How did she know if any of this was real at all? Gina wondered. Maybe she really was losing her mind. Could she be hallucinating? How would she know the difference?

I don't know what to do, M.

You're going to get yourself out of here, G.

Don't leave me.

I won't.

I'm not as brave as you.

You'll be as brave as you need to be.

51.

She had been watching television the night it happened. Not for entertainment, but for the live news coverage of a hostage standoff at the sheriff's office. Dennis Farman's father had a gun to the head of Cal Dixon. Vince was trying to talk him down. The situation that had begun with violence had ended in violence.

At the time that news had come, Anne had no way of knowing if Vince had survived. She had busied herself opening a small gift Tommy Crane had given to her earlier that night-a necklace. A necklace that could only have come from a murder victim.

And then Peter Crane was there, at her home, seeming fine, polite, apologetic. So sorry. A misunderstanding. He needed that necklace back. There had been a mistake. It belonged to his wife.

Anne had told him that was no problem. She understood completely. She just had to go into the kitchen to get it-a lie-thinking she would go straight out the back door and run for her life.

She never made it to the door. Peter Crane had her by the hair- Gasping for air, her heart pounding out of her chest, Anne sat bolt upright in bed. For a moment she didn't know where she was and panic grabbed her by the throat. She was soaking wet with sweat.

There was a light on in the far corner of the room. Just a soft amber glow to chase away the dark and the bogeymen that came with it.

She was in her own home. She was safe. This was the guest room she had chosen for Haley. She was safe. Haley was safe, sound asleep.

You're safe. We're safe. Everything is fine. She repeated those words again and again and again in her mind.

What she wanted was to have her husband's arms around her, so strong, so warm, and to have his voice whispering those words to her as he held her and rocked her. But Vince had gone back to the sheriff's office for a meeting with the detectives. She hadn't even gotten to feed him. He had ordered pizza for the guys.

She looked at the clock on the nightstand. It wasn't quite ten thirty. Not late. Vince would be home soon-if he wasn't already. He never disturbed her if she was already sleeping when he came home-specifically so as not to frighten her.

Even though Vince hadn't been there, Anne and Haley had the cozy evening she had thought of earlier in the day. After bath time, with Haley in her Rainbow Brite pajamas, they had snuggled together under the covers of Haley's bed and listened to the rain while Anne read to her.

After Haley was asleep, Anne had done some reading of her own, searching her psychology books for anything she could find on children as witnesses to violent crime-she found nothing-and children and traumatic memories-she found practically nothing. She had finally turned out her reading light and fallen asleep with the books spread around her on her side of the double bed.

She got up now, plucking at her sweat-damp T-shirt. The rush of adrenaline had ebbed, leaving her with the familiar and hated feeling of weakness. Leaving the bedroom door open, she went across the hall to change.

Vince was on their bed in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt, propped up reading. He looked up from his book, his gla.s.ses perched on his nose. The television was mumbling to itself in the armoire that housed it.

Anne went into her closet and put on a fresh FBI T-shirt, then went to the bed and crawled up beside him, tucking her head into his shoulder and wrapping an arm across his broad chest.

"Hey, precious," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

He set his book aside and wrapped his arms around her. Anne knew he could feel the residual tremors going through her as the adrenaline ebbed out of her system.

"Did you have a bad dream?" he asked quietly.

Anne nodded. "I'm okay. I'm okay now."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Tears stung her eyes. "I hate it."

"I know, baby."

"It never goes away."

He didn't tell her that it would eventually, because he knew it wouldn't, and she knew it wouldn't. The best she could hope for was that the incidents would lessen over time. She wanted to wish her nightmares on Peter Crane, locked in a cell in the county jail. The irony was that her nightmares would be his wet dreams.

Vince stroked her back and kissed her forehead.

"What are you reading about?" Anne asked.

"Dissociation disorder. What were you reading about?" he asked. "I stuck my head in and saw you were asleep. Must not have been a thriller."

"Children as victims and witnesses."

"We're some exciting couple," he joked.

Anne found a smile. "Earlier I was reading about a princess who wanted to become a fairy."

"Oh, I've read that one. A real page-turner," he said. "How was your evening?"

"Good. We missed you."

"Mmmmm ... good ... How's Haley?"

"She asked when is her mommy coming."

"What did you tell her?"

"The same thing I told her before-that her mommy was hurt very badly and can't come for her," Anne said. "I want to spare her that awful truth, but at the same time I hate that I'm lying to her. She's going to continue to have this building expectation and excitement that Mommy is coming back. I feel almost cruel."

