Farewell to Dreams: A Novel of Fatal Insomnia

by CJ Lyons

If they found Esme. If they found her alive.

  If she was still alive….

  That was it. I hit bottom.

  No strength to push off and resurface to breathe any hope into those ifs. I sat there, lips trembling like I was a twelve-year-old girl again, alone in the dark and rain, my dad’s blood on my hands, drowning in fear and uncertainty—two emotions I despised. In the ER, with a patient’s life at stake, I could ignore them, shove my ego aside, ask for help. Now, like it or not, I was the patient.

  Fingers trembling, I dialed Louise. To hell with it being the middle of the night, to hell with waiting until tomorrow, to hell with my own stubborn pride. If I was going to help find Esme, I needed to first find out what was wrong with me—and learn how I could use it like I had in the tunnels when it led me to the kids and Jane Doe.

  Five rings. Six. I was ready to hang up when Louise’s voice came through, chipper and oh-so-confident. “This is Dr. Louise Mehta. I’m looking forward to returning your call. Please leave a message.”

  Tempted, I was so very tempted to hit the end button. Instead, I pulled the phone closer to my lips and whispered my confession.

  “It’s me. Sorry, I know it’s late. But something’s happened. To me. I’m not sure what. I need your help.” Shit. How to even begin to explain it all? “Look. I know this sounds crazy. But it happened, I swear. I was in a trauma resuscitation, this nun got shot, had her heart in my hands, when I froze. Not like scared, like catatonic. Maybe a partial-complex seizure, I’m not sure.”

  I swallowed a hysterical laugh. The number of things I wasn’t sure about were quickly building into a tsunami of ignorance. “Anyway, I saw, I heard things, things I couldn’t possibly know—but she knew. I heard her voice. In my head, Louise. No one else heard it. Just me. And her memories, I saw, felt—I can’t explain it, it was like I was there. With her. When it all happened.”

  Tears choked my voice. I swallowed, once, and again. Glanced at the saints surrounding me, safely ensconced in their stained glass as they looked down at me. The phone felt heavy in my hand. “Anyway, call me. Thanks.”

  I hung up, feeling both humbled and humiliated. Not because I’d asked Louise for help—I could trust her, and she’d never judge.

  Humbled because I’d finally realized just how much bigger what was happening to me was compared to what I as a physician was equipped to handle. I’d told Louise about only one symptom and I hadn’t even been able to adequately describe it. And there were so many more: the insomnia, the restless agitation, the night sweats and hot flashes, the muscle tremors, the anxious paranoia—although, that might be more of a result, less of a symptom… Who knew? Anymore, I couldn’t even decide what was a real symptom.

  And the humiliation? That was pride. How could I sit here, in this church of all places, pouring out my heart to Louise, when I’d never been able to confess or ask forgiveness from my own family?

  My father was dead because of me, my mother in pain every time she glanced my way, none of them understanding my life. Yet, I was powerless to leave. I needed them to… what? Punish me? Accept me? Forgive me? How could I ask for any of that when I couldn’t forgive myself?

  Despair wrapped its cold fingers around my heart and squeezed. What if whatever was wrong with me wasn’t treatable? What if I was dying?

  The music and bright lights found me, of course. No outrunning them, it seemed. Organ music this time. Bach. No time warp or freaky hyper-sensory acid trip accompanied it. Just a memory.

  The tang of Betadine. Ryder, his arms pumping up and down on a naked woman’s chest. Sister Patrice’s heart in my hand, a soggy bag of blood. Dead—or almost dead—like the rest of her.

  Except for her voice in my head.

  I forgive you. Find the girl.

  Save the girl.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Devon took the long way back to the Tower from Good Sam. He needed to think without seeing Daniel Kingston’s monstrosity looming over him, taunting him.

  It had been a mistake coming back here.

  That hadn’t really hit home until he was in that room with those kids, saw the hell they’d gone through. They were all from the Tower, he was certain. Tyree had known—he was certain of that as well. Wouldn’t be surprised if somehow Daniel Kingston himself wasn’t involved. The man enjoyed exerting his power over the people forced to live in his Tower. Just look at what he’d done to Devon’s mother.

