“Whoever Pete’s been dreaming about . . . or the place he’s a part of,” Levi said, giving her the benefit of the doubt. “He’s definitely afraid. And all three nights, he repeated the same name.”
“What name?”
“Esme. Weird, right? Over the years, we’ve heard him say countless random names—different languages, even different dialects.”
“True. Everything from a thick French accent to what sounded like Native American names. But I don’t recall . . . wait.” Aubrey darted to the window seat. From a built-in drawer, she retrieved four journals, each filled with words and phrases captured from Pete’s dreams. “I made a list of names in one of these.”
In an instant, Levi was by her side, scouring through too. They read like a history lesson, like Pete’s sleeping brain was a map of the world and his dreams a dart aimed at random events.
“Here.” She trailed her index finger down the page, Levi tight by her side. Aubrey turned to the next page and then the next. “Not a single name repeats.”
“Not until three nights ago.”
“Were you able to define a time period? What was he saying about this Esme?”
Levi shook his head. “It sounded like a war zone. He talked about planes, so, twentieth-century history rather than earlier. But my real concern was more about his level of distress. It was unprecedented.”
“What sort of things did he say?”
“It all happened so fast. I was trying to wake him up, and he was just fighting me—physically at several points.” He brushed a hand over the scratch on his face.
“Pete did that?”
“And a nice bruise on my shoulder.” He rubbed his hand over the sports-jacket-covered shoulder. “He’s getting stronger, Aubrey. And the dreams . . . episodes, they’re growing more intense. Whoever, however this Esme connects, there’s something terrifying in her presence.”
“So what’s happening to Pete, if it’s growing more intense . . . vivid, it’s another good reason why it would be better if there were two of us to deal with him.”
“Possibly,” he conceded. “But after the past few nights, there’s no way I’d leave you alone with him.”
Aubrey went back to scanning journal pages, unsure if Levi meant he’d be inclined to come home with Pete. Or perhaps he’d simply hire live-in help to assist.
“I understand this is all beyond Pete’s control,” Levi said. “And I don’t relish saying this about my own son, but disturbing episodes are rapidly turning violent.” He lowered his tall frame onto the window seat. “I’m scared for him, Aubrey. I don’t know if what’s happening at night will start spilling over into his conscious hours. If it does, what do we do then?”
Aubrey’s gaze didn’t travel to Levi but moved to the chest of drawers. On top of it was her father’s box of ghost gifts. “If that were to happen in a rational, standard-behavior kind of world, I don’t want to imagine how society would label him.” She forced a gulp down her throat.
“I like to think that here I can protect him—at least as long as I’m his father and there’s some breath in me. But I’ve been thinking, more and more, about a possibility where I won’t have any control.”
“Like what exactly?”
“What if you’re right?” Levi said it fast, as if tearing off a Band-Aid, conceding to possibility. “What if these . . . visions aren’t fantastical dreams? Fighting that premise . . . it’s part of what made me move out, the idea that the people or places Pete is drawn to is something . . .” He sucked in a breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. But what if it’s real? I know how much it hurt you and us, when Pete chose to come live with me. But now . . .”
“Now what? Levi, what is it you’re considering when it comes to Pete’s dreams?”
“What if Pete wakes up one day, and you and I . . . no matter where we live . . . what if here and now is no longer our son’s reality?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Concern for their son was enough to keep Aubrey and Levi together, at least for the evening. That and Pete had called, asking if he could go to the movies with Dylan. More than ever, Levi was agreeable to normalcy. Then Pete had said, “Dylan wanted me to sleep over, but . . . you know.” As Pete’s words hit Levi’s ears, any hard-ass reaction to his son’s earlier outburst waned. Among other things, it was a piece of childhood tradition that Pete had missed out on.
A few years ago, when Pete had declined one overnight invite too many, Dylan accused him of being a bed wetter. Aubrey had called Diane Higley, Dylan’s mother, and smoothed things over, politely asking that Dylan not make accusations he knew nothing about. “Sleepovers just aren’t something Pete prefers to do. Can we leave it at that?”
