by V. E. Lemp
“She’s fine.” Mark’s arms were still wrapped around the girl, who was blinking as if she’d just woken from a dream. “Thank God.”
Karen stood next to him and pressed her fingers against his arm.
“Do you know where you are, miss?” one of the officers asked Amy. The girl looked at him with no comprehension in her light-brown eyes.
“I was on the sidewalk.” Her voice was very soft. “I was walking home. How’d I get here?”
Karen glanced into the crowd. Lee Oshima’s face was suffused with pity.
“Mark,” Karen said softly, “we need to talk.”
His joyous expression turned wary. “I have to call Claire and make sure Amy’s okay. Then we can talk.”
“Of course,” she said. “Of course. We’ll wait until later. It’ll keep.”
Karen studied Amy. The girl’s left arm bore strange circular marks.
And her feet were bare.
SEVENTEEN
Mark insisted on riding in the ambulance with Amy, so Karen followed in his new car, leaving her older vehicle in the parking lot near the woods.
They were met in the emergency room by a distraught Claire and a slight, gray-haired woman leaning heavily on a metal walker. Claire gave both Mark and Karen a swift hug before following the stretcher carrying Amy into an examination room.
“Mom.” Mark walked over to the older woman. “How are you?”
“Better now that Amy’s safe,” the woman said. She gripped Mark’s arm, and he guided her to one of the waiting room’s battered chairs. She glanced at Karen. “And who’s this, then?”
Despite her crippled body there was nothing weak about her face. She had Mark and Claire’s searching brown eyes. Those eyes that missed nothing.
“This is Karen,” Mark said. “Karen Foster. I believe I’ve mentioned her name once or twice. Karen, this is my mother, Margaret.”
“Ah, yes.” Margaret Hallam examined Karen carefully. “Claire’s told me something of you.” As Mark settled her into the plastic chair she continued to appraise Karen. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“Nice to meet you as well.” Great. Now she had to imagine exactly what Claire had said. Karen cast Mark a questioning look, but he simply raised his eyebrows.
“I wish you were meeting under better circumstances.” Mark sat next to his mother and took one of her hands in his. “But the EMS crew said Amy’s unharmed. No sign of any serious physical trauma.”
Karen sat in a chair on the other side of Mark’s mother. She wondered what the hospital would make of the marks on Amy’s arm.
“Yes, that’s good.” Margaret stared straight ahead. “I just hope she’s unharmed in all ways.”
Karen met Mark’s gaze over his mother’s head. Her own fears were reflected in his dark eyes.
“So, Karen,” Margaret Hallam said, after a moment, “how serious are you about this errant son of mine?”
Karen pressed her palm against her cheek to cover her blush. “Maybe you’d better ask your son how serious he is about me.”
“I already know that.” Margaret glanced at Mark. From his expression, Karen knew he’d prefer to be anywhere else at that moment. “He gets a certain look on his face when he mentions you. Not a look I’ve ever noticed before, Karen, not even when he married that Emma.” Mark threw up his hands. “So I can say with certainty I know his feelings for you. But I am a bit curious how you feel about him.”
“Well,” Karen said, not daring to meet Mark’s gaze, “I like spending time with him.”
Margaret stared at Karen for a moment. “Never mind. You’ve got that same look in your eyes. I suppose Claire was right. We’ll undoubtedly be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.”
“I’d like that,” Karen said, and realized it was true. She heard a voice call her name and looked up as Myron and Ariel Tarrow entered the waiting room.
“They said they found her, your niece?” Tarrow approached Mark.
“Yes.” Mark stood to greet the other man.
“I’m glad.” Myron smiled at Mark’s mother and introduced himself and his daughter. “We’re Karen’s friends.”
“And mine, I hope,” Mark said. “I assume Karen called you?”
“Yes, but she didn’t ask us to come. That was my choice.”
“I need to talk to Amy.” Ariel’s gray eyes were clear as spring water.
