by Leslie Wolfe
Maybe he’d fainted first, then shifted into sleep, because he couldn’t believe one could fall asleep under those circumstances, but he had, and he had dreamed of his mother. In his dream, she was angry and scolded him for the risks he’d taken, but she seemed to forgive him and had said that some buildings are worth any sacrifice to erect.
“I’m going to jail, Mother,” he cried in his dream. “Anna and the kids will be alone, broke, hungry, all because of me.”
“A firstborn daughter needs to be sacrificed,” his mother had replied, eerily calm about it. “Alive. Only then the foundation will hold strong, and the building will be finished. Her life will instill life into this building, and it will live, my son. It will live proudly for years to come.”
His dream rendered him restless, as it had turned into a nightmare. Still in his dream, he thought of the client’s only daughter, who was about to visit the site the next day. He made plans—how to grab her and sink her body into freshly poured concrete.
“I will choose your sacrifice,” Mother spoke, reading his mind. The image he knew so well shifted ever so slightly, becoming someone else, with drops of rain as her tears, lush green vines as hair, and the dark color of the bare ground after a deluge as her body. She smelled of wet soil, of stormy meadows, and freshly split ground, where water had driven a blade into the body of the earth. When she spoke again, her voice still resembled the one he’d known since he was born. “I will choose your sacrifice, and once I have spoken, you must deliver. The first woman who comes up this hill will be a first daughter and shall be the sacrifice I demand.”
In his dream, he breathed with ease. Carson’s daughter was the only woman who was supposed to visit the next day. Mother’s choice made sense; the sacrifice should be shared with the owner of the building, and in doing so, she would get to remain close to her loved ones even in death. A Sunday, when workers were off, and only he was going to be there.
“Now, go back and live, my son,” the woman in his dreams ordered, touching his face briefly with wet, cold, muddy fingers.
He jolted awake. Later that night, after he’d barely said a word to Anna, he went to bed eager to dream of his mother again or this new spirit she’d shifted into, to ask again if she really demanded of him to take a life. All he got was thunder, menacing and haunting.
The next day, the rain had eased somewhat, and he took that as a sign. Mother Earth, as he’d since named her, was idling her rage until he could deliver the sacrifice she demanded. Still fighting the thought of taking a life, he lifted the blue sheeting and inspected the new concrete poured on the northeast corner of the building. After all, it was just a dream; maybe the foundation was fine, and he’d be fine.
A large crack was beginning to advance, starting four yards from the corner on the north side, and spidering toward the east side. He put his foot on the edge, and it gave effortlessly under half his weight.
Right there, right then, in that split second as the corner piece fell crumbling off, he’d made up his mind. He’d give Mother what she was asking for. He had no other choice.
In a frenzy, he drove three of the concrete mixer trucks to get fresh loads and parked them nearby. He removed the blue sheeting and prepared the surface for another pour, forming the shape, getting everything ready for when Miss Carson would come to visit.
By the time he finished, two hours remained until their arrival. Exhausted and out of breath, he sat on the edge of the foundation, resting his head in his hands, staring at his feet and contemplating what he was about to do… the unthinkable.
When he finally looked up, he saw a woman climbing the hill on foot, bracing the wind and the rain in a white dress, her blonde hair soaked, sticking in long, clumped strands to her face. She waved at him and called his name.
Anna.
“No, no,” he shouted, looking at the sky, holding his fist up. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t!” he screamed, but only thunder replied. Then he tried to tell Anna to walk away, to turn around and leave. After all, she hadn’t reached the top of the hill yet, had she?
When Mr. Carson and his daughter arrived later that day, fresh concrete had been poured on the northeast corner of the foundation. The rain had stopped, and a patch of blue sky was visible toward the west, just a crack in the clouds, the foretelling of fine weather to come.
As for Avery, he stood in front of the building, soaked and muddy, listening to Nestor Carson’s praising words with an empty, haunted stare in his eyes.
50
Ray
Raymond Montgomery’s studio was in the Sunset District of San Francisco, and the afternoon rush hour took its toll despite the flashers and occasional bursts of siren. Some streets were so densely packed with vehicles there was no alternative but to wait, stuck, with the rest of the drivers.
The studio was set up tastefully in a townhouse, the colors of its frontage bright and unusual, pink and crimson and marble gray. It stood out somewhat, although most of the houses on that street competed for the best original exterior. The fog was already dense, rolling onto the streets like solid clumps of clouds with zero altitude, but the cheerful houses counteracted the gloominess of that persistent, salty-tasting ocean fog.
Elliot climbed the flight of stairs that led to the entrance and was about to ring the bell when the door opened. A young woman, dressed in a transparent top and what had to be the tiniest skirt he’d ever seen, flashed a dazzling smile his way and wrapped her scrawny arms around his neck, thrusting her pelvis forward.
“Well, hello, Texas,” she whispered, so close to his face he felt her breath on his lips and smelled the fruity scent of her lip gloss.
He pushed her away firmly then held his badge in front of her eyes. “I should charge you with assault of an officer,” he said, not a trace of humor in his voice. Somehow, instead of feeling flattered or perhaps even excited, the interaction had made him feel used, worthless.
