Not Quite Broken: A Callaghan Family & Friends Romance

by Abbie Zanders

  “Can you walk?”

  She looked down at her ankle, which was now swollen to three times its normal size. “What do you think?”

  Without preamble, he scooped her up again and took her back to the other room, putting her on the bed. “Looks like a sprain,” he said, confirming what she’d already guessed. “Can’t do much for that.”

  “You could get me to the ER.”

  He shook his head. “I think you know that’s not going to happen.”

  Before she realized what he was doing, he reached under the mattress and pulled out a metal cuff, snapping it tightly around her wrist. It was attached to a chain, which in turn was secured to the bed frame. She was quite certain it hadn’t been there before; he must have hooked it up while she was in the shower.

  “But why? Why are you doing this?”

  He got to his feet. “I’m going to get you something to eat and some ice for that ankle. Stay put. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

  “I think I’ve figured that out already, thanks.”

  He left, locking the door behind him. She immediately tested the chain, finding it to be every bit as secure as it looked. It did have several feet of play. Not long enough to reach the door, but enough that she could stand and walk a pace or two if she hadn’t gone and sprained her ankle.

  Why chain her now? Had he decided to reduce the possibility of another attack? Or was this a continuation of her earlier punishment?

  Once again, he’d left her with a slew of unanswered questions. Unfortunately, it looked as if it might be a while before she got any answers.

  A few things were painfully apparent, however. She was on her own, up the creek without the proverbial paddle. No one knew where she was, and no one would suspect anything was amiss until she failed to show up for work on Tuesday at the earliest. The parallels with the missing Birch Falls woman weren’t lost on her.

  Her body went cold at the thought. Was this what had happened to that woman and the others? Would her photo be flashed up on television and mobile screens in a few days’ time? Was Joe the serial killer that had been abducting and murdering local women?

  Tori shivered. She supposed she would find out soon enough. In the meantime, she was going to do everything she could to not be the next victim.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  By Monday morning, Tori still hadn’t returned, and the possibility that she had simply taken off for a long weekend grew increasingly improbable. She hadn’t called or returned any of his texts. Even if she was upset with him—which she had every right to be—she could have popped off an “I’m safe” reply to one of the many “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me right now, just please let me know you’re okay” messages he’d sent over the last twenty-four hours.

  On the off chance she was ignoring him specifically, Lacie and Faith had reached out as well and met with the same result.

  “No credit card activity in the last forty-eight hours,” Ian reported. “The last usage registered was a gas charge at the Wawa in Brandyville on Friday night. But it is a holiday weekend. Some charges might not post until Tuesday.”

  “What about her phone?”

  “No active signal, which makes me think it’s powered down.”

  “Any outgoing calls?”

  “Nada, but I’ve got a slick little program that monitors mobile app usage. It looks like she was running some sort of GPS app right around the same time she stopped for gas.”

  Brian nodded. That made sense if she was heading out of town. It also gave him hope. “If she was running a GPS map, then we should have a location, right?”

  “The signal was lost about forty miles northwest of here and hasn’t reappeared since.”

  “Dead zone?”

  “Possibly. There are quite a few pockets without cell or satellite service in the mountains. Or she could have run out of charge. She might have stopped somewhere and turned off her phone, not wanting to be bothered.”

  Brian took the subtle hit. He also noticed that Ian didn’t mention other, less appealing explanations, such as the possibility that Tori had been in an accident, or that the phone had been taken or rendered inoperable. He had considered both and was sure Ian had, too.

  “And before you ask, I checked all the hospitals, emergency services, and auto clubs in a hundred-mile radius and came up empty.”

  Brian exhaled. “Thanks for that.”

  “The location and route data logged by the app is consistent with at least one of the GPS routes to the PGC. Since we know approximately where she lost the signal, I’d say it’s a good place to start.”

  Brian nodded. “I’ll head up that way and check it out.”

  “Want company?”

  Brian appreciated the offer, but this was something he could do on his own. Ian had already done him a solid by accessing Tori’s mobile data records. Other than the sick feeling in his gut, which might just have been regret, there was no evidence of foul play. “Nah. You go on over to Maggie’s.”

  Ian frowned. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “All right. But you know you’re family, right? And family helps family.”

  Brian appreciated that more than he could say. He hoped he was worrying for nothing. That Tori would return safe and sound and he wouldn’t need their help. But if he did, there was no one else he’d rather have at his back. “Thanks.”

  He left the Pub with cautious optimism. He drove to Tori’s place first, confirming that she hadn’t returned while he’d been talking with Ian. Then he pulled up the same app Ian said she’d been running and entered the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon as a destination.

  The route took him right up through Brandyville. He stopped at the same Wawa where she had gassed up. He went inside and bought a coffee, casually inquiring if those working had been around Friday night. None of them had.

