by Diane Hester
‘Anything wrong?’ Allen said from the seat beside him.
‘Just tired.’ He took out his mobile and checked missed calls. Shyler’s ex-husband hadn’t called back yet, despite the several messages he’d left.
He was starting to wonder if he’d ever get his answers. He’d gone to Presque Isle thinking Shyler’s mother wanted nothing to do with her. But after talking to her he realised he had gotten that wrong. Whatever estrangement existed between them, Patricia O’Neil cared about her daughter. So what was keeping her from coming to see Shyler? If she knew her daughter was having trouble –
‘You break all land speed records getting back here and now you just plan to go to bed?’
Chase sighed and slipped the phone in his pocket. There was no point in arguing. ‘I was hoping to see someone tonight, that’s all.’
‘First I hear of it.’
‘I know. Don’t worry, it’s no big deal.’
‘I bet she thinks it is.’
Despite his frustrations he managed a smile. ‘It’s too late now. I’ll see her in the morning.’ He climbed from the car, hefted his father’s chair out of the back, wheeled it round to him and opened the door.
‘You should’ve told me,’ Allen said as Chase helped him out. ‘I wouldn’t have suggested we stop for dinner.’
‘It’s okay, Dad. It was good to get a decent meal for a change.’
‘Oh, is that so?’ Allen grunted. ‘Wait till you see what I cook you tomorrow night.’
Chapter 40
Flashes of light danced on the water. The nearly full moon skimmed the tree tops, bringing objects on shore into colourless relief – boulders, bushes, a toppled pine. And a single large silhouette standing in the shallows as they rounded a bend.
Shyler stopped paddling. The current continued to carry them along; there was no way she could halt their advance. She could head for the farthest side of the stream but doubted it would make any difference now.
They’d already been spotted.
Slowly she lowered the paddle to the floor and picked up the rifle.
‘You’re not going to shoot him, are you?’
She jumped at the words but kept her voice low. ‘Jesse, you scared me. I thought you were asleep.’
Yeah, right. Curled up on the bottom of a boat with his hands and feet numb and something digging into his back. ‘You’re not, are you?’
‘Not unless I have to. Just keep very still.’ She braced the gun stock against her shoulder.
‘But why would you have to? It’s just a moose. It’s not like a grizzly bear or a wolf.’
‘It’s coming up to mating season,’ she whispered. ‘The bulls can get quite . . .’ Aggressive. Deadly. ‘Unpredictable.’
She shuddered at the memory. Autumn of the year she’d started high school, the poor lone fisherman caught off guard, she and her father trying to save him . . . trying to stop the bleeding . . .
Across the water the animal raised its head. No antlers. She lowered the rifle. ‘But this one’s a female so we don’t need to worry as much.’
As they drifted past it, Shyler laid the gun back at her feet and took up the oar again. She checked the sky. They were getting close. Judging from the stars it was well past midnight; they had to be three-quarters of the way at least.
Her main concern now was that she wouldn’t recognise the spot when they reached it. Landmarks were hard to make out in the dark. The pond was small, little more than a widening in the stream. If she overshot the mark and had to go back, paddling upstream might be more than she could manage with her injured arm.
‘Is it much further?’ His voice quavered slightly.
‘Why? Are you cold?’
‘A little.’
She slid off the seat and onto her knees. As she bent towards his face she could hear his teeth chattering, even above the murmur of the water. ‘My God, you’re frozen. Why didn’t you say so?’
She pushed back onto the seat and began paddling for shore. However close or far they might be hardly mattered if Jesse caught pneumonia getting there. She’d light a fire, keep him as warm as she could for the night and go the rest of the way in the morning.
Zack sat against a moss-covered tree trunk watching the woman feed another branch into the fire she’d just kindled. Opening her backpack, she pulled out a water bottle and handed it over.
He accepted it but took only a tentative sip. His stomach felt hot and tight as a fist – a symptom nothing to do with his infection. A thought had occurred to him in the hours they’d drifted along the stream and, like a worm in an apple, it was burrowing slowly around his guts.
