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

by A J Rivers

  “Is he here?” Dean asks.

  “Is who here?” I ask.

  He looks frantic, on the edge of completely falling apart.

  “Xavier,” he says. “I can't find him.”

  “What do you mean you can't find him?”

  “I can't find him,” Dean repeats. “When I woke up this morning, he was there. Just like he always is. Then I went to have a phone call with one of my clients, and when I came back out, he was gone. I looked all over the house, in the garage, everywhere. He's not there. So, I thought I would come look here. I still have my room here, just in case, so I thought maybe he had come to just have some time to himself.”

  “He doesn't drive, Dean.”

  “I know,” he says. “But he had to have gotten somewhere, somehow. Because he's not in either place. He's been really agitated the last couple of days. I've barely been able to understand anything he’s been saying. I sat up with him most of the night the last two nights, just trying to keep him calm and make him feel better.”

  He paces back and forth for a few seconds. “What if something happened to him? What if they find him?”

  “Nothing is going to happen to him,” I say. “Because we're going to find him first. But we're going to have to split up to look for him. We need to get to him as fast as we can.”

  “Okay, for the record, I can’t be blamed this time if something happens to you when we’re split up,” Dean comments. Sam cuts him a look.

  “Where?” Sam asks. “Where should we look?”

  “The nearest baseball field,” I say. “He loves baseball. I know there aren't any games being played right now, but this is Xavier. Dean, you know him. Look where he would be comfortable. Somewhere that would make him happy.”

  Dean nods, and we head toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Dean asks.

  “Andrew Eagan's grave,” I say. “Today is the anniversary of his death. It's really been weighing on Xavier, and I think it finally got to him. Maybe he would want to go and pay his respects.”

  “Keep your phone on,” Sam tells me. “Get in touch if anything happens.”

  “Both of you, too,” I say, giving each of them a hug.

  “Love you,” Sam whispers.

  “Love you.”

  We split up in the parking lot, and I get in my car. I'm pulling out as I research where Andrew is buried. As I type his name, my mind shifts. That's not where he is. Xavier is anxious and upset. He's angry and sad and agitated. He's not going to go to the cemetery. He's going to go somewhere that gives him peace.

  I know exactly where he is.

  I shut the car off and wait for a moment in silence, hoping I will hear something, anything to guide me. A gentle, cool breeze moves leaves through the distance, and they collect against the wooden walls blocking the entrance to the theme park. The gate, rusted green by time and weather and disuse, is cracked open. There seems to be no movement I can see inside, but that means nothing.

  Pulling the gun out of my side holster, I flip the safety switch off, just in case, before re-holstering it and step out of the car. I shut the door hard, knowing that if someone was waiting for me, they heard me pull in anyway. At least this way, maybe Xavier heard me. I walk up to the gates and peer inside.

  There is a long, empty path, looking almost like a road, with facades on either side. At the end of the path is the Ferris wheel, the seats all removed, so it is just a big empty circle in the sky. As the breeze blows, the wheel moves a little but does not spin.

  The path forks around the wheel, leading deeper into the amusement park, and then splits off in various directions, all the side paths presumably returning at some point to funnel people back to the entrance. I take a few hesitant steps inside and feel the darkness of the park closing in around me. My eyes begin to adjust to the lack of light, and I can just make out the names on the buildings above empty stalls.

  Some of the stalls were clearly games, with empty bottles or a basketball hoop still set up. Time and disuse have worn the paint away from the backboard and the sign telling customers how much a toss costs. I briefly imagine the park full of life. The laughter, the music, the children running around with their prizes. The smell of fried food, the whirring of the rides, the tangible excitement, and the anticipation of being on the roller coaster.

  I shudder at the stark difference now and push on. I pass by a drink stand that’s worn away to nothingness, the roof having caved in on itself and the paint of the soda company logo long worn away. I try to get some sense of where Xavier might have gone. The loneliness of the large, empty park starts to weigh on my shoulders, and I shake it off.

