Deadly Visions Boxset

by Alexandria Clarke

  One photo faced the opposite direction than the rest, folded in half so that only the white reverse side was visible. I plucked it free and flattened it out. It was a picture of me and Holly, jumping off the second tier of a boat dock and into the lake below. The lake was not far from our neighborhood. It was where most families in Belle Dame spent hot summer days, desperate for a way to cool off under the North Carolina sun. Holly was small, maybe four or five, dwarfed by a neon green life jacket. She’d been scared at first. The dock was a good ten or twelve feet up, an intense distance for some kids. But eventually she had taken my hand, sprinted toward the end, and leapt off. I remembered plunging into the water, wishing that I could bottle Holly’s bravery and keep it with me for when I was feeling meek. Even then, Holly was courageous and resilient. After that first jump, we couldn’t keep her off the dock for more than a few minutes. She circled round and round, squealing with joy as she splashed into the water below, until the afternoon thunderstorms rolled in and forced us to the covered area with the picnic tables near the boat ramp.

  Like with the postcards, a message was scrawled on the back of the photo in Holly’s handwriting. If there was one good thing about these messages, it was seeing proof that Holly was alive, or at least she had been when she’d written out these clues for me.

  Better hurry, the message read. She’s running out of air.

  Panic bloomed like a poisonous flower in my lungs. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers trembling against the screen as I clicked on Mac’s contact information and pressed the call button.

  “Yeah?” Mac sounded distracted. A copy machine beeped and muted conversations buzzed in the background of the call. “Bridget, what’s up?”

  “I need a ride out to the lake,” I said.

  “I told you I’m on duty—”

  Overhead, a door slammed.

  “Shit!” I set the shoebox aside and started re-stacking the junk in the corner of the basement as quietly as possible.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Her voice was garbled, as if she’d placed a hand over her mouth to keep the sound from traveling to the other cops at the station. “Don’t tell me someone caught you at that house.”

  “Not yet,” I griped, listening to a set of footsteps cross right over my head. “Someone just came home.”

  “Bridget!”

  “Can you not scold me?” I asked, balancing an ancient dollhouse on the top of the pile. “Listen to me, Mac. I found something here. I think Noemie’s in trouble. Hell, she might already be dead. We need to get out to the lake—no!”

  The dollhouse toppled over, tumbling off the junk pile in what felt like slow motion. I dove, desperate to catch it, but it eluded my grasp and fell to the floor with an earsplitting crash. My phone flew out of my hand and skittered across the room. Above, the footsteps halted. The basement door creaked open at the top of the stairs.

  I crawled across the floor on my hands and knees, grabbed the phone, and scrambled to hide behind the washing machine just as someone flicked on the basement light from the staircase.

  “Bridget?” The grainy sound of Mac’s voice through the phone felt as loud as an atomic bomb, even though she wasn’t on speakerphone.

  “Shh,” I hushed her, folding my knees up to my chest to make myself as small as possible. “Just shut up for a second.”

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice called down the stairs. “Is anyone there?”

  She took a tentative step downward, then another and another until she came into view. It was the mom from before, sans children, holding a baseball bat at the ready over her shoulder. I hardly dared to breathe as she inched by, praying that she couldn’t hear the steady beeping of the copy machine at the police station through the cell phone. When she rounded the corner and spotted the fallen dollhouse, her shoulders slumped, and she dropped the baseball bat to the floor with a relieved sigh. She didn’t notice the old shoebox set away from the rest of the mess.

  “Damn it, John,” she muttered under her breath, picking up the shattered pieces of the dollhouse. “I told you to clean this stuff up. Ugh. I need the vacuum.”

  She left the mess and jogged back upstairs, unaware of my presence. She left the door wide open, and I could hear the wheels of the vacuum cleaner rolling across the floor. If I wanted to make it out of the basement unseen, now was my only chance. I unfolded myself from the space behind the washing machine. My legs cramped up as the blood rushed back to my feet, but I ignored the static tingling and sprinted toward the walkout door, all too aware of the woman’s footsteps descending the staircase once more. I grabbed the shoebox and tucked it under my arm. Then I slipped outside, vaulted up the stairs, and sprinted down the side yard toward the street.

  A few blocks down, I remember my ongoing phone call. I set the phone to my ear. “Mac?”

  “Still here,” she grumbled.

  “Can you pick me up?” I asked her. “I’m on Fortieth Avenue, heading toward the lake. We need to get there as soon as possible.”

  “Bridge, if you think that Noemie’s in trouble, then I should really send someone out there right now,” Mac replied. The noise of the station had faded out. “Like a paramedic.”

  “Damn it, how many times do we have to have this conversation?” I panted, cutting through someone’s yard. “They’ll keep Noemie alive long enough to screw with me. I can be at the lake park in five minutes if you come get me.”

  “Don’t jump that damn fence,” she ordered. “I’m already pulling up behind you.”

  Sure enough, Mac’s squad car ambled up the street. I opened the passenger side door before she came to a full stop and lowered myself inside. “Go, go, go. Make a left up there. It’s a shortcut.”

  She did as asked. “What did you find?”

