Chapter 13: On His Own Feet

"Mrs. Keane," the doctor said again, and the door shook in its frame.

"Open up. I have a syringe and I have orders."

Rory had his shirt on and half buttoned.

I pulled my nightgown over my head and found my robe on the floor.

"Get in the bathroom," I whispered. "Let him think you're not here."

"No."

"Rory."

"I'm done hiding in rooms, Willa."

He said it quietly, and his eyes were very clear.

The pounding stopped.

I heard a key go into the lock, and I remembered what I had done to the bolt that afternoon.

The bolt was loose, but the lock was still Desmond's.

The doctor had a key.

I crossed the room in two steps and threw my weight against the door as it swung in.

It hit his shoulder and his black bag flew out of his hand.

The bag hit the floor and burst open.

A glass vial rolled out across the hall carpet, and a syringe with it.

"Mrs. Keane!"

"You don't come into my room," I said. "You don't come into my room at three in the morning with a needle."

"Your husband is gravely ill."

"My husband is right here."

Rory stepped up behind me and put his hand on the door.

He pulled it all the way open.

The doctor stared at him, and the color left his face.

Rory was standing straight, with his shirt open at the throat and his bare feet planted on the floorboards.

"Good morning, Doctor," he said.

"Mr. Keane, you must lie down. You are not strong enough."

"Watch me."

He walked out past the doctor into the hall.

It was a long hall with a runner down the middle and a lamp lit at each end.

He walked the whole length of it without touching the wall.

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