  Dean and Sam are busy looking elsewhere, but someone needs to look here. Xavier said this is a place of peace. On a night when he desperately needs peace and comfort, this would be a home of both, even in decay. Xavier wouldn’t see it as empty or lifeless or dead. He would see what it once was, the energy that once filled it having never really left at all. He would see himself and his friend, still here and in that way, just as they always were. I try to see it the way he would. Where would he go?

  My instincts take me to the left of the wheel. Something about how most people go right makes me feel more as if he would go the other direction. Less traffic moving his way. The path leads around the wheel and then veers off through a tunnel, long overgrown with vines and shrubs. I take a deep breath and enter the tunnel, keeping my eyes on the dim light at the end.

  It is suffocating inside. The plant life that grew up around the sides, circling the metal and mesh tunnel, closed off the passage of air. The exit is so overgrown, I’ll have to climb through it. The air inside is heavy and musty, warmer than outside. I can just make out footprints in caked mud along one side, and figure they have to be Xavier’s. Transients wouldn’t come this far out.

  I holster the gun and push hard against a branch to create an opening. As soon as I climb through the brush, I hear something shift to one side. The light is brighter than I expect, and suddenly it’s directly in my eyes, blinding me. I can barely make out the skeleton of a rollercoaster in the distance when something crashes hard into my chest.

  I hit the ground hard, and I roll to one side to try to get my feet under me. Before I can use the momentum to stand, another blow to my chest sends me reeling, and I hit the ground hard on my shoulder.

  Whoever it is kicks me hard in the ribs, and I wrap my arm around his foot. He stumbles for a second, and I try to roll with his leg, taking him down. Instead, he drops his weight on the back of my neck, and I go limp. My fingers tingle as I groggily try to get to my knees. I hear a sound of effort, and another hard kick connects, heel first, in my temple.

  Gravel and dirt fill my senses when I come to again. It could have only been seconds because he’s not on top of me, but I realize I was out. I scramble onto my back, rolling backward to create space and reach for my hip. The gun is still there, and I yank it out of the holster. Blood flows from a cut on the side of my cheek, and a rivulet streams into my mouth. I taste iron and dead leaves. I spit as I get to one knee and look back at my attacker, who has ceased pummeling me for now.

  Whoever it is wants me to get up. Which must mean he isn’t afraid that I have a weapon. I put one hand up to block the light that is blinding me still. I can just make out a shadow against it.

  “Don’t move,” I yell, aiming at the blurry black shadow. I sidestep to move out of the direct glare. As I do, color filters into focus, and the face of the person in front of me becomes clearer.

  It’s him.

  “Isn’t this familiar?” the Dragon sneers.

  “How?” I stammer. Before he can answer, I pull the trigger. I don’t care how. I want him dead.

  But the gun doesn’t fire. I click it a few more times, my stomach dropping. I can feel the air as my eyes open wide as I pull the trigger over and over again.

  “Missing these?” Dragon grins, kicking at the ground. Bullets roll in all directions. I stare at them,
uncomprehending.

  “You were out for a minute there,” he says in mocking concern. “I thought our reunion was already over, but then you moved. I couldn’t have you shoot me, but,” he says, taking a step closer, his breath creating a halo of steam above his head, “I did want you to pull the gun out. For old time’s sake.”

  He smiles at me, and I feel my stomach flip. It’s the same wide but thin smile he had when he committed murder in front of me. The smile of a man who doesn’t just think, but knows everything is under his control. He has ultimate power.

  Even though the gun has no bullets, I stand there, training it on him still. My mind is racing, trying to think of what to do next. No one knows where I am, and even if they did, they wouldn’t have time to get to me. I have to do this on my own. I have no clue if anyone else is here or what he has planned. The best thing I can do is go on offense.

  So I do.

  I toss the gun at him, not necessarily trying to hit him, but to distract him. He takes the bait and ducks as one arm reaches out to try and bat it away. I pounce, diving at his knee, smashing my own into it from the side.

