by L. T. Ryan
The dream was one she’d had several times. After the first few instances, she came to realize it was a harbinger that always started the same way with the moss and the void. Someone communicated with her this way, though she wasn’t sure who it was. It was after this moment that things changed.
Just let go.
She spread her fingers wide and let the moss unravel. It clung to her skin as it did so. Cassie breathed in the blackness as she descended through the void. Thirty seconds passed. The light began to filter in. She was near the end. Almost at the place where the message, if there was one, would be revealed. What was it last time? She struggled to remember. While she recognized the beginning of the dream rather quickly, the endings always faded.
She braced for an impending collision with a roof. Would she gain entry this time? The question was answered a few seconds later. She hit the bed and bounced three feet in the air before settling onto the mattress again. The walls and ceiling were coated thick with blood. It dripped like rain off of leaves. She leaned over and stared at the pool of crimson on the floor. Every drop from the ceiling splashed and sent out a wake. Small waves crashed against each other.
The room seemed familiar. Cassie realized where she was when she saw a flash of Alice’s face.
“Speak to me, Alice,” she said. “Tell me who did this.”
The center of the room started to spin, forming a whirlpool. It widened by a foot every ten seconds. The bed broke free and started to swirl. Cassie leaned over and saw the black void again. She’d never gone through twice before. Where would it lead? Panic set in. What if she went through and never came back? What if she was accosted by spirits she had never encountered before?
An arm reached through the ceiling and extended toward her. It was a man’s arm with thick muscles covered in a layer of hair. The scarred knuckles gave her reason to pause. But as the front of the bed tipped forward, she reached out and grasped the hand.
A layer of blood coated her as she was pulled through the ceiling into the night sky. The tree loomed larger than ever, every inch of its branches covered in Spanish moss that twisted in gale-forced winds. A face appeared. A face she knew all too well.
Novak smiled at her.
“Welcome back, Cassie.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He watched the mixture of dried blood and dirt swirl around the sink basin before it slipped into the drain. Streaks that looked like Georgia clay clung to the porcelain. It hadn’t been his intention to dig a grave in the middle of the night. If she hadn’t pushed him, he wouldn’t have killed the other woman. Wouldn’t have had his way with her before slitting her throat in front of Alice, holding the woman upright as her blood sprayed across the cell. It coated the wall, floor, and yes, even Alice.
These things happen, he reminded himself. And, perhaps it was a blessing. After all, he only had so much room in his cellar and another visitor would be coming soon. Expansion was not in the cards right now. No, his time at the penitentiary saw to that.
He wasn’t keen on returning to his shack outside the city. What if he’d been on the news? Would the neighbors have reported him? Hell, how many had even seen him or could recount what he looked like? It wasn’t like he had been there long. Few, if any, knew him. And if he knew who those few were, he’d kill them, too. They wouldn’t get the benefit of an extended stay in his cellar, either.
After washing up, he changed into fresh clothes. He thought it would be a good idea to pack a few pairs of jeans and shirts since he’d been wearing the same ones for two weeks and now they were ruined. There just wasn’t time to get away as often as he’d like anymore. He stuffed the blood-covered clothing into a trash bag and carried it out with him. A light dash of pink littered the eastern sky as he left the small house. Sunrise was still an hour off. Plenty of time to get away from the streetlights and the watchful eye of the city.
He tossed his bag into the passenger seat of his truck, then climbed in behind the wheel. He kept the lights off as he backed down the dirt driveway, not that it made a difference. The truck rumbled something fierce, and was sure to arouse the suspicion of anyone who was awake. Perhaps it was time to look for a new vehicle.
Ten minutes down the road he stopped for gas and coffee. Figured it was the best time of the day to do so. The clerk would have been on shift since eleven or so at night. By this point, they’d be over it and ready to go home. They wouldn’t remember him if their jobs depended on it. It was the beard. Helped him blend into the background.
He spotted a stack of newspapers next to the register. It had been a while since he caught up on current events, and who knew when he’d be in a store again.
He stepped out into the fresh morning air. It was a beautiful time of day. He missed it greatly while locked up. He tucked his chin to his chest and looked away while blue strobes sped past. It was obvious they weren’t there for him, but why tempt fate?
He pulled the driver’s door open and tossed the newspaper onto the passenger seat. The guts spilled out. He cursed at the mess. After securing the cardboard mug in the cup holder, he reached over and began scooping up the loose insides.
And then he froze at the sight of the photo on page B1. The cabin light dimmed off. He reached up and tried to switch it on, but it didn’t work.
“Dammit.”
He shifted into reverse and backed into an empty spot in the gas bay. The overhead lights provided some illumination, but not enough, so he rolled down his window and hauled the paper over, shoving it through the opening. His arms and head followed. The wind rustled the paper. He stretched it wide to get a good look. His heart jumped at the sight of the house he had been in a few weeks ago. His stay had been short, but had created a devastating impact. Three dead women, and a fourth still in his custody. The only one in his custody, as a matter of fact. But he could see that changing soon.
