I watched the minutes slowly tick by on the watch. The morning staff had more supervision and couldn't afford to spend their days sleeping at their desks. The nurses started rousing patients around six. Once up and medicated, the patients shuffled off to breakfast, which they started serving at seven o'clock.

After a few minutes had passed, I pocketed the watch. I double checked the hallway to make sure it was still clear, took a deep breath, and headed out the door.

I sprinted down the black and white linoleum floors and skidded through the twisting maze, racing to reach the safety of my room before they could trap me in the open. When I hit the stairs, I took them two at a time. I left doors quietly swinging back and forth behind me. I only slowed when I neared the last corner before reaching my room. I didn't immediately turn past it, instead I leaned against the wall, gasping for air. One more quick run down the hall, and I would finally be at my room.

I slowly peeked around the corner and quickly pulled back when I saw a nurse heading in my direction. I started back down the hall I'd just run up, trying each door as I went. When I found one open, I darted inside. It was a janitor's closet. Huddled down in the dark, I waited to hear the nurse's footsteps pass. Once she went by, I would make a mad dash for my room.

I sat in the dark and went over the night's events in my mind while I waited. Why did Barton have a patient folder from twenty years ago in his cabinet? Wouldn't records that old be stored somewhere else? Why had he drawn that tattoo on his notepad? Was he suspicious of the deaths at the hospital? Had he pieced together that the deaths weren't accidents or suicides? I had a hard time believing Barton actively worried about the well-being of his patients, but then again, I'd never really cared for him. Something about him had always creeped me out.

I had a dozen questions and not one answer. But the biggest question of them all was how the killings connected to a man who'd died twenty years ago.

An image slid across my mind of Luke, not as he was now, but as he was when I'd first met him—those broad shoulders and shaggy blond hair. My heart gave a tug as I pictured him. But that Luke was gone.

Luke had died, only existing now inside Dean's body. A sudden thought stopped me cold. What if Weatherton came back like Luke did? Luke currently existed inside someone else. Possession didn't happen often, but could the spirit of Henry Weatherton, at this very moment, be squatting inside someone at the hospital?

I remembered the violence I had seen in Barton's eyes—a violence he seemed to hide just below the surface—and the answer clicked into place.

Was it possible Weatherton was possessing Barton?

Heavy steps shuffled past. I waited a few seconds before venturing out. The hallway was empty, so I walked quickly to my room. I said a small prayer that the door would still be open. The doorknob turned in my hands, and I opened it and took a step inside before stopping dead in my tracks.

Blood covered my bed.

In the middle of the bed lay a set of keys—the same keys Mildred always carried—and the velvet pouch containing her runes. Blood soaked both items. My heart felt as if it stopped beating for a moment. The killer had murdered Mildred last night. That was why she hadn't come back to the room to wake me when the witching hour was up!

A trail of blood led from my bed to the bathroom. I forced myself forward and headed toward the door, trying to prepare myself for what I would see inside. The killer had thus far made these deaths look like suicide or an accident. Would Mildred's body be lying across the floor, her veins cut wide open?

My hand trembled as I grasped the doorknob, and I opened it.

To my simultaneous relief and disgust, it wasn't Mildred's body lying on the floor—it was a human heart.

I gagged at the sight of the putrefying organ, turned gray by age and rot. A large chunk was missing, marked by the shape of teeth. The bite was distinct, with large gouge marks leaving tracks through the rotting flesh. I knew the human heart well, as did all healers. It was both the most vulnerable part of the body and the center of its power. I had spent countless hours learning the details of its workings, how to diagnose and heal every malady that could strike it. But I didn't think there was anything I could do for the girl to whom I suspected this heart belonged.

Gloria. I had a vision of the killer biting into the heart, had seen her watch him do it.

Thank the Goddess it wasn't Mildred. But the relief I felt was short lived. There was fresh blood on my sheets, a trail of still-wet blood across the room leading to the bathroom. The heart might not be Mildred's, but was the blood?

I stood staring at the pool of blood on the bed. Whatever might have happened to Mildred, I couldn't help her now. Not if I got myself shoved into a straitjacket again. Whatever I planned on doing had to be done quickly. Any minute now, a nurse would arrive to wake me up.

