The Shadow Cell: A Chilling Psychological Thriller (Wolf Lake Thriller Book 6)

by Dan Padavona

  “It moved too fast. I can’t tell.”

  A second later, the shape reversed course and bounded toward the fence, leaping it with ease. Darren groaned.

  “Congratulations, LeVar. You caught a deer.”

  No reply.

  “LeVar, do you copy?”

  Scout’s tongue protruded between her lips as she worked the controls. She directed the drone over the trees, cursing when power lines appeared in her picture. Pulling up, she sent the drone skyward and swept it across the meadow. The radio squawked in Scout’s lap.

  The windows were up, and Serena’s perfume cloaked the interior of LeVar’s car. Scout’s mother fought to keep her eyes open as the hour grew late.

  “Why isn’t LeVar answering?” Serena Hopkins asked from the front seat.

  Scout glanced over her shoulder and checked the window. The meadow encroached on the car, the night somehow untrustworthy. June bugs crawled across the windshield. Scout turned her attention to the drone and bit back a curse. The momentary distraction nearly sent the drone into a tree. It was difficult to concentrate while the radio buzzed with activity.

  Naomi opened the door and stepped onto the access road. She clutched her elbows with her hands and stared into the meadow. No sign of LeVar.

  “Maybe his battery died,” Scout said as she began to worry. LeVar should have returned by now.

  She turned the drone for another sweep of the neighborhood when a shape moved along the tree line.

  “I’ve got movement a hundred yards behind us,” Scout said.

  Naomi climbed into the car, shut the door, and engaged the locks. Serena stared at Scout.

  “Is it LeVar?”

  “I can’t tell. Whoever it is, he’s moving toward us.”

  Darren’s voice came over the radio. He’d left the park with Raven and expected to arrive in five minutes.

  Scout glared at the unknown figure on the laptop screen. The drone was too high to identify the person. She took it lower, risking a crash. The shadow vanished inside the thicket, then reappeared fifty feet ahead.

  “Scout,” Naomi said, staring at the monitor. The teenager was too focused to answer. “Scout!”

  “Not now, Mom. I’m dodging trees.”

  “He’s coming toward the car.”

  Serena and Naomi locked eyes. The keys dangled from the ignition. Serena appeared torn. If she drove them to safety, she’d abandon her son. And LeVar wasn’t answering his radio.

  “Give me a second,” Scout said, wiggling the controller as if she played a video game. “I’m taking the drone lower.”

  The drone descended and hovered over the man.

  Naomi covered her mouth with her hand.

  “That’s not LeVar. Serena, we need to go.”

  Serena’s eyes were full moons.

  The drone was close enough for Scout to see the Chrysler, the gray soil of the access road, and the unknown man striding toward the car. Closer with each step. Close enough that she should be able to see him through the windows. But all she saw was the black of midnight.

  “Serena, start the car!”

  Naomi’s voice shocked Serena out of her daze. The woman twisted the key as the grass rustled behind the car. Scout swung her head around and screamed at the ghostly face emerging from the darkness. She was vaguely aware of the video image twirling end over end as the drone spun out of control. The Chrysler shifted into drive as a second figure shot out of the woods and collided with the stranger.

  “Don’t leave! That’s LeVar!”

  Serena slammed the brakes. The Chrysler rocked as Naomi turned around. They couldn’t see anything, only the meadow rustling as the two figures fought. Naomi leapt from the car with Serena behind her.

  A shout. LeVar staggered onto the access road with one hand clutching his head. Blood trickled between his fingers. The teenage boy fell into his mother’s arms as Naomi stood between them and the meadow.

  “Scout, where is he?” Naomi shouted over her shoulder.

  Scout redirected the drone before it struck the ground. The grass whirred past the screen for a split second before the drone took to the air again. She navigated the drone back to the access road, where it buzzed over their heads and rocketed toward the meadow. There was no sign of the man who attacked LeVar. Just endless wilderness bordering the neighborhood.

  The door opened. Serena and Naomi helped LeVar into the car. He fell into the passenger seat with a nasty gash over his eye.

  “What happened?”

