He sprinted to the hallway.
Oh, God. What if he was too late?
He moved to the first bedroom, but everything looked neat and tidy, as did Violet’s room next door. From outside he heard someone shout, “Stop! Police!” along with a hell of a lot of commotion. Thank God.
He lunged across the hall and swung open the bathroom door.
He halted in terror.
Blood. So damned much blood.
His heart nearly exploded in his chest and he raced over to the bathtub. The water was crimson, and Allie’s eyes were open, but she wasn’t moving.
Oh, God. He was too late.
He dropped his hand into the water and found her wrist. He waited, not breathing. There! So faint, but definitely a pulse. He was suddenly aware of sirens screeching up in front of the house.
The blood. He had to stop it.
He unplugged the water and grabbed a hand-towel from a rack. Where was she cut? Where was the blood coming from?
Hell. Her wrists were slashed.
He quickly tied a towel tightly around one wrist and then the other. Footsteps in the hallway, shouts, and the wail of sirens filled his ears.
“In here! Get an ambulance!” he yelled, holding her wrists awkwardly above her head.
There was a burst of radio static, and he heard someone shouting for the EMTs.
“Allie,” Sam pleaded, “if you can hear me, please hold on. I’m here, and I’ve got you. An ambulance is on its way. So…for the love of God, please hold on.”
He took her hand, still warm, and held it.
She had to be okay. She just had to be.
He’d never even had a chance to tell h
er he’d fallen in love with her.
…
Several times Allie tried to wake up, hearing a voice, feeling a warm hand on hers, but each time she tried to focus and get out of the thick grog she floated in, she was pulled back under.
At one point, she saw her sister bent over her. The dim light from the window behind her hid her face, but not the concern in her voice. She saw Dad and Peg—and tried to say something to them, but she couldn’t get it out.
Allie thought she’d even seen Sam. Stern and angry. Leaning against the back wall or sitting in the chair by the window. His eyes never leaving her.
A voice reached through the haze once. It sounded like Sam. Assuring her she was safe, that they’d caught Señora Sanchez before she could escape.
But what about the son? Where was Javier? She wanted to scream, but she still couldn’t say a word, was still stuck in this awful, boneless limbo.
Darkness engulfed her again, but the terror wouldn’t let go of her heart.
…
The regular beeping and flashing of Allie’s monitors assured Sam she was safe now.
Or they should have.