Panic swelled in her chest. Monica tried to draw up her legs, to stand on the mattress—and felt resistance around her ankles, too. She tore away the bed sheets.

Short lengths of rope had been knotted around both of her ankles. The ropes ran underneath the mattress, their ends tethered to the posts of the bed frame.

Before, she had complained of being a prisoner in her bedroom. Now she had become a prisoner in her own bed.

“Help!” she shouted. Her voice broke on the word. Her throat was dry, her lips parched. “Somebody, help me!”

No one came to her aid.

A sheet of paper lay on the nightstand, next to the ice pack and a glass of water. She had to endure a painful, spine-burning stretch to reach the note.

She recognized Grace’s handwriting.

This is for your own good, child. An ice pack, water, and bedpan are within reach if you require them.

I’ll return soon and we’ll conclude our time together.

Love,

Nana/Mother

Monica looked at the other nightstand, on Troy’s side of the bed. A big yellow bedpan had been placed there.

No, no, no.

The handset for the telephone that should have been sitting on her side had been removed. She didn’t see her cell phone, either.

Monica screamed.

As she screamed, she realized the futility of it. There was no one to hear and respond to her cries. Troy was gone. Her children were gone. She’d been isolated from her friends. She was all alone, forced to wait for her monstrous mother to return.

I’ll return soon and we’ll conclude our time together.

Monica had no illusions about the sinister connotations of that statement. Everything Troy had said about Grace, every outrageous accusation, was true.

Her mother had killed Lily. She had killed their dog. She had orchestrated the accident that had landed Pat in the hospital in critical condition.

And, Grace was the origin of the age-advancing illness that plagued Monica. Monica didn’t know how Grace was doing it; she was a student of science and this defied all of her learning. But the how of it was irrelevant. It was sufficient to accept that her mother was the root of all the evil that had invaded their lives.

I have to get out of here.

Her clock read 11:23. She wasn’t sure how long Grace had been gone, and didn’t know the time of her return.

But she couldn’t waste another second.

If she didn’t escape before Grace returned, her mother was going to kill her.

53

Troy was driving when Sullivan called.

“You’re in the car again?” Sullivan asked. “Are you a doctor or a Pizza Hut driver?”

“Comedy isn’t your forte, man. You have that report ready for me or not?”

“Email is coming through now. I assume a hot shot MD like you has a mobile office set up in his Beemer?”