  It wasn’t like Devon was an angel himself. He’d seen things. Hell, he’d done things…

  But the thought of something happening to his little girl, the thought of someone touching her, hurting her—

  Devon gagged, turned into the narrow space between two shuttered storefronts, his weight lurching forward as he emptied his stomach. He stood there, inhaling the sour stench of vomit and, for the first time in years, found himself truly and utterly disgusted.

  It was a feeling he’d thought he’d outgrown. Left behind when he fled the Tower.

  That was before he made that little girl laugh. A noise so pure, so filled with joy that it split his heart wide open.

  He’d never heard his own daughter laugh.

  For over a decade, he’d nurtured the fantasy of playing hero and rescuing Jess and Esme. Now he realized there was a damn good reason he’d never actually done it. Tyree’s threats were just an excuse, as were Jess’s refusals to leave the Tower.

  He was no kind of man to ever be a father or a partner. First time anyone ever needed anything from him, other than running away when he was told to, and he’d failed. Failed to save Jess, failed to find Esme. With absolutely no idea where to even start looking.

  It would be so easy to call Harold to bring the car, escape again, return to his life in Philly.

  Reality was, he was never going to be a father to Esme. He understood that now. But he couldn’t get the music of that laugh out of his mind. It was addicting. He wanted to hear it again and again.

  He should call Harold, go back home. Give up on the fantasy. The bricks he leaned against scraped his scarred palms, and he didn’t care. Embraced the pain. If he stayed, there was going to be a whole lot more pain, he was certain.

  If he stayed, he might just hear that laugh again, this time coming from his daughter.

  <<<>>>

  After Leo had gained access to Flynn’s private quarters at the brownstone, she’d established safe houses scattered around the city. Since she had no idea how long his cat-and-mouse game would go on—if Leo had his way, he’d made it perfectly clear that it could go on as long as she could stay out of his hands and alive—she decided the best course of action was to be prepared for anything.

  Which was fine by her. That had been pretty much her philosophy ever since Dr. Rossi saved her life three years ago.

  So she carried Esme, not to the gates of the Kingston estate but, rather, to the park across the street and around to the rear of the boarded-up carousel, out of sight of anyone. She lowered Esme, a finger to her lips as a warning. The girl huddled on the ground, seemed to realize Flynn was her savior, not a bad guy—good choice seeing as how Flynn had risked her life for the girl when the bullets were flying.

  Flynn recognized the girl as the daughter of the blind woman, Tyree’s sister, Jessalyn Willard. For some reason, Daniel Kingston was obsessed with Jess, with an almost paternalistic protective attitude. Flynn had decided Jess was one of the reasons why Leo had chosen the Tower as his latest hunting grounds. As if by hurting other women who came from there, he was hurting Daniel.

  Or maybe it was Tyree whom Leo was trying to hurt. It was so damn hard to tell, all these secrets woven around her like tangled fishing line able to cut to the bone if you made the wrong move.

  She didn’t care about Leo or Tyree. It was Daniel she wanted to spare. If she could shoulder this burden for him, protect the Kingston name, and find a way to stop Leo without bringing his activities to the attention of the authorities, then Daniel’s final days would be peaceful.

 
After that, all bets were off. But she’d be damned if she’d let Leo hurt any more women. Because this wasn’t a game, not to Flynn.

  She checked her phone. The motion-activated cameras she’d placed above the carousel door hadn’t been triggered. Not one to leave anything to chance, she kept watch on the phone’s screen as she moved forward to the door. The cameras both came on, revealing her back and frontal view in a split screen.

  Still not satisfied, she went through her careful routine, checking her other security measures before unlocking the city-issued padlock securing the door. No signs that Leo had found her safe haven.

  She slid the heavy door open and ushered the girl through, closing it before risking the lights.

  “Thank you for being so quiet, Esme,” Flynn said in a voice she gathered from her own past, way back when she’d rocked her baby sister to sleep. It was obvious Esme was in shock. Flynn reminded herself to take things slow. But she needed to know who was after the girl. Was it Leo? Esme was much younger than his usual victims. “It was a big help. Are you okay? No one hurt you, did they?”

