Together in Darkness

by Sloan McBride

  I'm dreaming, Allison reminded herself, though wishing she could go back in time.

  "Alex?"

  "Yes."

  He raised one open hand and then the other, waiting silently for her to comply. The mere contact of their palms sent a rapturous melody through her. Air barely squeaked through their bodies, so close now the hairs on his legs tickled her skin. Her breasts itched when the silky cloth of her bikini pressed against his chest.

  Bending his head, Alex touched his lips to hers, the contact so brief it startled her. She'd been expecting more and wide-eyed with questions she said, “What's happening?"

  Alex stared hard at her mouth and then met her eyes. “I'm in love with you."

  Surprised, she stepped back. This was new territory. They'd never spoken of love before. “Are you sure?"

  He laughed and his green eyes sparkled. “Pretty sure.” Alex cleared his throat. “Rennie?"

  Allison Renee Brody, only her father and Alex called her Rennie. Of course, Alex didn't know her real name or what she really looked like. In their dream world, she had light coloring, high cheekbones, green eyes and bigger breasts. These were attributes from her mother, the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. Her beauty wasn't flashy like a movie star or sleek like a model. Christine had quiet elegance and old-world charm. Allison's father once said that when he looked at her mother he saw the beauty of the ages. That's what Allison had wanted, but instead she had the coloring from her gypsy heritage, dark and mysterious.

  She held her hands out in front of her as if to hold him back. “Hold on. Oh, God.” She couldn't breathe, she had to sit down. Unceremoniously, she sank to the sand.

  Alex dropped down next to her. “Not the reaction I'd hoped for."

  Allison rolled to her side now fully awakened from the dream. She curled into a fetal position and wrapped her arms around her knees. Tears silently ran down her cheeks and soaked the bed sheets. Could the killer be Alex? Is that why he easily invaded her mind, because he'd been welcome there many years ago? “It can't be him. It just can't be.” But, why else would the dreams suddenly come back after all these years?

  * * * *

  Allison's alarm trilled, breaking her from the two-hour slumber that had embraced her. Reluctantly, she smacked the button and dragged her sleepy body toward the bathroom and the shower she hoped would wake her up.

  When Allison sat down to breakfast there was a long florist box on the table.

  "What's this?” she asked Martha, the housekeeper who had worked for her parents and, even though she was officially retired, still came in once a week to fuss about Allison's house.

  "Don't know.” Martha shrugged as she poured coffee. “It was on the porch when I picked up the paper. It had your name on it."

  Her blood froze when she opened the box, eyes wide staring at the single black rose in a bed of red tissue paper. Dark beauty with a sense of evil surrounding it.

  "Oh my,” Martha breathed. “I've never seen anything like it.” She moved toward the box. “Would you like me to get a vase to put it in?"

  "No,” Allison blurted. “I mean, no thanks,” she said more calmly. “I'll take care of it."

  Her appetite gone, she wiped her mouth with the napkin and stepped outside.

  "He's telling you."

  She glanced at the porch swing to see Yanni with a worried look on her face. “Telling me what?"

  "That he knows who and where you are."

  "I know him."

  "You do?"

  "It's been bothering me since he mentioned that we'd connected before. I couldn't figure it out until last night."

  "And what do you now know?"

  "That this has happened before, a long time ago.” A lifetime ago. “I'm going to the police station."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jake finished his brisk morning run and headed back to The Stern Trawler for a shower. The bed had been made and there were fresh towels, indicating housekeeping had already come through. Passing by the small wooden table on his way to the bathroom, Jake stopped to pick up the picture of Allison Brody in the old newspaper article. Even at the age of nineteen, she was incredibly beautiful. Time had whittled away teenage exuberance, leaving a classic masterpiece of lithe build and mystical enchantment. Strength with caution and quiet intelligence rounded out the mystery. He couldn't get her off his mind. A strange feeling of deja vu came over him, like he'd seen her somewhere before. He couldn't clarify it.

