Hidden in the Dark (Harper Flagg Book 1)

by Alyson Larrabee

  “She’s over eighteen. This interview is completely legal.”

  In a frighteningly calm and deadly quiet voice, my father announces, “Interview my ass. This is an interrogation. And you people need to remember that Harper’s the victim here. That monster stole her away from her home. She did what she could to survive. Even though she’s only a teenage girl, she was able to save her own life and escape from a murderer. She obtained tons of valuable information about an intelligent and elusive serial killer, which the FBI, the state police, and the local PD have failed to do over the course of the past sixteen years. You should be congratulating her. Not interrogating her.”

  “Detective Flagg,” the lead agent begins, “we just have a few questions about the severity of the injuries Gabriel Stone may have sustained during their altercation earlier this evening.”

  My father grabs my wrist, holds it up, and says, “She jabbed his throat so hard she’ll be icing her hand for a month. Look at these fingers!” He releases my wrist, puts his arm around me, and pulls me in close to his left side. I hope the agents realize that he’s keeping his right hand free incase he decides to slug someone.

  “She came closer to capturing the killer than any of you did! She’s a hero, and she’s going home to rest. I won’t have you assholes stressing her out, jeopardizing her health and sanity. She’s been through enough. I’ll bring her down to headquarters tomorrow, and she’ll answer all of your questions, with me and a lawyer present.”

  They’re really speechless now. He releases his one-armed hold on me, reaches for my uninjured hand, and pulls me out of the room.

  I’m not so sure I agree with my father. I don’t feel like a hero. But I’m happy to get away from those creepy feds and their bazillion questions.

  Finally all of the experts officially declare that I’ve suffered no obvious permanent damage, mentally or physically, and I’m not guilty of anything except getting kidnapped by a famous serial killer. I’m free to go home. I make a few requests: for a shower, clean clothes, and a new canister of pepper spray. Everyone hustles around to make my wishes come true before we leave the hospital.

  By the time we hit the road, it’s nine thirty in the morning. Someone gave me a pair of hospital-issue slippers, and I’m wearing clean clothes from a very sweet, kind young nurse’s locker. She seems to prefer comfortable, well-worn jeans and white-cotton granny panties. Her T-shirt has a picture of Kurt Cobain on the front, not exactly my style, but not completely lame. We wear the same size in almost everything. The jeans are a little too big but small enough that they don’t slide off when I stand up. A cop friend of my dad’s handed me the mace canister off his own belt.

  On the drive home, my dad explains how the explosion completely destroyed the house, the garage, and some of Gabriel’s surrounding property. Barely anything’s left except a giant, smoking crater in the ground.

  However, the root cellar survived intact, and they’re hoping there’s enough evidence inside to convict Gabriel if he’s alive and they’re able to capture him. Forensics teams are already swarming all over the scene. The experts think he might not have tried to blow up the root cellar because of all the rock-solid cement used to build it. He would’ve needed to dig too deep and use too much TNT.

  I think he wanted to preserve what’s left of his brother, Michael, in hopes that someone will give him a decent burial one day.

  For whatever reason, Gabriel left the old torture chamber alone. That godforsaken hellhole would’ve been the first thing I blew up, but he didn’t consult me.

  My father assures me that after their remains have been examined, Michael and Eve Stone will be buried in the family plot with their ancestors, in the graveyard near what’s left of the Stone family homestead.

  In Gabriel’s twisted mind, they’ll never rest in peace, though. I got to know him well enough to realize he can’t let them go.

  When we arrive home, Dad turns to me and says, “Harper, an initial forensics exam of the contents of the root cellar revealed traces of vomit and urine. The crime scene guys think it’s yours. Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “I had a bad day.”

  “That’s all. One bad day?”

  “Actually, one bad day and then one night. Then it was over, and I felt better.”

  “I’d like to know more about this bad day and bad night.”

