Then came the shooting. Katie Roddendem had been kidnapped. It seemed so clear he was guilty.... Most people believed it to this day.

And when Jamie came out of the coma induced by three bullets in his body, he was mad as a hatter, crazy, poor guy, and spent months in one hospital after another.

And now that he'd been released from Terrace View Asylum (there hadn't been enough evidence to charge him with the kidnapping), he was changed again.

Maybe at one of those places they'd clipped his brain with an ice pick or whatever it was they did to crazy people; Jamie, nervous, unstable, sometimes incoherent, seemed unable to think logically anymore. Most people thought Grenville Hawkes was a saint to give him a home again. No matter how handy Jamie was, few people could have put up with him.

"Okay, Jamie, just tell Mr. Hawkes we're sorry and the new order is on the way. You've got everything now."

Jamie looked over the list one more time. "I'm going to have to come back for the shovel. Mr. Hawkes took the car and I'm walkin'. I can't carry these sacks and the shovel, too."

He almost sounded like he was rehearsing his excuse.

"All right, Jamie, it's right here whenever you want it, marked paid for. You seem to go through a lot of shovels up at the Hawkes Hall."

Jamie went white. "W-w-w-we're p-p-puttin' in a garden."

He gathered up his two sacks of supplies and left.

Poor nutcase, thought Mr. Garvey. It wasn't even the right time of year to put in a garden. He, for one, didn't believe Jamie had ever kidnapped anyone.

Out on the street, Jamie glanced toward the bank.

Grenville had gone to Baltimore this morning but had said he would stop by the bank on the way home.

It would be nice to have a ride. But there was no sign of the black Mercedes.

But there was Katie ... she looked so pretty, the way the sunlight caught her hair ... if she looked this way he'd wave, no, his hands were full... he saw that Mitch was with her, they got into his truck. Jamie sighed and turned away.

Jamie saw the first of the kids, the ones on bicycles, and his stomach turned to ice.

He had meant to be well beyond the school before it let out. If only he hadn't counted everything three times over... if they'd had the right candles...

Jamie took a breath. He'd have to keep going now. If he tried to hide in the Coffee Shoppe until all the kids were gone, he'd be out on the road at twilight.

Of the two dreads, the kids seemed the least horrible.

He kept his eyes ahead and kept walking.

Just names, he thought, they just call me names, they don't hurt me, I'll get through it.

"Hey, lookit, it's the looney tune!"

The first call came from a group of boys across the street, fourteen or fifteen years old.

A pa.s.sing group of girls the same age giggled. Jamie tried to remember what a little s.h.i.t he'd been at their age; certainly no better, probably much worse.

Anything they did, he'd done.

It was payback time.

The thought didn't keep him from trembling. He tightened his clutch on the sacks.

"Hey, P-P-P-Porky," one mocked his stammer. "When you going back to looney-tune land?"

Jamie just kept walking; once he'd gotten frustrated and stopped to argue with them-they'd surrounded and scared him.

It had been a big mistake to let them see he was scared, but Jamie had no way to summon his old bluffs, no energy left for pretense.

He could still hear them behind him, but they didn't seem to be following. Maybe he was through the worst of it. He bit back tears. Something stung his right shoulder, just missing the blade. Jamie thought, My G.o.d, are they shooting at me?

He turned to look just in time to catch the next rock on his forehead-it was a big rock, thrown by a member of the Hawkes Harbor High baseball team and it knocked him unconscious.

"Jamie?" Dr. Scott shone a light into his eyes once more.

"Do you know where you are?"

Jamie remained motionless, propped back against the elevated emergency-room bed.

Once he was in the hospital, he had regained consciousness in five minutes; Dr. Scott suspected nothing more severe than a minor concussion.

But he hadn't spoken or even looked at Dr. Scott or Sheriff Lansky, who was waiting patiently to hear if Jamie could identify his attackers.

But Jamie just stared into s.p.a.ce. Once in a while a tremor, like a shudder, went through him.

"You think he's lost it again?" Sheriff Lansky asked.

He'd been there after Jamie came out of the coma, a medical miracle, but a mental mess.

The sheriff shifted uneasily. He still felt guilty about the shooting. Jamie had been unarmed, and maybe had been doing nothing worse than trying to help Katie Roddendem. You couldn't blame Mitch, he wasn't thinking straight, but...

He should have kept a closer watch on the deputy-there was no need to shoot... he'd been so tense, and trigger- happy ... he should have kicked Mitch off the search team, d.a.m.n, there had been no need ...

"I don't know," Dr. Scott said. He looked at the large purple knot on Jamie's forehead. "I hope not. He may just be stunned."

"Good evening." Grenville Hawkes entered the cubicle.

"Someone at the bank told me Jamie was here."

He looked at the sheriff, the doctor, and finally at Jamie, who remained expressionless, staring straight ahead. "How is he?"

"Well, Mr. Hawkes, I think he only has a minor concussion; the X-rays showed no fracture, but he hasn't responded since he regained consciousness."

"Perhaps the shock of the attack-I understand he was attacked by a group of schoolchildren?"