  His cell phone rang. “Austin."

  "Enie, meanie, miney, moe, which direction will I go?” The timbre of the caller's voice was sharp. “What's the matter, Agent? Cat got your tongue?” Laughter echoed through the phone. “I think I know the answer to that. Our game has been fun, but it just got better."

  Suddenly every muscle in Jake's body tensed. “What the fuck does that mean?"

  "Temper, temper. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough."

  There was a click and then a dial tone.

  "Damn!” Jake swore.

  He showered, dressed and made a beeline for the station, anxious to see if anything had turned up. “Anything new?” he asked Lancaster the minute he saw him.

  "Nothing, but I expect the tox screenings soon."

  Jake stared out the clouded window, unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck. The cell phone he wore on his belt vibrated. “Austin."

  "Peter and Margo are in New York. How are things there?"

  "Not good, Linc. Everything's changed. He's playing a new game."

  "What are you going to do?"

  Jake sighed and massaged his eye sockets. “All I can."

  "I gotta run, but I wanted to let you know you'd have company soon."

  "Thanks.” His mind kicked into overdrive, which was incredible since he'd barely slept in more than a year.

  It grew more cloudy and dreary for a summer day, not particularly inviting with an intermittent misty rain. Jake barely paid attention to the conversation when the intercom buzzed. A few moments later, the door opened and every nerve in his body exploded with sensations. It felt like little ants were crawling on his skin.

  He'd only seen her twice, but Jake could tell something was disturbing Allison Brody when she stepped into the room. The weird vibes she gave off made him edgy.

  "Ms. Brody, how nice to see you again.” Lancaster clasped her hand.

  Allison shook her head. “Thank you, Detective, but I'm sure that's not true."

  He motioned her toward a chair. “Please have a seat."

  Sitting across the table from her, Bill Lancaster asked, “So what brings you in here today?"

  Austin stood stoically several feet away. It had gotten hard to breathe again. She kept her gaze on the detective, finding it easier to meet his understanding eyes than Austin's turbulent ones. It vaguely surprised her that her voice sounded normal as she spoke. “I'm not sure how to interpret this but I knew I should probably tell you about it right away. So here I am."

  "Tell us about what?"

  He'd startled her when he spoke. With his stealthy movement, she hadn't known Austin had come so close. The heat from his body seeped into her skin. Allison hesitated then tilted her head and studied his grim expression.

  Tall and lean, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, he wore black jeans and a gray sweater with the sleeves bunched up to his biceps. A day's growth of beard, black as night like his hair, surrounded full lips. His eyes were the oddest shade of green and could burn her with one look.

  Allison pressed her lips together to moisten them before speaking. “This morning the housekeeper found a box on my doorstep."

  His brow creased, his eyes suspicious. “A box?"

  "Yes, a florist box addressed to me."

  "What's wrong with a pretty lady getting flowers?” Lancaster asked in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

  "Well.... “She kneaded her forehead to keep the migraine at bay, but kept her voice level. “It's a single black r
ose in red tissue paper.” She noted the questioning glance Lancaster shot at Jake. “It's from him."

  "By him you mean the killer?"

  "Yes,” she answered softly.

  "Is there a note?"

  "No, just the box with the single rose."

  "Where is it now?” Jake demanded.

  "In my car. I didn't know what to do with it and I wasn't going to keep it at home."

  "We need to see it."

  "All right.” They walked out to her car. When Allison opened the trunk the box was there, white in the background of gray.

  "Who else has touched it?"

  "Just Martha. She brought it in with the paper."

  Lancaster collected the florist box for forensics using his handkerchief. “Black roses can't be everywhere. I'll have some uniforms make calls to see if they can find out where it came from."

  Jake said, “He could be making them himself."

  Lancaster shrugged. “It's possible. Would he go to all the trouble?"

  "Yes."

  "Has he done it before?"

  Jake looked over at Allison. “No."

