Farewell to Dreams: A Novel of Fatal Insomnia

by CJ Lyons

  Flynn paused, waiting for Rossi to protest. In her world, she was the only one who thought Leo capable of anything bad. But to her surprise and relief, Rossi nodded, accepting Flynn’s outlandish story. “You’ve been hiding Esme from Leo and the police?”

  “Yes. But now Leo’s after me—he knows I have Esme. I need to stop him before he can get to her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Here.” Flynn allowed herself a quick smile at Rossi’s look of surprise. “With the other children you brought here last night. Down in the Advocacy Center.”

  “Esme’s here?” Rossi didn’t wait for an answer, but headed toward the stairwell. Flynn followed. She needed to be on the move anyway. “How are you going to stop Leo?”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  As we hurried down the steps from the ICU back to the Advocacy Center, I cursed myself for not watching the children more closely earlier.

  “Thank you,” I told Jane Doe Flynn. “For saving Esme. But why were you there? How did you get involved in all this?”

  She was dressed all in black, and I realized she moved like Ryder did, as if on constant alert, expecting to enter battle. Had she survived her drowning only to become some kind of vigilante?

  When she didn’t answer, I asked, “At least tell me your name. I don’t know what to call you.”

  After her drowning, she’d claimed amnesia, but there had to be a damn good reason why a teenager had ended up in the river covered in bruises and blood.

  Her shoulders bobbed up and down as if shrugging off a heavy load. “Flynn. Call me Flynn. It’s who I am now.”

  We arrived at the first floor. The police officer was nowhere to be seen—he was probably inside, checking on the children—so I unlocked the doors to the Advocacy Center. We passed the empty exam rooms and turned the corner to the observation room when I spotted a woman slumped on the floor.

  I ran to her, skidding to a crouch beside her. It was the nursing assistant who’d been watching the children.

  I reached for her pulse. She was dead, a length of surgical tubing wrapped around her neck. I glanced back down the hall behind me, but Flynn had vanished. The door to the observation room was open, but the room was dark.

  The children! Panic lanced through me. I stood, but before I could move to check on the children, a voice called to me from inside the observation room.

  “Make a sound and the girl dies,” a woman’s voice came from the darkness. The lights snapped on, and I saw Esme, eyes wide with terror, being held at gunpoint by a police officer.

  Officer Petrosky. The woman who’d tried to keep me from going into the tunnels last night. The one who’d shot at us? No, at Esme. Hoping to kill her before we could save her.

  “Dr. Rossi, isn’t it?” Her tone was one of command. “Pull the body inside and close the door.”

  What choice did I have? I dragged the nursing assistant’s body inside and shut the door. Hopefully, Flynn had gone for help, but I still needed to get this woman and her gun away from Esme and the other children.

  Through the observation window I could see the kids and Ozzie chasing each other in the next room. They all appeared unharmed, no idea of the danger a few feet away. A few of them even smiled.

  “Imagine my surprise when I come on duty only to find the girl everyone’s been looking for. Of course, she,” Petrosky nodded at the dead woman at my feet, “wouldn’t cooperate. But you will, won’t you?” She tilted her head, regarding me once more. “I’ll make you a deal. You two come with me, and I’ll let those other kids live.”

  <<<>>>

  “We’re going to have to go in through the tunnels,” Tyree told them once Ryder, Price, and the gang leader had driven away from the crime scene Ryder should have been working, not fleeing like a common criminal.

  Price drove while Ryder sat with Tyree in the back, weapon aimed at him. “Why’s that?” Price asked. “Don’t trust your own people?”

  Ryder wished Price would stop provoking Tyree. They needed his cooperation if they were going to make this work. If the gang leader was desperate enough to partner with him and Price, he obviously couldn’t trust his own men.

  “There’s an entrance to the tunnels on Park, near the old carousel,” Tyree told Price.

  Price said nothing, merely steered them south toward Millionaire’s Row. “How will we know if Esme’s really there? If we get there too soon—”

  Almost as bad as arriving too late. Ryder nudged Tyree. “What exactly did Leo say about Esme?”