  The girl didn’t answer, just looked around as if searching for danger. The lights were slowly coming on. First, the strands surrounding the mirrored inner workings of the carousel, then the ones along the outer perimeter, and finally, as if by magic, one row after another, the old-fashioned incandescent bulbs over the animals.

  Esme opened her mouth wide and gasped when she saw her surroundings. Flynn couldn’t hide her smile. The place took her the same way, every time. Mirrors and lovingly applied bright enamels, hand-carved animals—horses, lions, tigers, unicorns, even a dragon waiting to be tamed. They combined to create a fantasyland unlike any that a girl raised in the Tower had ever seen.

  Esme reached a hand out as if afraid she’d break the spell and stroked the mane of a golden-gilded lion. “Can you make it go ’round?”

  Her voice was a whisper, but it echoed through the dark like a gunshot, bringing Flynn back to the urgent reality. A reality where someone wanted this girl dead.

  “No. It’s been broken a long time.” Esme’s chin sank in disappointment. “But we can sit here.” She guided the girl to a bench supported by two gryphons, their wings forming seats. “And you can tell me what happened tonight. Why you were in the tunnels.” And who was shooting at you, she didn’t add.

  Didn’t have to. The girl knew the score. She was only nine or ten, but growing up in the Tower was like dog years. Especially with a man like Tyree as your uncle.

  Esme looked up at Flynn, blinking fast as if holding back tears. Still saying nothing. Flynn may have saved her life, but obviously that didn’t mean she’d trust her with the truth. Smart kid.

  Flynn couldn’t resist her urge to shelter the girl with an arm around her shoulders. “Your Uncle Tyree was down in the tunnels looking for you. Do you want me to call him so he can take you home?”

  Esme shook her head no. Looked scared. Made sense. The kid had hidden from Tyree down in the tunnels.

  “I can ask the police to—”

  At the mention of the police, Esme grew panicked, squirming in Flynn’s embrace as if she wanted to run away. Flynn squeezed her tight. “Okay. No police.”

  Esme calmed.

  “Do you want me to call your mommy?” Flynn tried again, although last thing she wanted was to venture back out on the streets with a little girl marked as a target. No. The girl had been running away from the Tower. With someone trying to kill her, Flynn couldn’t take her home, so better not promise her that. Then it occurred to Flynn: What if the mother, the blind woman, Jess, was in danger as well? How the hell was she going to get to her and protect them both? “Let her know you’re all right?”

  That did it. Esme fell apart, grabbing Flynn as if Flynn were a lifeline, curling her small body into Flynn’s as she cried, tears and primal moans of grief pouring out. Flynn didn’t know what to do, other than to hold her and rock her. She didn’t lie, tell the girl it would be all right—it most obviously was not.

  A few long minutes, and the girl’s moans calmed. Flynn dared to try again. “What happened, Esme?”

  “They killed my mommy.” The words emerged as a wail. Esme bunched her fists to her mouth, trying to deny the truth. “And, and, Sister Patrice. That’s a sin. A bad sin. Killing a nun. They’re gonna go to h-e-l-l.”

  “They sure are, sweetheart. Who killed your mom and Sister Patrice?”

  Terror filled the girl’s face, and she pulled away, now shaking her head, her palms smothering her lips and any words that might sneak past.

  “They’re coming.” Esme spread her fingers just far enough to let the words escape. “To kill me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ryder took Ozzie with him as he made his way through the crowd to plead his case with the deputy chief. He hoped to persuade him to resume the search in the tunnels, even if on a limited scale.

  Only local media had arrived so far. He was surprised to see them still on scene. A body found in the Tower wasn’t news, not here in Cambria, but add in a dead nun and a missing girl, and it was enough to get them out on a holiday.

  No one was talking about the other kids they’d found in the tunnels. Good. That gave them a bit of breathing room while Rossi’s team worked to find their families. But sooner or later the story would break. Some CSU guy or a SWAT team member or maybe one of the fire guys… someone would want to play hero and grab some time in the spotlight. Always happened.