  The Sergeant brought Allison a cool beverage while she waited in one of the interrogation rooms for Jake and Detective Lancaster. She loathed having to use the abilities she had so long ago suppressed, but Allison closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reached out. Her senses were heightened and she heard murmurs but not clear words. She wiggled her nose because it itched from the rank smell of old coffee and cigarette smoke. Deception, lies, partial truths all floated inside this place. Still, she couldn't sense anything that would help her in her quest, nor could she pick up anything that would help her in the battle that would soon come. The police didn't know anything more now than they did yesterday.

  Immediately, Allison retracted her senses. His force was fierce and invaded her every time she let down her shielding. Automatically, her fingers began massaging her temples, trying to head off the migraine that formed even now. She knew later it would be ferocious and zap her mental and physical strength. She needed to get home quickly.

  Jake watched her through the two-way mirror, drinking in every nuance of her body. It didn't escape his attention how at one moment she seemed calm and at peace, and then suddenly tense and on edge. She was rubbing her temples, the onset of another headache. He wondered what could be causing it.

  "What do you think?” Lancaster asked when he entered the room.

  "I think things have changed a lot.” Jake blew out a breath and turned his back to the mirror. “He's stayed in Gloucester longer than any other place. I didn't understand why, until now."

  Lancaster nodded. “So, spill it. What have your honed investigative skills come up with?"

  Jake shifted toward the mirror again. “I know it sounds crazy, but I think she's our link to him.” He touched his hand to the mirror and swore he felt heat.

  When Jake and Lancaster came back into the room, the detective politely thanked her for coming in. Jake stalked around, restless. If he clenched his teeth any tighter, she thought for sure his jaw would break. He stopped in front of her so close she wanted to move back, but didn't.

  "I would suggest you take a few days off work, Ms. Brody. If this maniac has cast his interest in your direction for some reason, it will be dangerous."

  She knew his job dictated that he offer this sound advice, but her awareness of this situation went beyond what he could imagine. “Thank you for your concern, Agent Austin, but I can't take off work. I have a new project that I need to get up and running. My boss depends on me and I won't let him down."

  Jake leaned his back against the wall and crossed his muscular arms over his wide chest. “Be that as it may, Ms. Brody. I may have no other course but to suggest that you accept police protection."

  "And that would mean?"

  "A uniformed officer or two would accompany you everywhere, every minute of the day."

  "Uh, huh. That's definitely not necessary.” She couldn't have a bunch of cops following her everywhere. It would hamper her plans to find out if this killer really was Alex.

  "While I'm here, I'll pass this on. Use it or not, believe it or not.” Allison rose from the uncomfortable conference room chair. “He's already picked out at least two more women. He's not done. Good-bye, Detective.” She handed him her Styrofoam cup, intentionally ignoring Jake Austin, and left the room.

  Lancaster stared after her for a moment before saying, “She's an interesting woman."

  Jake pushed away from the wall. He hadn't missed the sheer stubbornness in her eyes. “Yeah, I know. You might want to see if she can give you any details about the two women she mentioned. She'll respond more to you questioning her than if I do it."

  Lancaster nodded and left the room to catch up with Allison.

  Jake bit back a curse. Just what he needed, a hard-headed woman to make things more difficult.

  * * * *

  The pounding in her head increased to an almost blinding level as she left the police station. Unfortunately, she had left her car at R&N's this morning. She needed to get home. Without thinking too much on it, she headed toward Paul Kincaid's office, which was only a few blocks away.

  "Allison?"

  "Paul, can we talk a moment?"

  "Sure, come on in.” He moved aside so she could enter his office.

  He came up behind her. “You're very pale. Are you okay?"

  "It's this headache. I didn't want to try and drive home. Would you mind calling me a taxi?"

  "I'll drive you.” He pressed the intercom button. “Carol, please cancel my next appointment. Move her to tomorrow at eleven."

