CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A quiet tapping woke Ilse, and she blearily lifted her head from the lumpy hotel pillow. She winced, blinking against the light streaming through the window which she'd left cracked. Something about completely closed windows, especially in unfamiliar places, made it difficult to fall asleep.
The small doll rested at the foot of the bed where it appeared like she'd thrown it sometime in the night. The tapping sound returned, increasing in frequency, followed by a quickly muttered voice from out in the hall. Slowly, Ilse lifted her head from the pillow, throwing her bare feet over the edge of the mattress.
The tapping grew even louder, more urgent. She frowned, reaching quickly for her shirt, which she'd left draped over the bedside lamp. Her pants were on the other side
