Dying to Tell (29 page)

Slowly he lifted the gun to his head.

Do it now, and all the pain will end,
the Commander whispered.

His hand shook slightly, but the Commander was right. He was always right.

Resigned, he pressed the barrel of the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

J
ake’s conversation with Frannie Folsom still bugged him two days later. He had called Emanuel Giogardi and left messages, but hadn’t heard from him since. He might just have to make that drive after all.

Even more disturbing was the fact that he hadn’t heard from Sadie. He’d called her several times and left messages, but she hadn’t called him back.

He told himself that he needed distance between them, that she was probably sorting through her grandfather’s things, spending time with Amelia.

Besides, what could he tell her? That he now believed her parents had been murdered?

That would only torment her with more questions.

Sheriff Bayler had always seemed like a straight shooter, but had he been blind to what was happening in his town?

Needing to analyze all he’d learned so far, Jake assembled a stack of note cards and began jotting down all the information relating to Walt Nettleton’s death and the sanitarium, using a separate card for each detail. One for his murder. Another for
Grace Granger. Another for Bertrice Folsom. One for Dr. Coker and Dr. Sanderson—and the free clinic.

Then Sanderson’s death.

He tacked each card up on the bulletin board and studied them, drawing links to connect them. At the heart of them all lay the sanitarium.

Sadie was probably there now, working with Amelia.

He glanced at the clock—eleven at night. No, surely she was home now.

Dammit, he wanted to see her.

Not a good idea.

Seeing her only made him want to hold her and be with her.

Still, he dialed her number again. A second later, her voice came on the line. “Hello, Jake.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, he could sleep easier tonight, now he knew she was safe.

Amelia’s hands trembled as she answered the phone.

Jake had been calling for two days. She had listened to the messages while she hid out in her studio, but she’d been too afraid to answer.

Afraid he would know she wasn’t Sadie.

Now she was afraid not to answer.

Afraid he’d get suspicious and come out to see her. Then he would know.

Jake had always been able to tell them apart.

“Sadie?”

Amelia cleared her throat. She was stronger now that the drugs were wearing off. She was more coherent, her mind clearer. She could do this.

“Yes, Jake.”

“Thank God,” Jake said. “I was starting to get worried when you didn’t return my calls.”

Don’t tell him anything,
Skid whispered in her head.

She wanted to scream at him to shut up and leave her alone. She couldn’t think when the voices bombarded her.

“Sadie?” Jake said gruffly. “Are you okay?”

She had to pull it together, or he’d know something was wrong. “Yes,” she said, searching for a lie that he would believe. “I’ve just been staying at the hospital with Amelia. Trying to help her remember.”

“That’s what I figured,” Jake said. “Have you made any progress?”

Amelia closed her eyes. Saw her sister strapped down in the hospital, screaming for help.

Saw herself screaming for help for years, but no one had listened.

“I think so,” she said. “But nothing concrete yet.” In fact, she still couldn’t remember what happened that night. Except that Papaw had been upset and wanted to discuss Arthur Blackwood’s death...

Had he wanted her to come forward and tell everyone what she’d done that night?

“I talked to Bertrice Folsom’s mother,” Jake said. “Like Grace and Joe’s family, she went to the free clinic when she was little. Her problems started after her father died.”

Amelia’s mind raced back in time. The chimes...
Ting. Ting. Ting
.

Line up and follow the Commander. Down the hall. To the secret room.

The bright lights. The darkness.

The electric bolts running through her body.

The children’s screams for help.

Joe Swoony’s. Grace’s. Bertrice’s.

But no one could hear.

Because the room had been built that way. Soundproofed to drown out their cries.

She closed her eyes, rocked herself back and forth, her head dizzy with the terror.

“I think we’re on to something, Sadie. See if Amelia can identify one of the doctors in charge.”

Amelia bit back a cry. The doctors, nurses...the Commander.

He owned them all.

She struggled to see past the darkness. She had to look at his face. Tell Sadie.

But the world faded, and then she was launched back to that other night. The night they buried Jake’s father.

To the grave...

“Anyway, I’m headed home, but I’ll follow up tomorrow,” Jake said. “Let me know if Amelia tells you anything.”

Amelia’s head spun.

“Sadie?”

Tell him good-bye, or he’s going to get freaked and come over here,
Viola whispered.

“I will,” she said.

A tense heartbeat passed, then he said good night, and she dropped the phone.

You almost blew it,
Skid said.

I could take over and sweet-talk that sheriff,
Viola said.

Shut up!
Amelia shouted.

Skid and Viola must have been startled, because they grew quiet. Still, the images flew at her. Jake’s father, the gunshot blast...the blood everywhere.

Then she and Skid and Sadie and Papaw were dragging him through the rain and digging the grave.

She grabbed a clean canvas from the stack against the wall, then picked up her paints and began to sketch out the scene. The dark colors, the terror in the brushstrokes, the ghosts hovering by the grave watching them.

