by T. R. Ragan
“She didn’t want your father to know that she was on to him. She knew you were suffering, and she wanted to help, but she was dead within weeks of visiting your home.”
Chills swept up Zee’s spine as she watched Scar’s expression change. He’s gone from slightly deranged to full-blown cray-cray. His face was red, eyes bulging, the muscles in his neck thick like corded rope.
“You’re a liar!” he shouted.
“It’s true,” Natalie said. “She was worried about you. Your name is Forrest Bloom. I only know that because you’re all she talked about. Years later, I looked you up and saw that you were enrolled in college and doing well.”
“After your mother left,” he said, his voice an octave higher than before, “Dad made my mother homeschool me so I would no longer have contact with the outside world.” His hands trembled. “Do you have any idea what my life was like after your mother left me to rot in hell?”
Nobody said a word.
“Dad liked to pull my teeth out with pliers just for fun, just because he could. If I wet my bed, he put me in a box outside, kept me there for days. He enjoyed throwing darts at my mom and me. He made me do unspeakable things. My own grandmother purposely starved herself so she wouldn’t have to watch us all suffer. I would have done the same if I could have found the courage to leave my mom alone with the bastard. He did all of these things to me because he enjoyed it. So, no,” he said, calmly now, “I was never doing well. I was never fine. My mom filled out applications and begged me to go to college after I was accepted.” His jaw hardened. “When I found out my mother passed away, I left school early so I could return home and take care of some unfinished business.”
Natalie lifted her chin a notch. “So now you spend your days hurting others just as your father hurt you?”
He smiled, a wicked smile that silenced all the voices inside Zee’s head.
“By George, I think you’ve got it!” he said, startling Zee. He turned the nozzle and sprayed Natalie again, forcing her to turn away. When he shut the hose off, Zee watched the excess water circle the drain in Natalie’s cell and disappear. A tiny stream of water trickled into her cell. She dropped to the ground and began to lap it up with her tongue.
“Is that tasty, Zee?”
She ignored him.
“I have something for you, too,” he said, which made Zee look over at him. He was holding a small box. Her stomach growled. She was starving.
He stood next to her door, close enough for her to reach out and touch him.
“Come and get it,” he said.
He likes you. It’s food! Reach through the bars and get it! Hurry before he feeds it to the bitch in the other cell!
She was confused, wasn’t sure what to do. She stood, then looked over at Natalie, who very subtly shook her head. She’s a smart lady, another voice warned. Don’t go over there.
You’re an idiot! She wants the food for herself. Go get it before that lady eats it all!
Zee walked over to him, her body pressed against metal as she reached through the bars and wiggled her fingers. “Give it to me,” she said. “I’m hungry.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Don’t be an ass.”
He pulled off the lid, raised the box high in the air, and then slammed the open end of the box against the metal bars above her head so that the contents spilled out over her. Tiny little legs skittered through her hair, down her face and neck. They were everywhere.
Terror froze her in place.
Spiders.
He knew she hated spiders. He knew her worst fear, and he was using it against her. There was one crawling inside her ear. The tiny creepy crawlers tickled her flesh as they worked their way into her shirt.
Move, you idiot! Walk. Dance. Hop. Jump up and down! Do something!
Her feet wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t move a muscle. She didn’t make a sound, either, not even when a spider darted into her mouth.
The monster laughed, guffawed as if he’d never seen anything so hilarious. His face changed again right before her eyes. He was suddenly one of the circus clowns she’d passed on her way there. Tufts of red, wiry hair above his ears vibrated with laughter. His mouth was wide-open, his brown-stained teeth pointy and revolting. Like most clowns, he had a red ball for a nose. It cracked and fell off. Blood oozed from both nostrils, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He wouldn’t stop laughing.
The howling wolf man began shrieking and beating his fists against the wall closest to her. She wondered if he was laughing at her, too, or if he just wanted out.
