“I look at the people here, and I see what I had felt inside myself—a spark of God’s created image buried under so much fear and false belief, a strength and hope and imagination no one ever took the time to recognize.” It was a gift that had been a curse in the attainment, but it had shaped me. Given me an uncommon ability to rescue others. “And even being here, I find myself not as different from the patients as I’d imagined. Perhaps that’s why I feared coming in the first place—the chance of seeing myself in them.”

I shivered for a moment, then I told him of the vivid dreams, of playing with the mysterious ghost woman in those chilly midnight hours and experiencing tenderness, then how I’d suddenly had the ability to fly into windows and yank out children who suffered the same fate as I, and how so many vivid dreams had emboldened me in different ways. Given me a sense of protectiveness and purpose even before coming here.

“I determined years ago that I would make certain no one else would wither and fade away as my mother once had—as I nearly did, when I was locked up in the dark.” I sighed. “I suppose everyone has a story like that, though, being shaped against one’s will, life dealing unfairly with them. After everything I’ve experienced, I cannot look away from those people, Dr. Turner. That’s all it is. They’re as desperate as I once was.”

“Your fear of the dark. It comes from that, doesn’t it? From being locked up.”

I shrugged, feeling the heat flood my face. “Silly, I know. Such a childish fear.” I’d said too much.

“It came from when you were a child, so it isn’t silly. And what shapes our adulthood besides everything that came before it?”

His casual acceptance released something in me. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Then he froze, looking at me.

No, past me.

I turned to see a nurse darting around the corner, skirt fluttering in the lighted space ahead. I closed my eyes and released a breath, dread settling low in my belly.

“I must apologize again, Miss Mourdant. I acted in haste, without giving much thought to the consequences—for you. Of course you cannot be my assistant while you’re a patient here.” He turned me to face him and leveled a gaze at me. “Everything we spoke ends here, in this corridor, and I vow to you I’ll never ask of you what I shouldn’t again.” His words echoed with layers of meaning. “You must return alone, quickly, to the laundry, and I will make certain you see no trouble for my foolishness. The laundry is just around that corner, and it’ll go better that way than for me to be seen returning you.”