“Goodbye, Jack,” she whispered, then slipped out the window and escaped into the night.
Chapter 6
The night air crackled with malevolence. Threat danced on the humid breeze, raking its nails down Jack’s spine while mounting questions pricked his skin, itching like new wool. Never in his life had he felt so off balance. He’d dealt with rapists before, and murderers. With thieves and car-jackers and gang-bangers. But never had he faced anyone like this—a villain whose powers and abilities defied logic. How in the hell could a man hypnotize cops with a song? One measly song.
The voices in his head surged as Jack paced the walk in front of his row house, gun at his side, watching Henry load his family into the minivan. His gaze darted up and down the street, searching for sign of the little bald bastards who’d attacked David.
What in the hell had they done to him?
“Tomorrow, man,” Henry called with a wave as the van started down the street.
Jack lifted his hand. He hated mysteries. And damned if he wasn’t mired in the stickiest of them. Only one person could get him out of this one. Larsen. She knew something. And she was damn well going to tell him what it was. Now.
Once the van turned the corner, he retraced his steps into his ground floor apartment in the row house and locked the door behind him. Tensed and ready for a showdown, he strode toward his bedroom, the squeak of his damp soles on the wood floor the only sound in the silent apartment.
Jack pounded on the closed door with the heel of his fist, the sound echoed by the rise of noise in his head, as if the party in his brain had been crashed by yet another dozen revelers. The voices were multiplying. Just what he needed.
“Larsen, open up!”
He longed to take her hand and lose himself in the silence, to pretend he didn’t suspect her of sending him to Tony Jingles, of sending him into that death trap. To pretend she wasn’t involved in this case up to those finely arched brows.
But he needed answers and he needed them now, even though forcing her hand surely meant forfeiting her quieting touch and, ultimately, his sanity.
Misery weighted his shoulders as he pounded again. “Dammit, Larsen, open this door or I’ll kick it in.” A truck rumbled by out front but, oddly, the sound seemed to reverberate loudest from inside his bedroom. His eyes narrowed. She’d opened a window.
Damn. He grabbed for the key on top of the door frame and unlocked the door to find the window wide open. They’d taken her. But then his gaze took in the screen propped against the inside wall.
“Larsen?”
Nothing. The little fool. She knew there were archers looking for her. The next arrow might not pierce her shoulder, but something far more vital.
The ramifications of that thought hit him square in the gut. She preferred to take her chances with the archers than with him. And what did that say about her innocence?
He crossed the room and leaned out the window. No sign of her. With a quick tug, he shut the window, then grabbed his keys and ran for his car. He didn’t know how deep she was into this thing, but at the moment he didn’t care. All he wanted was to know that she was safe. And that meant finding her before whoever was trying to kill her.
Larsen curled up in the small upholstered chair by the hotel window and stared out at the gleaming lights of Crystal City, Virginia, across the Potomac River from her home and her life. And Jack. She should feel relieved to be away from him and his questions and accusations. Instead, all she felt was lonely. And scared.
The musical ring of her cell phone cut through the noisy rumble of the air conditioner. Larsen grabbed it from the table and glanced at the Caller ID.
Jack.
Indecision pulled her in two as the music filled the room. She wanted to talk to him, just to hear his voice. But she knew she’d sealed her guilt in his eyes by running away. There would be no pleasant conversation between them, just more anger and accusations.
Besides, she was afraid if she answered he might be able to pinpoint her location, which might lead to her being picked up for questioning. No, answering a cop’s call was definitely not a smart move for a woman officially on the run.
The ring tone continued unabated, clawing at her nerves until she couldn’t stand it any longer and shoved the phone under the mattress to muffle the sound.
Finally the ringing stopped. Loneliness swept over her. His strength and warm arms were lost to her now. She didn’t dare contact him again, at least not until this was over. And by then, there would be no reason to. For now she was trapped in her solitude, unable to go home. Life as she knew it was lost to her until the albino’s reign of terror came to an end.
It was all up to Jack. There was nothing more for her to do but to wait it out and pray Jack caught the guy soon.
Larsen got ready for bed and was brushing her teeth when her vision suddenly went black.
No. Not again.
Pain split her head as the premonition swept her away.
She was in a theater this time, a place she recognized well. The Kennedy Center with its opulent gilt decor, the blood-red carpeting and atmospheric lighting. The theater was full, teeming with kids. A matinee. She vaguely remembered hearing an advertisement on the radio for a reduced-price matinee of The Lion King with the proceeds going to some children’s foundation. Thursday. The special presentation was Thursday.
Tomorrow.
As she watched, the lights in the theater dimmed. After a short, dramatic pause, the heavy curtains opened to reveal a set right out of the African savannah. The musical began and, just as suddenly, stopped, the actors relaxing their poses as if the director had called for a break, then going still, frozen in place.
In the middle of the orchestra seats, a man rose. An all-too familiar man with white skin and white hair. The only other movement in the packed theater came from two young children several rows in front of him, a little girl of about six dressed in a pink sundress, her white-blond hair in a single, curly ponytail, and a boy a couple years older who was bouncing on his seat like an escaped jack-in-the-box.
