Lisa Gardner - The Survivors Club

Griffin went to the ambulance where they were loading up Waters on a stretcher. An oxygen mask was over Waters's face, but his gaze was alert, focused.

“How is he?” Griffin asked.

“Gotta get to the hospital,” the EMT said.

“He gets the best.”

“Men in blue always do.”

“Mike…”

Waters tried a halfhearted thumbs-up. Then the stretcher was in the back, the doors were closing and the ambulance was pulling away.

More cruisers came screeching down the street. More lights, camera, action.

Griffin stood in the middle of the chaos of his old neighborhood, his old life. He looked at Meg. He looked at Jillian. He looked up at the bedroom where a dead David Price now lay.

And he whispered, “Cindy, I love you.”

The night wind blew down the street and carried his words away.

In the intensive care waiting room, Dan sat with his elbows on his thighs and his fingers digging into his hair. Thirty minutes had passed. It might as well have been a year.

A door opened and closed. Dan finally looked up to see a white-jacketed doctor standing before him. He tried to read the man's face, tried to steel his body before he heard the words.

“Your wife would like to see you.”

“What?”

“Your wife… She suffered an episode. But the good news is, she's now regained consciousness.”

“What?”

“Would you like to see your wife, Mr. Rosen?”

“Oh, yes. I mean, please .”

Dan went down the hall. Dan went into the room. And there was Carol, pale but conscious, lying on the bed. His feet suddenly stilled. He couldn't remember how to move.

“Honey?” he said.

“I heard your voice,” she whispered.

“I thought I'd lost you.”

“I heard your voice. You told me that you loved me.”

“I do, Carol! Oh I do. There has never been anyone else. You have to believe me. I've made so many mistakes, but Carol, I have never stopped loving you.”

“Dan?”

He finally got his feet to move. He took tiny, meek little steps toward the bed. She was awake now, capable of remembering all that he'd done, all of the ways that he had failed her. She was awake and he had not been a good husband, and…

Carol took his hand. “Dan,” she told him quietly. “I love you, too.”

“WHAT ABOUT THIS DRESSER? COMING OR GOING?”

“Going.”

“And the lamp?”

“Definitely going.”

“I don't know, I kind of like it.”

Carol rolled her eyes at Meg, then looked at Jillian for support. “I don't think French country quite goes with anything in a college dorm,” Jillian told Meg. “Maybe it's the heavy gold fringe.”

“Hey now, anything can coordinate with beanbag chairs and lava lamps. I believe it's called eclectic .” But Meg dutifully tagged the lamp for Dan and Carol's upcoming furniture auction. She'd been cheerfully trying to scam items for two hours now. Fortunately, not many of Carol's heavy French antiques were small enough for Meg's soon-to-be new address-the Providence College dorms.

“Next room?” Jillian asked.

“Next room,” Carol agreed.

“Are you sure?

“I'm sure.”

All three of them exited the bedroom and journeyed down the hall. Passing the staircase, they could hear the voices of their families floating up the stairs. Dan and Tom were busy sorting through the toolshed, but Laurie, Toppi and Libby had staked out the kitchen. Last Jillian saw, they had Griffin retrieving all of the high objects from the cupboards. As fast as he got an item in one box, they'd want it placed in another. He kept wiggling his eyebrows at Molly, then doing as he was told. Molly thought the whole project was loads of fun, and even now they could hear her shrieks of laughter as Griffin performed his latest Herculean task.

Molly was doing extremely well these days, and had surprisingly few questions about her strange sojourn to the park six months ago. Meg, on the other hand, was looking paler, thinner. She had recovered physically from her abduction, as had Detective Waters. But with Meg's newfound memories had come nightmares, night sweats, panic attacks. She was holding up, pushing through. She had her life back, she'd told Jillian and Carol at their last Survivors Club meeting, and she was determined to get on with it. Just next month, she'd return to Providence College for her degree. Her father was still negotiating for the right to call her every night and provide armed guards, but that was to be expected. And in his own way, Tom was really sweet.

Jillian, Carol and Meg came to the closed door at the end of the hall. The last room to be tagged for auction. The room.

“Are you sure?” Jillian asked again. “Meg and I could do this.”

“Dan offered as well,” Carol said quietly.

“Maybe you should accept his offer.”

“I thought about it. He'd like to help more.”

Jillian and Meg didn't say anything.

Carol shook her head. “I'll tell you the same thing I told him. I need to do this. It's just a room, after all. Just a room in a house that's not even mine anymore. The new owners arrive next week. They'll fill this place with their things, their kids, their dreams. If they can handle this room, I can, too.”

Jillian didn't think that was quite the same, but it wasn't for her to say. She opened the door to the musty, shadowed space, then gave Carol a moment to marshal her resources.

The master bedroom had been unused for over a year and a half. The air smelled stale, the corners were draped with long, intricate cobwebs. The hardwood floor held a fine coating of undisturbed dust. Old ghosts fit in comfortably in a space like this. Jillian could look at the dusty wrought-iron bed, and for the first time picture perfectly what Carol had gone through. A man coming through that window under cover of night. A man pouncing, hitting, gagging, tying. A woman screaming, and still not making a sound.

A woman victimized in a place where she had every right to feel safe.

Meg had unconsciously taken Jillian's hand. Then Carol walked right in, snapped on a light, and that easily the spell was broken. The room was just a room after all. One, as a matter of fact, in need of a good cleaning.

“Everything in here,” Carol said briskly, “goes.”

Twenty minutes later, they retired to the hallway. Carol sat on the floor with a sigh. Jillian and Meg followed suit, leaning their heads against the wall.

“Any regrets?” Jillian asked softly.

Carol opened her eyes. “Honestly? Not as many as I thought I would have.”

“It's a beautiful home,” Meg said. “You should be proud of what you did with it.”

“I am. But you know, it is just a house. And for as much love and attention as went into renovating it, a lot of not so loving things happened here. It's good to get out. I can get a fresh start. The money will help Dan make a fresh start. And you know, our new home is nice, too. Just on a much smaller scale. But that back family room, I'm already thinking… Take out a wall, add a few more windows, and we'd have the perfect sunroom right off the kitchen. Put up some plants, polish the hardwood floors…”

She broke off. Jillian and Meg were smiling at her.

“You're hopeless,” Jillian said.

“I like houses. All houses, I guess. Oh, hey. I'm a house slut!”

She beamed proudly and they laughed.

“Dan's taking to corporate life?” Jillian asked.

Carol shrugged. “As well as can be expected. Being on payroll again means less freedom, but it's also a lot less stress than running his own practice. Plus, let's be frank, we need the money.”

“The auction will help,” Meg said.