He shook it off and grinned as he watched the young woman clack her heels in a rush to get away from him, climbing down those stairs faster than a scalded cat.
“You know, some people would pay some serious dough to trade places with you,” a man said, amusement sparkling in his voice. “That was Janessa, next month’s Vogue cover girl.”
Elliot shrugged. “Not what I came here to do. You’re Raymond Montgomery, right?” he asked, recognizing the man from his DMV photo. “I’m Detective Young with the Mount Chester Sheriff’s Office.”
“Ah,” the man reacted. A cloud of worry and sadness washed over his face as he stepped aside, inviting Elliot in.
Tall and well-built like his brothers, Ray had the aura of success, that self-confidence that accompanies people when they have reached their goals and are enjoying their lives, doing what has meaning to them and brings happiness to their existence. Head held up high, an expression of calm, a warm smile on his lips. Expensive clothes but not flashy, just a knit button-down causal shirt in navy blue, and gray slacks that looked new, as did his plain, white sneakers.
That entire aura of enjoyment and self-confidence waned the moment Elliot mentioned Mount Chester.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” He closed the door behind Elliot and locked it with one smooth move, grabbing the deadbolt to push the door closed. The neighborhood must’ve dictated his behavior. “Here, take a seat, please.” He led Elliot to a group of tastefully arranged armchairs around a small coffee table. The smell of new leather and expensive air fresheners filled the room.
The studio was large, set up in what had to be the living room. The walls were white, the occasional framed photograph tastefully hung.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” he asked with a hint of a smile that seemed forced, quivering, as if an unspoken fear was hiding behind it.
“There’s a girl missing from Mount Chester. Your niece, Julie Montgomery.”
A frown creased his forehead. “Cheryl’s daughter?”
Elliot nodded.
Ray lowered his gaz
e for a moment, as if considering what he was about to say. Then he looked at Elliot with a neutral expression on his face. “I haven’t heard from her, I’m afraid. You might’ve learned already, I’m no longer in contact with my family.” He briefly looked down again, shifting in his seat. “I’m afraid you wasted a trip coming down here, Detective.” He crossed his legs, bringing his left ankle over his right knee, his relaxed posture seeming artificial, well-rehearsed.
“I believe you know more than you’re saying, Mr. Montgomery,” said Elliot, his voice a somber warning. “A young girl’s life is at stake. Anything you can tell us could help save her life.” He paused for a beat. “Anything you choose to withhold could land you in jail. Before you decide what happens next, weigh the implications carefully.”
Ray’s shoulders tightened and his relaxed demeanor turned into a wary, tense one. “How did she vanish?” he asked with the slightest tremble in his voice.
Jackpot. “That’s precisely the right question to ask, Mr. Montgomery,” Elliot replied. “She was taken from her home, after Cheryl was killed, fending off the attacker.”
“Oh,” he reacted, taken aback. “I had no idea Cheryl was—um, when did it happen?”
“This past Monday night.” Elliot watched the man’s reactions carefully. For some reason, when he’d mentioned Monday, Ray shot a quick glance to the window, where fog was sliced and diced by a cold drizzle, nowhere near as fierce or wind driven as the torrential rains battering Mount Chester. “I’m afraid the bad news doesn’t stop here. Your brother, Dan Montgomery, was shot last Saturday.”
“What?” He stood and started to pace the room, as if the answer lay somewhere with those walls. “Dan too?” There wasn’t much grief written on his face, only shock, and a lot more of the fear Elliot had spotted earlier, dilating his pupils and drawing ridges across his forehead.
“I take it no one called you, Mr. Montgomery?”
“Please,” he snapped, “call me Ray. Mr. Montgomery is my father.” He spat the word out, as if saying it burned his lips.
“Ray,” Elliot acknowledged. “What aren’t you telling me?” He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. But Ray continued to pace the room, a storm going on inside, scrunching his features at times, as if he were arguing with someone in his mind, maybe with himself. “Why does someone leave the family business behind and never look back? Not to mention brothers, nieces, and nephews?”
He froze in place and shoved his hands deep in his pants pockets, looking at Elliot as if he were weighing the detective, figuring out if he could be trusted. Then he sighed, the deep breath making his chest heave as if crushed under unspoken burdens. “All right, I’ll tell you. Maybe the time has come.” He bit his lip, still hesitating, but Elliot didn’t press him in any way, although he was painfully aware of every minute that passed by. “I chose to steer clear of what I would call shared delusions.”
That word again. “What do you mean?”
He scoffed bitterly. “Julie… you’re never going to see her again.” He shrugged then crossed his arms at his chest. “If you got so far as to ask me questions about her, then you know. None of them ever came back.”
Elliot shook his head. “I don’t know. That’s precisely why I’m here. I’m hoping you can tell me what others won’t or can’t.” He held Ray’s gaze honestly.
