by Dale Mayer
It had been a while since they'd spoken. What a way to reconnect. Kali Jordan.
He grinned. So she did remember him. And from her reaction he knew she’d felt something. Dare he hope she'd felt the same tug he had?
Finally - it was the right time.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sleep wouldn't come. She’d gotten up once already to double check the locks on every window and door in the house. Shiloh whined softly. Kali stroked the dog’s head, helping them both to relax. Glancing at the clock, she wondered if it was too late to call Brad. Her best friend had been in and out of the town on various jobs these last few days. She didn't want to burden him with this nightmare, but she really wanted to talk to him. Giving into impulse, she dialed his number.
"Hello." The cool voice of Brad's wife always made Kali wince. Susan was iced wine, Kali was beer. Susan was a first class traveler in life, and Kali could always be found in the back with the dogs. Susan was grace, poise and perfectly turned out. Kali was jeans, tee-shirts, and hair pulled back in with hair scrunchie to stop it from bugging her. Sure, Kali cleaned up nice for special occasions, but she didn't start each and every day as if cameras would be following her. Caviar to hot dogs.
"Susan, it's Kali. Is Brad there? I need to speak with him."
There it was. That awkward drawn-out silence whenever she called lately. Kali tried to shake off the icy disdain directed her way but damn it was getting old. The two women used to be friends. Somewhere, somehow this last year that had all changed. Whether it was from Brad's extended drinking binges, Susan's wish for him to leave the industry or something else, Kali didn't know. At one time she'd tried to find out. The icy wall had been in place ever since.
At the continued silence, Kali double checked the clock. Ten at night wasn't late, was it? "Susan?"
"He's not here, sorry."
Click.
What the hell?
Kali stared at the phone. Now she really wouldn't be able to sleep. What a bitch. Allowing herself a moment to mentally vent, she then pushed Susan firmly from her mind, focusing instead on Stan's visit and his FBI buddy. Could anyone just pick up the phone and call the FBI? And she couldn't even begin to sort through the weird sense of connectedness with him. Her mind tripped over the questions about the letter writer, all without answers. Hours passed while she lay, covers up to her chest and a cup of chamomile tea sitting forgotten on the night table beside her.
A stranger could know of her. She wasn't proud or boastful, but she knew her name had been bandied about by those in the industry. A private person in many ways, she attended conferences, spoke at charity events, and had written various reports submitted to SAR organizations all over the world. The trust fund set up after her parents' death, while not huge, provided sufficiently for her modest lifestyle and allowed the money from her appearances to go to Second Chance. She worked as hard as anyone to keep the center running.
Though she wasn’t famous, she was known. She sighed. Her headache slowly returned. Grant could be right. This was personal.
Her gut quivering, Kali threw off her covers, turned on a lamp and retrieved a notebook and pen from her dresser. Scrambling back under her duvet, she turned to a clean page and titled it Competitors. Enemy was too strong a word.
Throwing her mind back ten years, she skipped from disaster to disaster to the odd conference, press release, and training sessions. She wrote a list of every person who'd been mean, cutting or jealous of her. Those who had been openly antagonistic received an asterisk beside their names.
Then on a clean page she repeated the process, this time listing every person she thought was incompetent or dangerous on the scene and those she'd been forced to file complaints against.
Both lists ended up surprisingly short. She frowned and highlighted the couple of names that might be worth checking further. Several she hadn't seen in years, and still others that had left the industry.
Completing that task was like pulling a plug in her mind. She yawned, her eyes drifting closed as sleep overtook her.
Caught in a dream state, Kali walked across the remains of a cement city where buildings lay crumpled like tissue, steel and glass littering the surface. Agonized screams for help from people buried alive, waiting for rescuers who would never come echoed in her head. Her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, she scanned the devastation. It was too much. She couldn't help them all. Even as she stood there, the earth grumbled, sending her into an abyss opening beneath her feet. Twisted metal caught on her legs, stones tumbled on her head. She panicked as she tried to get free of the collapsing rubble. Terror clamped her heart and squeezed. She flailed her arms and struggled harder. She cried out her terror.
And woke up.
Kali jerked upright, fighting against the endless darkness to find her blankets on the floor and the sheets tangled tightly around her legs. Her heart slammed against her ribs. A light film of sweat coated her skin. She shuddered. Her chest rose and fell as her breath gasped out into the empty room. The cool night air wafted over her already clammy skin, raising goose bumps.
"Oh God."
Shiloh's warm furry head brushed her arm, a wet nose nudging her shoulder.
"Hello, Sweetheart." Kali kicked the sheets to the bottom of the bed and swung her legs out over the edge.. She needed a drink of water. Sleeping pills were not an option. She hated - hated - drugs of any kind.
