Dying by the Hour (A Jesse Sullivan Novel Book 2)

by Kory M. Shrum

  “So you’ll let her suffer,” Lane hisses.

  “This is why I didn’t tell you,” Brinkley counters and his composure is gone again. It’s the exhaustion talking. We are at the end of our wits. I’m running on fumes, emotionally. Gloria is running on drugs, and who knows what the hell these two are running on.

  “You always think before you act and look where it’s gotten her!”

  “Stop,” I say. I look up from the place on the ground where I crouch beside Gloria. “Please just stop. We have to take Gloria to see Dr. York. We have to sleep. We can’t leave tonight, none of us can. Chicago is a big place and not-Chicago is even bigger. Gloria can’t draw maps with an X marks the spot. And Jesse is smart and resourceful. She’ll be looking for an out, if there is one.”

  I know it’s the truth, but it is easier to say than to accept. We are a mess without you, Jess. Please come home safely.

  “I refuse to just sit here,” Lane says and he storms up the stairs. Brinkley runs up after him.

  I turn to Gloria, who looks completely and totally defeated, her shoulders slumped. Her eyes blood-shot and puffy. I see the fear, the terror and worse—the disappointment.

  I place one hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t shrink away this time. “Thank you, Gloria. For all that you did. We know more now than we knew hours ago and that means a lot. I know you’ll find her.”

  She clasps one sweaty hand over mine, before covering her eyes with the other.

  Jesse

  This place is a maze. The corridors grow darker and darker with each footstep and I must have made half a dozen lefts and rights but I keep hitting dead-ends. I don’t understand how it is so pitch black dark in here. Unlike in the great room where Caldwell left me, there are no windows in this ceiling and I smell sawdust. The sound of rustling plastic terrifies me and I freeze, listening for approaching footsteps.

  It’s hard to breathe through the pain in my ribs. Each inhale twists the invisible knife more deeply. I hit another dead-end and fall against it.

  I’m never going to get out of here.

  They’re going to figure out where I went. They were just behind me. They’ll find me and drag me back to Caldwell to await my execution.

  I start to breathe heavy as the cold fingers of panic slide around my spine.

  You’ve got to keep moving. Left, go on.

  But left is where I came from.

  Left, the voice says again and for a moment I mistake the sound of flapping plastic for wings.

  I tentatively walk forward unsure if I am hearing Gabriel or if Caldwell is inside my head. Then the building shakes. Tremors rattle the sawdust and the walls. And I realize I must be hearing Gabriel if Caldwell is still locked in battle. Surely he can’t fight and mind-rape at the same time, right? Or maybe he is just that good of a multi-tasker. I hope Liza is putting up a good fight. Keep him busy I think, until I can get out of here.

  A flood of shame washes over me.

  Am I really going to leave her to die? Yes. Abandon Liza when she clearly needs to be saved? Yes. Can you save someone who doesn’t want to be saved? No.

  Nothing can be gained by going back, I know this. So why do I feel shitty, shuffling through the darkness desperately searching for a way to save myself? I swallow against the tightness in my throat but I don’t stop.

  The next hallway lightens with scaffolding high above me opening its mouth to let the light in. Then I hear something familiar—air, a cold draft. And cars, the whoosh of sleek metallic bodies in passing.

  I touch this new wall and realize it’s fabric, not plaster. My fingers search the heavy drapery, pulling it apart as a thicker draft wafts through. Then the curtain parts and I see—a huge beautiful EXIT sign, glowing red in the darkness.

  I shove against the door and fall into bright light. The explosion of noise and light after that dark expanse of endless hallways is unbearable. The world blurs and shifts around me until the sound of a blaring horn brings back my focus. A yellow taxi whips around me and then several more cars swerve and blare their horns. I had stepped out into the middle of a busy street not realizing. I dash to the sidewalk opposite the building I just erupted from and steady myself against a brick wall.

  I cradle my ribs and breathe as the world comes into view.

