The terror of what he had seen there now exploded out of his unconscious into a madness of clutching, leathery fingers and ivory nails, and the foetor of dead breath. The sound that issued from him, reedy and mad, did not bring him back to consciousness.

He remained still, knees jammed against mouth, nose touching the surface of the water, back screaming with the pressure of the stones, mind dancing through the peering dark of hell.

Sarah met Mrs. Blaylock in the receiving lobby. Until recently, it had been a dreary institutional waiting room with brown walls and plastic chairs. But Tom had insisted that it be redecorated to offer the patients the kind of supportive atmosphere they needed. Now it looked at least livable with wallpaper of pastel green, easy chairs, even a big couch.

Sarah picked Miriam Blaylock out instantly. She was easily six feet tall, blond, with eyes so gray they looked white. There was a sort of fierce inquisitiveness about her face, something that made you want to look away. She sat on one of the more rigid chairs. The other patients being admitted tonight stood in a little knot near the door, like nervous mice.

“Mrs. Blaylock,” Sarah said in a loud voice.

The woman fixed her with that stare and moved toward her. Their eyes met, and Sarah found herself in the presence of something much more profound than physical beauty, and yet the sheer magnificence of the woman’s body and the serenity of her expression were remarkable. There was also a sort of wary grace about her, a way of moving that wasn’t quite right, an atmosphere of absolute—and therefore strange—self-assurance.

“I’m Doctor Roberts,” Sarah said, hoping that her expression hadn’t betrayed her surprise. “I’m going to be managing your case.”

Now Miriam Blaylock smiled. Sarah almost laughed, the fierceness of it seemed so misplaced. It was not the smile of a stranger at all, but something else, almost of triumph. Sarah was tempted to make a professional judgment about such inappropriate behavior, but she felt she needed more data. Carefully, she infused professional neutrality into her voice. “First, we’ll go on a short tour of the facility and I’ll explain our procedures. Follow me, please.” She led her into the observation room. For companionship’s sake, Tom intended to stay and operate the equipment. He slumped in a chair before one of the computer consoles. “This is Doctor Haver,” Sarah said.

Tom turned, his face registering obvious surprise when he first saw Mrs. Blaylock. “Hello,” he said. Sarah found herself obscurely annoyed at him. He didn’t have to look so appreciative.

“Doctor Haver will explain our monitoring system.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Hurt?” Sarah asked.

“Any part of it.”