The Haunted (Sarah Roberts 12)

by Jonas Saul

“Come on. Don’t be stupid. Just strip and put these on. I promise, I won’t look.”

  She grabbed the clothes and looked around for Frank but he was nowhere to be seen. The bushes at the back of the car looked inviting. She nodded toward them but he shook his head.

  “Right here. You’re not leaving my sight.”

  She waited another moment, holding the clothes, trying to decide if she would protest again or not.

  “My instructions are to deliver you alive. He didn’t say anything about injured or close to death. Hurry and change or I will shoot you in the foot and watch you bleed for the next few hours we’re together.”

  She watched his face, his eyes, saw the look there and believed him. Turning slightly away, she slipped out of the pants Kershaw gave her and put the jeans on. They were one size too big but fit well enough. Then the shirt. Once she was dressed, she handed him her old clothes.

  “Now get in the car.”

  In the backseat, she looked out at the cabin where Frank had resurfaced. He walked without a limp. The pain in his crotch must’ve worn off. He held a red gas can.

  What is it with these guys and fire?

  Frank and his gun-toting partner, who held the clothes Kershaw had given her, stepped back, closer to the car. Then Frank threw something and a ball of flame shot up, obscuring the front of the cabin in orange. As suddenly as it had ignited, it died down, but a part of the fire remained, licking up the wooden walls.

  Maybe it was better this way. The people she rented it from could collect the insurance and rebuild. Trying to fix what was broken wasn’t as appealing as just rebuilding.

  Frank headed for the passenger side while his partner waited a moment longer. Then he tossed Sarah’s clothes on the perimeter of the fire and got in the driver’s seat.

  “As far as the world is concerned, Sarah Roberts is dead.” He twisted in the seat to look back at her. “When they come here and see your clothes burnt, they’ll assume the worst. Once a fire marshal concludes his investigation and they have not discovered a body, a search will start, but it’ll be too late. Far too late.”

  “There are more important things for me to worry about,” she said.

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “My gun. I want it back when this is all done. I love that thing.”

  “You’re a strange one.”

  “If you only knew.”

  “I’m learning.” He produced what looked like a dart gun. “Sleep a while, strange girl.”

  Before she could smack it from his hand, a small dart with a red feather on the end entered her thigh.

  Her hand slipped off the end of the dart when she tried to pull it from her skin. On the second try she slipped sideways in the seat, her cheek bumping the car window, all her strength used up.

  “Strange girl?” she said. “No. Stranger danger. Thass me …”

  She thought she heard him say something else as she went under, but all she caught was the word bitch.

  Before the lights went out, she whispered one more word.

  Vivian …

  Chapter 26

  “Where should we start?” Aaron asked as Parkman pulled out of the drive thru, two fresh coffees in hand.

  They had arrived at the police station to discover Sarah had been released. Kershaw said he had no cause to hold her any longer and had been too busy to call either Parkman or Aaron yet, the latter of which became animatedly angry.

  Parkman pulled Aaron out of the police station, calmed him down and drove for coffee.

  “She’s probably back at the cabin,” Parkman said. He had no idea where else to go look for Sarah and she wouldn’t have gone too far without a car. He looked at Aaron sideways. “Head there?”

  Aaron nodded. “Sure. Head to the cabin. Maybe she’s there cleaning it up.”

  Parkman drove down the main street and sped up as he exited town. Movement in the mirror caught his eye. He set his coffee down in the cup holder.

  “Where’s that siren coming from?” Aaron asked.

  “Firetrucks and an ambulance racing up behind us.” Parkman slowed and eased off the road to let them pass.

  Aaron spun in his seat to look out the back window. “You don’t think?” he asked, leaving the sentence hanging.

  “There’s one way to find out.”

  He grabbed his cell and dialed Kershaw. As it rang on Kershaw’s end, the firetrucks passed Parkman’s car. Then the ambulance followed. He checked his mirrors, saw the road was clear, then pulled back onto the road.

  When the phone picked up, Parkman had to pull it away from his ear.

  “Kershaw?”

  “Yeah. Parkman?”

  “What’s going on? Where are you?”

  “Heading out to a fire.”

  “Firetrucks just passed us. Where are they headed?”

  “Call came in when you guys left for coffee.”

  “And?”

  “It’s Sarah’s cabin. I’m sorry, Parkman.”

  “Sarah’s cabin?”

  “Yeah—”

  Parkman dropped the phone and slammed the gas pedal down.

  Fifteen minutes later, half a mile from the cabin, he could already see the flames. Emergency lights rotated on the tops of the vehicles surrounding the front entrance to the cabin. He parked as close as he could and hopped out with Aaron on his heels. Parkman’s stomach twisted at the likelihood that Sarah was still inside.