  With a wide street between myself and the building I’ve just fallen out of, I am able to get a better view. It’s a huge chapel, some old church squat in the middle of a huge city. It’s a city identifiable by its packed streets, sky rise buildings and abundance of bumblebee-colored taxis. Most of the building is covered in flapping plastics and scaffolding with small signs posted on every few feet which read Closed for Renovations. I’m not surprised Caldwell has chosen a church as his fortress, but I can’t be sure what city I’m in. It’s cold here. Colder than I am used to, but the hair rising on my arms and the chill to my cheeks doesn’t tell me anything specific. Lots of cities are bigger and colder than Nashville. I could be anywhere. I’ve never been to most of the north, north-east cities so it could be any of them. But I’ve seen enough movies to know how this works.

  I step up to the curb and start to wave for a taxi. One is just pulling over when I see the back door on the church open. The woman, Caldwell’s companion and a couple of men muscle their way through the door. I duck into the cab and lay flat in the back seat unsure if they saw me.

  “Where to?” he asks as if he doesn’t notice me crouching bizarrely in the back.

  And I have no idea what to tell him because I don’t know where I am. And I don’t have any money on me. My pockets are horribly, pitifully empty.

  “I would like to go to—” I draw it out and try to buy time to think.

  “Tell me where you want to go or get out.”

  I search the map and ID information on the back of the seat for a hint. Where am I?

  The angry cabbie whirls and yells at me. “You’re filthy. Street trash! Get out! Get out, street trash!”

  “I’m not street trash,” I wail. “I’ve just been—mugged, okay?”

  Stuck to the back of the plastic divider hanging off his seat, I find what I’m looking for. The map is for Chicago. Chicago. Of course I’m in Chicago. The North American division for the Unified Church is in Chicago. I just didn’t think Caldwell would bring me so close to home.

  “I just want to go home,” I continue. “Take me to Union station.”

  He gives me a credulous look.

  “And we’ll need to stop at my bank if you want to get paid,” I add. “Please.”

  He eyes me for another minute then sighs. “I’ll have to run the meter.”

  “Do what you got to do,” I say. “Just get me the hell out of here.”

  And he does, but it’s hard to get cash from the bank without ID. Despite the large open lobby and comforting music, the clean atmosphere and helpful teller, I feel a horribly exposed. I have to give them my password, my social security information and basically my life history. Apparently, covered in dirt makes people less interested in helping you.

  So I make up a story. I’ve been mugged. I was dragged through the dirt and beat up when they took my wallet. Just give me some freaking money so I can get on the train and get the hell out of this godforsaken city. It isn’t hard to say that last bit with sincerity.

  Luckily, my bank has pictures of their clients on file that are usually printed on the front of our check cards. And because my face matches that picture, even caked in dirt, my life gets much easier.

  My ribs are burning and throbbing like hell and the teller asks me three times if I am sure I’m all right. I motion for her to fork over the cash and I limp out of the lobby.

  I know trains don’t go all the way to Nashville, but one can take me somewhere, anywhere that’s not so close to Caldwell.

  And once I get some distance between me and Caldwell I’ll tell Brinkley where I am and he can pick me up. And I need to tell someone about Gloria. I hope she got away too.

  Hassan, the nic
e cabbie who waits for me this whole time while I sort out my affairs, gets a $20 tip when I climb out of the cab at Union station.

  I am on the steps of Union Station and a strange feeling overcomes me. I’m just about to turn when rough hands snatch me up. I go to scream but someone clamps a hand over my mouth. Then I see the flash of blue uniform. Cops. Why cops? I haven’t done anything.

  Someone shoves me onto the pavement and starts to cuff me.

  And the people just watch. They just sidestep me. Even Hassan is quick to pull off the curb.

  They drag me off the steps toward the dark alley running parallel to the train station. My shoes scrape against the cement as I struggle but it’s hard to put up much of a fight with sharp jabs of fire burning my whole left side. They drop me on my feet in the shade of the dark alleyway but I can barely stand. I’m hurting so bad. I think struggling made it worse. I just want to lie down or something.

