She looks deeper at the frail woman soothing her, wondering what atrocities she must have endured.
You’re really my sister...
I really am.
Claire smiles. You read my thoughts.
With her eyes, Jill smiles back. I know.
Claire reaches for Jill’s hand then draws her close. All awkwardness slips away as the sisters cling to each other, their synchronistic breath slowing down.
I have a sister...a twin... And she’s right here.
Jill steps back to look her straight in the eyes. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it—together. Do you believe that?”
Claire nods.
“Good.”
Clutching Claire’s hand, Jill leads her up a narrow path on a steep hill, covered with pine trees. When she stumbles or slips, Jill catches her—near involuntary movements to prevent further harm. Claire has ever felt so in sync, albeit terrified, beside another. Once they finally reach level ground, she follows Jill to an abandoned hunter’s cabin, tucked away in a thick cluster of pine trees.
“I always knew I’d find freedom here,” Jill says.
Let’s hope we do. Claire follows her inside.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
“Someone’s been here, but not for a while,” Jill says as they make their way into the cabin. The brush surrounding it had thickened, making it even more difficult to see. But someone had cleared a short and narrow path to the door.
Once fully inside she observes that the heavy snowfall has insulated the cabin, increasing its warmth. A blessing. A stuffed moose head hangs on the wall. The floor is mostly covered with a coarse, woven rug. And a small wooden table stands before the kitchen-like area—several cupboards and drawers below a steel countertop. Though the interior is much like Jill remembers, it’s not as musty as she imagined it would be. The floors feel seem somewhat clean and a large, folded blanket sits on a stool in the corner. In the storage cupboard, she finds a lantern and a half-empty jug of propane.
“Maybe whoever was here will come back,” Claire says.
“Possibly. It’s past deer season. But maybe the small game. Raccoons, foxes...” Or bears, she adds silently, not wishing to spook Claire more than is necessary. She adds fuel to the lantern and sets it on low.
“Does it go any brighter?” Claire asks, hoping for not only more light but warmth, particularly for Jill. She considers again her frail state; they can’t stay out here long.
“It’ll last longer like this,” Jill says. “And if he heads this way, I don’t want him to see us.”
They find the warmest spot on the ground, atop a small rug against the far wall, and cover themselves with the blanket.
“Take these,” Claire says, handing Jill her gloves. “Please.”
Jill slips them on then pulls her coat tighter around her. A wave of nausea washes over her as she notices his smell. Something like musky cologne mixed with cum and poison. It crawls over her skin, seeping into her pores. It kept her body warm as they ran, but her bare hands had grown numb within minutes. Since then the numbness has turned into a deep, icy ache.
“What can I do?” Claire asks, cupping her hands around Jill’s bundled-up feet. “You must be in so much pain.”
“I’m good at ignoring it.”
“Disassociation.” She notices Jill’s questioning look. “It’s...a term I use at work. What do you think he’ll do?”
Jill pauses, appearing pensive. “He ran toward the only solid trail on the property. It goes for miles, so he’ll be occupied for a while. Many places to search.”
Jill closes her eyes as though watching Malcolm in her mind. “When he doesn’t find us, he’ll head back to the house and look for us there. Then he’ll head this way. He won’t believe we’ve gone far. There are a couple of other cabins further east, but closer to the house. If we’re lucky, he’ll head there first.”
She opens her eyes, continuing in a matter-of-fact tone. “We’d never make it to the main road in this cold, even if he doesn’t find us. We need to plan for his arrival.”
She’s bright, Claire notes, a strategist. “You’ve been plotting to get away for some time...haven’t you?”
Jill doesn’t respond.
Claire studies Jill’s face, the way her skin clings to her cheekbones as though she’s just left a concentration camp. “You may be the strongest person I’ve ever known.”
Jill looks away, as though dismissing the notion.
Looking through the cabinets and drawers, she finds a knife and scissors and lays them on the table with the knife she took from the house. “See anything else?”
