Jeffery Deaver - The Sleeping Doll

"That Rebecca…Just like I remember her." Linda grunted.

Sam said, "What're you reading?"

Linda asked, "Would you know if I told you the chapter and verse?"

"No."

"So." Linda started to read but then she looked up from the holy book again. "She was wrong. What Rebecca said. It wasn't a nest of self-deception, or whatever she thinks."

Sam was silent.

Okay, she told herself. Go ahead. Now's the time.

"I know she was wrong about one thing."

"What's that?"

Sam exhaled long. "I wasn't a mouse all the time."

"Oh, that. Don't take it seriously. I never said you were."

"I stood up to him once. I told him no." She gave a laugh. "Ought to get a T-shirt printed up: 'I told Daniel Pell no.'"

Linda's lips pressed together. The attempt at humor fell leaden between them.

Walking to the TV, Sam shut it off. Sat down in an armchair, leaning forward. Linda's voice was wary as she said, "This is going somewhere. I can tell. But I'm not in the mood to get beat up again."

"It's about beating me up, not you."

"What?"

A few deep breaths. "About the time I said no to Daniel."

"Sam-"

"Do you know why I came down here?"

A grimace. "To help capture the evil escapee. To save lives. You felt guilty. You wanted a nice drive in the country. I don't have any idea, Sam. Why did you come?"

"I came because Kathryn said you'd be here, and I wanted to see you."

"You've had eight years. Why now?"

"I thought about tracking you down before. I almost did once. But I couldn't. I needed an excuse, some motivation."

"You needed Daniel to escape from prison for motivation? What's this all about?" Linda set the Bible down, open. Samantha kept staring at the pencil notes in the margins. They were dense as bees clustered in a hive.

"You remember that time you were in the hospital?"

"Of course." In a soft voice. The woman was gazing steadily at Sam. Wary.

The spring before the Croyton murders Pell had told Sam he was serious about retreating to the wilderness. But he wanted to increase the size of the Family first.

"I want a son," Pell had announced with all the bluntness of a medieval king bent on heirs. A month later Linda was pregnant.

And a month after that she'd miscarried. Their absence of insurance relegated them to a line at a lower-tier hospital in the barrio, frequented by pickers and illegals. The resulting infection led to a hysterectomy. Linda was devastated; she'd always wanted children. She'd told Sam often that she was meant to be a mother, and, aware of how badly her parents had raised her, she knew how to excel at the role.

"Why are you bringing this up now?"

Sam picked up a cup filled with tepid tea. "Because it wasn't supposed to be you who got pregnant. It was supposed to be me."

"You?"

Sam nodded. "He came to me first."

"He did?"

Tears stung Sam's eyes. "I just couldn't go through with it. I couldn't have his baby. If I did he'd have control over me for the rest of my life." No point in holding back, Sam reflected. She gazed at the table and said, "So I lied. I said you weren't sure you wanted to stay in the Family. Ever since Rebecca joined, you were thinking about leaving."

"You what? "

"I know…" She wiped her face. "I'm sorry. I told him that if you had his baby it'd show how much he wanted you to stay."

Linda blinked. She looked around the room, picked up and rubbed the cover of the holy book.

Sam continued, "And now you can't have children at all. I took them away from you. I had to choose between you and me, and I chose me."

Linda stared at a bad picture in a nice frame. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Guilt, I guess. Shame."

"So this confession then, that's about you too, right?"

"No, it's about us. All of us…"

"Us?"

"All right, Rebecca's a bitch." The word felt alien in her mouth. She couldn't remember the last time she'd used it. "She doesn't think before she says things. But she was right, Linda. None of us're leading normal lives. Rebecca should have a gallery and be married to some sexy painter and be flying around the world. But she's jumping from older man to older man-we know why now. And you should have a real life, get married, adopt kids, a ton, and spoil 'em like crazy. Not spend your time in soup kitchens and caring for children you see for two months and never again. And maybe you could even give your dad and mom a call… No, Linda, it isn't a rich life you're living. And you're miserable. You know you are. You're hiding behind that." A nod at the Bible. "And me?" She laughed. "Well, I'm hiding even deeper than you are."

Sam rose and sat next to Linda, who leaned away. "The escape, Daniel coming back like this…it's a chance for us to fix things. Look, here we are! The three of us in a room together again. We can help each other."

"And what about now?"

Sam wiped her face. "Now?"

"Do you have children? You haven't told us a thing about your mysterious life."

A nod. "I have a son."

"What's his name?"

"My-?"

"What's his name?"

Sam hesitated. "Peter."

"Is he a nice boy?"

"Linda-"

"Is he a nice boy, I asked."

"Linda, you think it wasn't so bad back then, in the Family. And you're right. But not because of Daniel. Because of us. We filled all those gaps in our lives that Rebecca was talking about. We helped each other! And then it fell apart and we're back to where we started. But we can help each other again! Like real sisters." Sam leaned forward and gripped the Bible. "You believe in this, right? You think things happen for a purpose. Well, I think we were meant to get back together. To give us this chance to fix our lives."

"Oh, but mine is perfectly fine," Linda said evenly, pulling the Bible away from Sam's trembling fingers. "Work on yours as much as you want."

Daniel Pell parked the Camry in a deserted lot off Highway 1, near Carmel River State Beach, beside a sign that warned of the dangerous waters here. He was alone in the car.

He caught a whiff of Jennie's perfume.

Slipping his pistol into a pocket of the windbreaker, he climbed out of the car.

That perfume again.

Noticing Jennie Marston's blood in the crescent of his nails. He spit on his fingers and wiped it, but couldn't remove all of the crimson stain.

Pell looked around at the meadows, the cypress and pine and oak woods and the rugged outcroppings of granite and Carmelo formation rock. In the gray ocean sea lions, seals and otters swam and played. A half-dozen pelicans flew in perfect formation over the uneasy surface, and two gulls fought relentlessly for a scrap of food washed up on the shore.

Head down, Pell moved south through the thick trees. There was a path nearby but he didn't dare take it, though the park seemed deserted; he couldn't risk being seen as he headed for his destination: the Point Lobos Inn.

The rain had stopped but the overcast was heavy and more sprinkles seemed likely. The air was cold and thick with the scent of pine and eucalyptus. After ten minutes he came to the dozen cabins of the inn. Crouching, he circled to the rear of the place and continued, pausing to get his bearings and look for police. He froze, gripping his gun, when a deputy appeared, surveyed the grounds, then returned to the front of the cabin.

Easy, he told himself. Now's not the time to be careless. Take your time.

He walked for five minutes through the fragrant misty forest. About a hundred yards away, invisible to the cabins and the deputy, was a small clearing, inside which was a shelter. Someone sat at a picnic bench underneath it.

Pell's heart gave an uncharacteristic thud.

The woman was looking out over the ocean. A pad of paper was in her hand, and she was sketching. Whatever she was drawing, he knew it would be good. Rebecca Sheffield was talented. He remembered when they'd met, a cool, clear day by the beach. She'd squinted up from the low chair in front of her easel near where the Family had a booth at a flea market.