"Is anything wrong?" Kane asked her.
"It was nothing," she said, so calm that she nearly convinced herself.
"I thought I remembered some- thing, but it slipped away."
Bishop didn"t contradict her, but she wondered if he could have.
Faith debated telling Kane about her latest "dream" but decided not to,lie because she could see nothing IMP helpful in it either to his searchfor Dinah or her own search for knowledge of her past. The dream hadrevealed virtually no detailed information; the area had been too darkand unfamiliar for her to recognize, so she couldn"t even provide alocation from which Dinah might possibly have disappeared.
Always a.s.suming it had been more than a dream.
That was what worried her most about the dreams and flashes of knowledgeat they might well be no more than her imagination coupled with a fewlucky guesses. It seemed so incredible that there could be some kind ofpsychic connection between her and another woman, one so strong that shewas actually reliving the other woman"s experiences and memories,feeling emotions not her own.
Hearing a voice in her head that belonged to some- one else.
How could she believe such a thing?
And yet she did. Despite her worry and nagging uncertainty, she believedthat a connection between her and Dinah did exist. She didn"t know how or why that bond had formed, but she believed it was very real. If shecould only figure out a way to use it to find Dinah ... But she seemedas unable to control that as she was to find memories of her own in the blankness of her mind. The helplessness was maddening. And sittingaround doing nothing wasn"t helping.
She could use her brain, though, couldn"t she?
When Kane returned from seeing Bishop off in a cab to the airport, Faithwas sitting on the couch with a legal pad and the small address book shehad brought from her apartment.
Before Kane could ask what she was doing, she picked up the phone andplaced a call to the women"s clinic. It took several minutes of talkingher way patiently past a couple of staff members and then her personaldoctor"s answering service, but she finally reached her doctor. She madean office appointment for the following day.
Kane said when she hung up, "So she"ll see you tomorrow?
Faith nodded. "And have all my records ready so she can fill me in on mylife-the medical part of it, at least. She wasn"t surprised about theaccident, although she didn"t say how she"d heard about it."
Kane nodded and gathered up all the notes and the police report they hadbeen going over earlier. He saw her turn another few pages of theaddress book and frown down at an entry. "Find something?"
She shook her head half-consciously. "I"m not sure. In the "in case ofemergency" section, there"s an address and a phone number, but nothingto identify who or what it is."
: Local number?"
There"s no area code." She met his gaze, then picked up the phone. "One way to find out."
It rang three times before a brisk, female voice on the other endannounced, "Haven House."
The name meant nothing to her, but given where she"d found the number,Faith thought surely some- one there would recognize her name. So,tentatively, she said, "This is Faith Parker."
There was a moment of silence, then the woman exclaimed in surprise,"Faith? The last we heard, you were still in a coma.
Faith didn"t state the obvious. Instead, she said, "I just came homethis past week."
"And you"re okay? I mean-"
Faith barely hesitated. "I"m fine physically, but I seem to be havingsome memory problems. Forgive me, but I don"t remember who you are."
"This is Karen." The answer came readily enough, but wariness had creptinto that brisk tone.
Faith jotted the name down on her legal pad. "So we knew-know-eachother?"
"Of course. You probably spent more time here than in your own apartmentup until the last few months. We always kept a bed ready for you, incase you wanted to stay." Puzzled, Faith said, "I"m afraid I don"tunderstand.
Just what"s Havenhouse?" She was thinking that perhaps it was abed-and-breakfast, something like that.
The truth came as a definite surprise.
"It"s a shelter," Karen replied, even more wary now. "A shelter forabused women."
Faith added that information to her notes automatically, and it was onlyas she watched her pen moving across the page that she realized she waswriting with her right hand. She transferred the pen to her left hand,confused both by her actions and by what she was hearing.
"A shelter. Did I work there? As a volunteer?
"You helped out when and how you could, same as the rest of us."
Karen"s voice hardened slightly.
"Look, if you really are Faith and what you"ve told me is the truth, I"msorry but I can"t tell you any- thing else over the phone. We have to becareful here.
Too many of us are in hiding."
"I understand." Faith wished that she did. "May I - is it all right if Icome over there? I have the address." She recited it, just to make surewhat was in her book was correct.
"Our doors are always open to women," Karen said. "But in case you"ve forgotten the rules-no men.
No exceptions."
"I"ll remember. Thank you, Karen."
