She stumbled when she heard another cry, her hip hitting a table. This cry came from outside. She was sure of it. It wasn't Amabel; thank God, she was safe. Amabel would know what to do.

What was it? She rubbed her hip as she set the table against the wall again.

Suddenly Amabel's bedroom door flew open. "What's going on? Is that you, Sally?"

"Yes, Amabel," she whispered. "I heard someone cry out and thought it was you. What is it?"

"I didn't hear a thing," Amabel said. "Go back to bed, dear. You're exhausted. It's probably the leftovers of a bad dream. Just look at you, you're white as the woodwork. You did have a nightmare, didn't you?"

Sally nodded because it was the truth. But those screams had lasted, had gone on and on. They'd not been part of the dream, the dream that was a memory she hated, but that always came in her sleep when she was helpless against it.

"Go to bed. You poor baby, you're shivering like a leaf. Go back to bed. Hurry now."

"But I heard it twice, Amabel. I thought it was you, but it's not. It's coming from outside the house."

"No, baby, there's nothing out there. You're so tired, so much has happened in the past few days I'm surprised you haven't heard the Rolling Stones bawling at the top of their lungs. There's nothing, Sally. It was a nightmare, nothing more. Don't forget, this is The Cove, dear. Nothing ever happens here. If you did hear something, why it was only the wind. The wind off the ocean can whine just like a person. You'll learn that soon enough. You didn't hear anything. Trust me. Go back to bed."

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