Sally went back to bed. She lay stiff and waiting, so cold she wondered whether the tears would freeze on her face if she cried. She could have sworn that she heard a door quietly open and close, but she didn't have the guts to go see.

She would relax, then stiffen again, waiting to hear that awful cry. But there weren't any more cries.

Maybe Amabel was right. She was exhausted; she had been dreaming and it had been hideous and so very real. Maybe she was paranoid or psychotic or schizophrenic. They had called her all those things for six months. She wondered-if she saw the person actually cry out would that be a delusion? Just a fabrication of her mind? Probably. No, she wouldn't think about that time. It made her hurt too much.

She fell asleep again near dawn.

It was a dreamless sleep this time.

3

JAMES RAILEY QUINLAN had more energy than he'd had just twenty minutes before. His body was humming with it. That was because she was here. He was sure of it now, he could feel her here. He'd always had these feelings- more than intuition. The feelings just came to him suddenly, and he had always followed them, ever since he was a kid. The time or two he hadn't, he'd gotten himself into deep shit.

Now he was out on a very long limb, and if he was wrong he'd pay for it. But he wasn't wrong. He could feel her presence in this very charming and well-manicured little town.

Dreadful little place, he thought, so perfect, like a Hollywood set, just like Teresa's hometown. He remembered having the same reaction, feeling the same vague distaste when he'd traveled to that small town in Ohio to marry Teresa Raglan, daughter of the local judge.

He pulled his gray Buick Regal into a well-marked parking place in front of the World's Greatest Ice Cream Shop. There were two large plate-glass windows, painted all around with bright-blue trim. He could see small circular tables inside, with old-fashioned white wrought-iron chairs. Behind the counter an older woman was talking to a man while she scooped chocolate ice cream out of a carton set down into the counter. The front of the shop was painted a pristine white. It was a quaint little place, just like the rest of the town, but for some reason he didn't like the looks of it.