She dived into her role as protector, caring for Gavin with the fervor of a big sister. Maybe he filled a need in Gillian, replacing the space vacated by Mary.

Unfortunately, Gavin hadn't seen her as strictly sister material.

Soon after Gavin's release from prison, Gillian discovered he'd spent his days there looking forward to getting out and marrying her. When she tried to explain, he refused to understand. She'd had no recourse but to cut herself off from him completely.

Yet she still worried about him. Her rejection of him went so much against her nature that she had trouble accepting her decision. But what else could she do if any time she spent with him gave him false hope? And now, here he was again, a wounded creature she couldn't turn away.

She sat down in the ottoman across from him, tucking her feet under her. "What kind of dreams have you been having?"

He chewed on his thumb while staring at a candle flame. "I keep dreamin' about girls."

Her heart beat a little quicker. "Girls? What do you mean?"

He continued to chew on himself. "About doin' things to them."

"What kind of things?" Gillian asked with sinking despair.

"I can't tell you, but it's bad. It's really bad."

Gillian pressed a hand to her mouth.

"It seems so real," he whispered. He looked up at her. The flame was reflected in his tear-filled eyes. "It seems so real."

Had his release and return to society brought back what had happened years ago? Were the recent homicides preying on his mind? "Are you still seeing a psychiatrist?"

"You can help me more than any stupid shrink." He rubbed his face. "I'm so fucking tired, Gillian," he said quietly. "So fucking tired."

What should she do? Tell somebody? But they were dreams. Just dreams. Gavin was already under suspicion. She'd seen his name on the suspect list. If she said anything, it might be enough to have him thrown in jail. She couldn't do that. Gavin hadn't killed those girls. ¦ The words had become her mantra. Did she believe them, or only want to believe them?

"A doctor could give you pills to help you sleep," she told him.

"I have to be able to wake up! I have to be able to wake up when the dreams come!"

"Shhh. Okay, okay."

"I wish things could be like they used to be." He fell back into the couch, his clenched fists on his legs. "When we were kids."

"Things can't ever be that way again. Not for us. Not for anybody."

"But wouldn't it be nice?" He gave her a pleading look. "If we could go back? Don't you ever wish you could turn back the clock?"

She thought of the horrible childhood he'd had, the poverty, the neglect. My God-he'd developed epilepsy due to head trauma caused by beatings from his alcoholic father. He'd finally found a bit of happiness when the court handed him over to his grandmother, but he'd come home one day to find her dead. After that, he was shoved from one foster home to another. What did it say about his current life if he wanted to return to that?

"You have to stop looking back," she told him. "You have to look forward now."

"I've tried, but there's nothing there." He shook his head in discouragement. "Just this dark hole, this pit waiting to swallow me. I want to go back to the time when you were my friend. I know you don't want to marry me. I've come to terms with that. I don't know why I ever thought you would. Sometimes I get these ideas. Games I play in my head. After a while, I begin to believe them. I know we won't get married. But I want you to be my friend again. My sister."

She wished she could tell him she would always be there for him, but she didn't want to hurt him any more than he'd been hurt already. Regardless of what he said, she was afraid that any kind of encouragement might get him going again, might lead to more delusional ideas.

His head fell forward. He caught himself, then straightened. Poor thing. He was exhausted.

She got up. "Gavin, come on." He couldn't stay there. "You have to go home." She pulled him to his feet and pushed him toward the door. Once there, he paused and turned. He reached for her, grasping her gently by one wrist.

"I love you."

The words hung between them.

She felt a little twist inside. She'd only wanted to help him. Instead, she'd ended up hurting him. "Don't say that."

"Why? I'm just telling you the truth. There's nothing wrong with the truth. My grandmother always said the truth will give you wings."

He let her go.

She watched him as he trudged toward his car, a solitary figure. When he was gone, she closed the door and blew out the candles. Then she went upstairs and sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the darkness.

It wasn't love-it was devotion, she argued with herself. Gavin Hitchcock was devoted to her. He'd been devoted to her ever since that day she'd rescued him from the bullies. She thought about how different things would be right now if they'd never met. If she hadn't taken the long way home on that particular day. Gavin had unwittingly played a pivotal role in their lives. It was strange, how one seemingly innocent connection could do so much damage. How one person, by his very existence, had forged the destinies of so many people.

Gillian had adored her sister. They'd been inseparable until Fiona Portman had come along. Then it was good-bye, Gillian. As the months stretched into a year, then two, Gillian's resentment toward Fiona grew. She hated her. She hated the way she laughed and tossed her hair around. She hated the way Fiona would give Gillian those sly, secretive looks that said she knew she'd come between sisters and was proud of it.

Sometimes Fiona would stay over. Whenever that happened, Gillian knew she was in for a night of torture and misery. Fiona would tell her scary stories, then slip into her room after the lights were out and make scratching noises under the bed, saying she was the hatchet man. As Gillian grew older, she distanced herself more and more from Fiona and Mary. She made her own friends. She had her navel pierced and got a couple of tattoos. She wore a lot of makeup and dressed in black.

During that time, she concentrated on giving Gavin a makeover. She helped him with his clothes and hair. She coached him. Pretty soon he was standing tall, looking people in the eye. At the mall, girls ogled him, giggling and flirting outrageously. For probably the first time in his miserable life, Gavin seemed happy.

Together he and Gillian would crash parties where nobody knew them. Girls tripped over one another trying to get to him first. He was "so cute" and "so cool."

One night they went to a party where kids were drinking and smoking pot. Fiona was there, stoned out of her mind. She spotted Gavin. When she hit on him, Gillian announced it was time to leave.

But Gavin didn't want to go. For the first time since they'd known each other, he refused to do what Gillian said. He stayed with Fiona, and probably made out with her in the upstairs bedroom. Gillian couldn't take it. She caught a bus and went home.

At school two days later, Gavin saw Fiona in the hallway and went up to her, his head high, his stride confident. She was standing with her clique, Mary included in the small, exalted group. Fiona brushed him off. He stood there smiling and talking to her, and the bitch just brushed him off. Acting as if he were invisible, she walked away.

Gavin's shoulders slumped. His head dropped.

Gillian wanted to attack Fiona the way she'd attacked the boys under the bridge, but this was Gavin's battle. She'd warned him about her, and he hadn't listened.

To her credit, Mary didn't follow Fiona. She stayed and apologized to Gavin. She made excuses for her friend. "I don't think she heard you," Mary told Gavin.

"Come on," Gillian said, knowing an argument was pointless. She took Gavin's arm. "Let's go."