Out of the Darkness

by Heather Graham

  And then having her join him in the shower. Hot water sluicing over her breasts, her naked body next to his...

  Touching, caressing.

  Feeling her make love to him in return.

  Falling hot and wet and breathless on the clean sheets in the cool air...

  Being together, laughing, talking, not talking, being breathless...

  Feeling the release of a tremendous climax.

  And lying next to her as the little tremors of aftermath swept through him, allowing a sweet relief and tremendous satiation.

  He loved her.

  He always would.

  And she loved him, too.

  He just wondered if being so much in love could be enough.

  Love was supposed to conquer all. But not if she pushed him away.

  He’d think about that later.

  The day had been long, but the night could be very sweet.

  He allowed his fingers to play over the curve of her back, caress the soft, sleek flesh and then fall lower again, teasing...

  She let out a soft, sweet sigh.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked her quietly.

  “I’m not thinking,” she said.

  He didn’t press it. He just held her. And they lay silently together once again.

  A bit later, she moved against him. She teased along his spine with her tongue. Her fingertips were like a breath over his flesh. Her arms wound around him, and he curled toward her and she continued to tease and play and seduce.

  They made love again.

  And then held one another.

  He should have had nightmares. He did not. He slept deeply, sweetly.

  And then his alarm went off.

  It was morning again. Perry Knowlton was still out there.

  And God alone might guess what he would do next.

  Chapter Eight

  “I wish I could go with you,” Sarah told Tyler.

  He hesitated. They were showered and dressed, ready to leave.

  “I can be helpful—hey, the bartender at Time and Time Again liked me better than you.”

  He had to smile at that. “Yeah, so...most guys out there are going to like you better than me. And, yes, you have proved helpful.”

  He wasn’t lying. She had been very useful. That didn’t change the fact that her being in danger could compromise his—or Craig’s—ability to work.

  “You’re just better at the safe house!” he told her gently.

  “Time goes so slowly,” she said. She brightened. “But actually, there were a few minutes yesterday when I almost had fun. Kieran and Kevin were by—we played one of Davey’s games with him. It was great. Kevin acted out half of his clues for Kieran. We were laughing. I was so surprised they were willing to play.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, they’re busy, of course. They don’t really have time to play Davey’s games.”

  He was silent. There it was. Her insistence that only she could really be happy to play a silly game with Davey.

  “What?” she murmured, sensing the change in him.

  “You can be really full of yourself, you know.”

  She frowned, stepping away. “What?”

  “Never mind. Let me get you to the safe house.”

  He stepped out; she followed, still frowning. “Tyler?”

  “Let’s go.”

  He got her out of the room and down to the car. Once they were in traffic, however, she pressed the point.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind. Now isn’t the time to worry about it.”

  “When should I worry about it? When we’re either dead or you’re back in Boston?”

  He stayed silent; traffic was heavy. She waited. When they reached the area of the safe house, she pushed again.

  “Tyler, tell me what you’re talking about.”

  “Davey,” he said simply. “Who do you think you are, really? Other people like Davey, love Davey, and enjoy his company.”

  “I—I...” Sarah stuttered.

  He saw one of the agents—Special Agent Lawrence—in front of the building. She waved at him, hurrying around to the driver’s side of the car. “I’ll take it for you—you can see Sarah safely up. It will be there...” She pointed to a garage entrance down the street. “Agent Frasier will be by for you in about ten minutes.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Tyler said, getting out of the car. He walked around, but Sarah was already out and walking in ahead of him.

  The agent at the desk nodded to them.

  Sarah was moving fast; she got into the elevator first. He had to put his arm out to keep the door open.

  He stepped in. She was staring straight ahead. He wasn’t sure if she was furious or in shock.

  “I told you it wasn’t really the time.”

  She didn’t reply. The elevator door opened on their floor. She hurried ahead. At the door she stopped and turned and looked at him. “You’re not being fair! Davey is like love personified. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. Of course people...most people...love him!”

  “Then let him enjoy them without you feeling you need to be a buffer.”

  “I—I don’t!”

  “You do. You push everyone away.”

  The door opened. Special Agent Preston was there. “Hey. Did you see Winona? She went down to take the car.”

  “Yes, we met her.”

  “Craig is on his way.”

  “I’m going right down,” Tyler said.

  Sarah was still staring at him. Now she looked really confused. And worried. Maybe she hadn’t realized how overprotective she was—and how much she had doubted other people. Him.

  “Go in!” he told her.

  He started back toward the elevator. Sarah gasped suddenly, and he spun around—ready to draw on Special Agent Preston.

  But the FBI agent just looked puzzled. And Sarah was suddenly running toward him. “Tyler!”

  “Sarah, we can talk later,” he said softly.

  “No, no, no! Nothing to do with us...with Davey. The poem—the poem Perry Knowlton wrote. It was about Hannah, right—not Suzie Cornwall.”

  “It seemed to be about Hannah.” He paused, frowning, wondering what she was thinking.