The warmth slowly filtered back into her body as she paced her room, trying to slow her racing pulse and catch her breath. Sleep was done for the night. It was three a.m. But it was morning somewhere in the world. She needed to take her mind off this mess. She needed her paints. She walked through to the second bedroom-turned-studio. A blank canvas awaited her on the easel.
She donned her favorite smock over her pajamas and grabbed her mixing board. Shiloh took up her usual position at the doorway - beyond spatter range. Kali couldn't help reaching for black and dark purple. With the brush in hand, she felt her emotions gather strength, reaching for release.
Kali drowned in the maelstrom. At her easel she experienced no hesitation, no decisions of what to create or how. Her brush moved in smooth, sure strokes. A little more here, a dab over there, her brush quickly filled in details. Somewhere along the line, she got lost in the image swirling in her brain.
Then she stopped.
Her hand hovered in mid-air, the brush ready for yet another stroke. She sagged, barely managing to stop herself from falling to the floor. She dropped her materials on the table. Without gazing at the picture, she wiped her hands on a nearby rag, removed her smock, and headed back to her bedroom. Her mind felt like a bucket with a large hole in it, completely drained. The steps to her bed took forever.
Shiloh plodded slowly beside her. That was the last thing she remembered before collapsing on her bed already asleep.
***
The phone rang, penetrating the fog inside Kali's mind. Stirring, every muscle heavy and sore, she reached for the handset.
"Kali? Are you there?" Stan's thin reedy voice gave her the shivers
"Yes. I'm here." Her voice came out scratchy, as if rusty and unused.
"There's another letter. It was on the doorstep of the center this morning. It has to be the same guy." Excitement rolled through the phone line, disturbing Kali's senses. Clearly, this drama excited Stan. He sounded almost pleased.
Kali frowned in dismay. "Another one? At the center? Huh?" She cleared her throat hoping it would clear her mind. "What does it say?"
"It's simple. The first part is just two words - Game on."
Game on. Dread gripped her throat. That could only mean the game, whatever it was, had started. She'd been included, whether she liked it or not.
Something twigged. "What do you mean - the first part?"
"Yeah. The rest of it...and I sure hope you understand this...says, 'Kali's the pro. She'll know what to do.'"
"But I don't," she wailed. "Stan, I don't know what to do!"
"Well, h
e seems to think you do."
"Well, he's wrong," she snapped, throwing back the covers to jump out of bed. "As far as I know, he's just another of the many loose screws wandering planet Earth. Have you told Grant?"
"Yes, he's on his way in."
She strode to the bathroom, shuddering at her image in the mirror. Purple bags. "Look Stan, I'm just out of bed. Call me if Grant has anything to add to this. I need a shower - not to mention a chance to think."
"Good idea. I'll talk to you in a few minutes."
What a mess. Again she had to consider the possibility that someone had been watching her house. Why else would this guy take the second letter to Stan's center if he hadn't watched Stan and a stranger arrive here...and leave with the first one? Unless he wanted the center involved in his game? And Stan?
Twenty minutes later, dressed and depressed, Kali made her way to the kitchen. She fed Shiloh on the deck in the morning sunlight. Running her fingers through her shoulder-length hair, she remembered last night's painting. She headed to her studio to take a look. She'd almost reached it when apprehension washed over her.
The door was closed.
She never closed the door after painting. It wasn't good for the wet canvases. Besides, the room only had a small window, so the paint fumes built up fast. A frown wrinkled her forehead. Had she simply forgotten? She had been deadly tired last night.
Bolstering her courage, she pushed the door wide and flinched as the fumes rushed out, almost stinging her nose. "Oh gross."
Holding her breath, Kali crossed to the window, shoving it as far open as it would go. Fresh air surged into the small space. She'd love a huge studio, except painting wasn't exactly a full time career for her - no matter how much she'd like it to be. It was a release for when depression and madness overcame her soul. Maybe later, when she no longer did rescue work, she could indulge her art as a creative hobby instead of as an outlet of pain and turmoil.
Walking around the easel, Kali stopped midstride.
The painting stood where she'd left it. With surreal and strangely enticing clarity, blacks and purples and browns popped off the canvas. Heavy paint splotched at places, then thinned and stretched across the top.
She stepped back and frowned. Up close, the picture resembled a distorted nightmare. Not surprising. Still, she caught a glimmer of an intentional design. She tilted her head and looked at it from a different angle. Nothing changed.
Sniffing the air, Shiloh ambled into the doorway.
Kali smiled down at the dog. "Not very sweet smelling, is it?"
She glanced back at the jumble of colors and stilled. There. She studied the abstract mess, letting the colors move and form to reveal the image hidden within.
Shivers slid over her spine.
Oh my God.
No way.
Kali blinked. It was.
There was no mistaking the image of a person buried under small bushes, civilization of some kind crouched on the horizon, with a series of rough rock formations soaring behind the bushes.
"What the hell?" she whispered.
