Nature of Darkness

by Robert W. Stephens

  “No, not yet.”

  “Are you waiting for an invitation?” Granier asked, and he winced again as another wave of pain hit him.

  McMahon said nothing. He walked over to Vargas’ BMW. He’d already grabbed the key fob from inside the house. He unlocked the doors. For such a new and high-end vehicle, Vargas had used it as a trash can of sorts. The passenger floorboard was littered with empty soda cups, sandwich wrappers, and rumpled paper bags from a variety of fast-food restaurants.

  He opened the glove compartment and found the registration for the car. It had Vargas’ mother’s name on it, as McMahon had already been told. There was also an owner’s manual and a vehicle inspection report.

  McMahon looked under the passenger seat but saw nothing of interest. He searched under the driver’s seat next and found a Ruger SRC9. The gun hadn’t been registered to Luis Vargas, but he could have bought it any number of ways. McMahon bagged the 9mm handgun and placed it on the driver’s side seat.

  He checked the backseat but found nothing. Next he used the key fob to pop the trunk. He found another bag of Oxycontin. It had around twenty pills inside, nowhere near as many as the bag Porter had found in the house.

  Despite his best efforts, McMahon felt doubt creeping into his mind. Luis Vargas had clearly been a drug dealer and there was no telling how long he’d been selling the pills on the street. Porter had been right. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to see him purchasing the BMW with the money he made from the drug sales.

  McMahon shut the trunk after placing the pills in an evidence bag. He then gave the pills and the Ruger SRC9 to a member of the forensics team. McMahon walked back into the house. He found Granier and Santos seated at the dining room table. A laptop was in front of Santos.

  “Have you been able to get in?” McMahon asked.

  “Yes. He had the password set to autofill after typing in his name,” Santos said.

  “Find anything?” McMahon asked.

  “I’ve gone through his emails from the past few months. Nothing of interest in there. I’ve also gone through his internet history. There’s nothing that ties him to Marcus Carter.”

  “He could have selectively deleted parts of his history,” McMahon suggested.

  “Sure, but if he was that careful, then why not do a better job of password protecting his computer?” Santos asked.

  McMahon said nothing.

  “We’ll have the guys go through this more thoroughly once we get back to Quantico,” Granier said.

  Porter entered the dining room. Granier turned to her.

  “Anything new?” Granier asked.

  Porter shook her head.

  “We’ve been through this house three times. Other than the Oxy and a few unregistered firearms, we haven’t found anything.”

  “And that barn in the back?” Granier asked.

  “We went over that too. We found exactly what you’d expect to find in a barn. A lawnmower, weed whacker, some garden tools, nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “You’ve torn up the floor in there too?” Granier asked.

  “The barn sits on a concrete slab. There was nothing to tear up. We did find some bags of dirt and fertilizer. I had the team dump them to see if he’d stashed anything inside a bag. There was nothing, though,” Porter said.

  “The house isn’t built on a slab. Check under that too,” Granier said.

  Porter didn’t respond, and McMahon thought he saw a glimpse of frustration in her eyes.

  “Do you have a problem following my instructions, Agent Porter?” Granier asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Porter turned and walked back out of the house. McMahon waited a minute and then he followed her. He looked toward the street and saw that the ambulance had left while he was inside. He removed his phone from his jacket pocket. He was about to call Quantico to get Agent Webb’s emergency contact information when his phone buzzed. He looked at the display and saw Cameron’s name.

  He’d told her that they’d found a good lead when Santos and Webb had stumbled on Luis Vargas. Now he had to break Cameron the bad news.

  Cameron McMahon stopped her car in front of the two-story house. The lawn was overrun with tall weeds and the porch light illuminated large sections of peeling paint on the walls. It looked as if someone had abandoned the house a year ago. Ordinarily, she would have put her car back into gear and driven away. Instead, she killed the ignition and climbed out. It was night and she saw another light on inside. She thought the owner should be home.

  She walked the cement sidewalk to the porch and rang the doorbell. No one answered, so she rang it a second time. Then she knocked on the door too. Cameron saw the light in the peephole go away, and she knew someone was looking at her.

  “Mr. Atwater, my name is Cameron McMahon. I need your help.”

  There was no response.

  “Please, Mr. Atwater. May I have a few minutes of your time?”

  The door swung open a moment later and she saw a tall, thin man with a week’s worth of gray stubble on his face. She guessed his age at around eighty or so. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting him to look like, but this wasn’t it.

  “I’m Cameron, I’m married to Douglas McMahon, he’s an FBI agent leading the task–”

  “I know who Agent McMahon is,” Atwater said, interrupting her.

  “He told me your name. He told me that you sometimes help Alex with his cases.”

  “Did he also tell you how he removed Alex from the case? That was because of me, I assure you.”

  “My husband is not himself. Our daughter has been taken.”

  “It’s always the same. You offer to help. Instead, they try to destroy you.”

  “He would never do that to you,” Cameron said.

  “Come now. Men will do anything when their backs are up against the wall.”

