“No.” Annie swallows. “I’m at Sam’s office.”
“What?” Maddie says. The music goes quiet behind her. “Annie, your plane leaves—”
“The guy Sam rented from was listening to Sam’s sessions,” Annie whispers. “And he’s been visiting Margaret at the nursing home.”
Maddie is silent a moment. “How do you know?”
“It’s a long story, but trust me,” Annie says, opening the door to Sam’s office.
“Are you there alone?”
Annie turns on the light. “Yes.”
“Annie, please leave right now and call the police.”
“I can’t.” She scans Sam’s office. “The police have made up their minds about what happened.” She sees it then—the metal grate in the ceiling above the couch. “I’ll call you back.” Annie hangs up and slides the phone into her coat pocket. She steps slowly toward the couch, her eyes on the ceiling. A vent.
“Dr. Potter, what a nice surprise.” She spins around. It’s him, Albert Bitterman, standing in the doorway. His eyes are red, as if he’s been crying. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on my way out of town, and I—I wanted to stop here,” she stammers.
“You wanted to say goodbye,” he says. “I understand. You’re in mourning, and you want to feel close to Sam.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but if you don’t mind, I have to ask you to leave. As much as it pains me to say it, I don’t think Dr. Statler is coming back, and I consider our lease null and void. In other words, this space is now private property.” He turns, gesturing toward the waiting room.
“I need to hear it again.”
“I’m sorry?” he says.
She notices the band of sweat on his upper lip as her phone vibrates in her coat pocket. “You were the last person to see my husband, the night he disappeared. I need to hear it again. How he looked. If he seemed—”
“I told you already,” Albert cuts in impatiently. “He looked fine. He said good night, and that was it.”
“Said good night?” she says. “You said he didn’t see you. When we spoke on the phone the next morning, you said you saw him run by the window, outside.”
“Did I?” He takes a step closer. “My memory’s not quite what it used to be. But please . . .”
He reaches for her arm, and something about the feel of his hand registers as familiar. “It’s you,” she says, the image flashing in her mind. “The man I bumped into on my way out of the Parlor two days ago. That was you. You were wearing blue eyeglasses then—”
“Annie!”
She freezes at the sound of the voice, coming from the ceiling. She turns toward the vent. “Annie! I’m here, upstairs. Call the police.” It’s Sam’s voice. “Please, he’s dangerous.”
“Sam!” She’s flooded with a momentary rush of relief—I knew it, I knew he was alive—before the terror takes hold. She turns and looks at Albert. His eyes are wide and vacant.
“Did Dr. Statler just call me dangerous?” he asks, his lips trembling. “It’s your fault,” he whispers. “You shouldn’t have come here. We were in the middle of something.”
Terrified, she sprints past him toward the door. He grabs her arm, but she pulls free and runs through the waiting room, out the door. Albert chases her down the path, grabbing her ankle as she bounds up the porch steps. She kicks at him, and her heel makes contact with his chin, sending him to the ground.
She opens the front door of his house and stumbles into the foyer. Her hands are shaking as she turns the dead bolt, locking the door behind her.
“Sam!” she screams, rushing into the living room. “Where are you?”
“I’m here! Annie!”
She follows the sound of his voice. Through a kitchen, down a hallway. There’s a door at the end and she throws it open. Sam is inside, lying on the floor, his legs in casts, his cheek bruised and swollen. She clasps her hand to her mouth. “Sam.”
“You found me,” he says.
There’s a noise in the living room—Albert is inside—and she closes the door, blocking it with her body. She snatches her phone from her pocket, her hands trembling as she swipes the cracked screen, trying to wake it up. It takes several tries, but she gets it finally.