Kali was not a great artist, by any means. Blind escapism kept bringing her back to the process because it worked. She painted with wild abandon. The paint slapped on canvas with no thought discharged her emotions. For some reason it always worked.
And it always looked like shit.
This, on the other hand, was ingenious. Sure the subject matter was gruesome; however, given her volunteer work, not unexpected. Especially after she had found the letter.
The artistic abandon was still there. The paint was so thick in spots the picture was almost three-dimensional. The terrain had depth and movement. The light was dark and terse, yet still shone with gruesome clarity - and was way beyond her artistic abilities.
"It's fucking brilliant."
It was also scary as hell.
***
It had started. Finally. He couldn't stop beaming. And he'd learned to be a master of keeping his feelings to himself. Six months. For six months he'd been moving forward, taking tentative steps to clarify his path, bringing events into alignment and planning. Always planning. Finally, he'd reached the stage of dealing with the abomination called Kali. She couldn't be allowed to continue with her Godless ways.
Hunkering lower into his makeshift bower on her neighbor's beachside entrance, he used his high-powered binoculars to keep an eye on Kali's cedar house. He had a perfect view of both the back entrance and a large chunk of the sundeck. She'd been storming in and out of the house all morning. Something was up.
He smirked. He was up.
With a quick tug, he delved inside his backpack for his water bottle and the granola bars he always kept handy. He should have brought popcorn for the show.
Pushing an evergreen branch aside, he studied the road to Kali's house. She'd chosen the property for the privacy and beach access. Even better, the corner of both properties led to a pathway along the edge of the cliff. He'd have to examine those possibilities later.
The heavily wooded properties, while designed for maximum privacy, afforded him a secure blind. And one far enough away from Shiloh's incredible nose. Settling into a more comfortable position, he relaxed, prepared to wait and watch. He had time. He wanted to make sure he got this right. She was a jumping off point - the supreme test, so to speak. If he rose to the challenge here, then he knew he could handle all of God's work - whatever that might be.
CHAPTER SIX
The small plane bucked in the heavy winds.
Kali stared out the window, happy her stomach had learned to adjust to turbulence years ago. Dark gray clouds glared back. She hated flying through storms. The lightning hadn't started...yet. Not her idea of fun.
But necessary today. An apartment building had collapsed on the outskirts of Sacramento, California. Sixty apartments lay in rubble. Occurring during the small hours of the morning meant the building had been occupied.
The only good thing about it was it took her away from the letter mess. She'd dumped it in Grant's and Stan's capable hands. Part of her felt guilty. A bigger part cried with relief that she had a viable excuse to leave.
She couldn't do anything about the game, regardless of what the author of the letter thought, but she could help these people in Sacramento. Her choice had been easy.
Thankfully, Grant and Stan had agreed.
Several regional SAR teams were en route, as were some from NSAR. Kali yawned. The call had come pre-dawn. As always, her bag and Shiloh's traveling kit were in the front closet, ready to go. Two and a half hours later they'd been airborne.
Several others had made the same flight, with Lauren, Brad and Todd in the back with the dogs while Jarl and Serena were up front getting briefed. The quiet in the plane was thick. They all knew what was coming. No matter how much preparation time was available, no one was ever ready.
Once they arrived on site, the first nine hours passed in a blur as she reached the end of her endurance. She was tired and dirty, dispirited. Shiloh didn't look much better. The Labrador Retriever's beautiful coat was gray with dust, her eyes sad but valiant.
"Come on girl, one more corner, then we'll take a break." That was a unique aspect of these special dogs. They were always willing to go on, always willing to give a little more. Shiloh wagged her tail and headed forward. Kali followed. They were working the far left quadrant. She'd been given the map coordinates, but her brain was too tired to remember the numbers. What she'd really love was a full bottle of water. Dust had clogged her nose and throat made her eyes run.
Picking her way carefully through the debris, Kali walked on ground level. Shiloh climbed up to walk atop the closest cement block. She sniffed around the exposed area before climbing higher.
"Kali?"
The voice was faint yet insistent. Kali pivoted to find Brad calling, Lauren at his side.
"The first teams are returning. Come and get something to eat and drink."
Kali waved acknowledgement. "Shiloh, come
on, girl. Break time." How many times had she said that to this brave dog over the years? Breaks didn't always happen. During huge disasters like earthquakes the rescuers slept when they could, ate when food was available, and kept bottled water on hand at all times. Time was always against them.
Kali and Shiloh strolled along the cleared path to the safety zone where sheets of canvas had been set up as tents for a makeshift command center, offering some small comfort from the hot sun and a steady source of water and medical aid. Kali gave Shiloh her much deserved meal and water in the shade beside Lauren, who'd already found a spot out of the way. Picking up muffins and coffee for herself, Kali collapsed onto the ground between them. Kali studied her friend. Lauren had aged. Weariness pulled at her dust-streaked face.