  “Please, will you let me come in?”

  “Does your husband know you’re here?”

  “No, he doesn’t, and any conversation we have will be between you and me.”

  “How did you find me?” Atwater asked.

  “I’ve been married to an FBI agent for over twenty years. You don’t think I’ve learned a few things?”

  Atwater looked at her for a long moment. Then he stepped back.

  “Thank you,” Cameron said.

  She walked into the house and Atwater closed the door behind her. Cameron followed him down a long dark hallway that took them to a spacious living room in the back of the house. The room was also dark with the exception of a low-wattage floor lamp near two worn-looking chairs.

  “Please have a seat,” Atwater said, and he indicated toward one of the chairs.

  She sat and faced him as he also had a seat.

  He didn’t appear angry or even upset after their brief conversation on the porch, but his eyes were cold. They seemed to bore right through her.

  “What exactly did your husband say about me?” Atwater asked.

  “He said you found Alex when he was kidnapped as a child. He said you led the police to a place deep in the woods where Alex had been buried in a wooden box.”

  “Did he also tell you how I was arrested for taking Alex? How I almost spent the rest of my life in prison for saving a child’s life?”

  “Yes.”

  “What else did he say? Did he tell you that he thought I must surely have been guilty?”

  “Yes, he did. I don’t believe him, though. My husband is an intelligent man, but that doesn’t mean he’s infallible. He’s frightened. He would never tell me this, but he has no idea where our daughter is. He has no leads and nowhere to turn.”

  “There are always leads. One must be open to seeing them.”

  Cameron didn’t respond.

  “Do you have a photograph of your daughter?” Atwater continued.

  Cameron reached into her purse. She pulled out her wallet and removed a small photograph, which she handed to Atwater.


  “That was taken last year when Doug and I visited her at George Mason University.”

  Atwater studied the photo for a few moments. Then he looked up at Cameron.

  “May I keep this?”

  “Of course.”

  “You must understand, that I can promise you nothing.”

  “How were you able to find Alex all those years ago?”

  “I saw him over a series of many nights. I had no idea who the boy was. I thought it was just a series of strange dreams, but then one morning I saw an article in the newspaper about a missing boy. It showed Alex’s photograph and I realized at once that he was the same boy in my visions.”

  “Have you had similar visions since then?”

  Atwater looked away. He avoided her gaze for close to ten seconds. Finally, he turned back to her.

  “I have, and I’ve done nothing.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you? Do you know what it’s like to be falsely accused of a crime, especially a crime against a child?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  She paused a moment.

  Then she continued, “Is there anything else that I can tell you about her, anything that will help you find her?”

  “No. The photograph is helpful. Alex has already told me everything else.”

  “Do you know where Alex is now?” she asked.

  “No. I haven’t spoken to him since he took me to Central State.”

  They looked at each other for a few moments, neither apparently knowing what to say next. Then Cameron stood.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Atwater. I would appreciate any help you can offer.”

  Atwater nodded. Then he stood and walked her to the door.

  She exited the house, but she turned back to Atwater after taking a few steps. The front porch light bathed her in a golden hue.

  “I’m truly sorry for what you went through. No one should have to endure that.”

  “And I’m sorry that your daughter is missing. Alex is a good detective, though. If anyone can find her, it’s him.”

  “I wish that were true, but my husband won’t let him near the investigation. I doubt Alex is willing to do anything now.”

  “Don’t lose hope, Mrs. McMahon. Alex often finds ways to surprise people.”

  Angela woke in the middle of the night. Her son’s screams seemed to echo off the walls of her bedroom, but she assumed it was just a nightmare. She climbed out of bed and walked down the hallway to her son’s room. She stood in the doorway and looked inside. Marcus Carter was standing in the corner of the room. Angela looked at the bed, but Charlie was gone.

  “What have you done with him?”

  “It’s taken him, Angela. I don’t know where they’ve gone.”

  “Who’s taken him?”

  “You know who it is. It’s the same thing that killed those women. It wanted our son. How could you have let this happen?”

  “You’re the one who’s done this. You led it to my boy.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you go so far away?” Marcus asked.

  Angela ran to every room of the house, but Charlie was nowhere to be found. When she got to the kitchen, she saw that the backdoor was open. She walked outside. Her backyard revealed a vast desert landscape. The moon was obscured by clouds so there was no light.

  She ran back into the house and grabbed a powerful flashlight from one of the drawers in the kitchen cabinet. Then she went into her bedroom and retrieved her sidearm from the nightstand. Charlie was out there somewhere, and she would kill whoever had taken him.

  Angela went back into her son’s bedroom, but Marcus was gone. The plan was obvious now. It had been his job to distract her while the kidnapper made away with Charlie.

  Angela hadn’t heard a car engine so they must have escaped on foot into the desert. They had a frightened hostage in tow and wouldn’t be able to move as fast as she could. She ran outside and made her way to the edge of the backyard where it joined the desert. She scanned the ground with her flashlight. She saw several small footprints that her son had probably made in previous days. They went off in various directions, but there were no larger prints from an adult male or female.

