Chapter 17: The Binders

The photograph had been taken from the rooftop across the street.

The security man traced it in an hour and found a folding chair, a camera mount and no one.

"The penthouse is burned," he told her. "Mrs. Ferrars says you stay at the house until Friday."

"The house where I was kept for three years."

"The house with a wall and two men on the gate."

She looked at Alden.

"I'll sleep in the guest room," he said.

"You will not. It's your house."

"Lucinda."

"I'll take the study," she said. "It's the one room I know."

The study hadn't changed.

The mats still lay folded against the wall, and the exercise bands still hung on their hook.

She stood in the doorway for a long moment.

Then she saw the shelf above the desk, where the binders had been.

The shelf was clean.

Beside it hung a small framed square of glass, no bigger than a hardcover book.

She stepped closer.

It was a shoe.

A plain gray rehab sneaker, scuffed at the toe, with the laces still tied.

A white card was pinned under it in a hand she knew better than her own.

Alden's.

Day 233. First time I stood. She cried in the hall. I told her not to. Do not ever forget what I said.

Lucinda put her hand over her mouth.

"Don't," Alden said from the door. "I didn't want you to see that yet."

"You kept it."

"I kept it the night you left. I took it out of the rehab bag and I couldn't throw it away."

"You wrote that card."

"The night you left."

She turned.

"I don't understand. You wrote it as a punishment."

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