by Jordan Dane
She had Ben Stevens to worry about, too.
She couldn’t divert resources to search for Ryker at the expense of Stevens. She would need Whitmire to help with manpower and rescue coordination for both, but she could do with a viable lead on Stevens to justify the increased effort. All they really had on him was Hutch’s theory on how the UNSUB hunted online and the last ping off the guy’s cell phone in Klawock.
“Is that her place?” Lucinda pointed to a gate as the A-Star landed.
“Yeah,” Whitmire said.
The helicopter had touched down in an open field across from a gravel road and an open gate. In the distance Lucinda saw a rustic cabin on a heavily treed lot that backed onto a cove. Through the evergreens she caught the sheen of water reflecting the fiery burn of sunset. Whitmire gave orders to his men and got out of the helo with her. The pilot would stay with the A-Star and Trooper Sawyer would head the short distance to Point Baker on foot and speak to the locals.
“Tell me about Trooper Peterson? Is she…single?” Lucinda asked as she walked through the gate. “I mean, does she live alone?”
“She’s single. Don’t know about her living arrangements,” he said. “From what I hear she’s a good trooper. Beyond that, I don’t know much about her.”
“Do you know how long she’s been in Alaska?”
“Born and raised, I hear.” Whitmire pointed to the cabin. “Not many women could live like this. Isolation is pretty damned hard on folks, especially the long winter months. Troopers cover a lot of territory on their own. That’s how it works here. Takes a certain breed to do what we do.”
“Good to know she’s familiar with the island…and the outdoors.”
As far as Lucinda knew, Ryker didn’t have much experience with camping and roughing it. At least he’d never mentioned it to her. His idea of back to nature was an exhausting run on the trails near his apartment. From what Whitmire said about Justine Peterson, Ryker would’ve been in good hands—a woman with experience. Lucinda clenched her jaw and glared at the cabin, thinking about him being in someone else’s good hands.
When they approached the front porch, Lucinda heard a raspy caw. She squinted into the sky, unsure where the sound came from, until the bird’s cry grew louder. A large inky black raven settled onto the pitch of the rooftop with a clatter of its talons. It flapped its massive wings and screeched another warning.
The bird looked menacing and reminded her of the crime scene in the Cascades when Ryker first talked about the Trickster mythology.
“Well, hello there, Poe.”
Whitmire did a double take when he heard her talk to the raven.
“I channel Doctor Dolittle.” She shot him a sideways glance. “You should try it.”
“Ravens give me the creeps,” he said. “It’s like the dead see through their eyes.”
“You should give Animal Planet a heads up.” Lucinda ignored the trooper’s raised eyebrow and shifted her attention to the droopy flowers of a hanging basket on the porch. “Plant needs water.”
“Hazards of the job.”
Lucinda understood the trooper’s sacrifice of a personal life for her work. She only hoped Peterson’s neglect didn’t extend to her dogs. The sound of barking grew louder and came from behind the cabin.
“Who takes care of the dogs with her gone?” she asked.
Whitmire shook his head and said, “Don’t know. Maybe her neighbor. If she has dogs, they’re looked after.”
The trooper walked to the door and knocked. No answer and no sound came from inside. Lucinda wandered to a window and peered through the drapes. No lights were on. A big yellow tabby had curled up on a sofa and barely raised its head at the intrusion. The cat yawned and stretched its front paws. Something about the place felt empty, like no one was home. Whitmire must’ve felt it, too.
He knocked again and called out, “Trooper Peterson? It’s Lieutenant Whitmire.”
No answer. He tried the doorknob, but the front door was locked. The trooper looked surprised.
“Not many folks lock their doors here,” he said. “It’s called trust.”
“Where I live, it’s called opportunity.”
When she heard the dogs bark, she wandered toward the side of the porch and peered into the back of the property.
“Dogs sound hungry,” she said. “If she has someone taking care of them, wouldn’t they have been fed by now?”