  LeVar grinned at Scout.

  “The scumbag jumped me from behind. Knocked me out for a minute or two. But I got me some payback.” LeVar winced as Serena worried over his injury. “He ran toward the woods. Don’t let him get away.”

  “I’m trying!”

  Scout couldn’t find the Poplar Corners ghost. He blended into the terrain and vanished from the camera. By the time he emerged from hiding, it might be too late for the drone to catch him. Scout sent the drone toward the forest, skimming the trees. Then over the meadow, the drone flying a few dozen feet above the ground, no longer hidden from sight. She cursed, unable to find LeVar’s attacker.

  A shape lurched out of the forest and angled across the meadow. The ghost made a beeline toward the park.

  “I see him,” Scout said, chewing her lip as sweat poured off her forehead.

  Naomi, Serena, and the bruised LeVar crowded into the backseat for a better view of the laptop screen. Scout wanted to tell them to back off, but if she took her eyes off the screen for a second, she’d lose the ghost again.

  The man vanished inside a thicket. Seconds later, he reappeared along the meadow. Now he was only a minute from the park grounds.

  She pushed the drone faster. It gained on the ghost with every stride he took.

  As the drone whirred over the rural outskirts of Poplar Corners, the man vanished.

  “That’s impossible,” Scout said, poking a finger at the screen. “He was right there.”

  As she searched for the ghost, the drone circled around. It dove toward the thicket and buzzed over open land.

  The ghost had vanished.

  42

  Ainsley Witherspoon was a grizzled man who walked hunched over. Thomas worried the man might tumble down the embankment as he led the sheriff and Deputy Lambert toward the Nightshade River. Every other word out of Witherspoon’s mouth was a curse, and he sounded as if he gargled broken glass.

  It was after midnight. The river stretched the moon’s reflection into a twisted, unrecognizable deformity. Thomas aimed the flashlight at the water.

  “Where did you see the body, Mr. Witherspoon?”

  Witherspoon hacked into his hand and stumbled over a clump of grass. Lambert caught the man before he went head over heels into the rushing current.

  “Was fishing off the shore when a guy floated past. Christ, I never seen nothing like it.” With Lambert’s aid, Witherspoon waddled down to the bank, where he caught his breath and pointed toward a clump of leaves and debris. A tree had toppled into the river, forming a dam. “He’s right there.”

  Thomas followed Witherspoon’s finger. The light picked out the dam. And something else. A leg clothed in black pants bobbed out of the water like a madman’s buoy.

  “Goddamn kids come down here to drink. One falls in every few years. You can’t fix stupid.”

  Witherspoon spat.

  “I don’t think that’s a kid,” Lambert said, stepping closer to the bank.

  A shiver rolled through Thomas. With Lonnie McKinney, Scott Rehbein, and Deputy Aguilar missing, the last thing he wanted to find was a dead body.

  Lambert glanced over his shoulder.

  “I’ll run back to the cruiser for ropes and my hip waders.”

  “Unnecessary,” Thomas said, peeling off his jacket.

  “Sheriff, you can’t gauge how fast the water is moving at night.”

  “I’ll make it. Take Mr. Witherspoon back to his vehicle and get the FBI agents down here.” />
  Before Lambert could protest, Thomas dropped into the river. The water rushed thigh-deep around him, tugging, twisting, trying to knock him off balance. He took measured steps through the water, staying as close to the bank as the debris allowed until he approached the dam.

  The river ramped over the tree in a continuous gushing roar. He could see more of the figure now. It wasn’t a kid, like Witherspoon assumed. This was a full-grown adult, judging by the size of the black shoe jutting out of the water. Thomas’s face slicked with mist as he reached the body. Lambert’s flashlight fell over the dam, and Thomas held up a thumb to confirm he’d reached the corpse without incident.

  As he fought to dislodge the dead man from the debris, sirens and whirling lights appeared up the hill. The state police had arrived, along with Claire Brookins and the county medical examiner, Virgil Harbough. Trooper Fitzgerald dropped into the water beside Thomas.

  “He’s stuck beneath a branch!” Thomas shouted over the rushing water.

