The Girl and the Field of Bones (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 10)

by A J Rivers

  “Oh? Oh what?” I ask, still struggling to get out a full breath.

  “That is a lot of blood,” Xavier says, his voice lucid and in control. “You need to get out of here right now. To help.”

  I look down at my arm for the first time since I ran into Dean. Blood soaks my shirt, and my hand is a mask of red. As soon as I notice it, I realize I am getting light-headed from blood loss.

  “The exit is just down here,” Dean says. “Let’s go.”

  We move quickly, and a few turns later, we exit the corn maze into the empty field, and the bright lights of the entranceway to the maze.

  We burst out of the maze and run over to a pile of hay bales stacked to one side. Dean turns me around and sits me down, pulling off my jacket so he can better see the cut on my arm.

  “What the hell is going on?” Carl demands, stalking toward us. “I told you we're closed, and you went in there to have your own private tour.”

  “Call the police,” Dean says.

  “You know, I should,” he sneers.

  Dean stands up and takes a sharp step toward him, getting to within only a couple of inches of his face.

  “Now,” he growls. “Call the police and get an ambulance.”

  “An ambulance?” he asks, looking around Dean. The color drains from his face when he sees my arm. “What happened?”

  “There's a man in the maze with a scythe,” I tell him. “A reaper.”

  Carl shakes his head. “No. We don't have any actors dressed as a reaper with a scythe.”

  “I didn't say there was an actor,” I say. “It's real. The scythe. He attacked me with it.”

  He holds up his hands like he's trying to prove his innocence, shaking his head, and backing up from me.

  “I don't know what's going on here, but there's nobody in that maze but some teenage kids earning a couple of bucks an hour to jump out and scare people,” he says.

  “Look,” Dean says through gritted teeth. “I don't care what you think. You have a wounded FBI agent here, and I suggest you stop trying to cover your ass and do what I say. Call the police and an ambulance. Now.”

  Dean comes back to me and looks at my arm. He stands up and walks over to a scarecrow a couple of feet away. Pulling off its shirt, he tears the fabric into strips and wraps them tightly around my arm to stop the bleeding.

  “Xavier,” I say, my words very quiet to preserve my strength. “You told me you saw the reaper.”

  “Yes,” he nods. “He was in the maze.”

  “Did you see his face?”

  “No,” he says.

  “Did he come after you?”

  “Yes,” he says. “That's why I ran.”

  I nod and look at Dean. “That was no kid. Somebody knows Xavier is out, and we had access to the temple. They're trying to stop us. This was a warning.”

  “I'm sorry,” Xavier says.

  “There's no reason for you to be sorry,” I tell him. “You didn't do this. Besides, did you have fun?”

  He nods. “Yeah.”

  I smile at him through the pain. “Good. That's good.”

  “Emma, you doing okay?” Dean asks.

  “Feeling light-headed,” I say.

  “They're going to be here soon,” he tells me. “Just stay awake.”

  “I am,” I nod. “I'll be okay.”

  “Talk to me,” Dean says. “How did the conversation with Lilith go? Did she tell you anything else?”

  “Not really,” I say. “But she was very focused on making sure I know she's a widow.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “She said it probably five times,” I explain. “Every opportunity she could to wedge it into the conversation, she would mention that she was a widow on her own, or that she had been widowed. She really wanted to emphasize not just that she was a single woman living out here, but that her husband is dead.”

  “Why would she want to do that?” he asks.

  “I don't know,” I say.

  My voice is getting softer. The fabric Dean wrapped around my arm is soaked through with blood. He adds another on top of it, tying it tighter to try to stop the bleeding. Xavier crouches down in front of me and takes both of my hands.

  “You're on a roller coaster,” he says.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You're on a roller coaster,” he repeats. “It's that moment when you first get in and they put the restraints down. You know they're tight enough, but you push them anyway just to make sure. Even though you're excited and you can't wait to ride, there's that split-second of fear. You're worried and wonder if you can get out before they start the ride.”

  “But you never can,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “No. Because it starts too fast. It jumps ahead and turns the corner to start to head down the first stretch. You hit the bottom of the hill and start creeping up. The chain clicks. It pulls you. Building up your excitement. You know the more clicks you hear, the higher the hill. The bigger the drop. You get to the top and the train sits there for a second. Just a second. Lasts forever, but it’s just a second. Then right when you think nothing is going to happen, you drop.”

  My hands tighten around Xavier's as I focus on the sound of his voice and drawing in each breath.

  "The pressure of being drawn up the hill releases. As if there's no control anymore. You're just on the track, sailing around the corners and over the hills. There's wind in your face, and you're scared, but you know you're safe. The restraints have you. They won't let you go. You're having fun, and you scream. Everybody around you is screaming. Can you hear them?"

  The sound sinks into my ears, and I feel a little rush of the thrill that comes from giving in to a ride like that. The screams keep getting louder, and after a few seconds, I realize they aren't screams. It's the sound of sirens.

  I didn't realize my eyes were closed until I open them. Lights from the emergency vehicles flash over my face, and I look at Xavier. He smiles.

