В сердце большого города скрываются тайны и загадки. Каждое утро открывает новый слой этой истории, напоминая о безвозвратности прошлого. Внутренние драмы и судьбы, переплетающиеся в пространстве и времени, создают непредсказуемую атмосферу будничной мелодрамы.
A rope coiled her wrists.
The image didn’t compute. A rope. Why a rope? Was it tied?
I heard the front door open.
I looked up. McGee’s eyes were filled with horror. I tracked them.
They were fixed on Pomerleau’s retreating back.
My lungs stopped. My heart stopped. I felt the blood drain from my face.
Terror in the hospital.
A face behind a camcorder.
Residue-free hands.
Homolka, a willing participant in her husband’s depravity.
I knew!
I shot to my feet.
Pomerleau was moving down the hall as though hot-wired.
I raced toward the foyer. The door was open.
Anne lay facedown with her head on the jamb, legs splayed across the linoleum.
I peered into the night. No sign of Pomerleau.
“Annie!” I squatted and felt her throat for a pulse.
Too late, I heard movement behind me. The door angled inward, jammed the heel of Anne’s boot.
Before I could turn, light exploded in my head.
I fell into blackness.
36
SECONDS LATER, OR SO IT SEEMED, I FELT MY BRAIN ELBOWING my skull, aggressively seeking more space.
My chest burned. I was lying on my left side and shoulder. I swallowed, tried to sit up. My arms and legs wouldn’t work. I realized they were under and behind me.
Slowly, awareness crept in. I couldn’t feel my hands. My feet. I had to move.
Tightening my abs, I again tried to rise to my knees.
Nausea enveloped me. I vomited.
Using my ankles and hips, I tried to push back from the mess. The effort made me retch again and again until my stomach offered nothing but bile.
I lay a moment, breathing deeply, fumbling for explanations. Where was I? How long had I been there?
Gingerly, I rolled my head. A stab of pain almost caused me to cry out.
Think! one battered neuron screamed.
I tried. My thoughts wouldn’t congeal into recognizable pictures.
Focus on the moment!
Smell!
Mold. Ratty fabric. Wood. Something else. A chemical cleaner? Kerosene?
Touch!
Rough fibers scratching my cheek. Grit in my mouth. Dust in my nostrils. A carpet?
Sound!
Wind. A branch striking glass. The creaking and breathing of a house interior.
My pulse hammering in my ears.
Muffled footsteps. A hollow clunk.
Distant. Someone moving. In another room?
I opened my eyes again.
I lay on a very dirty carpet.