“Good question. I’ll check on ‘em.”
Lucinda watched Whitmire step off the porch and head to the kennels. Through the trees she saw a dim light from the neighbor’s house. The island’s remote and peaceful setting should’ve been idyllic, but she had a hard time shaking off what she’d seen. The beauty of the island hid a terrible secret. Lucinda had no doubt Ryker had been caught up in it.
What made you come here, Ryker?
He’d come to the Prince of Wales Island because Nathan Applewhite’s life triggered something in him, but whatever he kept a mystery, it had forced him to come alone. It hurt he didn’t trust her. His quiet brooding and intelligent nature had drawn her to a complicated man who would always be an intriguing riddle. The Totem Killer had targeted Ryker and taunted him in a message. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.
Had the note been an invitation only Ryker understood?
He’d become an even bigger mystery since that day in the Cascades. Whatever she knew of him was only what he’d allowed her to see. She knew that now. A palpable darkness stirred beneath the still waters of his life. He’d sacrificed a great deal—and lived alone with purpose—to keep his secret.
Now he might die because of it.
Chapter Nineteen
Ryker Townsend
As I listened to Ben tell his story, my gaze shifted through the room where we were held prisoner. With my vision only marginally better, my eyes still played cruel hoaxes on me that made me paranoid. The shadowy room flickered in a crimson glow. Blood red reflected off the plastic lining the cement floor and hanging from the wooden frames of unfinished walls. It billowed and crinkled as if it breathed and bore the weight of a sinister presence.
My eyes peered from shadow to shadow until they finally settled on Justine.
At first I thought the menacing sensation prickling under my skin had been triggered by the shock of seeing her again, but it was more than that. It had to be. Every sound, every heaving glimmer set me on edge and wouldn’t let up. Water dripped in a sink and had become my new torture. No matter how much I tried to ignore it, the incessant noise grew louder and plucked at my raw nerves to punish my aching head.
Between the darkness and my blurred eyesight, I wasn’t sure if my paranoia came from the drugs or a fear I’d never faced before. I had to fight the feeling of being a victim—and a mounting dread I had yet to name. My skin crawled with something I should know or remember, but didn’t.
None of my misery would come close to what Ben had endured. It took guts for him to talk about it.
“When I woke up, I was on my knees,” he said. “My hands were tied over my head. I couldn’t move.”
I strained to hear Ben through the noise I made. I knew Justine sensed my urgency to break free. Every second we were alone and able to talk was a precious gift, but Ben’s voice had weakened to a haunted whisper and my struggle with the ropes behind my back had turned frantic. I couldn’t catch my breath.
“I smelled something…dead,” Ben said. “Made me sick. I almost puked, but that’s when he came.”
He choked and the sudden jerk of his body forced him to cry out. Every word was pure torture for him now. I hated that I’d forced him to relive what had happened, but I had to do it. Instinct forced me to.
“Should you put him through this?” Justine whispered only loud enough for me to hear. “It’s not like you’re in a position to help. Why make him relive it?”
Her words cut me like a razor. She’d told the unvarnished truth, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. I’d confided my worst
fear to her at Nate’s cabin—of being powerless and watching someone innocent die—and she reminded me it could happen again. I focused on Ben and took a deep breath. I had to ignore her and hold back my own doubts.
I had to know what Ben knew.
“Close your eyes and tell me everything,” I told him. “Nothing is too small.”
When the rope loosened from around my hands, I jerked harder. Justine had fueled my adrenaline rush. My raw skin seared as if doused in acid and warm blood drained down my fingers.
“It was dark, but there was this…red light.”
“Like the one here?” I asked.
“Yeah, but I saw it through wood slats. It blinded me.”
“Wood slats?”
“I was in…a cage. It was cramped, like an animal pen. When I called out, I heard someone coming. I thought…they’d help me, but that’s not what happened.”
