Speaking in Tongues

able to be certain of the cause of death.
    Tears flooded the eyes of the inconvenient child.
    “Oh, Megan, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just thought that you deserved so much more than you had.”
    She was shivering with the sobs.
    “A father who wanted to be rid of you. What a terrible thing . . . He wanted to get you out of his life and get back to those ridiculous young women he chased after. And your mother . . . a dear woman but a child herself, really. I thought about all sorts of things—how I could adopt you, get you into a foster home . . .”
    “You really thought that?” she asked, wiping her face. Her attention was wavering from the glass blade. Her hand was in the shadows at her side. The hallway was dim and he couldn’t tell whether the knife was pointed downward or at him.
    “Yes, I sure did. I talked to a lawyer about adoption. He said I wouldn’t have a chance, not with your natural parents around, however neglectful they were.” His voice was soft, lulling.
    Megan wiped her face again. “I just wanted to be loved.”
    “And they didn’t love you, did they? They didn’t give you any love at all.”
    “No.”
    “Oh, I would’ve done things so differently . . . and that’s why I took this chance. I’m risking life in prison just to see if something might work out between us. I just wanted you to have a home.” He too wascrying now. “I just wanted a family! That’s all I’ve ever wanted too.”
    She was sobbing uncontrollably now, hand over her face. “Yes! That’s it. A home. I never had a home. I wanted a father so badly.”
    Matthews stepped closer, reached out a tentative hand and touched her cheek, wiped away a tear. He could almost feel her under his hands, peeing and thrashing as she died. He’d leave her body out for the dogs. So that Collier would have to live with the terrible memory of what the crime scene photos revealed.
    “I wish I could have done it differently,” he said. “I mean, this place is so disgusting, Megan. But I didn’t have any choice. For both our sakes.”
    “I just—”
    He reached out his other hand and put his arm around her shoulder. Rubbed her back.
    “I just wanted a home . . . only a home.” She struggled to breathe.
    “I know you did.” His right hand moved down her face to her neck. His left slipped down her arm until he gripped the glass knife she held.
    He gently pulled it out of her hand.
    Got you! he thought.
    But then he glanced down, frowning. It wasn’t a knife at all. In his hand was a plastic Bic pen. But he’d seen the blade . . . He looked into her face.
    Saw the leering smile.
    “Nice try,” Megan whispered.
    And with her left hand she jammed the glass blade deep into his side. Once, then again. And again.
    A flash of terrible pain shot through him andMatthews howled. He twisted hard away from her and the blade snapped on a rib, leaving a long glass splinter inside him.
    Now Megan screamed—an insane wail—and as the doctor groped for his wound she slammed her open palm into his face. A huge pop as his nose broke and blood spurted. He went down on his knees. She kicked him near the knife wound and his vision went black from the astonishing pain.
    She came forward but he swam back to consciousness quickly and now it was his fist that connected hard—slamming into her jaw, sending her backward into the wall. By the time he was on his feet she was disappearing down the dark corridor.
    He touched the wound. The pain was bad. But it was nothing compared with the feeling of shock that raged through him. She’s the one who fooled me! Suckered me in nice and close, got my defenses down. My God, the whole time I thought I was playing her but she led me right into the trap . . .
    Her father’s daughter, Matthews thought in fury and disgust.
    He dropped to his knees and began working the fragments of glass out of his wound, actually savoring the pain; he wanted to remember it. He wanted to feel what Megan was about to experience.

Chapter Twenty-eight
    The basement . . .
    She plunged into the dim corridors of the hospital, looking for the basement door she’d seen earlier.
    Her jaw ached and the back of her head too—from where she’d slammed it into the wall after he hit her. For just a moment she’d thought about leaping on him again—seeing him lying there, blood filling his shirt, blood dripping from his nose. He’d looked half dead. But she wasn’t sure that he was hurt as badly as