6
The Pantomime
“Last night was a triumph for local officers in Wolfwater and Belle Dame when two missing girls were recovered from locations just miles apart. Melody Harver and Holly Dubois, both seventeen-year-old high school athletes, went missing from their respective hometowns several weeks ago, the latest victims in a string of North Carolina kidnapping cases. The perpetrator, Emmett Marks, was shot dead at the scene by police. Harver and Dubois did not sustain any life-threatening injuries and are recovering with their families at home. More coverage on this story tonight at ten.”
The dulcet tones of the pretty news anchor were no good in tempering the anger that rose up in me as the television report pulled me out of my deep sleep. I checked my watch. Ten hours. It had only been ten hours since I’d asked Officer Scott to keep Holly’s return quiet, and it was already all over the local news. When had the information gotten out? How long had I been asleep while news of Holly’s survival spread throughout the surrounding counties? For all I knew, Fox was already on his way to Belle Dame, prepared to collect what he thought I owed him.
I looked over at the bed next to mine. Holly lay still, her pretty strawberry hair fanned out across the pure white pillow. No life-threatening injuries. What a joke. The local news needed to fact check its reports. This whole experience had been a life-threatening injury. Holly was still breathing through a damn tube. Her body was pumped full of antibiotics to get rid of the infection in her bloodstream. The doctors had told me how close she had been to full-on septic shock. There was a fifty percent mortality rate for severe sepsis, but sure, my little sister hadn’t sustained any life-threatening injuries.
Someone had covered me with a felt blanket while I’d slept. I kicked it off and sat on the edge of Holly’s bed. For a while, I just studied her. The sunrise found its way into the room, warming the white sheets, and my stomach impatiently asked for breakfast, but I ignored it. Holly was too important, and I’d been ignoring her for too long. She was almost eighteen. Her birthday was just around the corner. She was practically an adult, ready to leave the practice world of high school and move on to the anomalous in-between realm of college. Somehow, I’d lost track of the time. The seven-year-old girl that I’d left in Belle Dame had grown into a young woman with her own goals and values, and I was the terrible older sister who knew the barest of details about her. But if I had stayed in Belle Dame, would Holly have become the star that she was now? Back then, I was reckless and uncooperative with anyone who wasn’t Holly. She would have grown up watching me steal from corner stores and vandalize the old high school’s gymnasium, and what kind of effect would that have had on her? Maybe it was a good thing that I hadn’t stuck around.
Thankfully, the hospital staff had scrubbed Holly free of the blood and grime. Her hair was shiny and blonde again, or as close to it as it could get without a proper diet and vitamins for the past several weeks. I smoothed it against the pillows. I didn’t know I could be so grateful just to see my sister clean again. A tear dripped from the end of my nose and splashed against Holly’s hand, which was bandaged around her wrist. I wiped it away, took a few tissues from the bedside table, and snuck into the hallway.
It was early. Doctors and nurses strode purposely to and from each patient’s room, making their morning rounds, but the hospital was calm and quiet save for the occasional beep of machinery. I stopped at the vending machine near the end of the hallway and examined my breakfast options. All I wanted was to take Holly out for a real meal, complete with eggs and bacon and pancakes and whatever else my little sister wanted, but since that wasn’t going to be a part of today’s agenda, I decided to settle for a cold cinnamon toaster pastry. I fished through the pockets of my borrowed sweatpants for change and came up empty.
I rested my forehead against the glass window of the vending machine, staring at the first packaged toaster pastry in line. “I don’t suppose you’ll just magically fall out of there, will you?”
The toaster pastry stared back.
“Talking to inanimate objects now, are you?” Officer Scott appeared over my shoulder, waving a dollar bill in front of my face. “Maybe I should take you down to the psych floor.”
I snatched the dollar out of the air, fed it to the vending machine, and punched in the number for the toaster pastry. The machine whirred to life and spat my breakfast out like a child refusing to eat a vegetable. “Maybe. Do they have coffee in the psych ward?”