Because she was there.
“Oh, my dear sweet woman,” he whispered amid a spreading smile.
He scanned through the article until he came upon her name. He had never known it. They had falsified her identity in court for her protection. They wouldn’t even let him see pictures of her face. All he had to go by were the images from that moonlit night so long ago.
“Cassie,” he said.
“What?” There was a man holding a credit card and wearing a red ball cap and a blue puffer vest on the other side of the pump.
“Nothing.” He retreated into the cabin, rolled up the windows and pulled away from the gas station. Driving with the paper in one hand, the wheel in the other, his stare traveled back and forth between the road and the photo.
“My sweet Cassie, what were you doing at that house? I thought you were gone. They told me you were gone, removed, in witness protection. They were going to kill me because I almost killed you! You bitch. I bet you think I deserved that, don’t you?”
He knew it was a lie to blame only her. He had killed many women. Far more than the six he confessed and eventually led detectives to. Perhaps they were wise to lie about her. If he’d known, she would have been the first he visited after escaping instead of picking those random women the night of the storm.
“I have to know where you are, Cassie.”
He pulled over at a twenty-four-hour pharmacy where he purchased a throwaway cell phone. He couldn’t make the call without one. At one time, he’d have used a pay phone. Good luck finding one now, though.
The line rang seven times before cutting to voicemail. He hung up, called again. It rang seven times more. He tried again. This time an out-of-breath man answered.
“Who is this?” the guy said.
“It’s me.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “Why are you calling me?”
“Don’t worry, my friend. This line is clean. Just bought it and I’ll run over it as soon as we hang up.”
“What do you want?”
“Page B1.”
The guy exhaled heavily into the speaker. “What?�
��
“The paper, you idiot. The woman on page B1. Her name is in the article. Tell me where she lives.”
“Uh, okay, hold on.”
He waited, listening to the man fumbling around. The distinct click-clack of a computer keyboard filled the ear piece.
“I’m gonna have to get back to you,” the guy said.
“Christ. Well, if you find something, you know how to reach me.”
“You got—”
He ended the call, then powered off the phone. After it shut down, he stripped the battery and tossed it into a trashcan. The phone wedged nicely underneath the front tire. He rolled over it in reverse, then forward, repeating the process three times. Backing away for good, he stopped, got out, and inspected the cell.
“Digital pancake.”
Light filled the eastern sky as he continued out of town. Cool wind rushed in through the open windows. Wouldn’t be long before the unseasonable heat took over. Thank goodness the cellar remained a steady temperature year round, but the old house offered no protection from the hot and cold. It was all he had, though, if he wanted to maintain his anonymity. The other place was no good anymore.
The newspaper rustled on the seat next to him. He looked over and was met with her stare.
“Cassie, Cassie,” he said. “Where are you now?”
And at that moment, he had the irresistible urge to return to the crime scene.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I managed to get up in time for breakfast, and since I didn’t have anything planned this morning, I took the old woman up on it. She called me inside before I rapped on the screen door. The whole place smelled like bacon and butter. I followed the aroma until I found the dining room. She had the paper laid out on the table next to a steaming mug of coffee.
She poked her head in the room. “Have a seat, Mr. Tanner. Your eggs will be ready in about three minutes.”
I sat and flipped open the paper, scanning the pages, reading the headlines, and looking at the pictures. Little caught my interest. Maybe that’d change when I reached the sports section. It felt odd relying on the paper for information. Almost retro. I had it all at my fingertips with my phone, why waste time flipping pages?
And then I saw it. “Oh, shit.”
“What is it?” she said from the kitchen.
“Shit,” I said.
“Mr. Tanner,” she said, standing in the case opening. “I’ll not entertain that kind of language in my home.”
“Yeah, uh, sorry, ma’am. I apologize, but I have to go.”
I clenched the paper tight and ran through the house. She chased after me, hobbled steps echoing in time with mine.
“Mr. Tanner,” she yelled. “My newspaper!”
I was in the car by the time she hit the landing at the top of the concrete steps. The engine drowned out her calls.
I rolled the window down, said, “I’ll bring it back in a little bit. I have to go check on something important.”
Racing down the city streets, I hoped to get pulled over. I didn’t have Pennington’s number, and doubted the operator would patch me through to him. Maybe a patrol car could reach out to him for me. Then I could rip him over this.
How the hell did we end up in the paper?
How could they let Cassie’s picture be shown, given the circumstances?
A killer on the loose, and they reveal she’s helping to investigate. If the psychopath saw that, he might track her down and take her out, too.
I pulled into her driveway, left the car running, and sprinted to her door. Didn’t bother knocking. It was unlocked. I ran to her room, shouting her name along the way. The door was open. A soft light illuminated the space. The smell of coffee, strong and thick, greeted me in the entry foyer. I raced into her bedroom. The bed had been made and an outfit laid out on the comforter. I looked around for the shorts and t-shirt she had on the night before. They were nowhere to be found. And neither was she. I checked the bathroom and kitchen, found both empty. Her car was missing from the garage.