I had to clean up the mess. If the nurse saw it, she'd blame me for it. I was sure blood and body parts would call for a much more severe punishment than a straitjacket or medication.

I ran back to the bed and forced myself to pick up the blood-soaked keys and runes. I ripped off the top bed cover and carried it into the bathroom. Stepping over the heart and bloody mess on the floor, I threw the keys and runes into the sink. I then used the bed covering to scoop up the heart, with the corners of the material to wipe up as much of the bloody, sticky goo off the floor as I could. I stuffed the ruined blanket behind the toilet.

I washed off the runes and keys. I tucked the keys under the waistband of my sweatpants, tucked the runes inside my pocket, and headed back into the room. I went straight to the dresser. IA thick plastic mat covered the bed mattress. It stopped anything from soaking down into the mattress, fortunately, but a thin streak of blood had gathered on the mat. I wiped it clean, washed myself up, and looked around, pleased to find there was no longer any evidence of blood. As long as the nurse didn't go into the bathroom, I would be okay. But I had no idea how I would explain what had happened to the sheets and bed covering.

I heard movement in the hallway and rushed to the door. I was only a step away from it when it opened. Nurse Harrington stood in the hall, her normally brisk manner momentarily derailed by my sudden appearance. I greeted her in my best cheerful, nothing-to-see-here tone. "Hi. I got up early. I'm starved." I gave her a wide grin. "Do you think there might be any coffee or rolls I could grab in the cafeteria while they set up for breakfast?" I walked past her out the door and into the hallway. And prayed that she would follow me.

She had a surprised expression on her face. For one long moment she lingered in the doorway. I held my breath. Then she slowly turned and shut my door to follow behind me.

"You know the rules. Breakfast starts promptly at seven o'clock."

I nodded. "I guess I'll wait in the common room."

She followed me down the hallway to the common room. Once inside, I motioned to a table by the window and started babbling. "If it's okay with you, I'll just wait over there until they're ready to serve breakfast. It's such a beautiful day out. Too bad I can't go for a morning walk. I did that a lot when I was home. I never asked, are you from this area?"

"I was born not far from here," Nurse Harrington said. She patted my arm. "The doctor gave specific instructions that a nurse or orderly accompany you at all times when you're out of your room."

I gave her what I hoped resembled an innocent smile. "Surely, it's okay for me to stay here. I know you have a lot to do in the mornings. It must be a tremendous chore getting all the patients up and ready for the day."

She was watching me closely.

"I promise not to move from this spot until breakfast is ready." I tried to look relaxed as I sat down and stared out the window, a model of good behavior.

The nurse watched me for a few more moments before saying, "Stay here until I come back for you. Someone will escort you into breakfast."

I glanced up at her. "Great. Will do. I won't move a muscle until it's time to eat."

She left to walk across the room, and I sagged in my chair when she disappeared from sight. I sat alone in the common room. I'd gotten away with it, but for how long? All it would take was one person popping their head into my bathroom to spot the bloody mess.

I shuddered at the memory of that decaying heart lying on the bathroom floor. Of the blood smeared all over the place. I lifted out the pouch of runes from my pocket and placed it on the table in front of me. I'd tried to rinse the blood off, but I hadn't been entirely successful. I could still see the dark shadow of bloodstains on the pouch. Was it Mildred's blood? Was she still alive? The keys and runes were her most prized possessions. No way would she part with either of them willingly.

I opened the bag and pulled out one of the runes, turning it over in my hand.

"Are you doing a reading?" a soft voice said from behind me.

I whipped around and saw a girl standing only a few feet away. She appeared to be around my age with very pale skin and ink black hair that hung down past her shoulders.

The surprise I felt at seeing her must have shown on my face.

She lifted her hands in surrender. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"I thought I was alone." I held up the stone in my hand. "These aren't mine. I'm...holding them for a friend."

She came around the table and sat down across from me. "Do you want me to do a reading for you?"

"You know how?"

She gave me a ghost of a smile. "Sure. I've been reading runes for years." I put the stone back and passed over the bag. She took it and looked down at my wrist. "You're a healer. That's cool. My aunt's one."

