by P. C. Cast
He held her down. Her wide gaze, still on his face, searched and searched. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words emerged.
She stiffened. “I finished it.”
Another nod.
“It’s bad.”
Yet another nod.
“Really bad.”
Finally he managed to find his voice. “If you want to see it, you can see it, but I want you to remember a few things. Okay? You’re here. You’re real. And I’ve got you. I’ll never let you go.”
Her lips parted as she fought for breath and jerked upright. Her gaze drove past him, straight to the canvas. Horror cascaded over her expression.
“That’s…”
“Yeah.”
Slowly she stood. One step, two, she approached it. Her arm stretched out and she traced a fingertip through the blood dripping down the woman’s leg. Crimson stained her soft, white skin. “I can’t… That can’t… There’s just no way…”
“You’re here,” he repeated, staying close. “You’re real.”
“I would remember if something like this happened to me!”
Maybe she had done more than stumble upon Lana. Maybe she had been forced to endure a little torture of her own, but she had escaped.
Topper was now locked away, he reminded himself. She couldn’t be hurt again.
“We’ll go see my friend Bright.” Levi’s words were croaked. “He’ll test your DNA against what we found in the killer’s house.” Topper had gotten sloppy there at the end, when he’d left that female on the billboard, and that’s how they’d snagged him.
He’d stopped abducting women at night, with no one around to see as he stunned them and stuffed them into the trunk of his car. His last victim had rarely left home, and never at night, but Topper, who lived in the same neighborhood, had seen her, wanted her and had gone in to get her.
Eyes wider than before, Harper swung around to face him. “You know who he is? You already found him?”
“Yes.” And I nearly split his spine in two with my fist. “He’s in prison and can’t harm anyone else.”
“I…I want to talk to him,” she said, shocking him.
“No,” he growled, then more calmly repeated, “No. He’s not allowed to have visitors right now.”
“Try again.” Scowling, she slammed her hands on her hips. “That might have worked on someone else, but I happen to be a Law & Order fan, and I know my rights according to Hollywood and television.”
Stupid TV, ruining everything. Levi could put in a request with Topper’s attorney, and if Topper approved it, yeah, Harper could visit him. And as much as Topper liked the ladies, he’d say yes. “We aren’t bringing you to Topper’s attention.”
She mouthed the name, shuddered, then shook her head, obviously forcing her determination to rise. “He’s locked up. What can he do to me?”
Uh, only annihilate her mentally. No biggie, though, right? Questioning evil had never brought anyone satisfaction. Evil lied. Evil taunted. A person would be better served keeping their eyes on the road ahead, running the race of life.
“He can make you cry, and if you think I’ll sit back and watch that, those multiple climaxes I gave you killed your brain cells.”
“I don’t care. I want to talk to him,” she reiterated.
“Have I ever told you I prefer soft, malleable women?” he said, as mean as a honey badger. This was too important to him. He couldn’t cave.
“I. Don’t. Care.”
His eyes narrowed to tiny slits as he leaned into her. “You want to bring yourself to the attention of a killer who might have friends on the outside? A guy who would be willing to pay someone to hurt you just to send him the pictures? Yeah, that kind of thing has happened before.”
Finally he spotted a crack in her stubborn facade. But still she said, “I don’t want to, no, but I have to. Knowledge is power, and right now I’m pretty much without power. He’s got it all.”
“Lies are weakness, and lies are all you’ll get from him.”
“I have to try.”
“If I refuse to help you?” he said on a ragged breath.
“If you refuse to help me,” she replied, stepping into his personal space, peering up at him with anger and determination, “I will work around you. I’m tired of wondering. I want the truth, once and for all. I want Lana protected.”
“Peterson said the painting wasn’t of the future. Maybe Lana doesn’t need protection.”
“And Peterson knows everything? Her word is law?”
Good point. “All right,” he said. “I’ll put in a request to see him.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Harper was on edge as she and Levi trekked through the halls of King’s Landing.
She expected Peeping Thomasina to pop through the walls and scream “boo,” but the girl never showed. In fact, all of the residents were strangely quiet.
Maybe they sensed Harper’s mood. Fury and fear burned deep in her gut, desperate for a release that would not be pretty. Or, heck, maybe they were frightened of Levi. His gun was drawn and at his side, at the ready.
Unlocking her door proved difficult, because she refused to place the painting on the floor. She wanted it in her hands or in her studio, and nowhere else would do. Right now it was her only link to what had happened, what would happen or what could happen.
Before she could enter, Levi shoved past her. “I’ll check things—”
“You’re not leaving me—” She drew up beside him.
“Out,” he finished.
“Alone,” she finished at the same time. And then they stopped abruptly at the sight that greeted them.
Peterson, as well as a man Harper had never met, lounged comfortably on the couch.
