to do anything else. But first Julia had to make it to the stairs alone.
Julia took a deep breath, buoyed by the knowledge that at the very least she wasn’t going to tumble headfirst down a full flight of steps. She turned and took a step, then another. The hall was eerily silent. She wondered where the other patients were. Making pot holders or brownies in occupational therapy? She’d met no one since she arrived. No one had attempted to make her socialize. As she adjusted, Dr. Jeffers had wanted her to be alone with her thoughts.
She slid her hand along the wall beside her, taking another shuffling step. Each time she put her foot down, she expected anything but solid floor. She was falling into darkest space, disoriented and more frightened with each step. But the alternative frightened her more. If she was forced to stay, the depression Dr. Jeffers had cited would grow to be as real as the blindness that held her in its sway.
The wall dropped away, and startled, she jerked her hand back. Her feet were still planted firmly. She stood still for a moment, trying to picture her predicament. She realized that she must have encountered an open doorway, that there would probably be more than one on the hall. She lifted her left foot and replanted it in front of the right, feeling first with her toe to be certain the floor hadn’t suddenly dropped away, as well. Satisfied she kept moving. After what seemed like several yards she felt the wall again, but closer than it had been, as if she’d veered off course.
She straightened and continued on. She had no idea how far she would have to travel. The hall could be a few more yards or many. She had driven by the clinic a thousand times, and now she tried to picture the building. Were the wings long? They were additions to an antebellum mansion, which was now the central reception area, but the additions were old, as well.
She didn’t know how long she took to find her way to the end. She counted six doorways before she sensed something in front of her. She was sweating, even though the hallway was chilly. She was also trembling, afraid that each step would pitch her into space. Too well she remembered the terror of flying through the air, the sudden vision of total paralysis, the knowledge that she was about to hit the ground.
The realization that she could no longer see.
She stretched out her hands, but she touched nothing. She inched forward, arms extended, until her palms contacted glass. She was at the end of the hall, at a window, she guessed, and now it was time to turn left.
She turned, right hand still touching the window to help orient her. Relief was seeping through the fear. She was going to make this terrible journey in time to reach her mother. Maisy wouldn’t leave without a drawn-out fight. But she had to hurry.
Julia took a step, then quickly, another. Her toe caught on something just in front of her, and before she could steady herself, she pitched forward to her knees.
Her cheek rested against the branches of a tree. She stifled a cry, then felt for her bearings. She had stumbled over a plant of some sort, a small tree in a pot. An interior decorator’s vision.
She didn’t linger. She used the pot to steady herself and got to her feet. She had fallen and lived through it. She had gotten back up. She was moving. She might trip again. She would keep moving.
Nearly at the end of the second hallway, she heard a warning just before she stumbled over what felt like the edge of a carpet and sprawled chest down on the floor. This time it took her a moment to catch her breath. Pain shot through her right knee, but before she could find her way to her feet, she felt strong arms helping her up.
“Damn it!” Karen sounded as if she wanted to weep. “I don’t care if I lose my job. There have to be better places to work. If your mother’s gone, I’ll drive you home myself. I have a little boy at home. I just didn’t want—”
Julia felt for Karen’s hands. “I’m going to need help. Come with me. At least until you can find a job you like better.”
“I’d like flipping hamburgers better than this.”
“Let’s go find my mother.”
“Can you make the stairs?”
Julia managed a smile. “I’ll do anything to get out of here.”
“Don’t forget I’ll have my arm around you. Just put one foot in front of the other.”
Julia found that was a lot easier with Karen walking beside her.
4
The inmates at Ludwell State Prison left Christian Carver alone. That hadn’t always been true. When he had arrived as a frightened twenty-three-year-old, he had snagged more than his share of attention. Athletic and strong, he was also lean-hipped and slim. And at twenty-three Christian hadn’t yet learned the importance of feeling nothing, so that he truly had nothing to hide.
In a matter of months he had learned—the hard way—everything he needed to survive a life sentence. Who to befriend and who not to let out of his sight. How to tolerate the noise and the smell. How to find some common denominator with men who had broken into houses or set them ablaze, maniacs who had murdered old women and raped small children. The right balance between anger and hate, so that he could endure but not be consumed by the fire within him.
He had made a peace of sorts with his life. One of the guards had taken an interest in young Christian’s welfare and moved him into a cell with an old man convicted of murdering his wife. Alf Johnson had smothered his beloved Doris at her own request when the cancer eating away her lungs made every breath a torment. In the pre-Kevorkian days of Alf’s trial, Doris’s death had simply been premeditated murder.
Alf had used his years in prison to pursue the education his life on the outside had never allowed, and he had taken the young man under his wing. Before his death a year later, he’d taught Christian how to have a life behind bars, as well as one important motto to live by.
Only one man can imprison your spirit.
Now, as always, Christian was employing everything he’d learned.
“I don’t give advice.” Christian examined the golden retriever puppy at his feet. Seesaw had a coat as shiny as polished nuggets and liquid brown eyes that noticed absolutely everything. “Seesaw, sit.”
The dog sat obediently, her plump puppy body wiggling with pent-up energy. But Seesaw stayed where she was, despite instincts that told her otherwise.
Christian reached down to pet and praise her.
The man beside him spoke. “I don’t need advice, man. I just need to know how to get Tyrell off my back.”
“Same thing.” Christian snapped the leash on Seesaw’s collar. “Heel, Seesaw.”
“Hey, you been here a long time—”
Christian straightened. “And I’m going to be here a lot longer. So I know better than to say anything that might get me in trouble.”
“How’d telling me what to do get you in trouble?” The young man walked beside Christian as he and Seesaw slowly paced the indoor track that the prison dog trainers used for walking their canine charges. Timbo Baines was new to Ludwell, young, black and terrified. He had chosen Christian as his mentor, a job Christian didn’t want but wasn’t quite embittered enough to refuse.
“Look,
