The Divided Child Read Online Free PDF Page B

decided I'd worry
about her brother's return later.   I was too tired to think.   I
threw on a T-shirt and shorts and crawled into bed.   I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
     
    *                                   *                                   *
     
                The
room had grown dark from the dwindling sunlight.   Sad, pale shadows flickered across the floor, and it seemed
as if the ceiling had retreated higher.
                I
found myself staring up at the ceiling.   It wasn't a particularly interesting ceiling, as ceilings go, but it had
one highly unusual feature.   It was
swaying.   Back and forth, back and
forth.   The swaying became more
violent, and soon the ceiling was creaking, buckling from the strain.   Any moment, I realized, it would break
free and crash down on me.
                I
tried to move, to get off the bed and escape, but my frozen limbs refused to
budge.   The ceiling split away,
broke open, and began to fall.   As
it smashed into me, I screamed . . . .
                I
woke, trembling, and it took me a moment to differentiate the pounding at the
door from the pounding of my heart.   I slid weakly off the bed and crossed to open it.   When I turned the key, I had to jump
out of the way as the door burst open and Geoffrey Redfield rushed into the
room.   He came to a halt and spun
around, his gaze settling on me grimly.   "Are you all right?"
                "I
almost had my nose flattened by the door," I replied, "but other than
that I'm fine."
                "What
made you cry out like that?   I
thought you were being murdered."
                "I
had a bad dream, that's all."   I turned my back on him and retreated to the armchair.   I needed to sit down.
                "A
bad dream?" he exclaimed.   "You expect me to believe that?"
                "I
don't expect you to believe anything.   What are you doing here, anyway?   I don't recall inviting you."
                I
was gratified to see him look uncomfortable.   "I came to apologize," he said stiffly.
                "Apologize?"
                "For
my behavior this morning.   I may have
jumped to some hasty conclusions."
                "I'd
say so."
                "I
had my reasons,” he insisted.
                "Really?"
                His
gaze met mine straight on.   "I'd like to explain them to you, if you’d care to listen."
                "All
right," I said faintly.   The
look in those intent emerald eyes was having a now familiar effect on my
stomach.   I motioned toward a chair
by the window.   “Take a seat.”
                He
closed the door.   Instead of
sitting down, however, he crossed to where I was sitting and removed something
from the pocket of his crisp white Oxford shirt.   "Here," he said in a low voice that sounded oddly
abashed.   I looked down at what he
was holding out to me.   It was a
crumpled piece of blue paper carefully smoothed out and folded closed.   Realizing what it was, I grabbed it
from him.
                “I
took it from your purse,” he said, in tight, clipped syllables.   “I was looking for the key to your
hotel -- to know where to find you -- and I saw that.   I thought it might be important but didn't have time to read
it before you woke."
                "But
I suppose you've read it now."
                "Yes.”   He paused.   “I’m sorry."
                I
was too embarrassed to speak.   I
smoothed the paper with my hand, staring at it on my lap.
                "Perhaps
you'd like me to leave?" he asked.
                I
looked up.   "No,” I said, my
mood grim.   “You promised me an
explanation, and I still want it."   I gestured to the chair by