“I’m not certain when that will be possible,” Margaret Hallam replied, scrutinizing Ariel. “Why exactly do you wish to speak to her?”
“I think I can help her.” Ariel’s snow-blond hair was hanging loose, held back from her face by a black velvet band. She gazed at Mark’s mother with interest.
Karen met Margaret’s questioning look. “She may be able to do some good, if Amy’s still disoriented. I can’t explain how, but Ariel can help those who need clarity.”
“I suppose it can’t hurt, if you vouch for her, Karen. But you’ll have to wait until they move her to a room.” Margaret raised her eyes to meet Ariel’s gaze.
“Of course,” Myron Tarrow said. “Happy to wait until the appropriate time.”
Ariel stared intently at Margaret. “I don’t sense it,” she said, addressing the older woman, “in them. In any of them.”
Margaret Hallam smiled. The expression returned a lost beauty to her pain-worn face. “That’s a blessing. Thank you.”
Mark’s gaze traveled from the older woman to the young girl. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, nothing,” Margaret said. “Nothing you need to worry about, Mark.”
They sat for some time in the waiting area, making polite conversation, until Claire appeared and informed them Amy was being moved to a room. “Just for a night,” she said. “For observation. If all goes well she can go home tomorrow.”
“Can we see her?” Mark asked.
“For a moment. I’ll take you to her room.” Claire noticed Myron Tarrow and Ariel and stopped short. “Hello. Who’s this?”
Mark introduced them. “Ariel thinks she might be able to help Amy with some of her confusion over the events. I’ll vouch for her, Claire, if you’re concerned.”
Claire examined the Tarrows. “I suppose it’s all right, if you say so, Mark.” She led the way out of the waiting room.
“What was that all about?” Karen asked Ariel, as they followed the others to Amy’s room. “I mean with Mark’s mother.”
Ariel shook her head. “I shouldn’t say. Reassured her about something worrying her, that’s all.”
Karen watched Margaret Hallam navigate the hospital corridor with difficulty, Mark at her side. “They won’t get crippled like her. That was the question, wasn’t it?”
Ariel looked at Karen, her clear eyes very still. “Something like that. She wanted to know. I’m glad it was good news.” Ariel slid her hand into Karen’s. “It can be painful, knowing things.”
“Sometimes.” Karen clasped the girl’s hand. “Well, this must be the room. Do you want to go in alone, Ariel?”
“Not necessary.” Ariel stepped forward, silently checking with Claire before entering. She sat in the chair pulled up next to the bed, and the others filed in behind her.
“Hello, Amy. I’m Ariel.”
Amy’s golden brown hair fanned out over the pillow, encircling her pale face. She was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, her light-brown eyes blank as sheets of unlined paper.
Ariel gripped Amy’s limp hands and bent her platinum head over Amy’s still form. Several minutes of silence passed before Amy gave a great gasp and sat bolt upright in the bed, practically knocking Ariel off the chair.
“Were you there?” Amy asked, her voice cracking. “Did you see them?”
“I’ve seen them before,” Ariel said, in a soothing voice. “But not face to face, as you have.”
“What are you talking about?” Claire’s voice was sharp with anxiety.
Mark took her by the arm. “I’ll explain later. For now, it’s enough
that Amy is awake and aware.”
“I don’t want to see them again. I don’t want to remember.” Amy slumped in the bed and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow.
Karen fingered the card in her pocket. She’d have to call Lee Oshima at the earliest opportunity.
“I think we should give Amy time to rest,” Mark said “We can visit her again later.”
“I’d like to stay,” Ariel said. “If that’s okay with Amy’s mother.”
“I’ll sit with you.” Claire pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed. “Mark, can you take Mom home? If Amy isn’t discharged tomorrow I’ll bring you back for a visit, Mom.”
Margaret Hallam nodded. “Come along then, Mark, and I suppose Karen had best come with us. Mr. Tarrow,” she said, gazing up at his tall form, “thank you for bringing your daughter.”
