Gone Dark

by C. J. Lyons

  “Mr. McCabe,” she called. “I hope you didn’t scare off Ms. Wright. She and I were developing a plan to reach out to Cherish Walker.” A white lie, but close enough to the truth to make her point: it was the Beacon Group’s work that had solved the case, not McCabe’s stupid catfishing scheme.

  Then she drew close enough to see into the Escalade’s rear compartment. Sylva was there, gasping for air as if in pain, her arms restrained by two-inch wide nylon webbing with a thick ratcheting clasp, the kind used to secure cargo into place on truck beds. McCabe raised a pistol, aiming it at Sylva’s face.

  “Stay quiet and get in,” he ordered Lucy.

  A myriad of choices flew through her mind, none of them involving Lucy getting into the SUV. But no matter how fast she imagined herself moving to cross the distance between them and tackling McCabe or drawing her pistol, every scenario gave him more than enough time to pull the trigger and kill Sylva. Instead of moving, she tried to distract him, to pull his attention away from Sylva long enough for her to take action. “Who are you?”

  McCabe kept his gaze and aim directed at Sylva. “Get in and I’ll tell you everything.”

  Before Lucy could move, he flicked his free hand up and out, and a blue blaze of electricity crackled through the air. Not an ordinary stun gun, she realized, as lightning fired along her nerves and every muscle locked into place. A cattle prod. Higher voltage and a shitload more pain.

  Muscles frozen, she tumbled to the ground. McCabe pinned her into place with another shock to the small of her back. He slid her shirt up, removed her pistol, tossed her phone, and then threw her into the rear of the SUV. As she drooled, her chest muscles spasming so every breath was a struggle, her vision swimming red, he wrapped her arms and ankles in cargo straps, ratcheting them so tight they bit into her flesh.

  “Jack, no,” Sylva moaned, from behind Lucy.

  Jack…Jack Kutler? Before she could voice her thought, the smell of burning flesh filled the air as he zapped first Sylva and then Lucy. The world grew dim, fading into a blood-red void of pain.

  I froze. I’ll never forgive myself for it, but Lord help me, I froze. When I saw Jack Kutler marching up to Sylva, it was like a ghost come back to life.

  Sure, his face looked totally different from how I remembered. But the way he moved, that possessive gleam in his eye—at that moment, it was if he owned the world, owned my soul. I shrank back behind the restaurant’s pillar, pulled down my hat to hide my face, and said nothing.

  When I gathered the courage to glance up again, he was walking Sylva out. The other stranger, Lucy, followed at a distance. It took me a minute to clear my head enough to count out the money to pay my bill. All I could think was: what did Jack want with Sylva? All these years I’d thought she was safe because he and the Reapers knew nothing about her.

  Stupid, stupid girl. Ten years was nothing to a guy like Jack. Even as a kid, once he had his mind set on something, nothing could stand in his way. Not an opposition lineman on the football field, not a skinny little girl who’d only wanted to get home out of the storm… The only person who’d ever said no to Jack was Hank…and I’d killed him.

  I scrambled out of the restaurant and spotted Lucy beside a large black SUV with tinted windows and an open rear hatch. Was Sylva inside? What had he done to her?

  Jack tugged at Lucy’s arm. Suddenly he lunged, and she fell. I ran forward, hid behind a parked car, and carefully inched up to look through its windows. Jack was fiddling with something in the rear of the SUV, and then he banged the hatch closed, wiped his hands on his slacks, and strode to the driver’s side.

  Lucy and Sylva were nowhere to be seen.

  I turned and ran. Sylva’s Prius was parked near our room. There was a spare key in the wheel well. It had been a long time since I’d driven—I didn’t have a license or any form of ID; I was a ghost that way—but it didn’t matter. Jack had Sylva. And I was her only hope.

  Jack drove ten miles over the speed limit, even on the steep switchbacks, heading west over the mountains. I couldn’t take that risk; what if the police stopped me? I didn’t care as much about being arrested as I did my mom’s safety. The Reapers had the police in their pocket, everyone knew that. Which meant there was no one I could call for help… except maybe the one person who’d helped me before. The Peacekeeper. Or snake, depending on how you looked at it. Warren.