Before today Zee had thought she knew crazy better than most. But this guy, Forrest Bloom, or whoever he was, gave crazy a whole new meaning.
THIRTY-ONE
Jessie had returned from the hospital fifteen minutes ago. After being interrogated by Olivia about what had happened during the attack, Jessie had escaped to the bathroom.
As she washed her hands, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her right eye was puffy and shaded with a half-moon of grayish black. She’d needed nine stitches under the left side of her chin. Gauze and tape covered her wound. The doctor had told her she’d been lucky. If the cut had been any deeper, she could have suffered nerve damage, or worse.
Before she’d run into Colin, she’d been in shock. Seeing all that blood had made her dizzy, barely able to walk. If she closed her eyes, she could see her attacker. Average height and build. No identifying tattoos or marks. He had expressive eyes. Angry eyes.
When she walked out of the bathroom, Colin was exiting the kitchen carrying a bowl of soup that he’d warmed up in the microwave. He set it next to the hot tea waiting for her on the table in front of the couch.
Olivia stood off to the side, a worried look on her face. Colin was watching her, too, but neither of them said a word.
“I’m okay,” Jessie said. “You both know how I get when I see blood. That’s the only reason I passed out. It got to me, but I’m fine now. You can both relax.”
“I’m not worried about you passing out,” Olivia said. “You were attacked a few blocks from here!”
Jessie’s gaze fell on Higgins. He was lying beneath the window and hadn’t stirred. “You can thank Higgins for saving my life,” she said. “Higgins went right for the man’s arm, the one holding the knife, and he wouldn’t let go.”
“He’s a good dog,” Olivia agreed. “I gave him extra treats. He’s worn-out, but I think he’s okay.” Olivia crossed her arms. “Now stop trying to change the subject.”
“Eat something,” Colin cut in, nudging Jessie along until she took a seat and ate a spoonful of chicken soup.
Olivia couldn’t let it go. She came around the other side of the couch, took a seat next to her, and read from her notebook. “You said your attacker was Caucasian, midthirties, intense blue eyes, and he had a bite out of his right ear.”
Jessie swallowed another spoonful of soup. She was hungrier than she’d thought.
“Do you think the attack has anything to do with your missing person investigation?” Olivia asked next.
“I doubt it. Arlo and Zee live in Woodland, twenty minutes away,” Jessie reminded her. She’d filled Colin in on the way home, told him all about the report Olivia was doing on Sherlock Holmes and how she suddenly had a newfound passion for investigative work. “Besides,” Jessie went on, “Zee’s case isn’t high profile, and she’s run away before.”
“So?”
“So, it’s highly unlikely anyone would know or care if I was helping Arlo Gatley search for his daughter. I think there’s a good chance that without her medication, Zee got confused and is now lost or staying with a friend.”
Olivia frowned. “If you really believe that, then why did we blow up that picture and take it door-to-door?”
“Because I was hoping someone would recognize the man in the picture. Maybe Zee is staying with him but doesn’t want her father to know, for whatever reason.”
“You two should talk about this later, after Jess
ie has eaten and gotten some rest,” Colin said.
“You don’t need to mother me,” Jessie told him.
“Agree to disagree,” he said.
When Jessie saw the scowl on Olivia’s face, she set her spoon down and said, “Listen, you’re right. It’s perfectly reasonable for you to deduce that I was being followed by someone connected to a case I’m working on.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said, looking smug.
“But,” Jessie continued, “if the attack was not connected to Zee, then maybe it had something to do with Parker Koontz.” Jessie thought about what Adelind Rain had told her about the call she’d received in the middle of the night. The nurse at the hospital had assured Jessie that Koontz was in a coma. Following that path, if it was true that the attack was connected to Koontz, then that would mean someone else was making phone calls and possibly wanted her out of the picture completely.
But who?
David Roche’s name popped into her head, but she knew that wasn’t fair. She had no evidence whatsoever that he would want to do her physical harm. She didn’t like him, but that didn’t make him evil.