  Daniel Kingston and the deputy chief still stood beneath the canopy, and now the son, Leo Kingston, had joined them. The kid—somehow it was hard to think of Leo as an adult when he stood beside his father who possessed a gravitas that made him seem larger than life—had had a few run-ins with the law, mainly possession charges.

  Nothing his father couldn’t buy his way out of with well-placed campaign contributions. In fact, Ryder was surprised it wasn’t Kingston’s voice that came out of the mayor’s mouth any time he opened it.

  Father and son. Ryder had never met either man before, but as soon as he laid eyes on them, he knew they were wrong. Nothing he could prove, nothing he could even explain if pressed. Just a subliminal pinging, like the radar a bat used to fly in the dark, waking primal protective instincts in the far recesses of his brain.

  The father spotted him first, the son a millisecond behind. Both turned polished, too-friendly smiles his way, exposing their teeth, eyes meeting Ryder’s without hesitation. Eyes that glittered with their own agendas.

  Definitely wrong. Sociopath, psychopath, narcissist…. whatever the current medical term, here were two perfect specimens.

  If Ryder wanted those tunnels reopened, he’d have to play nice. He strode forward, plastered a smile on his face, and reached out a hand to the father. “Mr. Kingston. It’s a pleasure. Thank you so much for your assistance.”

  A flicker in Kingston’s gaze. Had Ryder laid it on too thick? But Kingston took his hand, nodding indulgently, as if granting Ryder a royal boon. “Of course. Always happy to help, Detective—”

  The deputy chief stepped in. “This is Detective Matthew Ryder. The man I was telling you about.”

  “The hero who braved the tunnel complex despite warnings posted at every entrance and the fact that he was trespassing on private property,” Leo Kingston put in, his smile more a sneer.

  “A girl’s life was at risk.” Ryder didn’t shake Leo’s hand, instead merely stood there, meeting Leo’s gaze, forcing himself to relax. Up close, Leo looked like a petulant teenager, all smoothed edges and crease-free.

  “Leo,” his father said. A caution.

  “I’m sure Detective Ryder had no idea of the repercussions of his actions,” the deputy chief put in. “Especially the cost to the city.”

  Cambria had walked the knife edge of fiscal disaster for years. What the hell did that have to do with saving a girl’s life?

  The deputy chief answered for him, gesturing to the uniformed men swarming around the alley, St. Tim�
�s, and the Tower. “This overtime will break us. We might need to furlough a good portion of our manpower if we don’t shut it down. Fast.”

  Ah. Now he understood. The brass wanted it to be Ryder’s call. Either way, he’d be to blame—for shutting things down too soon, failing to find Esme in time… or for bankrupting the city, forcing pay cuts and furloughs, leaving the city without adequate protection during the holiday season.

  His smile now genuine, he turned back to Daniel Kingston. “I don’t think we can shut down operations now, sir. Not with thousands of citizens at risk from the dangerous incendiary devices we’ve discovered on Mr. Kingston’s property. I’m sure he’ll agree that the price of us cleaning it up for him now is much, much less than the price he’d pay if something went wrong and innocent people were hurt.”

  Kingston’s eyebrows revealed his irritation, although his smile never wavered. “Of course, I’ll pay any necessary cleanup costs incurred by the city,” he conceded.

  The deputy chief nodded and beamed. Ryder half-expected the man to drop a curtsy or genuflect.

  “In that case,” Ryder said, “I’ll tell the men to resume operations down in the tunnels immediately. Even with the safety restrictions, we could start the work until more resources arrive.”

  Kingston bristled, communicating his displeasure without saying a word.

  The deputy chief spoke up, “That’s not your decision to make, Ryder. We’ll continue our work in the Tower for now, but the operations in the tunnels will have to wait until we can better ensure officer safety.”

  Officer safety, his ass. There was something down there Kingston didn’t want anyone to find. Ryder was certain of it. He was about to protest when Leo stepped forward, inserting himself between his father and the chief. “I’m sure neither of you were aware that Detective Ryder forced a civilian, Mr. Tyree Willard, to accompany him down into the tunnels, despite the danger,” Leo said, talking like he was Tyree’s lawyer. “Or that Detective Ryder then unlawfully restrained the civilian and assaulted him.”