  "You made it," he says, then leans toward me. "See? It works for you, too."

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Well, damn, my imagination is a whole lot better than I thought it was,” I note.

  “Maybe if she claps her hands together really hard, she can make all the scarecrows come to life, too,” Dean says sarcastically, pacing back and forth across the hospital room.

  “All we're trying to say is there isn't any evidence of what you described,” the officer in front of me says.

  “No evidence?” I ask. “Is the eight-inch gash down my arm I just had to have stitched up like a quilt, not enough evidence for you?”

  “I'm sorry, Miss Griffin, but we spoke to the manager,” the officer, somebody I vaguely recognized as having seen at the police station, says.

  “It's Agent Griffin,” I correct him. “And we spoke with the manager, too. He already gave us the line that he doesn't have a reaper scare actor in the maze. Which is why we tried to explain to him this was not one of his scare actors. This was somebody who went into that maze with the intention of coming after Xavier and me. Probably Dean, too.”

  “But you're the only one who got hurt,” the officer says.

  “Lucky me,” I say, my eyes narrowing to glare at him.

  “I understand you're upset. But the point of those mazes is to frighten people and make them feel disoriented. It's entirely possible you went in, got confused, and got scared by the actors. You were running and maybe saw one of the props, and you thought it was a person who came after you.”

  “And this?” I ask, gesturing toward the bandage wrapped around the long stretch of stitches down my arm. “I just scared this into being, too?”

  “No,” the officer says. “But there is some barbed wire at the back of the maze. It was supposed to just be a display, but it somehow got moved and ended up partially overhanging the walkway. You probably didn't even notice that you ran into it because you were so afraid.”

  “You're telling me you think I went into a corn
maze and was so delirious and out of my mind with terror that I conjured up the image of a man with a scythe, ran into barbed wire, and believed it was him attacking me? That's your working theory right now?”

  “It's the only thing that makes sense,” he shrugs.

  “That makes sense?” Dean sputters.

  “I'm sorry,” he says. “If there was more that we could do for you, we would. But we had men go through that entire maze. There was nobody dressed the way you described. We found blood, but no weapons.”

  “On the barbed wire?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “Did you find blood on the barbed wire? This cut is bad enough for me to have bled all over the maze itself, so if you're so sure that it was the barbed wire that cut me, logic would have it there would be blood on the wire. Right?”

  The officer doesn't answer, and I shake my head, but before any of us can say anything else, the doctor comes in the room.

  “How are the stitches feeling?” he asks.

  “Like stitches,” I tell him. “So. Fantastic.”

  “If we hear anything else, we will be in touch,” the officer says.

  He and the officer who stood silent beside him the entire time they were in the room nod and make their way out. Dean rolls his eyes and paces back to the window.

  "You look like you're feeling a bit better," the doctor says.

  I nod. "I am. Thank you, doctor."

  "Good. Getting some fluids and blood back in you is usually pretty effective. It's a good thing you stayed calm. If you had panicked and the blood was pumping out of you faster, it could have been much worse. The cut is deep and caused some significant damage. Nothing that's going to stop you from using your arm or anything but expect it to hurt for a good while."

  "Can she go home now?" Dean asks.

  "No," the doctor tells him. "I want to keep her for observation and to make sure those stitches are doing alright. She'll be more comfortable here. We'll keep the IV going and be able to give her something for the pain when she needs it. Right now, she needs some rest so her body can start healing."

  I shake my head adamantly. "I can't stay in here. I have investigations I have to do.”

  “Then you're going to have to do them from here,” he says. “That's not a minor cut, Emma. You lost a lot of blood, and who knows what could have been on that blade when it cut you. You just stay here and let us make sure you're healing.”

  “Can they at least bring me my computer? My case files?” I ask.

  “They can,” he says. “But it would be better if you just tried to relax.”

  “She doesn't know how to relax,” Dean says. “I feel lucky she didn’t try to sew herself up with the remnants of the scarecrow and just go back to work.”

  “As long as you stay in bed and your IV stays in place, you can do whatever you want,” the doctor says. “But for right now, get some rest.”

  He walks out of the room, and Dean comes to the side of the bed.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don't think smuggling me out is an option,” I comment.

  “It is,” Xavier says from where he's sitting on the couch at the side of the room. “I've seen it done. I can be complicated, though. I don't think your IV stand would go along with you very easily.”

  Dean stares at him for a few seconds, then slowly turns back to me. “We'll consider that plan B. We'll just keep it right there in our back pocket. Other than that? What do you want to do?”

  “Well, it seems that I'm going to be stuck here at least for a little while. So, I'm going to use my time wisely, piecing together what happened. Start with Lilith Duprey. I want you to find out absolutely everything you can about her. Everything. Who she is, who she was before she moved to Salt Valley, why she was so concerned about emphasizing that she is a widow.”

  "You're sure she has something to do with this?" Dean asks.

  "She mentioned the shed," I say.

  "What?" Dean asks.

