Shivering and recognizing a lost cause when he sees one, he hurries back toward the warmth of indoors saying, “Yeah sure, whatever helps us get out of here.”
Atlanta, Georgia
“No.”
Sitting up in bed, Caleb has his arms crossed over his chest displaying an indomitable expression. “No way am I not going.”
“Be reasonable Caleb.”
Glaring at Jack Hofstra, Caleb is resolute. “He called me Jack. It’s personal between us. You want to know what he said—then I’m in.”
The hospital room is crowded with people. Aside from Hofstra who is standing at the foot of Caleb’s bed, there is Li Ling Tran hovering beside the bed, Dr. Adam Levi over by the window, and two uniformed guards just inside the door.
All have come here in response to Heath’s unexpected phone call and the subsequent demand by Caleb to be released.
“I have to advise against this course of action,” Adam speaks up, “You’re still recovering Caleb. I don’t have the results of your last tests back yet and I’m not comfortable releasing you without them.”
“Let me put it this way doc,” Caleb shifts his steely gaze toward the window, “You either discharge me or I discharge myself.”
“That’s enough Caleb,” Hofstra rumbles, “You’re forgetting that you’re still technically suspended from duty and that even if I wanted to reinstate you, I can’t until you’re cleared by the doctor. You need to tell us what was said and let us handle it.”
“He asked for me Jack,” Caleb snarls, “Lynne is alive.”
“He said that?”
“Not in so many words,” Caleb continues, “But yeah, she’s alive. And nothing is going to stop me from going after him and getting her back. Look in my eyes Jack, see the conviction. I’ll go without the bureau’s support if I have to.”
Waving a hand at Ling Tran, Jack implores, “Will you talk some sense into him please?”
She looks down at her partner for a moment before looking back at Hofstra and saying, “He is making sense.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No sir,” Ling Tran replies, “If Heath asked for him specifically and he still has Lynne as a hostage our best chance to grab him is to let Caleb go. I think if he could, Agent Jerome would agree with me here.
“If we send in a horde of agents it could all go south on us quickly and likely result in Lynne’s death and Heath escaping. He’s obviously willing to communicate with Caleb; we should use that to our advantage.”
“So let me see if I got this right,” Hofstra asks, “You think our best option is sending Caleb—who hasn’t yet recovered from being blown up mind you—after a serial killer because said killer might’ve implicated that he has a hostage?
“Did you actually talk to her Caleb? Any chance he just might’ve lied about still having her to get another chance at killing our boy here?”
“I’ll take that chance.”
“Not alone you won’t,” Ling Tran pats his thigh saying, “I’m coming with you.”
Throwing his arms up in the air Hofstra exclaims, “Unbelievable.”
“There’s no chance I can talk you out of this rash action?” Adam asks.
“No doc,” Caleb shakes his head, “I have to do this. If it was someone you loved I think you’d do the same.”
“All right,” he sighs, “I’ll release you but you’re going to have to do this without the bureau’s support because I won’t clear you for active duty. I’m simply not going to sign your death warrant.”
“It’s all right doc,” Caleb nods, “I understand.”
“Try to take it easy out there—not too much strain if at all possible. Just be careful and don’t make me regret doing this.”
Once he leaves the room, Hofstra turns back to Caleb asking, “So where is it you’re going? Did Heath happen to give you a location?”
“He gave me a riddle,” Caleb explains, “Said if I solved it I would know where Lynne was. He said something about it being time. Time to…join my precious in the…realm of shadows where…hope is lost.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Hofstra sneers.
Caleb shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know if those were the exact words. I’ve been trying my best to remember what he said but I was on painkillers at the time and it’s a little foggy.”
“So we just need to find out where the realm of shadows is,” Ling Tran offers, “We can maybe run an internet search for the phrase? See what turns up?”
“Where hope is lost?” Hofstra comments, “Wouldn’t a loss of hope indicate that Lynne is no longer…”
“No,” Caleb closes his eyes and leans his head back on the pillow, “That wasn’t it. It wasn’t where hope is lost it was…where all of hope is lost.”
“That make a difference?” Hofstra asks, “Cause I don’t see it.”
“With riddles every word makes a difference.”
“That’s it!” Ling Tran snaps her fingers proclaiming, “He didn’t mean hope he meant Hope.”
Seeing the blank expressions greeting her revelation she clarifies, “Hope with a capital H, as in the disappearance in North Carolina where literally all of Hope is missing…or lost.”
With a smile Caleb encourages, “That’s it—that’s gotta be it.”
“How could Heath be there?” Hofstra poses, “That island is under lockdown with a legion of government agencies combing the place. If he was there don’t you think someone would’ve noticed?”
Caleb points out, “If we know one thing about Heath it’s that he’s good at hiding. He’s there.”
Appraising him for a moment Hofstra asks, “And you think you can really walk out of here and take him down?”
Sitting up straighter Caleb fights back a grimace as he says, “For Lynne. I’d follow him to hell and back if it meant saving her.”