I started to correct her but then stopped myself. I was sure word had spread throughout the hospital that I was a death dealer, but if this girl didn't know about me, I didn't plan to enlighten her. I knew the way people felt about my kind.

She passed the bag back to me. "Hold the bag in one hand then reach in with the other and shuffle the runes around. While you mix them around, think of a question you would like answered."

I followed her directions and touched the stones, moving them around the bag. I realized there were a dozen questions swirling around in my head. Could I narrow it down to just one? I handed her back the bag and watched as she pulled out runes.

She slowly laid out six in a line. And then she pulled out one last rune and laid it below the line of six. Her face took on a look of pure concentration as she stared down at the stones.

Minutes passed as I sat, watching her.

She finally let out a deep sigh and looked up at me with a frown on her face. "I've never seen a layout like this before."

I looked down at the runes. "What's wrong with it?"

"There is so much negativity. So much darkness." She pointed at one of the runes. It looked like a partially written R. "Raidho. Reversed like it is, it means crisis. And that one." She pointed at a stone that looked like a slanted F. "Fehu. I'm positive that one is representing bondage or slavery." Her fingers came to rest on a deformed N. "Hagalaz. Because it's next to a reversed Uruz, this now signifies domination by others." Her fingers moved to a stone with a single straight line on it. "This one reversed means treachery—it's Isa." And she pointed at the one lying by itself that looked like the letter P. "This one is Thurisaz. Reversed, it means...evil."

She looked off into space, and her eyes became unfocused. "There is darkness in your future. A deep abyss reaching for you. I see evil and death. It surrounds you. And there are flames, a circle scorched ground around you."

Her words should have surprised me, but they didn't. Long gone were the days of my childhood innocence. My life had been full of darkness and shadows ever since my parents' deaths.

But before I could ask her more questions, an odd expression crossed her face, and a slew of words rushed out at me. "I'll come for you when the time is right, Colina, and what fun we'll have!"

A prickling sensation rushed through my body as I remembered where I had heard those exact words before.

They came from the mouth of the demon I had released. The girl's eyes rolled back in her head, her body shook, and she started to talk in a high-pitched voice, but what she said no longer made any sense.

A hand landed on my shoulder, and I looked up into the eyes of an old man. "Don't be afraid. She's speaking in tongues."

"Speaking in tongues?" The girl's body shook harder. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine. It's not painful. It's a divine gift given directly from the angels." The old man had a mop in his other hand, and a bucket sat by his feet.

He was one of the daytime janitors. I realized I had passed him a few times in the hallway. The way he had his head cocked to one side, the look on his face... I got the impression he was listening to the girl's gibberish.

"Do you understand what she's saying?" I asked.

He nodded. "I have the gift of interpretation. Many in my family do." He paused. "There's hope. All is not lost; you must believe in yourself. You must remember, at all costs, who you are. Don't despair—where there's darkness, there's also light. You just have to look for it, to find the light."

The girl suddenly stilled, and the words stopped. Her eyes came back into focus, and she gripped the table's edge. A look of panic filled her face. "What happened?"

"Are you alright?" I asked.

She didn't say anything. Instead, she looked around the room and then back at me.

The old man moved closer to the table. He bent down, and he quickly scooped up the runes and placed them back in the bag. With one swift movement, he dropped the bag back into my lap. "Best if they don't see you doing divination. That sort of thing is frowned on in here."

I looked over my shoulder and saw Nurse Caroline heading across the room toward us. I shoved the pouch into my pocket and gave the old man a smile. "Thanks."

"Name's Charlie. My sister is one of your kind."

"A healer?"

Without answering, he took a step away from me, lowered the mop and cleaned the floor. An amused expression spread across his face.

Caroline ignored the janitor and walked straight over to the girl sitting across from me. "Wendy, how did you get out?"

Wendy looked up at the nurse. "They let me out."

"Did you cut yourself again?" Nurse Caroline grabbed the girl's arm and pulled up her sleeve. I saw long, faint, white lines crisscrossing her forearm.

Wendy jerked her arm away. "No. I've been good."

"The two of you had better come with me."