  As the hands release me I look up to see Caldwell standing in the alleyway. Caldwell with his right arm soaked in blood up to his rolled up sleeve. His left hand also has something dark crusted under the nails.

  “Oh shit.”

  “You are an unappreciative guest,” Caldwell says. “You left without saying thank you or even goodbye.”

  “Thank you. Goodbye,” I say.

  I start to back away but huge hands push me deeper into the alley. I turn to see it’s actually four cops blocking my way out. When I turn back around Caldwell has a gun in his hand and he takes aim at my heart.

  “Devon broke two of your ribs,” he says. “I can see them from here.”

  If he can see it, then—“Liza is dead,” I say.

  The blood on his hands is proof.

  “And your heart,” he says with maniacal glee. “Your heart is beating so fast. Are you afraid?”

  “No,” I lie.

  Instead, he raises the gun and points it right at me. If my heart wasn’t pounding before, it sure as hell is now.

  “We both know there is only one way to heal your ribs.”

  And before I even open my mouth to say something sarcastic, or clever, or even to just be a jerk because this obviously crazy person has me at gun point, he pulls the trigger. And it is like someone punches me hard in the chest.

  I’ve nowhere to go but down.

  Ally

  After dropping Gloria off at the hospital, I go home. Even though I just slept twelve hours, I’m exhausted again. Maybe I’m not eating right. Or exercising. Something. I have zero energy.

  The dreams come quickly.

  Jesse in a white cotton nightgown hanging past her feet, moving toward the barn at the edge of her parent’s property. The barn itself is in flames, red-orange hands swirling and spinning in a Pentecostal ecstasy as they stretch up toward the star-filled sky. I’m behind Jesse, watching her walk away from me toward the barn. I’m screaming after her, but she doesn’t turn. She just continues her slow, steady procession toward the fire as if the heat still calls to her like a Siren across the dark sea of the night.

  Jesse falls to her knees in the field, not fifteen feet from the fire and starts screaming. Her howls shake my bones. Her hands wrap around her head as if drowning out some terrible sound I can’t hear as I run and run toward her without ever gaining ground.

  Then I see him.

  Caldwell emerges from the fire untouched, his pristine suit jacket smoking as he moves from the heat of the fire into the cold night. He doesn’t see me. His gaze is fixed on Jesse crouching and wailing on the ground as he walks toward her.

  I run harder and harder but I still can’t get any closer. He will get to her before I will and I can’t bear it.

  And something is happening to Jesse—something that delights Caldwell to no end.

  Her nightgown bulges in the back, rising up like a parachute behind her, filling like a balloon.

  Jesse falls forward on her hands and knees screaming as if whatever invisible demon riding her back is causing her a great deal of pain. Her eyes are squeezed shut in the firelight as she clutches at the soil beneath her.

  Then twin wings erupt through the stretched fabric of her nightgown. Her bare back is glimpsed only for a moment before the black feathers spill out behind her spreading and extending like a great eruption of tar. They settle and harden into the soft feathers. The wings themselves are twice as long as she is and blacker than the night above us.

  Caldwell is clapping.

  I’ve stopped running.

  I’m standing in the field where we played as children, terrified to move a step closer. This is when Jesse turns toward me, eyes rimmed with tears.

  Her mouth moves, pleading but I don’t hear her voice so much as sense it. Help me.

  Before I can, Caldwell reaches down and grabs the top of her black wing and wrenches her back. He drags her into the fire screaming by those delicate wings, her arm outstretched toward me in a desperate plea.

  I wake up drenched in a cold sweat. I’ve kicked my comforter into the floor and the chilly air from my open window ices the sweat on my skin. Winston is on the edge of the bed as far away from me as he can possibly get, watching me wearily. He cowers as if I’ve struck him in my sleep and maybe I did. I obviously thrashed enough to throw off the blanket.

  I pull him to me and it isn’t until I’m holding him that I realize I’m shaking all over. Not from the cold window which I yank shut in one violent thrust. I’m terrified.

