by Joy Fielding
“Yeah. I think his pride’s more hurt than anything else.”
“Where is he now?”
“Don’t know. He took off. The rest of us stayed to straighten up a bit ’cause Lonny was freaking out about the mess and his parents finding out, and that’s when Tim realized his sister wasn’t there.”
“And Delilah was the only person to see her leave?”
“She was all upset, kept saying she should have gone after her. She’s the one who drove Tim and me to Greg’s house.”
“Where is she now?”
“She was gonna drive Tim home, and then she said she was gonna check on her grandmother before seeing if she could find Megan.”
John shook his head. God save me from these amateur detectives, he thought. Although he was grateful Delilah had been around to drive his daughter home.
“She’s actually a pretty nice girl,” Amber said, as if reading his mind.
John marched from the bathroom to his closet, began rifling through his drawers for a fresh pair of boxers.
Pauline was right behind him. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t have a bunch of kids out there doing my job.” He stepped into a pair of jeans, pulled a white sweatshirt over his head.
“Can I come with you?” Amber asked, following him to the front door.
“You certainly can’t.”
The phone rang. John waited while his wife answered it.
“It’s Sandy Crosbie.” Pauline approached, handed John the portable phone.
“Has Amber talked to you?” Sandy was crying, even before John got the phone to his ear. “Has she told you that Megan’s missing?”
“We don’t know that she’s missing,” John tried to reassure her. How many times had he had this conversation in the last few months? First with Candy Abbot’s mother, then with the Martins, and finally with Cal Hamilton? He shuddered. Three different discussions. Two dead bodies. Cal Hamilton had been arrested and was safely locked up, awaiting his trial. So there was nothing to worry about. Megan had had a fight with her boyfriend and probably hooked up with another guy as a way of getting back at him. She’d turn up in the morning, sheepish and apologetic, like that Vinton girl over in Collier County. “Is there any chance she’s with her father?”
“I just called him. He hung up on me before I could get a word out.”
“All right. What’s his number? I’ll talk to him.” John repeated the number she gave him as Pauline ran for a pencil and piece of paper.
“I’m going out to look for her,” Sandy said.
“Please don’t do that,” John urged, knowing his plea was falling on deaf ears. “Look, at least let me talk to Dr. Crosbie first.”
“You’ll call me right back?”
“As soon as I speak to him.” John pressed the button to disconnect. “Shit,” he yelled. “Women! Why can’t you just stay home and”—he looked at his daughter—“eat!” he bellowed.
Amber stared at him defiantly. “Aren’t you going to call Dr. Crosbie?”
John took a deep breath to calm himself down as Pauline placed the call to Ian Crosbie’s cell phone.
“What is it, Sheriff?” Ian said instead of hello. Clearly a subscriber to caller ID. “I’m kind of busy here.”
John didn’t have to ask where Ian was. He could hear Kerri in the background.
“Is that the ambulance?” she was saying.
“Is there a problem?” John asked.
“Kerri’s mother had a heart attack,” Ian said, before lowering his voice to a whisper. “She’s dead.”
John tried to absorb this latest piece of information. What else could possibly happen tonight? “Please give Kerri my condolences,” he said as Pauline stiffened beside him. “Is Megan there, by any chance?”
“Megan? No. She’s at the party. Look, you’ll have to excuse me.”
The phone went dead. John immediately called Sandy back. “She’s not with him,” he told her. “I’ll pick you up in five minutes. We’ll look for her together. And, Sandy,” he added with quiet conviction, “we’ll find her. I promise.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Megan awoke to the sound of distant moaning.
The eerie sounds wafted toward her as part of a dream. Can you save me in the morning? Liana Martin was singing beside a glowing campfire, her girlfriends gathered around her, mouthing the words to the song along with her.
I’ve got another void to fill
I’ve got another urge to kill.
And then Joey Balfour arrived with a case of beer, and everyone was drinking and talking loudly, and the beautiful words to the song—
Give me a chance to be somebody else, ’cause it’s so easy
—were being drowned out.
I’ve got another bone to pick
I’ve got another wound to lick.
And the delicate trill of Liana’s voice was wavering, deepening, veering from soprano to alto—
Can you save me in the morning? Can you save me in the morning?
—until it became distorted, the words catching on one another, the chords skipping and disconsonant. The song became a lament, the lament a long and mournful cry.
Come on, sugar. Let’s be brave.
Don’t have to participate
In anything that makes you feel
You’re anywhere except for here….
Megan opened her eyes and sat up. This time there was no unpleasant jolt of surprise, just a sad acknowledgment of her now-familiar surroundings. She was nowhere except for here. Nothing had changed since the last time she’d dozed off. She was in the same awful, little room, with the same empty plastic bucket beside the same uncomfortable, narrow cot, under the same flickering, dim light. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, whether it had been minutes or hours, whether it had been longer or shorter than the last time she’d drifted off, whether it was night or day.
Can you save me in the morning?
“Can you save me?” Megan repeated, listening to the music in her head.
Except it wasn’t music, and it wasn’t in her head.
What was it?
