Dream Under the Hill (Oberon Book 8)

by P. G. Forte

  Stunned, Gregg sat back down on his crate and began to laugh. “So, that’s why you’re here. You came looking for your daddy? Well, don’t worry, sonny boy, I’ll make sure and give you exactly what I gave your old man. And then some.”

  Liam groaned. He sagged against the ropes that bound him, and for a moment Gregg thought he was about to pass out. Bur then his eyes snapped open. He glared at him, and asked again, “Where’s…Cara?”

  Gregg shook his head in disbelief. “You just never learn, do you? I’m the one asking questions here, not you.” One thing was certain, when Cara got back, Gregg was going to have to sit her down for a nice, little chat. The kind of loyalty that Liam was showing her wasn’t born of nothing. She must have offered or done or promised him something to cause it. Whatever she’d done, Gregg was sure she deserved a beating for it. And he’d be only too happy to give her one.

  Liam groaned again. “I saw her face, you bastard. You hit her.”

  Gregg’s eyes narrowed. “Just when exactly did you see her?”

  Liam glared back at him, clearly not planning on answering him. But, once again, it didn’t matter. Because, all at once, a wave of energy hit Gregg in the chest, nearly knocking him to the floor. Senses and feelings he’d given away years ago boomeranged suddenly back at him. His mind reeled as it sought for the reason behind this sudden onslaught.

  Sinead. This has to have something to do with her. She must be dead.

  But, he didn’t give a shit about that. Sinead was history. Old news. Her defection had been a mere blip on his radar. Whereas Cara, on the other hand– She’s gone. She’s really gone. She’s left me. No.

  Gregg couldn’t breathe. He felt as though his heart had been turned into a lump of tar and set alight. His eyes were open now. He looked at Liam and he knew everything. Every look, every smile, every kiss Cara had given him was there, right there in Liam’s mind. And, in Gregg’s mind now, too. Shaken, he got to his feet.

  “Gag him,” Gregg ordered. “I don’t want him making any noise down here. And then lock the door and leave him. I’ll deal with him when I get back.” Once again, he leaned close enough to whisper in Liam’s ear. “She was playing us both, wasn’t she? Well, don’t worry, Romeo. I’m going to go and find that two-timing little slut and rip her cheating heart right the fuck out. Then I’m gonna bring it back here, stuff it down your throat and watch as you choke on it.”

  Liam’s face went white. He struggled against the ropes. Gregg spared him one, final, tight smile before racing up the stairs. He’d be enjoying the waves of anguish that were rolling off Liam a lot more if they didn’t mirror the way he was feeling a little too closely.

  Why, pet, why? I would have given you everything. Everything! How could you do this to me?

  * * *

  Adam paced nervously. He felt like a fucking cliche. A throwback. A cartoon from the nineteen fifties. This was not how things were supposed to have been. He was supposed to be there with Sinead, coaching her, holding her hand, reminding her to breathe, welcoming their daughter into the world together. Hell, he wanted to be there. And not just because he wanted to be on hand to make sure no one jumped the gun on the name business, either. He didn’t care about names, at this point. He just wanted them safe. He wanted to help them, protect them, see them through this – but, shit. He couldn’t even do that!

  “You want something?” Ryan asked coming up behind him. “I’m thinking of making a run to the cafeteria for drinks.”

  “No,” Adam snapped, not wanting to talk, or be talked to. Not wanting anything but his family. He glanced at the other man briefly, and forced himself to add a hasty, “thanks.”

  “S’okay,” Ryan muttered, as he turned toward Siobhan. “How about you, hon?”

  “Some tea, maybe?” Siobhan answered tearfully. But then she sniffled again and her chin started to wobble. Ryan returned to her side and gathered her back into his arms, letting her sob against his chest.

  Adam blew out an impatient breath. He closed his eyes and checked in on his daughter’s condition. He could feel her in his mind, like a bright beacon. He tried to send her encouragement, but, damn it, Sinead had been right. Their daughter needed a name. She needed one now, and there was no time to be picky. He blew out another breath and gave into the inevitable. Come on, Victoria, he urged her silently. I know you can do it. Just stay with us, honey. We love you.

