He closed his eyes and listened for the sound of her voice, for anything, any glimmer of hope that she might have heard him. But there was nothing. Only the wind in the trees, the rain, the distant sound of thunder over the sound.
“I want to drink,” he said.
Deaden the pain. It would be easy.
But Seth knew where that road ended. The dark pit of rock bottom he’d clawed his way out of once. He couldn’t do it again.
For a long time, he’d hated Holly for taking the easy way out. Leaving him overwhelmed by grief and regret. If he quit now, if he caved in to his desire to drink, he’d be taking the easy way out too. Giving up on himself. On Marissa. Everything.
That wasn’t good enough.
The answers he was looking for wouldn’t come from a bottle. They wouldn’t come from Holly or anyone else. It was like he told Jesse—he had to want to move on. To live.
Seth wiped the rain from his ruined face and climbed to his feet.
“I will make this right. Be there for her . . . like I wasn’t for you.”
Rain beaded on the bottle of Scotch on top of Holly’s grave. He reached out and picked the chip off the headstone. Head bowed, he clutched the chip tightly in his hand.
“I promise I will.”
Stowing the chip in his pocket, Seth screwed the lid off the bottle. He tipped it over. A steady stream of scotch poured out onto the sodden grass as Seth trudged back to the car.
Chapter 34
Night had fallen and a hush descended over the working class residential neighborhood in Renton. Xander checked the map on his phone to confirm that he was in the right place—the Rooney woman’s house.
Rain tapped lightly against his hood as he strolled along the cracked sidewalk, whistling a Mozart tune. He’d always liked the piece, found it soothing. And tonight, with his frayed nerves, the calm would do him good.
He fingered the capped syringe in his pocket as he passed a woman walking a small dog. He inclined his head in a friendly nod like he belonged here. The dog at her side was a pug. His punched-in nose sniffed the ground. The mutt caught his scent and pricked up his ears. Tense. Alert. He erupted into a flurry of furious barks, lunging against the leash like a watchdog on the attack.
Xander curled his lip and snarled right back. He hated dogs. Growing up on a farm, he had no use for animals without a purpose. He’d never understood the desire for pets. When they were first together, Tory had a cat until he’d lied about having allergies. A few weeks later, she’d gotten rid of the mangy thing.
The owner dragged the yappy dog down the street until the sound of the animal faded. Halfway down the next block, Xander saw the house, a small Cape Cod bungalow tucked back behind a chain-link fence.
Warm yellow light spilled from the windows, looking cheerful in the glum night. From the sidewalk, he had an unobstructed view inside. Dinner dishes were neatly stacked by the sink. There was nobody in the kitchen.
He passed by the entrance and scanned the street, looking for anyone coming his way. Confident that all was quiet, he ducked into the carport.
He’d never done anything like this before, staking out a house. While some of the kids he went to grade school with were masters of the smash and grab, none of that had interested him. There was nothing to learn from looting a house, or so he’d thought.
Peering through the side window, he recognized the daughter. The younger woman was a carbon copy of her mother. From what he could tell, they were alone in the house, tucked into opposite ends of the couch with the television on, blissfully unaware that they were being watched.
Xander slid from shadow to shadow, past the car in the driveway, behind the garbage cans, deeper into the side of the house where no one could see him.
The yard was bumpy, the grass unkempt. Worn folding lawn chairs were stacked on the side of the house, rusting in the rain. A sad little garden was planted in a raised bed. It was filled with mildewing, doubled-over plants.
Apparently, no one had cared for this yard in months. Maybe years. Xander’s foot snarled in the long, wet grass, and he stumbled. His hand shot out and smacked the vinyl siding. The sound echoed in the dead clam. Silently he cursed his clumsiness and hoped no one had heard.
He was making too much noise. He strained to hear any sound coming from inside the house. But there was nothing. That was good. Then he heard something from the neighbor’s yard. A rush of paws in the grass followed by a deep throaty growl. A security light clicked on, bathing the lawn next door in a silvery pool of light. It spilled through the spindly line of pine trees, casting long shadows across the wet grass.