Diane, being a bit of a helicopter parent, profusely apologized for her son. She went on to offer the name of a good psychologist, maybe a psychiatrist. Perhaps Pete was dealing with emotional issues beyond Aubrey and Levi’s grasp. Listening to Aubrey convey the conversation, Levi had rolled his eyes, saying, “You think?” He left the room, muttering, “Sure. A psychiatrist. That’s what we need—the medical world’s take on diagnosing the incomprehensible.”
Thoughts like that seemed to be weighing on Aubrey’s mind as she appeared in the living room, holding her father’s box of ghost gifts. She didn’t open it but went into the dining room alcove, where she placed the box on the table. “Do you want to order a pizza or something?” she asked. “Pete won’t be back until after nine.”
Levi didn’t reply.
She pointed toward the door. “Or maybe you just want to leave and come back later.”
“Pizza’s fine.” Levi took a seat on the sofa. “I have some work to do.” He’d retrieved a leather valise from the car and proceeded to unpack folders. Among them was the information Dan had supplied about the Maine John Doe. Aubrey’s involvement in Piper’s case had prompted Levi to start a second file. It contained the information about the two missing boys. While the only tangible connection was some peculiar green tape—hardly a flashing neon clue—he didn’t dismiss Aubrey’s ethereal hunch.
After ordering the pizza, she paced the living room and fiddled with her phone. Usually, Aubrey’s phone sat with its charger. When she looked out the window for the third or fourth time, Levi put down the legal pad. He’d been resisting her mood; he didn’t want to tempt another argument. He couldn’t help making an observation. “Expecting someone?” This time he pointed to the door. “Maybe you were hoping I’d take you up on option two and leave.”
“Levi—”
He held up a hand. “I withdraw the question.” He picked up a pen and looked down at his work. Then he tossed it on the table. “Aubrey.”
She turned toward him.
“You get that not moving back home isn’t my long-term goal. I mean, I shouldn’t have to spell it out.” He huffed and attempted to go back to his paperwork. But Levi couldn’t see the pages in front of him—the dense remark was occluding his vision. For as close as they were, it’d never been easy for Levi to verbalize emotion. It was something he continued to work on—but surely more so with Pete than Aubrey in the past year. “Sorry,” he said. “That was abrupt.”
She shot him an angry glance.
“Stupid.”
“Better,” she said over her shoulder.
“We’ve hit a rough patch, Aubrey. We haven’t skidded out of control.”
She put her phone down and wrapped her arms around herself. “Right. A rough patch.”
But he couldn’t gauge whether it was placation or agreement.
“But since you’re clearly wondering, I don’t keep inviting Zeke here. He just sort of keeps showing up.”
“Unusual for a guy whose MO was always about vanishing.”
“Mmm . . . maybe on the surface. Maybe to other people. But that’s not how I saw Zeke.”
“And how did you see him?”
She turned, the last few sentences having been directed out the window. “As safe. We had things in common, granted, a lot of i
t tragic. Yet there was a bond . . . trust. Zeke was the person I counted on when my ever-evolving adolescence felt unsteady. He’s someone from the past that eases the present. Is that so difficult to grasp?”
As Aubrey’s sentiment unfolded, Levi knew he’d fallen decidedly short on emotional awareness. Admittedly, there were times when exhibiting emotion felt more like he was moving an internal mountain. But there were solid examples of growth, like when Pete was born, and the joy he readily recalled from vacations and holidays, simple Sunday barbecues. Time spent with his son and Aubrey—his family. She’d done this for him, cleared a path to a whole new life. So why couldn’t Levi close the gap? Why couldn’t he give her the space and understanding she needed about a man from her past? “Aubrey—”
She cut him off. “Levi, there is something . . . more,” she said. “Something I need to tell you about Zeke.”
His stomach knotted at her tone, a reaction rarer than the emotions he could not navigate. “Okay,” he said tentatively. “But let me ask you a question first. Should I be grateful I’m already sitting?”
The arrival of the pizza interrupted Aubrey and what, to her, was starting to feel like a confession. While Zeke’s visit was innocent, the discovery of the E tattoo was not. In fact, it felt as if she were suppressing evidence. She stalled, doling out paper plates, pizza, and napkins. Levi didn’t bite into his, pushing the plate aside. Aubrey had no appetite either, placing her slice next to his and sitting on the sofa.