I reluctantly followed her. The last thing I needed was to be dragged into Barton's office. My next therapy session wasn't until tomorrow afternoon. If everything went well and I kept myself out of trouble, we would escape tonight, and I would never have to see the good doctor again.

Wendy followed close behind me, her head bowed. Her body language was that of a beaten puppy dog. I'd never seen her before today, but the nurse seemed to know her well.

I slowed down a bit and matched my stride to hers. "Have you been here long?" She didn't raise her head when she answered in a soft voice, "A year."

"I've never seen you in the cafeteria or the common room."

"I've been away for a while. They kept me in a room with padded walls for a couple months."

I'd been in one of those rooms before, but I'd eventually been let out. "You've been locked in solitary for a couple months?"

She didn't answer but instead looked up at me. I hadn't noticed her eyes before—they were the color of caramel. I wanted to ask what she'd done to be put here in the first place. But was there a nice way to ask the mentally unstable why they were in a hospital? She was left in a padded room for a couple months. I shuddered at the thought. Twenty-four hours was almost more than I could handle.

To my surprise, the nurse stopped in front of the cafeteria. It was the last thing I'd expected, sure she was marching us to Barton's office. She pushed open the swinging doors and gestured for us to go inside. The cafeteria staff was hustling, getting ready for the morning rush.

The nurse pointed to the nearest table and said, "Sit down and stay here until they start serving breakfast."

We both stood there, staring at her. After a few seconds, Wendy slid into a chair.

The nurse gave me a narrow look. I need to stay out of trouble, I reminded myself. I nodded, letting her know I'd heard her command, and slowly sat down.

She walked out of the room, and I wondered at our sudden good fortune. How had we escaped the doctor's office? "The staff is tough in here."

"It's not as bad as the last place I was admitted."

Her answer surprised me. "You've been in a hospital like this before?"

She rubbed her wrist. I didn't think she even realized she was doing it. "A few times."

We sat in silence, watching the cafeteria staff get ready. I was so caught up in thoughts of escape that I jumped when Wendy spoke. "She's not dead."

"Who's not dead?"

"Your friend, the old woman." Wendy pointed to my waistband. "The person you're holding the runes for. She's alive."

"How do you know?"

She shrugged. "When I touched the runes, I saw her. She's in one of the padded rooms in restraints. Mad as hell, but alive."

Mildred was alive! The killer hadn't gotten her. But then how had her keys and runes end up in a pool of blood on my bed? I looked back at Wendy. She had said she saw Mildred in a padded room.

She must have had a vision, like Andrew. "You're a reader." It wasn't a question.

She didn't say anything. Instead, those caramel eyes bored into mine. When she finally did speak, all the friendliness had left her voice. "You lied to me. You're not a healer."

Her tone took me by surprise. She'd seemed broken and beaten down, but now an undertone of determination sparked in her voice.

"I was a healer." I didn't want to talk about that part of my life. The one where I had a family, happiness, and a future to look forward to. It was too painful to think of it. Here and now was all that mattered. And what I needed to do next to survive.

Wendy's eyes suddenly became unfocused. She stared over my shoulder and said in a soft voice, "I see you surrounded by a phoenix and flames." Her eyes focused on me again, and she said in a shocked voice, "You're a death dealer!"

I nodded. "I am."

"What are you doing in here?"

"It's a long story." One I didn't want to retell, especially not to a complete stranger. Andrew had said that people were uncomfortable around his kind, and now I knew why. This girl seemed to pick up thoughts directly from my head. I'd been taught at a young age how to defend my thoughts and keep a mental barrier, but those types of shields were no good against a true reader. Andrew had suggested I get a pouch for protection. I liked the idea more and more. But I wouldn't need it after tonight. Luke and I would soon be free of this place and the people in it.

Wendy grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh. "You're going to try and escape."

"Keep your voice down." The last thing I needed was someone announcing my escape to a room full of hospital staff.

"You won't get the freedom you so desire."

"What do you mean?"

She didn't answer and let go of my arm. I had a sudden desire to get up from the table and move far away from her, but I'd promised the nurse I wouldn't leave, and I couldn't afford to bring down her wrath when she came back.

"You know it's not polite to pick people's brains. Don't your people have rules about that kind of thing?" My voice was scornful.

