Page 116 of Finding Amanda

Amanda glared at him.

"When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with schizophrenia.The pill you saw me take earlier—it's an antipsychotic. It keeps me sane."

What was he saying? He obviously wasn't sane. Nothing about this wassane.

"I know what it's like to lose touch with reality, to hear voices, see things." He rested his hand on her arm. "I know what it's like to remember things that didn't really happen. I know what you're going through."

She shifted away from him. "What are you talking about?"

"Your delusions about your psychiatrist, about what you think he did to you."

She smacked his hand away. "They're not delusions, Alan. They really happened."

"I know, I know they did. In your mind, they did really happen. But Dr. Sheppard would never hurt you."

Dr. Sheppard. Alan said his name with reverence. Amanda turned, reached for the door handle again. A dark shadow filled the window. A torso, a man.

She gasped, managed to lock the door through her haze of terror. She turned back to Alan. "This whole time, you've been lying to me? You acted like you believed me, and the whole time?—"

"I wanted you to trust me. Dr. Sheppard coached me on what to say, on how to make you feel better.”

The air whooshed out of her lungs.

“He said if I told you it wasn't your fault, if I acted like I believed you, that it would comfort you. I really like you, Amanda. All I want is for you to feel better, so we can be together.”

She struggled to draw in a breath, forced herself to exhale. "What have you done?"

"He wants to help. He won't hurt you, I promise. Dr. Sheppard—he saved me. It's only because of him that I've been ableto have a normal life, a job, a family. Because of the counseling he gave me, the medications."

Her voice was a whisper. "You don't understand."

"The things you wrote in your memoir—it's a delusion. He would never hurt anyone. He explained that you've been suffering from schizophrenia, like me, for all these years. It's hard, I know, getting past the paranoia long enough to take the drugs. But he's not out to get you, Amanda. He wants to help you, to give you peace, the way he's given me peace."

From outside, Gabriel tried the handle. When he let go, it smacked against the door frame, and she winced. Then he knocked. "Unlock the door," he said, his deep voice carrying easily through the glass. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Alan took her hand. His palm was cold and clammy with sweat. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. She shuddered, feeling like a spider had crept over her skin. "If you don't unlock the door, I will."

She was trapped between a murderer and a madman. She squeezed Alan's hand. "Listen to me. He's done it before. He raped a thirteen-year-old girl, and before the case went to trial, she disappeared. He killed her. He's going to kill me. Please, give me the keys. Please."

Alan smiled sadly. "I helped him with her, like I'm helping him with you. He didn't kill her, he just talked to her, tried to get her to take her medications, to get her to tell the truth. She was so distraught about what she'd done that she ran away."

"Were you there? Or is that what he told you?"

Alan blinked. "Well, I wasn't there, of course. I just delivered her to him. But he wouldn't lie to me."

Amanda angled toward him, holding his eye contact. "Listen to me. He killed her. Murdered her, because she was telling the truth. And that's what he's going to do to me."

Alan looked past her, and she turned to see why.

Sheppard's face filled the window.

She forced down the rising scream and turned back to Alan. "Please. Please give me the keys."

He reached across her for the door.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. Just . . . one second."

He paused, sat back.

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