Ilse squeaked, “I don’t know anything about a plan! I don’t remember any of it!”

Heidi drew nearer, her presence looming, her shadow like the essence of some ghoul. “You don’t remember me helping you? The way I broke that window? You couldn’t even reach it. You were so small! You never came back for us, Hilda! You never returned!”

Ilse winced. Again, she remembered the sound of shattering glass. Again she could remember the feeling of fingers at her back, pushing her, encouraging words launched after her, before the torrential sound of screaming and rage. And then… then what?

Rapid footfalls of bare feet against dusty ground. Cold pine needles. Pain. Ricocheting off a tree. Gasping, gasping. Wincing against the sunlight. Stumbling, desperately, racing through the forest, away, away. A single glance back. Shattered glass in the window. Bars that had been slowly whittled away. With knives? No, it hadn’t been knives. A rope? She seemed to remember a length of rope. They had hidden it not behind the couch, but in it. Resting it against the wooden brace through the fabric. Their father had even found the cut portion of the couch.

He had thought they’d been negligent. He had beaten one of them for it. Ilse couldn’t remember who. She couldn’t remember their faces. Two of them dead because of her escape? She didn’t even remember those names. She hoped perhaps by hearing it would have conjured a thought, an image of a face—anything! But all it brought was guilt. More guilt to go along with the heaping shame she always felt. Guilt she’d felt since she’d been a teenager. Guilt she’d felt ever since she’d left Germany to escape to America. Guilt she’d felt while trained by Dr. Mitchell. Guilt while auditing those classes. Guilt while going through college, getting her advanced degrees, starting her own practice. Guilt she’d felt every day, unless she forced her mind to flit away. Unless she buried those memories. Because she didn’t have the full picture. She only knew the horrors.

And sometimes, when memories were lost, it was possible to pretend things had never happened to begin with. It was easier that way.

But now, the wraith in the mirror, the mist in the graveyard, the forgotten thing was in front of her, a shadow in the glass. An omen from her past. A demon in her consciousness. And she felt nearly certain it was about to try and kill her.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Ilse’s voice shook as she tried to speak past her own whirring thoughts. “I should’ve come back for you. I didn’t remember. I-I don’t know why it took me three weeks to get the police. I don’t even think—so much time had passed. I didn’t even know you’d been freed by the police. I didn’t know Dad was in prison!” Even as she said it, Ilse felt a shuddering little pulse of relief.

Just as quickly as the rage had come, Samantha buried it with a fake smile. She tossed her hair again and gave a little shake of her head. “I’m not there anymore, am I? Obviously. It cost me pain. But he never found out I was the one who helped you. Besides, he liked hurting us regardless. It wasn’t like too much could change. We did get starved for nearly three weeks. He didn’t let us out in the yard for that month. And he spent weeks looking for you. Most of us didn’t think you’d make it far, anyway. But we’d counted on you… Hoped on you. All you had to do was go straight to the police. You were the only one who could fit through that window. Small as you were. You’re still pretty small, aren’t you?”