by J. K. Zimmer
“Yeah, it’s sick, I know, but it was a reality in her life,” Kevin said, rereading the notes he and Theresa had spent hours on.
Taylor got up and splashed water on his face. The sun was just cresting the small mountains that lay to the east, which meant a call from New York with new information and hopefully search orders.
There was a faint ringing sound coming from the lamp stand, one of their phones. Taylor checked. “It says Theresa.” He raised his head, in search of his partner. “Gates, how many women do you have? You’re really not that good looking,” he said with a sleepless smile.
Kevin tried to laugh, but his weariness stifled the noise. “Toss it over here,” he said. “Gates here. Hey Theresa, isn’t it kind of late for you to be up? Or should I say early?” She was quiet. Something was wrong. The minute her words hit his ears, Kevin could hear fear in her voice. His mind raced. He and Theresa had worked together for several years. She was as strong as she was attractive. Something had made a huge impact on her to have this kind of effect.
“I haven’t slept all night. I’ve been working on the diary alone at the office, and suddenly it— well, it’s like it spoke right into my head. You’ve got to know what I heard,” she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
The line grew quiet for several seconds.
“Theresa, I’m going to put you on speaker. Taylor’s here, and we have the diary right in front of us.” Taylor grabbed a pen and paper as they spoke.
“Gates, the diary will only speak to open hearts.”
Kevin’s eyes shot to his partner. Taylor rubbed his eyes, shaking his head as he listened.
“What? Open hearts? Come on, Theresa—”
“Gates, don’t say anything. I mean it,” Theresa said in a firm tone. “I need you to listen with an open mind. Now, the diary somehow knows who will believe and who won’t. That sounds really weird, I know, but just stick with me on this. Faithful women—yes, they have to be faithful—seem to be the ones who will listen to Three. Those are the women he talks to. Unfortunately, they only seem to need him when they’re in trouble. All the same, their need is what brings him, and he’s willing to help.”
“Okay, Theresa,” Kevin said, looking at Taylor, who was still shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you in trouble? Is that why you can hear this spirit?”
“No, I’m not in trouble. I’m one of the good people on the good path to help you find her.”
Her words struck him. He opened Sophie’s personal journal and quickly started to flip pages. He turned to the last entry and reread it, then pushed it in front of Taylor.
“Gates, what is it? You’re too quiet.”
“Theresa, I took Sophie’s journal last night from the cottage where she’s staying. What you just said is in the last entry of that journal.”
Taylor glanced at his notes. “Theresa, this is Taylor, Kevin’s partner. Let me get this straight. You believe this Three is a real person, or something real that’s able to help these women, right?” he asked, beginning to connect the dots.
“Yes, he’s real. But there’s more. Gates, Taylor, we’ve been looking at the diary all wrong. We’ve been reading it as an historical account of Anya O’Connell’s life. It is that—but it’s more. I believe the diary is a foreshadowing of the present and the future. Gentlemen, do you understand?”
Kevin heard the conviction in her voice.
She hesitated. “It’s like a map to Sophie.”
The two men looked hard at each other. They knew exactly what Sophie would be put through if Theresa’s intuition was correct. “So you’re telling me that the things Anya went through—”
“Yes, Gates,” she said, cutting him off from verbalizing the inevitable. Her voice broke slightly. “Gates, Taylor, look beyond what you’re reading. Listen to the words of Three among the pages. They’ll help you, but you must listen and follow what the diary is telling you.”
“Theresa, we can read the book and try to listen, but it does us no good if we don’t know where to start looking for her. We have some people working on it, but—”
“The wall, Gates. Sophie will be near a wall, or maybe behind one. I’m not quite sure. On page ninety-nine of the diary, it tells all about it. You’re going to find a play on words and some double meanings laced throughout the old document, but—” her voice faded out to silence. “Look, I could walk you through the pages, but I’m exhausted. I’ve got to get out of here, I need some sleep. Call me in about six hours if you need help.”