The scene at the cabin kept playing over and over in his mind. He couldn’t stop seeing the man with the gun. The way he’d smiled when their gazes met. The look on his face when the ladder tipped. The table leg sticking out of his neck.
He hadn’t recognised the man but knew without a doubt who had sent him. And that’s what had caused the worm in the apple. The realisation. Nolan and Vanessa had been trying to catch him, but the dude at the cabin . . .
He tried to block his next thought from forming but couldn’t stop it. Clearly the situation had changed or he’d been wrong about their intentions in the first place. Either way it meant that Reece . . .
He stifled a groan. At least Corey had gotten away. He was safe in a hospital somewhere. Being looked after by kind doctors and smiling nurses, getting all sorts of food and attention.
Assuming he had survived his injuries.
Injuries sustained from . . .
Wincing at the gut punch the thought delivered, he struggled to force his attention elsewhere. Beside him, the woman took back the water bottle and shoved it and the matches into her pack.
‘How did you know to bring all this stuff?’
‘I always stow a pack of emergency gear in the bottom of the canoe. First aid kit, insect repellent, matches, water bottle and a blanket. Actually, there might even be . . .’ She rummaged around. ‘A-ha! Here you go, have a granola bar.’
He felt his stomach rebel at the thought. ‘No thanks. You have it.’
‘Tummy-ache?’ Her voice sounded worried. ‘You haven’t eaten since lunch at the cabin.’
He bowed his head and gave it a shake.
‘Still cold?’ She moved closer, pulled the blanket up over the back of his neck and left her arm around his shoulders. ‘How’s that?’
Somehow the gesture only worsened his pain. He bit his lip.
‘Jesse, what is it?’
He swiped at his tears. Now that they’d managed to squeeze from his eyes there was just no stopping them. ‘I did a bad thing.’
‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure it’s not as bad as all this.’
‘Yes, it is. It’s terrible, the worst thing ever.’
She hugged him tighter. ‘All right, tell me. What did you do?’
‘I was supposed to look after somebody. They were little and I was meant to take care of them, but I didn’t.’
‘Who were you meant to take care of?’
‘My . . . friends.’ His stomach clenched as though someone had stepped on it.
Zack, where are you? The voice from his dream. Reece and Corey screaming as he pushed them into the chamber of the idling truck.
‘I ran away and left them.’ He turned his face into her neck. ‘And now they’re probably dead.’
The woman said nothing. She didn’t try to stop him or refute what he’d said. She didn’t tell him everything would be all right, maybe because she knew it wouldn’t. After what he’d done, how could it ever? Rocking gently, she just let him cry.
Eventually the touch of her hand quelled his sobs. His breathing slowed. The tears prickled his cheeks as they dried. To the feel of her gently stroking his hair, in the knowledge she would still be there when he woke, he let himself drift towards the edge of sleep.
The tumbler exploded against the wall, the last of its twelve-year-old Chivas Regal spraying a starburst across the pa
nelling. Tragg grabbed his phone and keyed in a number. Though it violated established procedure and could possibly put the receiver at risk, he couldn’t wait a minute longer.
After Farrell’s initial call informing him of Nolan’s deception, Tragg had received only one other update – when the two men had returned to the woman’s cabin where Ballinger was supposedly hiding. Since then he’d waited interminable hours to hear the matter had been resolved, but the follow-up call had not yet come. Now, at going on 1 am, he had to concede it wasn’t going to.
The phone rang out and switched to a private message bank. He hung up without recording a message. Something was wrong. Farrell would never have left him hanging like this.
He keyed in a second number. There was no other choice. He had to go to Deadwater himself and see to things personally. Something he clearly should have done when he’d left the damn hospital!
The call was answered and Vanessa’s sleepy voice said, ‘Yeah?’
‘Where are you?’
‘Tragg? At the motel. Why? I caught up with Quinlan and Stokes like you said. I’ll –’
‘Still no word from Farrell or Nolan. We’re going back.’
