It was faint, but she was certain she heard a squeaking noise. A slow, continuous squeaking.

Someone had opened the back door.

Erin pushed out of the bath, grabbed a towel, and headed for her nightstand. It was hard to walk without her cane, but she had to get there, and she had to get there fast. Because that was where she kept her gun.

It was just a little thing, a snub-nosed pistol. But after everything she had seen in her short life, she liked having it around. She needed to know it was right beside her, all through the night.

She lurched to the far end of her bedroom, water dripping from her, holding the towel with one hand-and the gun with the other. There was another noise. Or did she imagine it?

Sheila had asked a million times if she wanted a roommate. Erin had always said no, that she preferred to live alone. Which was only half the truth. She was still so messed up, so insecure and… downright weird, that she thought it would be embarrassing to share a place with someone, even her best friend. For that matter, if she hadn’t been so screwed in the head, she’d probably have a husband by now. Maybe James, if not for his… eccentricities. Either way, she wouldn’t be living alone. She’d have someone to protect her. But she never allowed that. Everyone who came near her got rebuffed in strong and certain terms. She didn’t let them get close.

That had been a mistake.

Did she actually hear someone coming up the stairs, or was her imagination out of control? She couldn’t be sure. There wasn’t much noise-if there was any at all-but there was something. Wasn’t there?

She extended her gun arm. “Look, whoever you are. I’m armed. I’ll shoot.”

Silence. Absolute silence.

Erin ’s heart was beating like a jackrabbit’s. She felt so vulnerable, so… naked. If she could get to her clothes closet, she could throw something on. But she knew that would be dumb. If there was someone else in the house, that would give whoever the perfect opportunity to… do whatever they wanted to do. She would not be stupid, like some bimbo teenager in a horror film. She would be strong. She would be smart.

Then the lights went out. Erin started hyperventilating, gasping for air. She couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything.

The breaker box was in the hallway, next to the heater. So now she knew two things for certain: There was someone else in the house. And they were not far away.

Maybe she should take the offensive, she thought-run out in the hallway, gun firing. She didn’t know if she could make herself do it, though. Walking was always a challenge, and at the moment her legs were shaking so profoundly she could barely stand. At least here, in the bedroom, a tiny amount of light came through the window.

Wait a minute! How could she be so stupid? There was a phone on the night stand! Watching the door, still holding the gun in one trembling hand, she picked up the receiver.

There was no dial tone. But it had worked just fine half an hour ago.

Her visitor must have taken the phone off the hook downstairs.

She pounded her fists against the bed. Why was this happening to her? Why was it happening-again? What had she ever done to deserve this?

“Listen to me, you son of a bitch!” she screamed. “I’m carrying a gun. And I will use it!” Just to prove the point, she fired at the ceiling.

The recoil sent her tumbling backward into the night stand. She lost her balance and fell to the carpet. Her hand hurt. She instinctively dropped the gun.

After that, it was all over. A dark shadow at the other end of the room told her the visitor had entered the room. A black shoe darted out and kicked the gun away. An outstretched hand ripped away her towel.

Erin crumpled, curling up in a fetal ball pressed against the wall, quivering with fear. “Y-y-you’re going to hurt me, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She moved her hands over her exposed body with frenzied, almost spasmodic awkwardness, trying to cover herself. “P-p-please don’t. I beg you. I’m still a virgin. Sort of.”

“It won’t be like that.”

Erin pressed harder against the wall, as if somehow she might dissolve through the plaster and rematerialize on the other side. She stared at the visitor, and then, a moment later, her blurred, watery eyes widened with horror. “You? I know you.”

“Yes,” came the voice hovering over her. “That’s why I’m here.”

Ben had heard somewhere that wardens and corrections officers went out of their way to make the visiting room the garden spot of a prison-that extra cleaning details were assigned, extra chemicals were used-so that visitors wouldn’t come away with a negative impression. If that was true, Ben thought as he noted the dried bloodstains on the wall, the almost tangible haze, the smell of vomit and human waste in the air, then he never, never, ever wanted to be incarcerated in the state penitentiary.

“So,” Ray said, speaking into the telephone receiver, “should I get excited? Because I’m inclined here to get excited. But I won’t do it unless you say so.”

Ben suppressed a smile. He didn’t want to mislead or create any false hopes. “As I’ve told you all along, Ray, getting a jury verdict reversed is a tall order. Statistically almost impossible. But having the primary witness for the prosecution recant can only help us. Her testimony was what convinced the jury.”

“Hey, I testified, too. What was I, chopped liver?”

Ben didn’t pull any punches. “She was the one they believed.” He paused. “And none of it was true.”

“They made that girl lie,” Ray said. He clenched his fist so tightly his skin turned white. “Bastards.”

“I don’t think they made her lie. Not exactly. But she was young and easy to lead. And prosecutors like to win.”

“Don’t make excuses for your brethren, Ben. They’re scum and you know it.”

“Jack Bullock firmly believes that he had an obligation to-”

“I’ve been in this hole for seven years!” Ray rose out of his chair, eyes wide and angry. He gripped the table before him, his arms trembling with rage. “Seven years!”

“Ray! Cool it! We have more to talk about!”

Ray calmed himself, settling down before the guard on duty had to do it for him. He ran his hand through his thick curly hair. It was all gray now, unkempt and dirty. He was wearing the standard-issue uniform for maximum-security prisoners: green Levi’s and green work shirt. His eyes had deep black bags underneath and his skin seemed loose and translucent. Prison had not been kind to this once handsome man. Not that it ever was. “So have you recorded her statement? And made a thousand copies?”

“Not yet, but I will. She was too upset yesterday. She’s going to come back tomorrow and swear out an affidavit.”

“I just… can’t believe it. All these years. Because one fifteen-year-old was badgered into a lie.” Ben saw his fists tightening again. “Do you know what it’s like in here?”

“Not like you do.”

“These past seven years I’ve watched them systematically take away everything that gave me pleasure in life.” Ray fell back into his chair, eyes closed. “I used to love food. I mean not just to eat it. To try new things. Culinary adventures. I was a pretty decent cook, did you know that? I wasn’t just some garden-variety dull-as-hell chemist. I was a gourmet chef. I specialized in seafood.”

Ben nodded. “I remember. You had me over for dinner once.” You and Carrie, he thought, but did not say.

“I haven’t cooked in so long I can’t remember how it was done. The only food I get in here is low-bid high-fat slop. I haven’t had a glass of wine in seven years.” He looked down, seeming to focus on the countertop. “I used to love to entertain, to have friends over, eat well, have stimulating conversations, spend the evening playing Scrabble or some other board game. You know what the hot entertainment in here is? Racing cockroaches for cigarettes.”