Time Search

by Danele J Rotharmel

  Marc looked at the picture of Drake. His forehead furrowed. “I don’t understand, but I can tell that you do. What do you see?”

  Crystal tried to control her trembling. She tried to calm her rapid breathing. She tried forcing thoughts about burning alive from her mind.

  “Take your time,” Marc said soothingly. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Crystal forced herself to point at the red flag. Her voice shook. “For ancient Romans, a red flag was a signal for battle.” She pointed at Drake’s yellow clothes. “In medieval Spain, executioners wore yellow. Drake’s telling us that he’s coming for battle and that he’s going to be the executioner.”

  Marc’s eyes filled with comprehension. “Drake isn’t just searching for a Wave Trapper. He wants to kill people.” He hesitated. “But we knew that, didn’t we?”

  An uncontrollable shiver ran through her body. “There are many ways to die, Marc. The Spanish Inquisition was known for its cruelty and torture.” She shuddered. “Drake is telling us that Phoebe wasn’t a fluke. He’s planning on being brutal.”

  Before Marc could reply, she turned to Agent Ruthford. “Has this picture been moved?”

  He shook his head.

  Turning back to the photograph, she studied Drake’s body position. It looked as if his finger was pointing toward the carpet. Studying the angle, Crystal fell to her knees and gave the carpet a tug. A six-inch square came up in her hands. Written in red on the floorboards were the words,

  The nights pass’d in sleepless care

  The days of endless woe;

  All that you taught my heart to bear

  All that yourself will know

  But this is fitting punishment

  O my wrung heart, be thou content...

  And feed upon…pain

  Marc took a picture of the verse. “Do you know what it is?”

  She nodded. “It’s lines from Letitia Elizabeth Landon’s poem, ‘Revenge.’”

  Ruthford peered at the poem. “The meaning seems clear enough.”

  “Yes.” Crystal shuddered. “Drake wants us to suffer. He thinks we deserve it.”

  She walked around the living room, clenching and unclenching her fists. Seeing nothing further, she entered Drake’s bedroom. It was neat, tidy, and very masculine. Hugging her arms across her chest, she stood in the middle of the floor and looked around. Again, everything seemed normal, but something felt off.

  “What do you see?” Marc asked gently.

  “It’s what I don’t see,” she replied. “This room is twelve inches shorter than the living room.”

  Moving to the northern wall, she spotted a blotch of ink. Her mind recoiled in horror. Springing back, she stuttered, “T-this is a false wall. Drake is hiding something behind it.”

  “I think you’re right about the dimensions of the room,” Agent Ruthford said. “I’ll have my team check it out.”

  As Agent Ruthford went back to the living room, Crystal heard him contacting his agents. She started shivering again.

  Marc touched her arm. Crystal jumped nearly out of her skin.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Can’t you feel the evil in this room?” she replied. “It’s oppressive.”

  Marc looked around. “Everything looks normal to me.”

  “Everything is a lie.” Running her hands over her arms, she whispered in a voice full of horror, “I don’t want to be here when that wall comes down.”

  “Why? What do you think is behind there?” he asked.

  “Nothing good.” She pointed at the tiny, black stain on the wall. “That says it all.”

  Kneeling down, Marc studied the blotch. “It looks like Drake threw a pen against the wall and some ink leaked out. It seems like an ordinary stain to me.”

  “It’s not ‘ordinary’ at all,” she replied. “Look closer. It’s a black half-circle with one short line and one long line dangling down. It’s the ancient Egyptian symbol for Amenta. It was used to represent where the Egyptians buried their dead.”

  Spinning swiftly, she left the bedroom and stumbled toward the kitchen. She was trembling so hard that she could hardly walk.

  Marc stepped close, and for the first time since that awful night at the dance, he put an arm around her waist. She didn’t move away. She couldn’t. Her knees were so shaky that she was afraid she’d collapse without support.

  “Let’s go,” Marc said softly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m not going to be a coward. I need to finish looking.”

