The Dark Above

by Jeremy Finley

  “But we aren’t close to Washington.” Lynn motioned to the windows. “Those are Maryland pines out there. I made Tom take me out to Boonsboro and Chestertown when he used to insist I come with him to DC. I know the Maryland countryside. We’re here because it’s remote and no one could find us.”

  “I’m not going to defend her. I obviously don’t agree with what she’s done. But after seeing what’s happened to William…”

  “She is simply being used as a pawn. You know better than anyone what the Suits are capable of doing. I don’t understand what’s happened to William, but I can tell you they’ll want to silence him and make him disappear. It’s exactly what they’ve done with us too. All under the guise of being an order from the FBI. I’m sorry, I have to go get some air.”

  “Don’t think they’ll let you go far,” Roxy motioned to the door, which had been locked by the agent positioned in the hallway outside.

  “They know there’s nowhere to run.” Lynn opened the glass doors and stepped out onto the courtyard.

  The man sitting outside on an iron chair looked up from his phone. “Can I help you, Mrs. Roseworth?”

  “You can allow us to leave,” she said.

  “Sorry, ma’am. You’re here for your own security.”

  Liar. “I just need some fresh air.”

  “Of course.”

  She walked to the edge of the paving stones, tastefully laid amid carefully trimmed grass. After being inside for so long, she welcomed the sun, despite its already pounding heat.

  Nothing, however, could dispel the chill within her.

  The shadow was like a leash. She was allowed to think, to act, to do as she would, but the reminder was there, tugging at her.

  “Something’s controlling us,” Don had said, just before they lost contact.

  She had no doubt it had returned for William too.

  Whatever was happening, he had to be told everything. It was perhaps the greatest debate between her and Tom in all the years since Argentum. She agonized about bringing William into the fold, believing he deserved to know the truth. But Tom insisted he be able to live a regular life for as long as possible. Knowing how heavily the truth weighed on her, she’d agreed. And now her husband, the only one who truly understood, was gone.

  Some marriages couldn’t survive the exposure of an affair, even if it happened forty years ago. Theirs had been strained, even sleeping in separate bedrooms for a while. After three weeks of it, she’d marched into the guest room and gotten into bed with him.

  Grueling sessions with a marriage counselor had unearthed decades of resentment. The end result was a greater understanding of each other, and a professional pairing the two had never experienced before. Tom began to use government connections to see what he could uncover about Argentum. But when the official investigation discredited Lynn’s claims of a vast conspiracy, Tom realized that he could no longer align himself with a government that was waging a war on the truth. He gave up his Senate seat, cutting all ties with Washington while quietly tapping into his resources. As Lynn re-established her research into the missing, she found the husband from whom she had kept so many secrets for so long was now an invaluable assistant.

  Tom had frowned, however, when that package had arrived on their doorstep, containing a generic cell phone to which a single note was attached, with a phone number. Vowing to keep no more secrets, Lynn acknowledged the handwriting belonged to Dr. Steven Richards. Tom had just squeezed her hand and whispered that he trusted her. Her heart swelled for her husband in a way it hadn’t for years.

  Steven had sounded frantic when she called, saying he was on his way to Mexico to confirm something that she desperately needed to know. Keeping the conversation short and calm, she said she looked forward to hearing his findings and reminded him that she wanted the letters about her mother that the Corcillium had offered in exchange for her cooperation.

  Steven had only said he understood.

  Months later, she’d gotten irritated and used the phone to call again. A man had answered, saying that the Corcillium thought it best to keep their communication extremely limited from now on. She’d demanded the letters from her father, which the man said they hoped to provide in time. In response, she’d said that her property was off limits until the letters were provided, and to tell that to Steven himself. The man promised to relay the message.

  It still made her so angry to think of her family’s private details in the possession of strangers. She’d never heard from Steven again, including what it was that had made him travel so urgently to Mexico. He hadn’t even ever inquired about Anne, his biological daughter, or any of his grandsons. He must have fully embraced the reclusive life of the Corcillium.

  Lynn pulled her hair back off her neck, looking up to the blistering bright sky, wishing she had an elastic hair tie to lift the curls and alleviate the heat—

  She held the position, blinking several times, forcing herself to keep squinting. After all, what she had just seen could have been a trick of the imagination.

  But then the line above the trees took shape again, like the long tail of a kite in the wind. The swarm drifted apart, the insects separating so thoroughly that it was if they disappeared altogether. She held her breath, waiting, until they once again, for just a moment, joined together, making the shape.

  The same formation that she’d seen above her own woods. The same formation she’d seen in the photographs far above other abduction sites.

  Not ladybugs. It couldn’t be. Moths, perhaps? What was native to Maryland—?

  The answer came in the singing all around her, in the twittering crescendos of cicadas.

  Someone, somewhere in these vast pines, had been taken.

  As she looked down to the trees, she saw movement. Another security guard, probably on assignment to patrol the woods. She waited, slowly letting her hair fall once again. A minute later, a man moved, so deep into the trees that the green foliage almost completely blocked him from view. She saw another, then, both wearing camouflage pants and shirts, their brown ball caps curved just as William preferred to wear his. They carried rifles and had stopped to stare at her.