“Just this.” Claire retrieves a rope from a wall hook and adds it to the stash.
They examine their tools then sit together, waiting.
“How long have you known about me?” Claire asks, keeping her voice to a whisper.
“Not long. But I think I’ve always sensed you.”
“Me too.” Claire thinks of Elle—the closeness she’s longed for. But maybe it was for Jill all along?
“He was following me,” Claire says.
Jill nods, sending chills through her arms.
“Because we’re twins?”
“That’s one reason...” Jill pauses. “I’ve been sick. And I think—at least he thinks—my kidneys are failing.”
“What?” Claire’s brain whirls. Her ED symptoms. Dr. Thorpe’s meticulous exam. Who else is part of this plot? “I had some digestive problems around our birthday. My doctor sent me to a specialist who ran all of these extra tests. At the time I thought he was just being thorough... Malcolm ordered the tests.”
Then it strikes her. “God, Jill. I’m a perfect match!” She snaps into protector mode. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“It’s okay. I feel stronger. Since I learned about you, I’ve been eating—more than I have in years.”
Has she? Claire knows too well the way eating disorders trigger lies. Regardless, she believes her. “I’m glad. But that doesn’t mean you’ve healed...” She tries not to think about the high mortality rate of eating disorders. Losing the sister she’d just met seems unfathomable.
“We just need to get through the night,” Jill says. “If I were going to... If my health were going to fail fully, it would have happened already. In a way, your just being saved my life. Ever since I realized you were out there, I’ve fought harder than I ever have. This last part might even seem easy.”
“You saved me too, you know.” She refocuses on their task. “If we hear him coming, what exactly should we do?”
“Don’t worry,” says Jill. “I have that all figured out.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Hank listens to the message a third time but still can’t make out the words. What at first seemed like a mistaken butt-dial now alarms him, keeping him awake. A man’s voice then Claire’s. Broken words, breathy sounds...or a whimper. Was she crying?
Muffled sounds follow. The voices grow distant. Then, nothing.
His several phone calls led straight to her voicemail. Her phone is off. Or broken. He’s left her two voicemails and sent a text.
Now what? Is he just paranoid? Jealous at the sound of a male voice? Guilt strikes him as he recalls the memorial service—they just buried her grandfather, for Christ’s sake. Claire is probably with her grandmother and not checking her phone. Besides, it’s late. The call came at 9:16 p.m., during his night shift. By his first return call, she was likely asleep. He should chill out and follow suit, he tells himself.
But he can’t.
He jumps to his computer, logs onto Google, searches ways to decipher voicemails. A-ha. Hitting star seven three as the message starts reduces the speed. He replays the message slower, this time pumping up the volume. Though much of it remains garbled, he can now make out several words.
The man says killed, and you understand? She responds, something that sounds like Yes, Mel. Has Claire mentioned someone named Mel? An old boyfriend or coworker?
She never reveals patient names...
He wracks his brain but can’t recall anyone named Mel. At the reduced speed, Claire’s whimper sounds like a sob; she had been crying.
Hank darts from his bed, dresses and races to his car, going...he doesn’t know where. Claire’s apartment seems a reasonable first stop.
Should he phone the police? Not yet, he decides. His girlfriend’s partial phone message is too little to run on.
He reaches the apartment building and finds Claire’s parking spot empty; no surprise. Envisioning—hoping—her safe and sound in Hastings, he heads toward 94 East.
The drive that should take forty-plus minutes takes him less than thirty. He spots Claire’s car in front of her grandparents’ house. A good sign. She’s probably tucked in bed, sleeping. He glances at the clock. Three a.m. is too late to knock. Once night edges into dawn, he’ll approach. He imagines waking to Claire knocking on his window then asking, “What are you doing here?” Her laughter after he shares his foolish concerns.
He steps out of the car and shuts his door…too loud. A dog’s bark sounds. Zola. Another good sign.