  "The shed. The one that's by the cornfield. When we were talking about the field and everything that's happened in it, she insisted she doesn't know anything about it. That she never goes near that field because when she first moved there, they told her that the field wasn't part of the property, and she doesn't even know who owns it. She said everything past those trees is off-limits to her, so she never goes over there."

  "Alright," Dean says. "That would make sense. If I happened to live on property near a field where they found a bunch of bodies, I probably wouldn't want to get anywhere near it, either."

  "But she mentioned the shed. She said she never goes past the shed. You can't see that shed from her house. It's hidden by the trees. She would have had to have gone to that field at some point to even know it's there. It's not a smoking gun, but it's something. It's an inconsistency. And when we have this little to go on, I'm willing to latch onto an inconsistency."

  "I'll go by the hotel and grab you some clothes and your toothbrush and stuff," Dean says.

  "Thank you." They start out of the room, and I lean forward slightly. "Xavier?"

  "Hmm?" he asks, coming back in and standing next to the bed.

  "Thank you. For what you did out there."

  "You're welcome. I love amusement parks. They make me happy."

  "Really?" I ask. "You don't strike me as the amusement park type."

  "There are always surprises in this world," he says with a smile. "Rest well, Emma."

  I don't want to sleep. There's too much to do, too many questions to answer. Every time I close my eyes, the looming black figure with a scythe appears behind them. He could have killed me easily, but he didn't. Just like I told Dean, the attacks were a warning. Somebody was trying to scare me away from the investigation. The fact that he went after Xavier, too, means we're close.

  Which means I'm not stopping.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I must have fallen asleep at some point during the night because the next thing I know, I'm waking up to the feeling of somebody stroking the back of my hand. I open my eyes and see my father sitting on the chair next to my bed. Worry is etched across his face, and his eyes are rimmed with red.

  “Dad?”

  “Hey, honey,” he says.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Dean called me,” he says. “They told me you were hurt. I came as soon as I could.”

  “I'm okay,” I tell him, adjusting myself to sit upright. “Really. It's just a cut.”

  But even as I protest, a wince of pain in my shoulder slows my movement. He looks at the bandage wrapped around my arm and the IV still dripping fluids into my vein.

  “That doesn't look like just a cut, Emma. And he told me what happened. You were attacked?" he asks.

  "Yes. Not that the police are doing anything about it. They talked to the manager of the maze, and because he said he doesn't have anybody working for him that dresses like that, they say it had to be a figment of my imagination. According to them, I ran into barbed wire because I was too scared to know what was happening," I say.

  "That's bullshit," my father sighs. He looks embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

  "No," I say, shaking my head. "I think that about sums it up. But I really am fine. You didn't need to come all the way out here just to check on me.”

  “I will come anywhere I need to check on you. You might be an adult, but you will always be my baby. I missed ten years of checking on you and taking care of you when you were hurt or sick. I'm not missing it one more time. Besides, I just finished an investigation. I thought maybe I could help with what's going on here,” he says.

  “Maybe,” I say. “But first I have to actually figure out what's going on. It's so confusing. Just when I think I've figured something out or I'm on the right path, a complete detour will happen, and I'm totally thrown off track again.”

  “That's happened before,” he notes. “And you always get through it. Have you talked to Sam?”

  “I c
alled him last night. He wanted to come, but I stopped him. He's already taking so much time away from Sherwood, I don't want to cause him any more trouble,” I say.

  A sudden realization hits me, and I hang my head low.

  Dad tilts his head to look at my face as I stare down at my lap.

  “What's wrong?” he asks.

  “I forgot to make his cinnamon rolls,” I say.

  “What?” he asks.

  “When I was at home, I promised I would make him cinnamon rolls and put them in the freezer so he could have them when I wasn't there. Then I got the call from Creagan saying Xavier had gotten a hearing about a new trial, and he was securing a search warrant for the temple. I was so wrapped up, I completely forgot,” I explain.

  “It's just cinnamon rolls,” Dad says. “I'm sure Sam is fine.”

  “He is,” I nod. “And that's the problem. He's fine with it. He shouldn't be. Because it's not just cinnamon rolls. It's something I told him I would do for him; then, I brushed it aside because of work. I don't want to do that. I don't want to be that person. It's why I broke up with him in the first place.”

  “What do you mean?” he frowns.

  The realization sinks in that my father wasn't around when Sam and I broke up. He didn't experience that with me.

  “After you disappeared, Sam tried to be there for me. He was amazing. He always has been,” I say.

  “He has,” Dad says. “I knew from the time you two were little that there was something special between you. When you started dating, I figured that was it. You two were going to be together forever.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “He was absolutely everything to me. I couldn't imagine a single moment of my life without him, and that meant I couldn't think about anything else. I had never gotten over that I didn't know what happened to Mama. She was gone, and nobody was ever going to tell me what happened. There were so many stories, so many lies, and cover-ups.”

  “I'm sorry,” he says, his lips pulled tight into a remorseful grimace. “I'm sorry I ever put you through that. I thought it was what was right, that it would help you.”