Freefall
Page 30
I closed my eyes and let the earth come to me.
Survive.
Maggie
He was better looking in the photographs. In real life, there was something too angular about the set of his jaw. Still, his eyes were a deep, sapphire blue, and the smile he was currently directing toward me was wide and displayed a perfect set of white, even teeth. I could see the appeal.
“You’re dead,” I said, blinking dumbly.
“I know this must be a shock,” he said, pushing past me into the house. I watched him take in the room in a single glance: the floral wallpaper in the hallway, the threadbare rugs, Charles’s armchair with the outline of my body still imprinted on its cushion. I fought the urge to apologize for the mess.
I trailed after him as he headed toward the kitchen. “They found your body. Your parents told me there’d been a funeral.”
“There was a service, yes. Very nice, too, I hear.” He picked up a sheaf of papers from the table, flicked through them, set them down again. “Mrs. Carpenter—may I call you Maggie? You have a lovely home.” He paced around the kitchen, fingers trailing across the countertop. “It’s very . . . cozy.”
“What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer. He picked up a dishcloth, refolded it, and hung it over the oven handle.
I followed him into the living room, where he took up a place by the mantel. He picked up one of Charles’s little tin cars and cradled it in his palm. The photograph of Ally looked down at us. He followed my eyes and smiled. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
“What are you doing here?” I said again. Shock was flooding through me in waves.
He placed the car back on the mantel and turned to face me. “I thought it was time I met the mother of my fiancée.”
I took a step toward him. “Where is she? Is she still alive? What have you done with her?”
He pulled out a chair and offered it to me, concern washing over his face. “You look pale,” he said. “Please, sit down. I know this must be a shock. Please, sit down.”
“I’m fine standing.” I didn’t want him to see how badly I was shaking.
He smiled. “At least let me get you a glass of water.” He walked back into the kitchen and I heard the rattle of glass and the tap thundering into the sink. I stared around the room, dazed. Was this really happening? I asked myself. Or had I finally lost my mind?
When he came back into the room, the full terror of it all sank in. I had no idea who this man was, or what he was capable of. I had to keep myself under control. He handed me the glass and I sipped from it dutifully.
“Can I get you anything else?” He stood over me, handsome and solicitous in his rolled-up shirtsleeves. “I saw the coffee maker—I could make you a cup?”
The bile in my stomach rose and fizzed unpleasantly at the back of my throat. I shook my head. “Please,” I said weakly. “I have a right to know what’s going on.”
“Please, let’s sit.”
I nodded and fell back onto the sofa, too numb or weak to keep standing anyway.
“It seems there have been a . . . series of misunderstandings,” he said carefully, lowering himself into Charles’s armchair. The leather creaked beneath his weight.
“I saw the reports,” I stuttered. “They matched the dental records—”
He frowned. “These things are never infallible. Records get lost, or misplaced.”
“So you weren’t on that plane?” I thought of all the hours of research I’d done. The bright glare of San Diego, the musty hush of the Bowdoin library, the groan and whir of the old computer still sitting in my kitchen, waiting. Of all the things I’d suspected, I’d never once questioned that he was dead.
He shook his head. “A last-minute change of plans. Unavoidable.”
“But— You were the pilot,” I stuttered. “If you weren’t on the plane, who was flying it?”
He swatted the question away like a fly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t understand.” A feverish hope suddenly gripped me. If he was alive—if he hadn’t died in that plane crash—hadn’t even been on that plane . . . “Does that mean Allison wasn’t on that plane, either? Is she alive, too?”
He looked at me sadly and the corners of his mouth tugged down into a frown. “Allison was on the plane. I’m sorry.”
I fell heavily back to earth. “But she— But you— I don’t—” I stammered. I felt stupid, like the answer must be obvious to everyone but me, but I just couldn’t see it.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, quietly. “I loved her very much. I would have given her anything she wanted.” He reached out and took my hand in his. “You see, I’m a good man, Maggie. That’s something your daughter didn’t always appreciate.” His voice was calm and even, his blue eyes shining and unreadable. He reached toward my neck. His fingers were cool and powder dry on my skin. I flinched. He lifted the necklace from inside my blouse and studied it. “I never understood why she wore this thing,” he said, weighing it in his palm. I could feel his breath on my collarbone. “I always thought it looked a little . . . cheap.”
My voice came out as a whisper. “Her father gave it to her. They were very close.”
He nodded toward the locket. “Do you mind.” It wasn’t a question. He flicked it open and gazed at the photograph inside. “You two look very happy. We were happy, too.” He lifted the photograph out of the locket with his fingernail. I watched a muscle in his jaw twitch. Terror was coursing through me now, ice water in my veins.
“Where is it?” His voice was barely audible.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was shaking violently now, like one of those paint cans in a mixer, and I hated myself for it but I couldn’t stop.
“Oh no. I won’t fall for that again.” He smiled at me then, that broad, blinding smile. That’s when I knew he was crazy. “Your daughter played me for a fool. Do you understand what it feels like be betrayed by the woman you wanted to marry?”