“Cassie, where are you?” I checked the counters, fridge, and tables for any scraps of paper containing a note or phone number. Anything that might indicate why she had left without notice. The investigation turned up nothing.
Where could she have gone so early? Maybe Pennington and Cervantes uncovered another suspect, or managed to break Seth, and called her in. She would’ve called me though, right?
I pulled out my cell. There were no texts or voicemails. The only missed call was from Sam, and I didn’t have time to deal with that.
“Think logically,” I told myself.
The best answer was that she had been called into the precinct for her protection. That’s where I had to go next.
Chapter Thirty
“I’m sorry, dear,” the old woman said. “Mr. Tanner took off like a headless chicken this morning. One minute, he’s sitting at the table drinking coffee, and the next he’s stomping through my house with my newspaper. He didn’t take a bite of bacon or wait for his eggs. Who does that?”
“Your newspaper?” Cassie said. “Why the paper?”
“I don’t know. I thought all you young’uns used those cellular things for your news these days. Why else is everyone’s face buried in them all day long?” She pointed at the square across the street. There were a handful of folks sitting on the benches, all of them staring at their phones.
Cassie smiled. “Let him know I came by. Okay?”
“Will do, dear.” The old woman pulled the door shut, but stopped short. “You’re the lady friend he’s spending so much time with, right?”
Cassie looked back and nodded.
“He’s got good taste. You tell him I said that.” She winked before retreating back into her house.
Cassie had wanted Mitch to ride over to the crime scene with her. The dream had left her with more questions than answers, and the only place she might find them was at that house, in Alice’s room. It hadn’t been the first time she’d dreamed of Novak, but it was the first time he’d touched her. The dream was often a harbinger of sorts, though she never knew exactly what for. She could only hope she’d now receive the message she had been waiting for. Only question was, which message was in store for her?
Her focus and energy had been on Mitch last night. He needed her help. Likewise, the case absorbed much of her energy. It had to be related to one of the two. Dragging Mitch to the crime scene was her best option at figuring it out. But since that wasn’t in the plans, she had to move forward.
Cassie walked the half-block to her car, passing the small cafe. She glanced inside and saw two large bookcases full of used books for sale. She made a mental note to return there some day. Might find a good read, or a tortured soul who needed her help. It took a little over ten minutes to reach the girls’ house. She drove past, sweeping the street for any of the onlookers who had tried to accost her with questions. It would be inviting trouble to park in front of the house, so instead she made two rights and pulled to the curb in front of an empty lot on the next block.
No one noticed as she cut between the two houses that backed up to her destination. The grass was wet with dew, shining in the morning sun. The dampness penetrated her shoes. Her toes grew cold. She climbed the chain link fence. Her hand slipped off the slick railing. She came down awkwardly on her right leg and turned her ankle. She stifled a pained yell, gritting her teeth hard.
“Dammit,” she muttered as she rose to her feet, more aggravated at having possibly drawn attention to herself than at the injury. She extended her leg and rolled her foot in a circle. The pain wasn’t blinding. It was only a strain. She limped across the yard as fast as her injury would allow her, sidestepping the screen door the detectives had broken from the hinges. At the back door, she glanced over her shoulder to see if she’d been spotted. Windows remained blank. Curtains didn’t rustle. She was in the clear. In their haste the day before, no one had locked up.
“Easy, peasy,” she muttered as she pul
led the door open.
Mindful of the bloodstains, she crossed the floor to the hallway, then continued to the end. The air was still with a hint of fragrance. A visitor? From which realm? She stood outside of Alice’s room, staring through the opening, recounting what had happened the day before.
What if he was in there now?
Impossible. Seth had been taken into custody, and Pennington and Cervantes found enough probable cause in his statements that they had detained him. He’d be locked up for at least forty-eight hours.
She inched into the room, one hand on the wall, the other reaching out, ready to defend herself should something materialize in front of her. It was quiet and empty, and about fifteen degrees warmer than outside. Had it been that hot the previous two visits? The events were so intense in her memory that she could not recall what it had physically felt like in the room.
Cassie sat on the stool in front of Alice’s vanity. There were a dozen or so pictures tucked into the mirror’s frame. Most had Alice in them. Some were of her and her roommates. Her and a few different guys. A family photo from when the girl was fourteen or fifteen. She wore too much makeup to compensate for her youth back then. Her parents were older than Cassie would have expected. If the others in the photo were Alice’s siblings, they had at least ten years on her.
Cassie grabbed a brush off the vanity and clenched it with both hands.
“Talk to me.”
Chapter Thirty-One
I parked across from the precinct’s entrance. Cassie might be able to get in through the back door, but I would not be afforded that luxury. And I’m sure if Cervantes saw me try, he’d have me locked up for trespassing. Once inside, I headed straight for the reception desk and asked for either detective. The cop there barely acknowledged me. Didn’t even ask what this was about. He picked up a phone, punched in a code, and told whoever answered that they were needed out front.