  She walked several feet into the desert and continued to shine her light at the dusty ground, hoping to find the direction they’d taken Charlie.

  “Mom!” she heard her son yell.

  It was difficult to tell the precise direction it had come from since sounds carried on the flat landscape. Angela advanced forward, praying her son would give her another clue to his whereabouts. She continued to shine her light as she walked deeper into the desert, but she still didn’t see any prints in the dirt.

  “Mom!” the boy yelled again.

  This time Angela could make out where he was. He sounded directly in front of her. Maybe a hundred yards away. She broke out into a run, moving as fast as she could in the dark. As she got closer to where she thought Charlie was, she saw a dark figure directly in front of her. The figure, which had the shape of a tall man, raised its hand at her. Angela didn’t hesitate. She lifted her gun and fired several times.

  The dark figure fell to the ground. She came up on him fast and pointed her flashlight at his face. It was Marcus. She knelt beside him and felt for a pulse, but the father of her child was dead.

  “Mom!”

  “I’m coming, Charlie! Hold on!”

  Angela stood and took off running again. Charlie had sounded even closer than before. She knew she was heading in the right direction.

  She ran in a flat-out sprint for another thirty seconds when she saw another figure in the shadows. This person was much smaller than Marcus and she realized it was her son.

  “Charlie! Are you all right?”

  The boy didn’t turn to her. Angela slowed. She aimed her flashlight all around her son, assuming his kidnapper had to be close by. There was no one there.

  Angela took a step closer to her son.

  “Charlie, it’s me. It’s Mom.”

  The boy still didn’t turn around.

  “Did they hurt you? Are you all right?”

  Angela shined her light up and down his body. He didn’t seem hurt. She walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “Charlie, why won’t you look at me?”

  Angela turned him around but then stepped back in horror. His face was covered with a mask of flesh.

  “Where did you get that? Who put that on you?” she demanded.

  The young boy started to laugh.

  Angela opened her eyes. She tried to slow her racing heartbeat. She looked at the clock on her nightstand. It was just after midnight. She eased her mind and listened for any unusual sounds. She heard nothing.

  Angela climbed out of bed and walked to her son’s room. She looked inside and saw him lying in bed. She walked closer. The boy was sound asleep without a care in the world.

  She left his room and walked back into her bedroom. She stopped at the doorway when she saw her running shoes sitting on the floor near the bed. She distinctly remembered putting them away in the closet the day before.

  Angela walked closer to her shoes and looked down at them. The white and red shoes were completely covered in dust and dirt. She couldn’t understand it since she only wore the shoes when she ran, and her jogging path never ventured off of paved surfaces.

  She left her bedroom and walked into the kitchen. She looked through the bay window, but she saw nothing in the backyard. The nightmare had been different this time, but she didn’t know what it meant. She did know one thing. As long as Marcus Carter had a partner out there, she and her son were never going to be safe.

  Angela walked over to the kitchen table and grabbed her purse off one of the wooden chairs. She dug inside it until she found what she was looking for. She walked back into her bedroom and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. She unplugged the phone from her charger and looked at the business card in her hand. Angela punched in the ten-digit num
ber.

  The man on the other end answered.

  “Hello.”

  “Alex, it’s me, Angela. I’ve changed my mind. I’m in.”

  28

  The Prize

  Penfield and Angela met at the Santa Fe airport in the late morning. Angela needed time to get her son to her friend’s house. It was the same home he’d stayed in during her trip to Rome, and she told Penfield the boy was excited to see his friend again, even though they’d only been apart a few days.

  Penfield changed his flight to Norfolk, Virginia in favor of one flying into Richmond, which was much closer to Central State. He also purchased a ticket for Angela, although he almost forgot to use her new name of Renee Rankin. Fortunately, she saw the mistake when it was about to happen and introduced herself to the ticket agent as she handed the woman her New Mexico driver’s license.

  Penfield had called McMahon after getting off the phone with Angela the night before. He knew he wouldn’t have caught the FBI agent asleep. If anything, he doubted McMahon had gone to bed in the last few days.

  McMahon said he’d personally pick them up at the Richmond airport, and Penfield and Angela saw him as they exited the baggage claim area. McMahon walked up to them on the airport sidewalk. Penfield thought the man had aged ten years since he’d seen him last. His posture was slumped, and it seemed that all the life had been taken from him.

  “Hello, Doug,” Angela said in a tone that was all business.

  “I wish this were under different circumstances,” McMahon said. “What shall I call you today?”

  “Angela Darden is fine. But after this is all over, she’s going away for good.”

  “I know this is extremely difficult for you. If it weren’t for my daughter…” McMahon said, and his words trailed off. Then he turned to Penfield.

  “Alex, I know I said this last night, but thank you. Thank you for not giving up on Jenna, especially after how I spoke to you.”

  “Let’s not talk of it again. It never happened,” Penfield said.

  McMahon nodded.

  “Have you made any progress since you spoke with Alex last night?” Angela asked.