  It was a risk. He’d warned me that if I ever returned to Craven County, I’d end up paying with my life. And my mom’s. But if it saved Sylva, then it was worth it.

  We hit a straightaway where I finally had a few bars on my phone, and I made the call, praying his number hadn’t changed over the years. Before me, the mountain peaks were hidden by storm clouds tumbling through the sky, mirroring the black waves of panic that threatened to smother me whole.

  “It’s Cherish,” I said, when Warren finally answered. “Jack took Sylva. I’ll do anything you want. Just help her.”

  He was silent for so long I thought the call had been dropped. Lord knew that happened often enough in Craven, even in good weather.

  “Where?” he asked.

  I knew the answer to that—had spent the entire drive imagining it, my greatest fears come to life. “The slaughterhouse.”

  “On my way.” He hung up, and I was alone with my fear.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When Lucy came to, she was lying face down with her chin resting in a small puddle of coffee-smelling vomit. Thankfully, most of it had soaked into the carpet on the floor of the Escalade’s cargo area. She was hogtied, unable to straighten her legs enough to try to kick out a taillight or window. She rolled onto her side and saw that Sylva’s legs weren’t restrained and that she’d managed to prop herself up on the seat back in a kneeling position.

  Lucy lay there, forcing air into her lungs, trying to drown out the pain that hammered along her cramped muscles, listening to Sylva and McCabe’s—Jack’s—conversation.

  “She won’t come after me, you know,” Sylva was saying. “I left Cherish. We had a fight. That’s why I’m here in North Carolina. Alone.”

  “I doubt that, but she’ll either come on her own, or I’ll have time to have a little fun before sending her a video from your phone. Doesn’t matter, either way. She’ll still come.”

  Sylva fell silent, resting her head on the seat, her body swaying as the SUV jostled around a curve. Thunder sounded in the distance and rain drummed against the windows and roof, providing an eerie background noise that echoed through the vehicle.

  “You know where we’re going—right, Sylva? Can’t remember if you ever made it out to one of Hank’s parties.”

  “I never got invited. But yeah, I know where we’re going.”

  Lucy rolled toward Sylva, struggling to contort her body into a position where she could try to loosen Sylva’s restraints without Jack seeing her in the rearview mirror. Sylva shifted, stretching her wrists back behind her until Lucy’s fingers could reach them.

  “Kutlers have been in the cattle business for over a century,” Jack said. “We pride ourselves on taking care of our animals from birth to death—and beyond, if you count slaughtering and rendering. We made use of every part of the cow; nothing left to waste. My great-grandfather made his fortune inventing a hydraulic foot pump that helped skin cattle and freed the operator’s hands to wield his knives for the fine work. Then his son created a steam digester, a tank that rendered anything left after butchering into cattle feed. Not a trace left behind. The perfect circle of life.” His laughter was tinny, pitched a touch too high.

  “I thought your family got out of the cattle business,” Sylva said, as Lucy fumbled at the ratchet securing the thick cargo tie. It had some kind of locking mechanism that she couldn’t pry loose.

  “Yeah. My dad pretty much squandered away the family fortune and sold most of the land. So Hank and me, we got creative. Found new ways to put the slaughterhouse to good use—amazing how profitable it was. Not to mention fun. Hank, he
liked to watch, tell me where to cut, when to finish things. Just like how he was with girls. They all found him so irresistible, but nothing would happen unless I was there. It took two of us, one to watch and give the orders, the other to carry them out. But we both had fun. Until Cherish Walker came along. That bitch destroyed my family and ruined my life. I’ve waited a long, long time to settle the score.”

  “She lost everything too,” Sylva pleaded. “Her family is gone, she’s been on the run, never had a life. And you know it wasn’t her fault.”

  “Because of her, I was left all alone!” he thundered. “It was like I was dead inside, alone in the dark. But then when I stopped taking the medication, Hank found me again. He tells me what to do, just like always, and we both have fun. Just like we used to.”

  Sylva shuddered and looked back down at Lucy. Lucy’s fingers had grown numb as she tried every angle she could manage, but the clasp wouldn’t budge. Still, she wouldn’t give up.