  She lifted her hand to her chest to conceal her movement from the guard on the patio. She gave an urgent wave.

  The men were so far away that she couldn’t see their expressions, but neither returned the gesture. She saw one pull up something from his neck. It was black, and he raised it to his eyes.

  She waited for a moment, hoping he was focusing the binoculars. She began to mouth the words. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.

  The sound of shoes on grass came from behind.

  Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.

  “Ma’am, time to go back inside,” said the guard.

  Keep the binoculars up. Please.

  She waited till the guard was directly behind her, and she dramatically turned, pushing him away.

  “Ma’am!”

  “Get your hands off me!” she cried out, striking him again.

  As she’d hoped, he reached up and took her arm gently. “Mrs. Roseworth, are you alright—”

  She violently tore her arm away. Please keep watching.

  “You can’t keep us here!”

  “Ma’am! That’s enough! This heat has clearly gotten to you. Time to go inside and cool off. I promise you, you are in no danger at all. You need to relax.”

  “I will not relax!” she practically screamed.

  “Lynn?” Roxy had come out to the patio.

  “They have to let us go!” Lynn called out.

  “That’s enough,” the guard said, this time forcefully taking her by the arm.

  Lynn struggled but let the man lead her away. Please keep watching. Please.

  “Lynn, what’s wrong?” Roxy asked.

  “Get back in the house!” the guard barked.

  “Listen jerk off, you take your hand off my friend right now,” Roxy walked forward.

  The guard ushered them b
oth inside, closing the door. “That was your last trip outside. Best make yourself comfortable. You just lost any privilege you thought you had by making that scene out there. You best calm the hell down. If you thought you could get one of the other agents to think I’m mistreating you, trust me, you’re not that good of an actress.”

  Lynn gave the agent a sharp look. “Sir, you are completely unaware of what I am capable of doing.”

  He turned around and drew the curtain across the French doors. He then stepped through the doors, shutting them tightly.

  “What the hell happened out there?” Roxy asked.

  Lynn moved past her. “Did you bring any lipstick?”

  “Come on. It was important to me that I look my best out in the middle of nowhere. They wouldn’t let us take anything. Why? What is going on?”

  Lynn rushed to the desk in the room, quickly rummaging through the bare contents inside. She found a lone pen, but no paper.

  “Did you have heatstroke out there?”

  “No,” Lynn said, walking over the bookshelf. She searched among the row of coffee table books, finding one on beaches of the East Coast. The first page had just a small dedication to the lovers of the ocean. Tearing out the page, she hurried to the bathroom.

  “OK, I’m starting to worry that you have indeed lost your mind.”

  “Come in the bathroom. And close the door.”

  “What are you doing?” Roxy asked, pulling the door shut behind her.

  “Turn on the water.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they have certainly set up cameras inside the bedroom, and microphones. The faucet will drown out our words.” Lynn reached over and began to draw out large letters, scribbling back and forth on the page to darken them.

  “Well, I’m going to find one of those cameras and take off my clothes and really give them something to look at,” Roxy said, looking over her shoulder. “What in the world are you writing? HELP?”

  “Turn on the shower too. There were men in the woods. Hunters. They saw me. And I bet my life on the fact that someone had been abducted from these woods.”

  “Wait. People saw you? And how do know there’s been an abduction from here?”

  “The shower, Roxy! Especially if you’re going to talk that loud.”

  “Fine.” She turned on the faucet at the sink and above the tub. “Are you sure they were hunters? In the summer?”

  “They must be hunting squirrel or quail. They were carrying rifles and were wearing camouflage. One had on binoculars, and I swear he looked at me. If they’re local, I bet they’ve noticed the swarm and came to look at it.”

  “Swarm? Like the ladybugs—”

  “Yes. But this time they’re cicadas.”

  “Cicadas? Are they making the same shape?”

  “Yes. You wouldn’t notice it unless you stood and watched for a while. I assume one of the hunters saw it. And that’s why I got all dramatic out there. I hope they got worried by what they saw.”

  Lynn walked to the small window in the bathroom, raising the wood blinds. She looked out, seeing none of the guards walking around. She slid the paper onto the window.

  She peered over the page, biting the inside of her lip. Please come in for a closer look. Please don’t think I’m some crazy old woman with dementia who wandered out.

  For the next hour she stood and watched, with Roxy pacing or sitting on the toilet lid. “Nothing?” she asked for the seventeen time.

  “I would tell you if I saw something. No. Nothing.”

  “Maybe they didn’t see you after all. If one of those guards walks by outside and sees that sign, we’re going to get quite the lecture. Not that I care. Screw flashing the cameras, maybe I’ll strip down naked, and when he opens the curtains from outside, he’ll be so blinded that we can make a run for it.”

  “Like I said before—and just proved again—there’s nowhere to run,” Lynn said.

  “Don’t sound so defeated. This was the most excitement we’ve had all day. It was worth the try.”

  At the closure of another hour, they heard the door to the bedroom open. “Dinner,” said a deep voice from beyond.