I shook my head. The air was suddenly thick with the threat of violence.
“Dying,” he said quietly. “It feels like dying.”
15 Miles to Go
Allison
I pull off at the exit and head for the crossroads. The McDonald’s is still there. So is the discount mattress store. The Starbucks is new.
Granville is just south of Owl’s Creek. As a teenager, I’d come here every weekend to wander the sprawling corridors of the Granville Mall. I never bought much—a pair of earrings from Claire’s Accessories, a T-shirt from the sales rack in Gap, a couple of CDs from HMV. It wasn’t the buying that drew us there, whole packs of us roaming the stores in our low-rise jeans and our too-loud voices. It was the feeling of having something to do, however frivolous. Owl’s Creek felt like our parents’ town, one that had closed in on itself a long time earlier. My father would tell me about the drive-in they used to go to, and the dances they would have in the town hall, and it all seemed so alien to this boarded-up place we haunted, with its dusty library and its Salvation Army and its diner serving eggs all day. Granville was a glimpse of the wider world, albeit a world that smelled like Abercrombie cologne and deep-fried cheese. It held potential.
And now, here I am, almost back where I started. I’d flown too close to the sun and I was plummeting back to earth at speed, my wings long gone, my hair streaming out behind me in the wind.
I take a right at the Marshalls and a left at the gas station. I don’t look at the signs. I don’t need to. These roads are all wired deep into my brain. I don’t have to think where I’m going. I just go. Down the long road to Owl’s Creek, the one with the bend I used to take too quickly, gripping the wheel with both hands and laughing as the tires screeched. Straight past the elementary school where I won third place in the science fair. A left by the playground where I had my first kiss with a boy called Andy. A right onto the street where I rode my bike during the summer. The barbershop where I had my first haircut. The old warehouse, windows
still blown out. The diner, still needing a lick of paint. It’s all here, just like I never left it.
I pull over in the parking lot behind the liquor store and get out of the car. My legs are so stiff that I stumble for the first few steps. It’s hot, the kind of hot that makes the pavement sing. The sky is the brightest blue and I can hear the faint tinkle of an ice cream truck in the distance and remember, suddenly, that it’s summer. People are on their way to barbecues, and lying on lounge chairs inhaling the smell of chlorine and sunscreen, and eating Popsicles that dribble down their knuckles before they have the chance to catch the drips with their tongues.
I pop the trunk and take out the rifle. It feels heavy in my hands and the metal is hot to the touch. I check the chamber and slide in another bullet. Three shots. That’s all I’ll have.
I place the rifle on the floor of the passenger seat and climb back into the driver’s seat. I take a deep breath. The air carries the scent of geraniums and Joe-Pye weed mixed with a hundred freshly mowed lawns and the acrid tang of melting asphalt. All the smells of a Maine summer.
I’m close now. I’m almost home.
Maggie
A mechanical chime rang through the house. We both froze. I could see the outline of a slim figure through the frosted glass. The doorbell rang again and a voice called out to me. “Mrs. Carpenter? Are you there?” My heart dropped as soon as I recognized her voice.
Ben swiveled toward me. “Who is that?” he hissed.
“Shannon,” I said quickly. “She’s a friend of mine.” I wondered if I should mention she was a police officer, see if I could scare him a little, but I didn’t want to risk it. This was a man who had faked his own death. I didn’t want Shannon getting mixed up in this mess.
A palm pressed itself against the glass. “I saw your car in the driveway,” Shannon called. “Jim sent me over. I’ve got the results of the chip!”
I heard the breath catch in his throat. “Let her in,” he said hoarsely, and he placed a hand on my shoulder and shoved me toward the door.
My feet felt like lead. I wanted to shout a warning to her, to swing open the door and tell her to run, but instead I watched myself turn the doorknob with a shaking hand and pull open the door.
Shannon smiled at me from the doorstep. “I knew you were home!” she scolded, stepping into the hallway. “What took you so long?”
“I—” I glanced behind me. The living room was empty. I looked back at her. She was in uniform, her gun holstered snuggly against her hip. I knew it was her job to protect people, but her face was so young and open, and she was so tiny, like a little bird . . . it made me want to protect her. “I was in the bathroom,” I said hurriedly. “Look, it’s not a great time. I’m not feeling so hot, and I was just about to lie down . . .”
“You do look kind of pale.” She placed a hand on my forehead and frowned. “You don’t feel like you have a fever, though. Can I get you something? A cup of tea maybe? Some Advil?”
I shook my head. “You’re sweet, but I’m fine, honestly. It’s probably better if you go, though. I don’t want you to catch whatever I’ve got.”
“I have an immune system like a horse,” she declared, waving me away. “Besides, I think you’re going to want to hear what I have to tell you. That thing you found inside Allison’s locket was a microSD card. It’s basically a memory storage device, and you can use it to record conversations, which is what she was doing. There are hours of audio recordings on that card—maybe hundreds. I haven’t had the chance to go through everything, but Jim filled me in on what you’d told him and you were right—she was definitely digging for dirt on that company.”