  “I’m fine, Dad. He never hurt me. In his own strange way, Gabriel loved me, and his love for me was pure.”

  “Thank you. The doctors who examined you assured me that you hadn’t been hurt or . . .” He hesitates. “Or raped.”

  “They’re correct. I don’t think Gabriel’s wired that way. He’s never molested any of his victims. During the whole time that I was his prisoner, he never tried to move beyond normal, friendly affection. He really cares about me. I couldn’t have escaped if he didn’t. He trusted me. And, ultimately, he underestimated me.”

  “I’m very thankful for that.”

  “Me too.”

  “We think it was Gabriel who called in and reported the explosion. But there’s no way to know for sure.”

  “Dad, I don’t think he wanted to leave my rescue to chance. He knew I’d be driving way too fast.”

  “Like Brittany did.” My father lets out one long, slow breath.

  “He made sure I was found as soon as possible. That I was safe. It’s always been part of his MO.”

  “Excuse me if I don’t thank him next time we come face-to-face.”

  I start laughing and have trouble stopping.

  “Harper, honey, get a grip.”

  “Sorry, I’ll try.”

  “We need to talk about one more thing, baby.”

  “What?”

  “There’s still a ton of work to do over there. Weeks of it. A team will be arriving soon to excavate the property, the woods, and the fields immediately surrounding it.”

  “I’m afraid to ask why.”

  “The blast uncovered more human remains. Right now it’s impossible to tell who they are, exactly how long they’ve been there, or how they died. We don’t even know how many yet.”

  “Do you think Gabriel lied about how many people he killed?”

  “Maybe not. From what they can tell so far, the bodies have been there a long time. Since before he was born.”

  “Is it possible that one of his ancestors was a murderer?”

  “Nothing’s definite yet. We won’t know for a while. The exhumations need to be done carefully, and there’s a large area to excavate and search.”

  “Could he have known all along that they were there?”

  “You tell me, Harper. You got to know him better than anyone else has. What do you think?”

  “I don’t think he knows. He would’ve told me. He described his whole life in detail. Everything, going back to when he was a child. We talked for hours.”

  “I want to hear all of it, every word. We need to talk for hours. But first, you need to eat something, and you need some rest.”

  “Okay, just don’t leave me alone, please.”

  “They’re out there looking for him, baby. I need to help coordinate the manhunt, but I’ll come home as soon as I can. I promise. You won’t be alone. Shane’s waiting for you inside.”

  My father leaves me off in front of the house, while I’m still trying to wrap my head around the concept of the Stone family’s secret ancestral burial ground. What did they do back there in the woods, in that creepy old house behind the cemetery? For how long did it go on? Maybe they were all killers, generations of homicidal Stones, slicing up women and digging graves for them, on their own property. The whole idea’s totally mind-boggling, and my mind is way too boggled already. I need a break from thinking about all this before I lose it. I need to think about something besides homicide victims and killers. One killer in particular, and he’s probably still on the loose. Maybe even headed my way.

  Logically, though, if he’s alive, Gabriel won’t come near me any ti
me soon. He values his freedom too much to risk capture. But just in case, there’s an armed state trooper sitting in an unmarked car twelve feet from the front door.

  My new bodyguard smiles and waves to me. I wave back then walk inside, where Shane’s pacing around the living room. As soon as he sees me, he stops and stares, wide-eyed, as if he’s afraid to blink. Like he thinks he’s dreaming and if he turns away for a second, he’ll wake up and I’ll disappear. My first instinct is to run into his arms, but even though I remember how great it feels to be held by him, suddenly I’m not sure that I ever want to be touched again. The amazed expression fades from Shane’s face and is replaced by one of complete uncertainty. His natural athlete’s body hesitates, and his big hands dangle indecisively down by his thighs.

  I take a step closer and stare at his large, awkwardly displayed hands. Before all this happened, I thought of him as comforting and protective. Warm and safe. Now I’m not so sure. He looks tall and powerful. And so much bigger than me.