  They made a sharp turn onto an even bumpier road, splashing through puddles and bouncing over ruts that tumbled Lucy away from Sylva.

  “All this time,” Sylva said, her voice a hoarse whisper, “have you been—” She swallowed, unable to finish.

  Jack laughed again. “Told you. Me and Hank. We’re inseparable. Unstoppable. The dream team—just like back in high school. He tells me how to get the girls, what to say, I bring them home, and then the real fun begins. Took a lot of practice, figuring out exactly what we wanted to do to Cherish—how to make it last, how to make her understand what pain really is. Don’t worry.” He slowed the SUV to a stop. “You’ll see. I promise.”

  Rain lashed through the car as he opened the door and hopped out. When he opened the hatch, he looked past Lucy, lying helpless, as if she didn’t exist. He pushed her aside and reached past her for Sylva. Sylva resisted, but then the damn cattle prod came out and she crumbled. Lightning cracked through the sky, and Jack laughed. He grabbed Sylva and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of feed.

  Then he slammed the hatch shut, and Lucy was alone. Even though it was midday, the storm cast the SUV into darkness, the only light the flashes arcing through the sky. She lay there, considering her next step. She was on top of the spare tire and tools, but there was no way to reach them below her, even if she could figure out how to roll the carpet out of her way. There was no inner latch to unlock the cargo door. She thought about kicking off her shoes and sliding her ankle brace off to see if that would give her one ankle enough room to wriggle free, but the straps around her legs were too tight.

  Which left going forward. And it was going to hurt, but pain was already cramping her body—better to move now while she still had some feeling left. She rolled up to a kneeling position. Leaning against the seat back, she rocked her body, using the seat as a pivot point. Every joint felt stretched to near dislocation, but she kept pushing off the floor of the cargo space, heaving her body forward, until finally she was rewarded with enough momentum to go over the seat.

  She landed on her face, slipping off the slick leather and bashing into the center console, but once she caught her breath she sat up, her numb fingers fumbling for the door latch. It surprised her when it popped open—she’d half expected Jack to lock the SUV, but he was obviously focused on other things—and she fell backwards.

  The ground was soft. Too soft. Water sluiced over her body, tugging her weight into the mud, oozing into every crevice like wet cement. Rain drummed against her face, so fierce she had to close her eyes, and lightning flashed red as thunder rocked the earth around her. Wind blasted the door to the SUV shut—she couldn’t return to its shelter now even if she wanted to. As she lay there, soaked to the bone, chilled and trembling, a new sound came: the sound of trees being severed from their roots, tumbling down the mountain side, crashing to the ground.

  As if the storm was unleashing Hell, aiming its might at the Kutler slaughterhouse.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The storm howled and shook the Prius. I had the wipers and defroster on high but still could see nothing except silver streams of water and the occasional leaf clinging for mercy against the windshield before it was swept away. But I knew these mountains and this road; I could practically feel my way to the slaughterhouse.

  At least, that’s what I told myself as the Prius slipped and shuddered its way down the mountain. Then we hit the plateau, and even as I sighed with relief, hoping to pick up speed, the storm hurled its full force at me, slowing the car to a skidding crawl. A tree fell as I passed; thankfully the wind kept its trajectory away from the road, but I felt my stomach go empty, all the air sucked out at the thought of how close it had come to hitting the car. I had to get to Sylva. If it were a mere battle of wills, no storm short of the Apocalypse would stop me.

  Finally, I skidded and hydroplaned across the mud as I turned into the slaughterhouse. I stopped behind the black SUV—it appeared empty. My headlights barely pierced the darkness. There were no visible lights on in the slaughterhouse, but then the building had almost no windows. He had to be inside. With Sylva. Suddenly I felt small and helpless. How could I fight Jack? How could I stop him alone?

  I scrambled through the glove compartment, searching for a weapon. All I found was a flashlight and a folding knife. They’d have to do. My teeth were chattering—the July heat had been vanquished by the storm—as I shoved the car door open and stepped outside.

  Lying in the mud beside the SUV was a woman’s body.