The After Moonrise employee had her now-blue hair pinned into two knots that looked very much like horns. She wore a dark blue corset, a spiked dog collar and black pantalets that ended just below her knees, where blue-and-white-striped socks stretched to black ballerina slippers.
The man next to her had sandy hair and brown eyes. He was tanned and slightly weathered, as if he’d spent most of his life outdoors. But what struck Harper most was the fact that he bore the same hard look as Levi, as if he’d seen the worst the world had to offer and nothing could ever affect him again.
“Breaking and entering. Very professional,” Levi muttered, shutting and locking the door behind him.
“It served its purpose. I’m sure you’ve broken into many houses in the line of duty.” Peterson’s gaze fell to the painting. “Did you finish it?”
“First,” Levi said, stepping in front of Harper, “who’s the guy?”
“Are you always this suspicious? This is my associate, Mark Harrowitz.”
Harrowitz nodded.
Gaze shrewd, Peterson added, “I never enter a strange home alone. I’m sure you understand. He’s just here to ensure you two don’t try to murder me.”
Oh, that was all? Harper’s heart drummed in her chest as she moved to Levi’s side. “And you call us suspicious?”
A smile devoid of humor flashed. “Now that the gang’s all here, can we continue?” Her brows arched, Peterson motioned to Levi’s weapon with a tilt of her chin. “Without the threat of death?”
“Fine.” Levi sheathed his gun after moving in front of Harper.
She liked the fact that he wanted to protect her, she did, but she didn’t like that he placed himself in danger to do it. They’
d be having a chat about that later. Of course, knowing him, he’d kiss her to distract her or vow only to do what he thought was right no matter what.
“Okay, so. The painting.” Harper stepped around him and spun the canvas, allowing Peterson to view the horrific scene from top to bottom. “It’s finished, yes.”
Peterson studied the scene for a long while. Finally, she nodded. Harper took that as her signal to place the thing on its easel, out of the room, out of sight, then rejoined the group in the living room.
Levi had taken the seat across from Peterson and motioned her over. The moment she was within reach, he tugged her beside him, so that she practically reclined across his lap. A protest was not forthcoming. She liked where she was, and needed his strength.
“So what do you have for us?” he demanded. His tone lacked any kind of emotion, but there was no doubt he expected total compliance.
“You’re not going to like it,” Peterson warned.
Harper raised her chin. “Tell us, anyway.”
Silence. A nod, a sigh. Peterson leaned over and dug into the black case resting at her feet. She withdrew several sheets of paper, several newspaper clippings, a DVD and a laptop. “Did you wonder why the receptionist and I had a meltdown at the sight of you?”
“No. Straight-up rudeness,” Harper said at the same time Levi said, “Yeah,” and squeezed her in a bid for less attitude.
“Well, I apologize for that,” Peterson said. “We just don’t get many people like you in our offices.”
“What does that mean?” Harper huffed. She was too uneasy to be nice.
Harrowitz stiffened, as if he expected Harper to launch across the coffee table and attack. He was very astute. No one talked badly about Levi’s rough, gruff exterior but her!
Peterson placed her hand on his wrist, soothing him. “Before we get to that, let me ask you a few more questions.”
“No, we—” Harper tried to protest. She wanted answers of her own.
“Have you noticed anything weird about this apartment building?” Peterson asked, plowing ahead.
Levi popped his jaw. “Last night a girl appeared in Harper’s hallway and then vanished before our eyes. Clearly, she was a spirit.”
Fine. They’d do this Peterson’s way. “On more than one occasion that same girl has told me that I was a naughty girl, and that he would be coming for me, but not who ‘he’ is or what ‘he’ wants, or why she thinks I’m so naughty.”
Peterson and Harrowitz shared a look that wrecked what remained of Harper’s nerves. Never had she been so stressed, so unsure, and these people were taking time to communicate silently with each other. How frustrating!
“One more question. Someone other than you lives here,” Peterson said, head tilting to the side. “I found some of her things. Who is she?”
“Lana. The one who works for After Moonrise here in OKC.”
Peterson nodded to Harrowitz, who began typing on his PDA. Several minutes ticked by in silence, and Harper thought she would scream before he finished. At last, Harrowitz showed Peterson the screen.
After reading it, she said, “All right, then. We’ll start with you, Levi.” Peterson opened her laptop, inserted a disc, did some typing of her own and turned the screen.
Tense, Harper watched the screen. A local reporter appeared, a woman in her late fifties, distinguished with her hair in a slick bob, her makeup perfectly applied and her expression somber.
“It’s a sad day for Oklahomans,” the woman said. “One of our finest was killed in the line of duty today while trying to apprehend Cory Topper, the suspected Billboard Butcher. Allegedly, Topper stabbed the detective in the chest and thigh, and he was rushed to the nearest hospital where he was pronounced dead upon arrival.” She kept talking, but Harper had trouble hearing her.