“I don’t think they’re big on caffeine down there,” Scott replied. He led me from the vending machine as I unwrapped my pitiful treat. “But the nurses have some in their break room, and I’ve already exchanged a few compliments for my own cup. I’m sure I could wrangle another.”
“You sly dog.”
Sure enough, Scott left me in the corridor, disappeared into the nurses’ break room, and emerged a few minutes later with a grin and a steaming cup of dark brew. The plaster cast on my wrist made it awkward to juggle both the toaster pastry and the coffee as Scott handed it to me, but I lifted the styrofoam cup to my nose, took a deep breath, and let out a moan.
“Actual coffee,” I purred.
Scott’s mustache twitched. “Keep it in your pants, Dubois. It ain’t anything like you’d get in some fancy European cafe.”
I took a long sip. He was right about that. The nurses’ coffee was not nearly as strong as I preferred, but I couldn’t complain about a hot drink. “It doesn’t matter. Coffee’s coffee. Did you catch the news this morning?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I fixed him with a pointed stare. “So? What happened to keeping Holly’s recovery on the down low?”
Scott blushed behind his whiskers and pulled his cap down over his reddening forehead. “Don’t scold me. My officers are under orders not to share any information. Must’ve been one of the fellows from Wolfwater or even your new CIA friends.”
“Great,” I sighed.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got guys stationed all around the hospital. If this Fox fellow comes anywhere near Holly, he’ll have to answer to Belle Dame’s entire police department.”
At least that was one less thing I had to worry about. With Officer Scott on my side, the likelihood of Fox breaching my defenses was far lower. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try, but it would take him a while to enact a plan. We’d bought some time in that department. Other departments, however, remained to be addressed.
“Aside from Fox,” I said, “How long do I have before everybody and their brother starts showing up for visiting hours to tell Holly how much they’ve missed Belle Dame’s golden girl?”
Scott glanced at the black Velcro watch around his meaty wrist. “I called Bill and Emily Miller an hour ago to fill them in, so I’d say about thirty more minutes.”
“Scott!”
“They’re her legal guardians, Dubois,” Scott growled. “What was I supposed to do?”
I groaned and finished the last of my toaster pastry in one, stress-filled bite. “Do you know what this means?” I asked Scott, spraying cinnamon crumbs everywhere. I washed the rest of my breakfast down with a swig of coffee. “Feelings, Scott. Emotions.”
“Did I mention the psych floor yet?”
“Don’t joke,” I told him. “You know what I mean. People are going to cry and swoon, and Holly’s not even awake yet to take it all in. I’m going to have to be the one to field all of that extra drama.”
Scott clapped me on the shoulder and grinned. “Then it’s a good damn thing you were always so talented on the ballfield.”
“I hate you.”
“Tell you what,” Scott offered. “I’ll help you out. I’ll answer the questions and take care of the drama—” he used air quotes around the word “—and you can just focus on Holly. Sound like a plan?”
“Fine.”
“But before we do that,” he went on. “I know someone who would like to see you. Your partner in crime. Ironically enough, she’s one of my officers.”<
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I couldn’t help but smile. “How is Mac?”
“On her feet already,” Scott reported, and if his disgruntled scowl was any indication, he wasn’t too pleased about it. “Two days after she’s been shot in the thigh, and she’s up and walking around. Can’t get the damn kid to relax, though at least she didn’t sneak out of the hospital with a concussion, impersonate an officer of the law, and gallivant off to the next town over to follow a lead without any backup.”
I winced at the accusation. “To be fair, Mac is an officer of the law, and it was a minor concussion.”
“Get out of here before I give you another concussion,” Scott said. “I’ll let you know when the Millers get here.”
“Can’t wait.”