  He knew she could hear him, knew she understood. He knew she was hanging onto his thoughts, just as he was hanging onto hers. But from Sinead’s mind, he felt nothing. There was just a dark, spinning emptiness that his own mind recoiled away from. He didn’t know what it meant, but he feared the worst and he’d be racing through the corridors right now, screaming her name at the top of his lungs, trying desperately to find her, if he weren’t afraid of being stopped and sedated.

  He couldn’t risk that. He needed to keep his mind clear and focused. For his daughter’s sake. I’m right here, Vicky. Daddy’s here. It’ll be all right. Nobody’s going to hurt you.

  How long would he go on feeling as though he was being slowly torn in two? First his heart, now his mind. There was only his soul left, he supposed.

  Sooner than he would have expected, the door to the waiting room swung open. Adam spun around to face it. His heart clutched. For a moment he just stared at the woman in the doorway, unable to move or speak, unable to take his eyes away from the squirming bundle in her arms.

  “Would you like to meet your daughter?” the woman asked him timidly.

  For an instant longer, Adam stood frozen, and then he leaped forward. “Yes, of course,” he muttered as he reached for the infant.

  My daughter. Adam stared at her, amazed. She felt so perfect as the nurse slid her into his waiting arms. Victoria. She was small and solid. And safe. Adam raised his eyes to the nurse’s face. “How’s Sinead?”

  Her eyes grew wide with alarm but she made no answer, just turned her head swiftly to look over her shoulder. Only then did Adam notice the figure standing behind her. Sinead’s obstetrician. The look on his face was grave and his voice was far too quiet as he said, “I’m sorry. There were... complications.”

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Cara breathed a sigh of relief when she arrived at Seth’s house and found only two vehicles in the driveway, Seth’s truck and an unfamiliar black Jetta. Perfect. No parents. No Steve. Just what she’d hoped for.

  She hopped from her car, raced up the stairs and hammered with her fist on the door to Seth’s apartment. Her nerves began to fray again as she waited and waited for him to answer. What if she was wrong? What if she was already too late? Gregg had told Steve to wait until dark, but what if he’d gotten impatient, jumped the gun and gotten here first?

  She knocked again. Louder this time, longer, whispering, “Please, please, please, please, please be here. Please be here. Please.”

  Finally, with an abruptness that startled her, the door was pulled open. But not by Seth.

  “Ray?” Cara stared at Seth’s friend in dismay. “What are you doing here? Where’s Seth?” She pushed past him, without waiting for his answer and glanced around the room. Sunlight poured in through the big picture window, a computer hummed quietly on the desk in the corner. It was all so deceptively peaceful. So horribly empty. No signs of a struggle. Just like Gregg ordered. No. It can’t be.

  “Where is he?” Cara demanded, heart racing as she turned back to face Ray. “Tell me!”

  Ray raised his eyebrows. “He went out. Why are you freaking?”

  Out? Oh, no, no, no. He couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t. “Wh-when? Where’d he go? Who– who’s he with?”

  Ray frowned. “What’re you, stalker chick? What’s it to you?”

  “Ray!”

  “He had to walk the dogs,” Ray answered with exaggerated politeness. “Does that meet with your approval?”

  Maybe, Cara thought, relaxing fractionally. “Well, when’s he getting back?”

  “Are you on som
ething?” Ray asked, then he shook his head. “Naw, don’t answer that. I musta forgot who I was talking to.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How should I know when he’s coming back? What do you want with him anyway? Can’t you leave him alone?”

  “I don’t want anything,” Cara said as she gnawed on her lip. Certainly she didn’t want anything that she felt like telling Ray about… not with his attitude. She didn’t have time for his crap. She didn’t have time to waste waiting for Seth to get back, either. But she did have to warn him. She had to make him understand the kind of trouble he was in. And she couldn’t leave until then. “I just– I just need to talk to him. That’s all.”

  “Talk, huh?” Ray smirked. “Well, I guess you can stay, if you want. But I got things to do, so why don’t you just... I dunno, just go sit down and wait for him, okay?” He closed the door and headed back toward the desk that held Seth’s computer. “And try not to touch anything. You know how the brother gets about his stuff.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Cara sighed. She looked around for somewhere to sit, glanced over at the monitor and did a double take. Her heart flipped over in her chest. There on the screen was a picture of a girl cuddling a cat. A familiar picture, one Cara had just seen– Was it really only three days ago?

