A smile that warms me.

"Your blood work is just about finished, Anna,” he says. “If you feel up to it, I see no reason why you can't be released early this evening.” He looks at David. “I assume you'll be able to take her home?"

David's eyes widen. “Take her home? It's too soon. She hasn't spoken to a counselor. And didn't you say she lost a lot of blood?

She can't be strong enough yet."

The doctor ignores David and crosses to the other side of the bed where he begins the process of unhooking the various tubes feeding into my veins. There are two, one with a clear liquid attached to my arm, and the second, the blood line on the back of my hand. There's a brief stinging sensation as he withdraws that needle and presses a compress against the wound, gesturing for me to hold it in place.

I move my fingers over his and he lets go.

"Anna should be feeling stronger now,” he says, his competent, sure fingers at my wrist. His eyes study the stainless steel Rolex on his own as he takes my pulse. “You are, aren't you?"

I am. The realization hits with an unpredictable consequence. I find myself smiling—a real smile—at the doctor. He smiles back and nods.

But David is obviously not convinced. “It's too soon,” he insists again. “She doesn't have her memory back yet. What if everything that Donaldson did to her comes back when she's alone? That can't be good."

Dr. Avery seems to consider his words. “You may be right,” he says. “Anna, how do you feel about being alone? If you're concerned, maybe you could stay with family for a few days?"

"Family?” It's not even a consideration, though I don't say that. “No. My folks left yesterday for Europe. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"Not yet, you can't,” David says.

His persistence is beginning to grate. “David, if Dr. Avery thinks I'm all right on my own, what's the problem?"

"I just don't like it. Max is gone—"

The mention of my boyfriend's name brings me up short. I haven't thought of Max since “it” happened. I'm not ready to think about him now.

I look over at Dr. Avery. “There may be someone else,” I say. “I have a good friend."

David glares at me. He knows who I'm thinking of. “Not Michael."

"Why not?"

He's looking at me as if I'm crazy for even considering it. But I have my reasons for thinking of Michael, reasons I'm going to share with David—when we're alone. Right now, I shake my head. “David, who else is there? If you don't want me to be alone, it's got to be Michael."

"No,” he insists. “It doesn't have to be Michael. You could stay with me."

I actually laugh out loud. “Oh. That's a good idea. Your girlfriend will be thrilled. Gloria hates me already. If I stay with you, you'll have to taste my food and stay up all night to be sure she doesn't stab me in my sleep."

His expression shifts from concern to indignation. “Gloria does not hate you. Why do you say things like that?"

But before I can reply, Dr. Avery has stepped between us, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I didn't mean to start something here,” he says to David with a spark of impatience. “It's really up to Anna whether she wants to be alone or not. And if she doesn't, I think she's perfectly capable of choosing who she'd be most comfortable with."

I look at Dr. Avery, a little surprised at the way he's sticking up for me. But I also see how this is affecting David. Dr. Avery's strident tone causes David to bristle. I can see by the set of his jaw and the little vein starting to pulse in his forehead that's he's close to telling Dr. Avery exactly what he can do with his opinions.

I raise myself up off the pillow. “Okay guys, can we take a step back here?"

The length of a heartbeat passes before the two men break eye contact and swivel toward me.

"David, I appreciate your concern. I really do. But Gloria will not want me in your house—” He raises a hand to protest, but I know what he's going to say and I cut him off. “It doesn't matter the reason. She resents the fact that I'm in your life at all. You know that's true. If it weren't for me, she thinks you'd be living in LA, where all the action is."

I see Dr. Avery casting an inquisitive look toward David and I jump in before David has a chance to speak. “Gloria is a big time model. You ever see a Victoria's Secret commercial on TV? Then you've seen Gloria."

He looks impressed. Most men do. It's very irritating.

"So. Right.” It comes out a little shriller than I intend. I draw in a breath, blow it out. “Anyway, Michael has been my best friend since grade school. He can take care of me better than anyone."

David opens his mouth, but Dr. Avery cuts in first. “It's settled then. Anna, I want you to try standing up now. I'll send a nurse in to help you shower. We'll keep you here long enough to make sure you can get around, and then you can call your friend."

A virulent combination of anger, revulsion and disbelief flashes across David's face. “I don't believe this."

His tone is deceptively quiet. It's a bad sign. “Thank you, Dr. Avery,” I say, waving him out of the room. “Let me just talk to David a minute before you send in that nurse."

David's fury emanates from him like shock waves. Fortunately, Dr. Avery seems to sense it and beats a hasty retreat.

When the door has closed behind him, I push myself to the edge of the bed. “Want to help me up?"

My voice snaps David's attention from Dr. Avery to me. The expression drops from his face like a mask to be replaced by one just as unsettling. He gives me a bleak, tight-lipped smile. “I'm sorry, Anna,” he says. “I just don't see what Michael could do for you that I can't. And I resent like hell that bastard Avery taking a position on something that's none of his business. He doesn't know you. Or Michael."

As he talks, David is helping me off the bed. Once I'm standing, I let his comments go while I take inventory. I feel surprisingly strong. I'm a little sore but my legs hold and I'm able to let go of David's steadying arm.

David frowns. “You sure you're okay?"

I take the two steps over to a sink against the wall of my room and look into the mirror.

That's when it starts coming back.

Donaldson is on top of me, holding my arms at my side. Are you awake? I want you awake. It's no fun otherwise.

I hear the voice from inside my head. I think it's a trick, that I'm dreaming or still unconscious.

But the voice comes again.

Come on, Anna. I know you can hear me. We've had an unintentional exchange of bodily fluids. My bad. But you won't have to endure this long. Open your eyes. Look at me.

I don't want to. I try to keep them closed, actually squeeze them tight with all my strength, but my eyes open anyway. I turn my head to avoid looking at Donaldson, but steel fingers take my chin and force my face upward.

That's a good girl. No, don't try to fight. You can't fight me. Just look into my eyes. Do you like what you see?

Yellow eyes, slit like a cat's, stare down.

And something else. A snarling mouth with tiny, pointed teeth.

I start to scream, struggle again to break free.

Donaldson just laughs. His hands are everywhere—on my breasts, between my legs, tearing open the collar of my blouse, exposing my neck.

I do the only thing I can. I bite him again and again, feel the skin on his cheek and neck tear, taste the copper of his blood in my mouth.

It doesn't seem to faze him. He bunches up my skirt, opens his pants and pushes against me. His mouth is hot on my neck, his teeth pinch and tear and finally break through.