  Fitzgerald nodded and helped Thomas free the body from the debris. The corpse turned over and floated atop the current. Dead eyes stared up at Thomas.

  “That’s Father Fowler,” Thomas said, too stunned to react.

  “The priest from St. Mary’s?”

  With Trooper Fitzgerald’s help, he dragged the corpse ashore and knelt along the bank, exhausted and dripping wet.

  “We’ve got another one for you, Virgil,” Thomas said as the medical examiner eased down the slope beside Claire.

  Virgil took one look at the dead man’s face and blanched.

  “Is that—”

  “It’s Fowler. And I don’t think he drowned.”

  “This is bad business, Sheriff. Someone brutalizes a man of God and throws him in the river. What next?”

  Virgil shook his head and examined Fowler’s body.

  With the flashlights aimed at the priest, the beams picked out Fowler’s blood-soaked shirt and battered face. Virgil assessed the wounds as Claire snapped pictures. Behind them, Agents Bell and Gardy arrived in their SUV. Bell was the first down the slope.

  “What do we have, Sheriff?”

  “Father Josiah Fowler. His visitor returned to St. Mary’s for one last confession.”

  Bell knelt beside Thomas and ran her gaze over the bruises.

  “Multiple stab wounds plus blows to the priest’s face. This was an act of rage. Are you certain there have been no scandals inside the church?”

  “None that I could dig up.”

  “That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  Gardy stood back to give Virgil and Claire room. He folded his arms.

  “Fowler refused to discuss the confession, but the killer murdered him anyway.” Gardy glanced at Bell. “Forget about escalation. The unsub is going over the edge. Multiple abductions, and now a brutal attack on a man from his past.”

  Thomas stood.

  “What does that mean for Deputy Aguilar?”

  “It means we need to find this guy. Quick.”

  “Lambert,” Thomas said, calling his deputy over.

  “Yeah, Sheriff?”

  “Send the forensics team back to St. Mary’s, and canvas the hell out of that neighborhood. Someone had to see something. The unsub stabbed and beat Fowler to death.”

  Lambert hustled back to his cruiser. When Thomas turned, he found Agent Bell glaring at him with those interrogating blue eyes.

  “Fowler’s past is the key to finding our unsub, Sheriff.”

  “You still believe the molestation theory.”

  “It fits. Our killer attended St. Mary’s church as a child. If I’m correct, the abuse occurred twenty to thirty years ago.”

  “That’s not a lot to go on.”

  “In order for the abuse to occur, Father Fowler must have had time alone with the boy. An alter boy, perhaps. A kid who attended church school.”

  “I doubt the church keeps records of who attended Sunday classes.”

  “Be creative,” Gardy said. “Communion and confirmation photos, class pictures. People keep those pictures for lifetimes.”

  Bell bobbed her head in agreement.

  “It will take time to track down old photos,” Thomas said. “I’ll get started.”

  “Find them quickly,” said Bell. “Now that the unsub murdered Fowler, there’s no telling who he’ll attack next.”

  43

  The basement door stood open.

  Aguilar was thankful. The stench inside the cells—a stew of musty earth, blood, rotting flesh, and excrement—brought tears to her eyes. With the door open, she could breathe again.

  And she could see. The gray light allowed her to mark the loose bars with a tiny rock she’d scraped out of the soil. Two bars on the left side of her enclosure wiggled when she shook them. She was strong, but she couldn’t bend iron. She needed to find how far the bars sank into the earth. The bars probably ended in the pits of hell, Aguilar thought. She knelt beside the cage and cleared the soil away.

  “Lonnie, find me a rock. Something large and sharp enough to dig with.”

  The boy didn’t move. He slumped in the corner, his head hanging between his knees.

  “Lonnie.”

  The child’s head snapped up. He looked around the enclosure, confused where he was until the awful reality returned to him.

  “Like a shovel?”

  “Yes, a rock I can use as a shovel.”

