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The doctor’s left eyebrow rises, cresting the frame of his glasses. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“Yes. I met a girl on my first day at the Bartholomew. She later disappeared.”
I sound calmer now, even though on the inside I’m at full panic. My pulse thrums and my eyelids twitch and more sweat pools inside the brace at my neck.
But I don’t raise my voice.
I don’t talk faster.
If I edge even the tiniest bit toward hysteria, this conversation will be over. I learned that when I talked to the 911 operator.
“She was there one day, gone the next. It was almost as if she had died.”
I pause, giving the statement enough time to settle over Dr. Wagner. When it does, he says, “It sounds to me like you think someone at the Bartholomew was murdered.”
“I do,” I say, before adding the stinger. “Severalpeople.”
TWO DAYSEARLIER
29
When I wake, it’s not George I see outside the window but a different gargoyle. His twin. The one that occupies the south-facing corner. I eye him with suspicion, on the verge of asking him what he did with George.
But then I realize I’m not alone.
Nick is asleep beside me, his face buried in a pillow, his broad back rising and falling.
Which explains the different gargoyle.
And the very different bedroom, which I’m just now noticing.
The previous night comes roaring back. The mad dash from 11A. Kissing downstairs. Then kissing upstairs. Then doing a lot more upstairs. Things I haven’t done since before Andrew and I moved in together and sex became routine rather than exciting.
But last night?Thatwas exciting. And so unlike me.
I sit up to check the clock on the nightstand.
Ten minutes after seven.
I spent the entire night here and not in 12A. Yet another Bartholomew rule I’ve broken.
I slip out of bed naked, shivering in the morning chill and feeling suddenly shy. The old me, who went AWOL last night, is returning with a vengeance. I gather my clothes quietly, trying not to wake Nick until after I’m dressed.
No such luck. I’ve barely slipped on my panties when his voice rises from the bed.
“Are you leaving?”
“Sorry, yeah. I need to go.”
Nick sits up. “You sure? I was going to make you pancakes.”
Rather than attempt to put on my bra with Nick watching, I simply toss it with my shoes before pulling on my blouse.
“Maybe another time.”
“Hey,” Nick says. “Why the rush?”
I gesture to the clock. “I didn’t spend the night in 12A. I broke one of Leslie’s rules.”