  With more night drives than he could count under his belt, Brian was well acquainted with most of the roads in and around the area. This wasn’t a route he would have suggested. The road was narrow, the modern rendition of what had once probably been a cart and horse path used by early loggers back in the day. It had been cut right into the mountain in a zig-zag pattern, chocked with switchbacks and hairpin curves to make ascent easier on the animals and early, low-power vehicles.

  Hazardous, too. On the mountain side, bits of rock and debris had washed down on the edge of the road, probably a result of the slew of late summer thunderstorms that popped up often and without warning. On the other side, the ground fell away in sheer drop-offs with barely enough shoulder to anchor the posts for the braided steel cables that served as guardrails.

  Brian hated the thought of Tori traveling this route alone late at night. It was too remote. Too dark. If she had run into some sort of trouble, help was miles away.

  It wouldn’t have been an issue if you had just agreed to go with her, his dark voice whispered, which did nothing to improve his mood.

  He kept his phone in the dash mount, stealing frequent glances at the app so he would know when he lost the signal. He knew Tori had made it that far, at least.

  He slowed his pace, paying closer attention, looking for ... well, he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, just anything that could offer a clue of what might have happened. There was some loose rock and rubble at one point, suggesting a minor rock slide, but nothing major. A few guide posts leaned precariously away from the road on the other side, but no breaks or damage that would indicate a car had failed to navigate a turn and gone over the edge. Nor did he see any skid marks or other signs of an accident or emergency detour.

  The mobile signal returned about twenty minutes later, but blinked out again before the GPS app could recalculate his progress. It did that several times over the next hour, rendering the app fairly useless. Had Tori come to the same conclusion, shutting down the app in a fit of frustration? Had she found a place to pull over and resort to the old-fashioned atlas maps h
e’d seen in the back of her Jeep?

  “People are too dependent on technology,” she’d said when he’d teased her about it. “We lose power, lose a signal, and we’re lost. If you want to render a community useless, you don’t need extreme force. All you have to do is cut off cell service.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  Brian relied on his knowledge of the area and his sense of direction to keep moving northwest. Eventually, he came out onto a well-traveled state road. Unlike the mountain trail he’d just come off of, there were other cars on this road, people out and about on the last day of the extended holiday weekend. While he’d seen several vehicles sporting primer gray, none of them had been Tori’s Jeep.

  He made it to the PGC by early afternoon. There were still plenty of people milling about, enjoying the official end of the summer season, but Tori wasn’t among them. He cruised the lookout areas. Drove through the parking lots of local attractions, including a popular campground. His chest ached, remembering the time he’d spent with Tori at the lake and how that had been a turning point in their relationship.

  Unfortunately, he’d gone in the wrong direction. He’d pushed her away instead of drawing her closer. If he hadn’t done that, then they might be here together now, concluding an extended version of that nearly perfect day and night.

  Instead, he was alone, offering silent pleas that she was okay while the sense of dread in his gut grew heavier by the minute.

  When the sun started to go down, he turned around and went back toward home. This time, he altered his route, choosing the way he would have gone in the first place. Maybe Tori had done the same. The roads were better maintained and more heavily traveled, as evidenced by the occasional diner, motel, and abundance of farm and curio stands along the way.

  Brian stopped at several he thought might have appealed to Tori and asked around. A few people thought they might have seen an attractive brunette who appeared to be traveling alone in a primer gray Wrangler, but no one could say for certain.

  When he returned to Pine Ridge, he knew no more than he had when he left.

  And Tori still wasn’t back.

  “Where are you Tori?” he whispered into the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Joe returned and like he’d said, brought food and an ice pack. That was an important insight into his character and could prove useful. He didn’t talk much, but he said what he did and did what he said (at least so far). There were no guarantees, however. No matter how straightforward he appeared to be, the guy was clearly mentally unstable or she wouldn’t be there.

  He eyed her warily as he brought the tray closer, probably wondering if she was going to try to kick it out of his hands or make another attempt to disable him and escape. She wouldn’t. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she needed to be smart. She was oh-for-two so far and didn’t know if he subscribed to the three-strikes-and-you’re-out philosophy.

  She remained still, sitting with her back against the wall, her injured leg elevated and stretched out on the bed in front of her, her arms crossed.

  On the tray was a steaming entrée—one of the popular microwavable kinds—a bottle of water, an apple, an ice pack, and a couple of orange-coated tablets. No pointy silverware, unfortunately, but he had brought a spoon.

  “Ibuprofen,” he said, catching her eyeing the pills.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “No reason to drug you now.”

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? He put the tray on the bed beside her, picked up the ice pack and twisted it to activate the chemicals, then handed it to her.

  “People will be looking for me, you know,” she said.

  “Not for a while.”