  He sagged his shoulders and wandered to the rear of the cage. The boy had spent most of yesterday vomiting into a bucket. Thankfully, their kidnapper removed the waste during his last visit. Lonnie’s color still worried Aguilar. His energy levels seemed a tad higher. But it was obvious the kidnapper had poisoned the boy.

  Aguilar’s eyes flicked to the door. The creep last visited the cells several hours ago. No telling when he’d return. As Aguilar jiggled the loose bars, Lonnie sifted through the dirt.

  “Something like this?”

  Aguilar turned. A palm-sized rock stuck out of the wall at the rear of Lonnie’s cell.

  “That’s perfect. Can you pull it out of the wall and toss it to me?”

  Lonnie clawed at the dirt until the rock loosened. Holding the stone in the palm of his hands, he walked it to the side of the cage.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready. Toss it here.”

  Lonnie heaved the rock. It clanked off the bar inside the dead college student’s cell and fell to the ground.

  “Sorry.”

  “No worries. I can reach it.”

  Aguilar lay on her side and stretched her arm inside the neighboring cell. The rock taunted her, a fraction of an inch beyond her fingertips. As she wiggled her body closer to the bars, she looked straight into Scott’s dead, milky eyes. A beetle skittered across Scott’s lips. She blinked and glanced away. Straining, she pressed her body against the bars. The iron chilled her flesh as the rough edges bit into her skin. She let out a gasp when her hand closed over the rock.

  The size was perfect, and the sharp edge made the rock an efficient tool for digging. It would also serve as a weapon. The creep hadn’t thought of everything, not that it was possible to remove every rock from the underground enclosures.

  Aguilar dug into the soil and pushed the dirt into a pile. After the hole was two inches deep, she grasped the loose bars and gave them another tug. No change. Working harder, she scraped at the soil until the sweat poured off her body and matted her hair against her face. Salty perspiration stung her eyes.

  She was getting somewhere. The hole was six inches deep, the mound piling higher. She tested the bars. A little more wiggle. Keep digging. Don’t stop.

  The groan of the cellar steps warned her to stop digging and toss the rock toward the back of the cage. She leveled the soil over the hole. Smoothed it over. Aguilar held her breath as a shadow cut across the threshold.

  The creep leaned in the doorway. He appeared different now. Not smug and amused by his captives. Fury swam in his bloodshot eyes.

 
; “What are you doing?”

  Aguilar lifted her chin.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I punish liars.”

  She lifted her palms and gave him an exasperated look.

  “Lonnie is sick because of the food you gave him. I’m making sure he’s all right.”

  “You’re up to something, deputy. I see the deception in your eyes.” He walked to her cage and curled his hands around the bars. There was a bruise over his left eye. “I didn’t poison the child. I’m his father, and it’s my obligation to keep him safe.”

  “By locking him up and leaving the lights off?”

  “Would you prefer I kept the lights on while I was away? So you can go back to doing whatever it was you were doing before I arrived?” He jiggled the bars. Aguilar cringed, hoping he wouldn’t test the bar she’d loosened. “You’re wasting your time. These bars run deep into the earth. No matter how hard you tug, you won’t dislodge them. Accept your new home. You’ll be here for a long time.”

  “If you care so much about Lonnie, unlock his cell and drive him to the hospital. He needs a doctor.”

  The kidnapper swung his gaze to the boy’s cage.

  “Is that true, Lonnie? Do you wish to leave as Scott did?”

  Lonnie wrapped his arms around his chest and shook his head.

  “No, sir.”

  “No, Father, Lonnie. Say it.”

  “No, Father.”

  The creep grinned and turned to Aguilar.

  “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? The boy obeys, as will you.” He leered at her. His tongue touched his lips. “Perhaps you need convincing.”

  “What happened to your face?”

  He touched his forehead. Aguilar spotted another bruise on his arm and a welt on his temple. Good. Maybe he attacked someone, and the victim fought him off.

  “It’s not your concern.”

  The creep paced along the cage. His eyes fixed on the smoothed over soil beneath the weakened bars. When Aguilar was sure the man had figured out her escape plan, he swiveled on his heels and placed his hands behind his back.

  “I will bring the child medicine for his stomach. And fresh water. Happy?”