by Diane Capri
“Yeah, we know,” Rob stated, pulling the package from his pocket.
Gavin noted the look on Rob’s face, and took the package from him. “I’ll read it.”
Rob simply nodded. Gavin knew that Rob and Cory wanted children. A case like this screwed with your head. Made you doubt your ability to protect your own child. He knew that Rob was thinking about that now.
Pulling on tight surgical gloves, Gavin took out the small card, grimacing as he read the message.
A gift for you.
Ah, sweet little one, the salt of your tears, the music of your screams brings such joy to my ears. Every day is Mother’s Day.
T
Not quite the same. Gavin shivered as he ran his fingers over the words on the card. Every day is Mother’s Day.
The ringing of Rob’s cell phone broke the uneasy silence.
Gavin mentally shook himself, pulling away from the darkness of his thoughts. He stopped looking at the card to listen to the one-sided conversation.
“What’s up, Chief?”
Frustration and anger darkened Rob’s features.
“We just started here. Wait a damn minute. This is our case!”
Rob listened another second before slamming the cell phone shut.
“The chief wants us at the office. You too, Gavin.”
“What’s up?” Gavin asked.
“He wouldn’t say. He’s sending Johnny and Brad out to the scene.”
“Shit, they’re just novices. Not ready for this kind of scene.” Carl reached for a cigarette. “Damn,” he grunted, realizing he’d left them in the car.
“Yeah, well, tell it to the chief,” Rob snarled angrily as he strode toward the car.
Gavin felt as if he were wearing lead shoes, each step a slow painful process. The wind had picked up, and the rustling through the leaves whispered around him. Too late.
CHAPTER TWO
Sheriff Sarah Burns pulled off the road and parked near the site of Saturday night’s tragic accident. Unnatural deaths were rare in Glade Springs, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d missed something.
An image of Morgana Nelson clutching the body of her daughter, her heartbroken cry echoing through the morgue, flashed through Sarah’s mind.
Maybe it was only wishful thinking. The Nelsons were good people, and Johanna had been their only child. The accident made no sense. Johanna wasn’t the typical eighteen year old. She didn’t run off to Edgewood or Richmond after graduation, looking for a larger city and more excitement. She didn’t stay out late. She didn’t drive fast. She didn’t drink. So why had she been here, driving so fast she missed the curve? The toxicology reports weren’t in yet, but the body had reeked with the smell of alcohol. The Nelsons had questions, needed answers.
Climbing out of the Explorer, Sarah walked toward the curve as she closed out the noises around her, traveling the path Johanna had driven. Emotions were strong here. She could feel the sadness—and the anger. Johanna was upset.
Sarah moved into the curve slowly, feeling the shift in the emotions surrounding her. Panic took over, quickly turning to fear. She retraced the path the car had taken as it skidded off the road into the huge oak tree.
Crouching near the point of impact, she placed her hand on the earth and closed her eyes. For a brief moment she felt physical pain and then all emotions ceased.
Sighing, Sarah stood up. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to find. Let it go, Sarah, she chided herself. Some questions have no answers.
Heaving another sigh, Sarah started toward her vehicle. She was tired, looking forward to a quiet evening at home. Last night’s dream had upset her. All day she’d been haunted by the image of the dark brown eyes filled with pain, the heart-wrenching cry that had jerked her from an uneasy sleep. The whispered message that had kept her lying awake, trembling as she listened to the sounds of the night.
She hated the dreams. Hated the feeling of helplessness they created inside her as the dying reached out, sending messages to loved ones, or crying out for vengeance against their attacker. Only this time the dream had been different. This time the message was for Sarah.
Sarah shook herself mentally, pushing away the memories, the fear. It was just a dream. And this was just a horrible accident. Accidents happened—especially when teenagers drank. Her foot touched the passenger tire track imprinted in the soft earth near the tree. A feeling of panic clutched at her, growing stronger, making it hard to breathe.
“Jesus,” she muttered as she stepped away from the track, breathing deeply.