  The gang leader shrugged his massive shoulders. “Not much. Just that he had a chick who was bringing her, and she’d be there tonight. Got the feeling Leo doesn’t like this chick. Told me he might let my guys have her as a reward.”

  Ryder met Price’s murderous gaze in the rearview mirror. Ryder wondered if he needed to worry more about Price than Tyree.

  Price pulled the car behind the caretaker’s shed beside the old carousel. He leaned across the front seat, opening the glove box, then handed a small, high-intensity flashlight to Ryder. They got out of the car. Ryder moved Tyree’s cuffs to the front and gave him the light to hold.

  “Hey, man, that’s not the deal.” Tyree jangled his cuffs. “Unlock these.”

  “Not until you get us into the Tower. Then we’ll swap places.” Ryder hated that his only backup would be Price, but there was no time to follow protocol: surveillance, threat assessment, evacuate the civilians, send in an armed response team. Plus, this was the Tower. A thousand civilians and seven stories filled with well-armed gang members between them and Esme. Not to mention a sociopathic killer.

  Tyree narrowed his eyes, staring at Price. “Not you. Him.” He jerked his handcuffs, rattling them. “You, Leo only wants dead. Him, he wants alive.” Tyree’s sudden grin split the night as the light above the door to the shed reflected from his teeth. “You ready to meet your big brother, Runt?”

  <<<>>>

  Petrosky was no dummy. She knew she’d have her hands full, so she made me dose Esme with a sedative. I chose midazolam; it also causes amnesia. If there was anything I wanted Esme to forget, it was this night.

  The back hallway of the Advocacy Center led to the elevator to the basement. All empty this time of night. Soon we were in the tunnels, my wrists handcuffed in front of me, Esme cradled in my arms, Petrosky behind me, holding the gun on us as we headed to the Tower. Still no sign of Flynn or any help. I wondered if maybe she’d set me up, but realized that made no sense. Petrosky had found Esme by accident, without Flynn’s help. Surely after risking her life to save Esme once, Flynn wouldn’t give up on us now.

  My answer came in the form of a whisper high above. Amid the unnatural creaks and groans of the overhead pipes was the rhythmic beat of soft footfalls, someone tracking us. We reached the wide intersection halfway between Good Sam and the Tower. I tensed, expecting Flynn to make her move.

  Petrosky had her gun aimed at my spine, only a few inches away, no possibility of missing. But if Flynn timed it right, she could still save Esme.

  Two more uniformed police officers stepped out of the shadows. I could almost feel Flynn’s frustration boiling up with my own. One of them took Esme from me, and the other held his gun on her, despite the fact that she was oblivious to the world.

  “All this for one little kid?” He poked Esme with his gun, and it took everything I had not to rush him.

  Petrosky prodded me from behind. “Who cares if it keeps him happy and us paid? As soon as his father dies, Leo will rule this town and we can write our own tickets.”

  “He’ll like the bonus you brought. But we’d better hurry. He’s getting impatient.”

  We doubled our speed down the tunnel. I ransacked my memory of last night, trying in vain to remember any place I could create a diversion, give Flynn the advantage. But all of Tyree’s traps had been dismantled, and from here it was a straight shot to the Tower. A few minutes later, we were in the elevator hea
ding to the roof.

  They led us through Tyree’s throne room—several of his men were there, shuffling about, aimless without their leader—and then across the roof to the old Victorian greenhouse.

  With its beautifully arched roof, wrought iron columns, and gracious wide windows, the greenhouse belonged in a different era—and anywhere but on top of this ugly, squalid building. Petrosky shoved me inside. The other cops placed Esme on a stainless steel table, nodding to the man who stood in a cleared area about ten feet beyond the entrance.

  The light filtered through the thick, green foliage surrounding him, giving his blond hair and pale skin a sickly hue. His face was narrow with an angled chin and sharp cheekbones. He stared at me, circling me, hands behind his back. I stared back, forcing my fear aside, even as memories of Allie’s torture bombarded me.

  Leo Kingston. Had this man tortured Allie and the other women?

