“You still don’t know, do you? You still have no memory of any of it. I realized that almost immediately. Well, it isn’t my place to tell you, my dear.” She felt him pat her cheek. She flinched.
“Now, now, Sally, I’m not the one who tormented you, though I must admit that I enjoyed the one tape I saw. Except you weren’t even there, you were just flopping back, your eyes closed, letting him do what whatever he wanted.
“You didn’t have any fight in you. Why, you were so out of it, you barely flinched when he hit you. But even then you weren’t afraid. I could tell. The contrast, at least, made for fascinating viewing.”
She felt gooseflesh rise on her arms as remnants of memories flooded her-the movement of his hands over hers, the pushing and slapping, the caressing that turned to pain.
She heard the bed ease up and knew that Dr. Beader-meyer was standing beside her, looking down at her. She heard him say softly, “Holland, if she gets away again, I’ll have to hurt you badly. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Doctor Beadermeyer.”
“It won’t be like last time, Holland. I made a mistake on your punishment last time. You rather liked that little shock therapy, didn’t you?”
“It won’t happen again, Doctor Beadermeyer.” Was there disappointment in that frightening little man’s voice?
“Good. You know what happened to Nurse Krider when she let her hide those pills under her tongue. Yes, of course you do. Be mindful, Holland.
“I must go now, Sally, but I’ll be with you again this evening. We’ll have to get you away from the sanitarium, probably tomorrow morning. The decision about what to do with you hasn’t been made just yet. But you can’t stay here. The FBI, this Quinlan fellow, he’s got to know all about this place. I’m sure you did tell him some things about your past. And they’ll come. But that isn’t your problem.
“Now, let me give you a little shot of something that will make you drift and really feel quite good about things. Yes, Holland, hold her arm for me.”
Sally felt the chill of the needle, felt the brief sting. Within moments, she felt herself begin to drift out of her brain, to float in nothingness. She felt the part of her that was real, the part of her that wanted life-such a small flicker, really-struggling briefly before it succumbed. She sighed deeply and was gone from herself.
She felt hands on her, taking off her clothes. She knew it was Holland. Probably Dr. Beadermeyer was watching.
She didn’t struggle. There was nothing more to care about.
Quinlan woke up with a roaring headache that beat any hangover he’d ever had in college. He cursed, held his head in his hands, and cursed some more.
“You’ve got the mother of all headaches, right?”
“David,” he said, and even that one word hurt. “What the devil happened?”
“Someone hit you good just above your left ear. Our doctor put three stitches in your head. Hold still and I’ll get you a pill.”
Quinlan focused on that pill. It had to help. If it didn’t, his brain would break out of his skull.
“Here, Quinlan. It’s strong stuff; you’re supposed to have just one every four hours.”
Quinlan took it and downed the entire glass of water. He lay back, his eyes closed, and waited.
“Doctor Grafft said it would kick in quickly.”
“I sure as hell hope so. Talk to me, David. Where’s Sally?”
“I’ll tell you everything. Just lie still. I found you unconscious in that narrow little strip of alley beside the Hinterlands. Thelma Nettro had reported you and Sally missing, so I started looking.
“You scared the shit out of me. When I found you lying there, I thought you were dead. I slung you over my shoulder and brought you to my house. Doctor Grafft met me here and stitched you up. I don’t know about Sally. She’s just gone, Quinlan. No trace, nothing. It’s like she was never even here.”
If he hadn’t hurt so badly, Quinlan would have yelled. Instead, he just lay there, trying to figure things out, trying to think. For the moment, it was beyond him.