  Marc nodded, but he kept her hand clasped firmly within his own. As Agent Ruthford made arrangements for the wall to be brought down, Crystal looked around the kitchen and dining room. She saw nothing out of the ordinary until she approached the table. Sitting on it was a wilted flower arrangement.

  “Amaranthus caudatus, rosemary, and star of Bethlehem,” she murmured, fingering a wilted blossom.

  “Is that important?” Marc asked.

  Nodding, Crystal pointed at the drooping red plumes cascading down the vase. “Amaranthus caudatus is commonly called love lies bleeding. In the language of flowers, it represents hopelessness.”

  Marc squeezed her hand. “You know the language of flowers? Does that mean you know thirteen languages?”

  Grateful for his attempt at breaking the tension, Crystal gave him a wobbly smile. Pointing at the flowers, she said, “The purple spears are rosemary. Rosemary represents remembrance.”

  “What about these flowers?” Marc asked, nudging a wilted, white blossom on the tabletop.

  Crystal picked one up. “This is star of Bethlehem. It represents reconciliation.”

  “The flowers are important, aren’t they?” he said, snapping a picture with one hand.

  She nodded. “They show we’re on the right track. Hopelessness. Remembrance. Reconciliation. When he steals a Wave Trapper, Drake is definitely going to try and reconnect with his old love. We just have to figure out who she is and when they broke up.”

  Standing in the doorway, Agent Ruthford cleared his throat. “Drake sent me some flowers recently. I received the forensics report today. The bouquet consisted of orange lilies, red dragon wing begonias, purple monkshood, and black roses. Do you know what that means?”

  Crystal shuddered and nodded. “Drake was definitely sending you a message. Orange lilies represent hatred. Begonias are a warning to beware. Monkshood is a warning that a deadly foe is near. And black roses represent death.” She bit her lip. “That bouquet was paramount to a declaration of war. You must have made Drake extremely angry.”

  Agent Ruthford grunted. “The feeling is mutual, I assure you.”

  Crystal turned to a low cabinet. It was the last piece of furniture in the room. Sitting on it was a large basin filled with water. Floating on the water was a yellow candle. She froze.

  “Candle on the water,” she murmured. “Candle on the water.”

  Marc took a photograph of the basin. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered in a strained voice. “But it means something important, and it’s connected to dragons. This is what I was looking for. This is the clue we need.” Crystal felt the room spinning. “Candle on the water.” Her voice broke. “C-candle on the—”

  “That’s enough,” Marc said firmly. “I’m getting you out of here.”

  She nodded slowly. “I have what I need.”

  As more agents entered the room. Marc tapped Agent Ruthford’s shoulder. “I’m taking Cris away.”

  Agent Ruthford nodded. “That may be best.”

  “You’ll tell us what you find behind the wall?” Crystal asked.

  “I’ll call as soon as we find out.” Agent Ruthford studied her face. Narrowing his eyes, he said to Marc, “You’ll watch over her? She’s very pale. She may be going into shock.”

  Crystal snorted. “I may be shook, but I’m not in shock—and I’m not d
eaf. I’ll be OK. I just don’t like mucking around in the brain of a monster.”

  Marc squeezed her hand. “Come on, Cris. Let’s go.”

  ~*~

  Phoebe was huddled on the couch, staring at her hands. She looked up when Alex came through the door. He was whistling a happy tune, and he was carrying a bouquet of white daisies. He walked over to her, and if he saw traces of tears on her cheeks, he made no comment.

  Putting the daisies on her lap, he said, “Hi, beautiful. Did you eat?”

  A lump rose in her throat as she shook her head.

  Nodding, Alex went to the kitchen and began preparing a plate of food for her.

  Tears prickled her eyes. “I don’t understand him,” she murmured.

  Her heart twisted. She’d done her best to deliberately hurt Alex, and she had hurt him. But rather than retaliating, he was being kind. She knew that she didn’t deserve his kindness, and she definitely didn’t understand it. All she knew was that regardless of her actions, she was still loved. The knot in her stomach loosened, but the guilt she felt intensified.

  ~*~

  From an alley near his apartment, Drake watched as Marc and Crystal walked across the street. They were holding hands.