They listened, and the phone went dead.
Sleep was on the detectives’ minds, too, but they didn’t give in. Their conversation with Theresa had hit them like a shot of adrenalin, sending them right back to the diary to search for clues.
“Sophie’s at the castle, Taylor, that’s where Anya lived and where her brother held most of his parties. I’m not waiting for a conference call,” Kevin said, picking his backpack up from near the table.
Taylor put his gun in the holster under his jacket.
“We need to check the walled area around the garden first.”
“Got that, Gates.” Their minds seemed to be in a synchronized race.
“Let’s go,” Kevin said, grabbing his jacket and Sophie’s journal.
“Get the diary. We’re going to need it, too,” Taylor called back from the door.
Kevin called A. J. to inform him what was going on and their plan of action. A. J. filled him in on another search area if Goregoo Castle left them empty-handed. He assured him that backup would be available if necessary and that thanks to Ms. Hanes, they would also be looking for the three missing women from the case three years prior.
A. J. made it clear there was new evidence mounting against Smith. He had become the prime suspect in the women’s disappearance and should be treated as armed, dangerous, and highly unstable.
Kevin continued to scan the diary as Taylor drove the thirty minutes to the castle. He read Anya’s description of each encounter she experienced with her brother’s business associates. Why was she so descriptive, he wondered? As he continued, it sickened him to read her accounts of faces, body features, even the place and time of each man she had been with. Was it therapy for her to write her memories down on paper? “You know, Taylor, it seems to me that none of her sexual encounters happened at Goregoo. They were all at different locations. But then again, everything seems to lead back to the castle.”
“Did you read that, or is that between the lines like Theresa suggested?”
“Both,” he said, starting to read out loud.
“Olivia will be an example to you, dear Anya. I have sent her to show you the way. Trust her word—she does as I say.”
“Thank you for the strength she possesses, Three. I have no strength of my own. I exist only with you as my guide and those you send to me. Sean wants only what he can get from me, even Olivia if it were possible. I will learn from her as you direct.”
Kevin heard Anya’s voice speaking directly to him from each page he turned. Olivia was the one who couldn’t be touched. She was too strong for Sean to destroy or to take for his own pleasure. But what was it that made her so strong that she couldn’t be touched by someone so unclean, as Anya put it in her writing? “I will always learn from her as she directs,” Kevin reread out loud. “What does that mean?” he asked, running his hands through his hair.
“What I’d like to know is who does this Olivia represent now? And how does she play a part in Sophie’s life?” Taylor asked.
Kevin gave Taylor a long look then turned to look out the side window. Looking up at the sun that had already been up for what seemed like forever, he asked, “Help us understand this, would you?”
Chapter Nineteen
Sophie
The room was bright and sunny. Far too bright, Sophie thought, opening her eyes. Her head had stopped aching, and her mind filled with questions as she slowly lifted her body to a sitting position and then stood to her feet, this time n
ot feeling like a teetering stack of wooden blocks. She held one arm outstretched as she walked slowly to the row of windows draped with sheer pink linens. She reached, fingering the frame around the glass. A thick, white, chalky substance sealing the inside frame around the entire window. It was clear it hadn’t been opened in a long time and was not opening anytime soon. She looked out and saw metal bars secured to the outside of the window. She rested her head on the glass as she gazed through the black bars. A lush, green garden flourished to her left and right, stretching as far as her eyes could see. She was able to make out a high stone wall which stood just beyond a row of thick-needled evergreen trees. “Where am I?” she whispered, her breath fogging the sealed window. This was not Goregoo. Anya had not lived here, and there was nothing familiar except— She turned and scanned the room. What was it?
