only the slightest murmuring could be heard among them.

Amelia looked pretty in a lavender sweater and khakis. She wasn’t wearing much makeup today, and she had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I was driving around Olympic National Park yesterday afternoon,” she told Karen in a hushed voice. “That’s as close to Seattle as I got. I ended up spending last night at a B amp; B in Port Angeles. I can show you the receipt if you don’t believe me. It’s in my other purse.”

“So, you don’t remember coming by my place yesterday?” Karen asked.

Amelia adamantly shook her head.

“We talked in the kitchen,” Karen said, trying to jog her memory. “Rufus was acting strange, growling at us.”

Amelia glanced down at the library table and frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“And you never met a Detective Koehler? The name isn’t even familiar?”

“No.”

“He gave you coffee, and took you for a drive….”

Amelia brought a hand up to her mouth, and stared back at Karen. “He gave me coffee?” she repeated.

Karen nodded. “Koehler’s tall and good-looking with pale-blond hair. He’s got a very cocky smile….”

“Are his eyes blue?” she asked.

“Yes,” Karen whispered, leaning forward.

“His eyes match the blue stripes in his shirt,” Amelia murmured, staring down at the tabletop.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I make him take it off and tear it into strips,” Amelia continued, almost in a trance. “He ties the pieces of his shirt onto branches in the forest. They’re markers. I–I’ll need to find my way back to the main trail after I kill him.”

Karen swallowed hard. She waited a moment before saying anything. “What forest, Amelia?”

She gazed at Karen. Her lip quivered. “This really happened, didn’t it? Oh, Jesus!”

A student one desk down loudly cleared his throat and scowled over his textbook at them.

“I need you to remember, Amelia,” Karen whispered. She stroked her arm. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to work this out. Do you remember where you where? What forest?”

“God, Karen, you must be right,” Amelia said, under her breath. “I don’t remember being at your house at all, but I was with him. We were driving for long time. He was worried about me spilling coffee in his new car. I remember keeping my purse shut and in my lap most of the time. I–I didn’t want him to see that I had a gun in there.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. Karen, I don’t own a gun….”

“You mentioned Olympic National Park,” Karen pressed. “Was this forest anywhere around there?”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “No. Oh, God, Karen, this is so screwed up. How could I think I was in one place and be in another? I didn’t have anything to drink at all yesterday, I swear….”

“We’ll straighten all that out. Just try to remember where you went with Koehler.”

“Cougar Mountain Park, over in Issaquah,” she replied numbly. “It’s nowhere near where I thought I was. But I remember the signs for the park. We walked at least a mile before we veered off the trail.”

“They have a lot of hiking trails there. Do you recall which one it was? Did it have a name?”

Amelia shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you remember where you parked, or the name of the road you took there? Anything?”

Amelia closed her eyes for a moment. “It was, um, Newcastle-Coal Creek Road,” Amelia whispered. “I remember the turnoff. We went to the fourth or fifth little parking area off that road. At the start of the trail, there’s a small sign with a cartoon of Dennis the Menace on it. I don’t remember what the sign said, but someone wrote on it. We-we were parked there for a while. He started touching me, and I–I hit him!” Her voice cracked. “God, I hit him with that gun.”

Several people shushed her. Karen quickly helped Amelia to her feet. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

“And then later, in the forest, I shot him.” Amelia cried, clutching Karen’s arm. “He was begging for his life and I shot him in the head….”

People were staring as Karen hurried Amelia down the aisle between the rows of tables. By the time they stepped outside together, Amelia was sobbing and recounting-in fragments-what had happened in that forest. She’d left Koehler’s seminaked corpse where she’d shot him four times. She’d found her way back to the main trail, but didn’t remember removing any of the homemade markers from the branches and shrubs along the way. She’d taken Koehler’s car, and by then it had grown dark. She didn’t remember anything until she was back in Seattle, catching a bus in a sketchy neighborhood along Aurora Boulevard.

“I don’t understand it,” Amelia said, shaking her head over and over. They sat down on a park bench outside the library. “I woke up this morning at a B amp; B all the way over in Port Angeles. I could have sworn I spent all of yesterday there. Karen, if you saw me with this man yesterday, and I remember all these horrible things, then they must have really happened. Do you see what that means? I killed this guy. And I probably killed my parents and Aunt Ina and my brother-”

“We don’t know that yet,” Karen said, rubbing her back. “You could be wrong about what happened to Koehler. You can’t hold yourself accountable, not until I’ve looked into this further. Are you listening to me? You’re not responsible for killing anyone, Amelia. We’ll work this out together, but you’ll have to trust me.”

