Catherine Coulter - The Cove

Yes, she remembered that, not all of it, but enough to have it burn through her sleep and terrify her over and over in nightmares that still brought vivid pain.

Suddenly she remembered. She'd been with James. Yes, James Quinlan. He'd been struck on the head.

He was lying unconscious on the ground in that small sliver of land next to the Hinterlands.

"Nothing to say, Sally? I cut back on the dosage so you could talk to me." She felt a sharp slap on her cheek.

"Look at me, Sally. Don't pretend you're off in outer space. I know this time you can't be." He slapped her again.

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard.

"Is James all right?"

He stopped shaking her. "James?" He sounded surprised. "Oh, that man you were with in The Cove.

Yes, he's fine. No one wanted to take the risk of killing him. Was he your lover, Sally? You only had him a bit over a week. That's moving fast. He must have been desperate.

“Just look at you, all skinny and pathetic, your hair in strings, your clothes bagging around you. Come on, Sally, tell me about James. Tell me what you told him."

"I told him about you," she said. "I had a nightmare and he helped me through it. I told him what a piece of slime you are."

He slapped her again, not too hard, but hard enough to make her shrink away from him.

"You're rude, Sally. And you're lying. You've never lied well and I can always tell. You might have dreamed, but you didn't tell him about me. You want to know why? It's because you're crazy and I'm so deep a part of you that if you were to tell anyone about me, why, you'd just collapse in on yourself and die. You can't exist without me, Sally.

"You were away from me for just two weeks, and look what happened. You're a mess. You tried to pretend you were normal. You lost all your manners. Your mother would be appalled. Your husband would back away from you in disgust. As for your father, well-well, I suppose it's not worth speculating now that he's shuffled off his mortal coil."

"Where am I?"

"Ah, that's supposed to be the first thing out of your mouth, if books and TV stories are to be believed.

You're back where you belong, Sally. Just look around you. You're back in your room, the very same Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

one decorated especially for you by your dear father. I've kept you under for nearly a day and a half. I let up on the dosage about four hours ago. You took your time coming to the surface."

"What do you want?"

“I have what I want; at least I have the first installment of what I want. And that's you, my dear."

"I'm thirsty."

"I'll bet you are. Holland, where are you? Bring some water to our patient."

She remembered Holland, a skinny, furtive little man who'd been one of the two men to stare through the small square window while he was hitting her and caressing her, humiliating her. Holland had thinning brown hair and the deadest eyes she'd ever seen. He rarely said anything, at least to her.

She said nothing more until he appeared at her side, a glass of water in his hand.

"Here you are, Doctor," he said in that low, hoarse voice of his that lay like a covering of loose gravel in all those nightmares, making her want to be drugged so she wouldn't realize he was around her.

He was standing behind Beadermeyer, looking down at her, his eyes dead and hungry. She wanted to vomit.

Dr. Beadermeyer raised her and let her drink her fill.

"Soon you'll want to go to the bathroom. Holland will help you with that, won't you, Holland?"

Holland nodded, and she wanted to die. She fell back against the pillow, a hard, institutional pillow, and closed her eyes. She knew deep down she couldn't keep herself intact in this place again. She also realized that she would never escape again. This time it was over for her.

She kept her eyes closed, didn't turn toward him, just said, "I'm not crazy. I was never crazy. Why are you doing this? He's dead. What does it matter?"

"You still don't know, do you? You still have no memory of any of it. I realized that almost immediately.

Well, it isn't my place to tell you, my dear." She felt him pat her cheek. She flinched.

"Now, now, Sally, I'm not the one who tormented you, though I must admit that I enjoyed the one tape I saw. Except you weren't even there, you were just flopping back, your eyes closed, letting him do what whatever he wanted.

"You didn't have any fight in you. Why, you were so out of it, you barely flinched when he hit you. But even then you weren't afraid. I could tell. The contrast, at least, made for fascinating viewing."

She felt gooseflesh rise on her arms as remnants of memories flooded her-the movement of his hands over hers, the pushing and slapping, the caressing that turned to pain.

She heard the bed ease up and knew that Dr. Beader-meyer was standing beside her, looking down at her. She heard him say softly, "Holland, if she gets away again, I'll have to hurt you badly. Do you understand?"

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"Yes, Doctor Beadermeyer."

"It won't be like last time, Holland. I made a mistake on your punishment last time. You rather liked that little shock therapy, didn't you?"

"It won't happen again, Doctor Beadermeyer." Was there disappointment in that frightening little man's voice?

"Good. You know what happened to Nurse Krider when she let her hide those pills under her tongue.

Yes, of course you do. Be mindful, Holland.

"I must go now, Sally, but I'll be with you again this evening. We'll have to get you away from the sanitarium, probably tomorrow morning. The decision about what to do with you hasn't been made just yet. But you can't stay here. The FBI, this Quinlan fellow, he's got to know all about this place. I'm sure you did tell him some things about your past. And they'll come. But that isn't your problem.

“Now, let me give you a little shot of something that will make you drift and really feel quite good about things. Yes, Holland, hold her arm for me."

Sally felt the chill of the needle, felt the brief sting. Within moments, she felt herself begin to drift out of her brain, to float in nothingness. She felt the part of her that was real, the part of her that wanted life-such a small flicker, really-struggling briefly before it succumbed. She sighed deeply and was gone from herself.

She felt hands on her, taking off her clothes. She knew it was Holland. Probably Dr. Beadermeyer was watching.

She didn't struggle. There was nothing more to care about.

Quinlan woke up with a roaring headache that beat any hangover he'd ever had in college. He cursed, held his head in his hands, and cursed some more.

"You've got the mother of all headaches, right?"

"David," he said, and even that one word hurt. "What the devil happened?"

"Someone hit you good just above your left ear. Our doctor put three stitches in your head. Hold still and I'll get you a pill."

Quinlan focused on that pill. It had to help. If it didn't, his brain would break out of his skull.

"Here, Quinlan. It's strong stuff; you're supposed to have just one every four hours."

Quinlan took it and downed the entire glass of water. He lay back, his eyes closed, and waited.

"Doctor Grafft said it would kick in quickly."

"I sure as hell hope so. Talk to me, David. Where's Sally?"

"I'll tell you everything. Just lie still. I found you unconscious in that narrow little strip of alley beside the Hinterlands. Thelma Nettro had reported you and Sally missing, so I started looking.

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"You scared the shit out of me. When I found you lying there, I thought you were dead. I slung you over my shoulder and brought you to my house. Doctor Grafft met me here and stitched you up. I don't know about Sally. She's just gone, Quinlan. No trace, nothing. It's like she was never even here."