  Hatred blazed through me. He saw it and nodded in approval. “Well done,” he finally told Petrosky. “You watch the girl. The others can guard the door.” The two police officers backed out.

  The sound of the doors slamming shut sealed my fate. I could handle that. If I could find a way to save Esme.

  There was no way in hell Flynn could get up to the roof without alerting Tyree’s men or Leo’s people. And with the police on Leo’s payroll, she couldn’t call them. Even if she did, how could they reach us without risking the lives of a thousand civilians?

  “I’ll do anything you want,” I told Leo. What did I have to lose? I’d already lived through what he’d done to Allie. And I had to buy Flynn time. “Let the girl go.”

  He bounced on his feet like a little boy so excited he was about to pee himself. A gleeful movement that distracted me.

  Then I saw the knife in his hand.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Devon hated how long it took them to travel through the tunnels, but there were cops patrolling and no way of knowing if they worked for Leo or not. Finally, they arrived at the Tower.

  Ryder removed the handcuffs from Tyree and placed them on Devon. “Sure about this?”

  “Save Esme.”

  Ryder left the cuffs as loose as possible and slipped the key to Devon. He gave Devon a sympathetic look, then disappeared into the stairwell leading to the roof, armed with Tyree’s keys.

  Devon entered the elevator with Tyree, forcing himself to think of Esme as the doors sealed them inside. They arrived at Tyree’s rooftop office where Tyree’s men waited. Then they were a group of seven, parading through a door behind one of the red velvet curtains and across the rooftop to the greenhouse. The night wind from the river whipped across the open space, bringing with it the scent of diesel oil and dead fish.

  Tyree shoved Devon through the large, old-fashioned metal doors leading into the greenhouse. The light inside was a strange mix of dusky shadows and the red glow of heaters coming from below. He’d expected the sprawling foliage of marijuana plants, but not the perfumed scent that drifted down from tiny white flowers dangling from vines encircling the rafters overhead. Or the singing.

  He stopped in his tracks, unable to pull his attention from the singing. Lovely warbles, like a boys’ choir. Only these weren’t human voices. Tiny songbirds, bright blue and yellow sparks of color flitting hither and yon through the intricate wrought iron that formed the rafters supporting the curved glass roof.

  Blinking back memories—angels, the birds sounded like angels, no, too many memories, rushing over him all at once—he stumbled forward, past the wall of greenery into a cleared area in the center beneath the glass arch.

  Lying on a potting bench was Esme, who appeared unharmed, but asleep or drugged. Across from her was Leo Kingston and beside him Angela Rossi, who stared at Devon, not in despair, despite the fact that her hands were handcuffed in front of her and Leo held a filleting knife to her throat, but rather in challenge. Her gaze moved to Esme, and Devon understood.

  No matter what happened to her, Esme would survive.

  It was a challenge he was happy to accept. He gave her a small nod.

  “I brought you yours,” Tyree said. “Now, you give me mine.”

  Leo glared at Tyree and jerked his chin in dismissal. “You get the girl when I’m good and ready.”

  Tyree backed off to stand beside the police officer, Petrosky, who’d taken position guarding Esme, leaving Devon standing alone about eight feet from Leo. It would be so easy to kill Leo—but not with the knife at Angela’s throat. Only as a last resort.

  “Welcome, my favorite bastard stepbrother,” Leo called in a merry voice. “So glad you could join in on my little reindeer game. In honor of our late, great father, I thought we’d play one of his favorites: sacrifice. Do you remember the rules? We played it last time we met.”

  “I’ve never met you before,” he told Leo, trying to give Ryder time.

