I do not try to touch her. I do not even want to breathe. I have reached a well of humanity inside this child and it cannot be disrupted.

Even the hatred inside me begins to retreat. Even as I sit in a cage. Even though she has the power to free me.

Patience.

I think about the groceries and the dinner. I think about what I know of the ethylene glycol and how I will put it into food that will be made just for him. I think about how he will collapse and writhe in pain as the chemicals form sharp shards that slice through the tissue inside his gut. And how I will then leave him to suffer. Perhaps even die.

I do not think what I will do with Alice or how I will feel when she watches this happen. I cannot afford to think about that because it might ruin my plan and I can feel the weakness inside me—the weakness for the girl who now cries real tears.

“I know . . .” I say this several times with long pauses. I let her cry.

When she begins to calm, I wait just a little bit longer before I start back in with my questions.

Patience.

“Alice,” I say. “What was her name, your first mommy?”

She becomes ethereal now, daydreaming about her first mommy with the real blond hair.

Then she says her first mommy’s name. The one who is dead. Who died in the woods.

“Daisy,” she says. “Daisy Alice Hollander.”

Chapter Twenty-six

Day sixteen

Nic left Booth’s apartment and ran across the street to the bar. It was just after eleven. Kurt was opening for lunch.

She burst through the door, sending the string of bells clanging against the wall. Kurt was behind the bar pulling glasses from the dishwasher.

He looked up, surprised to see her.

“Hey,” he said. “How did things go yesterday?”

Nic walked quickly to the bar, standing across from him. In the mirror behind the bottles of alcohol she could see herself. It was startling—the wet hair, loose sweatshirt, crazy expression on her face.

She took a breath before speaking. Crazy was not a good place to start.

“I have to ask you something,” she said.

Kurt shrugged, wiped a glass. “Sure.”

“Do I look like Daisy Hollander?”

Now he put down the glass to study her.

“I mean . . . you have similar hair. Same color, length. And she was thin as well. Long legs which she loved to show off. Even in the winter she would wear short skirts with no stockings. But I wouldn’t have thought it if you hadn’t said something.”

Nic sat on a stool. She felt her nerves calm. Kurt had that effect on her.

“Why are you asking that?”

“Roger said I looked like her. Or reminded him of her.”

Kurt scrunched his face. “That’s a little creepy.”

“And he showed me the letter,” Nic said.