Following her wherever she went. Back to the hospital. To her studio.

He’d haunted Papaw, too. And he told her he’d followed Sadie.

Or was she crazy?

Was that all in her mind?

The strokes became fast and furious, reds and grays and blacks.

Then the bones rising from the grave, the skeleton’s eyes reminding her that she couldn’t outrun him.

That he was going to kill her one day.

A panicked feeling seized her. Everyone thought she was still strapped down in the sanitarium. What if he went back there to kill her and killed Sadie, thinking she was Amelia?

Sadie faded in and out of consciousness, the days blurring into endless terrible dreams and confusing snippets of people coming in and out of the room.

She blinked back tears of frustration. She had almost escaped.

But someone caught her and knocked her unconscious. When she stirred, she’d tried to see who it was. For a hazy terrifying moment, she thought she’d been looking into the face of Arthur Blackwood.

But then she blinked and realized an orderly was dragging her back into the room.

Despair overcame her as he chained her back to the bed.

No wonder Amelia had sounded incoherent half the time. Even though she was sane, the medications were distorting her thoughts.

She held the last pill the nurse had given her beneath her tongue, sipped the water she offered, and pretended to swallow it.
Her mind was such a mess that she felt dizzy again, but she willed herself to fend off the effect of the drugs.

Somehow she had to get out of here.

Ms. Lettie hobbled over to her and placed a hand on her arm. “It’s going to be okay, hon.”

How could it be okay if she was unconscious? If Amelia was missing, and no one even knew it? Where was her sister?

Finally Ms. Lettie sat down beside her, and Sadie turned her head sideways enough to spit out the pill. It landed on the sheet, and she wiggled enough to cover it with her body. If the nurse saw it, she’d force another shot into her, and then she’d lose hours, maybe days again.

She couldn’t let that happen. She had to think.

As long as she cried and pleaded with them to believe that she was Sadie, not Amelia, they would keep her drugged senseless.

Her mouth was so dry she had to clear her throat twice to speak. “Ms. Lettie?”

“Yes, dear, I’m right here.”

“Where’s Sadie?”

Ms. Lettie smiled slowly, as if she was glad that Amelia’d stopped trying to convince her they had restrained the wrong sister. “I don’t know, Amelia. I thought she’d be by today to visit.”

“I need her,” Sadie said, choking on the word. “Please, I need to see Sadie.”

Ms. Lettie’s face grew pinched. “I know you do, and I’m sure she’ll be by sometime. She’s probably just cleaning out your grandfather’s things.”

“No,” Sadie cried. “I need her now. Please, Ms. Lettie, call Sadie, tell her to come and see me.”

“It’s late now, hon. We’ll call her tomorrow.”

Sadie jerked at the restraints. “No, I need her now. She’s the only one I can talk to. Make her come.”

“I called her earlier, and she didn’t answer,” Ms. Lettie said. “Maybe she’s just busy with the funeral arrangements.”

“No, try her again,” Sadie cried. “I’m scared something’s happened to her.”

“Amelia, dear, that’s just your paranoia.”

“No, it’s not,” Sadie whispered. “She promised to come back, and she hasn’t. I know something’s wrong.”

“Amelia—”

“Please, just call again, and if she doesn’t answer, call Sheriff Blackwood. Ask him to ride out there to make sure she’s okay.”

Ms. Lettie studied her for a moment, her eyes puzzled, then gave a nod. “All right, I’ll try again. Just try to stay calm.” She stood, then toddled toward the door.

Fatigue threatened to suck Sadie back into the dark pit where she’d lived since that orderly had caught her, but she fought it. Surely Ms. Lettie would start wondering why Sadie hadn’t visited.

How long had it been? Days? A week maybe?

She felt isolated, alone and terrified.

Just as her sister must have felt for years.

Where was Amelia?

Had one of her alters taken over and decided to leave Sadie here to rot because she hadn’t saved Amelia?

The door closed behind Ms. Lettie, and Sadie glanced at the window, trying to judge the time of day. Through the thin blinds, a stream of moonlight shone through, indicating it was night. Tears of frustration burned her eyes, but she blinked them back. Crying hadn’t helped before, and it wouldn’t help now.

She just hoped her plan worked. That Ms. Lettie would realize something was wrong when Sadie didn’t answer.

Despair threatened, the narcotics blurring her mind again, and as much as she fought it, the darkness pulled at her again, sucking her into its tunnel.

Suddenly the door screeched, and she jerked her eyes open. Confusion mixed with fear as a figure in a scrub suit approached her.

Not Ms. Lettie or Jake.

She tried to sit up, but the restraints yanked her wrists painfully. Then the figure picked up the pillow Ms. Lettie had been using and walked toward her.

Shadows darkened the man’s face, the scent of sweat permeating the room. It wasn’t Dr. Tynsdale. He wouldn’t dress in scrubs.