metal and lifted myself. My already frozen skin stuck to the pipe and tore as I reached higher, grabbing another handful of icy steel. Hands ripped and bleeding, I boosted my way up, hand over hand. I dug one boot, then the other between wall and pipe, pushing with my thighs, sliding higher, climbing brick by brick. I didn’t dare look back, certain that Woods would grab me. Then, finally, my raw fingers slid across the windowsill, and my hips thrust upward, lifting with astonishing ease. My arms extended outward, grabbed the inside ledge, pulled, and smoothly, weightlessly, my body followed upward, slithered inward. Serpentlike, I slipped to the floor. Snow-blind, I felt Molly crouching beside me, watching, not saying a word.
For a moment, I lay next to her, curled on linoleum, catching my breath, letting the air warm me. We’d made it. We were inside. When I could move, I took Molly’s face in my bleeding hands, kissed her, asked if she was okay. She nodded, but even snow-blind I could see that she looked awful. Above the smears of blood and tears, a purple bump was rising on her forehead where she’d hit the bricks. She needed ice. And a warm bath. And home. I had to get us out of there.
Helping her up, I got to my feet. With bleeding hands, I slammed the window shut and locked it, looking out into the courtyard.
Woods was nowhere in sight.
SIXTY-EIGHT
AS MY EYES ADJUSTED TO THE DIM LIGHT, I SQUINTED AND SAW, among dancing dots and flashing sparks, a dresser, a hospital bed, and a metal nightstand with a vase of wilting black-eyed Susans. To the left was an easy chair, occupied by a plump, gray-haired woman in a yellow terrycloth robe and matching fake fur mules. She was eating breakfast.
We were in a patient’s room, somewhere in the back of the first floor.
“Oh my. Excuse us,” I breathed.
“The food’s not bad,” she answered. “Except on Mondays.”
“Do you have a phone?” I knew, as I asked it, that she didn’t. Of course she didn’t. This was a mental hospital. “Or a way to call for a nurse? A button?”
“Help yourself,” she nodded agreeably. “Take all you want.”
My arms and shoulders ached, hands stung, thawing. I wiped away blood with tissues from the woman’s nightstand and led Molly to the door. But I didn’t open it; Woods might be out there, waiting. The man was slight, but he’d overpowered Nick and Beverly, had killed a burly guard and maybe five women younger and stronger than I was. I stood with my hand on the doorknob, listening. It was only a matter of time, maybe seconds, until he’d find us. There was no choice.
“Molly,” I told her. “That lady with the long dark hair? She’s dangerous. The police are coming soon, and they’ll find her. But until then, we have to keep away from her. So if anything happens—if she gets close to you, run fast and get away. Understand?”
Another nod. Another silent, alarming nod.
I squeezed her one more time, then turned the knob and inched the door open, looking up and down the hall. As we stepped out, before the door closed, the woman stated, “Monday’s hash. Everything from the whole week, all mashed together.”
SIXTY-NINE
HER ROOM WAS ON THE FIRST FLOOR. I WORKED ON THAT floor, knew it well. It had wider, brighter halls than the basement, and a less intricate layout. Woods would probably take the closest, most accessible stairway, the one nearest the foyer. He’d wait there for us to try for the front door. I rushed Molly to a smaller staircase at the far end of the corridor. There would be a fire exit there. We could get out. I hurried my daughter down the hall, pulled the heavy door open, crossed to the exit, and threw myself against it. It didn’t budge. It was locked.
But we couldn’t go back out the stairwell door; we’d run into Woods in the hall. Unless he was still downstairs. I stood still, holding Molly’s hand, debating which way to go. Out? Down? Finally, I decided. We’d cross the building upstairs. We went up to the second-floor landing, stopped, and listened at the door. No footsteps, no voices. No Woods. Why was it so quiet? Where was everybody? A pipe clanked somewhere, maybe a heater. Nothing else. No sounds of patients or staff, no meal trays, no music. Maybe this was normal after a blizzard. Maybe weekends were always sluggish and dull.