A deep agonizing groan echoed across the room. I wanted to tell Ben to be quiet. Any noise might bring TK down the stairs, but I’d started him on this downward spiral. How could I ask him to hold in his pain?
“Ben, we don’t have much time. Tell me what you saw. Please.”
“He yanked open the door and came at me. He crawled into the cage on his knees. He had a knife. I thought he’d kill me, but…”
“But what?”
“He cut off my clothes. Then he…touched me. I begged him to stop, but he didn’t.”
Oh, God. I knew what would come next. I wasn’t ready to hear it, no more than he was ready to say it.
“Did you see his f-face?” Justine asked.
When Ben stopped talking, he cried. I wasn’t sure he’d answer. I gritted my teeth and fought the bile rising hot in my belly. I wouldn’t watch Ben die. I couldn’t. Even if it meant my sacrifice, I wouldn’t watch this boy die.
I thought of my mother and father. The vision of their senseless deaths raged in my head. My demons were always with me.
“Not…r-really,” Ben choked. “The light blinded me. All I saw was…” He took a deep breath loud enough for me to hear. “The guy wore a dirty ball cap and torn work coveralls. I think they were Carhartts. That’s all I saw before he tied a hood over my head.”
“A hood?” I asked. “How long did he keep you in that?”
“This is the first time he’s taken it off.”
“But you never saw him…even without the hood?” Justine said.
“No.”
From the way Ben answered our questions, I knew he hadn’t made the connection to the significance of why he didn’t wear the hood now. The next time he’d see the Totem Killer would be his last. TK would want to witness the life leave Ben’s eyes. He had to feel him die with every sense of his being when he drove the knife into his heart until it stopped beating.
Ben had run out of time. We all had.
I thought I could free my hands by working the ropes to loosen them, but that would take too much time. I had one hope now and braced for the agony of a wound I had experienced once before in football, only this time it would be self-inflicted.
“Ahh. Shit.” I gasped and tears flooded my eyes as I bit my lower lip to stifle the pain of what I’d done.
“What happened?” Justine fixed her gaze on me and stopped tugging at her restraints.
“Are you okay?” Ben said.
With all that had happened to him, Ben was worried about me. Anyone catching my reaction would’ve assumed I’d been touched by his selfless concern, but the tears trickling down my face came from the throbbing pain of my dislocated thumb. It took my breath and I winced as I tugged my fingers through the abrasive ropes until my hands were free. My arms hung at my sides like dead weight. The harness that had me suspended from the ceiling had left my whole body numb. I couldn’t feel my injured ankle and wasn’t sure if I could walk, but I had to try.
Justine stopped struggling and stared at me. When I winced in agony, she shook her head. I couldn’t tell if she was pleased I’d made progress or entertained.
“What happened…after that?” I asked.
I kept Ben talking as I grappled with the harness. The dripping water in the sink mirrored the quickening punch of my heart and the pulsing red light messed with my balance. When I got one shoulder free, I resisted the urge to let him know what I’d done and by Justine’s silence, I figured she understood why. If I got his hopes up now and couldn’t deliver, it would crush him.
“He injected me with something. I felt a needle in my neck and I woke up here,” Ben said. “When he plays this weird music, he comes down and…does stuff to me. Please. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”
“Take a deep breath, Ben.”
The guy never heard me.
“You can see what he’s done to me, man. I’m not walking away from this. I’m dead,” he cried.
“Please stop. He’ll hear you.”
Ben was trapped in the horror of what had already happened to him, his ordeal made worse by what he feared would come. The guy had lost it.
“Oh, God, my mom. She can’t see me like this. She’ll know what he did to me. I don’t want anyone to find my body. Please!”
Ben had already accepted the worst. His only thoughts were for his mother. I shut my eyes and fought the lump in my throat, but I wouldn’t let him give up. Not while I still breathed and could do something about it.
“This won’t be graceful,” I said to Justine. “Don’t judge me.”