"There's quite a few witnesses," the sheriff said.

"Jamie is high-strung, nervous, perhaps he provoked it?"

It was clear Grenville Hawkes didn't believe for a moment Jamie had done anything, but he was a Hawkes, a regular aristocrat, a gentleman of manners, even more, if possible, than the rest of the Hawkes- Still, still, the sheriff thought, there was a flickering light in the dark eyes, a dangerous edge in the deep yet cold voice-he'd often thought there was more to Grenville Hawkes than most people realized.

The sheriff cleared his throat and said, "Jamie wasn't provoking the attack, and was doing his best to walk away from it, when he was. .h.i.t with a large rock."

Grenville looked at Jamie, and his face tightened.

Sheriff Lansky was suddenly glad none of the suspected kids were in the room.

"This has happened before?"

"Yeah." The sheriff was surprised Jamie hadn't told Mr.

Hawkes. "I've seen it happen before. This is the first time it got rough, though."

"Perhaps you might remind the children that a great many of their parents are employed by a Hawkes enterprise-or should I remind the parents?"

The threat was not even veiled, except in the smooth language. The revived munitions plant was now the largest employer in the area. And Grenville Hawkes was the owner and CEO.

"I'll make sure it doesn't happen again," Sheriff Lansky said.

Grenville went closer to the bed.

"Jamie."

His voice, his most distinctive characteristic, vibrated through the room, and Jamie looked up. He seemed torn between grateful relief and abject terror.

"Do you have your medication with you?"

Silently, Jamie dug around in his jacket pocket and brought out a prescription bottle. Grenville read the label.

"No, not this one. You were supposed to take this with lunch. Did you? Very good. Do you have the other one?"

Jamie did another search, and came up with another bottle.

" 'As needed,' " Grenville read. "That means when you need it, Jamie. You could have thought of this yourself."

"Grenville, I'm sorry," Jamie whispered.

The sheriff thought he'd never seen anyone this pitiful- like an abused child still desperate for approval. Though, of course, Mr. Hawkes would never abuse the poor jerk.

Grenville turned to the doctor. "Could I trouble you for a gla.s.s of water?"

When the doctor returned with the water, Jamie had already swallowed the pill, but he gulped down the water anyway.

"Mr. Hawkes, I'm sure Jamie will be fine in a few days, but meanwhile he'd better not drive, or be up on ladders, or do anything too strenuous."

"I understand. I'm expecting a visit from Dr. Kahne tomorrow, I'll ask her advice as well."

The doctor and the sheriff avoided looking at each other, each concealing his smirk.

Everyone knew about Dr. Louisa Kahne's "visits" to Grenville Hawkes-they were old enough to cut this coy c.r.a.p.

"Uh, Mr. Hawkes, your hardware supplies were taken back to Garvey's, if you need them."

"Thank you. Please send the emergency-room bill directly to me."

Grenville nodded to each man. "Jamie, can you walk?"

"Yeah, sure." Jamie stood up. He wobbled, and Grenville caught him by the arm. They walked out.

On the way, Grenville stopped at a soft-drink machine and put coins in for a c.o.ke.

He couldn't understand how anyone could drink that awful concoction, but it seemed to have a soothing effect on Jamie.

Safely in the car, Jamie didn't bother to stop the tears running down his face.

"You mad at me?" he asked.

"No," Grenville said. "But you need to remember your medications."

"I couldn't think-I didn't know where I was-I thought maybe you sent me back to Terrace View-"

Actually, since he hadn't recognized the doctor, Jamie had been afraid he'd been sent to the other hospital-the one before Terrace View where things had been so horrible ... he'd been remembering something of that place lately. He'd thought before it was just another nightmare....

And just this week, he had had flashbacks to the infirmary.... He'd sat at the kitchen table, clutching his hair, begging his mind, Don't let me remember that, not that, please....

But the images came anyway-lying for days in his own excrement, too weak to turn over alone-he didn't know where he was, why he was there, didn't know his own name and no one would tell him-he'd almost literally died of thirst with water right next to his bed-his wounds opened under rough handling, the blood- soaked bandages dried like glue to his back ... they'd just ripped them off to change them-he'd fainted then, he thought he would faint now ...

"Good G.o.d, Jamie what are you doing?" Jamie had looked up at Grenville's horrified face, then at the hunk of hair in his hand, b.l.o.o.d.y at the roots.

"Tryin' not to remember stuff."

Grenville had given him a long dark look, then said, "Let me know if it works."

"I will be mad at you if you continue this pathetic excusing of yourself," Grenville said now. "If you can't think, perhaps that is a sign you need a pill. Now take your time, compose yourself. Garvey's will be open at least another hour."

"We going to Garvey's?"

"Yes."

"Do I have to get the shovel?"

"Yes."

"But Grenville, you can't fight bad stuff with wrong stuff! It ain't right!"

"I will a.s.sume this insane babble is a temporary result of your recent head blow. Not a sign that you need to reside permanently at Terrace View."

Jamie was silent. Another tremor sent his c.o.ke splashing onto his clothes.