Levi’s picture flashed over the screen, a younger version of the man she knew, serious, rough-and-tumble, wearing an army uniform. The date of his birth glowed underneath—as did the date of his death.
His death.
Eyes wide, she swung around to study him. His jaw was clenched, his skin pale.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. I would remember dying. I would have some indication that I’m no longer…human.” The last word emerged broken.
“Not always,” Peterson replied gently. “Sometimes the memory is buried because the reality is too painful to face. That leaves a big, black hole that needs to be filled. My guess is, things have happened to you lately and you have no way to explain them. You have gaps in your memory. And when you would find yourself on the right path, answers finally within reach, you’d lose more time. That was your mind shutting down as a way of protecting itself.”
Another shake of his head. “I spoke to one of my coworkers just yesterday. In person, no less. He saw me, heard me, answered my questions.”
“I’m sure he did. I’m also sure he can communicate with spirits, and that’s why you successfully conversed with him.”
He drew in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. “He can, but that doesn’t mean anything. He would have told me.”
“No. He wouldn’t have wanted to be the one to break the bad news to you.”
For a moment, stars winked through Harper’s line of sight. “But I can touch Levi,” she whispered. “And we crashed in a hotel last night, even talked to the clerk to get the room. Then Levi drove me here. In a car!”
“Either the clerk can see spirits and humored you, which isn’t likely considering most of us work for After Moonrise or in law enforcement, or you convinced yourself of what you wanted to believe. And you didn’t drive here, I promise you. Both of you expected to ride in a car, and so you both constructed a scene. If you talked it over, you’d probably discover you invented different makes and models.”
No. Impossible. “You’re wrong about this. I cooked, he ate.”
“Another lie you told yourself.”
“Then why did you tell him to put down his gun?” she demanded, her voice rising. Levi had yet to react to any of this. “If he’s a spirit, he couldn’t have shot you.”
“If he’d pulled the trigger, he would have expected something to happen. When nothing did, he would have gotten angry, probably attacked me, and Harrowitz here would have had a problem with that. Now, I know you have more questions, but I’m afraid I’m not finished yet.”
With a sad smile, Peterson typed something into the laptop and the screen changed once again. The same reporter was speaking, though her hair was styled differently and she wore a different top. Obviously this news feed was from a different day. She talked about the identities of some of Topper’s victims, and how the most recent to be killed was—
Her.
Aurora Harper.
No. No, no, no.
The stars returned, thicker, more numerous, threatening to expand and consume her entire mind. I’m not… I can’t be… “No!” she shouted, jumping to her feet. Dizziness swam through her mind, and she swayed.
Harrowitz jumped to his feet, too. His hands were fisted, his eyes slitted in warning.
Pale and a bit unsteady, Peterson unfolded more slowly. “You need to calm down, Harper. Your negative energy is painful to us, and Harrowitz here can make you hurt in turn. If he does, you may be forced into leaving this world for good, before you finish whatever you stayed here to finish.”
She wasn’t dead, she couldn’t possibly be dead, but she would deal with that in a minute. “My friend. I painted her
face before I painted mine. Is she… She can’t be… Tell me she’s alive!”
“She’s alive,” Peterson assured her, palms out in a gesture of innocence. “You painted yourself, your circumstance. I’m not sure why you first painted her face. All I know is your Lana can see the dead like Levi’s coworker. That’s why she was able to live here with you.”
See the dead.
The phrase reverberated through her mind. See the dead.
Dead.
She wasn’t, Harper thought again. She couldn’t be. Lana would have told her.
Lana, so sad sometimes, crying and sobbing, keeping so many secrets. Lana, so guilty sometimes, so desperate for Harper to figure out what had happened to her. Lana, who had stopped touching her, even in the simplest of ways.
But that was because of Harper’s aversion to physical contact. Right?
Learning the truth is the only way you’ll ever find peace, Lana had said. As if she had already known the truth herself.
Harper…could suddenly see the walls of a basement room, photos of pain and blood all around her, staring down at her. Tools hung from a board by the only door. Knives of every size, saws, hammers, spiked boards, razors and gags.
Gags laced with drugs meant to keep you awake, to keep you lucid while…while…
“No,” she croaked, shaking her head violently. She fell back into Levi’s lap. Still he gave no reaction. Was he in shock?
“You can touch Levi and he can touch you because you’re part of the same world, existing on the same plane. You will not be able to touch humans, however. Here.” Peterson extended a shaky hand. “Try me. I’ll prove it.”
Harrowitz sat down and grabbed her arm. He shook his head.
Peterson dropped her arm, sighed. “Oh, yeah. No touching the dead.”
Dead, she’d so casually stated. Dead.
“You were the last to die, Harper,” Peterson said. “Levi busted in on Topper just after he’d killed you. He saw your mutilated body and reacted. That’s why he attacked Topper. That’s why he missed the blade Topper still held.”