A young nurse was at a station at the end of the corridor. Ashley introduced herself and asked to speak to Stanley Linscott, Casey Van Meter’s treating physician.

“Dr. Linscott isn’t in today,” the nurse told her.

“Is there someone else I can talk to about Ms. Van Meter?”

The nurse suddenly looked wary. “You’ll need to talk to Ann Rostow. She’s the administrator. I’ll call her.”

Ashley took a seat at the nurse’s station. A few minutes later, a slender woman with short gray hair and glasses appeared at the end of the corridor. She was wearing a tan pants suit and a beige blouse. Her walk was energetic and she looked crisp and efficient.

Ashley stood up. The woman stopped in front of her.

“I’m Ann Rostow. I understand that you have some questions about Casey Van Meter.”

“Yes. I wanted to see her and I’d like an update about her condition.”

“Why?”

“I may be her daughter.”

“Is your name Ashley Spencer?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you might come here.”

Ashley’s brow furrowed.

“I read the story in the paper this morning,” Rostow explained. “It said that you were claiming to be Ms. Van Meter’s daughter. Can I see some identification?”

Ashley handed Rostow her driver’s license. The administrator examined it, then handed it back.

“We have to be careful with Ms. Van Meter,” Rostow said. “Reporters are always trying to get information about her. We had some calling this morning. When she first came here, a television crew from one of those tabloid shows tried to sneak in through the kitchen.”

“Ms. Rostow, can I see her? I’ll only stay a minute. If she is my mother… I only knew her for a while, five years ago. I just…”

“This must be very hard for you.”

“It is. It’s very confusing. There’s going to be a DNA test to settle the maternity issue but, from what I’ve learned, she probably is my mother. I just want to see her.”

“You just want to look in?”

“Yes. It would mean a lot to me.”

“All right. Follow me.”

Rostow led Ashley through a set of swinging metal doors and halfway down the next corridor. She stopped in front of one of the rooms and opened the door. Ashley hesitated on the threshold before stepping inside. The walls were painted a sterile tan and there were no pictures on them. A sink was affixed to one wall. Over it was a mirror. Facing the sink was a hospital bed with the side rails up. Ashley forced herself to look at the woman who was lying in it. An IV drip was taped to her forearm. At the far side of the bed a gastric tube disappeared under the blankets. The tube was connected to a pump, which was turned on when Casey was fed.

Ashley expected to see a wasted, shrunken, corpse-like creature that no longer resembled a human being. What she saw was less horrifying but much sadder. Casey had only lost ten pounds during her years of unconsciousness, because she was fed and hydrated regularly. If Ashley had walked into the room by mistake, she might have thought the dean was just sleeping. On closer inspection, Ashley saw why Miles had given up hope. She remembered the animated, dynamic woman who’d shown her and her mother around the Academy campus. That woman had been so energetic, so full of life. Casey Van Meter’s body was a shell devoid of life, a cruel façade. Her face was pale, and her skin looked unhealthy, her muscle tone was gone, and her arms were flabby. She had aged badly, and her lustrous, blond hair had gone gray. There was no light in her eyes.

Ashley fought the impulse to bolt from the room and forced herself to walk closer to the bed. She stared down, heartbroken. She had no urge to touch her mother. Casey Van Meter elicited no feelings of love. She just made Ashley feel uncomfortable.

When she thought she’d been in the room a decent amount of time, Ashley turned to Ann Rostow.

“Thank you. I think I’ll go now.”

“The first time you see someone in her condition, it can be very unsettling, especially if it’s someone you’re close to.”

“We weren’t close. She gave me away without a second thought when I was born. I knew her as the dean at the school I attended and nothing more.”

“But she may still be your mother,” Rostow said softly.

Ashley nodded.

“Then you can come back and visit anytime.”

“Thank you. I mentioned a DNA test. If we need a sample of Casey’s blood…”

“I’ll need a court order, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“One more thing, Ms. Rostow. Do the doctors think she’ll get better?”

“I’ve sat in on meetings when Mr. Van Meter asked that very question. Dr. Linscott always answered that the odds on a full recovery for Ms. Van Meter were very long.”

Ann Rostow walked Ashley back to the lobby. Outside, the rain was cascading down in heavy sheets and bouncing off the asphalt. Ashley pulled up the hood on her windbreaker, ducked her head, and ran across the street, keeping her eyes on the pavement, preoccupied by thoughts of her brief visit with the dean. Now she understood what Miles had been trying to tell her. Casey was not the strong, determined woman who had stood up to Randy Coleman at the Academy pool. She was one of the living dead. If some miracle of God or science did bring her back to this world, there was no assurance that she would not end up as pathetic and helpless as the ghost people who moved through the halls of Sunny Rest. Logic told Ashley that she should back off and let Casey rest in peace, but something inside her clung to the hope that Casey was still fighting, that she could save her mother.

Ashley spotted her rental car. She fished out her keys and made a dash for it. Rain was dancing on the roof and the windshield. She leaned down to unlock the door and saw the reflection of a man. Rain poured down from the roof across the driver’s window distorting his features, and a hood partially hid his face, but there was no mistaking the knife he was holding.

Ashley swiveled and lashed out with her foot as if she was powering a shot on goal. The man was turned sideways and she struck his thigh. He grunted, stumbled back a few steps and his knees buckled. Ashley ran. Feet pounded the pavement behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, Ashley saw a dark blur shoot out from between two cars. Then she heard the sound of bodies crashing to the asphalt. Before she could look back, a shape materialized in front of her. She threw a punch at a hooded, black rain slicker and connected. The apparition staggered. She swung again and strong arms grabbed her.

“I’m a cop, Miss Spencer,” a male voice shouted. “We’ve got him.”

Ashley froze and looked at the man who was holding her. She could see part of a uniform under the rain gear. Behind her, over the rain, she heard shouts of “Freeze, police.”

“Let’s go back,” the officer said. She hesitated. “It’s okay. You’re safe. He’s down. I can see a crowd a few rows back, and they’re our men.”

The officer led Ashley through the rows of cars toward several policemen in plain clothes. They were surrounding two men in dark clothes who were sprawled on the pavement face down, with their hands clasped behind their necks. A knife lay between them on the waterlogged ground. When Ashley arrived, a detective holding a see-through evidence bag was stooping for it.

Larry Birch walked over to Ashley. Rain was cascading down his face but he was smiling.

“It’s a good thing we had you under surveillance,” he said.

Ashley was shivering, and it wasn’t from the rain. “Who are they?” Ashley asked, her eyes riveted on the prisoners.

“We’ll soon find out.”

Birch signaled to one of the officers. “Cuff them then get them on their feet.”

Several officers kept guns trained on the captives while other officers snapped on handcuffs and helped the men to their feet. Ashley stared at the two prisoners. Their hoods had fallen back to reveal their faces.