She went into the kitchen, opened the cabinet under the sink, and tore the pill package from where it was taped behind the sink drum. Dan stood in the doorway, but said nothing.
She pulled herself to her feet, stomped down the hall past Amber, who had opened the door to her bedroom to find out who was making the noise, and poured the contents of the bag into the toilet. Her hand began slapping the handle on the flush, but the slap turned into a pound, and the pound grew fiercer and fiercer. She beat at it until the bottom of her hand was bloody and the handle shattered. Dan snatched her fist as it rose up to strike the jagged plastic left on the broken handle.
She began screaming and kicking, but he gripped her tighter. "I hate them! I hate them! I hate them!" she screamed over and over until finally her body went limp, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "I hate them..."
Dan's voice cut through the dead space around her. "You got this, Holly. You can kick this thing."
She looked up at him as if for the first time. Who was this guy holding her with his strong arms? No one had ever believed she could do anything. But he did, and it wasn't an act. It wasn't a show of pity. He believed in her. She touched the bloody scars on his arm where she had dug him earlier, and she began to cry. "I hurt you, Dan. I'm so sorry.” She ran her hand down his forearm, surveying the wounds he had taken.
"It's okay," he said with a weak smile. "It only hurts a lot."
She smeared the tears down her cheek with the back of her hand and let out a half-laugh. How was he able to find humor even in this? She studied his face. This wasn't a joke to him. There was real concern in his eyes, not pity or condemnation, but a genuine concern for her safety. And something else—a vulnerability that made her feel as though they were both wounded animals, helping each other survive. His honesty melted her defenses, and her muscles loosened.
"I'm a mess aren't I?" She pushed the curls to the side.
"You're the messiest," he said.
She hit his chest with her hand and flinched as pain shot up her wrist.
Worry flashed on his face as he cradled her hand. "Easy. Easy."
She sniffed again and let out a short quiet breath. "I'll be okay. It probably looks worse than it is."
"Do you want to wash it off?"
"Yeah," she said. "I can get it. Do you mind?" She gestured toward the door.
"Not at all." He turned and took a step away.
She gripped his arm. "Dan?"
He looked back, startled. "Yes?"
"Why are you so nice to me?"
His face took on a serious expression and he nodded to himself, as if it was time he confessed a deep inner secret he had been holding back. "Truth be told," he said, "I'm hoping you'll validate my parking."
She pushed him out of the bathroom. "I should have known better than to ask you a serious question."
"You're right," he said, "I'm way better with unserious questions. Quick, ask me an unserious question." The door clicked shut.
She heard him stand for a moment, then walk back to the kitchen. She wanted to revel in the momentary relief Dan had given her—but it was almost noon and the killer would be calling. She washed her hand, wrapped it with gauze from the First Aid Kit, and slipped back into her bedroom.
The clock above her bed gave her three minutes. She folded the covers up and pulled the radio from the hole. Her throat tightened. What if Dan and Amber heard him? She slid the lock on her bedroom door, then climbed into the back of her closet on the other side of the room. There was a volume knob on the top of the radio, and based on the markings, she had it turned almost completely off. She gripped it nervously with her thumb and index finger, focusing on the tactile feel of it—while the darkness pressed in on her.
The page light flickered and the beep sounded. She held it close to her mouth. "I'm here."
Static whispered from the device. She turned the volume up to hear his response. "You are not alone," he said in the familiar digital base.
"I'm in the closet. No one can hear." Her heart started racing.
Silence filled the tiny space. Then... "Did you drop the package?"
"Yes," she said. "But the FBI was there."
"Good. I want them to know who I am. It's all part of telling my story."
She squeezed the radio. "Are you Gary?"
The response was almost immediate. "I'm tired, that's who I am, tired of this world, tired of this burden. You’re going to tell the world my story and then you're going to save your son's life. That's what you need to know. Do you understand?"
"Yes..."
"Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"This is what I want you to do. I want you to call every news station in the telephone directory and tell them who you are and that something big is going to happen on the 395 overpass at exactly 2:00 p.m. Today." He waited for her response.
"I'll call them and tell them."
"You will tell them who you are and that something big is going to happen on the 395 overpass at exactly 2:00 p.m. Today. Repeat it."
She fumbled with the radio and repeated his request word for word.
"There is a compartment in the bottom of this radio. Inside you will find two ear pieces. At exactly 1:30 you will put them in your ears and put the radio in your pocketbook. From there I will give you instructions on where to go and what to say. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"I want you to go into Gabe's room and write 395 overpass 2:00 p.m. In blocks on the floor. Tell them I wrote it. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"If you do everything I have explained to you, every eye in the world will be on you, and my story will be heard. That is what I want. Your son does not need to die. You can save him. Repeat it. I can save my son."
"I can save my son." She choked on the words.
"Do you believe it, Holly?"
"Yes."
"Tell my story, and save your son."