Xander crouched down beside the house, remaining perfectly still. He forced himself to breathe slowly as he waited to see what the dog would do. The animal rushed up to the chain-link fence and sniffed the air. It was a scruffy-looking mutt with a mottled brown coat and pointy nose.
A patio door scraped open. Through the trees, he saw a paunchy man step out onto his deck. Beer belly hanging over the waistband of his jeans, he surveyed the neighborhood, searching for whatever had spooked the dog.
“Come on, Max,” the owner said, and the dog followed him inside.
Xander’s legs were cramping, but he stayed in position. Only once the security light blinked off did he dare move.
The piney air filled his lungs, and he continued around the corner and behind the house like a garden variety thief. If he had any other choice, he wouldn’t be here. But the Rooney woman was a problem he couldn’t afford to ignore.
She wasn’t like the others: gullible girls that could be lured.
He studied the back wall of the house.
The first bedroom belonged to the daughter. The bed was unmade. Clothes, books, and shoes were strewn across the floor.
Xander peeked inside the next window. It was the mother’s room. The bed was made and everything looked as neat as a pin. A pair of shoes by the door caught his eye. Brown lace-ups. Not hers. Definitely a man’s shoes, which meant that Rooney had a boyfriend. He supposed that made sense. She hadn’t gotten herself pregnant, but the boyfriend complicated things.
There was only one car in the driveway, and he hadn’t seen anyone else. But it was possible there were other rooms.
Xander stood outside the window, fingering the syringe in his pocket, and contemplated his next move. The windows were old. Single pane with aluminum frames, it wouldn’t be hard to force them open.
He would wait until after they went to bed. With any luck, the Rooney woman slept alone. If she didn’t, he’d need another plan.
Xander was thinking through the logistics of breaking inside when the woman entered the bedroom. With a jolt of surprise, he sank back into the shadows.
She faced away from the window and unbuttoned her white blouse. Tugging it free from the waistband of her skirt, she tossed it on the bed. It landed in a silky pool on the leaf-green comforter. She stripped off her camisole and her skirt. They too landed on the bed. Wearing only her bra and panties, she gazed into the mirror above the dresser and spun. She stared out the window.
Xander flattened himself against the house.
He didn’t know if she had seen him. All he could do was wait. He listened for the sound of the door while he carefully scanned the carport, looking for obstacles—things that could trip him up if he was forced to run.
He heard something: the scrape of a metal rod as the drapes were yanked shut.
Xander hurried toward the carport, hunched low as he slid along the side of the car, moving fast until he exited the yard onto the rain-swept sidewalk.
A block away, Xander ducked into his car, glad to be out of the rain. In the shadows between the streetlights, he contemplated his next move.
There we only two choices. He either had to deal with the Rooney woman, or they would have to run. There was enough money left over from the last abduction to disappear for a good long while, as long as they were smart. But leaving now would mean abandoning his research and giving up
all hope of discovering a cure.
Without treatment, he knew what would happen, how his mind would systematically crumble until he lost everything. His ability to think, reason, care for himself. He’d continue on a downward spiral while Tory would be forced to take care of his every need. Dressing him when he forgot how. Feeding him. Wiping his ass. Until she had enough and left him.
He would die alone. Helpless. Pathetic. Just like his father had.
No. He couldn’t do that. As long as he was able to think, he had to try to solve the puzzle. All he needed was more time. And another donor.
He needed Marissa Rooney and her baby.
Seconds turned to minutes, turned to hours, and Xander drifted off. He awoke to a pounding noise. Glass vibrated against his cheek. He squinted into the glare of a flashlight’s beam. Drowsy and disoriented, Xander shielded his eyes and lowered the car window.
A bracing spate of rain peppered his face. Icy cold, it revived him, and he sat straighter.