  Ally. Help me.

  I leap from the bed and pull on my shoes.

  Ten minutes later I’m outside the safe house, pausing just long enough beyond the entrance for an ambulance to whip past me heading toward the hospital. I’m only vaguely aware of the time, sometime after seven a.m. as I climb the stairs to our floor.

  I burst into the apartment and the first thing I see is Nikki sitting at the monitoring station. A smile begins to spread over her face until she gets a good look at me.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “Where is Parish?” I don’t wait for the answer. I storm across the room to the supply cabinet. I remove a electroshock weapon from the second shelf. I click it to see that it’s charged and turn to face Nikki. She’s standing at the station watching me as if partially worried she might be the one I’ll target.

  “He isn’t a morning person. This is my shift,” she says. Her eyes go to the electroshock weapon. “What do you need that for?”

  I blaze past her to the room with the woman captive. Through the dark two-way glass I see her sleeping. Her head hangs forward, resting on her chest.

  Nikki appears beside me.

  “Can you be away from your post?” I say. I place a hand on the doorknob ready to turn it and enter the room when Nikki grabs me.

  Her eyes are wide. “What’s going on?”

  I tell her about Jesse. I tell her about Gloria’s pictures and about my dream and everything else that comes to mind and flows right out of my mouth as if a dam has broken inside me.

  “I have to know where they would take her,” I say. “I have to.”

  I go to yank the door open with both hands and Nikki presses on the door. “I’ll go with you.”

  “You don’t want to see me like this.” I don’t want to see me. The woman hears us rattling the door knob and is no longer sleeping. Her eyes are wide in anticipation and her mouth slightly open as she cranes her neck to stare at the door.

  Nikki turns my chin so I have to look her in the eyes. “I’m not letting you go in there by yourself.”

  She releases her pressure on the door and I pull it wide.

  I enter the room and look at the woman tied to the chair. Her forehead is slick with beads of sweat and her hair hangs loose around her head, heavy with a week’s worth of oil and neglect.

  “I’m going to be honest,” I say, looking down into her eyes. “I’ve never tortured anyone before.”

  Her mouth is open as if she is unsure how to react to my blunt honesty.

  “But the person I lo
ve most in the world was just taken by Caldwell.”

  “You’re Alice Gallagher.”

  “Caldwell has her,” I say, without stopping. I barely register Nikki slipping into the room and coming around behind me. If the woman hadn’t looked away from me long enough to watch Nikki, I probably wouldn’t have noticed at all. When she looks back to me, I make my move.

  I show her the electroshock weapon before I click the button on. I let the blue-white electric lights tattattattat in front of her face, watching the static fire reflected in her eyes.

  “I’ll be clear,” I say over the hissing, rapid fire click of the electroshock weapon. “I want to know where Jesse is and I’m willing to do some really terrible things to you to find out. I’ll ask you a question and you’d better answer me. Do you understand?”

  The woman hesitates and I put the electric fire to the exposed part of her neck. I watch her convulse in her seat before I must close my eyes, counting to three.

  I click the electroshock weapon off.

  “See how that worked? I asked a question and you didn’t answer. If I ask you another question and you don’t answer again, you know what will happen. Don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she says. Her bottom lip quivers so I focus on her eyes instead. But even those are wide and hollow.

  I can’t do this.

  “Do you know of any places in Chicago that they would take Jesse?”

  She hesitates and I move the electroshock weapon toward her but I don’t reach her neck before she speaks. “There is a cathedral on State Street. If she were in Chicago they would take her there. It’s being renovated, so it keeps the people out.”

  Nikki goes very still in the corner and it is the sudden stillness that reminds me again she is in this room. That she is keeping her promise to stay beside me through this. And I don’t realize how comforting her presence is until now.

  I remember what Gloria said. She was in Chicago but they’ve moved her. “If they were to move her out of Chicago, but somewhere close to transport her without a big fuss, where would they take her?”