  He’d memorized the poem, and spoke softly, repeating the words. “‘Six little children, perfect and dear, wanting the scare of their lives. One little boy, smarter than the rest, apparently felt like the hives. They went into the house, they cried there was a louse, and one fine man was gone. But now they pay the price today...six little children. One of them dead. Soon the rest will be covered in red.’”

  “Hannah. We know—from Luke, the bartender—that Perry Knowlton hung around the bar near Times Square. And he went to a dress shop there semiregularly... He seemed to watch Hannah easily enough. Maybe he ran into her by chance one time. He was able to become a woman quickly. And then get to the subway to gather and then deliver the package. Tyler, you need to be looking for something underground not far from the bar and the shop.”

  He smiled at her slowly. “That would make sense. You’ve got it, I think. Although...”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t really see anything in that area. He was a regular at the bar, yes, so we looked, but... We’ll have to look again.”

  “But you will look?” Sarah asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  He gave her a little salute. Then he continued on to the elevator.

  * * *

  “I WONDER WHAT we’re costing the taxpayers,” Suzie said dismally. She had just flicked the television off. They had seen the artist’s sketch of Perry Knowlton one time too many.

  Along with pictures of Suzie Cornwall.

  The young woman had been ill, and the artis
t’s rendering had allowed that to show.

  But Suzie had turned white every time a picture of her came across the screen.

  Sarah leaned forward. “Suzie, stop blaming yourself. He’s killed before. If we don’t get him now, he’ll kill again.”

  Special Agent Lawrence heard them talking and came forward, just a bit hesitantly. “Please! I know you won’t stop, but you have to try to. It’s not your fault, Suzie. It’s not your parents’ fault for naming you, or your dad for having that surname. It’s the fault of a sick and pathetic and deplorable criminal mind. You have to accept that. If you don’t, you will make yourself crazy.”

  “If I live to go crazy,” Suzie muttered.

  “You will live,” Winona said, solid determination in her voice. She smiled, and then shrugged, sighing. “Okay, maybe I look a little worn, because I am. I need some sleep. But don’t worry. We have replacements coming. Hey, Parton, who is coming on next?” she called.

  Cody Parton was at the desk by the door. “Guzman and Walsh, so I’ve been told,” he called.

  “Ah, Walsh is a new guy. Guzman has been around forever and knows the ropes. Trust me, you’ll be safe!” she said.

  She smiled and walked away.

  “People can say anything. I can even know it’s true. But I can’t help it. If that young woman’s name hadn’t been Suzie Cornwall, she’d be alive now,” Suzie told Sarah softly.

  “Maybe something worse was in store for her,” Sarah said.

  Suzie shrugged. “I wish I could think of something productive to do. It hasn’t been that long, but I feel as if we’ve been cooped up forever.”

  Sean poked his head out of their bedroom. “Hey, guys, wanna watch a movie?” He shrugged. “They have all the movies we could possibly want. Reciprocation...or the cable company sucking up to the Feds, not sure which!”

  “I guess so,” Suzie said. “A comedy! Sarah, you coming?”

  Sarah smiled. “No, I think I’ll sit here and...plot.”

  “Alien bugs, huh? You’re going to sit there and go crazy thinking,” Suzie said.

  Sarah offered her a weak smile. “Am I overprotective of Davey?” she asked.

  Suzie hesitated. “Oh, Sarah! Sad to say, I haven’t been around you that much lately, so I don’t know if you are or not.”

  “Did I...in high school, was I overprotective?”

  “Yes. Sometimes you had the right to be. We weren’t cruel kids, but we could be careless. But...”

  “But?”

  “You really didn’t have to be with Tyler and me. And others, of course. Davey has to make a few mistakes on his own, but he’s smart. He can handle it. Your uncle did teach him to watch out for the bad guys.”

  Suzie grimaced and went on into the room with Sean. Sarah sighed, sitting there, torn between thinking about her own mistakes and the fact that they were hunting for a killer.

  “You doing okay?” Winona walked back over to her.

  She nodded. “Fine, thanks. It just seems...seems like this is taking a very long time.”

  “This? Long? I was with the Organized Crime Unit for a while—oh, my God! We gathered info for months and months and...um, but this is different.”

  Sarah smiled.

  It wasn’t all that different.

  It could take time. A lot of time.

  “I’m going off in a bit. Can you think of anything I can do for you?” Winona asked.

  Sarah liked the woman, really liked her. She smiled and shook her head.

  “When do we see you again?”

  “Two days. I’ll be back on for the next three after that, twelve hours a day!”

  “No offense, but I hope we’re not here that long. Though you’ve been very nice.”

  Winona smiled. “You guys have been easy. I think your aunt and Davey are watching a movie, too. I’ll check on everyone before I leave. The new agents are due here soon. Fresh agents. You know what I mean! Replacements!”

  Sarah nodded and let her go, leaning back. She closed her eyes, wishing she could sleep, wishing Tyler was there, wishing...

  Just wishing that she wasn’t so tense, and so alone, wondering if she had pushed people away...

  If only she hadn’t been so young, so afraid and so unsure. Unable to believe not only in Davey, but in herself.

  * * *

  THEY WERE BELOW the giant high-rises, great pillars of concrete, stone and steel that rose into the sky.