"Don"t mention it."
Faith cradled the receiver slowly.
"What kind of shelter?" Kane asked immediately.
"For abused women. And-they know me there."
Faith felt peculiar "just saying the words.
"But she wouldn"t tell you anything else over the phone? "
"No. Understandable, I suppose. I need to go over there and talk to them. Now, today. I don"t know if there"s a connection to Dinah, but-"
"She did a story on a women"s shelter," Kane remembered suddenly."
Conrad, her financial manager, said she donated money." He paused. "If she donated her time as well, or went there at all, she never mentioned it."
"I don"t think she would have. Judging by what Karen said to me, being secretive about the shelter was encouraged." She looked down at the entry in her address book. "I didn"t even name it in my book."
Kane nodded, accepting that, then looked at his watch. "Lets go, then.
They might not let me in, but I can make sure you get there and back safely."
Faith didn"t argue. But when they reached the shelter-which turned out
to be a large, pleasant old house in a quiet suburban neighborhood-she realized her visit might take some time and doubted Kane"s patience to sit and wait for her.
"You said you wanted to talk to Richardson about that police report,"
she reminded him. "Why don"t you go do that while I see the people here?
If we divide the work, we"re more likely to find out something useful quickly." She thought she hardly needed to tell him that, but did anyway because she knew he was reluctant to leave her there.
Kane jotted down the number of his cell phone and gave it to her. "If
I"m not waiting out here when you get ready to leave, call me."
Faith nodded. She got out of the car and went to the front door of the house, conscious, as she rang the bell, of the closed-circuit security camera positioned near the entrance.
The door was opened by a tall, very thin woman of about thirty-five,
with dark hair already going gray.
When she spoke after a long, steady look, it was with the brisk voice she had used on the phone.
"So it is you. Good to see you, Faith."
Faith went in, wondering, now that she was there, just what she wasgoing to ask this woman or anyone else there besides a wistful "Who amI? Do you know?"
The house was fairly quiet, even for a Sunday afternoon. She heard,somewhere upstairs, the faint sounds of children laughing and talking,and someone softly-and inexpertly-playing a piano nearby.
"Let"s talk in my office before you see any of the others," Karensuggested, obviously still feeling protective of the shelter and itsinhabitants.
Faith was agreeable, and moments later found her- self sitting in asmall, cluttered, windowless office that had probably once been littlemore than a closet. The gracious old home showed plenty of signs ofrecent renovation, but it was clear the money had been spent where itwould do the most good, the comfort of the director obviously far downon the list.
"I"ve been thinking about it," Faith said as Karen went around the deskand sat behind it, -and if you need someone to verify what I claim aboutthe memory loss, I"m sure my doctor will explain everything."
Karen"s sharp brown eyes softened. "That won"t be necessary. I believeyou. Besides, I"ve known you more than a year, Faith, and one thing I"msure of is that you"d never do anything to harm this shelter or thewomen and children who depend on it."
"How did I ... get involved here?" Faith wasn"t sure she wanted theanswer, but knew she had to ask "The same as the rest of us." Karen"ssmile was faint and brief. "In your case, an ex-husband."
Faith swallowed, aware of a chill but no memories till no memories.
"Do you know his name?
What happened between us?"
Karen shook her head. "Those are the kinds of questions we don"t askaround here. And you never offered to talk about it, beyond saying you"ddivorced him and that he worked somewhere out on the West Coast."
"Did I come here because I was afraid of him?"
"I think you came here initially because your doctor believed you neededto know there was some place in Atlanta where you"d be safe. That"scommon among abuse victims, the need to have a safe place.
Also, I think, because you"d been at a shelter where you used to live,and it helps to spend time with people who understand what you"ve beenthrough."
Faith wished she understood-or felt what she thought she should feel.
But she didn"t remember being frightened or hurt by anyone, much less ahusband.
Though that would explain several small scars she had found on her body,she realized.
Trying to concentrate, she said, "So you don"t know much about my past?"
"We try to live in the present here. You may have talked more to theothers, but this is considered a temporary shelter, and we have a fairlyhigh turnover rate.
I"m afraid there aren"t many still here who"d know you. Andrea andKatie, maybe Eve. I can"t think of anyone else."
"I suppose you wouldn"t consider giving me the names and currentaddresses of any of the women I might have confided in months ago?"
"Against the rules. I"m sorry, Faith."