“My pleasure.” Tarrow gave her a little bow. “I’ll be in the waiting room, Ariel, if you need me.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Ariel flashed him a quick smile before turning her attention back to Amy.
Mark took his mother by the arm as she pushed the walker forward. “Call us if you need anything, Claire. We’ll be at the house.”
“Mark, thank you,” Claire said. “And you too, Karen. And, of course, all the police and volunteers. I don’t know how to thank them enough.”
“And Alice,” Karen said, under her breath. “Thank you, Alice.”
Mark scrutinized her, but Karen shook her head. “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered, walking beside him as he guided his mother down the corridor. “I have a lot to tell you.”
Mark’s anger blazed when Karen told him of her encounter with Alice and her suspicions concerning Amy’s disappearance.
“I will kill them.” His voice held no trace of remorse.
“Who?” Karen sat next to him on the sofa. They’d returned to Mark’s house after Amy was discharged and safely delivered to her home. “The Oneiroi? Vance? His minions? Who are you planning to kill, Mark?”
His eyes were narrowed behind his glasses. “All of them, if it comes to that.”
“Killing them won’t help Amy. We have to be smarter than that.” Karen sighed and leaned against the sofa cushions. “I heard something from Pilar today—another blow. Valerie Rice is dead. Overdose, they say. She was living on the street. The authorities called Pilar because they found her number in some notebook Val was carrying around. Only person they knew to call. No one else even knew Val’s real name.”
“Perhaps”—Mark’s casual tone was edged with fury—“killing’s too good for them.”
“I might have to agree with you there,” Karen said. “But I think what we want to do is stop them, one way or another. Though I doubt it will involve killing.”
“Pity.” Mark turned to Karen and dropped his head onto her shoulder.
She put her arms about him. “I wouldn’t mind,” she said softly, “if you were to cry. Especially with what happened to Amy.”
“Not going to cry.” His words were muffled in her blouse. “But if you wouldn’t mind sitting here for a moment, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course,” she said, smoothing his hair. “As long as you need.” She stroked his back with her fingers, staring over his head at the painting she’d given him just days before. “You know,” she said quietly, “it’s me Vance wants. I bet if I asked him to meet with me, hinting I might want to rejoin the Morpheus Project, he’d jump at the opportunity.”
Mark pulled away and straightened, staring at her. “No.”
She regarded him calmly. “You once said you’d never tell me what to do.”
“No,” he repeated stubbornly. “No, absolutely not.”
“It’s one way to get to him.”
“I forbid you to even think of such a thing.”
Karen raised her eyebrows. “You forbid me? Are you in charge of my life now?”
Mark swore and grasped both her hands. “This is craziness, Karen. Please don’t do this to me.”
“This isn’t about you. This is strategy.”
Mark took a deep breath. “Promise me you won’t pursue this idea. Once Vance has you in his grasp what’s to stop him from making you disappear?”
“David Cole thinks Vance won’t harm me.”
“Oh, David Cole,” Mark said, adding an expletive Karen had never heard him use before. “I don’t mean Vance would kill you. I mean he might take you somewhere and keep you under lock and key, for his own purposes. Make you disappear, you understand?”
“I do,” Karen said. “But how else do we get close to him?”
“We’ll find a way.” Mark pulled her into a tight embrace. “Don’t you dare consider such a thing, my love. You don’t know what you’re dealing with. These people won’t hesitate to abduct you, and, unlike the Oneiroi, I don’t believe they’ll give you back.”
“All right.” Karen tipped her head so she could look into his eyes. “I won’t discuss such a thing with you again.”
He gazed at her suspiciously. “You haven’t promised not to do it.”
“Don’t you trust me?” She leaned in to kiss him before he could say anything more.
The next day Karen called Myron Tarrow.
“I need a favor,” she said.
“Anything within my power.”
“I want to get in touch with Isabelle. Do you know how to do that?”