A cop stood outside the driver’s door. The beam of light bounced around the interior of the car. He was searching for something. A weapon? A bottle? A body?
“Sir, have you been drinking?” the cop asked.
“No,” Xander rubbed his eyes. “Just tired, that’s all. Guess I fell asleep.”
“License and registration.”
“My . . .” Xander slapped his pockets and tried to look convincing. “I must have left my wallet at work.”
It was a tired excuse, and the cop wasn’t buying it. He stepped back and trained the light on Xander’s face. His other hand hovered near his sidearm.
“Step out of the car.”
“Why?” Xander lifted a hand to shield his vision. “I haven’t been drinking. I haven’t done anything. I was supposed to meet my girlfriend here an hour ago. She must be running late.”
“Does she live here?”
Xander forced a grin. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He’d have to give a name and address, all things that were easily verifiable. Not good.
“Actually, no. She lives a few miles from here, but we were going to meet at her friend’s place. I can’t imagine what’s keeping her.”
The cop shot him the same disgusted look his grandfather had when he was caught telling a lie. He wished he had Tory’s gift. She was a talented liar. But he was screwing this up. If the cop searched him or his car, things would get a whole lot worse.
“Step out of the vehicle, sir.”
Xander heaved a sigh like this was all a big imposition and opened the car door. He stepped out into the cold night, careful to keep his hands in plain view.
“Look, if I could just call my girlfriend, we could straighten this whole thing out.”
Tory could talk her way out of anything.
Icy pellets of rain slashed down from the dark sky, and Xander shivered. Shielding his eyes from the flashlight’s beam, he took measure of the cop. He towered over Xander. No lightweight, he gauged the man at two-twenty-five. He had every advantage in this situation—height, weight, training, weapons. Xander had no choice but to play along.
“Reach your arms straight out to the side and touch your nose.”
Step one of the sobriety test. Arms spread eagle, he touched the tip of his nose—first with his left, then his right. A tremor raced up his arm. His hand shook. The cop was quick. Squinting, his watchful gaze lingered on Xander’s trembling hand. Xander’s finger slid off the tip of his nose.
He’d touched it. Technically. The tremor only amplified the cop’s suspicions and forced them onto the second step. Walking in a straight line.
Xander walked heel to toe. Fifteen steps up. Fifteen steps back. He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited.
“I’ll take a Breathalyzer. Whatever you need.”
“Sir, take your hands out of your pockets,” the cop demanded.
“Relax,” Xander said. Removing his cell phone, he held it in plain sight. “Look I’ll call my girlfriend, and we can clear this whole misunderstanding up. What do you say?”
Xander dropped the phone. It shattered on the street. It was enough to distract the cop. Seeing his chance, Xander lunged. The syringe clenched tight in his fist, he drove the tip deep into the cop’s thick neck and pressed the plunger. The cop dropped the flashlight. Xander grabbed it, and clubbed the back of the cop’s head with all his might. One blow. Two.
The cop’s knees buckled.
Xander dragged him off the sidewalk into a scrubby stand of trees. He’d be out for a while.
The first thing Xander needed to do was ditch the car. Some place that was close and busy enough to delay identification while he came up with a better plan.
A heartbeat passed and then he had it.
Southcenter.
He hit every red light between Renton and Tukwila; each one felt like an eternity. He forced himself to stop. Wait. A car horn blared behind him. Xander grit his teeth and glared back in the rearview mirror.
“It’s red,” he hissed, but as he turned his gaze back to the traffic light, it wasn’t red. It was green. The car horn sounded again.
Xander shook his head, wondering how long he had sat there, suspended in an ocean of time, before he was jarred back into the moment. Time seemed to swim past him as he proceeded through the light. Bright headlights strobed by as a sudden flash of panic gripped him.
He didn’t know where he was going.
He had to call Tory and ask her. But he didn’t have his phone and . . .
Then he saw it—the lights of Southcenter Mall cut through the gloom, and he remembered. He had to ditch the car.