As one, the pair turned to look at the albino, their eyes wide and curious. The man sitting between them, an older version of the little boy, turned, as well.
What happened next was almost a blur in the darkened theater. The audience rose and attacked the small family while the albino grabbed the young woman who’d been sitting beside him and raped her.
As the vision faded, Larsen’s gaze focused on one last, horrible sight. Draped across the back of one of the seats lay the lifeless body of the little girl, facedown, her white-blond pony tail hanging from a small head cocked at an impossible angle.
Larsen came back to herself, sitting on the bathroom floor, the toothbrush still in her mouth. She lurched to her feet, tossed the toothbrush into the sink and lunged for the toilet, losing most of her dinner. When her stomach was empty, she sat on the cold tile and leaned her head back against the wall, her body quaking, her eyes squeezed tight against the awful memory.
No more. Please, no more.
Tears slid down her cheeks and she buried her face in her hands. Why would he kill children? Children?
Because he hadn’t been able to control them. Like Jack and her and the woman at Tony Jingles and the man who’d died at the wedding, he hadn’t been able to control them. So he’d killed them.
No. He would kill them. Unless she stopped him.
Angry determination crowded out the horror and helplessness swirling inside her. She could do this. She could stop him as she had before. But how? She’d nearly gotten Jack killed today and nearly gotten herself hauled in for questioning.
She struggled to her feet, rinsed her mouth and crawled into bed, praying something would come to her as she slept. She needed a plan. A brilliant plan.
And the courage to see it through.
The ruckus in his head grew worse by the day. Jack pressed his fingers into his scalp as he lay on his back in bed, longing for a single moment’s respite f
rom the din.
If he’d never met Larsen Vale, he wouldn’t know what he was missing. He’d never have experienced the relief of a moment’s quiet. Or the delight of an angel’s laughter.
Where was she?
He lowered his hands and glanced at the red read-out of the digital clock beside his bed: 2:42 a.m. The night was slipping away, but he was no closer to quieting his thoughts than when he’d gone to bed.
Where was she?
He grabbed his cell phone and punched the redial button. “Answer, Larsen,” he murmured in between rings. “Answer the damned phone.”
But like before, the voice that came over the line was cool and stilted. “I’m not available to take your call. Please…”
Jack’s hand convulsed and he slammed the phone onto the beside table, sending the battery careening onto the floor. He collapsed onto his back, his arm across his eyes as fear overwhelmed him.
The small control he’d maintained over his life was slipping away, the voices in his head getting worse every minute. His partner had tried to kill him. The one woman who could light the darkness of his mind was gone.
With a punch of his pillow, he rolled onto his stomach and sank his face into the cool cotton. Larsen’s scent filled his nostrils. Longing twisted him in knots. If he just knew she was all right he could deal with the rest, even if he never saw her again. But he was afraid he’d never find her if she didn’t want to be found. His only choice was to focus on catching that white son of a bitch before he hurt anyone else. Before he got Larsen.
And hope he wasn’t already too late.
Larsen stood under the hot shower spray, letting the droplets pelt her with a thousand stinging blows, begging the near-scalding water to wash away the horror that filled her mind.
Over and over, the scene played out in her head. The family destroyed, that little blond ponytail hanging as still as its owner.
Larsen turned the water temperature down and shoved her face under the spray, washing away the tears that burned her eyes. More than anything in the world, she wanted to forget what she’d seen and let Jack solve this case on his own. But he didn’t know the albino would be at the Kennedy Center this afternoon.
And she did.
She turned off the water and grabbed a worn, white bath towel. If she took the Metro back into D.C. before she called him, he wouldn’t be able to trace her to Virginia. She could claim to be in the Kennedy Center, tell him she’d seen the albino, and let him take it from there.
Safe. Certain. Risk-free.
The perfect plan.
Nothing ever went as planned.
Larsen paced beneath the soaring ceilings of the crowded Kennedy Center lobby, listening to Jack’s answering machine for the fourteenth time. Why wasn’t he answering his phone?
The silk scarf she’d bought in the gift store slipped as she tucked the phone into her purse. She grabbed the scarf and adjusted it to hide her hair. It didn’t precisely go with the crop pants and T-shirt she’d picked up at the store this morning, but in this international city, a woman with head covering rarely garnered a second glance.
Larsen was counting on it. She knew the albino would show. If he recognized her….
The memory of her own death beneath the feet of Veronica’s wedding guests ripped through her mind like talons through soft flesh, immobilizing her. She couldn’t do this. But the vision of that small girl, her head bent at an impossible angle, shoved aside the other and she knew she could. She had to. Someone had to save that family.
Larsen eased behind a large potted fern and scanned for sign of the oddly dressed albino, the bald archer or the little girl in the pink sundress. Moments later, her eyes caught the flash of pink. Her heart lodged in her throat.
The father from her visions, a nice-looking, thirty-some-thing businessman in a shirt and tie, walked between the two towheaded children. The little girl, her curly ponytail swinging, held the man’s hand while the boy, a bundle of barely suppressed energy, darted ahead toward the short flight of stairs leading to the ticket-taker.