From the confused look on Justine’s face, I knew she didn’t understand until I shoved through the harness and collapsed to the cement floor. My legs were numb and wouldn’t hold my weight.
“What?” Justine whispered. “How did you…?”
I had to crawl to a wooden post and grab something to help me stand. Ben hadn’t seen me fall. He yanked at his restraints, even though it hurt him. His eyes were wide in panic and his breathing came in shallow gasps.
He’d lost all control and I couldn’t blame him. He’d been through too much.
“Get me out of this, Ryker,” Justine demanded.
I gave up any hope of calming Ben. After I popped my thumb back into the joint, I stumbled toward Justine to help her first. Ben would be next. I found a knife to hack at the rope that bound Justine’s hands. Once her wrists were loose, I noticed Ben quit thrashing. When he finally saw we were both free, he fixed his eyes on me and I could see he dared to have faith as I made the first cut into his ropes.
But his fragile hope didn’t last long.
A song played over the speakers. I winced with the sudden noise. I recognized the music. The voice of Ray Charles sang “What a Wonderful World” and chilled me.
“Oh, God. That’s it. The song. He’s coming.” Ben turned toward me, shaking. “Now that he has you, he doesn’t need me. I’m dead.”
I stared at Ben and no words came. I couldn’t argue. We’d all run out of time.
***
Prince of Wales Island
Point Baker
The dogs got louder as Lucinda and Whitmire approached the kennels behind Peterson’s cabin. The cages were a distance from the residence and connected by a raised wooden walkway that led past a series of kennels framed in two by fours, wire and corrugated metal roofs.
“I can’t tell whose property this is—hers or the neighbor. The pens are on the fence line.”
“With the walkway leading from her place to the cages, it looks like they share it.”
Lucinda drew near the pens and the dogs yelped.
“Shh. Easy now,” she said.
Muzzles pushed against wire mesh. The animals calmed down when she talked to them. Each dog had its own cage, but an odd tang made it hard for her to breathe and the buzz of flies and mosquitoes droned to a fevered pitch. The vile stench of death, mixed with the potent odor of animal excrement, filled her nostrils.
Something wasn’t right. She pulled her weapon.
The sun had dropped beneath the skyline and the night’s chill closed in. A pale red lig
ht bulb, connected to a timer, hung over a crude crosswalk between two banks of cages, but there wasn’t enough light for her to see much.
Whitmire grabbed a Kel-Lite from his duty belt and flicked it on. Lucinda peered through the dark of the kennels as the trooper’s flashlight beam washed over the worn pens and made the filth more ominous. The strays had water and food—enough to survive—but the odor and muddy pens hadn’t been the neglect of only a few days.
Lucinda took lead and stepped off the walkway and down into the kennels. She had to stoop to get a closer look into the cramped cages. Loose boards creaked under her weight as she crept through pens and winced from the stench. Ammonia build up from urine made her eyes water.
Every cage was occupied—except for one.
Inside the empty stall, Lucinda squinted through the wood slats and saw a rope dangling from a hook screwed into a cross beam. The way the rope had been knotted, she couldn’t see how it would’ve been used on dogs, but something chilling caught her eye.
“What the hell?”
After she made a move to open the cage, Whitmire handed over his flashlight.
“You’re gonna need this. Keep it. I have another one.”
She used the trooper’s Kel-Lite to sweep light through the empty cage before she crawled inside. A thick layer of dirty hay had been strewn on the pen floor and a pile of shredded clothes were tossed in a corner. The stall reeked of piss and something else she recognized—the stench of blood and death after a brutal crime scene.
Lucinda holstered her Glock and unlatched the door to the cage. She crouched low and covered her nose and mouth with an arm as she stooped to a squat and moved inside. Eerie shadows cast a grim pallor on the cage and the walls closed in. When she got a closer look at the rope, she didn’t like what she saw.