Kneeling, she touched the earth, holding her breath, as emotions flowed through her fingertips. Unlike the driver’s side, the panic here continued to escalate. There was no physical pain, no ceasing of emotion. This was what had been bugging her. The something missing. Johanna Nelson had died almost instantly, but she hadn’t died alone. Someone else had been in the car with her when she crashed into that tree.
#
The trip to Parham Road was a forty-five minute drive from the cemetery, but Carl seemed determined to make it in twenty. Gavin watched as Carl weaved in and out of traffic, cursing and blowing his horn. The old man’s hands were gripped tightly around the steering wheel. They were all feeling it. Ninety percent of all investigative work was instinct, and instinct told them something was bad wrong.
“God, I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Rob stated, breaking the uneasy silence in the car.
Carl nodded. “Yeah, me too.”
Gavin remained silent. The knot in his stomach had returned, a burning, gnawing pain. His heart still ached with a loneliness that spread throughout his soul. Somehow he knew what waited for them would forever change their lives. Time had finally run out.
Jennifer Warner looked up as the three men entered the office. “You guys must have been moving,” she stated, looking at her watch. Only twenty-five minutes had passed since she’d placed the call for the chief. “The chief wants…”
Rob brushed past her, heading for Chief Walsh’s office. “Yeah, we know what the chief wants.”
Not bothering to knock, Rob opened the door, ready to blast out his anger and frustration. One look at the chief’s face stopped him.
“Close the door and sit down, Rob. Carl. Gavin, it’s good to see you again.”
Gavin nodded, watching the chief fidget with paperwork on his desk as he waited for them to take their seats. Gavin remained standing. He studied Chief Walsh’s face. Walsh was a hard man, but a good man. His face revealed little, but the pale gray eyes held a look of compassion and sadness. Whatever he was about to say, it wasn’t good news.
Chief Walsh sighed. “There’s no easy way to say this. The body of Corrine Larson was discovered in a dumpster outside her apartment this morning. She was murdered.”
“No.”
Gavin heard his brother’s whispered word, reached out, grabbing onto the nearest chair to steady himself, struggling to breathe. He knew he should go to Rob, but his head felt light, as if a huge fist had slammed into his gut, knocking the breath from his body. Shock washed over him in waves.
“That’s not possible. She’s not even here. She’s off somewhere researching a story. It’s not her. We’re getting married next week.” Rob was rambling.
“It’s her, Rob. She’s already been identified by a co-worker at the paper. I’m sorry.” Chief Walsh avoided meeting Rob’s eyes.
Leaping up from the chair, Rob yelled at the chief, “It’s not her!”
“Where is she?” Carl asked the question quietly, his voice filled with reverence.
“County morgue.”
Carl nodded. He knew what had to be done. Rob had done the same thing for him five years ago when Sharon had been killed in an automobile crash. You had to see the body. It was the only way. Taking Rob’s arm Carl pulled him toward the door. “We’ll call you,” he stated, as he opened the door and pushed Rob through it.
Gavin stood silent as Carl pulled and pushed Rob through the
door, not waiting for an answer, or for Gavin to follow. Carl knew Gavin would follow. After all, Gavin was the strong one. Right now, Rob needed Carl the most. Partners were often closer than brothers. They knew each other’s secrets, pains, hopes and dreams. Gavin knew them, too. He knew that Carl was wishing for a cigarette. And he knew Carl regretted not listening to his wife, taking early retirement and buying that fishing boat.
The trip to the morgue took less than ten minutes. Carl parked the car in front, ignoring the “No Parking” sign. The morgue was dreary on a good day. Today it was dark, malevolent.
“It’s not her, Carl.”
“You gotta do this, kid. You gotta know.” Carl placed his hand on Rob’s shoulder.
Gavin felt as if his face had turned to stone. He wanted to say something, but no words would come. Instead he watched, his thoughts muddled, painful, as Carl offered Rob comfort. It should be me, he thought. I should be comforting him. A cold, steady reserve enveloped him. A numbness that seeped through his heart and mind. No, not me. This is my fault.