We parted there. Scott headed back toward Holly’s room, while I started toward the one that I had escaped from a few days ago. When I peeked inside, Mac—who had traded the clinical gown for matching navy blue sweats with the Belle Dame P.D. logo stamped on the chest and thigh—was testing her weight on the bandaged leg, leaning on a pair of shiny crutches. I knocked lightly on the door frame.
“Aren’t you supposed to be taking it slow?” I asked.
“Bridget!” One of the crutches escaped her grasp and clattered to the floor, so Mac hopped over to me on her good leg and pulled me into a hug. She swayed, threatening to tip us over, so I tightened my grip around her torso and planted my feet to keep us upright. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I saw the news this morning. You found Holly!”
“Yeah, I did.” I helped her back to the bed and made her sit down. Then I collected the crutches and propped them against the empty cot that used to be mine so that she wouldn’t be tempted to start using them again. “Just in time too.”
“How is she?” Mac asked, her mouth turned down in a scowl. I knew she was thinking about what Holly had looked like the last time we had seen her. “Is she going to be all right?”
“She’s still unconscious,” I told her. “But every doctor and nurse I’ve spoken to says that she’ll pull through. I don’t know. Maybe they say that to everyone.”
As I rubbed my tired, swollen eyes, Mac tugged on my shirt to make me sit next to her. “Hey. Don’t think like that. You know Holly. She’s strong as hell.”
“That’s the thing though,” I muttered. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I got her back from Wolfwater. I don’t really know Holly at all. I haven’t been around to get to know her.”
Mac slipped a comforting arm around my shoulder. “I don’t think that’s true. From what you’ve told me, you’ve done your best to keep up with her life. All the postcards, remember? You know everything about Holly.”
“I should’ve been here for her.”
“You were taking care of yourself,” she insisted. “Don’t blame yourself for that. Holly had Bill and Emily. She’s not going to hold you accountable for the choices that you made when you were her age.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “This is the first time I’ve talked to Holly face to face in a decade, and so far the only thing I’ve said is, ‘Oh, hey, sorry my ex-boyfriend from high school kidnapped and tortured you, but don’t worry, I’ll be there soon.’ Not exactly the sisterly reunion I was going for, Mac.”
“She’ll understand,” she replied gently. “And you guys have plenty of time to talk it out. Now fill me in. What happened in Wolfwater?”
I gave her a brief rundown of the events from the previous day. She listened without interrupting, absorbing every detail, but when I got to the confrontation with Emmett, my throat closed up.
“I hate him,” she growled, having gathered enough from the lead-up to comprehend what had almost happened. “I knew from the second I met him that he was bad news. Always on my radar. I wish I had been there, Bridge. I’m sorry I wasn’t.”
But it was enough to lean my head against my friend’s shoulder and hear the promise anyway. “It’s okay. He didn’t get very far. The CIA agent that I mentioned—Taylor—she shot him.”
Mac stiffened underneath my cheek. “Her name was Taylor?”
I lifted my head to look at her, surprised by the scorn in her tone. “Yeah, why?”
“What was her last name?”
“I think the bartender mentioned it once, but it didn’t stick,” I said. “Besides, she was supposedly undercover anyway, so I doubt it was her real last name.” Mac’s furrowed brow did not smooth out, and her fingers clawed into the rough bed sheets. “What’s going on? Do you know her or something?”
She looked me square in the eye. “Listen to me, Bridge. I’ve dealt with the CIA before. They’re pompous, posturing assholes who think that just because they work at the federal level, that makes them smarter and superior to everyone else. You have more information on Fox than they could ever hope to gather, but damned if they won’t try to milk you for everything that you’re worth and take all the credit for themselves.”
“Oh, I already know about that,” I told her. “I overheard Taylor talking to her superior at the clinic in Gold River. They want to use me and Holly as bait to lure Fox in.”
The frown lines around Mac’s mouth deepened. “That is so far from okay, it makes me want to hurl something against the wall.”
“You and me both,” I said. “But we’re going to have to deal with it sooner or later. I have a feeling the CIA isn’t going to kick this case under the rug just because we dodged their questions for this round. They’ll be back, Mac, and Fox will too. For now, can we promise to work together to keep Holly safe?”
