by Неизвестный
She had to get to her mother. Noelle would help her. Noelle would protect her, once she knew the truth. But why hadn't Noelle ever come to see her during the six months here? Why hadn't she demanded to know why her daughter was here? As far as Sally knew, Noelle hadn't done anything to help her. Did she believe her daughter was crazy? She'd believed her husband? She'd believed Sally's husband?
How to get out of here?
Amabel said, "Would either of you gentlemen care for a cup of coffee?''
"No," Quinlan said curtly. "Tell us where Sally is." Amabel sighed and motioned the two men to sit down. "Listen, James, I already told the sheriff here that Sally must have gotten scared when she saw you were hurt, and she ran. That's the only explanation. Sally's not a strong girl. She's been through a lot. She was even in an asylum. You don't look shocked. I'm a bit surprised that she told you about it. Something like that shouldn't be talked about.
“But listen, she was very ill. She still is. It makes sense that she would run again, just like she ran away from what happened in Washington. If you doubt me, just go to Thelma's. Martha told me that all of Sally's things were gone from James's room. Isn't that odd? She left not even a memory of herself in that room.
"It was like she wanted to erase her very self." She paused a moment, then added in a faraway gypsy's voice, "It's almost as if she'd never really been there at all, as if we all just imagined she was here."
Quinlan jumped to his feet and stood over her. He looked as menacing as hell, but David didn't say a word, just waited. Quinlan stuck his face very near hers and said slowly and very distinctly, "That's bullshit, Amabel. Sally wasn't an apparition, nor was she nuts, as you implied to her, like you're implying to us now. She didn't imagine hearing a woman scream those two nights. She didn't imagine seeing her father's face at her bedroom window in the middle of the night. You tried to make her doubt herself, didn't you, Amabel? You tried to make her think she was crazy."
"That is ridiculous."
Quinlan moved even closer, leaning over her now, forcing her to press her back against the chair. “Why did you do that, Amabel? You just said you knew she was in a sanitarium. You knew, didn't you, that someone put her there and kept her for six months drugged to her eyebrows? You didn't try to assure her that she was as sane as anyone-no, you kept on with the innuendos.
"Don't deny it, I heard you do it. You tried to make Sally doubt herself, her reason. Why?"
But Amabel just smiled sadly at him. She said to David, "Sheriff, I've been very patient. This man only knew Sally for a little over a week. I'm her aunt. I love her. There's no reason I would ever want to hurt her. I would always seek to protect her. I'm sorry, James, but she ran away. It's as simple as that. I pray the sheriff will find her. She's not strong. She needs to be taken care of."
Quinlan was so angry he was afraid he'd pull her out of the chair and shake her like a rat. He backed off and began pacing around the small living room. David watched him for a moment, then said, "Mrs. Perdy, if
Sally ran, can you guess where she would go?"
“To Alaska. She said she wanted to go to Alaska. She said she preferred Mexico, but she didn't have her passport. That's all I can tell you, Sheriff. Of course, if I hear from her, I'll call you right away." Amabel rose. "I'm sorry, James. You know who Sally is. It's likely you've told Sheriff Mountebank her real name. There's a lot for her to face, and she'll have to face it eventually. As to her mental status, who's to say? All we can do is pray."
James wanted to wrap his fingers around her gypsy neck and squeeze. She was lying, damn her, but she was doing it very well. Sally wouldn't have run away, not with him lying unconscious at her feet. She wouldn't.
That meant that someone had her.
And that someone was the person who had pretended to be her father. James would bet on it. Now he knew what to do. He even had a good idea where she was, and it curdled his blood to think about it.
13
IT WAS A black midnight, not even a sliver of moon or a single star to cast a dim light through that cauldron sky. Roiling black clouds moved and shifted, but never revealed anything except more blackness.
Sally stared out the window, drawing one deep breath after another. They would be here soon to give her another shot. No more pills, she'd heard Beadermeyer say, she just might be able to hide them again in her mouth. He announced that he didn't want her hurt again, the bastard.
There was a new nurse-her name tag said Rosalee- and she was as blank-faced as Holland. She didn't speak to Sally except to tell her tersely what to do and when and how to do it. She watched Sally go to the bathroom, which, Sally supposed, was better than having Holland standing there.
Dr. Beadermeyer didn't want her hurt? That could only be because he himself wanted to be the one to hurt her. She'd seen no one except Beadermeyer and Holland and Nurse Rosalee. They'd forced her to keep to her room. She had nothing to read, no TV to watch. She didn't know anything about her mother or about Scott. Most of the time she was so drugged she didn't care, didn't even know who she was, but now she knew, now she could reason, and she was getting stronger by the minute.
If only Beadermeyer would wait just a few more minutes, maybe fifteen minutes then she'd be ready.
But he didn't give her even two more minutes. She jumped when she heard him unlock the door. No time to get into position. She stood stiffly by the window in her peach silk nightgown.