“Aubrey, look, we know putting my feelings front and center is not my strong suit. But I can’t believe Zeke, no matter what he was in your past, can just dive in here and—”
“Would you just let me get this out? My first instinct was not to tell you. But . . .” She wavered for a moment. “While I share a longtime kinship with Zeke, my loyalty is to you. Know that.”
It seemed like Levi exhaled the breath she’d inhaled.
“Even if we’re just talking about something work related.”
“Work related?”
“Yes.” Aubrey opened the folder marked “Physical Evidence.”
“This sketch. The tattoo. I know what it is, what it ties to.”
Levi squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry. I didn’t realize we’d moved on from you and . . .” He picked up the slice of pizza. “Really? I can’t wait to hear this. So it’d be a fair guess to say the ink has something to do with Zeke?”
“That’s a matter of opinion. He has this tattoo, Levi. I saw it on his arm today.”
Pizza on the move toward his mouth froze. “That tattoo? On his arm?”
She nodded.
“Did you ask him about it? Did you tell him our John Doe has the same tattoo?”
“No, not that part. But I did ask Zeke to explain it.”
“Actually,” he said, reevaluating, “that was smart thinking. Probably best not to share too much information right now.” He moved his eyes over her. “I don’t want you alone with him again, not for any reason—old times’ sake or . . . emotional support.”
“I knew that’s right where you’d go. It’s also why I hesitated to tell you. Just listen. The tattoo represents the Eli casino. It’s a new Serino property in Vegas.” Levi’s laptop sat on the coffee table, and Aubrey googled the name. “That’s what I was doing with my phone before, looking it up. See.” Along with a variety of glitzy images came the forty-story-high crafted E emblem, the hallmark of the property.
“I’ll be damned.” Levi put aside the pizza slice and took the laptop from her. “That’s one mystery solved.”
“Yes. And you can thank Zeke for the explanation. It gets more interesting—and complicated. He said a lot of workers associated with the project got the tattoo. Apparently, Jude Serino used it as a lure to spark comradery. The whole project was built to appease Suzanne Serino, in memory of her son. According to Zeke, she’s never been able to deal with his death. Jude paid anyone who worked on the project a $5,000 bonus if they got the Eli tattoo.”
“And Zeke signed up?”
“Zeke didn’t do it for the bonus. He just did it . . . because it was expected of him, because he was Jude’s right-hand man.”
“And I’d say that further defines Zeke’s deep ties to the Serino family—more than just his sister being married to a half-brother. More importantly, it should lead us to an identity, give us a road map. Surely with a five-grand payoff, there’s a list of people who got the tattoo. Maybe Zeke even has a record of tattoo takers. I take back my earlier protest. Give him a call.” Levi cocked his chin toward her phone. “Let’s sit him down and ask him. I can even call Dan and—”
“Slow down, Levi. I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Zeke had a falling out with Jude. He doesn’t work for him anymore.”
“It doesn’t mean he won’t have a list on a computer, some kind of record.” Levi reached for his phone. “What’s his number? I’ll call Zeke myself.”
“No. I don’t want to drag him into this. I don’t want a confrontation between the two of you. If you want the list, ask Jude Serino.” A stare wavered between them. “Besides, knowing what you think of Zeke, I’m guessing you’d be more inclined to believe verifiable information, from the source.”
He appeared to weigh his options. “All right. I’m agreeable to that.” Levi clicked on the website’s corporate contact link. “Let’s see how difficult it is to track down Zeke’s old boss.”
Aubrey sank back in the sofa and watched as Levi slipped seamlessly into reporter mode. As the call connected, he was clever and loquacious, quickly navigating to Jude Serino’s administrative assistant.