Wendy gave me a half smile. "I've never been fond of rules."

"I would appreciate it if you stayed out of my head." This time I was the one with steel in my voice. I was done playing games.

Those golden eyes just stared at me.

I decided to change the subject. "Do you know which room Mildred's in?" I'd promised Mildred that I wouldn't leave her behind, and if I could help it, I wouldn't go back on my word.

Wendy shook her head.

"Can't you use your mojo to hone in on exactly where she is?"

Wendy shook her head again.

"So, yes, you can read my thoughts when it suits you, but no, you can't help me track down my friend." I glared. "I have to say, I'm not terribly impressed with your gift—"

"It's not a gift. It's a curse."

To the people around you. I didn't say it out loud, but that didn't mean she couldn't hear it. "Can you hear what I'm thinking now?"

She frowned. "It doesn't work like that."

I put my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my hands. "We have time to kill before breakfast, so tell me, how does it work?"

She looked uncomfortable at the question. "I see images, and sometimes words pop into my head. I can see more when the emotions are strong, especially when people are upset."

And I thought I had it bad talking to the dead. No wonder Andrew had so many problems. I tried to imagine the sudden blast of thoughts and images coming at me from a dozen people. "Can you turn it off?"

"No."

"You hear a rush of voices from everyone in a room at the same time?" Andrew said there were too many coming at him at once, that they crowded in on him.

"I usually pick up on one person at a time."

How can she do that, but Andrew can't? She must have a lot more power and control.

She suddenly asked, "Who's Andrew?"

She was picking my brain, and it started to make my skin crawl. How soon can I get a protection pouch? "Andrew is a checkers buddy. He's like you, but he can't control his power."

"I've heard of those who can't. It's a small number of people who get overwhelmed with the curse."

A small number, and she talked like she wasn't one of them. My gaze went to her wrist. She was rubbing it again.

A cool breeze went by my arms. I straightened. I could tell we weren't alone, but Wendy didn't seem to notice. "Can you feel the dead?" I asked.

Her gaze darted around the room. "No. I can only hear the living."

"Help us..." the words whispered in my ear.

"Is the killer here now, among the living?" I asked out loud.

Wendy's eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything.

There was no answer. The spirits had to know who the killer was. If I could just get them to speak and tell me all they knew...

"You can talk to the dead," Wendy said.

"I can."

She looked over her shoulder then back at me. "There's a spirit here?"

"There was."

"Who are you looking for?"

"A killer."

"A killer who's possessing someone?" Her eyes got wide.

"That's what I think. A man who murdered people but then died twenty years ago is back now, killing again. He's taking patients' hearts."

Wendy gasped, and her hands went to her throat. "I've seen beating hearts in my visions. I've seen people crying out in pain."

"The wacko's been killing and making it look like suicide or murder. The staff doesn't realize what's going on, but I think I know who he is."

"Who is he?" A male voice asked from behind me. I recognized the voice and turned. Dean stood a few feet from us. He had a cut on his lip.

My heart leaped at seeing him. Not him, I reminded myself. Luke. Luke was somewhere in there, waiting to get out. "Are you okay?"

He joined us at the table. "A little worse for wear, but I'll live. A few of the orderlies tackled me." He touched his bottom lip and winced. "They slammed my face into the floor. Other than that, they didn't hurt me."

"How come you aren't locked up?"

"My mom is coming to visit today. They want to treat me right since she's paying a hefty sum. I'm to be given special attention. It's something I reminded them when they threatened to put me in restraints." He looked over at Wendy. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Wendy. She's a reader." The jury was still out on whether she would be a friend or not, but she was definitely one of the more interesting people I had met in my stay here.

He held his hand out to her. "Pleased to meet you."

Wendy went perfectly still, and an odd expression came over her face. She turned to me abruptly and snarled. "What have you done? He's a walker!"

"A what?"

Dean pulled his hand back. "A walker. Someone who's possessed."

Wendy looked ready to bolt from the table.

I grabbed her hand to stop her from leaving. "The killer is not inside Dean." I could tell by her expression she didn't believe me. "No, it's not him. The killer—his name's Henry Weatherton—is inside Dr. Barton."

