GERDA HAD STOPPED by Heloise’s apartment earlier in the day to pack a bag of clean clothes—a couple pairs of panties, a hoodie, some sweat pants, Heloise’s favorite sneakers, and a denim jacket. She had dropped it off at the hospital in the morning and asked if she should stick around.

“No, no, you go. It’s fine. I’m doing fine,” Heloise had said, and it was only a white lie.

Physically she was relatively okay. Her throat no longer felt like it had been through a blender, and her skull no longer weighed as much as a bowling ball. The doctor had discharged her because she had promised to spend the next few days at home in bed.

But Heloise was afraid to go home alone. No, not afraid—she wouldn’t have anyone believe that of her. But she just didn’t want to walk into her apartment on her own.

Not today. Not yet.

Schäfer had called and told her that the man who had attacked her had also been charged with Ulrich’s murder.

Murder.

So, Heloise’s hunch had been right. Ulrich had been murdered. By the same man who had attacked her.

The thought shook her.

Schäfer had said that the man had been arraigned and that the judge had decided to take him into custody. But was he the only one out there who had it in for her? Were there other people, hiding in the shadows, ready to jump her as soon as her back was turned? Would she ever feel safe again?

Heloise took the bag from Gerda into the bathroom and was happy to get out of the hospital gown. She put her hands together under the cold water from the faucet and splashed water on her face. Then she looked at herself in the mirror.

Hold your head high, she told herself. Stand up straight, pull yourself together!

In the elevator she pushed the button for the ground floor, and she felt a sinking feeling as the elevator began to move. Every time the doors opened on the way down the shaft, new patients stepped into the claustrophobic metal box, all wearing hospital garb, some bringing an oxygen supply or wheeling an IV drip stand along with them, others with obvious tumors on their neck or face, dialysis patients with yellowish skin and edema in their legs and a little girl without a hair on her head, who smiled warmly at Heloise. Heloise smiled back, but she left the elevator with a feeling of never ever having had less faith in God.

She hurried through the lobby and walked through the big revolving doors out into the freedom of a gray morning sky, where a strong wind lifted her hair away from her face.

Martin was waiting for her, as he had promised. Heloise walked over to the car and climbed in through the passenger’s door.

“Hi!”