Sleepwalker (Nightwatcher #2)(117)
Hopefully, she never will. Hopefully, Mack will be cleared any second now.
The nurse slips away, and Allison leans back to wait.
Holding Ange’s hand, looking into her eyes, Rocky can’t seem to stop smiling—or chattering, filling her in on everything she’s missed in the past few months.
“Mr. Manzillo?”
His one-sided conversation interrupted by a nurse, Rocky reluctantly breaks eye contact with Ange and turns around. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry—I have a message for you from a T.J. Murphy.”
His heart skips a beat. “What is it?”
“I wrote it down. Here, I’ll read it to you. Allison and kids are safe. 10–22. P.S. You were right about Shields. He’s 10–84.” She looks up from the paper in her hand. “Does that make sense to you?”
“It does. Definitely. Thank you.”
Rocky breathes a sigh of relief.
Ten–84: the police code for DOA.
And 10–22: take no further action.
Smiling to himself, he turns back to see Ange’s eyes tracking the nurse leaving the room, then making contact again with Rocky’s gaze.
Such a simple thing—but it means she’s in there, paying attention.
“That was about a case I’ve been working,” he tells her. “Anyway . . . where was I? Oh, that’s right—so, listen, I told you about this when you were asleep, but just in case you missed it—you were right.”
If she could, he knows, she’d say, What’d you expect? I’m always right. And then, after waiting a beat, she’d ask, About what?
Someday—but not soon enough—she should be talking again. Maybe walking, too. Dr. Abrams was cautious in his prognosis, but even he wore a jubilant expression when he shook Rocky’s hand and told him he’ll be back later.
Rocky thanked him.
After all these torturous weeks, months, of praying, hoping, waiting . . .
Ange talking.
Walking.
Laughing.
Living.
For now, though, it’s enough to see the flicker of pleasure—yes, and triumph—in his wife’s eyes when he tells her, “Donny and Kellie—they’re expecting a baby. Just like you said. You’re going to be a grandma again.”
For now, it’s enough to feel the warmth of her hand in his.
And, most importantly, it’s enough to know that he won’t have to learn how to live without her after all.
“Allie? Allie . . . wake up.”
Morning . . .
Already?
She groans in protest, but Mack is shaking her gently. “Allie . . .”
“Not yet.”
It was so nice back there in the dream she was having . . .
I want to go back . . .
Back . . .
Home . . .
“Allie!”
Her eyes snap open. It’s not morning. She’s not home in bed . . .
She’s in a chair in a strange room.
A hospital room . . . ?
J.J.!
She turns to see that his little chest is rising and falling rhythmically, reassuringly, then swivels back to see her husband standing over her.
“Mack?”
“They let me go. They said . . .” He takes a deep breath. “His name was Samuel Shields.”
His name was Samuel Shields.
His name was Samuel Shields.
It doesn’t make sense. What—who—is Mack talking about?
“He’s the one who did this, Allison. He killed those women, and he set me up, and he took the kids.”
“But who—why—”
“He’s—he was—Jerry Thompson’s father.”
Allison gasps.
“They have video evidence of him in the beach house,” he goes on, “and they said . . . it was because of you. You set up cameras . . . ?”
She swallows hard. “Randi’s nanny cams. She gave them to me when I left . . .” Was it only yesterday? “I told her I didn’t want them, I didn’t need them, but . . . you know, ‘no arguments.’ She was worried, because . . .”
She takes a deep breath. This is the part that’s hardest to admit.
“That night I had too much to drink, I guess I told Randi about you sleepwalking with the knife. I wasn’t going to use the cameras, but she made me promise, and I did, because . . .”
“Because you didn’t trust me,” Mack says quietly.
“I’m so sorry. There was just a part of me that—”
She hesitates.
There’s no other way to say it. He’s right. You might as well own it.
“No, Mack, I didn’t trust you. I knew it was just the medication, but I couldn’t take a chance with the kids that—”
“You weren’t the only one, Allie.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I didn’t trust myself. For all I knew . . .” He shakes his head. “I felt like I was losing my mind. Between the stress at work, and not sleeping when I didn’t take the Dormipram, and then, when I did take it, I couldn’t remember for sure what I had done, where I had been . . . That’s why I threw it away.
“Threw what away?”
“The Dormipram.”
“You stopped taking it?”