Lights fill the entryway of the house. The door opens. Cynthia appears, seeming alarmed.
“Cynthia. It’s me. Claire’s friend, Hank.” He hurries toward her.
“Thank goodness,” she says. “You gave us a fright. Didn’t he, Zola?” She pets the dog.
Zola wags her tail and sniffs his feet then looks around as though searching for someone else. Was the dog expecting Claire?
Hank’s throat feels dry. “I’m so sorry to disturb you. I...have something of Claire’s. I just finished a night shift and figured I’d...leave it in your mailbox. Or something.” He appreciates the darkness; he feels his cheeks flushing from the lie. “I’m sure she’s sleeping.”
“Probably, but not here. Malcolm took her and CC to dinner last night and I was asleep before she closed my door. She must have stayed at Elle’s.”
“I’m sorry, did you say Malcolm?”
“Yes, Gil’s cousin. Such a charming man. He picked them up after the service.”
Hank’s heartbeat accelerates. He tries to replay the message in his head. Could Claire have said Malcolm?
“Yes, Gil’s cousin. Such a charming man. He picked them up after the service.”
Hank’s heartbeat accelerates. Mindful not to worry the old woman or, by extension, CC, he keeps his concerns to himself. “I don’t think I met him. Does he live around here?”
“Not far. Somewhere near Rochester. He’s a doctor at the Mayo Clinic.” She pauses. “I can take whatever it is you wanted to give Claire.”
“Actually, do Elle’s folks live nearby? Claire will need it first thing in the morning. I’ll just swing by and leave it on the step.”
“You’re sure?” He nods, glad she doesn’t press for details. “All right then. Come inside before you freeze.”
Cynthia leads Hank to the kitchen where she jots the address on a tablet. She hands him the slip of paper and accompanies him back to the door. “Be careful out there. Roads are slick.”
“I will, ma’am. Thanks. Sorry again for startling you.”
Once back in his car, he plugs the address into his iPhone search engine. Bingo. He dials the phone number. After a tired-sounding man answers, he asks for Elle.
Moments of shuffling sounds later, Elle picks up. “Hank? What’s wrong?”
“Is Claire with you?”
“No. Why?”
“Can you meet me outside in ten minutes? I’m just leaving her grandmother’s place.”
Hank pulls up in front of the Taylor residence. Elle rushes outside and into his car. He plays the message for her on fast then slow speed.
“Oh my God!”
“You know who she’s talking to, don’t you?”
“Malcolm, her grandpa’s cousin. Claire said he gave her the creeps! So much was going on, Hank. Why didn’t I listen?”
She tells him about Claire’s fear that she was being followed, her suspicions about her therapist’s murder and her grandfather’s warnings.
Hank shakes his head in disbelief. “She told me she thought her grandpa was saying something to her... But why didn’t she tell me the rest?”
“She just found out about Dr. Marsha. And, shit. I told her she was just being paranoid about the car thing. Some black SUV she saw twice.”
“You think Malcolm is involved in all of this?” It’s a lot of information to absorb and he hasn’t remotely connected the dots. But they have something—an identity.
“Maybe not all of it, but he’s involved somehow. If anything’s happened to her...” “What’s his last name?”
Elle closed her eyes, thinking. “Campbell.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Dr. Malcolm Campbell. It was on some chocolates he sent her.”
While Hank Googles the physician on his phone, Elle calls the police. Though her sentences come out jumbled, she gets the point across—Claire is missing. Her car is where she last parked it. She left a frantic sounding voicemail after nine o’clock and no one has heard from her since. And she suspects that a relative Claire called “creepy” has her.
“What do you mean?” Elle sounds anxious. “I just told you the reason... No, I didn’t see her leave with him...” She pauses. “Fine.”
She hangs up, disheartened. “They said we can come in and file a report. If she’s still missing in forty-eight hours—”
“Christ, we can’t wait forty-eight hours!”