Mac’s expression softened, and she held out her pinky finger. “I promise.”
I linked my pinky with hers.
“Dubois!” Scott’s heavy boots thumped into the room. He was out of breath and sweating. “Holly’s waking up. I think you should be in there.”
I shot up from Mac’s bed and sprinted down the hallway, the soles of my shoes slipping against the waxed linoleum floors. The door to Holly’s room was open, and there was a crowd of medical staff around her bed. I shouldered a less essential employee aside and caught a glimpse of my sister. She was gagging over the tube in her throat, her eyes wide and panicked.
“Easy,” the doctor told her. “Just relax, Holly. The more you relax, the easier it will be to get this out.”
Holly bucked against the bed, all but deaf to the doctor’s suggestion. I squeezed in between two nurses and took my sister’s hand.
“Holly,” I said, stroking her cheek. “Hey, look at me.” Bright blue eyes, watering with fear and stress, found mine. “There you are. Hi, baby girl.”
“Keep talking,” the doctor muttered, inching forward to take hold of the tube again. “Keep her calm.”
I kept my gaze on Holly. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’re doing great. We’re just going to pull this tube out so that you can breathe on your own again. Sound good?”
Holly nodded. She squeezed her eyes shut as the doctor leaned her back to lie down and cautiously eased the tube out of her throat. When it cleared her mouth, she broke out in hacking coughs, tearing free of my hold to clutch her damaged throat.
“Bee,” she rasped.
“Shh.” I flung my arms around her and pulled her against me. “Don’t try to talk. Can someone get us some water?”
The staff dispersed as Holly sipped cool water and recovered from her unconscious state until it was just me, Officer Scott, and Mac—who had hobbled down the hall on her crutches—left in the room. To my great relief, a tinge of pink touched Holly’s cheeks, and her voice gradually regained some of its previous strength.
“What’s going on?” she asked, a frantic note to her movements as she scanned the hospital room for signs of trouble. “Where are we? What happened?”
“We’re home,” I told her. “You’re home. Well, not quite. We’re at the hospital, but you will be home soon. Bill and Emily are on their way—”
“But Emmett—and Christian! Oh my God.”
Holly buried her face in her ha
nds as the reality of the last few days caught up with her. My heart ached for my little sister. She took the full brunt of her emotions all at once, while I was more accustomed to bottling up my feelings until they exploded.
I turned to Mac and Officer Scott. “Do you guys mind giving us a moment alone? I want to talk with her before Bill and Emily get here.”
Scott tipped his hat. “Sure thing.”
“No problem,” Mac said. “Glad you’re okay, Holly.”
They closed the door and receded down the corridor, Scott scolding Mac for leaving her room yet again. I turned to my little sister as silence fell between us, suddenly unsure of what to say.
“Holly?”
She looked up, her eyelashes dark and shiny with tears.
I fiddled with the blanket, picking at the thread of the hem. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I’ve apologized to everyone in Belle Dame, but none of it mattered because none of those people were you. I screwed a lot of things up. If it weren’t for me, if I hadn’t left—”
Holly took my hand from the blanket, her palm calloused from her constant practice with a softball bat and rough against my skin. “Bridget, you don’t have to say sorry. I forgive you.”
“But—”
“I’ll admit when you first left, I had a really hard time,” she said. “I was still a kid, you know? Then all of sudden, my entire family was gone. I didn’t get mad though. I think I was too young to get mad. I just wanted you back.”
“Holly, I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Holly insisted. “I told you. I forgive you. Actually, I forgave you a long time ago. Neither one of us should have had to go through what we did. I don’t blame you for the way you chose to cope with it.”
I brushed a wayward strand of hair away from her angled cheekbones. “How did you get so wise so quickly, huh?”
“I watch a lot of Star Wars.”
Deadly Visions Boxset Page 92