The ring of Colin’s phone brought all thoughts and conversation to a halt. When Colin disconnected the call, Jessie could tell by the concerned expression that something was going on. “What happened?”
“Andriana,” he said. “An armed man broke into her house, tied her up, and then ransacked her home.”
“Is she okay?” Jessie asked, her mind swirling with speculation.
“She’s shook up. She’ll be fine. I’m going to head over there now.”
Jessie started to stand up.
Colin pointed a finger at her and gave her one of his looks. “Don’t even think about it.”
Ben stood on the dirt road, looking down over the edge of the same steep slope where first responders had found him unconscious ten years ago. According to the police report, the weather had been extraordinarily warm then, as it was now. Ben had escaped the burning vehicle, but not before suffering third-degree burns over more than half his body. He’d also ended up with broken ribs, multiple fractures in his foot and legs, and a traumatic brain injury.
Beyond the hill was a steep embankment, a ravine full of trees with lots of dry, overgrown brush and weeds. A thick tangle of vigorously growing blackberry shrubs covered much of the land. They appeared so unruly, he wondered if he would have survived had he rolled past the tree and into the gorge.
He looked at the skull ring on his finger. He’d been wearing it since he’d met with Leanne Baxter. He closed his eyes and saw the same image as before—a hand, flesh melting off bone, splayed fingers, the ring. He waited for the sharp pain in his head that usually accompanied the images.
Nothing happened.
He opened his eyes. Still nothing. Ever since talking to Leanne, he’d been having a difficult time coming to terms with the truth. Vernon Doherty, the driver on the night of Ben’s crash, was the same man who had followed Sophie as she exited the Wild West. And that meant Ben had to be “the other man” Leanne had seen that night.
The notion greatly disturbed him.
For ten years he’d tried to find a connection between himself, Vernon Doherty, and the stolen car, but he’d ended up with nothing. Thanks to his wife and his therapist, he’d finally been able to let the matter go and move on with his life. But seeing Sophie Cole on TV had changed everything. And standing here now, he had new questions: What had really happened that night ten years ago? Why had he been at the Wild West, and what the hell had happened to Sophie Cole?
Ben stepped forward, heading farther down the hill, hoping to conjure images from that night. He slid most of the way down, kicking up dust and dirt, until he made it to the oak. From there he had a better view of the ravine and the brown hills and trees beyond.
He stood there for a good long while.
But nothing came to him.
Not until he started the trek back up and found himself on his knees when the slope became too steep. He grabbed on to a clump of weeds to help him gain traction, and that was when it hit him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, waited for the pain to subside, but that didn’t happen. The pain grew in intensity, forcing him to roll onto his back, the palms of his hands clutching both sides of his head.
And there she was, plain as day.
Sophie Cole.
She was kneeling on the ground, hovering over someone. When she looked up at him, her beauty took him aback—flawless skin, piercing eyes, thick, shiny hair. She didn’t appear to be worried about the person lying on the ground, just curiously surprised. Her head tilted slightly, and she said, “I think he’s dead.”
Five minutes after leaving Jessie, Colin was climbing out of his car in front of Andriana’s house in East Sacramento. There were three cruisers at the scene. A uniformed police officer joined him and walked at his side. “It looks like the suspect came through the garage door at the side of the house. No fingerprints. We’re in the process of canvasing the neighborhood for witnesses.”
Colin nodded. “Where is she?”
“Inside. Ren is with her.”
Colin found Andriana in the living room, sitting on a vintage purple-velvet love seat. Ren Howe, rookie investigator and pain-in-the-ass kid who wouldn’t know tact if it bit him on the nose, saw him coming and met him halfway.
Ren’s father worked for the FBI, which had allowed Ren to skip more than a few years of training, making him an easy target for officers who felt as if they were overlooked for the investigative position. It didn’t help that Ren seemed to be oblivious to anyone who had a problem with his speedy climb to the top. “She didn’t want to talk to anyone but you,” Ren said with a long sigh.