  Eventually, he takes the initiative and edges forward until he’s within arms’ reach. Then he tucks his fingers into my front pants pockets and pulls me toward him until my face rests against his chest. Even when I join my hands together behind his back and lean into him, his hands stay put, and he stands there, tall and strong, like a tree trunk, inside the circle of my arms, with the ends of his fingers tucked inside my pockets. After a few minutes, his sweet caution breaks me, and I begin to shed very wet tears all over his shirt. It’s a tradition. Tentatively, I let go of him, reach in between us, pull his hands out of my pockets, and put them behind my back. Only then does he fold me up in his arms. We stay wrapped around each other, while Shane kisses my hair and I continue to sob out all the wretchedness Gabriel brought into my life.

  He speaks first. “I was so worried, Harper.”

  I look up because his voice sounds weird, like he’s choking on something. A tear’s sliding down the side of his face. I push on his chest and step back to get a better look. “You’re crying.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. Great detective work.”

  I wipe the tears from his face with my good hand. “No one else has ever been through anything like this, Shane. Just us.”

  “I know.”

  “What if that’s the only reason we want to be together?”

  “Don’t pull this shit with me now, Harps.” He tries to gather me back into his arms, but I push him away because I need to set things straight.

  “What if Gabriel is the only reason we’re together? The only thing we have in common?”

  “We found each other because of him. I can’t deny it. In our hearts, we’ll both always have a dark and twisted place where his horrible deeds still live. We can’t escape that. But there are other reasons we’re together, Harper. Huge reasons. Important reasons.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I love you.”

  “What if you think it’s love, but it’s really only relief, because I’m alive and safe?”

  “Nah. I knew I loved you way before he took you.”

  “What do you mean? How far back?”

  He smiles. “The day I went to your track meet and watched you run. You had on this epically pissed-off, determined face, and your feet were moving really fast and you were trying to force them to go even faster. I thought to myself, she’s the one. Faster than the wind and mad as hell. And I love her for it.”

  “I think I love you, too, Shane. But what if it’s for only one big reason, and it’s the wrong reason? I don’t want that.”

  “What the hell is the right reason, Harper?”

  “Not that our mothers were both murdered by the same guy. And not that he kidnapped me and you were worried.”

  He grabs my upper arm with one hand and tilts my chin up with the other. So I’m forced to look into his eyes. Most of his gentleness has disappeared.

  “The worst part was not being able to do anything. I needed to charge into a burning building and carry you out or swim against a riptide and tow you back to shore, but all I could do was hang around and wait.”

  “Yeah, I guess it would make me crazy not to take action if I was really worried about someone.”

  “All that waiting around and thinking made me even more sure about the way I feel. Harper, you’re the only girl on the planet who’s right for me. And I’m sure as hell the only guy who can deal with a girl like you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Lots of other guys think I’m hot. Not just you.”

  “Of course lots of guys think you’re hot. But their feelings are superficial. Don’t be obtuse.”

  “Do NOT call me obtuse.”

  “At the risk of getting sprayed with mace, I’m going to stand by that statement, but I’ll qualify it this time.”

  “Qualify it how?”

  “You’re super intelligent, if not brilliant, I’ll give you that. But for a really smart girl, you’re obtuse when it comes to dating. All the guys who’ve shown an interest in you have a superficial understanding of who you are. They don’t care about the real you.”

  “Not true! What about Kyle? He cared enough to ask me to prom. That’s a big deal.”

  “How long did it take him to ask someone else after you said no?”

  “I refuse to answer that offensive question.”

  “Exactly what I thought. He turned around and asked another girl right away.” He guesses the truth, probably because I’m so annoyed.

  I sigh. “I hate it when you’re right.”

  “Get used to it. I’m always right.”

  “Always?”

  “Yes. Long term, forever, Harper, there’s only one man who can put up with you, and it’s me.”