His legs felt stiff as he followed Carl and Rob. He retreated deeper into his mind, seeking the comfort of his alter ego, Jacody Ives. Jacody would know what to do. And he wouldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t afford to feel anything. Too many demons in his head. Too many losses in his life.
A sliver of pain sliced through Gavin’s heart as Carl pushed open the double doors. Too late, McAllister. You’re too late.
The attendant barely glanced up as he stated, “Viewing room is upstairs. Who do you want to see?”
Carl glared at him before flashing his badge. “No viewing room. We want to see Corrine Larson.”
The attendant looked at the badge, shrugged and glanced down at the papers before him.
“Number eighteen.”
“She ain’t no goddamn number, buddy,” Carl growled.
The attendant started to make some flippant remark, but changed his mind as he looked into the murderous glint of Carl’s dark eyes. “Hey, it’s not personal.”
No one bothered to answer. This time it was personal. Too personal.
Gavin followed slightly behind the others, still examining his feelings. Cory was his twin, the other half of his soul. Would he hurt worse if he’d known her longer? Fate had separated them as babies. The Larsons had adopted Cory only one day before the Walkers adopted him. For twenty-nine years he hadn’t known she existed. Only that something was missing from his life. Something vital. Now, she was gone, just as if she’d never been there.
The attendant had stopped in front of drawer number 18. He reached for the handle and Carl stopped him.
“Get out.”
Rob stood frozen in front of the drawer. Inside lay his hopes, his dreams, his future. With trembling hands, he grasped the handle and pulled out the shelf. His eyes focused on the white sheet over the body, his hands shaking as he reached to pull it back.
“Want me to do it?” Carl moved closer.
Rob shook his head and took a deep breath. It wasn’t her. It was all a mistake. It couldn’t be her. Rob touched the sheet and slowly pulled it away from the body. Pain hit Gavin, a bolt of lightning, starting in his gut, forcing the air out of his body.
“Dear God …” Reaching out Rob touched her hair and drew back his hand, looking at the traces of dried blood on his fingers. Her blood.
“Son-of-a-bitch.” Carl pulled him away from the body, holding him as Rob bent forward, retching. The smell of vomit filled the air.
Gavin forced himself to look at the body. It bore no resemblance to the pretty young woman he remembered. Gone was her laugh, her love of life. He didn’t feel the same shock as Rob. Somehow he’d known. He’d known since he woke up this morning that the dream was different. Laughter filled his head. You’re too late.
Gavin felt his jaw tighten. Everything seemed distant. He heard the sobs of his brother, smelled the vomit. Watched silently as Carl wiped the blood from Rob’s hand with his handkerchief. He welcomed the numbness that spread from his mind, through his body, settling around his heart. Turning to what remained of the other half of his soul, he whispered, “As God is my witness, Cory, I’ll find whoever did this. And may God have mercy on him, because I won’t.”
Gavin pulled the sheet up over the body. He wanted to say something. Needed to say something. For the first time in his life, words failed him. He closed the drawer.
“Let’s go, kid. We can’t do anything else for her. We need to get Rob out of here.”
Gavin nodded, following Carl out of the building. He checked his watch. Five hours had passed since the early morning call. A lifetime. The warmth of the sun touched his face as his gaze drifted to the morning edition of the Herald. The headline branded its message inside his head.
“LOCAL JOURNALIST TORTURED, RAPED, EXECUTED.”
CHAPTER THREE
Gavin sat nursing his third glass of brandy as the apartment grew dark around him. In the past two days he’d grown to hate the light. Everywhere he looked he saw Cory. She was everywhere in the apartment—the drapes, the paintings on the wall, the furniture, the French cameo vase. He remembered her face the first time she’d come here, her words. Gavin Colin McAllister, this is a disaster. She’d immediately set about changing everything in the apartment. Her zest for beauty an inspiration, she’d turned the drab apartment into a home.