“Please, Shannon,” I said, pushing her toward the door. I was shaking now, my palms clammy, dread a cold stone in my stomach. “We can talk about all of this later. I’d really rather be alone right now.”
Shannon ignored me. “She knew Anthony Tracanelli, too,” she continued. “There are documents from him on the chip. How did you say you knew him again?”
I fought the urge to physically shove her out the door. I needed her out of the house, right then, before she said another word. “Shannon, please—”
A muffled thud came from the kitchen, and both of us froze.
She studied me carefully, as if seeing me for the first time. I tried to keep my gaze steady, but I knew she could see the fear in my eyes. “Is someone else here?”
“No,” I said, too quickly. She tried to move past me but I blocked her way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ben’s shadow pass across the floor. “Please,” I begged. “I’m asking you to go.”
“I’ve just made a pot of coffee.”
Shannon and I turned and watched Ben pad lightly into the hallway. His face was a mask of polite calm. “Why don’t you invite your friend in for a cup?”
I waited for a flicker of recognition to register in Shannon’s eyes, but none came. She shot me a suspicious glance. “I thought you said no one was here?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I felt trapped in my body, like I was hovering above it, powerless. Paralyzed.
She was already pushing past me into the kitchen. Ben smiled as she passed and motioned for me to follow. It felt like the bones in my legs had dissolved.
The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee mixed with that aftershave of his, a spicy musk undercut with the sharpness of citrus. Shannon was already sitting at the table, watching closely as Ben poured coffee into three mugs.
He noticed me lingering in the doorway. “Please,” he said, “sit down.” His voice was light but I could hear the hard edge scraping against it. I sat down at the table and tried not to meet Shannon’s searching eyes. If she thought everything was fine, maybe she’d leave. Maybe there was still time. I noticed her fingers hovering lightly on the edge of her holster. She didn’t think everything was fine.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Ben said as he set a steaming mug in front of her. “I’m Ben Gardner.”
I watched the shock flicker across her face for a split second, but she recovered lightning quick. She nodded, just once, and said in a steady, official-sounding voice, “Maybe you’d like to explain what you’re doing here.”
He shook his head and smiled. “I don’t think I would, actually.” He picked up the sugar bowl and held it out to her. “Sugar?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. Just milk.”
He tipped a spoonful of sugar into his mug and stirred it carefully before placing the wet spoon back in the sugar bowl. I watched the sugar around it darken and fuse. “So,” he continued, pausing to take a sip, “what were you saying to Maggie about a memory card?”
Shannon barely even blinked. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re here.” She might have looked like a sweet kid, but she was cool as a cucumber now. She kept her gaze trained on Ben. “I would have thought somebody like you would have been more discreet about using the telephone.”
“What do we have in this world if not our trust in people?” He scraped his chair forward. “That said, I’d love to hear what you think you have on me. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding.”
Shannon ignored him. “A man died recently. A former FDA employee called Anthony Tracanelli.” She knew that Tony had worked at the FDA, too. I wondered what else she’d found out. “Do you know him?”
Ben shrugged, but I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. “I meet a lot of people.”
“He was investigating your company. He’d been compiling evidence to prove that Prexilane misled the public about the side effects of one of its medications. Somnublaze. He was killed in his hotel room not far from here.” Her eyes flickered briefly to mine, as if to temper the shock rattling through me. So it was murder, not suicide, after all, and Ben had been behind it. I felt a movement under the table. I glanced down and saw that she’d unclipped her holster now and her hand was resting on the handle of her gun. “But I guess you don’t know anything about that, either.”
Shannon used her free hand—her left—to lift the jug. Her hand shook slightly as she poured and the milk splashed onto the surface of the table—the only sign of fear she’d given away. Ben watched carefully as she placed the jug onto the table and picked up the spoon with the same hand.
What happened next was so quick I could barely piece it together in my mind. One second Shannon was stirring her coffee with her teaspoon, the metal chinking against ceramic, and the next she was on the floor, blood spreading out of a hole in her chest and onto the tile floor.
I was on my hands and knees, cradling her head in my arms as her wide, panicked eyes stared up at the ceiling.
The blood kept coming, so red it was almost black. I pressed my hands against it, hoping to stem the tide. I’d never seen so much blood in my life. It spread out from underneath us like a carpet, and it soaked through my jeans to the skin. Shannon’s blood. How was this moment real? How could this possibly be happening? I looked up to see Ben holding a gun in one shaking hand and wiping the spilled milk off the table with a dishcloth with the other. He looked numb.
“You shot her,” I said dumbly. Shannon’s pale face stared up at us from the floor. I could hear the breath rattling through her chest, ragged and faint. The blood kept coming. “We have to call an ambulance,” I said. “We have to do something.”
He shook his head. He looked like a scared, sad little kid. “You know we can’t do that.” That’s the moment I knew he was going to kill me. I felt tired then. So tired.
“What really happened with Ally?” I asked.
He held out a hand to help me up off the floor but I refused it. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”
And then he raised his arm above me and the world went black.