She sensed hesitation in the long breath Tarrow expelled before his reply. “Yes, I do.”
“Can you tell her I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Ian Vance? I think she may be able to arrange that.”
“And who,” Myron asked, “would be in attendance at such a meeting?”
“Just me and Vance. I think he may find that worth his time.”
“This doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“I know. Mark would agree with you. But I have to take charge now. I’ve been used and abused by these people long enough. It’s time they faced me.”
“Very well,” Tarrow said. “I’ll get a message to Isabelle. When I have her reply I’ll let you know.”
“But don’t tell Mark.”
“I suspected as much.” Tarrow sighed. “I don’t like this, Karen, but I’m not your keeper. Of course, neither is anyone else. I can do two things, though, if you’ll allow me?”
“Sure, what’s that?”
“I’ll pray, and I’ll ask Ariel to stay open to any messages from you. Will you allow that?”
“Yes,” Karen said. “Yes, I will.”
EIGHTEEN
Karen’s meeting with Ian Vance was set for the following Saturday, at his beach house. She thought carefully about how to keep the appointment without alerting Mark to her plan, eventually deciding to leave a voice mail. It was the only way. She could never successfully lie to his face, not about something so important. She used the excuse that Pilar had called and asked for help in arranging a memorial for Val Rice. It was painful to use Val’s death in such a fashion, but Karen decided that successfully confronting Ian Vance might be some measure of revenge for Val as well as Drew and Alex.
After a tense couple of hours navigating the directions Vance’s secretary sent to her email, Karen reached the gates of the beach community and used the supplied code to enter the exquisitely landscaped development. She drove slowly, looking for house numbers. The closer she got to the beach, the more elaborate the homes became. Her car probably stuck out like cheap street art in a gallery of masterpieces.
Vance’s house number was carved into a piece of driftwood mounted on yet another gate barricading a narrow, winding driveway. Karen pressed the buzzer on a post near the gate and gave her name to an unidentified woman. A housekeeper, she thought, and recalled standing in another house owned by Vance. Her heart constricted. The last time she’d visited Ian Vance at his home, Alex had been by her side. The thought fueled her determination, and she drove down the driveway a little too fast, braking heavily as she reached a cobbled parking area flank
ing a large garage. The house was not yet visible.
Karen walked down a gravel path to the point where it turned a corner and opened onto a view of a stunning beach house. Tucked among the dunes and grasses, it was a glittering glass sculpture, its angles outlined by weathered wood gleaming silver in the bright sunlight; its many-faceted surface was punctuated with a multitude of porches and balconies. Karen stood and stared. Such a house, in such a location, must have cost a fortune. It’s always about money and power, Mark had said. Karen thought of Val Rice, dying on a street where no one knew her name.
The double front doors of the house opened, and the dark shape of a slender woman emerged in the doorway. She waited quietly for Karen to reach the house. It was not until Karen had climbed the steps to the front porch that she realized the woman was Leena Rebani.
At first glance, Leena looked much the same, but closer inspection revealed the sharply etched lines visible beneath carefully applied makeup. Her hair, still dark, had a matte quality betraying the assistance of dye. Still arresting, Leena had lost her gentle loveliness, as if time had honed all softness from her face. Her dark eyes regarded Karen without welcome.
“Karen, how delightful to see you again.” Her voice conveyed no such delight.
Karen met that cold gaze and returned an equally chilly smile. “Leena. I didn’t realize you’d be here, but I suppose you’re never far from Dr. Vance’s side these days, are you?”
“Ian is waiting for you.” Leena Rebani turned and walked into the house. Karen followed, noting the brittle fragility of the older woman’s figure.
Leena led Karen to a room that appeared to encompass the entire first floor of the house. A wall of windows overlooked the beach and the ocean beyond. Islands of pale wood and dark wicker furniture were scattered about the room, each anchored by a large, brightly patterned rug. Leena directed Karen to one of the furniture groupings, next to a massive stone fireplace.