  I showed her the picture and the message on the back. As soon as she read the threat, she accelerated and pulled a tight turn around the corner of the neighborhood. As the car straightened out, she floored it, shooting away from the more populated side of Belle Dame to plunge into the swampy shadows of the surrounding nature.

  “I assume you got out of there unnoticed,” she said tersely as the car hurtled through the trees.

  “Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Relax. I’m not sixteen anymore. I’ve since honed my burglary skills.”

  “How reassuring.”

  A fallen log blocked our lane ahead. Mac swerved around it, her eyes flashing to where my knuckles were white against the dashboard.

  “Everything’s going to be okay, Bridget,” she reassured me.

  “God, I hope so. Make a right at that dirt road up there.”

  She slowed down to turn onto the narrow road that led to the public boat ramp, and we trundled into the little picnic area that used to be a favorite spot for the locals. The park had fallen out of favor. Now, the wooden tables were covered in green moss and the outdoor grills had rusted over. The concrete that made up the simple boat ramp was cracked in two, and water lapped up to kiss the algae that covered it. The sun had beaten the warm rich color out of the dock, resulting in dull gray wood that looked as though it might crumble off and fall into the lake with one heavy footfall.

  “Well?” Mac slammed the door of her cruiser shut and planted her hands on her hips to survey the area. “I don’t see anything. Are you sure this is the place?”

  “Dead certain,” I told her, but I held the photograph up to compare it to reality to make sure. The dead and empty park looked nothing like the happy place I recalled from mine and Holly’s childhood adventures.

  “Let’s check the water.”

  With her hand resting on the gun at her hip, Mac began to sweep the area, starting at the far side of the park. I headed straight to the rickety dock, the toes of my sneakers resting against the first plank of weathered wood.

  “Noemie?” I called out, cupping my hands around my mouth to project the sound. “Are you out here?”

  No answer. I didn’t expect one. It would’ve bee
n too easy. I stepped onto the dock, testing my weight against each beaten plank before advancing. Mac, noticing my progression, jogged over.

  “Are you nuts?” she called from the shore as I jiggled the ladder that led to the upper level of the dock. “That whole thing looks like it’s about to fall over!”

  The ladder rocked as I climbed upward, the rotting wood threatening to disengage from where it was held to the second level with a series of rusted nails. I leaned forward, gripping it tighter.

  “The message was on the back of a picture of this dock,” I told Mac. “She’s around here somewhere, and I can get a better view of the water from the top level.”

  The last three rungs of the ladder were broken so I hoisted myself up the rest of the way, ignoring the bite of splinters against my palms. Mac watched as I walked out to the edge of the dock, shielded my eyes against the sun, and peered into the murky water below.

  “Be careful,” she called. “I didn’t plan on going swimming today.”

  “Me either,” I muttered.

  The sun sparkled off of the lake water and into my eyes. I squinted around, desperately looking for any sign of a struggle. Noemie had to be around here somewhere, but the lake wasn’t giving up its secrets anytime soon.

  “Noemie!” I called again. “It’s me, Bridget. Brigitte. Whatever.”

  No one replied. A crow cawed overhead, hidden somewhere in the thick Spanish moss that hung between the trees. My pulse beat faster. Was Mac right? Had we come to the wrong place? But then a faint whisper echoed—not from the lake or the park—but from the inside of my mind.

  “Jump,” Holly breathed.

  I groaned then kicked off my shoes.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Mac demanded as I backed up to get a running start. I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending that Holly was standing beside me, just as she had all those years ago. Then I hurtled toward the edge of the dock. “Bridget, no!”

  I leapt out over the water and braced myself for impact. The drop itself didn’t scare me. I’d conquered greater jumps off of cliffs and out of planes throughout my years of adrenaline seeking. It was what might lay beneath the surface of the water that sent a cold shiver down my spine. I plunged into the lake, sinking like a stone as my clothes weighed me down.

  I opened my eyes, but the green tint of the lake water didn’t have the best visibility, and the bubbles that rose from my displacement didn’t help either. I kicked toward the surface and took a deep breath.

  “Are you insane?” Mac yelled at me from the shore.

  I ignored her and dove again, this time keeping as still as possible as I scanned the lake floor. There. Beneath the dock. A shadowy figure. I surfaced.

  “I think she’s under the dock,” I called to Mac, striking out toward the rickety wood.

  Mac followed me along the water’s edge. “Bridget, do not go under there. If you get stuck—”

  I ducked under the dock, where there were only four or five inches of air between the underside of the wooden planks and the murky lake water that lapped up the algae-covered support beams. The top of my head scraped against the dock as I fought to keep my nose and mouth above water, but the sight that met my eyes stole my breath anyway. There was a body tied to one of the supports—a dark-haired girl—and I couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead.

  “Noemie!”

  I swam toward her. Sure enough, it was the same girl from that dreadful night at the Paris club, except now her face was pale and green instead of a lively pink. She wasn’t dead though. Not yet. Though her eyes were closed, her fingers clutched the support beam, and her breath rattled in and out between white lips. I seized the nautical rope that kept her bound in place and followed the length of it with my hands. It looped beneath Noemie’s feet, keeping her close enough to the surface to breathe when she no longer had the strength to stay afloat.

