CHAPTER SIXTY

Gabriel never called back. I tried Ricky again but continued getting the “customer unavailable” message. In desperation, I dialed Gabriel’s number forty minutes later, only to find that I had no reception.

Maybe he tried to call.

That wasn’t it. I’d checked for messages every few minutes as I’d wandered the hospital, the endless halls and sequences of rooms that only ever brought me back to the cribs. My phone worked fine then.

When I realized he wasn’t calling, I’d thought of dialing someone else. Anyone else. Hell, 911 if it would help.

Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?

I’m lost.

Where are you?

In an abandoned hospital. I can give you directions, but I don’t think you could find me even if I did.

I had to get myself out of this. Only I couldn’t. Walk in any direction and I ended up back with the cribs. I’d tried staying there, in case there was more for me to see, trapped in a performance where the exit doors wouldn’t open until the final curtain call. But the same scenes had repeated over and over.

“Okay!” I finally shouted. “It was Pamela. Todd was the innocent one. I get it. And also, you’d like me to kill myself. I get that, too. Not happening!”

No one answered, of course. Ricky had long since stopped shouting for me, if it ever had been Ricky at all, and not just a phantom voice. If it hadn’t been Ricky, where was he? Was he all right?

Those were just the kind of thoughts that sent my brain flapping madly, like a bird in a too-small cage. I’d told Gabriel that I felt as if I might go mad in here. I’d been trying to joke—hey, if it gets any worse, I’ll belong here, permanently, heh-heh—but it was no joke. I kept thinking about Isolde and seeing those words, feeling the truth of them, along with the very possible truth that I wasn’t in the hospital at all but had already gone mad, and that’s why Ricky wouldn’t answer and Gabriel wouldn’t call back. I was trapped in the prison of my mind, and there was, indeed, no escape.

Finally, I did what I would have sworn I’d never do.

I gave up.

I stayed in that crib room as long as I could bear it, until I was certain there was no more to see. I walked in every direction, only to end up where I’d started. Then I walked into the hall and sat. Just sat, because for the first time in my life there was honestly nothing I could do, no action that would fix this, and that was, perhaps, the surest sign that I was, in fact, losing my mind.

My surrender didn’t last for long. I’m not sure if that’s a sign of sanity or sheer bullheaded insanity, banging my head against a brick wall and expecting it to crumble before I dashed out my brains. I redid the circuit, taking every possible route out of the crib room, only to end up back there. On my fourth return visit, I stepped inside to see a figure with his back to me.

I knew who it was. There was no disguising that back. God knows, I’d stood behind it often enough. The white shirt was rumpled. The shoes were brown . . . under black trousers. But there was still no denying who it was. Or who it was supposed to be.

Gabriel turned as my sneaker squeaked. When he saw me, his shoulders sagged, as if he’d been holding his breath. Then, “There you are,” with a note of impatience, as if I’d waltzed off five minutes ago. Maybe that should have told me it was really him, but I’d been in this place too long, seen too much that wasn’t there.

“What’s the first Sherlock quote you said to me?”

“What?” His brow furrowed. Then, “You’ve been having visions, and you think I’m one of them.”

No shit, I wanted to say, but I waited until he said, “The game’s afoot.” A twist of a smile. “Although, if I admit to it, that might seem proof it can’t really be me.”

“I’ll take it. Okay, so you’re here.” I glanced around. “You know the way out, I hope.”

From the look I got, this wasn’t the reaction he expected. And what did he expect? That I’d break down sobbing in gratitude that he’d finally come looking for me? Maybe that’s unfair. I was grateful, but I couldn’t forget that he’d taken almost two hours to reply to my frantic call for help.

Gabriel used to be very clear that I couldn’t rely on him. If we’d stuck with that, then I would be grateful right now. But I’d blurted that nightmare to him, one that now seemed more premonition than dream, and three times he’d told me it was wrong. Three times he’d said he would never ever ignore me if I needed help. That was why I blamed him—not for failing to run to my rescue, but for telling me that he would.

“You haven’t seen Ricky, have you?” I said. “I lost him when all this started and . . .”

I trailed off as I saw his expression.

“Something happened,” he said. “Ricky . . .”

“Is he hurt?”

I hung there, waiting for that expression to disappear in a blink as he saw I was freaking out, for him to say, No, nothing like that.

But the look did not change.

“Gabriel?”

“There was . . . an accident.”

“But he’s all right?”

“He was when I left, but . . .”

“Left?” I strode into the hall. “You left him?”

“To get help, Olivia. We should go and phone for—”

“You go. After you tell me where the hell Ricky is.”

“The belfry.”

I started to run. Every other time I’d gone that way, I’d never found the stairs. But now the hall kept going, exactly as it should, the stairs ahead. Gabriel thundered after me, saying, “Hold on.”

I swung onto the stairs.

“They’re rotted!” he called after me.

I ran up, moving fast enough that when one gave way, it broke after my weight was on the next. Gabriel kept calling after me, telling me to stop or at least slow the hell down. He actually said “hell,” which was probably code for I’m serious. I did exactly what he’d spent the day doing to me: I ignored him.

I found the belfry ladder. When I reached the top, the first thing I saw was blood. It arced across the wall and dripped onto the floor. The belfry railing was broken. A hole in it, just the size for someone to have fallen through, with fresh jagged splinters on both sides.

“Ricky!” I started running toward the hole.

“Olivia! Stop!” It was Gabriel. “The floor—”

My foot hit a hole, and I stumbled. As I did, I saw Ricky, unconscious, propped against the wall, his neck bound with strips from his shirt, the rest discarded beside him. His chest rose and fell with steady breathing.

I took a step in that direction.

“Careful!” Gabriel said, his voice harsh as he crested the steps.

I picked my way toward Ricky.

“We thought we heard you up here, and something attacked him,” Gabriel said. “It cut his neck and knocked him through the railing. Luckily, he caught the edge. I hauled him back in and bound his neck. When I left, he was conscious but weak from loss of blood. Is his breathing—?”

“It’s all strong,” I said, putting my hands to his chest.

Gabriel exhaled. “Good.”

As he crossed the floor, I saw why he’d been slow coming after me. He was limping—badly.

“You’re hurt,” I said.

He gestured at the hole in the floor. “It’s the same leg I injured before. It’s just acting up. I’m fine.”

It was doing more than acting up. Pain flashed in his eyes with each step.

“I’ll go for help,” I said.

He shook his head. “I don’t want you getting trapped again.”

“I think that’s over,” I said. “And from the looks of it, if you take another flight of stairs, you’ll end up at the bottom. Keys.”

“I can handle—”

“Give me your damn keys, Gabriel. Someone’s blocking cell service in here, and I may need to drive to get a signal. The longer you argue, the worse Ricky is going to get, and—”

He handed over the keys.

“Now sit,” I said. “There. And don’t move.”

At a pained quirk of his lips, I hesitated, and then said, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m sorry if I didn’t say—”

“You don’t need to. I’m the one who’s sorry, Olivia.” He met my gaze. “For everything.”

I nodded. He looked away then, lowering himself to the floor beside Ricky and saying, “There, I’m sitting. Now go on.”