Truth Or Dare by Jayne Ann Krentz Page B
Authors: Jayne Ann Krentz
Tags: Contemporary Romance
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Calm down and think. You’ve been to enough murder scenes to know what they feel like, and this room isn’t giving off those kinds of vibes. The walls aren’t screaming the way they do when blood has been spilled in a room.
The energy was quite faint but extremely murky. That was not typical of most of the psychic sensations she encountered. Her sixth sense responded keenly to traces of the stronger passions, and those tended to be primitive and raw in nature. Rage, fear, panic, hatred, lust and obsessive need were elemental energies. The taints they left behind were usually sharp and clear.
This was . . . something else, something very frightening.
The psychic web seemed to be emanating from an area around the footstool. She examined the space closely. Everything looked exactly as it had the last time she had been in that room. There was no sign of recent violence or destruction.
No, that wasn’t quite true.
Light glinted on a shard of glass near the footstool. She reached down and picked it up. The color of the glass was familiar.
She glanced at the small table beside the chair. The bud vase was gone; smashed.
There was something else that was not right about the space, but she could not immediately identify it.
She turned slowly on her heel, examining every inch of the library. When she came to the table in the children’s corner she stopped.
She had arranged a handful of colorful, everyday objects on the low table. Jeff had supplied a small dinosaur for the informal collection and Theo had given her a tiny model motorcycle. She had added one
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of her new chili-pepper red mugs because it picked up the color of the bookcase shelves.
The red mug was gone.
14
That night she dreamed of Xanadu.
She rose from the narrow bed and put on the hospital-issue robe. The garment hung loosely around her. It had fit when she was admitted to Candle Lake Manor, but she had lost a lot of weight during the past few months. The drugs that Dr. McAlister tried to force down her in hopes of inducing her cooperation in therapy had effectively smothered her appetite.
She had eventually learned how to dispose of some of the pills without anyone realizing that she was not swallowing them, but she could not evade all of the meds. And even on those rare days when her mind was relatively clear, she had no appetite. The enormous willpower required to contain the alternating tides of rage, fear and desperation that regularlyswept over her left her so exhausted that the task of eating seemed overwhelming.
That had to change, she thought. She had to start consuming the calories she needed to rebuild her strength. She would never escape if she did not eat right.
She went to the small, barred window. Her room was on the third floor of the asylum, providing her with a view over the high fence that surrounded the Manor. From there she could see the lake.
Cold moonlight gleamed on the surface of the evil waters. Sometimes the only possible escape that she could envisage involved swimming out to the middle of the lake and letting herself sink into the depths.
But she had avoided McAlister’s poison that morning, and tonight her mind was clearer than it had been in some time. She did not want to think about sinking forever into the depths of the lake.
She needed an objective; she had to start planning her escape. She had to give herself some hope.
It was a certainty that no one else around this place would provide it.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
She turned away from the window and went to the door, trying the knob the way she always did, in the hope that someone had forgotten to lock it.
The door opened. One of the orderlies had been careless again. It wasn’t the first time. The staff at Candle Lake was not composed of what anyone would term dedicated medical professionals.
Dr. Harper, the head of
Calm down and think. You’ve been to enough murder scenes to know what they feel like, and this room isn’t giving off those kinds of vibes. The walls aren’t screaming the way they do when blood has been spilled in a room.
The energy was quite faint but extremely murky. That was not typical of most of the psychic sensations she encountered. Her sixth sense responded keenly to traces of the stronger passions, and those tended to be primitive and raw in nature. Rage, fear, panic, hatred, lust and obsessive need were elemental energies. The taints they left behind were usually sharp and clear.
This was . . . something else, something very frightening.
The psychic web seemed to be emanating from an area around the footstool. She examined the space closely. Everything looked exactly as it had the last time she had been in that room. There was no sign of recent violence or destruction.
No, that wasn’t quite true.
Light glinted on a shard of glass near the footstool. She reached down and picked it up. The color of the glass was familiar.
She glanced at the small table beside the chair. The bud vase was gone; smashed.
There was something else that was not right about the space, but she could not immediately identify it.
She turned slowly on her heel, examining every inch of the library. When she came to the table in the children’s corner she stopped.
She had arranged a handful of colorful, everyday objects on the low table. Jeff had supplied a small dinosaur for the informal collection and Theo had given her a tiny model motorcycle. She had added one
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
of her new chili-pepper red mugs because it picked up the color of the bookcase shelves.
The red mug was gone.
14
That night she dreamed of Xanadu.
She rose from the narrow bed and put on the hospital-issue robe. The garment hung loosely around her. It had fit when she was admitted to Candle Lake Manor, but she had lost a lot of weight during the past few months. The drugs that Dr. McAlister tried to force down her in hopes of inducing her cooperation in therapy had effectively smothered her appetite.
She had eventually learned how to dispose of some of the pills without anyone realizing that she was not swallowing them, but she could not evade all of the meds. And even on those rare days when her mind was relatively clear, she had no appetite. The enormous willpower required to contain the alternating tides of rage, fear and desperation that regularlyswept over her left her so exhausted that the task of eating seemed overwhelming.
That had to change, she thought. She had to start consuming the calories she needed to rebuild her strength. She would never escape if she did not eat right.
She went to the small, barred window. Her room was on the third floor of the asylum, providing her with a view over the high fence that surrounded the Manor. From there she could see the lake.
Cold moonlight gleamed on the surface of the evil waters. Sometimes the only possible escape that she could envisage involved swimming out to the middle of the lake and letting herself sink into the depths.
But she had avoided McAlister’s poison that morning, and tonight her mind was clearer than it had been in some time. She did not want to think about sinking forever into the depths of the lake.
She needed an objective; she had to start planning her escape. She had to give herself some hope.
It was a certainty that no one else around this place would provide it.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
She turned away from the window and went to the door, trying the knob the way she always did, in the hope that someone had forgotten to lock it.
The door opened. One of the orderlies had been careless again. It wasn’t the first time. The staff at Candle Lake was not composed of what anyone would term dedicated medical professionals.
Dr. Harper, the head of
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