“You might just be doing that too,” Hofstra reveals, “Hurricane Fiona is headed straight for North Carolina. You think you’re up to facing that as well?”
Caleb says nothing and Hofstra simply nods his understanding before motioning Ling Tran to follow him out into the hall.
“What’s up?” she asks.
Lowering his voice so Caleb can’t overhear he says, “You understand that the bureau can’t be involved in this. Caleb’s suspension and lack of medical clearance aside, Hope is a hornet’s nest of political red tape right now.
“There is no way I can authorize an incursion onto that island right now even if a massive hurricane wasn’t barreling down on the place.”
“I understand,” she replies, “As I’m sure Caleb does as well. Why couldn’t you say this in front of him?”
He locks eyes with her as he says, “It wasn’t that long ago you worried about his stability in the field. You may have forgotten it but I’m still worried about it. Do you really think nearly being blown up has helped his mental stability?
“I need you to be safe and I need you to keep an eye on him. He’s wounded and too damn close to all of this to think straight. Don’t forget that. The last thing any of us wants or needs is a headline on the six o’clock news about two dead FBI agents on an unsanctioned mission.”
“I will keep him safe.”
Narrowing his gaze Hofstra asks, “And what if you don’t find Heath? Can you temper his rage at losing him again?”
“We’ll find him sir; I know he’s there.”
“Don’t you start that too,” Hofstra retorts, “We have no proof that Heath is on, or ever was on, that island. For all we know he could still be here in Atlanta and be the one responsible for the explosion in his house.
“This could all be a trap so keep your wits about you. Be aware that you may not find Heath in North Carolina but instead you might run across his maybe accomplice—whom you would not recognize.
“Then there’s the small matter of an approaching hurricane to contend with. This whole situation is more dangerous than he’ll ever admit because he can’t
see past rescuing Bosworth. And if she’s not alive when you find her…”
“I know Caleb sir,” she says, “I’m not afraid of what he’ll do.”
Stepping closer to her he offers her a final warning, “Maybe you should be.”
Chapter 30
Hope, North Carolina
Standing on the back deck of another target house, Alexander Cummings watches the ocean waves in the distance crashing onto the shore as the once ferocious rain storm breathes its last.
Placing a cigar between his lips he breathes deeply of its flavor and the scent of the night air. Slowly exhaling, a halo of blue smoke surrounds his head.
Behind him, inside the home, his men are tearing the place apart. The sounds of wreckage waft easily onto the deck and out into the night. This is the fifth place they’ve visited tonight.
All with the same dread luck.
“Sir.”
Turning his head slightly at the sound of the captain stepping outside, Cummings waits patiently for him to report.
“We’ve finished searching sir,” the captain details, “The premises are clean.”
“You’re positive the flash drive is not here?” Cummings growls around the stub of his cigar.
“Yes sir. As instructed, my men tore this place apart and found nothing of import.”
Cummings slowly nods as he looks back out to sea. Another five houses with nothing to report…how long can this go on?
While he’s calculating whether there is enough time to search another place before sunrise the captain asks, “Sir if I may. Are you certain that the flash drive is still on this island? How do we know the reporter didn’t escape that night?”
“He didn’t captain,” Cummings replies, “Of that I’m quite certain.”
“How can you be sir?”
Turning on his heel Cummings stares at his man. It is a hard look designed to make men wither. At last he offers, “Because if the evidence had escaped this island they would’ve already come for us all. The drive is still here…somewhere.
“Tell your men to move to the next target and leave no stone unturned. I want Talbot and that cursed flash drive found.”
“Yes sir,” he salutes him but remains in place.
“Something to add captain?” Cummings inquires.
“Sir,” he haltingly says, “I received word from Major Slade that the men sweeping the perimeter encountered more shadows tonight.”
“Anyone missing?”
“No sir but,” he bunches his hands together nervously, “Given what happened here…the men are growing scared. Word is starting to spread among them that we’re being stalked.”
Rolling his tongue over the cigar, Cummings chews on it a moment before taking it and tossing it over the deck railing. “We have yet to be discovered in this captain and if your men wish to keep it that way tell them to leave the shadows to me and find that flash drive before it is too late.”
“Yes sir,” he nods before stepping back into the house and leaving Cummings alone again with his thoughts. Thoughts that are less concerned with missing men and imagined shadows and more concerned with finding what was traded to Talbot before time runs out.
Before Jing attempts to make a deal to save himself by trading me away.
“It’s time.”
That’s what Heath said before he left, as he smiled crookedly at me and I stared back at the opaque white orb set in his skull. “When I return, it’ll be your time.”
He ran his fingers through my hair causing me to shiver as he added, “At long last I shall make you…presentable…for your precious. I’m sure he’s figured it out by now and is on his way here. So much to do to get ready! Soon Lynne, can you feel the excitement now? So very soon…”
The sense memory of his touch turns her stomach and causes her to compulsively run her fingers through her hair in an attempt to expel his filth.