"Good evening, my dear Sally. You're looking chipper and really quite lovely in that nightgown. Would you like to take it off for me now?"
"No."
"Ah, so you've got your wits together, have you? Just as well. I'd like to have a conversation with you before I send you back into the ether. Do sit down, Sally."
"No. I want to stay as far away from you as possible."
"As you wish." He was wearing a dark-blue crew sweater and black slacks. His black hair was slicked back as if he'd just had a shower. His teeth were white, the front two top teeth overlapping.
"Your teeth are ugly," she said now. "Why didn't you wear braces as a kid?"
She'd spoken without thinking, another indication that her mind wasn't completely clear yet.
He looked as if he wanted to kill her. Without conscious thought, he raised his fingers to touch his teeth, then dropped his arm. There was only a thin veil of shadow separating them now, but she recognized the anger in him, knew he wanted to hurt her.
He got control of himself. "Well, you're a little bitch tonight, aren't you?"
"No," she said, still watching him, her body tensed, knowing he wanted to attack her, hurt her badly. She didn't know she could hate a person as much as she hated him. Other than her father. Other than her husband.
Finally, he sat down in the single chair and crossed his legs. He removed his glasses and put them on the small circular table beside the chair. There were a carafe of water and a single glass on the table, nothing more.
"What do you want?" The carafe was plastic-even if she struck him squarely on the head, it wouldn't hurt him.
But the table was sturdy. If only she were fast enough, she could grab it and smash him with it. But she knew she would have to be free of the drugs for at least another hour to be fast enough, strong enough, to bring him down. Could she keep him talking that long? She doubted it, but it was worth a try.
"What do you want?" she said again. She couldn't bring herself to take a step closer to him.
"I'm bored," he said. "I'm making so much money, but I'm never free to leave this place. I want to enjoy my money. What do you suggest?"
"Let me go, and I'll see that you get even more money."
"That would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"
"Do you mean that you have other people in here who are perfectly sane? Other people you're holding prisoner? Other people you're being paid to keep here?"
"This is a very small, very private place, Sally. Not many people know about it. I gain all my patients through referrals, carefully screened
referrals.
"Just listen to me. This is the first time I've ever talked to you as an adult. Six months I had you with me, six whole months, and you were always as interesting as a jointless doll, except for that time you jumped through the window in my office. If anything proved to your dear mother that you were nuts, that story did. That made me sit up and take notice of you, but not for long. This is much better. If only I could trust you not to try to escape me again, I would keep you just as you are now."
"How do you imagine that I can escape?"
"Unfortunately Holland is quite stupid, and he's the one who tends you most often. I do believe Nurse Rosalee is a bit afraid of you. Isn't that odd? As for Holland, he begged me to let him take care of you, the pathetic creature. Yes, I can imagine you waiting behind that door for him to come in.
"What would you do, Sally? Hit him on the head with this table? That would stun him. Then you could strip off his clothes, though I doubt you'd enjoy stripping him as much as he enjoys stripping you. No, you see, I'm in a bind. And please don't move. Remember, I'm not Holland. Stay where you are or you get a nice big shot right now."
"I haven't moved an inch. Why am I here? How did you find me? Amabel had to have called to tell you where I was. But why? And who wanted me back here? My husband? Were you the one who pretended to be my father or was it Scott?''
"You speak of your poor husband as if he's a stranger to you. It's that James Quinlan, isn't it? You slept with him, you enjoyed him, and now you want to dump poor Scott. I would never have taken you for such a fickle woman, Sally. Wait until I tell Scott what you've done."
"When you speak to Scott Brainerd, tell him I fully intend to kill him when I'm free of this place. And I will be free soon, Dr. Beadermeyer."
"Ah, Sally, I'm sure that Scott wants me to make you more malleable. He doesn't like women who are aggressive, all tied up in their careers. Trust me to see to it, Sally."
"Either you or Scott called me up in The Cove pretending to be my father. Either you or Scott came to The Cove and climbed that silly ladder to scare the hell out of me, to make me think I was crazy. There's no one else. My father is dead."
"Yes, Amory is dead. I think personally that you killed him, Sally. Did you?"
"I don't know if you really want the truth. I have no memory of that night. It will come back, though. It has to."
"Don't count on it. One of the drugs I'm giving you is excellent at suppressing memory. No one really knows yet what the long-term side effects will be. And you will be taking it forever, Sally."
He rose and walked to her. "Now," he said. He was smiling. She couldn't help herself. When he reached for her, she cracked a fist as hard as she could against his jaw. His head flew back. She hit him again, kicked him in the groin with all her strength, and ran to grab that table.
But she stumbled, her head spinning, nausea flooding through her. Her legs collapsed beneath her. She fell to the floor.
She heard him panting behind her. She had to get to that table. She struggled to her feet, forced one foot in front of the other. He was close behind her now, panting, panting, he was in pain, she'd hurt him. If she didn't knock him out, he would take great pleasure in hurting her. Please, God, please, please.