‘What? We? Why do –’
‘You know the area.’
A rustle of covers as she sat up in bed. ‘What about these kids?’
‘Leave ’em with the others. Pick you up in a couple of hours. Be ready.’
Chapter 41
The screaming came from far away. It threatened to weave itself into his dreams, twisting them towards the realm of nightmare. But the unfamiliar was too distracting. A woman’s voice. In the end it dragged him from the pit of sleep and spewed him into confused consciousness.
Zack looked around. She was standing in the half-light at the forest’s edge, shrieking her protests across the water. ‘No! Let him go! Leave him alone!’ Her terror suffused him and for a moment he thought they were under attack. But peering closer he saw she was alone. He pushed himself up.
The new perspective only confirmed it – there was no one else there. The last he’d been aware she was lying beside him, spooned against his back for warmth. Now she appeared to be sleepwalking, trapped in some horrible alternate reality.
‘Please! I’ll give you whatever you want! Just let him go!’
Sickened by the pain he heard in her voice, he struggled to his feet. Only to find he had no idea what to do. Weren’t you never supposed to wake a sleepwalker?
‘Stop! He can’t swim! No! Don’t!’
He watched, dumbstruck. Was this the same woman who’d beaten two men with kick-ass weapons, climbed out a window, guided him through a pitch-black forest, and then down a stream past dangerous animals? She’d held it together through all of that and now here she was freaking out over something that wasn’t even there?
‘Hey!’ he called out to her. ‘Over here!’
She spun around, a silhouette against the shimmering water. Arms outflung. Body braced. Did she even see him?
‘Jesse!’
Suddenly she was flying towards him, stumbling over obstacles in the dark. She dropped to her knees, threw her arms around his waist and sobbed her words against his chest. ‘Jesse, oh God!’
Zack stiffened at the sound of the name. Who the hell was this kid? Was it the boy in the picture he’d found in her drawer? If so, what happened to him? Did the man in the picture take him away? She’d been shouting, ‘Let him go, leave him alone.’ Had someone hurt him? Did he die?
‘Jesse, my God, you’re really all right?’
Zack clenched his jaw. If the kid was dead why did she keep thinking he was Jesse? The boy in the picture had dark hair and eyes like he did. But they weren’t the same. Couldn’t she see that? What was wrong with her?
Another thought slapped him and he reeled from the blow. All those things she’d said and done, they hadn’t been for him at all. It hadn’t been Zack she’d held and rocked, it hadn’t been his face she’d stroked so tenderly. What was so great about Jesse anyway? Why hadn’t anyone ever loved him this much?
All at once he was fighting to pull from her embrace. But at the sound of something rustling in the undergrowth he froze again. It was probably just a possum or an owl but it doused his anger with a frigid splash of realisation – men were after him trying to kill him, he was still really weak, he had no idea where the hell he was and the only reason this woman was helping was because she thought he was someone else.
The last of his anger ebbed away. How could he have been such a dummy? The question he should be asking himself was, how long did he have? Because the minute she snapped out of her fantasy trip she’d ditch him just like everyone else. She’d never go on risking her life for a reject like him. So rather than insist she see him as Zack, the smart thing to do would be to play along. At least till he was strong enough to make it on his own again.
‘Jesse, you’re all right? They didn’t hurt you?’
‘I’m fine. Honest.’ Why did the words burn his throat so badly?
‘They . . . they had you. They were going to . . . they would’ve –’
‘Yeah, but they didn’t.’ He blinked the acid sting from his eyes. ‘Because you got me away from them. You saved me. See.’
She lifted her gaze. Crying and laughing she swept her hands over his face as though to confirm her eyes weren’t deceiving her. ‘My precious boy. You’re really here.’
Zack gazed into her upturned face. Even if it had been a product of insanity, her courage had made her a hero in his eyes. If she needed so desperately for him to be Jesse, then how could he not?
He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, Mom. I’m here.’
