The Pact

holy mess,” she said. Chris felt a sharp prick near his forehead, which had him arcing against his restraints and floating back to the soft, warm hands of a nurse

his sneaker on the floor. “I wouldn’t put it past them,” he said. “The whole point is to lock me away, right? To keep me from

Dr. Emanuel Feinstein was not the old geezer he’d conjured up in his head based on that name, but a guy who would have looked just as comfortable hauling wood as a lumberjack or manning an oil rig.