Amelia’s cell phone went off-a low hum. Wiping her eyes, she reached inside her purse and checked the caller ID. “It’s that policewoman again, the one you told me about,” she said, her voice raspy. “Same number as last time.”

“Don’t answer it. I don’t want you talking to her or anyone else until we figure out what really happened. Let her leave another message.” She patted Amelia’s arm. “Listen, I think it’s best you lay low and stay at my place tonight. But I need to check out your story first.”

“What, are you driving to Port Angeles?”

“No, Cougar Mountain Park.” She glanced up at the sky. “And I’d like to get there before dark.”

“You can’t go alone,” Amelia said. “I should go with you.”

“No, you shouldn’t. If something really did happen in that forest yesterday, you’re in no condition to relive it. I’ll be back by six if traffic isn’t too nuts.” Karen got to her feet, and so did Amelia. “You’ll probably need some overnight things. Let’s swing by the dorm. We’ll call Shane and see if he can take you someplace for the next two or three hours. Maybe you guys can take in a movie.”

Amelia nodded. She pressed the keypad on her cell phone, and then listened to her voice mail. “Oh, no,” she murmured. “That policewoman, she and her partner are at the dorm now, waiting for me.”

“What?” Karen asked.

“She said she’s calling from the lobby downstairs at Terry Hall, and they want to ask me some questions.”

“Damn,” she whispered, rubbing her forehead. “Okay, call Shane. Tell him we need him to do something for us right away.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Shane emerged from the crowd in Red Square, the campus’s redbrick-paved central plaza and hub. He ambled toward them with a backpack slung over his shoulder. His blond hair was covered up with a stocking cap, and he wore a T-shirt over a long-sleeved T, and baggy jeans.

Jumping up from the park bench, Amelia ran to Shane and embraced him. They kissed feverishly. Amelia broke away, nodded toward Karen, and whispered something to him. Then holding hands, they approached her together.

Karen stood up. “Thanks, Shane. Did you have any problems?”

“Pulled it off without a hitch,” he said with a crooked grin. “You were right though, Karen. The two of them were sitting in the lobby-a nice-looking black chick, and this older white guy with Donald Trump hair. They looked like total narcs. But they hardly paid any attention to my coming and going.”

“Did you remember my robe?” Amelia asked with her arm linked around his. “And my copy of Washington Square? I need it for English Lit.”

He kissed her forehead and pointed to his backpack. “It’s all in there, along with your black jeans, the pink T-shirt you sleep in, and everything else you wanted. I called the Neptune Theater while I was in your room. They’re showing a new print of The 400 Blows at 4:15. We’re all set.”

Karen glanced up at the sky, and guessed she only had about an hour of sunlight left. She didn’t want to start hiking down that forest trail after dusk. “Um, Shane, can I talk to you for a moment?” she asked.

“Sure, Karen, what’s up?” he said, uncoupling with Amelia for a moment, and stepping toward her.

“I need you to be very, very careful,” she whispered. “This may sound strange, but-”

“Are you telling him that I’m dangerous?” Amelia asked in a loud voice.

Karen looked at her and sighed. “Amelia-”

“You should. He won’t believe it if I tell him.” Her voice cracked. “So warn him, Karen. Tell him to watch out for me. I don’t want to hurt him, okay?”

Karen patted Shane’s shoulder. “Amelia’s right,” she said in a low voice. “You need to keep an eye on her. If you notice a sudden change or a severe mood swing, call me.”

He chuckled. “Are you shitting me, Karen?”

“I’m serious, Shane,” she whispered. “You have my number, don’t you?

He nodded. The lopsided smile ran away from his face.

“Stay in public places with her,” Karen warned. “Make sure there are always other people around. Don’t let her out of your sight for a minute. I’ll see you in two or three hours.”

“Okay, Karen, sure thing,” he murmured. He looked like a hurt, confused little boy as he backed away from her. He slung his arm around Amelia again, and gave her another kiss on the forehead.

“Whatever she told you,” Amelia said, “it’s true. Okay?”

“Sure, it’s cool,” he muttered. But he wouldn’t look at Karen. “C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get out of here. We’ll be late for the movie.”

They started walking away. Amelia glanced over her shoulder. “Karen, be safe, okay?”

She nodded, and then watched them merge into the crowd of people mingling around Red Square. Karen glanced up at the sky again, and saw clouds moving across the slate-colored horizon. She didn’t have much time.

All too soon, it would be dark.