The radio went dead. She quickly ran through the instructions in her head. Write the note in blocks. Make the phone calls. Put the earbuds in at 1:30. All she had to do was tell his story, and her son would live. She could do that. She had to. She had to save her son.
Chapter 41
Jake Paris headed down Main Street, through Sunbury Center, and up toward the Sunbury Theater House where Jenna was working. He circled once and found a parking space down the street. There was an entrance in the back of the theater. He took it and walked down through creaky back corridors, behind the stage, and down the old concrete stairs that led to the room on stage right. He met a man coming up.
"I'm looking for Jenna. Have you seen her?"
"Yeah, man. She was with Mina near the dressing rooms."
"Is that down here?"
"No. That way," he said, pointing.
Jake headed up the stairs and down the other hallway in the direction the man had pointed. It brought him to a large room filled with costumed people, stage hands, and props. To the left were several doors with name plates on them. He walked down until he got to the door with Jenna's name on it.
"Can I help you?" said a round man in an untucked dress shirt and cargo shorts. He shoved his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"I'm Jenna's boyfriend. I need to talk to her."
"I'm sorry, you can't be back here. I'll tell her you're here."
"It will only take a second,” Jake said, standing his ground.
The man pointed to a set of stairs. "You can wait in the lobby. There are refreshments you can enjoy while you wait."
"You don't understand..."
He gripped his clipboard. "Please don't make this awkward for both of us. She is under a tight schedule and..."
Jake pounded his fist on the door. "Jenna! It's Jake! Open up!"
The round man flagged another man whose neck was as big as his head. He looked Polish—and angry.
Jake pounded harder. "Jenna! I need to talk to you! Please!"
Most of the eyes in the room were no
w on Jake, and on his impending removal from the theater.
The big man approached, and Jake threw his hands up. "Okay, big guy. No one needs to get hurt."
The man towered over Jake, his muscles practically ripping his tank top. "I'm going to ask you once, nicely," he said, "then there will be a lot of pain."
The door to the dressing room flew open, Mina stood there quickly fastening her robe. "Jake!" she said, in her Mediterranean accent. "What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to Jenna," he called past her. "Jenna!"
"Come on!" said the meaty Polish man, gripping Jake by the back of the shirt.
Mina held her hand up. "Stop! I'll handle thees. I know you're jus’ trying to help, but I think he should know."
"She’s not gonna like this, Mina,” the round man stammered. "You tell him, she’ll kill you."
Jake’s eyes flashed from him to Mina. "What is he talking about, Mina?”
"Thees man has gone through enough in the las’ couple of days, and he has a right to know."
"Know what?" said Jake.
She pulled him into the room and shut the door.
"Seet," she said. She hopped over to the counter with the cast on her right foot peeking out from the bottom of her satin robe.
"I'm freaking out here. What’s going on?"
"Well you’re here, so you must suspect something." Her accent caused her to enunciate the consonants. "What ees it you suspect?"
"I- I don’t know. She just didn’t sound right on the phone. Mina, tell me. Please.”
"I think you know.”
Did he know? There was something nagging at him, but he hadn't fully worked it out in his mind, so he was surprised to hear the words fall from his tongue. "Is Jenna pregnant?”
Mina’s eyes watered; she gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Jake’s eyes grew big. Was Aiyana his child?
"You know how much you love Jenna?"
He nodded, confused by the question.
"I love her dat much. Maybe moor. And by telling you thees, I may ruin our friendship forever. Do you see how dis hurts my heart?"
He nodded again solemnly.
"She is so scared, Jake. She doesn't wan to lose you, and yet she feels you slipping away."
"Why would she think that?"
"Because she wans you to commit to her forever and you don! She wans you to prove you will always love her, but you don."
"How? Marriage? We have an understanding. It doesn't have anything to do with her. I'm just not ready."
"She things you are jus’ not certain she wheel be the one—and she is afraid."
"Well if she’s pregnant, that certainly changes everything. I don't have a choice."
"That ees the problem," she said.
Jake blinked, then squinted at her. "Sorry. I'm lost..."
"She does not wan you to choose her because you have to, she wans you to choose her because she is the one you wan to spend the rest of your life with."
"So—she would rather hide the baby from me and—what?” His voice grew intense. "Is she planning to leave me?"
Her chin quivered and a tear crawled down her cheek. "She loves you too much to leave you."
Jake's pulse quickened. What was Mina saying? Jenna would rather kill the baby? He launched to his feet. "Mina, you need to square up with me. Is she planning something stupid?"
She licked her lip nervously. "She planned dis a week ago, but couldn't go through with it."
He gripped his head. "That's why she’s been prodding me about our future and having children. I'm so stupid!"
"She was going to tell you, but then everything changed yesterday. I hurt my foot and she found out you lost your job and..."
"She knows about that?"
"Yes. Your boss called the apartment and left a message for you. She figured it out."
"Where is she now?"
Mina shook her head.
"Mina! Where is Jenna now?!”
"She asked to take the rest of the day off to go to an appointment. She wans to get this done before it turns into more than just a blob of tissue."