  “Good girl,” I said, spitting water out of my mouth as I struggled to untie the slippery knot. It slid free, and Noemie immediately sank. I caught her beneath the arms before she disappeared under the water, grunting with effort.

  “Bridget!” Mac called. Her boots thumped against the dock overhead. “Damn it, Bridget! Make a noise!”

  “I’ve got her!” I called up through the gaps in the planks. “I’m coming up.”

  With Noemie in tow, I ducked under the water again to clear the claustrophobic underside of the dock, gasping with relief on the other side. Mac splashed through the water as I swam toward the shore, dragging Noemie along with me. When I reached Mac, she took over, gently lifting Noemie from the lake and carrying her to the cruiser. Trembling, I heaved myself out of the water and followed, collapsing against the open door of the car as Mac laid Noemie in the back seat.

  “Is she breathing?” I asked.

  Mac leaned over Noemie’s mouth, listening. “Yes. Go in my trunk and get the rescue blanket out of the first aid kit.” I did as asked, and Mac lifted Noemie’s shoulders to wrap the foil blanket around her. “Can you sit with her back here and make sure she’s okay? We need to get her to the hospital.”

  I clambered into the backseat. Water pooled against the smooth vinyl as I lifted Noemie to lie in my lap. Mac climbed into the front, started the car, and peeled out of the park while I smoothed Noemie’s matted hair away from her sallow face.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

  Mac took care of the dicey informational side of things at the hospital, fielding the bombardment of questions from nurses and doctors as they loaded Noemie on a stretcher and wheeled her away. I sat in an uncomfortable plastic waiting chair, my head tipped back to rest against the wall behind me. A puddle of lake water accumulated beneath me as the gusty AC vent above chilled my sopping clothing.

  Mac, having finished her conversation with the nurse at the desk, flopped down in the chair next to mine. “God, what a day. It’s a good thing we found her when we did.”

  “What did they say?” I asked her, shivering. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “From the state of her, she’d been under that dock for a while,” Mac explained. “A day or two at least. If it weren’t for that trick she pulled with the rope, she definitely would’ve drowned. Even so, submersion like that can have some pretty perilous effects on the body.”

  “Like what?”

  She ticked each horror off on a finger. “Dehydration, ironically enough. Infection. Muscle atrophy. Not to mention the mental strength she’ll need to get over this.”

  “She’s been through worse,” I muttered. “Believe me.”

  “With Fox’s gang, you mean.”

  I nodded wearily. “This is all my fault. She wouldn’t be here if not for me—”

  Mac sat up. “Hey. This is absolutely not your fault. You did what you had to do to survive in a shitty situation. I can’t imagine the courage you needed for that.”

  I scoffed. “Courage. More like cowardice.”

  “You got out of there,” Mac reminded me. “And so did Noemie.”

  “Not everyone else did though.”

  Mac opened her mouth to reply, but a nurse with a friendly smile and holding a neatly folded pair of mint green pants interrupted. “Honey, I noticed that you were dripping wet,” she said to me. “I found a clean pair of scrubs if you’d like to change out of those clothes.”

  “Thanks,” I said, standing to accept the offered clothes. I patted Mac’s knee. “Be right back.”

  When I returned to the waiting room, dressed in the scrubs, Mac paced back and forth across the hallway. As soon as she spotted me, she rushed over.

  “Hey,” she said. “Noemie’s awake. They said we can go in and talk to her. Are you ready?”

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

  I followed Mac to a room down the hall. As the nurses cleared the way, I caught sight of Noemie. She was alert and awake, sitting against the headboard of the hospital bed. Some of her color had returned. She was hooked up to a bag of IV fluids, one arm s
trewn out to the side to accommodate the needle while she used the other to feed herself gray mashed potatoes from a plastic tray. Mac lingered at the door as I hesitantly stepped toward the bed. Noemie glanced up, setting her fork against the tray when she recognized me.

  “I thought the food would be better in America,” she said.

  “Not hospital food,” I told her, unsure whether or not I should come any closer.

  Noemie looked me over from head to toe, taking in my damp hair and borrowed scrubs. “The last time I saw you, you abandoned me at a train station in Brussels.”

  Mac shifted her stance behind me. This was not a part of the story that she’d heard.

  “I got you out of Paris,” I said. “I made sure you were safe.”

  “You left me alone in a strange city,” Noemie countered. “After we—”

  “Don’t,” I cut her off.

  Her eyes wandered to Mac, who listened at the door. “Your friend doesn’t know, does she? You haven’t told her everything yet?”

  “Stop it,” I warned. “Don’t go there.”

  Noemie leveled a challenging stare at me. Her time beneath the dock had not knocked the fight out of her sunken eyes.

  I sagged against the bed. “I’m sorry. For all of this. For everything. From that first night in Paris until now. I get that you wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me, but I need your help. You met Holly, didn’t you? Do you know where she is?”

  Noemie’s expression softened, but her eyes were sad as she looked up at me. She set aside the tray of food and patted the space beside her for me to sit down. “You should know that this is a long game. They have been planning this ever since we left Paris three years ago.”