Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

perfect at all times, as cool as a drink at the Nineteenth Hole, as unruffled as a damask tablecloth.
    But far worse than his dismay at her physical appearance would be his clumsy attempts at pity. Sure, he would brush her hair away from her face, even hug her, probably kiss her forehead, but he wouldn't invite himself inside her. He wouldn't caress her where she needed it most, in her spirit or soul or heart, the name and place of it as unknown to her as to anyone.
    But it wasn't Mitchell's fault. She didn't allow an opening, wouldn't let anyone in the secret place where she might be healed with a touch. Dr. Danner and Dr. Forrest came close; they had softened her. But stubbornness or pride or merely the delusions caused by her disorder kept her always alone, always holding part of herself away from the world. Even knowing that ugly truth about herself didn't allow her to alter it.
    She stumbled toward the door, squinting against the afternoon's brightness. The meadow was like fire, yellow against the backdrop of blazing red trees and the houses that clustered along the fence line. A train whistle sounded, an iron giant rumbling along distant tracks over in Frayser's industrial zone. The scant breeze shifted, carrying the river-mud smell of the Mississippi.
    Julia waded through the tall grass to the fence. Through the trees at the back of the yard, she saw the Lexus still in the driveway. The driver's seat was reclined. Mitchell was either napping or steeped in a deep sulk.
    She glanced at the sky, drawing on the reserves hidden behind clouds.
    God, I suppose it’s selfish to beg for a little help when I don’t really believe in you. But maybe just push me a little farther along the path. At least let me walk.
    The clouds appeared unchanged, and no shafts of golden light bathed her in benevolent warmth. No calm voice whispered comforting words in her ear, and no squad of angels winged down to rescue her. Yet she felt better from the simple task of reaching out, and the sense of isolation eased.
    Okay, if you’re not going to help, at least stay out of the way.
    Julia brushed the hay and dust from her clothes, pushed her hair back, and climbed over the fence. She went to the rear of the house and opened the sagging screen door. She tried the knob to the back door, but it was locked. Just as she had expected.
    She went to a rear window and looked through the smeared glass. Her old room. An electric buzz raced along the back of her neck as memories came rushing back. Not the bad memories of people in robes, but memories of a child at play, a child who had crawled on that wooden floor, who had sat in the sun with dolls and Chester Bear and alphabet blocks and books she couldn't yet read.
    The room was bare and the closet door was missing. The walls had been painted, were now dirty off-white instead of the sky blue they had been when she lived here. One pane of the window had a piece of duct tape covering a crack. The top half of the window latch was lying twisted on the ledge.
    Julia took a barrette from her purse, fastened her hair back, and banged on the pane to loosen the chipped paint. She worked her fingers under the window and lifted. A shower of dust drifted down as the window slid open. She glanced at the barren houses on each side before climbing headfirst through the opening. Her feet kicked wildly in the air for a moment. Then she wriggled through and stood on the floor she hadn't touched in more than twenty years, letting the window slide closed behind her.
    She was inside the room she had been stolen from 23 years before.

 
     
    CHAPTER FOURTEEN
     
    Despite her shakiness, Julia felt almost giddy from the exhaustion that came after the crippling anxiety attack. What would Mitchell think if he saw that she had broken into the house? Mitchell worked mostly in property law and knew how to bend the rules in favor of his clients. However, he was very straight-laced about property rights. Visiting a vacant house that was up for sale was one thing, but crawling through a window was quite another.
    The floor creaked under her feet. The door was the same, only the knob wasn't at eye level to her anymore. She put her hand on the knob—
    The voices .
    In the living room, Daddy and the man that Daddy called Lucius were talking.
    Her breath caught, just as it had done when she was four. She pushed the door ajar with a groan of hinges, fully expecting to see the hooded people gathering around Daddy. But this time