InSight

starved. All I’ve had is a cup of weak coffee.”
    “I haven’t even had that,” Luke said.
    “We need something healthy to replenish our energy,” she called after him. In the kitchen, she pulled out oranges, yogurt, and bananas. Luke made coffee when he came back inside. Then she told him more about her time with Stewart. Luke asked her to repeat a couple of sentences, but she felt his strong presence, offering a sense of security she now welcomed.
    When she finished, he described his research into Stewart’s family and the connection with the reporter from the Charleston newspaper.
    Luke refilled both coffee cups. She blew on hers before sipping. “You said Stewart walked out of the hospital with a supply of pills. He had help then. Did your reporter friend have any ideas?”
    “It had to be a guard or an attendant,” Luke said. “He needed money and a car. Pete forced someone down there to look into it, but no one’s admitting anything.”
    “Why did he have to force someone? The man escaped. He’s a murderer. They should have circulated bulletins all over the state.”
    “Should have, but the hospital never reported Stewart’s disappearance. The police knew nothing about it until we pushed the envelope. In fact, since the shooting, Stewart Gentry might as well have been dead for all the follow-up coverage he got. When Lucy said he was alive, I couldn’t believe it.”
    Ah yes, Lucy . The burning sensation between Abby’s shoulder blades returned, and she massaged the back of her neck.
    “When the Charleston PD called Pete back, they told him not to make anything public until they got a handle on the situation. Pete said fuck it and put everything out over the wires. The powerful fingerprints of Carlotta Gentry are all over this. She probably has the police under her control. I hate that. It proves money talks.”
    “I could have told you that. Especially Gentry money.”
    Luke’s hand covered hers. “After Lucy told us the news, I read everything I could find about Gentry. Newspaper reports after the shooting said nothing more than he wasn’t expected to live. They never said he died. I assumed he had or was in a vegetative state. Then he was forgotten.”
    “That’s what Mrs. Gentry wanted everyone to think. They sealed him in a Ziploc prison. No news in or out.”
    “You’re not feeling sorry for him, are you?”
    “How could I?” But deep down, Abby did feel sorry for the man she married, who had disappeared into a black world that rivaled her own. She couldn’t explain that to Luke. She didn’t understand it herself. “The Gentry family put so much pressure on him to conform to their expectations. A lawyer or banker, certainly not an artist. They never gave him credit for his talent and were astounded when he made it big.”
    She remembered the digs and taunts Stewart’s mother inflicted like cuts from barbed wire. Stewart just laughed. He wouldn’t be pulled into defending himself. How Abby had wanted to tell the witch to leave him alone, but she held little sway within the Gentry family. The memories stung like a never-healing wound, and she felt the pain of rejection all over again.
    “They disapproved of me ― the daughter of an alcoholic on scholarship, struggling to make ends meet. Mrs. Gentry thought Stewart should have married someone with the right pedigree.”
    “When did his father die?”
    The question gave Abby pause. “Shortly before Stewart became ill, I think. Yes, I remember. Stewart, Macy, and I went to Charleston after the plane crash and stayed until after the funeral. Then he went back a week or so later. He seemed agitated when he returned, different.”
    “Different how?”
    “Confused. I thought it was because of his father’s death. Mrs. Gentry sent her physician to help. Stewart fought against it, but the doctor insisted. So did Mrs. Gentry. Stewart finally gave in and took the medication. I guess he felt he needed it. Unfortunately, he kept getting worse. Strange, other than a few incidents, I really don’t remember much about that period.”
    “And that’s when his delusions started?”
    Abby thought back. “I think so. The timeline is blurred. He’d been doing well until then. No sign of illness. His work was in demand for big money. Macy was six and starting first grade, and I had gone back to school to finish my doctorate. I couldn’t handle much more.”
    Memories from the worst period of her life forced their way back. She