  His lips curled into a snarl. “Traitorous witch,” he growled. “I let you live, and you’re cozying up with him!”

  He watched as Marc opened Crystal’s car door. He watched as Crystal smiled and blushed. Rage coursed through his veins. “I should have killed you rather than playing with you,” he hissed. “You don’t deserve to draw another breath.”

  ~*~

  With the curtains closed against the sun, Nicole sat in the dark with Zeke’s head on her lap. He was curled up on the sofa, holding a heating pad to his eyes. The house was silent as she gently massaged the ragged scar by his temple.

  “Is the pain easing up?” she asked in a soft, hushed voice.

  Zeke sighed and gave a tiny nod.

  “Good,” she said quietly. “Stay still. Let it fade completely.”

  Stroking his hair, Nicole continued rubbing his scar. She wished she could rub it completely away. Eventually, she felt his body relaxing and knew he’d fallen asleep. Knowing that another nightmare was probably inevitable, she braced herself.

  ~*~

  Outside of Drake’s apartment building, Marc glanced at Crystal’s tense, pale face. “If you could do anything to relax, what would it be? I’ll take you anywhere.”

  “In that case, drive me to Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens. Strolling the paths always helps me unwind.”

  Nodding, Marc started his car. During the drive, he stayed silent. Crystal kept humming snatches of a song, and he knew she was trying to solve a problem in her mind. Her eyes held a faraway look as they entered the park. She didn’t seem to notice when they started walking. She wandered down the boardwalk and over the river trail in a daze.

  Suddenly, she exclaimed, “This is driving me nuts. Something about a candle on the water is connected to dragons, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Then stop trying to figure it out,” he said.

  She blinked at him. “Are you serious? We need to stop Drake, he—”

  “Those of us with brains the size of walnuts know that if you stop concentrating on a problem, the answer will come out of the blue.” Gently, he turned her around and pointed at the water. “I know it will be hard for you, but stop thinking. Look at the water lilies. Listen to the birds. Relax.”

  Crystal flashed him a smile. “I have a feeling that you’re going to be good for me.”

  “Glad you think so. You’ve already been good for me.”

  Strolling onto a bridge, they simultaneously leaned their arms against the railing. Next to him, Crystal closed her eyes and sighed. She looked so tired and vulnerable that he wanted to put his arm around her, but he wasn’t sure how she’d take it. Close contact had been OK in Drake’s apartment because she’d been afraid. She wasn’t afraid now, and she might not appreciate his forwardness. After an internal debate, he decided it wouldn’t be wise to push his luck.

  Leaning against the bridge railing, he watched as emotions played across her face. He saw the color rise and fall in her cheeks. Gradually, he saw peace winning against the turmoil. When she opened her eyes, he looked quickly away so that he wouldn’t be caught staring.

  “What do you think about bubbles?” she asked.

  Marc blinked, confused by her question. “Under general circumstances, I like them fine. What type of bubbles are we talking about?”

  A smile tugged her lips. “Soap bubbles.”

  Crystal perched her heavy purse on the bridge railing. Her glasses flashed in the sunlight, capturing his attention. He frowned. Her owlish frames were hideous—they made her look like a goggle-eyed bug. He had an unreasonable desire to snatch them off her nose and drop them in the water. Resisting the urge, he watched as she rummaged through her purse. His lips twitched when she pulled out a bottle of bubble solution.

  Laughter struggled to break free in his chest as Crystal opened the bubbles and passed him a wand. Smiling, he clutched the tiny, blue wand in his big, beefy hand. He hadn’t blown bubbles since he was a kid, and it was the last thing he’d expect to be doing with a pretty girl in the middle of a marsh.

  Crystal blew a stream of bubbles into the air.

  Marc watched as the iridescent globes of pink and purple bobbed toward the water.

  Crystal quirked her brow. “Giving it a try?”

  He nodded. Feeling silly, he awkwardly blew a few bubbles. As he watched the tiny spheres dancing on the breeze, his embarrassment inexplicably evaporated. There was something incredibly soothing about breathing out in a concentrated stream and seeing the bubbles flying away. He wouldn’t have believed it, but blowing bubbles was actually helping him relax.