“Do you have a problem with that?”
Ren gave a half shrug. “No, I guess not.”
“Good.” Colin had been to the house many times before. Andriana and Jessie had been friends for as long as he’d known Jessie. He looked around, wondering where her ten-year-old son was as he walked across the living room.
He leaned down and gave Andriana a quick hug. Her tangle of red hair was all over the place. A thin red line of dried blood made a path down one side of her face, ending just past her earlobe.
“Where’s Dylan?”
“Thankfully,” she said, “he spent the night at a friend’s last night. He has no idea what happened, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Colin pulled out a notebook. “Why don’t you start from the beginning, and tell me everything you remember.”
She nodded, then relayed her story: It was Saturday. She slept in until seven, then spent the cooler part of the morning doing some gardening in her backyard. She came back inside about ten or ten thirty and made herself an egg on toast. An hour later, she heard a loud crash that sounded as if it had come from upstairs. Thinking a picture had fallen from a wall, she took a look around upstairs but found nothing out of the ordinary. When she returned to the main floor, a man dressed in black from head to toe stood at the bottom of the stairs. She pivoted, tried to run, but he struck her over the head, gagged her, and dragged her to the dining room, where he used duct tape to secure her to a heavy wooden chair.
For the next thirty minutes, she heard the masked man rummaging through drawers and closets. After spending some time upstairs, he finally left. It had taken her twenty minutes to get the gag from her mouth and another three hours to escape. Bruises marked her arms, neck, and wrists. Understandably she was still visibly shaken.
“Did he ever speak to you?”
“Not one word.” She frowned. “I take that back. He cursed at me after I kicked him in the shin and struggled to get away.”
“Is anything missing?”
“He didn’t take any jewelry, which I found surprising since I have a few nice pieces. The contents of my purse were scattered across my bed, but nothing missing as far as I could tell, although I haven’t been able to find Jessie’s GoPro.”
He raised a ques
tioning brow.
“The GoPro,” she repeated. “The one Jessie used to video Parker Koontz while she followed him.”
He nodded his understanding. Jessie had made a point of wearing the GoPro ever since the shooting incident three years ago. Colin looked over his shoulder at Ren. “Call the hospital and find out what’s going on with Parker Koontz?”
“I’m on it.” Ren pulled out his phone and walked out of earshot.
“So, how are you holding up?” Colin asked Andriana. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No. I need to clean up and be here when Dylan is dropped off. I’ll be fine.”
He rubbed his chin. “You should know that Jessie was attacked.”
“What happened? Is she okay?”
“She says it was a younger man. He pulled a knife on her, but she was lucky she had the dog with her.”
“What dog?”
“Long story, but I’m sure she’ll fill you in later. Nine stitches under her chin. She’ll be okay.”
“Thank goodness.”
Ren was back at his side. “Nothing has changed,” Ren said. “Koontz is in a coma, still critical. The doctors have given him a fifty-fifty chance of survival.”
“So, we know it wasn’t Koontz,” Andriana said. “But possibly someone connected to him? Why else would this guy have taken the GoPro?”
Jessie was attacked around five. Had the man with the knife attacked her after he’d left Andriana’s place? Seemed unlikely, since he would have been in a hurry to get away.
“What about hair color?”
“I saw black hair peeking out at the back of his neck.”
“Eye color?”
“Also dark.”
“About the video device,” he said. “Are you absolutely certain the camera is missing?”
“Positive. It was next to my computer. I was going to upload the video and watch it over the weekend.”
“The first time you noticed him was around eleven?”
“Somewhere between eleven and eleven thirty.”
“You said he was wearing black from head to toe. A black baseball cap?”
“No. It was a ski mask, pulled down to his neck, but it didn’t completely cover his hair.”