Gavin rose from the sofa, walked to the bar and poured another glass of brandy. No matter how much he drank, he couldn’t get the headline out of his head. Just words. He was a writer, made his living with words. He knew the impact of the words was in direct correlation to the emotions of the reader. Words could be twisted, knives to open up wounds long hidden. Maneuvered to evoke buried nightmares. Bare the soul, expose the wound, and you had a best seller. Make them laugh. Make them cry. But above all, make them feel something. He was an expert at manipulating words for emotion.
But he’d seen the body.
He emptied the glass of brandy, welcoming the burn in his throat. The blinking red light on the answering machine a constant reminder of his shame, his guilt. He should have erased the message. Instead, he tormented himself by playing it again.
Gavin, it’s Carl. Rob collapsed. I’m taking him to the hospital. I’ll call you.
Carl would call, but he wouldn’t answer. It was better this way. Better for all of them if he simply disappeared. The darkness followed him. And wherever the darkness was, death was close behind.
Gavin, you have to help them. Save them.
Cory was standing in the shadows of the living room. “Cory?” His mind registered what his heart refused to believe. Cory was dead. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and reopened them. She was still there, her beautiful ethereal form a light in the darkness.
Gavin, please protect her.
She drifted across the room, stopping in front of the stack of mail he’d tossed on the coffee table. She smiled at him, a small wistful smile that broke the ice around his heart. Tears began to flow down his face. “Cory?” He choked on the word, reaching for her. She drifted away from him.
Protect her Gavin. If she dies, my death will have no meaning.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he wiped his eyes. “I don’t understand, Cory. Who?”
Her light shimmered, fading into the darkness.
Gavin stood motionless, his mind blurred by the brandy. He was drunk. That had to be it. Hallucinating.
How many hallucinations ask you to protect someone?
“Go away, Jacody.” Gavin groaned, slumping on the sofa, head between his hands. He’d never cried before. Not even at the death of his parents. He felt strange inside, hollow.
She came here to tell you something.
“God, I need a drink.”
You can run, but there’s no place to hide, Gavin. We have to protect them.
“We?” Gavin laughed hollowly. “You’re a character in a book. There is no we.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. You have to protect them,
or her. A mystery. Secrets.
Gavin curled his hands into fists. Raising his head, he focused on the red blinking light of the answering machine. Jacody had always been his voice of reason. The hero. Now, it was his turn. There was no story, no book rights. Cory was dead, and Rob needed him. And if Cory was right, somewhere out there, someone else needed him.
He picked up the stack of mail. The wedding invitation on top started a new wave of pain, but he tossed it aside, digging through the envelopes until he found the small postcard. He ran his fingers over the writing, closing his eyes. He allowed himself a moment of grief, feeling her love, her warmth wash over him. Trembling, he opened his eyes to read the card.
Gavin, I’ve found a great story. I’m worried though, because it may have something to do with this case Rob is working. The Mother’s Day thing. I’ll call you tonight. Love, Cory.
TORTURED, RAPED, EXECUTED
He fought the rage that threatened to consume him. Fought the tenebrosity that pulled at his soul. Cory deserved better than that. She’d died to protect someone.
He examined the card, the old building burning its image in his mind. The Lodge, Glade Springs, West Virginia.
Cory’s words echoed in his mind. The Mother’s Day thing. What was it Rob had said? The son-of-a-bitch got personal. Hit us in our own backyard.
It wasn’t a story this time. This time it was personal. The demon of his nightmares had no name, but now he knew where to look for him. Glade Springs had secrets. And no one uncovered secrets better than Jacody Ives.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sarah swore softly as the overflowing cup sent scalding coffee over her hand. Ignoring the pain, she focused on the TV, ears straining to catch every word of the morning news. “Richmond Police say there are still no clues in the execution-style murder of Corrine Larson. Larson, whose body was discovered in a dumpster outside her apartment complex early Monday morning was a three-time award winning journalist for the Richmond Herald.
The story continued, but Sarah stopped listening as the erratic beat of her heart pounded inside her head. Monday. She’d tried to put the dream out of her mind. Rationalized it. Just a dream brought on by the death of Johanna Nelson.