  "I don't want to trouble you.” Allison slumped into a chair and grabbed her head.

  "You shouldn't be alone."

  "Martha is there today."

  He opened his office door. “Carol, can you please contact Ms. Brody's housekeeper and tell her that she's not feeling well and I'm bringing her home?"

  His fingers gently grabbed her wrist and he looked at his watch to time her pulse. “Maybe we should go to the hospital. Your pulse is racing and I'm not pleased with your coloring."

  "No, Paul. Please, I just want to go home and lie down. If I take my medicine and a nice warm bath later, I'm sure I'll be fine."

  Paul hesitated and she hoped he wouldn't press the hospital issue. The headaches were getting worse and now were accompanied by nausea. A sharp pain shot through her eyes and she hissed a breath.

  He went to the credenza, got a glass of water and brought her two little pills. “Take these. They should help the migraine."

  Without even asking what they were, Allison grabbed the pills and the water and downed both. The action made her dizzy. Kincaid assisted her in rising out of the chair and walked her to his car.

  The quiet drive to her house made her drowsy, or was it the pills he'd given her? The wooziness along with the drooping said she'd be lucky to make it to bed before she dropped.

  Martha stood perched on the top step of the front porch when Kincaid's car pulled up. She rushed over to get Allison and assured him she'd be put her safely into bed.

  Kincaid closed the front door as he left the house, slid in behind the wheel, and pulled out his cell phone. “Dr. Lomax, this is Paul Kincaid. Would you mind if I stopped by? I need to talk to you about Allison Brody."

  * * * *

  Allison awoke to a shadowed room. She leaned toward the clock to see that she'd slept several hours without dreams, or nightmares for that matter. Cautiously, she sat up. “So far, so good.” No nausea, and the pain in her head had receded to an almost non-existent point. Propping her back and pillow against the headboard, she wrapped her arms around her knees. “Can it really be Alex? After all this time?"

  At thirteen when her abilities appeared, along with puberty, acne and the development of breasts, she'd started having wonderful dreams. On a tropical island somewhere in the middle of an unknown ocean, she had met a boy not much older than she. They were b
oth shy in the beginning, but eventually formed a deep bond of friendship. Practically every night they met on the beach, swam, and played with the dolphins. Sometimes, Alex would climb a palm tree and drop down coconuts for milk. He built a lean-to where they would lay and discuss their hopes and dreams for the future. They talked about family, school, and what they wanted to be when they got older, all the things young people think about but only share with their best friend. Alex had been her best friend.

  Over time, deeper feelings emerged. No longer did he give her a quick peck on the cheek or a brief brush of lips, but lingering kisses on her neck. The natural progression of their relationship led to other intimacies. Together they learned about each other's bodies. Every so often, they would skinny dip in the ocean, which resulted in a golden, rich tan. Alex had developed, as well. He went from a thin, quiet boy to a toned, confident young man.

  She planned to start college soon and he needed to cram for upcoming tests. The last night she met Alex on their beach, they had almost made love for the very first time. The intense emotions escalated into a frenzy of caresses. The level of those emotions frightened her. He said he loved her just as he'd done many times before, but they agreed to give it time.

  The next day her parents were killed and not long after, she'd begged Yanni for help in burying her abilities.

  That had been ten years ago.

  She'd left part of herself on that island in her dreams. A huge chunk of her heart still resided there ... with him. She wondered what he'd done when she hadn't come back and he couldn't reach her, afraid now she had her answer. Had her disappearance contributed to this outcome? These victims did resemble her in color and appearance.

  Obviously, he knew her. Was it chance that he'd appeared in Gloucester? Or planned? They had never talked about where they lived. “What am I going to do?” She posed her question to the empty room, but secretly vowed to find him.

  "Life is a beech."

  Allison jolted. Yanni stepped out of the shadows.

  "Yanni, you do surprise me.” A bitter laugh escaped. “Life is a bitch."

  "The journey is chosen. You plan to find him."