  He glanced at Crystal as she sent another stream of bubbles flying. She was an odd mixture. Part woman. Part child. Of all the ladies he knew, only Crystal would blow bubbles to unwind after a hard day. It was an innocent pastime that was proving quite effective. He realized that underneath all her seeming contradictions and oddities, she possessed a deep river of wisdom.

  He blew more bubbles, watching them soar. Sighing deeply, he smiled. “Simple pleasures.”

  Crystal grinned. “They’re the best.”

  Marc sent another stream of bubbles circling on the wind. Suddenly, his cell phone rang. Next to him, Crystal jerked violently. She shot him a worried glance as he answered the call.

  Marc listened to Agent Ruthford’s report and then hung up the phone.

  “There was a body in the wall, wasn’t there?” Crystal asked in a voice full of dread.

  He nodded.

  “I knew there would be a body as soon as I saw the symbol.” Her voice wobbled. “Do they know who it was?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. Agent Ruthford said it was the body of a barefoot female. She was wrapped partially in plastic and covered in lime. There was a silver locket around her neck.”

  Next to him, Crystal trembled. Marc wanted to hold her, but he didn’t dare. Suddenly, he saw the fear in her eyes being replaced by anger. She screwed the lid on the bubbles and tossed them into her purse. He raised a brow. The time for bubbles was obviously over.

  “How do you feel about pulling an all-nighter?” Crystal asked in a voice throbbing with rage. “That jerk has destroyed enough lives. It’s about time we figured out how to nail his arrogant hide to the wall.”

  33

  In Montana, the moon was rising and stars were shining. Candles were twinkling inside the safe house as Peter waited for his bride to appear. As Poppa and Dan sang, “There is Love,” Laura walked into the room holding David’s arm.

  A lump rose in Peter’s throat. She’s beautiful. No, she’s more than beautiful. She’s a dream come true.

  As Laura walked slowly toward him, Peter memorized every detail of the moment: the beauty of her silk wedding dress, the wisps of lace moving softly at her
neckline, her red hair curling around her shoulders. His breath caught at the graceful way that she moved. As she came closer and took his hand, he was able to see her face beneath her misty veil. His eyes devoured the deep red of her lips and the beautiful line of her throat.

  She’s exquisite.

  Studying the splendor of her emerald eyes, he could see her smiling with a face full of love. The lump in his throat grew. He peered at her hand clasped within his own. Stroking her fingers with his thumb, he tried to infuse his touch with love. Once again, he looked into her eyes. She was gazing at him with such tender trust that his heart slid over and flipped.

  With the song reaching its conclusion, Laura moved closer and leaned against his side.

  He put his arm around her waist.

  As she gave him a glowing smile, he murmured softly and reverently, just as he had the first time he’d kissed her, “God, please make me worthy.”

  ~*~

  Karl was waiting next to Angelina in the terminal of Dulles International Airport. A huge pile of bags was between them. Angelina was glancing nervously from side to side, spinning the charm bracelet on her wrist. Her tension was obvious.

  Stepping around the pile of luggage, Karl took her hand. As she focused on him, he said, “There’s a plane leaving for Rome in half an hour. How about we hop aboard? We’ve had a great time in Europe. It doesn’t have to end. In fact, I don’t want it to.”

  Just as she was about to respond, two men in dark suits walked toward them. Angelina stepped back, separating herself from his hand.

  The tallest man inclined his head. “Miss Angelina Ableman?”

  She nodded.

  “Squiggy.”

  Karl’s concern kicked into overdrive as she gathered her bags. Once again, he grabbed her hand. “That’s it? You’re just leaving with them? Who are these men? Where are they taking you?”

  She gave him a wobbly smile. “It’s OK, Karl. They knew the password.”

  “Angelina, I—”

  Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek. His heart leapt into his throat.

  “Thanks for everything,” she said. “I’ll talk to you when things clear up.”

  A wave of panic threatened to choke him as the men escorted her away. Running forward, he grabbed one man’s shoulder. “Where are you taking her? How do I know she’ll be safe?”