As if he’d just aged by twenty years, Ray walked over to the armchair and sat, his posture tense, his shoulders hunched forward. “By the time I finished college, a few girls had gone missing from the area. People talked about a curse, about the spirits of the valley, but I never believed that kind of crap.” He chuckled with sadness and shame in his voice, his eyes riveted on the gleaming hardwood floor. “I just chose to walk away.”
“What were you suspecting?” Elliot asked, but Ray didn’t reply, seeming lost in difficult memories. “What did you walk away from?” he added after a long silence.
Ray shot him a glance brimming with sadness. “My father had something to do with it… maybe.” He clasped and unclasped his hands, nervous, unsettled. “I never dared to face this, to confront him, to expose him, afraid I’d be pointing my finger at a man who’d done his best to raise me well, at least by his standards and beliefs.” He pressed his lips together into a tight line. “How can nothing more than a suspicion justify setting the cops on a good parent, the only one you have left?” He clasped his hands again. “I just walked away and never looked back, praying that my suspicions were wrong, and that I was doing the right thing by keeping my mouth shut.” A sad smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “He never forgave me for leaving. For deserting him.”
“That’s it?” Elliot’s tone carried clear undertones of incredulousness. “You never had more than a hunch that something was off with your family? No hard evidence?”
He covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head. “No, I had nothing, but I was too much of a coward to find out.”
Elliot waited a moment, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t. “How’s that?”
“My father is a very stubborn man, who thrives on controlling everyone’s destinies.” He looked at Elliot, seeming embarrassed of what he was about to say. “He never cared I hated construction, and I wanted to do something else with my life. He still had me go to college and study civil engineering, under the dire threat of cutting me off from everything: family, money, even the house.”
“He would’ve kicked you out of the house if you chose another career?”
Ray nodded, the look of embarrassment still lingering on his face. “No one disobeys my father. I was young and had no means. It took me four years of utter misery to understand I’d be better off waiting on tables in San Francisco than living with my father and doing what he wanted.”
“When did you leave Mount Chester?”
Ray’s jaw clenched, as if anger had stirred up inside him. “Soon after I finished college, my father and my brothers started talking about my initiation into the family business—some sort of ritual I never understood, and they never bothered to explain. It just seemed to come from the same shared delusion I was talking about. I never wanted to participate in that, although both my brothers had.” He veered his eyes sideways for a while, as if trying to remember. “You see, it made no sense, that ritual, because I was already working for the family business. My father said he was adamant about me going through initiation, but he kept pushing it off.”
“Why?”
Ray made a quick, waving gesture with his hand near his temple. “Some kind of craziness, that much I know. He said, because of weather.” Ray scoffed again. “If you can imagine, it had to take place during a severe thunderstorm.”
Silence filled the air between them, loaded with unspoken words. Crazy or delusional, it was starting to add up somehow, and all leads pointed toward Avery. Even with his rock-solid alibi, he seemed to be at the center of this case.
Ray stood and folded his arms at his chest. The interview was over, but the sadness and shame in his eyes remained. “I hope you’ll find Julie unharmed, and when you do, I hope you’ll find that my worst fears were nothing but my share of the mass delusions haunting Mount Chester. Otherwise, I’m just as much to blame as he is, for not speaking up sooner.” He looked one more time at Elliot with a strange force in his gaze, as if he’d reached a decision. “For that, there’s no forgiveness.”
But Elliot was already at the door, eager to warn Kay. Last they spoke, she was on her way to pay Avery a visit at the company headquarters, but that had been in the morning. Since then, not a peep from her.
Once behind the wheel, he stepped on the gas pedal and made for the nearest highway ramp, flashers on and siren blasting.
No matter how many times he kept redialing Kay’s number, she wasn’t picking up.
51
Victor
Kay’s phone rang again, buried in her pocket. Elliot’s cheerful ringtone enraged Avery, who ran his hands through his hair nervously, as if he were ab
out to pull it from his head. “Enough with this shit already! I need to think.”
Unflinching, she held Avery’s fiery gaze and smiled. “They’ll never stop looking for me.”
Victor cursed, slapping his hand against his thigh in a gesture of frustration, as if to say, “Didn’t I tell you so?”
Mitchell shot his nephew a disgusted look and approached Kay quickly. Plunging his hand into her pocket, he retrieved the offending piece of technology and threw it on the stained, wooden floor, then stomped on it with the heel of his steel toe boot.
The sound of rain was the only thing she heard for a moment, louder than the painful throbbing in her head and the constant ringing in her left ear. Still smiling, she continued to stare at Avery, not paying any attention to the other two men.
“You know I’m a cop, right?”
Avery didn’t reply. His only reaction was to run his arthritic fingers through his hair again and groan. “If you’d only shut up already.” He raised his hand as if he were about to slap her across the face, but she continued to look straight at him, unyielding.
“She was your first sacrifice, wasn’t she?” she stated, almost whispering. “She broke your heart when she died, but you had to do it, didn’t you?” His pupils dilated and tears shone in his bloodshot eyes. She was on the right track. “It’s what she wants, isn’t it?” His mouth ajar, he stared at her, his hand slowly descending, as if he were in a trance. “She wants me too, doesn’t she? Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” she added, using everything she’d overheard earlier to get his focus on her.