  “Just one second. Waxing my upper lip,” Roxy called out, opening the bathroom door.

  Sighing, Lynn snatched the sign from the window and walked out.

  After the food was delivered and the door to the hallway once again locked, she and Roxy sat at the table and softly spoke.

  “Those swarming cicadas. If someone was taken out there, it means you were right,” Roxy said, toying with a tough piece of overcooked chicken.

  “It’s happening at all the places where people have vanished. I developed contacts all over the world at the different abduction sites. When I saw the swarming happening above our woods, I reached out to them, asking them to take video or photographs, to see if they saw it as well. Even in Argentum, where one of the families of the missing took video above the town. It took me considerable time, but I found the shape there in the falling snow, clustering as it drifted.”

  “I hate to even suggest it … but have you thought about sharing what you’ve uncovered with the government? To warn them?”

  “I am afraid it would mean they would kill us all. Starting with William.”

  “God, Lynn. There has to be another way.”

  “I just need to think.”

  “We have plenty of time for that.”

  Having lost all trace of an appetite, Roxy grabbed two books from the shelf and attempted to read. Two hours later, she exclaimed she was so bored that her only option was to go to bed early.

  It was only beginning to darken when Lynn herself started to doze in a chair. With Roxy softly snoring, Lynn closed her eyes.

  Don’t go to sleep. Think. Think how to get out. Get to Stella. Get to Kate. Get to William. He has to know. Above anyone else, he has to know—

  The gunshots in the distance prompted her to sit up.

  “What the hell is that?” Roxy said, still deep in sleep.

  “Rifles,” Lynn said, sitting up. The sounds resounded again, closer to the house. They both hurried to the curtains, parting them.

  The only true light came from the sole outdoor lamp above the front door to the house, and it barely penetrated the night’s gloom. But it was enough to see the shapes of two guards rushing quickly past, heading in the direction of another gunshot.

  “What’s going on?” Roxy asked.

  “I don’t know—”

  A loud rapping sound came from the bathroom. With Roxy clutching Lynn’s arm, they walked through the dark to the bathroom. The sound repeated.

  As they peered around, a flashlight illuminated a face outside the window. The light revealed a young man’s face underneath the bill of a hat.

  Waving at Roxy to stay back, Lynn didn’t dare to turn on the light. She felt for the book page and the pen still sitting on the sink, unlatching the bolt on the window and lifting the pane.

  “Are you the lady out in the yard?” the man whispered. “Are you OK?”

  “Thank you, thank you for coming,” Lynn said. “Thank God you saw me.”

  “My brother actually did. Said he didn’t like how that guy was yanking you around.”

  At this proximity, Lynn realized this was no man. He had to be barely on the edge of sixteen, and reeked of alcohol.

  “We don’t have much time. I’m writing down a phone number. It’s my daughter. Please, please call her and tell her where we are.”

  When he responded, the beer on his breath almost made Lynn flinch. “My grandpa would kill us if he knew we were up here. He’s chapped our butts before for snooping around the old Scotter place. We always wonder what’s going on over here, with all the men in suits and stuff. My brother didn’t believe me that that the cicadas were acting weird again, so I brought him out to show him. We didn’t think we’d see you too.”

  “Please, just take this number and run. And thank your brother.”

  “He’s hid
ing under a deer tarp right now. We figured we needed a distraction to get to where you stuck that sign. What kind of trouble are you in—oh shit!”

  He turned off the flashlight, snatched the book page, and took off running, quickly vanishing into the night. Lynn held her breath, peering forward.

  The crickets and cicadas outside were so loud it was almost piercing. She nearly didn’t hear the sounds of footsteps that arrived at the edge of the house, just beyond the window. Quietly, she slid the window shut, backing away.

  For a brief moment, she saw the outline of the two guards pass the window, walking from the house towards the trees where the boy had run.

  ELEVEN

  She knew the sound of her heels were as rattling to the male power grid in Washington as a reporter who’d uncovered pork projects hidden in a transportation bill. Here she comes, they thought, her Jimmy Choos making more noise than their Allen Edmonds. It always happened as she strode into a meeting, the eyes of the mostly male faces either going straight to her chest, or disapprovingly to her blond hair. It’s all real, fellas, she often wanted to declare, plopping down her briefcase.

  Kate was so used to the constant evaluation, she could smell it on men like a bad cologne. It was strong in the ones around her as they moved down the hallway and into the elevator. Her white suit stood out sharply against their black pants and coats. Her frequent companions in these last, horrible days. Her own funeral procession.

  As the elevator descended, she waited for a quick stop. After all, there shouldn’t be many floors beneath a warehouse. Yet they continued to an uncomfortable depth.

  “We’re almost there, Senator.”

  “It’s fine,” she lied.

  It wasn’t fine, none of it was fine. The fact that she was even back here, sinking beneath the SSA’s headquarters, was troubling enough. But it had been her own doing; she’d insisted on knowing more, especially given that her mother and nephew’s files were missing information. There were references to absent personal letters, something about notations from her great-grandmother Freda. But she had seen little else other than the video of the questioning of her mother as a little girl when she’d been found in Mexico.