“I know... Did you find anything more on him? Phone number or address?”
“There’s about a thousand M. Campbells in Minnesota, only a couple Malcolms. I found his work site, but that only has a clinic address... Cynthia said he lives near Rochester. But if that’s the case, he’s not listed.” He clutches his phone is his fist, resisting the urge to chuck it out the window. “Besides, he could’ve taken her anywhere.”
“I know... Wait! Claire has GPS on her phone. We can track it.”
“But her phone’s off.”
“It shouldn’t matter. We have the same phone service.” Elle dials the cell company and explains the situation. “It’s an emergency. Can you track it?” She pauses then looks at Hank. “We need her account password.”
“Great...” What could it be? Her address? Definitely not her birthdate. “Wait—try Zola.” Her apartment security system code.
Moments later Elle hangs up. “Score. We’ve got an address.”
“That’s near Rochester,” he says, scanning the image on Google Maps. A large wooden house surrounded by snow-covered trees. “He’s got her at a house...probably his. It’s about sixty miles from here.” They can be there in an hour. Less, if they hurry.
“I’m calling the police again,” Elle says. “Maybe now they’ll—”
“What, drive out there? Doubtful.”
“But shouldn’t they know where she is? My dad is friends with the chief. If I show up in person, maybe they’ll call him...or get him on it sooner. I can be super-persuasive when I need to be. And besides, what if she comes back? Or what if Malcolm has her phone, but not her? God, there are too many possibilities... I hate all of them.”
“Fine. You go to the police. Tell them everything we know. I’ll head to Malcolm’s place.”
Elle starts to object.
“Just go,” he says. “We can cover more ground apart.” They exchange cell numbers before she steps outside.
Hank sets his phone navigator on speaker and speeds off, certain of little but his destination.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
“Aghhh!” Malcolm bellows into the brisk night air, sending a flock of birds out from the overhead trees. After putting on clothes he’d run for close to an hour, searching three small cabins in his path, and where’d it get him? Nowhere but angrier.
Bringing Claire here was dangerous—a demon disguised as an angel. He should have known! What made him think she was better or different than
Gil? She’s an extension of him. He hadn’t saved her the way he saved Jill. Should he have kept her, too?
It’s too late now. And already she’s turned his love against him. He could lose her...forever.
Lightheadedness washes over him like a suffocating fog. He doubles over, nauseous from the pain of his wounded eye. Closing his one good eye, he feels his knees giving out beneath him.
An image appears in his mind like a wakeful dream, lifting his spirits. Dawn!
She skirts among the trees wearing a lavender sun dress. Green grass. Wildflowers. No more snow. The sun’s rays make a halo around her light hair. It’s just like the first day they made love.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says. So young and pure...alive. The best parts of Cecelia, intensified. “I just want to hold you.”
“And you did, didn’t you, Sweet Malcolm?” she says, stepping out of the memory. “Find them and you’ll find me. They’re part of me, you know. Remember what we used to say? You plus me equals three? I guess you should have said four... Right, Sweet Malcolm?”
“Don’t look at me,” he says as she moves closer.
She doesn’t listen. She sweeps in, so near he can feel her breath. She presses her soft lips to his injured eye. As she steps back, her abdomen balloons out. Farther...farther. She’s pregnant.
She drops to the ground. “Help! It’s happening!”
The trees disappear. They are back in the delivery room—his basement. Dawn lays on the hospital bed he’s arranged in the basement, crying out in pain as he examines her.
“Your contractions have just begun.”
“But it’s too early! Will my baby be okay? It hurts! Please, make it stop.”
“I will take care of everything, just as I promised.” Inserting a needle into her arm, he hooks her to the IV. “When you wake up, she’ll be here. Rest now, my love.”
“But...my dad’s coming. I want to see my baby....”
Ten, nine... Before he reaches five, she’s out.
In Her Shadow Page 18