Jake’s mouth hung open. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams. "She's a child, Mina. Our child. She's beautiful, and she’s talented like her mom." He choked back the emotion. "And she notices things, things other people miss. She's quiet and gentle..."
He looked at Mina who was trying to understand what he was saying, and a realization washed over him. Jenna didn't understand either. She didn't know what she was doing. She hadn't seen what he had seen. She had no idea the beauty she would be destroying. All she was thinking was that her future was going to be destroyed by a baby she wasn't ready to have, and she wanted to stop it before it was more than just a blob of tissue!
Jake grabbed Mina by the shoulders. "Where is her appointment, Mina?"
Mina pulled back, wide eyed. "She's probably not there yet."
"Then where is she?"
"She said she was going home first."
He started for the door.
"Please," she said, "if there is any way, don' tell her I told you. Tell her you figured it out on your own. I can’ bear to lose her as a friend."
"No matter what happens, Mina,” he yelled over his shoulder, "you did the right thing!"
Chapter 42
Angela Grant's belly grumbled as she clicked through the clinic records. The bureau in Washington was given a new angle to check, and they were crunching the numbers while she searched locally. If Gary Carter was running scared, as she suspected, then the real killer had to have contacted him in the last three years. There had to be a phone record, an e-mail, something. It could be someone from one of the branch clinics he visited on trips, or someone working at the clinic in Sunbury. Whoever it was, he had revealed himself to Carter, and Carter refused to be a part of it. That was her guess.
She had spent years studying the behavior of serial killers. If Carter was the Cape murderer, he wouldn't have left evidence from his victims in his place of work, or made searches for serial killers on his computer. There would have been no connection at all to his secret life. At work, he would have been a different person, not even allowing thoughts of his secret sin to enter into his mind. It would be as if he were two people, living two separate lives. Whatever role Carter played in all this, he wasn't the Cape murderer, that much she was sure of.
But was Carter a victim? Did the killer prey upon him for some resource only he could provide? A name of a victim? Miss Paris' name? The clinic records indicated that Holly Paris had visited the clinic when she was fourteen. Was there a connection between that visit and her selection as a target? If so, that brought up another question. Why was Gary Carter dating Holly's roommate? Perhaps the killer had convinced Carter to help at first, but Carter got cold feet?
Perez tapped Angela on the shoulder and sat on the desk next to her. "We got a hit.”
Angela swiveled in her chair.
"Carter's sister owns a camp on a lake just south of Sunbury. According to a neighbor, the camp’s supposed to be empty, but there was a mysterious pin point of light in the basement window last night. We went by there yesterday and left a card, so they called us. Local law enforcement checked it out this morning. The window is covered with cardboard, and someone has been there recently. There are tracks on the path up to the door that would have been washed away by last weekend’s rain."
"That's sounds promising. Have they set up a perimeter?"
"Yeah. They have local police, SBI, and forest rangers on site. They’re waiting for the go ahead."
"How far is it from here?"
"Thirty minutes."
"Tell them to hold tight. I want to be the first to question him if he's there."
"There's more." His face scrunched. "Holly Paris is making calls to local news agencies claiming that something big is going to happen at 2:00 on the 395 overpass."
She sat back in the office chair with a squeak. "Hmmm."
"Two of
ficers have been dispatched to question her."
"Do you think the killer is in contact with her?"
He shrugged.
"I want you to go over and check it out personally while I head up to the camp. If what Holly says is true—we're running out of time."
Chapter 43
Jake ran up the stairs toward the lobby of the theater, digging out his phone as he climbed. He punched Jenna's number in and put it to his ear. It rang four times then dumped him to voicemail. "Jenna I know what you're doing, and I understand why you think you have to do this, but please, call me. I really need to talk to you." He ended the call as he crested the stairs.
Downtown was congested with lunch-hour traffic, and Jake's temper was hot. After several near-misses and a number of angry honks, he tore into the parking lot of The Schoolhouse and ran inside.
"Hold the elevator!" His arm snagged on the metal post between the double doors at the entrance of the building, drawing blood. He wobbled to regain his balance and ran toward the closing doors of the elevator. "Hold the elevator!"
A hand appeared in the crack and the doors started to open back up. Jake got in and turned to see his red-haired neighbor standing toward the front corner.
"Thanks," he said, gulping for air, and wiping the sweat from his face. He looked around for her daughter, but she was conspicuously missing. "Where's your daughter?" he said, hoping to make light conversation and take the attention off his obvious emergency.
She turned to him, stunned, and her face took on an air of disgust. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The doors of the elevator sealed them in together, and immediately Jake wished he had taken the stairs.
"Is this some kind of sick joke? Do you think this is funny?" Her posture became threatening.
Jake took a step back and threw his hands up. "I- didn't mean anything. I was just curious where she was."
"Oh, just curious where she was? What are you, some kind of an activist? Have you been following me?"
"No! Why would I follow you?"
The elevator dinged, and the door began to open.
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