Frank stopped walking when we reached an empty hallway. “What’s going on?”
“I need to speak with Amanda. Eliot told me you could help.”
“Why me? You were about to see her anyway.”
“I need her sharp.”
He snorted. “She’ll never be sharp—not in a million years.”
“I know you can do it. It will just be for a few minutes; enough time for me to get some answers.”
He rubbed his bearded chin. “Do the Shadow People know you’re here?”
Shadow People?I remembered Eliot saying Frank had no idea who The Society was. “They don’t know, and I need you to keep your mouth shut about it.” I pulled out the envelope and handed it to him. “Three grand.”
He whistled and peeked inside. “Sweet. I don’t know why people are interested in Amanda all of a sudden. There was a detective here a few days ago.”
A dark realization hit me. “Did you see him?”
“The detective? Sure. I called the Shadow People right away.” He glanced at the envelope before sliding it into his back pocket. “Nothing for you to worry about, though. I’m a man of my word. Hmm, you okay?”
I needed to stop glaring at him with murder in my eyes, but it was difficult. If I got a chance to snitch on him to The Society, I would do so in a heartbeat.
“I’m okay,” I said.
“Cool. Visiting hours are almost done. We’ll need to be quick.”
“Then let’s be quick.”
*
I waited outside the room while Frank did whatever was needed to make Amanda carry on a short conversation. After about ten minutes, he returned. “I did what I could in such a short time. Whatever you want from her, you better get to the point quickly.”
I nodded and entered the room. Amanda sat on the only bed, wearing a bluish hospital gown, her pale arms wrapped around her bent knees. She rocked back and forth, humming a tune Ididn’t recognize. Her long, blonde hair was filled with tangles and bald spots.
How many men had she rubbed cheap makeup on before cheerfully sending them off to go through hell?
I drew a breath and cleared my throat, but she didn’t acknowledge me. I took a step closer. “Amanda?”
After a few seconds, she slowly tilted her head at me. Her eyes seemed hazy, a bit of drool dripping from her slack mouth.
Is this supposed to be her lucid version?
“Do you remember me?” I asked.
She narrowed her eyes, still absently rocking back and forth. “No. Are you here to finger me?”
“No.”
She winked—or tried to. “Do you wanna?”
“I don’t. I’m Jonah Carter. We met a long time ago.” I took another step forward, but not close enough in case she tried attacking.
“Jonnnnah.” A shred of recognition flicked in her eyes. “Oh, I remember you! Pretty Jonah. Where are your curls?”
“I cut them.”
“With a sharp knife?” Her eyes lit. “Did you bleed?”