Larsen took a step toward them and stopped as the cold reality of what she needed to do washed over her. It wasn’t enough to warn them not to go into the theater. She had to tell them why. I’m a freak who sees death. And I’ve seen yours.
She couldn’t do it.
She had to do it, or those kids and their dad were going to die!
The breath froze in her lungs, the blood turned to slush in her veins.
Do it! But her feet wouldn’t move.
As if hearing her inner shouting, the dad’s gaze swung toward her, punching her in the gut with a fistful of guilt, then swung away.
Her heart thudded against her ribs. Now! But as she finally started forward, the dad handed over the tickets and the three disappeared into the theater.
Larsen blinked. What had she done?
She grabbed her phone and punched the redial with shaking fingers. “Jack, answer your damn phone!”
The bell rang through the theater lobby, signaling the imminent start of the show. They were going to die. One chance to stop them and she’d blown it.
In the soaring hallway, Larsen paced in an agitated little circle, her stomach roiling like a boat in a summer storm. Maybe it wasn’t too late. They were still alive. They’d stay that way for another few minutes, but she had to get inside that theater and the show was sold out.
Yanking the scarf off her head, she strode up the short flight of stairs, pinning her most haughty Ice Bitch persona firmly in place.
“Miss…excuse me.”
Larsen spared the slightly built retiree collecting the last-minute tickets a cool glance. “I’m checking something for Mr. Wright. I’ll only be a minute.” Then, without slowing her pace, she brushed by him and into the dark passage that separated the lobby from the gilt splendor of the theater.
At the top of the aisle, Larsen paused and looked out over the sea of heads, the pulse thudding in her ears. They were in here somewhere. He was in here. Her gaze zeroed in on the area where she’d seen the albino in her vision. Sure enough, his stark white head shone at its center.
Dread rose from her pores to crawl over her skin like slithering, blood-sucking leeches. He’d kill her. If she stayed in this theater, she was going to die. A child’s laugh pierced the hum of excited voices. If she left, two children were going to die.
The lights dimmed. The music rose. She was out of time.
Larsen took a deep breath as she pulled the scarf out of her purse and laid it over her head, wrapping it around her mouth and nose.
Heart racing like a speedboat on the open river, she started down the aisle. “Ladies and gentlemen, there’s been a report of a bomb in the theater. Please move quickly to the nearest exit.”
The people close enough to hear her over the music jumped up and began to fill the aisles. For one breathless moment she thought her makeshift plan was going to work. Then she forgot herself and glanced at the albino.
Their gazes locked. Recognition flared.
No. She looked away, but not before she saw him open his mouth and knew it was too late. An eerie singing rose with the music, then became the only sound in the theater as hundreds of audience members, musicians and actors went suddenly, silently still.
Larsen stood trapped in the middle of an aisle clogged with human statues, fear crawling up her throat. Her premonitions, as horrible as they’d been, hadn’t prepared her for the real thing, for the singing that tore at her eardrums and sent terror flooding her heart.
She had to get out of here.
As she turned to run, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. The children. They were staring at the singer just as they had in her vision.
“Run!” she shouted to their dad. “If you can hear me, run for your lives.”
But even as the words burst from her mouth, the audience around them rose. With a terrible dread, Larsen knew what would happen next. She’d seen this movie and hated the ending. But there w
as nothing more she could do. She’d failed. The children and their father were going to die. And she right along with them if she didn’t run.
She pushed between a frozen couple and dodged a small knot of teens as she ran up the aisle. Three rows to freedom. Two.
A beefy arm hooked around her neck, jerking her off her feet. A silent scream tore through her mind as she struggled in vain to free herself. Too slow. Too late. The pressure against her windpipe cut off her air. She couldn’t breathe. Colored lights swam in her vision. Over the roar in her ears, she heard a child begin to scream.
And suddenly she was free.
The choking arm dropped away. Larsen sank to her knees, sucking in the precious air as the roaring in her ears slowly abated, leaving only the sound of the child’s screams.
She pushed to her feet even as the statues collapsed to the ground like puppets cut from their strings. Only then did she realize the singing had stopped. Her gaze sought the source of the screaming, the place where she’d last seen the albino, and locked on Jack.
Jack. He had the white villain by the hair and was shoving a gag in his mouth.
Thank God. He’d gotten her message, after all. But the screaming went on, unchecked. Her gaze finally located the source, capsizing her heart. The little girl in the pink sundress writhed in her father’s arms, raking her fingernails down her small face, leaving trails of blood.
The frantic father lunged for the albino, his unharmed son tight against his side. “What did you do to her? What did you do to my daughter?”
Jack caught Larsen’s gaze and shook his head as if reading the question in her mind. “He touched her forehead,” he shouted to the father over the child’s screams. “That’s it. I saw him do it right before I grabbed him.”
He’d touched her. What had he done to her? What had she done by failing to keep them from going into that theater?
“Get out of here,” Jack shouted to the grieving father. “Take your kids and get out of here in case I can’t hold him. Larsen, you, too.”
The Dark Gate Page 7