She clutched the table, lifted it, turned to face him. He was so close, his arms stretched out toward her, his fingers curved, coming toward her throat. "Holland!"
"No," she said and swung the table at him. But it was a puny effort, and he blocked it with his shoulder. "Holland!"
The door flew open and Holland ran into the room. "Hold the little bitch, hold her!" "No, no." She backed away from the men, but there was no room, just the narrow bed and the table she held as a shield in front of her.
Dr. Beadermeyer was holding his crotch, his face still drawn in pain. Good, she'd hurt him. Anything he did to her would be worth it. She'd hurt him.
"That's enough, Sally." Holland's voice, soft and hoarse, terrifying.
"I'll kill you, Holland. Stay away from me." But it was an empty threat. Her arms were trembling, her stomach roiling now. She tasted bile. She dropped the table, fell to her knees, and vomited on Dr. Beadermeyer's Italian loafers.
"You either help me or you don't, Dillon, but you don't tell a soul about this."
"Damnation, Quinlan, do you know what you're asking?" Dillon Savich leaned back in his chair, nearly tipping it over, but not quite because he knew exactly how far to go. His computer screen was bright with the photo of a man's face, a youngish man who looked like a yuppie broker, well dressed, easy smile, well-groomed hair and clothes.
"Yes. You're going with me to that sanitarium and we're going to rescue Sally. Then we're going to clean up this mess. We'll be heroes. You won't be gone from your computer for more than a couple of hours. Maybe three hours if you want to be a hero. Take your laptop and the modem. You can still hook in to any system you want."
"Marvin will cut our balls off. You know he hates it when you try to go off on your own without talking to him."
"We'll give Marvin all the credit. The FBI will shine. Marvin will be grinning from ear to ear. He'll give the credit to his boss, Deputy Director Shruggs, so Shruggs won't cut Marvin's balls off. Shruggs will be happy as a loon.
"And on and on it goes. Sally will be safe and we'll get this damned murder solved."
"You still ignore the fact that she might have killed her father herself. It's a possibility. What's wrong with you? How can you ignore it?"
"Yeah, I do ignore it. I have to. But we'll find out, won't we?"
"You're involved with her, aren't you? It was only one bloody week you were with her. What is she, some sort of siren?''
"No, she's a skinny little blonde who's got more grit than you can begin to imagine."
"I don't believe this. No, shut up, Quinlan, I've got to think." Dillon leaned forward and stared fixedly at the man's photo on the computer screen. He said absently, "This creep is probably the one who's killing the homeless people in Minneapolis."
"Leave the creep for the moment. Think, brood, whatever. You're going to try to figure all the odds. You're going to weigh every possible outcome with that computer brain of yours. Have you developed a program for that yet?"
"Not yet, but I'm close. Come on, Quinlan, my brain is why you love me. I've saved your ass at least three times. You wouldn't trade me for any other agent. Shut up. I've got to make an important decision here."
"You've got ten minutes. Not a second more. I've got to get to her. God knows what they're doing to her, what they're giving her. Jesus, she could be dead. Or they could have already moved her. If the guy who hit me bothered to check my ID, then they know I'm FBI. We haven't got much time even if they didn't check. I know they'll move her, it only makes sense."
"Why are you so sure she's at the sanitarium?"
"They wouldn't take the chance of taking her anywhere else."
" 'They' who? No, you don't know. Ten minutes, then. No, shut up, Quinlan."
"Thank God, you've already been to the gym this morning or I'd have to wait for you to lift your bloody weights. I'm getting some coffee."
Quinlan walked down to the small lounge at the end of the hall. It wasn't that the fifth floor was ugly and inhospitable. It couldn't be, since they let tourists get within a floor of them. It didn't look all that institutional, just tired. The linoleum was still pale brown with years of grit walked deep into it.
He poured a cup of coffee, sniffed it first, then took a cautious sip. Yep, it still made his Adam's apple shudder, but it kept the nerves finely tuned. Without it an agent would probably just fold up and die.
He needed Dillon. He knew that Dillon would set up an appropriate backup in case it turned out they couldn't handle the job. He'd been tempted to go directly from Dulles to Maryland to that sanitarium, but he'd given the matter a good deal of thought. He was in this up to his neck, and he wanted to save Sally's neck as well.
He had no idea about the security at Beadermeyer's sanitariu
m, but Dillon would find out and then they'd get over there. He couldn't take the chance of alerting his boss, Brammer. He couldn't take the chance that Sally could be plowed under in this damned mess.
He drank more coffee, felt the caffeine jolt hit his brain and stomach at about the same time.
He wandered back into Dillon's office. "It's been ten minutes."
"I've been waiting for you, Quinlan. Let's go."
"Just like that? No more arguments? No more telling me there's a thirteen percent chance that one of us will end up in a ditch with a knife in his throat?"
"Nope," Dill said cheerfully, pulled several sheets out of his printer, and rose.
"Here's the layout for the sanitarium. I think I've found exactly where it's safest for us to go in."