  “What are you doing with that picture?” she asked, moving closer to study it better. Definitely. It was the same girl who’d emailed Gregg, who thought he was her father. Only this picture appeared to be part of someone’s blog.

  “Ah, it’s nothing. Just some breezy Seth’s got his eye on, that’s all.” Ray shrugged. “Leave it alone, okay? I don’t know what you’re here to talk to him about. But, if it’s about this, save your breath. He won’t take any advice on the subject.”

  “But who is she?” Cara asked, wondering what the connection could be linking Seth and Gregg.

  “I told you, she’s no one you need to know about,” Ray said and then stopped as they both heard it – the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs outside.

  “Shit.” Ray moved toward the door once again. “Okay, look, he’s back. So get away from the computer, all right? And don’t ask any more questions.”

  “Just tell me–” she began, and then stopped when someone began pounding on the door. She stared at the door, alarmed. Something was wrong. Why would Seth be knocking like that on his own door?

  “Jay-sus, dude. Chill,” Ray muttered as he reached for the knob and pulled the door open. “Whazzup, ese? Forget your key?”

  There was a blur of motion and Cara watched in shocked surprise as Ray jerked backward suddenly, as though he’d been punched in the gut. He gasped once, doubled over and then crumpled to the ground. Her eyes barely registered his fall. She stood frozen in horror as Gregg strode into the room looking just as he had the night they’d met, with his long black coat flowing around him and the knife in his hand red and shiny with fresh blood.

  Her eyes widened. Ray’s blood? But that meant– “No,” she whimpered in despair as she wrenched her gaze away from the blade to meet Gregg’s eyes. He looked angry. No. What was she thinking? He looked way beyond angry. He looked enraged. Furious. He looked fucking insane. And in his cold, pale eyes she could read her own death.

  * * *

  The lights went off in the basement and Liam held his breath, listening for the sound of the door at the top of the stairs as it was closed and then locked and then... yes! Air rushed from his lungs as he sagged in relief. Finally! He was alone. Unobserved. Free to begin to extricate himself from the ropes that bound him.

  It was a technique he’d taught himself when he was still a boy, and as useful as the skill had proven to be, he’d never once felt an urge to give thanks for the events that had forced him to master it. Until this moment. Right now, all the tortures he’d endured as a kid seemed worth it and he was more than thankful, he was glad for those years he’d spent trapped in Jim’s private hell. The lessons he’d learned back then just might spell the difference tonight between life and death. Not just his, but Cara’s, as well.

  Cara. The thought of that mad man on her trail scared him like nothing he’d ever known. He only hoped that he could find her before Gregg did. And the likelihood of that happening was so slim, he couldn’t bear thinking of it. He had to get to her first. He had to.

  Still, it had been years since he’d tried anything like this, and for a moment he was afraid he might have forgotten too much. It was more difficult than he recalled and it took longer than he could afford, possibly because he was larger and less limber than he had been. Or perhaps because he’d just gotten through being used as a punching bag.

  His head felt woozy and it was enough of a struggle staying conscious, but he had no choice. He had to stay awake long enough to free himself. He had to find a way out of the compound. He had to get to Cara.

  Time continued to tick away as he concentrated on his task. He was sweating by the time he finally squirmed free of his bonds. He tore the gag from his mouth and jumped to his feet. The sudden motion made him so dizzy he had to sit down again and wait while the black spots that had begun to obscure his vision faded back into nothingness. He swore silently, cursing his body’s frailty. He had no time for sickness or dizziness. No time for weakness of any sort.

  He forced himself to sit quietly for a minute, breathing deeply. He forced himself to slow down, to think, to stay focused. And then he stood up once more. Slower this time. Gritting his teeth against the vertigo, against the pain and the soreness brought on by the beating he’d just received.

  He glanced around the basement, seeking a means of escape, hoping for anything he might have overlooked up until now.

  Because, so far, there weren’t a lot of options.

  Going upstairs and through the front door was so far out of the question that it wasn’t even worth considering. Breaking one of the windows – assuming he could find one large enough to fit through – was not much better. He’d still be trapped within the gates, and the noise of the breaking glass would alert his captors. The door leading out to the backyard was just as bad – maybe worse. It would be harder to break. It would take longer, make more noise, and it would leave him even farther from the front gate.

