Because in the back of her mind, something was whispering, and it had to do with what happens to the mind during solitary confinement, when thoughts wander and sensory inputs are eliminated. She decided to do a little refreshment research on the subject before she made the decision of whether or not to board that plane to God- knows-where.

But she knew somehow that he wouldn’t call, that the problem would not go away, and that she would end up on that plane. Knew it with absolute certainty, the way she sometimes knew when she had failed a test or lost a bet. What would happen at the other end, when the plane landed? That was the real question. What would she find?

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know. The little voice in the back of her mind was whispering again.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

That night, David Pierce fluttered in and out of a dreamscape filled with creatures that stalked him through the blackness with a cold and persistent cunning. He slept very little, tossing and turning and twisting the sheets around his body like a death shroud. Several times he sat bolt upright in bed, certain that he had heard a noise in the house and that the creatures of his fitful dreams had arrived, but heard nothing more. He had gone around and checked every window and door before they had turned in; everything was secure.

About five thirty, before the long winter night had broken, he left Helen sleeping peacefully in bed and padded softly downstairs. He slipped through the darkness without much fear. The black shapes that chased him during the night had faded like an old photograph left in the sun, its edges yellowing and curled, the images pale and ghostlike. He hoped they were not chasing Helen and Jessie. He had told them as much as he could about what had happened in the woods. He had found a dead cat, and had gotten a bit rattled. He had seen the shed door. It did look strange. He thought it was some kind of animal that had done it. No, he didn’t think there was anybody out there watching them.

The house was silent, the kind of quiet that envelops a household in the early morning before people shuffle to the bathroom and the coffee smells waft up the stairs to coax the late risers out of bed. By the time he had reached the bottom step, sleep had left him completely, and he knew he was up for good. The rooms were dark, the stairs masked in shadow, the kitchen chairs vague shapes in the last of the moonlight shining through the windows.