"Blame you for what?"

"For Kelly's death!"

She was crying now, and trembling all over. Kara put her arms around her.

"Don't be silly! No one blames you at all."

"Martha does! She hasn't said so, but I know she thinks that if I hadn't encouraged you two to try life here in the city, Kelly would still be alive!"

Yes, Kara thought with a pang, she probably would be.

But she couldn't say that to Ellen.

"She thinks nothing of the sort. Kelly made her own choices. Someone is to blame for Kelly's death, Aunt Ellen, but it's not you. It's not you."

The older woman clutched her and stifled her sobs. Then she straightened up and dabbed her eyes with a napkin.

"Won't you stay the night? I've felt so terribly alone here since Kelly died. She only stopped in once in a while, but just knowing she was in the city made me feel as though I had family here. Won't you and Jill please stay? Just this once?"

"Okay, Aunt Ellen," Kara said, forcing a smile. "Just for tonight."

She hoped she wouldn't regret it.

▼

6:02 P.M.

Before dinner, Kara made a quick trip back to Kelly's apartment to pick up the clothing and personal items they had left there. She was barely in the door when the phone began to ring. Thinking it was probably Rob, she let it ring three times, then wondered it if might be someone else. A friend of Kelly's, perhaps. She picked it up on the fourth.

"Miss Kara Wade?

It was Dr. Gates. She recognized the slightly accented voice immediately.

"Speaking."

"I'm glad I found you. I spent most of the afternoon calling this number."

"Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure."

Kara felt a chill run over her skin.

"What do you mean?"

"Miss Wade," he said, "I've changed my mind. Please do not think that your threat of a lawsuit or the presence of your policeman friend in my office today have anything to do with this decision. It is simply that upon further reflection I've concluded that it might be in the best interests of all concerned if I break confidence and discuss your late sister's medical history with you."

"Best interest? What does that mean?"

"I'll discuss everything with you in detail tomorrow morning at ten o'clock in my office. I do not see patients on Wednesdays so there will be no time pressure. Can you be here then?"

"Yes, of course, but—"

"Ten o'clock. Good night."

And then he hung up.

Kara stood and stared at the buzzing phone. What had made him change his mind.

The chill hit her again.

She almost wished he hadn't.

The new one is just like the last one, the lost blond. Exactly like her. Resemblance is truly remarkable.

He wants the new one. Hasn't told me about her, but I can tell when he wants someone. Can sense whenever he's excited, and he's very excited by this new one.

Poor thing. Hasn't got a chance. Only hope is to stay away from him, never come near him again. Once he gets his hooks into her, that will be it. She'll be at his mercy.

So it's all up to her now. Stay away and stay well, or come back and be driven mad. Like me.

Me. Mad. Crazy. Insane. Meshugge.

All his fault. The swine, the dirty, filthy, stinking, parasitic scum. I'd have had a normal, productive life without him. A spouse, a child, a future without him.

But I have nothing. Not even hope.

I'd kill him if I could. If only I could! If only I had the means. But I do not. I'd kill myself if I had the nerve—ram this pencil through my eye and into my brain and end this misery. But I do not. I'm a coward. I'll have to wait and hope, that someone else will do it. I can only hope.

But why bother hoping? No one knows about him, or about what he can do. Only me.

And to think that once I loved him.

February 11

10:09 A.M.

They sat as they had yesterday: Dr. Gates behind his mahogany desk in a high-backed swivel chair, Kara in the armchair facing him. A chart lay open on the desk before him. His hands were held before his lips, palms together as if in prayer, as he stared at her with his watery blue eyes.

What little Kara had eaten of the huge breakfast Ellen's cook had served—waffles for Jill, eggs Benedict for her—weighed heavily in her stomach. She'd left Jill at Ellen's, following the cat from room to room.

Finally Dr. Gates lowered his hands. His tantalizingly accented voice took on a lecturing tone.

"I wish to emphasize, Miss Wade, that asking you here was not an easy decision for me. A psychiatrist deals with the most intimate details of his patients' lives, details they keep from their friends, their spouses, even their internists and gynecologists. Because of this intimate knowledge, a psychiatrist must be the most rigorous of all physicians in preserving the confidentiality of his patient records."

"I appreciate that," Kara said, and meant it.

"Good. But there are details of your sister's case that are extraordinary, details I assumed that you, as her twin, would know. However, it occurred to me yesterday after our conversation—or more properly, your tirade—that you appeared completely unaware of what your sib has been through. That raised the possibility that you might share her diagnosis."

Kara shook her head in bewilderment. "I don't understand."

"You will by the time I am finished. But you may not like hearing what I have to say. It is not pleasant. It will make you angry and you will probably resist accepting it. But let me start at the beginning."

"Please do," Kara said. Her throat had gone dry.

Dr. Gates leaned back in his chair and picked up a pair of keys on a ring. As he had yesterday, he began twirling the ring on his index finger.

"Your sister first came to me sixteen months ago complaining of insomnia and poor concentration. I'm a consultant at St. Vincent's and I occasionally treat some of the nursing staff there on a courtesy basis. The precipitating event in her life appeared to be the break-up of an affair in which she felt her trust had been betrayed by her lover."

That would have been Tom, Kara thought. The lying, married bastard from Long Island.

"But as therapy progressed, I began to suspect that your sister was suffering from a disorder far more serious and complex than a simple reactive anxiety-depression syndrome. She wanted to continue therapy. As I probed deeper, I became alarmed. Finally, we tried hypnosis. It was then that I confirmed my presumptive diagnosis."

He paused, and Kara found that she was gripping the arms of her chair so hard it hurt. What was he waiting for?

"Well?"

"Your twin, Kelly Wade, suffered from multiple personality disorder."

Kara blinked and relaxed her grip on the chair arms. Multiple personality disorder. She'd heard of that.

"You mean like in Sybil and Three Faces of Eve?

He nodded. "Precisely."

"How… how many did she have?"

"Two that I know of. The Kelly Wade personality you and everybody knew, and one other."

Kara leaned back, shocked. Two personalities? Weird, but it could have been worse. She could accept this. It wasn't so hard. She wasn't angry.

But another Kelly inside her twin? How come she had never guessed?

"Did this other personality ever come out?"

"Yes. Many times. Right here, when Kelly was under hypnosis."

This was fascinating—disturbing, but somehow fascinating too.

"What was she like?"

"Quite different from Kelly. The second person called herself Ingrid, by the way."

The name electrified Kara. She sprang from her seat.

"Ingrid? Ingrid? Kelly signed into the Plaza under that name! That means it was… was 'Ingrid'—the other Kelly—who was picking up those men!"

In a way it was an enormous relief. Kelly hadn't changed—it had been that other personality taking her over and doing those crazy awful things!