Brightly lit storefronts burned through the misting rain. Acres of cars were parked in the lot. Tiered parking structures flanked the east and west sides of the mall, and he headed for the closest one. He took the spiraling ramp up to the second level and wedged his way into a narrow stall between two SUV’s.
Wasting no time, Xander left the vehicle and fled down the stairs as if he was being chased. He had lost all sense of time. All he remembered was the cop. And the need to run.
Tory. She would come and get him.
He searched his pockets for the phone. It was gone.
Xander ran though the parking lot, slowing his pace only as he caught up to a group of pedestrians crossing the street. Knowing there was safety in numbers, he slid between several people and blended into the crowd heading toward the restaurant on the corner.
Sweat dampened his forehead, and his heart was still racing as he pushed through the front doors. Steam fogged his glasses, and he stripped them off. He was scanning for a phone—some way to call Tory and ask her to pick him up. He kept his gaze angled downward while he threaded between the tables, working his way back toward the restrooms.
A rowdy group of teenaged boys were mobbed around a table, joking and laughing as they traded foul-mouthed jibes. Three empty pizza platters were stacked in the middle, ringed with dirty plates and soiled napkins. The greasy scent of pizza hung heavy in the air as Xander spied what he wanted.
He bumped the corner of the table on his way by.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Reaching out, he palmed a cell phone left out in plain view and kept on walking. A kid, a pimply faced kid wearing a Seahawks jersey, grabbed his wrist.
“What the fuck are you doing?” the kid demanded.
The phone dropped from Xander’s hand. Twisting, he yanked his arm free and bolted for the back door. Panicked he burst from the restaurant’s rear entrance into the rain and fog.
Voices yelled behind him, but Xander kept running until the voices receded, and he was alone. His footfalls slowed, and all he could hear was the distant sounds of cars and sirens.
Sweat ran through his hair and streamed down his forehead. He wiped it off as he caught his breath. The world outside looked like a gloomy landscape painted in watery gray and shades of black. He couldn’t focus. It took a moment to realize why.
He found his glasses in his pocket,
put them on, and kept walking.
Adderall. If only he had some Adderall to keep him going, but the pills had run out days ago. Exhaustion was closing in.
A block away, Xander saw a Lowe’s hardware store and veered toward it. Bone tired, he needed a place to rest. He was patrolling the perimeter, searching for cover, when he noticed a half dozen demo storage sheds at the far end of the lot.
They were a perfect place to hide.
Xander stepped inside one of the larger ones. The interior smelled like mold, and he wrinkled his nose. It didn’t matter what was growing in here, he assured himself. The shed provided shelter from the rain and the wind. That was all he needed. Rest.
Rain popped against the plastic roof in a soothing rhythmic sound, like being in a tent. Xander braced his back against a wall and dropped his head to his bent knees. In no time at all, he fell asleep.
He woke. Chilled and shivering, he stumbled from the shed and looked around. He saw the Lowe’s sign burning through the fog. Where was he? How had he gotten here?
It was like he had arrived from outer space.
Like a lost kid looking for home, he stumbled through the empty parking lot, not sure where he was going, just moving. He had a phone. He could call for help. Call her.
But he couldn’t remember her name. A thorough search of his pockets turned up nothing. Had someone stolen his phone? Or maybe he’d lost it. He didn’t know.
He kept walking. The thick blanket of fog wrapped around him. Streets fell away, but he kept going. The human brain was an amazing machine, and like a musician who had practiced the same piece a hundred times over, he relied on muscle memory to guide him home. Wherever home was.
Somewhere around dawn it stopped raining. The sky brightened from black into gray. Cold gripped him hard. Xander shook, standing inside the cramped lobby of a brick apartment building.
Is this where he lived?
Not his place. Hers. She lived here.
He couldn’t remember her name.
Panic fluttered inside his chest, but he fought it back. Closed his eyes. Tried to picture her name in his mind, but it was like staring at a blank wall.
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