  Once upon a time, the subway stop had been called the South Playwright Station. Back then, there had been no movies, and the station had actually been part of the Interborough Rapid Transit Company—one of the predecessors of the modern system.

  In those days, the theater district had reigned supreme—there had been no movies. There had not been giant IMAX screens, 3-D, tablets, notepads, computers or any other such devices.

  People had flocked here as one of the theater stations. Then a part of the subway had collapsed, and it had been closed off.

  One of the city’s engineers accompanied Craig and Tyler down to the station. The access was tricky; they had to bend over and crawl half of it. Broken brick lay with beautiful old tile; the station name was still mostly visible, all in tile that was now covered with the dust of decades that had passed without the station being used. The walls were covered in colorful but menacing graffiti from intrepid urban explorers and vandals. Tracks were intermittent, here and there.

  The three men used high-powered flashlights as they went, moving cautiously.

  “I don’t know,” Tyler murmured. “This seems a likely location, but how the hell could a tall man come and go, in all manner and mode of dress?”

  “There could be another access,” the engineer told them. “One that isn’t on the maps. I did some digging. I believe there were a few entries in some of the old buildings—in the foyers or on the corners.”

  “Maybe,” Craig said. “I don’t think there’s anything here, though.”

  “Wait, let’s not head up yet. I think...there’s something ahead,” Tyler said.

  “A door off to the side?” Craig murmured.

  There was a door ahead, they discovered. An old maintenance door.

  The three of them quickened their pace.

  * * *

  THE NEW CREW was coming on.

  Agent Winona Lawrence impulsively gave Sarah a hug. “We really should move like professional machinery, but...come on, I want you to meet the new guys. One of them I’ve never met—the guy we were expecting called in sick. Oh, and you’re going to have another female agent coming in tomorrow. Her name is Lucinda Rivera. She’s super. You’ll like her, too. But for now...”

  The new agents were at the door. Guzman was older—maybe fifty. He had graying hair and heavy jowls, but a good smile when he met Sarah.

  The other agent was younger—forty or forty-five, tall, with close-cropped dark hair, a large nose and dark eyes. She wondered if she had met him before, maybe with Kieran and Craig.

  “Walsh called in sick,” he told them. “I’m Adler. Jimmy Adler. Nice to meet you, Sarah.”

  “All right, then. We’re out of here. Sleep!” Lawrence said.

  “A beer!” Parton admitted.

  “Parton,” Guzman said softly.

  “Hey...”

  Sarah laughed. “Enjoy your beer, Special Agent Parton.”

  He grinned. “Just say ‘Goodbye, Cody!’”

  “Goodbye, Cody!” she repeated.

  Guzman took up a position by the door after locking it. “You can take the desk,” he told Alder.

  “Sure thing.” The other agent complied.

  They weren’t going to be as friendly or as easygoing as Lawrence and Parton, Sarah decided. She went back to her chair in the little living room grouping. There were magazines on a table by the sofa. She picked
up a National Geographic and started leafing through it. There was an article about a new discovery of underground tombs and mummies in the Sahara Desert. She tried to concentrate on the piece, loving the concept of extraterrestrials possibly creating some of the great works in Ancient Egypt. Aliens arriving on Earth thousands of years ago could lead to some great sci-fi ideas.

  The agents were making occasional small talk with each other, but Sarah wasn’t paying attention. She could block them out. Well, she could tell herself she was concentrating all she wanted.

  All she could really do was sit tensely, wishing that Tyler would call.

  She had been there awhile when she heard one of the doors click open slightly, and she looked up; Suzie was at her bedroom door, looking troubled.

  Sean was right behind her. He beckoned to Sarah.

  She went to the door and started to speak, but Sean caught her arm and whisked her in. “You have to talk Suzie down. She’s having daydreams, nightmares.”

  “You weren’t there!” she whispered to Sarah.

  “I’m confused. I wasn’t where?”

  “You weren’t with us when we first went into Cemetery Mansion. He talked to me...he talked. The thing in the room...the thing we think now might have been Perry Knowlton. He beckoned to me. He spoke... I told myself he was a robot, an automaton, whatever. I was so scared...”

  “She’s dreaming that she hears his voice,” Sean said.

  Sarah wasn’t sure what, but something suddenly went off inside her.

  Instinct?

  Like an alarm bell louder than could be imagined.

  “We’ve got to get out,” she said. “Now. And fast. Move—move toward that dumbwaiter-slash-elevator they showed us on the first day. Move now. Fast, and silently. I’m getting Davey and my aunt Renee. Go. Go now.”

  They’d been expecting Agent Walsh.

  Walsh had “called in sick.”

  Maybe she was crazy—maybe she and Suzie were both cabin-crazy, paranoid—justly so, but paranoid.

  Maybe.

  But maybe not.

  * * *

  THEY MOVED AS quickly as they dared over the rubble and through the dust they raised, to the door at the side of the tunnel.

  “Careful,” the engineer warned. “You guys want to make it, to keep on searching, right?” he asked cheerfully. “Of course, we could do this for days!”