  For the duration of the drive to the cabin, Aaron sat quietly beside him, staring out the window. At one point Parkman caught Aaron crying.

  Now Aaron stood beside him looking at what was once a beautiful cabin, the now burned-out shell of a building.

  A police car screeched to a halt behind them and Kershaw jumped out. He ran over.

  “Parkman,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “Learn anything?”

  “Just got here.” His voice sounded distant to himself, monotone.

  They watched as firemen attacked the flames. Kershaw stepped forward, staring at the ground beside the gravel driveway. He waited as a fireman worked a hose nearby, then when he had a break, Kershaw sprung forward and picked something up off the ground. He turned back to Parkman and Aaron and headed their way.

  “What’s that?” Aaron asked.

  “Can you control him?” Kershaw said, staring at Parkman who nodded.

  “Aaron’s not stupid. He’ll be cool or he’ll chill in a cell. He knows that. Now, whose clothes are those? Stretchy pants aren’t something Sarah would wear and they’re slightly burnt. Do you recognize them?”

  Kershaw nodded. “Oh, I recognize them all right.”

  “How?” Aaron asked, stepping closer.

  “When Sarah left the Amy Greg Facility, I was able to rustle up some clothes for her.” Kershaw held the pants and shirt with long sleeves up in the air. “These were those clothes.”

  “Which means what, exactly?” Parkman asked.

  “She’s either naked out there somewhere—” he pointed past Parkman and Aaron. “Or she’s in there and didn’t need these anymore. People rarely commit suicide by arson, so I suspect someone was waiting for her here.”

  “Arson?” Parkman asked.

  “Those gas cans tipped me off.” Kershaw pointed.

  Parkman’s eyes followed Kershaw’s finger. Three red gas cans were piled against one another in the grass by the base of a tree.

  “And you just let her go?” Aaron shouted. “With Cole still out there?”

  Parkman wrapped an arm around Aaron and eased him back a few steps.

  “C’mon Aaron. There’s nothing we can do here.”

  “You know what, Parkman, I’m done doing. It’s always you and me trying to find Sarah. After she was shot in the head, we went across the country looking for her. Then in Canada, we chased her. If it wasn’t for you, that cannibal would’ve eaten her.” He met Parkman’s eyes, then turned from him. “Forget about it. I’m done.”

  Aaron walked away, headed for the car. After a d
eep breath, Parkman followed him. Once in the car, Parkman put a hand on Aaron’s shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Aaron fiddled with his fingers as he watched the fire. “I’m just tired of it all. I signed on for Sarah. Not this.”

  “Me too, Aaron, me too.”

  “No, I mean tired as in not sure I want to continue doing this.”

  “How so?” Parkman asked.

  “I haven’t been comfortable with Sarah’s life choice for a long time. I mean, I love what she does for other people, but the risks she takes are too great. I know, she gives great speeches about being duty bound and shit, but just when we’re finally getting to spend lots of time together training, reading, watching movies, really enjoying ourselves, something happens and off she goes to save someone else. Then here we are, picking up the pieces, trying to find her. I don’t know if she’s being raped, tortured or already dead. I love her, Parkman, but I can’t keep doing this. I’ve got a dojo to run. I’m supposed to be heading back to Toronto.”

  “I know, I know.” He patted Aaron’s shoulder.

  “No, you don’t. Because you’ve been with her since the Armond Stuart days and you’re still here, picking up the pieces.”

  “Because I don’t just believe in Sarah, I believe in Vivian.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “That Sarah will be okay in the end. She always is. Sure, scrapes, bruises, sometimes broken bones and even bullet holes, but overall, Sarah’s a fighter and a lifer. She’ll do this job until she physically can’t. That’s the only thing that’ll stop her.”

  “Okay, fair enough, but I can’t keep doing it.”

  “What are you saying? You’re walking away, leaving Sarah? What’ll you do? Head back to Toronto?”

  “No, I’ll try to stick around until we find her. If she’s alive, I’ll talk to her about this. I’ll tell her how I feel. But then, I’m gone. When she quits this job one day, I’ll be there for her.”

  Parkman stared out the front window. He wondered how Sarah would take Aaron’s departure. “Prepare yourself for a long wait. She’s never going to quit. Only death will stop her and even then, with Sarah, you can never be too sure.”

  Aaron wiped at his eyes. “I just love her too much to be tortured like this every time she gets involved with something.”

  “I understand.”

  “And here’s a question; how does anyone know it’s Vivian talking to her?”

  Parkman shifted in the seat and turned his attention to Aaron. “What does that mean?”