Chapter 42
Mist rose from the dawn-lit track and seeped through the trees on either side. Tragg eased the Jaguar slowly forward, tearing the gossamer membrane to shreds.
‘This guy you sent to help Nolan,’ Vanessa said, rubbing her eyes – she’d barely slept on the night-long drive – ‘he’s not one of Lazaro’s people.’
‘No, he’s freelance.’
‘And you trust him?’
‘Like that drop-kick faggot boyfriend of yours?’ A soft chuckle from the man at the wheel. ‘Farrell and I go way back, grew up in Roxbury together. Closer to me than my own brother.’
Vanessa peered through the swirling tendrils. ‘How do you know they came this way?’
‘Farrell’s last update. Man always gives his location, he’s thorough like that.’ An admiring smile appeared on Tragg’s face. ‘If there’s one person in this whole frigging world I’d give my life for it’d be Jake.’
A four-wheel drive appeared through the mist, standing amid a grove of saplings. Tragg pulled his car up behind it and shut off the engine.
Taking her cue from his silent exit, Vanessa got out and, with weapon poised, began circling the Cherokee with him. It appeared undamaged, at least on the outside. Clearly, the two men had arrived here safely. They’d just never left.
From opposite sides they stepped to the windows. A brown pig skin jacket lay on the front passenger’s seat. Vanessa recognised it at once as Nolan’s. Seeing it filled her with a sense of foreboding.
She shot a look across at Tragg, noting the tight forward thrust of his jaw. Without a word he turned away and started through the woods. She hurried after him.
They followed the track – a driveway she realised now – as it swung a wide arc. A few moments later they were crouched in the undergrowth before a cabin. Most of the glass had been blown from its windows and the bullet-riddled front door stood wide open.
At a nod from Tragg they started towards it, across the clearing and up the steps. They paused at the door, then burst inside with weapons raised.
All was silent. What remained of the furnishings lay in splinters, shards and billows of stuffing. They eased through the room, around the couch and stopped at the sight of what lay beyond.
Vanessa heard a strange sound escape Tragg’s throat – half-moan, half-growl. He approached
the body cradled in its bed of shattered wood that had once been a kitchen table. The remains of only one leg stood upright, held in place by the torn flesh and bone of Farrell’s neck.
Under the guise of searching the rest of the house, Vanessa quickly walked away. Though she’d taken no part in what had happened here she felt suddenly and keenly at risk, threatened by the sheer force of dark energy radiating off Tragg in squalls.
In passing she noticed a small bottle sitting on the end table beside the couch. She picked it up, read the label, saw who the prescribing doctor was. At once she turned. But, seeing the storm still masking Tragg’s features, thought better of speaking and slipped the bottle in her pocket instead.
She went through each of the rooms in turn. After giving him what time she thought he’d need, she returned to Tragg to report her findings. ‘No sign of Ballinger or the woman anywhere in the house.’
Tragg stood quaking. In a voice more animal than human he said, ‘Find Nolan.’
Vanessa shuddered as she backed away. ‘I’ll check outside.’
Chapter 43
Light flickered across his eyelids, teasing them open. Zack took a deep breath of pine-scented air, scraped the dead leaves off the side of his face and rolled onto his back.
The sun winked down at him through shifting pin holes in the forest canopy. It was well past dawn, probably later than the crazy lady had wanted them to sleep, but who cared? Where did they have to be anyway? As long as no one had followed them here they were perfectly safe.
At the thought, he pushed himself up. Apart from the canoe at the water’s edge there was no sign of human presence as far as he could see. He cocked his head to the woods behind them. Not a sound other than the chatter of birds and the soft sighing of wind through the branches.
He gazed down at the woman beside him. She seemed so peaceful, her head cradled on one of her arms, the fingers of her other hand curled beneath her chin. Pine needles and leaf litter clung to her hair but somehow it only made her look prettier, like some kind of fairy. Did he need to wake her? After the night she’d had she probably needed to sleep a bit more.