During the day Rachel was given freedom to roam around designated areas of the mental institution. The most popular place, of course, was the social lounge. She avoided that place like the plague, though. She didn't like to be anywhere near a television. Most of the time she spent in her room or wandered the halls. She liked to walk up and down each one, especially the one that led to the gate that held her captive. She longed to be free.

It was Sunday and Rachel had nothing to do all day. Dr. Culver never had a session on Sunday. Rachel was thankful for that. She found the sessions tiring. It was always the same thing, the same questions over and over again. No questions today, she thought with a subtle smile.

Rachel spent most of the morning by the window, watching the gentle rain that fell in the courtyard below. She liked the way the rain rippled across the water when it fell into the puddles. All her fears and doubts melted away as she became mesmerized by this liquid ballet. She wanted to cast the bars on the window aside and play in the rain like a child. She wanted to stare up at the open sky and feel raindrops dance across her face. With her eyes closed, she tried to imagine this sensation.

"Mommy, what's that?"

Rachel's eyes sprang open to find Aidan at her feet. She smiled. She was so glad to see her little boy again.

"What's what, honey?" she asked.

"That?" Aidan pointed at what looked like a large rock on the shoreline.

"I don't know. Let's go check it out," she said and took Aidan by the hand.

The closer they got to the rock, Rachel discovered that it wasn't just one large rock but a bunch of smaller rocks all stacked on top on each other. It was a well.

"What is it, mommy?"

Rachel froze. The voice that asked that question no longer sounded like her sweet, little boy. She slowly turned her head to see who it was. It was Samara. Rachel immediately released Samara's hand and retreated from her. She slipped on the wet sand and fell to the ground but continued to retreat until her back was against the base of the well.

"What is it, mommy?" Samara repeated and then smiled at Rachel.

It wasn't the wet, dirty, scary Samara that had stood at the foot of Rachel's bed the other night. It was the sweet looking, little, abused Samara that Rachel had saved from the well.

"Samara?" Rachel said, confused.

"He's coming," Samara said and then pointed out to sea.

Rachel watched as the ocean dried up, leaving only desert, and out of the desert a tall, dark solitary figure approached. In his wake, Rachel saw the desert turning to glass behind him.

"Who is it, Samara? Who's coming?"

"Daddy," she answered with a smile.

The figure was soon upon them. Rachel could not see his face because the sun was directly behind him. All she could see was a dark figure surrounded by light. The figure stretched out its hand to grab her. She closed her eyes in fear for she knew that his touch meant death. And when she felt his cold grip upon her shoulder, she screamed.

The orderly jumped back from Rachel and prepared to pounce.

"No, please, wait," Rachel pleaded, realizing what had happened. "You just scared me. That's all."

The orderly relaxed and said, "It's time for your medication."

Immersed in thought, Rachel followed him. "He's coming," Samara had said. How could her father be coming? He was dead. Rachel knew this for a fact. She was there when Richard Morgan committed suicide. She had also been questioned about his death. She had been questioned about many deaths for that matter. So how could Richard Morgan be coming? Rachel shuddered at the idea. The events of the past year had taught her that anything was possible.