  “What if the message giver isn’t Sarah’s sister but someone else? Someone posing as Vivian?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “If I was sending messages to my sister, I would not just warn of the impending kidnapping, but also the danger involved. I’d let Sarah know someone was coming, how hard they were going to attack and offer ways Sarah could avoid being shot at or dismembered. I mean really, sending her into burning buildings, getting her beat up, breaking her foot, allowing her to get shot—is that what a sister does? All I’m saying is that I have my doubts about Vivian. The word is too close to villain.”

  Parkman stared at Aaron, his surprise at what he was saying mounting. But in that moment, Parkman understood that a lot of what Aaron was saying came from a place of pain. He was hurting, already missing Sarah. Aaron hated the decision he was making and wanted to divert some of the blame and responsibility onto someone else, someone safe. Vivian was safe.

  “What if Vivian doesn’t have that much power?” Parkman asked. “Or that much control? How do we know how hard it is for Vivian, or whoever it is, to communicate with Sarah in the first place? Maybe she can only send out bits and pieces because something governs the information on the other side? Since Sarah has been doing this a long time, let’s assume Vivian does have her back, otherwise Sarah would be dead by now.”

  He waited a moment, but Aaron said nothing.

  “Does thinking this way make it easier to pull back, pull out?”

  Aaron wiped at his eyes but didn’t respond.

  Parkman watched the flames. The firemen held a perimeter and appeared to have it under control. He tried to examine what made him follow Sarah. Was it the action or the adventure that it added to his life? He knew he loved her as a daughter, a friend, and respected her as a woman, but nothing more, nothing intimate. Maybe it was because of her secret weapon, Vivian, who fought the criminal side of society like no other. He admired Sarah’s tenacity. There was no fight too big, no bad guy too strong, that Sarah wouldn’t step up to first. Parkman hadn’t met a single man in his life that would do what Sarah does. And maybe, just maybe, she filled that void in him. The one that wished he had done it differently and damn the consequences. Sarah was more alpha than any man Parkman had ever met.

  That’s why great leaders were respected and followed, because they spoke loud and clear on sensitive issues when not many others would. They fought for what was right in the face of adversity and did it with passion.

  Sarah was that kind of girl. She was one of a kind and Parkman had made the decision to follow her into the abyss many years ago. That decision had never faltered, never wavered.

  Perhaps that was Aaron’s issue. He hadn’t let go yet. He had to let her go in order to let her in. He was letting her go now. That was good. He’d be back. Parkman was sure of it.

  Once they found her and everything was over, Aaron would make his decision. If he left, there was a chance he wouldn’t come back. But if he did, and Parkman suspected he would, then this was just one more step in their evolution as a couple.

  But who really knew what was going to happen? Did Vivian? Who even knew if Sarah was dead already or not? If not, where would she end up next?

  Parkman suspected only God knew what was in store for Sarah.

  And it probably made God nervous.

  Chapter 27

  The susurrations woke her. She never got seasick or carsick, so it felt odd to her that she would feel slightly ill from the movement.

  The tranquilizer.

  She remembered getting a shot while in the back seat of the car. But why was she still swaying, her body weight adjusting left, then right? It was enough that she almost rolled onto her side. She opened her eyes. The small room resembled the lower cabin of a boat. Waves smashed the bow as the boat plowed through rough waters.

  She moved to get up but lay back down as a splitting headache flared between her temples. Her hands were cuffed together in front of her. The chain between the cuffs was long enough that she could rub both her temples at the same time. She rested for a moment longer, then tried to get up again, but this time slower. Once seated, she took in the small room.

  A toilet sat to her left enclosed in a small room with a tiny door. On both sides of a table were thin-cushioned seats where food was served and eaten. The bench she had been sprawled out on was close to the door that led outside. Nothing looked like it could be turned into a weapon unless she wanted to cushion someone in the face. She opened a drawer to her left but it was empty. She opened another. Also empty.

  Her head was clearing, the pain subsiding. Even her stomach was settling because hunger now became the issue.

  On her feet, she stumbled with the motion of the boat, bumping her shoulder on her way to the door which was probably locked.

  It wasn’t.

  Upstairs, the sky was blue without a cloud to be seen.

  How long have I been out?

  She started up the stairs with care, planting each foot as the boat rose, dropped, smacked the water and rose again, the engine roaring in the rear, chewing the water as it thrust the vessel forward. Near the top of the stairs, she peeked over the edge. The man steering the boat had his back to her. She recognized him as the driver of the car. The other man he called Frank was nowhere in sight.

  She did a full turn to examine the rear of the boat. They were on a yacht and heading out to sea based on the position of the
sun. But where were they going? They were far enough that she couldn’t see land. She didn’t mind swimming, but to swim back from a place where land wasn’t visible would be impossible.

  She eased higher and saw something that made her stomach drop. A bag of dry cement and a couple of metal pails. A green hose lie spiraled by the pails like a docile snake.

  Really? Cement shoes?

  “Hey Frank!” the driver shouted over the wind.