Megan pushed herself to her feet, her legs weak and unsteady. Someone was moaning, she realized, a rush of adrenaline propelling her forward. Someone just beyond the door. Her heart began pounding wildly in her chest, so fast that Megan could barely breathe, the blood rushing so loudly against her ears she could barely hear herself think.
And think was exactly what she had to do, she knew, because this was no time to go running off half-cocked, to act impulsively and recklessly, to put herself in more danger than she already was. Because the one thing that had become clear to her in the minutes or hours or days she’d been locked inside this awful little prison was that this was no silly prank, and that whoever had brought her here had more in mind than mere comeuppance. Someone meant to do her serious harm. Possibly the same person who’d murdered Liana and Candy and Fiona. And it didn’t matter if that person was Cal Hamilton, a copycat, or someone else entirely. What mattered was that Megan keep her wits about her, if she didn’t want to meet the same fate as the others.
The moaning grew louder. Someone was definitely out there.
Megan’s hand reached for the door, her fingers trembling as they gripped the handle and pulled, painfully aware that each time she’d tried the door before, it had been locked.
This time was different.
The door opened.
“Oh, God,” Megan muttered, holding her breath and closing her eyes, afraid of what she might see.
“Megan?” a frightened voice asked.
Megan opened her eyes.
The girl was on the floor, her legs curled up under her torso, one hand in her disheveled hair, the other by her open mouth. Her face reflected equal parts confusion and fear.
“Delilah!”
Delilah struggled to her feet, her eyes flitting about the small, empty space. “What’s happening? Where are we?”
Megan rushed i
nto Delilah’s arms. “Oh, God. I’m so glad to see you. You have no idea.”
“Where are we?” Delilah repeated.
Both girls took a second to scan the room, which, Megan noted, was essentially the same as the room in which she’d been kept, except this one lacked even that room’s basic amenities. There was no cot, no bucket, no bottles of water. Megan approached the door behind Delilah, pulled frantically on its handle.
“Is it locked?”
Megan nodded.
“But why? Where the hell are we?” Delilah asked a third time.
“I don’t know. I don’t know where we are, or how long I’ve been here, or how I got here. I don’t know anything.” The tears Megan had been trying to suppress began washing across her face in waves.
Delilah wrapped her arms around Megan’s trembling shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“Do you remember anything?” Megan asked.
Delilah shook her head, as if trying to clear it. She looked as if she were about to speak, then she stopped, as if searching for the right image. “I’m not sure. Everything’s kind of blurry around the edges.”
“I know.”
“We were at the party …”
“Yes. I remember that too.”
“You ran out!” Delilah exclaimed. “I called after you, but you didn’t stop.”
“I was upset. I’d had a fight with Greg.”
“There was a fight,” Delilah said, pouncing on the word. “Joey got beat up pretty bad.”
“Joey?”
“And then your brother started asking, ‘Where’s Megan?’”
“Oh, God. They must be so worried.”
“We figured you must be with Greg. He’d left early too. So we went over to his place.”
“He left early?”
“He said you weren’t with him, so I drove Amber and Tim home. And then I was gonna go check on my grandmother, but when I got there, your father’s car was in the driveway, and I didn’t want to interrupt anything, so I decided to drive around for a while, and see if I could find you.” She stopped, as if trying to locate the next piece of the puzzle. “I remember driving out to Citrus Grove, past where Mr. Lipsman lives, past the spot where we found Fiona Hamilton’s body, and I must have taken another wrong turn because somehow I ended up around the old Kimble house. Do you know it?”
Megan shook her head.
“No. You wouldn’t. It’s way out in the middle of nowhere, at the end of this big, empty field. Anyway, I thought I saw a light flickering in one of the windows, which was pretty strange because nobody’s lived there for years. So I got out of the car, and I was cutting across the field on foot, which I remember thinking was a pretty stupid thing to be doing. And I was just gonna turn back when I heard someone say my name.” Delilah stopped. “At least I think someone said my name.” She paused, her eyes narrowing in concentration. “That’s it. I don’t remember anything else.”
Megan tried to make sense of what Delilah was saying. “So you think we might be in this Kimble place?”
“Maybe,” Delilah agreed. “They say it has a basement. Why? What are you getting at?”
“I don’t know,” Megan said truthfully. “I don’t know what I’m getting at.” She felt her earlier panic returning. “All I know is I’m tired and I’m hungry and I’m scared.”
“You think this is some sort of sick joke?” Delilah wondered out loud, as Megan had initially wondered. “You think Joey or Greg might be behind it?”
“I hope so,” Megan said, although she didn’t really want to believe Greg could be involved in anything so cruel.
“Who else do you know who would do something like this?” Delilah asked pointedly.
“Maybe it isn’t anybody we know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe it’s the same person who killed Liana.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Delilah began circling the small room, like a caged tiger in a zoo. “Cal Hamilton killed Liana, just like he killed his wife and probably that other girl.”
“What if he didn’t kill them?”
“Of course he killed them. They found Liana’s necklace in his house,” Delilah reminded her. “They found that other girl’s bracelet.”
