Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Shadowgate 02 Read Free

           Shaking
her head, Winter gathered up an armful of clothes. If she was going to stay
downstairs, she might as well have her clothes with her. At least she could
pretend she was normal.
                But
don't crazy people always think they're normal? Isn't that how it starts?
                 No.
It had started with the breakdown that had brought her to Fall River —and now she was out of Fall River , but not because she was better. . . .
                 Face it —FACE it!
                 Winter
ran down the stairs; not running away, but running to the only thing left to
frighten her; the thing that had driven her into this long fugue state.
                 The
clothes she had gathered scattered behind her like autumn leaves. She flung
herself across the serene parlor and into the cheerful kitchen. Here were the dutch doors leading out into the garden; to the orchard; to
the river. She threw open the door and recoiled with a cry, even though she had
seen what was there before; had seen it this morning, in fact. . . .
                 The
creature was difficult to identify, although from the size, it had probably
once been a squirrel. Only a few wisps of gray fur clung now to the ruined blob
of shredded meat flecked with white spurs of shattered bone.
                 Like all the others. Just like all the
others.
                 It
began with pigeons. Pigeons and squirrels and mice; she'd found the tiny
bloodless corpses everywhere she went until each new discovery had been almost
beyond bearing. When she'd gone to Fall River there had been no more for a while, but
then the bodies had begun appearing again, and when she'd sworn she had nothing
to do with the deaths, Dr. Atheling said he believed her but none of the others
did. They said she was doing it herself—that she was the one responsible: catching and hurting and killing. . .
.
                 And
so she had run away, praying that if she ran far enough, hard enough, she could
outrun that vengeful shadow. And for a while she'd thought she'd succeeded.
                 Until
today.
                 Winter
was restless all the rest of the day, as if the appearance of the tiny
shattered body had brought with it a summons that could no longer be denied.
Winter spent that night sleepless before the old fieldstone fireplace, feeding
the last of the woodpile to the greedy flames.
                 With
the morning light came the certainty that she could hide here no longer. If she
was sane, she could test that sanity in the outside world. If it failed, she'd
. . .
                 What?
                 / can't go back there, Winter told
herself, although Fall River Sanatorium was not a bad place—not like some
she'd heard of, where malice was disguised as concern and sadism took the place
of care.
                 It's just that Fall
River is a place that should help people — and
it can't help me.
                 Even
without knowing where the conviction came from, Winter trusted it—even though
she no longer trusted herself.
                 / guess the world — and I — will just have to take
our chances.
                 The
morning was spent in a thousand delaying chores. Even though each strengthened
her confidence in her ability to function outside the safe refuge the farmhouse
had become, they were also a form of escape from the consequences of her
decision. She washed the dishes, and made a list of the things she would need
to replenish her larder in town, carried the rest of her clothes downstairs and
put them away in the large red cedar armoire that shared the kitchen parlor
with the woodstove and the white iron bed, and even went through her purse and
Coach briefbag , alternately amazed and baffled by
the contents. There were a fistful of unopened monthly statements, forwarded
to her at