  He cries out and crumples to the ground, and I wrap my arm around his throat, staying on his back. I try to maneuver for a chokehold, but he spins, making me lose my grip. I roll away, but he is faster and not suffering from a likely second concussion in a short span of time. I try to wrap around him by the torso as he reaches me, but he rains down a fist that connects with my jaw, and I feel myself lose strength as if it’s flooding out of my fingers.

  I fight to shove him off, but he is already mounting me, throwing haymakers at the sides of my head. I reach up to triangle him, trying to trap one arm and his head and choke him out, but he connects with his elbow on my jaw, and my vision fades. I don’t feel the pain of the next hit, but I can feel my head react to the momentum, snapping it to the side. My eyes flutter closed, and the back of my skull cracks against the pavement.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The ground moves beneath me, but I know I’m not walking. I can feel the dirt and wet grass brush against the skin of my lower stomach as my shirt stretches. My other arm is tingling and is raised above me. It dawns on me that I am being dragged. I try to open my mouth, but the effort is too much. I fade again.

  Again, my eyes open. The world is blurry around me, but I am no longer moving. I am face down on concrete. Blood pools under my nose, and as I exhale, a bubble forms in it. I watch it as it moves across the puddle and then pops. The throbbing in my skull is intense. I close my eyes for just a second to block out the light.

  I open them again, and I am sitting. The grogginess is fading fast, and I feel the world rapidly coming back into focus. There are what looks like hundreds of chains in front of me, coming down from above. I turn my head to the side and see that one is beside me too. My feet aren’t touching the ground. Where am I?

  My head lolls to the other side, and the world spins with it. I clench my eyes shut, but no time passes when I open them again. I am fully awake but in tremendous pain.

  And in mid-air.

  Suddenly, everything slides into focus, and I see where I am: high above the ground, my legs dangling from the swing. I stop letting my legs kick out of instinct, forcing myself to calm down. My hands aren’t tied, but that doesn’t stop the fear clutching my throat. A metal bar stretches across my lap, holding me in the thin leather seat. It connects to the two chains on the front, and when my knee hits it, it moves up.

  I look around wildly, and ice courses through my veins at what I see. A person is in a swing a few dozen seats away, directly across from me on the other side of the pole in the center. I recognize him despite his being slumped over, his head curled into his chest. A single, dried line of blood runs from his forehead down his nose.

  Xavier is hurt, and there is no metal bar securing him to his seat.

  “Don’t I remember your saying you loved the swings, Emma?” Dragon shouts from far below me. “Or was it that you hated them?”

  I look down to see him standing in a box just outside the metal bars of the ride’s barrier. A control panel sits in front of him, and the wireframe that once held a canopy to cover the operator is now bare, so I can see straight down to him. His toothy grin is wider now, and the light bounces off it.

  “Let him go,” I shout down to him.

  “Poor choice of words, Emma,” Dragon replies and presses a button. Lights suddenly fill the ride, and I squint against them.

  “Bring us back down, or I swear to God…” I begin.

  “What? You swear what? What good are your promises anyway?” he screams, spittle falling from his lips and resting on his chin. He doesn’t even wipe it away as he speaks. “What do you know about power?”

  His other hand holds a phone, and he presses his thumb into the screen. When he does, lights flood the entire area of the park. I can see for dozens of yards beyond the swings.

  “I know about power,” Dragon continues. “Like electricity, it flows through me. It’s funny. This old place was abandoned for a long, long time. Yet all I needed to do was make one phone call. Just one, and poof.”

  Another press on the screen of the phone, and the lights of the swings come on. Music begins to play, and in the distance, the wheel comes alive, spinning with no seats. A ride for no one but the breeze.

  Across from me, I hear Xavier stir, and I snap my head over to him.

  “Don’t move, Xavier. Stay where you are. I am going to get you out of this,” I call over. “Just don’t move.”

  “Okay, Emma,” he mutters weakly.