“Somebody could have planted them there.”
Delilah’s face went ashen with alarm. “But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Why doesn’t it?”
“Because it just doesn’t.”
“If Cal didn’t kill them, that means whoever did is still out there,” Megan persisted. “And maybe he’s just been biding his time, waiting until everybody’s guard was down to strike again. Maybe he’s been out there waiting and watching, and when he saw me walking alone, he took advantage of the moment. And he somehow managed to knock me out and bring me here. And then you started snooping around, so he had no choice but to bring you here too.”
Delilah looked unconvinced. “I’m not exactly someone you toss over your shoulder. Whoever it was would have to be pretty strong. And pretty determined.”
“It has to be someone we know,” Megan said. “Because he knew our names.”
“It’s got to be Joey,” Delilah insisted, although she sounded far from sure. “And probably Greg too. The two of them together would be strong enough to carry me.”
“I just can’t believe Greg would do something like this.”
“You’d rather believe we’re in the clutches of some cold-blooded serial killer?”
“Oh, God. Oh, God.”
“Okay, take it easy,” Delilah said. “There’s two of us now, remember. And if it is some crazy psychopath, it’ll be two against one.”
“But why give us that opportunity?” Megan asked quietly, as if the words themselves were afraid to register.
“What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t make sense. Why unlock the door between our rooms? Why let us get together?”
Delilah’s head shot from side to side, her eyes scanning the walls. “He’s watching us, isn’t he?” She ran to one wall, began running her fingers along its hard surface. “He’s listening. He’s getting some perverted thrill out of seeing us together. Why? What does he want? You think he wants to, you know, see us together?”
Megan shuddered at the thought, then remembered the horrific descriptions she’d read of Liana’s shattered face and burst into tears.
Delilah quickly returned to Megan’s side, wrapped her in a suffocating embrace. “Listen to me,” she whispered into Megan’s ear. “Just keep crying and don’t react.” A slight pause, then: “I have a gun.”
Megan instinctively tried to pull back, but Delilah held firm.
“It’s under my shirt, tucked into the back of my jeans. Whoever brought me here obviously didn’t see it.” She kissed the side of Megan’s cheek. “There, there. It’ll be all right,” she said loudly, as a salve to whomever might be listening.
“But—”
“It’s my grandmother’s,” Delilah said in a single breath that warmed the side of Megan’s face. “Let’s not talk about it now.” She pushed Megan an arm’s length away. “You okay?”
Megan nodded, too numb to say anything. Delilah had a gun. There was a chance they might get out of here alive after all.
“We might as well sit down. Make ourselves comfortable,” Delilah shouted sarcastically at the walls. She put her arm around Megan, and together they lowered themselves to the floor, facing the locked door.
Megan’s stomach rumbled loudly. “I can’t believe I’m hungry.”
“I can’t believe I’m not,” Delilah countered.
Megan heard herself laugh. “I can’t believe you made me laugh.”
“I’m actually pretty funny when you get to know me.”
Megan lowered her head in shame. “I’m sorry I haven’t done that.”
“Are you kidding? You’re my best friend.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’
s true.”
“I haven’t been very nice to you.”
“Sure you have. Well, nicer than most,” Delilah amended.
“You make me feel awful.”
“I don’t mean to. Look, what is it they say? Water under the bridge? Let bygones be bygones? I think we should do that. Start fresh.”
“Sounds good,” Megan agreed, as her stomach rumbled again. She pounded her fist against it. “Stupid stomach won’t shut up.”
“What would you eat right now, if you had the choice?” Delilah asked. “Come on. What’s your favorite food?”
Megan didn’t have to think long. “Hot turkey sandwiches.”
“You’re kidding. Those open-faced things smothered in gravy?”
“Don’t forget the french fries.”
“How do you eat those things and stay so skinny? All I have to do is look at them and I gain ten pounds.”
“I’m just one of those people who can eat everything. I’m sure one day it’s all going to catch up with me, and I’ll wake up as fat as …”
“Me?” Delilah asked, although it was less a question than a statement of fact.
“No, of course not. You’re not—”
“Yes, I am. It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay. I know I have to lose weight.”
“Well, maybe five or ten pounds,” Megan conceded. It wouldn’t be nice to insult Delilah’s intelligence by saying otherwise.
“Maybe twenty or thirty.”
“Not everybody has to look like Jennifer Aniston.”
“Sure they do.”
“What food do you like?” Megan asked.
“Me?” Delilah sounded almost surprised Megan had asked. “I like just about anything, but I especially like prime rib, medium rare, a baked potato with lots of sour cream, and a Caesar salad on the side. Oh, and a hot fudge sundae for dessert.”
“I’m a big fan of hot fudge sundaes.”
“You are? Then I have an idea,” Delilah said almost giddily. “We should go to Chester’s as soon as we get out of here and share one.”
“As soon as we get out of here,” Megan agreed. “Keep talking,” she urged, trying to keep her panic at bay. “Who’s your favorite movie star?”
“Brad Pitt,” Delilah said with a shrug. “Same as everybody.”