Page 110

hear. "What?"

"Go away," I pleaded in a strained voice. "Go

away. Leave me alone."

"What?" He turned and stared into the darkest

shadows of the room. Was he imagining someone

there? Were one of Rye Whiskey's ghosts calling to

him? Perhaps it was the ghost of my great

grandmother, or even the ghost of my grandmother

demanding he leave me be. "Oh, my God," he said to

himself. "Oh, my God."

He stood up and looked back at me. I waited,

my heart pounding. What was going through that

twisted and tormented mind? Was he returning to

reality or was he taking some other channel through

the maze of his madness to find himself on my bed

again?

"I'm ,.. I'm sorry," he whispered. "Oh, I'm so

sorry. ." He knelt down and scooped up his robe. Then he quickly put it on, tying the belt snugly. I watched without speaking, afraid that the sound of my voice might set him back. "I . . . I've got to . . . to

go," he said. "Good night."

I held my breath and barely turned my head as

he moved away from the bed

and out the door. In a

moment he was gone, but my heart didn't stop its

racing. I was terrified he would return, and I was just

too weak and too overwhelmed to struggle out of bed

and crawl out of the suite.

I was sweating so much my nightgown stuck to

my skin. I had to get out of this place. I had to

convince Drake or Luke or someone to take me away

immediately. But Drake was in New York. And what