A shuddering breath exhaled through pursed lips, centering her. She opened her eyes and they were clear and focused. I always knew she was good under pressure, but goddamn. She looked at me now for the first time. Running her fingertips lightly across my face as though reading my bruises in braille. Scanned my body, my arms and legs, checking for injuries or proof that I was real, wincing when her eyes returned to my face. She cupped the back of my neck and pulled me toward her. Our hug was an attempt to merge two bodies into one. It hurt in a vital way that proved we were both together and alive.

After a minute or two we separated. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think he is, for now. What happened to you?”

“I was taken,” I said. “Kidnapped after the show on Saturday night.”

She was nodding like this made sense or was somehow expected. What about the pictures, then?

“Taken to some place and…tortured,” I said. “Just fucked with like you couldn’t believe.” I didn’t know how much to say or what to describe. “That book I read, I don’t know if you remember. Solomon gave it to me. They’ve been watching us. Wiretapped our house, everything. In the mirrors. Fucking ceiling fans. I have no idea what’s going on or why. But they got Al. Everyone, I don’t even know who else. They sent you here? Who?”

That Cassie was absorbing this information so calmly was astounding. But, then again, this is the woman who dropped everything to care for our disabled son without skipping a beat. Women are tougher than men, I’ll tell you that right now.

“Saturday. Rox had been down for a few hours and I’d just gone to bed myself. I was drifting off when someone started banging on the door. Just after midnight, maybe.”

Of course, The Midnight Hour.