  But he pushed those thoughts aside, impatiently. He’d known all of that from the start. He’d already talked himself in and out of every scenario he could imagine. As far as he could see, there was still only one possible way out of his predicament. He’d have to try the tunnel and hope like hell it wasn’t blocked.

  Luckily, he’d clipped his penlight to his key ring, and that was still in his pocket. At least he’d be able to see where he was going. But what if the way was hopelessly obstructed? What if it went on for miles and ended up in the middle of nowhere, or even worse, if it extended only a couple of yards and exited within the compound?

  No. He groaned in frustration and fear; his heart beating so loudly in the moonlit confines of the basement that it was a wonder they couldn’t hear it all the way upstairs. He couldn’t think about the possible problems he might encounter – the odds were already stacked against him. He had to stay positive. He had to visualize the tunnel being clear. He had to manifest it taking him exactly where he needed to go. He had to call on every lesson he’d been taught as a kid, remember all the crap he hated to even think about normally.

  See the way. Be the way. Make it happen.

  Just thinking the words made his head ache more and left a vile taste in his mouth. But footsteps on the floor overhead attested to the fact that he was not alone in the house. He had to hurry. He didn’t have time to be squeamish.

  The first order of business was locating a tool to remove the boards from the tunnel opening. Fortunately, there was a large collection of old tools rusting in the corner. He picked out a small pick axe and quietly attacked the aged boards. Nails squeaked in protest, he paused to listen for any sounds from upstairs that might indicate he’d been heard.

  When nothing happened he went back to work, using
his hands to pry the board away from the wall. One board, that’s all he had time for. He squeezed through the narrow opening, then reached behind him, scrabbling in the darkness for the handle of the pick. No sense in leaving it behind when the chances were good he’d find a need for it – especially if he didn’t have it with him.

  He grabbed hold of the axe and pulled it into the tunnel. Then he stood and turned and stumbled straight into what felt like a solid wall of cob webs. He jerked back, batting at the wisps, clawing them from his face but the sticky strands clung to his skin, to his head, to his shoulders, to his hands. Dozens of the web’s former inhabitants seemed to be scuttling about, crawling up and down his neck, down his back, up his arms, over his scalp, in and out of his ears, his nose. Shit. He scrubbed again at his face, and then tore at his clothes, shaking himself off, stomping his feet several times, all in an attempt to dislodge his guests. But it was largely useless. And he couldn’t afford the delay.

  Taking a deep breath, he ordered himself to put them from his mind, to calm down, to stop thinking and start moving. He just prayed they weren’t poisonous. He swung the pen light in a wide arc as he headed away from the basement. Scanning the area around him, he made mental notes of his surroundings.

  The walls of the cave appeared to be solid rock, slick with moisture in some spots but mostly not. The ground beneath his feet, still reasonably level for as far as he could see, but with a slight downward slope, had the friable, gritty feel of sandstone. The air was dry, which was the good news, but as he moved forward it seemed to grow progressively more stale, which was less good. At least there didn’t appear to be any side tunnels into which he might stumble by accident.

  That thought nearly precipitated a crisis. The possibility of getting lost down here hadn’t even occurred to him before, but now that it had, it engendered so much fear he found himself actually considering a return to the basement. He took another deep breath and forced himself to keep going.

  Twice he had to stop when he encountered obstacles, rocks that had fallen and partially blocked his way. Once he put his foot down in a hole and his ankle twisted and he almost fell. Finally, he noticed a difference in the air he was breathing. It was fresher, less arid, more earthy. Then more changes became apparent. The walls and ceiling appeared to be less solid rock now, more a blend of rock and the clay matrix for which the area was known. Roots appeared, snaking their way through the rock, obstructing his path. The floor began to slant upward. It was just a gentle incline, but it was an incline nonetheless. Progress became slower, more difficult, as more and more roots protruded into the tunnel from the ceiling, from the walls, even up through the floor at times. He stumbled again. His mantra, which up until now had been, “please don’t let me get lost,” changed to, “please don’t let me get stuck,” and then again to, “please let this end soon.”