Sophie looked toward the door, then she remembered it had been locked the last time she’d tried to open it, whenever that was. She walked to the door anyway, gripped the knob. Surprisingly, it turned completely to the right. She pulled it open. Quietly, she stepped through onto a large balcony that overlooked the first floor. Instantly her eyes were filled with a scene from Anya’s diary. Her fingers wrapped around the dark wooden rail as she steadied herself. This room is the past brought into the present. It wasn’t uncommon for historical homes to be restored to their original state, she thought, putting together all the details from the diary. But this was a room from Goregoo castle created somewhere else. This room, that’s what was familiar. She leaned over the rail. A man looked up at her.
“Top of the morning to you, Ms. Hanes,” he said, holding a glass up to her.
“Professor,” she mouthed, feeling her stomach jump. Sophie looked his way once again, expressionless. His smile sickened her, reminding her of Anya’s description of her brother Sean’s look at times, dark and full of unnatural thoughts. Just the sound of his voice made her skin crawl. She said nothing, moving away from the rail so she couldn’t be seen. Just then, a young, attractive woman who might have been in her twenties ascended the stairs toward her. She carried towels and other toiletries in her arms.
“These are for you, miss,” she said in a quiet monotone voice. “Follow me. I’ll show you where you can bathe and change into clean clothes.”
Sophie took another look toward the rail then followed the woman three doors down from the bedroom she had awakened in.
“Leave your clothes on the floor, and I’ll take care of them.”
Sophie touched the arm of the woman, and she stopped. “Where am I?” she asked quietly.
The woman made brief eye contact but said nothing. Her head lowered a bit. The woman took Sophie’s hands, turned them over and then back. “I will get someone to care for your nails, miss,” she said, then dropped her hands and walked from the room, closing the door behind her.
Sophie stood alone in an austere white bathroom. It was as large as the room she’d woken up in just minutes earlier and more beautiful than anything she had seen since the ocean. It smelled of fresh rosemary. She would know the herb anywhere—it was her mother’s favorite and its scent filled the house every season of the year. She was confused, and there was a distinct cat and mouse game going on in her mind. She felt tense and afraid, yet put at ease by the comforting aroma. But take a bath? Although a bath would feel good, how would she take her clothes off in this strange place? She gave in. She wanted to wash the blood from her hair and get into fresh clothes she hadn’t slept in. Sophie looked at her jeans. “Disgusting,” she said as she dropped them near her sweater. She quickly slipped out of her underclothes and added them to the pile.
The bath was the perfect temperature. She liked it hot with lots of bubbles, and it was both. Sinking down under the water, she closed her eyes as she wet her hair, then massaged the floral shampoo into her scalp and pulled the suds to the ends. She felt the tangles release as the blood dissolved between her fingers. She went under for a second time to rinse the shampoo. She sighed as her face broke the surface of the water, and she opened her eyes. She struggled to catch her breath. A man stood beside the tub, an unblinking stare fixed on her. She grasped desperately at the surrounding bubbles to cover her body
He smiled and held out a large bath towel. “Are you finished, Ms. Hanes?” he asked, not shifting his gaze.
Sophie quickly drew her knees to her chest, hoping to stay covered by the blanket of soft, white bubbles that had wrapped around her neck. She checked to be sure her body wasn’t exposed then looked back at the man with the towel. He looked perfect, like a model. Just like Jeffrey, she thought. His body was sculpted and he had light blonde hair, green eyes, and was cleanly shaven. Too perfect.
“Yes, I think I’m finished,” she said, hugging herself tightly.
He opened the towel for her.
“You want me to get up?”
“Yes, I’ll wrap you and then help you dress.”
“I can dress myself, thank you.” Sophie felt a cramp in her stomach, the first sign of her nerves kicking in before getting sick. She pulled her legs in tighter. There was no way she was going to let that man touch her.
He didn’t move.
“Just put the towel on the floor and you can leave,” she said, feeling her chest constrict.
He stood motionless, his voice steady. “No, get up and let me wrap you.”
How long would this standoff last? She watched as her layer of bubbles slowly popped and vanished into the milky water. Sophie could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead and her gag reflex taking control. “Just leave. Please?”
“Miss, I’m here to make your life as easy as possible.”