Dean looked shocked. "Whoa, did I miss something? Barton is possessed?"

I kept hold of Wendy and looked over at him. "I think so. It makes sense with the drawing of the tattoo we found in his office." The more I thought of it, the more I was convinced it was true.

Dean nodded. "I always knew something was wrong with that guy." His gaze darted to Wendy. "Maybe you should say something more to comfort your friend. She looks like she's about to scream." He raised his hands in surrender and smiled. "I come in peace. I promise."

Wendy did not look amused.

I turned back to her. "I thought you couldn't feel the dead?"

"I can't, but I can feel that he's...wrong." She didn't look at Dean when she said it. "Something about him is very wrong."

Dean's smile widened. "Thanks."

"It's not the killer," I told her. "The spirit inside him is—"

Dean interrupted, "It's her boyfriend, Luke. He died, and she decided she couldn't live without him. I was lost for a bit, so she used me to bring him back." He gave me a smile. "Unfortunately, it hasn't worked out the way she hoped, because I'm back now and here to stay." When I didn't speak up, he continued, "If Barton is the killer, then what do we do? We have to tell someone. Call the cops."

I let go of Wendy. She didn't seem as panicked, but she looked slowly back and forth between Dean and me, her eyes wide. The last thing I needed was for her to make a scene.

I looked around the room at the staff. "Who could we tell? Who would believe us?"

Dean scanned the room. "Yeah, that's a problem. No one is going to believe a patient in this place." He banged his fist on the table. "We have to do something. We can't just let the wacko keep killing."

"We're going to escape tonight. It's not our concern. It has nothing to do with us. Eventually, someone will stop him."

"After how many more people die?" Dean asked.

I said through clenched teeth, "We're getting out tonight. That's the plan."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "If I refuse to go?"

"You don't have any say in the matter. Luke is in charge at night."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to be treated like a puppet. I've told you, I'll go along with this weird situation, but only if I've got a say in the decisions regarding my body and where it goes. It's my body." He emphasized each word. "Even though your boyfriend is frantically looking for a spell to get rid of me every chance he gets."

I didn't know what to say to that. Wendy sat there, silently watching us argue.

Dean continued; his voice now laced with anger. "You can imagine how thrilled I am at the prospect of being torn from my own body. It's not going to happen, and I'll do whatever's necessary to defend myself."

"Luke won't do anything. I promise I won't let him." I could tell by the look on Dean's face that he didn't believe me.

"I'm just supposed to take you at your word?"

I was getting mad. No one likes to be called a liar, and anger seemed to be my first reaction in most situations these days. "I've never gone back on my word."

"You aren't willing to stay and help catch a killer. You aren't willing to put your neck on the line to save innocent lives. Excuse me if I don't consider you a model of goodness and trustworthiness." Dean scoffed.

"I'm not going to risk our necks to try and take down Weatherton."

"Even if it's the right thing to do?"

This time my hand came down hard on the table. "I won't risk losing Luke! Not again!"

Dean just stared at me before he looked at Wendy. "Stop gaping at me like I'm some kind of freak. I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I'm harmless, I swear." He made an attempt to reinforce his words with a nonthreatening smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, and the overall effect was more awkward than reassuring.

Before Wendy could respond, the doors swung open, and a group of people entered the room. The breakfast crowd had arrived.

Dean got up from the table. "You guys going to eat?"

"We have to wait for the nurse," I answered.

He shook his head and gave me a lopsided grin, a little more natural than the last. I got the feeling the argument wasn't over, but he was willing to let it go for now.

"You're always getting yourself into trouble," he said.

I started to argue with him, but Caroline appeared. Dean walked away from the table and headed toward the line forming across the room. I looked after him, smiling despite myself.

The nurse looked down at me. "How are the two of you getting along?"

"Swell," I answered.

"Good. Since both of you have to be watched, we decided it would be easier if we kept you together."

I looked over at Wendy, but she looked down again, and her shoulders slumped.

The nurse said in a cheerful voice, "You two are going to be roommates."

I wonder what my new roommate would say when she found a human heart and blood-soaked sheets stuffed behind the toilet.

*****