  “Sylva!” I cried, my words shredded by the wind. The body moved, struggling upright. Not Sylva; the other woman, Lucy. The one who used to be an FBI agent. She could help me. She’d know how to stop Jack. I ran to her and helped her to sit. She was covered with mud, coughing and sputtering, her hands and legs hogtied behind her.

  Leaning her against the SUV, I tried to release the cargo straps restraining her. They wouldn’t budge—then I saw why. Jack had threaded locks through the ratchet handles so they couldn’t be released. So typical that Jack would have been prepared like this. I flipped the knife open and pressed the blade against Lucy’s restraints. “Where’s Sylva?”

  “Inside with him. Do you have a phone?”

  “Help’s on the way. Not sure how long, though, not with the storm.” I shifted my weight, tugging at her restraints. She winced as they bit tighter into her skin, but it was the only way to get the blade under them. Then I began sawing, our faces side by side, bodies pressed together. “I’m Cherish Walker, by the way.”

  “Lucy Guardino.”

  “I know. We did our research before your meeting with Sylva.”

  “Were you expecting Jack Kutler to show up?”

  I sucked in my breath, my vision swamped by the image of Jack grabbing Sylva’s arm as if he owned her. “No. We thought it might be a Reaper; someone who knew my mom.”

  It was Sylva’s idea, using her trip to Asheville to reach out to whoever had posted online as my mom. The chance to finally get answers, to know if my mother was safe—I couldn’t refuse. But I couldn’t let her go alone. Not that my paranoia had done us much good.

  “What really happened that night with the Kutlers?” Lucy asked.

  So many years keeping my silence. Just like I had when I saw Jack with Sylva, I hesitated. All my fault. So many people dead. Sylva… God, how could I ever forgive myself?

  Time to tell the truth. All of it.

  “Mostly what you probably already know,” I told her, my words stumbling, fumbling, straining, as if I had to shove each one off a cliff to give it life. “The storm. Hank and Jack running me off the road.” They’d planned it, planned it all—I hadn’t known that then, of course, but later it was oh, so clear. “Taking me to the slaughterhouse. Spiking my drink.”

  “Did they assault you?”

  “No. It didn’t get that far.” Almost, though. “I was just a kid. The idea that the two hottest, most popular guys in school would even notice me, much less want to be with me—that was almost more intoxicati
ng than the booze. Hank kissed me. Then we danced. It was…nice. Then Jack tried to kiss me, and I pushed him away.” I swallowed against a flush of shame. “Then I kissed Hank. By that time I had no clue what I was doing. All I knew was it felt so good. It was like I was a balloon, floating somewhere outside of my body, looking down from heaven.”

  “The drugs—probably Rohypnol or some variation of MDMA.”

  The tip of the knife nicked her skin, but I kept sawing. The heavy-duty straps were thicker than I’d realized. I shifted my weight, leaning into her body, trying to increase my leverage.

  “Why didn’t the police do a tox screen? Or at least a blood alcohol?”

  She’d understand once I finished. But right now it was taking all my courage to get through it. “All these years, you’re the first and only person I’ve ever told this to. Not even Sylva. I was terrified what would happen if I said anything. Anyway,” I continued, “Jack began to argue with Hank, said he deserved a chance before the others came. I had no idea what they were talking about. I was content just to curl up on Hank’s lap and let his hands roam where they wanted. But then Jack threw a full beer can at Hank, daring him. I looked up and he was pointing a gun at us both. I was so scared I almost came back into myself, but Hank just laughed. He helped me to my feet, planted my back to the wall, and told me to hold real still and I wouldn’t get hurt. Then he put the beer can on my head.”

  “He what?” Lucy glanced back over her shoulder at me. I didn’t meet her gaze; just focused on my work.

  “I guess he and Jack did this all the time. Played William Tell. The whole place was lined with bullet holes. I was so scared I couldn’t have run if I tried. All I could do was stand there. The gunshot was so loud I thought I’d never get that sound out of my head. When I opened my eyes, the beer can was still on my head. Jack had missed me entirely. He was swearing, and Hank grabbed the gun from him and said it was his turn. And Jack did it. He stood against the wall beside the door. Hank held me tight against his chest and forced me to hold the gun, his hand wrapped around mine. I was shaking so hard, crying. I didn’t want to do it.”