What did he just say? She thought back. Anya had an encounter with one of Sean’s business associates who had said those very words to her. This entire scene had been recorded by Anya in her diary—
“I don’t think you want to upset the keepers with your disobedience, do you?”
She jerked her head up to look into the man’s face. His eyes remained fixed on hers, and his smile lessened.
“Who are the keepers? And what have I done to be disobedient?” she asked defensively. He said nothing. She was being held against her will in a make-believe castle, forced to relive someone else’s previous existence, and she was the disobedient one? This made no sense. She looked down and could now see the bottom of the ceramic tub she was sitting in. Her heart pounded in her chest as she slowly stood, her dignity pouring from her like the bath water down her legs. Anya had written that her dignity, too, had vanished. The only thing covering Sophie now was a few sparsely placed bubbles. She stepped to the floor, and could feel the man’s eyes burning a hole in her as he wrapped the towel around her and secured it in front.
“Come with me,” he said, squeezing her hand firmly. She followed obediently. They entered an adjacent room. Its walls were lined with clothes, shoes, and accessories. She stood still, taking it all in, not saying a word. Being draped only in a towel was uncomfortable enough, but it was made worse by this man, a stranger, sizing up her body and deciding what she was going to wear. He smiled at her, his eyes following her shape from her shoulders down to her toes. He laid a red dress on a couch. “This is what you will wear for the evening, Ms. Hanes,” he said, pointing to the dress. “For the remainder of today, put these on.” He handed her a simple white T-shirt, modest white shorts, and slip-on shoes. “Your breakfast will be on the main floor with Professor Smith,” he said, moving behind her, breathing on her neck. He then promptly left the room. Sophie dressed hurriedly, wanting to put more than a towel between her skin and another pair of eyes. Finished, she opened the door.
“Ah, Sophie, our little college professor has finally emerged.” Smith checked his watch. “A long two-day sleep,” he said, laughing under his breath.
Why did that amuse him? Sophie wondered as she made her way down the stairs to the table and took a seat. He sat across from her and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m sure you have
many questions, lass. Some I will answer, and some I will not.” He leaned back. “Where are you in the diary, Sophie,” he asked, sipping his drink.
She felt contempt for him as he looked at her. “Why should that matter, Professor?” she asked, a distinct edge in her voice. “You’ve shown me Goregoo, you’ve already interpreted the entire diary for me, and I leave in a few days, so I—”
He rose quickly, his legs knocking the chair and sending it to the floor. He walked over to her chair and planted his hands down hard on either side of her, leaning over her body. “There’s one thing you’d better get through your thick head, Ms. Hanes. I call the shots around here,” he said, his breath hot on the side of her face. He straightened and sat on the tabletop next to her.
She could see the sweat forming on his brow as before, his demeanor shifting from calm to disgustingly animated. That was it, that something familiar she felt. His constant change in behavior, his shifting thoughts, it was the same darkness Anya felt around her brother. Professor Smith had something to do with all this, just as Sean had in the diary.
“Answer me, Sophie,” he said, pushing the words out from between his clenched teeth. “Where are you in the diary?”
She squeezed her folded hands, her body tightened. “Anya has been sent to spend time with Mr. Dubois in France,” she said, trying to ease away from him.
His eyes pierced hers as he leaned toward her once again. “Do you know what she experienced with Mr. Dubois the first time, Sophie?” he asked, his voice laced with bitterness.
Sophie was now more frightened than she had ever been in her life. His eyes were evil and full of malice.
“Mr. Dubois isn’t such a nice guy the second time around, and knowing that you are such a history buff, I thought it fitting that you experience what your beloved Anya experienced, you know, make history come to life. Tonight there’s going to be a party, and you will be a part of it. Your Mr. Dubois will be present, and—” He smiled, dabbing his brow with a white handkerchief from his suit pocket. “Well, if you want to know what happens next, then you need to do your homework and prepare for what lies ahead.”