"That's a tough call," Vince said. "You're the expert on kids, not me, but I don't think kids appreciate being lied to any more than we do."

Anne looked up at him. "What about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny?"

"That's different. By the time they're old enough to figure that out, they get it. You can't wait until the age of reason to tell Haley her mother is dead."

"I know. And I know that at Haley's age, death is a pretty abstract concept. She isn't liable to understand that death is final. It usually takes time for it to sink in and become real for the little ones. I suppose you could say the news is less traumatic for them in an immediate way. That's a blessing. But she's been through so much trauma already ..."

"Has she talked at all about what happened?"

"Has she named the killer?" Anne said. "No. Maybe she'll get really lucky and never remember any of it."

No sooner had she said it, a piercing scream came from the room across the hall.

Anne bolted.

Haley was sitting up in bed, screaming like she had been the first time Anne had seen her in the hospital. Caught in the grip of a private terror, unable to break free of it or even see past it.

"Haley!" Anne said, sitting on the bed, gently taking hold of the little girl by her fragile shoulders. "Haley, it's me, Anne. You're okay, sweetheart. You're safe."

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" Haley called, then again came the blood-curdling screams.

So much for my wish, Anne thought.

"Haley, you're safe, honey," Anne said and called herself a liar. She knew there was no such thing as being safe from the nightmares. Those would come again and again.

She drew the child to her and held her close. She felt the bed dip beneath Vince's weight as he sat down behind her. He wrapped them both in his arms and held them, his head bent, his cheek pressed to Anne's.

Gradually, Haley's screams gave way to sobs, and gradually the sobs gave way to sniffles and hiccups. Vince went into the bathroom and returned with a damp washcloth to wipe away tears-both Haley's and Anne's.

"I was scared!" Haley cried.

"I know!" Anne said. "You're safe, though, honey. No one can hurt you here."

"That was a bad dream," Vince said. "Do you want to tell us about it, sweetheart?"

Anne stiffened and shot him a look, but Haley nodded her head. She wanted the memory of it out where grownups could look at it and rea.s.sure her that she would be safe.

"Was someone trying to hurt you?" Vince asked.

Haley nodded. "The bad monster was chasing my mommy!"

"That's a scary dream," Anne whispered, stroking the girl's hair.

"Does the bad monster have a name?" Vince asked.

"Bad Daddy!" Haley said.

"Does Bad Daddy have a regular name?"

"Bad Daddy!!" she said emphatically, angry that the adults were too dense to get it. she said emphatically, angry that the adults were too dense to get it.

"Bad Daddy can't get you here, honey," Anne said.

"I don't like bad dreams!"

"Me neither. I hate bad dreams. I had a bad dream tonight too."

Haley looked up at her, surprised. "You have bad dreams too?"

Anne nodded.

"Why?"

"Because a bad man tried to hurt me," Anne said, "and I was so afraid."

"Were you little like me?"

"No. It happened just last year."

"And you were still afraid?"

"Very. And I still get afraid when I have a bad dream. But when I wake up I remember that I'm in a safe place, and that the bad man can't hurt me again, and then I don't feel afraid anymore."

"What if the bad daddy came here to get me?" Haley asked.

"We won't let that happen, Haley," Vince said. "Anne and I will look out for you. Bad Daddy can't come to our house."

She seemed to mull that over for a moment, not quite sure she should believe such a claim.

"When is my mommy coming?"

Anne's heart was as heavy as a stone in her chest. She looked at Vince. Was this the time? Was there ever a right time? Did she do it now when Haley was already feeling vulnerable and frightened? Or did she tell the white lie and wait another day?

"Mommy isn't coming, sweetheart," she said, a mix of dread and relief churning inside her. She wasn't keeping a terrible secret anymore. She was telling a terrible truth.

Haley's eyes grew rounder. "Why?"

"Your mommy was hurt very badly, Haley. Do you remember when that happened? You were hurt and so was your mommy."

"The bad daddy came," she said, soberly. "Bad Daddy hurt my mommy."

"Yes. Your mommy was hurt too badly, and the doctors couldn't fix her, and she died."

"But when will she come back?"

"She can't, sweetheart. She can't come back."

Anne watched the little girl try to process the information. How could Mommy not come for her? Mommy had been there for her every day of her life.

"I'm so sorry, honey," Anne said, her own tears br.i.m.m.i.n.g over the barrier of her eyelashes.

She had been an adult when she had to accept the truth of her mother's death. And even though logically she had known that death meant an end to the terrible suffering cancer had brought her mother, Anne's own pain and grief had still been overwhelming. It still was overwhelming at times.

"But I want my mommy," Haley said, two big tears rolling down her cheeks.