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hear. "What?"
"Go away," I pleaded in a strained voice. "Go
away. Leave me alone."
"What?" He turned and stared into the darkest
shadows of the room. Was he imagining someone
there? Were one of Rye Whiskey's ghosts calling to
him? Perhaps it was the ghost of my great
grandmother, or even the ghost of my grandmother
demanding he leave me be. "Oh, my God," he said to
himself. "Oh, my God."
He stood up and looked back at me. I waited,
my heart pounding. What was going through that
twisted and tormented mind? Was he returning to
reality or was he taking some other channel through
the maze of his madness to find himself on my bed
again?
"I'm ,.. I'm sorry," he whispered. "Oh, I'm so
sorry. ." He knelt down and scooped up his robe. Then he quickly put it on, tying the belt snugly. I watched without speaking, afraid that the sound of my voice might set him back. "I . . . I've got to . . . to
go," he said. "Good night."
I held my breath and barely turned my head as
he moved away from the bed
and out the door. In a
moment he was gone, but my heart didn't stop its
racing. I was terrified he would return, and I was just
too weak and too overwhelmed to struggle out of bed
and crawl out of the suite.
I was sweating so much my nightgown stuck to
my skin. I had to get out of this place. I had to
convince Drake or Luke or someone to take me away
immediately. But Drake was in New York. And what