  “Power, power, power,” Dragon grumbles below me, and I turn back to him. “People fear me, Emma. They fear my power. Fear is better than respect, you know. Big shot agent you are, you know about respect. But respect means nothing. People can respect you and still disobey you. But fear? When people fear you, they do as they are told. And on the rare occasions when they do not...”

  He lets his threat trail off. His hand floats to a switch, and he flips it as he stares up at me. I feel my body jerk, and the sound of the motor comes to life in the pole. The swings begin to move.

  “Xavier, hold on to the chains,” I shout back at my friend.

  “I can’t!” he calls. “My hands…”

  I move my gaze to where his hands are clenched between his legs. They are tied with a thick rope. There seems to be another rope tied around his elbows as well, the other end running down below the swing.

  “Oh, God.”

  “Sometimes,” Dragon continues below, “you have to teach people to obey. Like a dog.”

  The swings turn and gain speed. Xavier starts to slide as the swings’ movement pulls them up parallel with the ground. He looks back at me with eyes that have no fear, no worry. Just resignation. This is the world as it is, right now. Maybe for the rest of his life.

  “Shut it down,” I cry out to Dragon. “You don’t have the power you think you do. You still owe The Order. They will collect. So will the FBI. You can’t outrun everyone.”

  As I spin, I can hear the echo of his laughter encircling me. Xavier is slipping inch by inch, and my mind is racing to figure out how to stop his slide.

  “The debt to The Order is paid!” Dragon screams. “And my power doesn’t stop at the doors of the law, Emma. I have friends everywhere.”

  Xavier cries out from across from me, and I look over to him, a scream filling my own throat. His body tumbles out of the seat, and the rope that holds him around his arms slips up nearly to his shoulders. I see the way it is tied in a noose above his back. The way he is spinning on the swings, all it will take is for him to slip further and further down, and the noose will tighten around his neck.

  “Xavier, don’t panic!” I cry out. “Try to stay calm!”

  His eyes are rolling around as if he is taking in everything one last time. His lips move as he mutters to himself. I can’t make out the words, but it seems as if he is doing a math equation.

  “Too bad abou
t Xavier Renton,” Dragon calls from below. “So distraught by his inevitable return to prison that he came to a place he used to spend time, found his favorite ride, and took his own life.”

  My eyes make contact with Xavier’s, and I watch helplessly as he slips further, the rope now just barely on his shoulders.

  I’ve failed. Xavier is going to die here, and then I am going to die here, and Sam and Dean won’t ever know what truly happened to me. And my father will have lost me again, and everyone I love in my life will be heartbroken. But then—

  A boom crackles through the air below.

  Dragon cries out in agony.

  I look down as the swings revolve and see Lilith Duprey standing just beyond where Dragon was, a gun in her hand, the barrel smoking. Dragon lies crumpled under the controls, most of his body out of view.

  “Lilith!” I call out. “Stop the swings!”

  She reaches forward and slams her hand on a red button in the center of the console. I hear the motor die away, and the swings slow down. Xavier’s hands and feet are tied together, but he is reaching up, trying to grab the rope around his shoulders.

  “I’m going to bring you down,” Lilith calls, and I feel the jerk of the swings lowering. When they do, Xavier slips further, and he clutches at the rope just before it slides up around his neck.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “Stop!” I scream. The swings cease to move, and I yank on the metal bar that holds me in the swing. It moves up the chains easily, and I grasp them just below it and hoist myself until I am standing in the leather seat.

  “What are you doing?” Lilith cries from below.

  “I don’t really know,” I tell her, releasing the chain with one hand for a moment to let the bar drop and then grabbing it again. I repeat the action with the other side, and the bar drops all the way down to the seat. I place one foot on it and steady myself.

  Xavier is hanging all the way across from me, one hand between the rope and his neck, his feet curled up under him like a frog to give him the slack he needs to get his hand up there. He is sputtering and in obvious pain but is still mumbling and looking over at me.