He replied with “I see,” and “uh-huh,” starting and stopping several times. From what Aubrey could overhear, the female voice surpassed Levi’s loquaciousness. “That’s right, Levi St John from Ink on Air. The television newsmagazine.” An audible buzz of excitement rose from the other end of the call. “You don’t say? Well, I’m glad you’re a fan . . . Holly, was it?” He nodded, smiling at Aubrey. “Yes. You do sound exactly like a former Miss Oklahoma . . .” He rolled his eyes. “Like I said, we’re considering your boss for a piece on . . .” Levi ran his hand through the open air in front of him, a stalling gesture. “American-bred business dynasties, large and small,” he quickly said. “We’re inquiring with the Walton and Cargill families too. We wanted a cross section, and we thought the Serino family might be interested.” He listened for another moment. “Naturally, I understand that you can’t discuss Mr. Serino’s schedule in depth, but—”
Aubrey bit into her pizza, impressed by Levi’s progress.
“He’s away that long?” He furrowed his brow, listening. “And that’s not unusual? Right. I understand. A man in Mr. Serino’s position would certainly require downtime. If you could just . . .” Frustration edged into his expression. “Like you said . . . you’ll add my message to all the others. Got it . . . yep. Great talking to you too, Holly. And absolutely, I’ll keep that in mind.” He ended the call, dropping his cell on the coffee table.
“You’ll keep what in mind?”
“After her stint as the reigning Miss Oklahoma—before her job as Jude Serino’s administrative assistant—Holly was the weather girl in Tulsa. She’d love to get back into TV.”
“Oh. I see. And what about her boss?”
“Jude Serino takes a six-week, zero-communication sabbatical every year. He left about a month ago. Apparently, both brothers do the same. She said she’d be happy to forward my request along with the daily data dump she sends him.”
“So a dead end for now.”
“Yes and no.”
“Clarification, please?”
“Sometimes the best leads are born out of inconsequential references. While explaining that she couldn’t share privileged information, like Jude’s sabbatical destination, Holly did mention her last verbal communication with him.”
“And that was?”
“From here. She spoke with Jude when he was at Loga
n’s international terminal. So we know it was right before a flight to an undisclosed location abroad. Apparently, the East Coast was a pit stop. He wanted to check on progress on a residential community Serino Enterprises owns.”
“And that’s curious why?”
“It’s in Maine, Aubrey. A place called Five Points at Blue Cove.” He withdrew a paper map from a folder marked “DB Location Info.” He moved the pizza and opened the folder on the coffee table. Aubrey assumed the red-circled piece of swampland bull’s-eyed the location of the body. Levi clicked on a pen and circled an area not far from it, prime real estate that boarded the ocean. “And about here is the half-built project. A few high-end properties surround the cove. I got a glimpse of them while I was standing over Dan’s dead body.”
Aubrey sat up taller. “That is, um, curious. And it does appear to broaden the Serino connection.”
“Yes, it does. And I haven’t gotten to the most curious part yet—something you’re not going to like very much.”
“What’s that?”
“Jude’s assistant, our former beauty queen, said that when her boss left his Rancho Mirage home on a flight to here, he had his right-hand man with him—Zeke Dublin.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Palms Spring, California
Two Months Earlier
“Mr. Serino will be in shortly. Have a seat.” Max rammed a hand into Zeke’s shoulder. He winced and spilled into Jude’s Palm Springs office. His previously dislocated shoulder remained painful to the touch. Zeke muttered an expletive at Max, who left. He shuffled forward. At the office bar was a decanter of Scotch, and Zeke helped himself to a drink—a double, neat. Then he spied a bottle of vintage Macallan. With the full glass in hand, he took two achy steps toward a mini potted palm and watered it. He served himself an even larger portion from a bottle that cost about three hundred bucks. If his gaze hadn’t caught in the mirror, Zeke might have felt a dollop of satisfaction.
A beating like he’d never endured was still evident: puffy, bloodshot eyes, bruises that had turned like an angry sky, going from black to purple to faint patches of yellow. And forget his nose. Once a feature that complemented salient bone structure, it now sat slightly left of center. “Jesus . . .” Zeke downed a pain-killing gulp. It burned in his throat, but not nearly as much as the cuts and bruises that went with his busted face and cracked ribs. The image that stared back, it was Jude’s payback for Zeke’s losing prediction in the Lopez-Wilder championship fight. “I knew I should have called fucking tails.”
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