The room she’s in—like all the room’s he’s kept her in—is a dank and desolate space. She’s in a wicker chair but is not strapped to it. In front of her is a rot iron door that normally is kept locked but this night has been left unlocked.
It’s time.
Closing her eyes to the memory and meaning behind those simple words, she begins to tremble softly in her chair. How can he do this? How can I…?
Before she even realizes what is happening she is standing in front of the iron door, gripping a knife in her hand. The thought of pressing that blade to her throat and just letting go is overwhelming.
She has no idea how long he’s held her here; only that is seems like forever. With the passage of every day she loses more of herself to his madness. Already she can scarcely recall what her life was like before he took her.
It would be so easy. Just press it to your jugular and give in to sweet oblivion. One push…one thrust upward and it’ll all be over. No one could blame you for doing it. How long can I be expected to hang onto this life?
Tears crest her eyelids and slide down her grimy cheeks as she stands on the precipice between life and death.
Why won’t he just kill me like he did the others? I’ve begged him to do it—I’ve actually pleaded with him to just end my suffering but he refuses to. So it falls to me to end it.
Raising the knife to her throat her hand shakes violently. The tip of the blade touches her neck, drawing a single drop of blood and causing her to gasp.
She wants to do it. She wants to escape the torment of her existence. She wants to punish Heath. She dreams of him returning to find her throat torn open and her lying in a crimson pool.
Yes, I will rob him of his plaything. I will take from him the pleasure of life that he took from me.
But the blade remains still until it slowly drops away from her vein. It is the only escape from him and she knows this yet cannot bring herself to take her own life.
Not yet anyway.
Reaching out she grabs the door and swings the heavy iron open on rusting hinges. The scent of decay and feces assaults her nostrils as the air from inside rushes out at her.
“lynne,” Nicholas Talbot croaks from within the darkness, “lynne is that you?”
It’s time.
She enters the chamber without a word as the iron door slowly closes behind her.
Chapter 31
August 23
Atlanta, Georgia
What youth foolishly believes to be true age knows to be false.
In the halcyon days love is always thought of as being stronger than anything. We fool ourselves into thinking that as long as we have love we have need of nothing else. And while love may appear resilient when we first encounter it, true strength is measured over a much longer period of time than any of us care to admit.
Far from being a fount of strength, in fact, love is actually quite a fragile thing. Hearts break so easily; loss seeps into their cracks weakening the intensity of any love they will ever feel again.
It is with wisdom that we learn this and see the difference between what is real and what we thought was real. Only the young idealize love. They imagine it to be this perfect union of souls. They fantasize perfection as young love is blind. For them it is unassailable and ultimately unattainable. They can fool themselves for a while—but only for a while…and then they must grow up.
They must face the reality that love is not perfect. It is hard and fraught with peril. Love, as the wise know, always leads to loss. To truly love is to give your heart to another and become vulnerable—to expose yourself to heartrending loss.
Despite this certainty the old cherish love. They cherish it because of its imperfections. They protect it fiercely but never blindly. They recognize that nothing lasts forever and no platitudes will ever change that. They know that all love ends in loss but love anyway because nothing in this world is worth more than real love.
Without it, what are any of us here for?
Alternating between sitting and pacing the hospital waiting room, Roger is the picture of desperation. It’s be
en hours now since the ambulance carrying the love of his life arrived here and she was whisked away behind closed doors.
He has heard no word on her condition and the uncertainty combined with the frightening nature of the circumstances has led his mind to wander into dark corners indeed.
What if she’s not OK? What if she’s already gone and they just don’t want to tell me? What if she’s fighting for her life right now and there’s nothing I can do to help?
Taking a few deep breaths, he tries and fails to calm himself down. Sitting down again for the hundredth time he lowers his head between his knees to keep from hyperventilating.
Stop it Roger. She’s going to be fine. This is all going to be nothing; a silly mistake, that’s all. She’s going to be all right. We’re both going to go home from here and be happy again.
I can do it God. I swear I can let it go. I can forget what happened to her; I can forgive. I just need her in my life to do that. Please God, don’t take her away from me now. I need her…I can’t live without her. I love her so much. Now is not her time…it’s not…it can’t be…
“Mr. Whittaker?”
His head snaps up at the sound of his name being called. He sees a young doctor standing in front of him and is surprised that he didn’t hear him approach.
Removing his glasses, Adam Levi focuses his sympathetic blue eyes on Roger while running a hand back through his tangled brown locks.
Immediately rising to his feet Roger stammers, “My wife, how’s my wife?”
Wearing a grim expression—that seems wrong on a face so young—Adam motions to the chairs next to them, “Let’s have a seat.”
“Please just tell me how she’s doing.”
Thrusting his hands inside the pockets of his white coat, Adam hesitates for a moment before nodding. As he starts to explain he watches the naked hope on Roger’s face morph into horror as he comprehends the meaning of his words.
“Miriam suffered an acute myocardial infarction,” he elaborates, “A blood clot in her left anterior descending artery blocked the flow of blood and oxygen to her heart for a long enough period to cause severe damage to the muscle.
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