  The certainty with which he said that turned her blood cold. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Victoria Donovan. Age 31. Born December 2nd. 128 Butler Street, Apartment B, Pine Ridge, Pennsylvania. Undergraduate degrees in biology and kinesiology. Currently employed at Birch Falls Rehabilitation Facility. Lives alone. Siblings: none. Parents: Deborah and Stewart Donovan, deceased. Shall I go on?”

  “How can you possibly...”

  “Know all that?” he finished. “You’d be surprised what you can learn online, especially when you have a driver’s license, social security card, and credit card numbers at your disposal.”

  Driver’s license, social security card... He must have taken her wallet the same time he’d taken her phone. Hope began to siphon away at an alarming rate. She grabbed at it with both hands and held on for dear life.

  “There are people who care about me,” she said firmly.

  He stared at her as if trying to gauge whether or not she was telling the truth, then shook his head. “No. You were traveling alone. You had no one you could call for help. There were few contacts in your phone, and the texts you did have told me everything I needed to know. There’s no one looking for you, Tori.”

  His words were like a punch to the gut. The man wasn’t just straightforward, he was also intelligent and thorough. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Four women had gone missing. Three had turned up dead, and the police didn’t have a single lead. That suggested careful preparation and attention to detail.

  “And the others?” she whispered. “Did you take them, too?”

  His expression didn’t change. He didn’t look away or blink. He didn’t ask who she was talking about, because he already knew. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer that. Instead, he turned to go. “Eat something. Ice your ankle. I’ll be back later. If you do as you’re told, I’ll take you to the bathroom before bed.”

  “Why bother if you’re going to kill me anyway?

  He kept walking.

  “Does it have anything to do with the little boy?”

  He paused, but didn’t turn around. It was just a momentary thing, a brief hesitation, but it was enough to let her know she had hit a weak spot.

  “Is he your son?” she pressed.

  His fist clenched and unclenched at his side. “One hour. Eat. Ice. Or no bathroom.” Then he was gone.

  The last thing Tori felt like doing was eating, but she forced herself to do just that. She needed her strength and she needed more information. He seemed to talk more when she was cooperative, and it was in her best interests to discover as much as she could.

  She put the ice pack on her swollen ankle, then started on the dinner. The microwaved Salisbury steak patty and mashed potatoes were easy to eat with the spoon he provided, and surprisingly tasty. Of course, that may have had something to do with the fact that she’d had nothing more than crackers and water for some time. How long had she been here, anyway? One night? Two? More than that?

  Was he right? Had anyone noticed?

  She eyed the pills. They did appear to be ibuprofen; the name brand was stamped right on them. After a brief internal debate, she decided to take them. She wasn’t sure what his sick game was, but for whatever reason, he wasn’t through with her yet, and playing with less pain seemed like a good idea.

  He’d admitted that he’d taken the other women. Exactly why, she didn’t yet know. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t obvious. He didn’t seem to get off on fear, nor did he seem to take enjoyment in causing pain. In fact, he’d exhibited restraint after that shin to the balls. As long as she followed his simple instructions—instructions that seemed to be geared toward her well-being, in a fucked-up kind of way—he had been pretty hands off.

  He was not what she would have envisioned as a serial killer. The obvious aside, he seemed like a regular guy. Average height, average weight. Man-next-door good looks. Nothing that would get him noticed or make him stand out in a crowd. He had an easy smile (when he wanted to) and an honest way of speaking that gave people a false sense of security, herself included. He appeared to run his own business, assuming the tow truck and garage were really his, but at that point, she had to admit she didn’t know what was real and what was a carefully
crafted illusion.

  Her mind went back to the little boy she’d seen earlier. Where did he fit into all this? He looked as if he’d been in some kind of accident, something involving fire. His disfigurement was consistent with third-degree burns. Only his right side seemed to be affected. Extensive scar tissue covered the side of his head The boy had been wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, but the way his right arm had hung limply and he’d dragged his right leg behind him when he walked suggested the damage affected his entire right side.

  As a physical therapist, she’d seen and worked with burn victims before, though rarely one so young. She could only imagine the amount of pain the poor child had endured. Given the appearance of his scars, she guessed that whatever had happened had occurred at least a few years earlier, meaning that he had been little more than a toddler at the time. Her heart ached, not only for the child, but for his parents as well. Going through something like that might be enough to make someone snap, especially if they were already precariously balanced on the edge between sanity and insanity.

  Was that what had happened? Had whatever caused the child’s injuries pushed Joe beyond his limits? Maybe taken the life of his wife and mother of his child in the process?

  She’d already guessed that Joe was the boy’s father. The features on the undamaged part of the boy’s face were similar to Joe’s, and when Joe had spoken to him, it had been with the firm authority of a parent. Plus, while the boy had listened to him, he hadn’t seemed afraid of him.

  What she found particularly odd about that whole situation was that the boy hadn’t appeared to be surprised or upset by her presence, or by the fact that she had been in the middle of an escape attempt at the time. Did he understand what was happening? Was it something familiar to him? Had he seen the others?