I looked back at the locked door, then back at Eleanor.

Her grip on my hand suddenly tightened with surprising strength.

“The basement,” she whispered, her voice suddenly steady and lucid.

“Under the old floorboards near the water heater.”

“He took things from the clinic after it closed.”

“He took the papers.”

“What papers, Eleanor?” I whispered, my breath catching in my throat.

She leaned forward, her face inches from mine.

Her breath smelled faintly of peppermint.

“The ones that prove what he did to his first patient,” she said.

Before I could ask her another question, the doorknob stopped jiggling.

A hard, metallic scratch sounded from the keyhole.

He was using the emergency key from the hallway closet.

The lock on the guest room door began to turn.

The lock clicked, a sharp, heavy sound that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards.

The heavy oak door swung inward, slow and steady.

Nathan stood in the doorframe, his tall figure blotting out the yellow light from the hallway.

He held a small metal key ring in his right hand, the brass emergency key dangling between his fingers.