  Leo gave a mock frown. “Sure, you have, little brother. Think, think hard. It was the last time our father brought your mother here so we could hear her scream. She was pretty much burnt out by then, but he wanted to try to break her one last time. You were maybe eight…”

  Devon shook his head, denying memories he’d locked away for twenty years. That smell. Jasmine. How he hated that smell. And the damn birds singing like the world was beautiful, like everything would be perfect, their voices echoing his mother’s screams. “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He’d hid—just as he always hid when Kingston came for his mother. But it wasn’t the closet he remembered downstairs in their apartment, the one his mother stocked with pillows and coloring books and snacks. Against his will, he glanced past Leo to one of the wrought iron pillars that supported the roof. At its base was a large cabinet, the height of a man’s waist, perfect size for an eight-year-old boy to seek shelter in. It stank of fertilizer and chemicals, he remembered, the air filled with microscopic flakes of soil and peat, made him sneeze.

  “How could you forget?” Leo asked. “Especially that final time. When my father let us play along. He gave your mother a choice: Give in, stop fighting, surrender to him. Or he’d take you from her, raise you as his own. He promised her you’d grow up to be just like him. Just like me.”

  Suddenly, it wasn’t Leo’s voice Devon heard. It was Daniel Kingston. Shouting at his mother, telling her how tired he was of her, why couldn’t she just shut up and do as he told her? The sound of a slap, a woman’s cry, then Kingston. Calm, quiet, giving her a choice. A final choice.

  His vision wobbled as the memory of that day became more vivid. The view from ground level, from the height of a little boy peering out through the slats in the cabinet doors, overlapped the reality he saw now. He remembered wanting to rush to his mother’s aid, knowing he should help her, wishing he was that brave. And cowering, frozen in terror.

  “It was a bluff, of course,” Leo continued. “Father would have never brought you home with us. But she didn’t know that. She wouldn’t take that risk. You were her whole world.” His voice rose to a mocking falsetto.

  “She chose me,” Devon whispered, torn between the memory of his mother’s tears and his hatred for the man before him now.

  Leo smiled and nodded, a teacher praising an especially bright student. “She chose you. Submitted to my father. Which, of course, meant he was finished with her. He was like that—intoxicated by the pursuit, bored by the actual kill.”

  He paused, waiting for Devon to catch up to the present. “Good thing he had me around. Do you remember, little brother? You watched. We heard you crying. And I? I held her arm, the needle so bright and shiny. Do you remember her blood rushing back just before I pushed the plunger down?”

  Nausea sucker-punched Devon, and he thought he’d be sick right there. If it weren’t for Esme, he would have. “You gave her the hot shot that as good as killed her.”

  “And you wet your pants. Then father took me for ice cream. My reward for a job well done.”

  “I remember,” Devon sa
id, his gaze clear once more and riveted on Leo. It was the truth. He remembered everything—sitting on the floor beside his mother’s still body, rocking, crying, and vowing to someday kill Daniel Kingston and his son. “I remember.”

  Esme made a small noise, one hand rubbing her nose. Devon glanced from her to Leo. “Sacrifice, that’s the game? So you want me to choose? Between my daughter and my mother?”

  Leo’s grin tightened like barbwire. “Not you. You’re far too easy, predictable.” He tapped the knife against Angela’s neck. “Her.” He nodded to Petrosky. “Bring in contestant number three.”

  Petrosky chuckled. Devon felt the draft of the door opening behind him. Two of Tyree’s men hauled Ryder inside to the cleared area and threw him onto the floor at Leo’s feet.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  All my hope died when Petrosky shoved Ryder inside the greenhouse.

  Leo, on the other hand, grew more excited, his knife dancing across my neck, a deadly caress. “Funny how when I have one person with me, they beg for their own lives. Two and you beg for the girl’s—guess that’s to be expected, you being a doctor, a healer and all. Wonder what will happen now that we have three?”

  He stroked the blade across his lips, kissing it, anointing it, preparing for his own holy sacrament. “I saw you two together last night. You seemed very close. Which shall it be, Doctor? The girl or the cop?”

  Time froze. Not one of my spells, just pure, unadulterated terror. I met Ryder’s gaze. He smiled at me. Nothing fake about it. He truly believed we were going to survive tonight. It would have been easy to dismiss it as fool’s courage, but I knew he was no fool.

  Trust. No. More than trust. Faith. From the very beginning, Ryder had placed his faith in me. Never questioning what I knew, without the luxury of proof.