  “Put up with me?”

  “All the other guys would be afraid you’d beat the crap out of them. They’d be insulted by your sarcasm. Your lack of concern about their feelings. The way you don’t hesitate to damage their precious male egos.”

  “Ugh.” I bang my open hand against his chest. What he’s saying is hard to hear because it’s true.

  “But not me. I see past your tough exterior. My shirt has been soaked with your tears. Multiple times.” He looks down at his sopping wet front.

  I open my mouth to yell at him, but then close it fast without saying anything. All that comes out is a big huff—an inarticulate sound of frustration. Then I find the words and say, “You’re obnoxiously overconfident.”

  “I agree. I’m difficult to tolerate at times.”

  “At times?”

  “Quite a few times.”

  “That’s better.”

  “See, I need a girl like you to keep me humble.”

  I smile up at him. “Yes, you do. And I can humble you better than anyone else. I’m an expert.”

  “One of the many things I love about you.”

  I smile up at him. “Name another one of the many things that make me so lovable.”

  He laughs. “Okay. You’re unique. One of a kind.”

  “What makes me so unique?” I’m starting to enjoy this.

  He stops to think then says, “When I’m being annoying, you could beat the crap out of me, but you choose not to. Most girls would like to beat the crap out of me but can’t.”

  “That’s so true! It’s kind of scary to think about how many times I’ve had to stop myself from punching you.”

  “I’m very thankful that you possess such unshakable self-control.”

  “You should be.”

  “And you’re beautiful. Stop-traffic gorgeous, but anyone can see that. I see more because I love you. Your expressions change so often and so fast, I could stare at you forever and never feel bored.”

  “This is getting way too awkward. Who cares, really?”

  “See, another one of your charms. You don’t care about the way you look. The whole appearance thing some girls obsess over isn’t even on your radar. You look in the mirror and go, ‘Yeah. So what?’”

  “Not true. I almost never
look in the mirror, and when I do, I don’t talk to myself. I just brush my hair and get on with the important things in life. See, you don’t know me so well.”

  “Oh yes I do. I have kissed you until you melted.”

  Ugh, the familiar burning starts, and I feel my face grow red as I remember how his kisses feel.

  “You pulled my shirt off that day. Have you ever done that to anyone else?”

  My face grows redder still, and I don’t answer his question. It was rhetorical anyway. He already knows the answer is no.

  “Harper, I love you. Accept it. Get used to it. Love me back.”

  He places his big hands on my shoulders, bends down, kisses me for a second, and then stops.

  “I love your stupid, sarcastic sense of humor.”

  He kisses me again.

  “I love that you’re overconfident about your Scrabble skills.”

  Before I can say not true, he kisses me again.

  “I even love that you carry around a truckload of stupid-ass pepper spray.”

  Before he kisses me this time, he reaches behind my back, yanks the canister of mace out of my jeans’ waistband, and drops it onto the floor.

  “The pepper spray doesn’t intimidate me. But I don’t want to feel it when we’re making out.”

  I reach up, hug him, and stay pressed against him. Finally, I answer back, “I love you, too, Shane.”

  Then he wraps his arms around me really tight, until my toes leave the floor, and half carries, half drags me toward the couch. When the bends of my knees hit the seat cushion, he eases me down, stretches out beside me, and kisses me like he’d die if our lips came apart. Like his life and his breath depend on how long and how deeply he can kiss me. It feels so good I never want to stop.

  But I do because his phone chimes and he answers it. Then puts it on speaker, so I can hear, too. “It’s my stepmother.”

  “Hi, honey. Emily and I are back from Rhode Island, and I just put the first pan of chicken parm into the oven. We’re whipping up a full-scale, unbelievably delicious Italian meal.”

  Shane lets me go and sits up. “Damn, it’s good to hear your voice, Mom. I’ve missed you and Emily so much.”