“I’ll give this to my accountant. He’ll put a check in the mail.”
As the door slammed shut behind their most lucrative client, Barker sank into his chair and let his head drop into his hands.
“I’m sorry, man,” Frankie muttered, his eyes moving back to the computer screen. “It’s just been a really crappy day and looking at all this isn’t helping.”
Barker raised his head and sighed.
“Okay, what have you really been doing?”
“I’ve been looking for a girl. She’s in trouble and I thought…”
Staring at Frankie’s bowed head, Barker sighed.
“Another one, huh? You’re starting to make this a habit.”
But his eyes softened as Frankie looked up, and he smiled.
“If Taylor ever gets in trouble again, and I can’t be there, I’d want you to be the one looking out for her,” Barker said, his eyes misting over at the thought of his daughter. “You helped bring her back to me, and I haven’t forgotten that.”
Frankie tried to smile, but the posts from families trying to find missing loved ones kept flashing through his head. He didn’t have time now, but he promised himself he’d spend more time later trying to find out where Ruby came from, and who might be looking for her.
Maybe the only people looking for the poor girl are those thugs that roughed her up. Maybe she really is all alone in the world.
The possibility that yet another girl was lost to the darkness and doom of addiction made Frankie crave a hard drink. Maybe more than one. He stood and crossed to the door, knowing he had to keep busy or the craving might take over.
“Okay, back to my post.”
He threw Barker a jaunty salute as he went out the door, but an ache had settled into his stomach, and it didn’t fade as he walked the few blocks to City Hall. It was the same feeling he always got when he thought about his little sister.
The terrible certainty that he’d failed Franny surged through him all over again, along with the impulse to stop Ruby Chase from suffering the same, sad fate.
Why do I have to see Franny in every messed-up girl I meet?
Squeezing his eyes shut against the image of Franny’s still, pale face, and the thinness of her bruised, ruined arms, Frankie wondered if his sister was up there somewhere, urging him on.
It would always be too late to save Franny, but it seemed that there was always another girl out there, just as lost and alone as his sister had been. Another girl that needed saving.
Chapter Eighteen
Skylar figured the Professor had been gone for at least three days, but she’d slept fitfully off and on, and now had no idea what time it was, unsure if it was night or day, or if time really even mattered in the small, dark safe room that was, for the moment, her whole world.
Closing Astrid’s now worn out copy of Pride and Prejudice, Skylar whispered the words she’d read so many times in the last week.
“Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”
She wished she could force her mind to follow that advice. If only she could stop herself from thinking of the things she’d seen and heard. Remembering her past gave her no pleasure, only pain.
Running her fingers over the spine of the book, Skylar wondered if it was time to move on to another book on the shelf. Although she’d already read each book in the safe room many times over, even the ones she didn’t like, it was always satisfying to pick up a book and start from the beginning.
The very act of starting something created the illusion that there was something she needed to finish. A task to complete, and a purpose to keep her going. Losing herself in the pages of these books was the only way she could escape the cold silence of the little room that was her prison.
Skylar slid Pride and Prejudice back on the shelf, keeping it near the front, in a place of honor. She’d gotten the book from Astrid’s book bag, along with a thick volume of Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets.
The big book stirred thoughts of Astrid as she pulled it from the shelf, and Skylar squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the image of blood-stained snow that trembled at the edge of her memory.
Opening the book to Hamlet, Skylar flipped through pages until she found the words that she’d carefully underlined.
In this sleep of death what dreams may come…
She wondered what would happen if she were to let herself just sleep, and never wake up. Would the nightmares still come? Would the Professor haunt her even then?
Would the women that haunt my dreams be with me, too?
She closed the heavy book, shutting out the words and the thoughts that came with them, and put it back on the shelf, careful not to bend any of the pages.
With only two shelves full of books to last a lifetime, Skylar had to make do with what was available, and she fiercely protected the treasured books that she’d managed to scavenge from the discarded backpacks and bookbags left behind by the safe room’s unwilling visitors.
Several books still bore the name of a college student that would never get a chance to find out if the story had a happy ending. Skylar tried not to look at the names too often.
Kneeling beside the little cot, Skylar carefully pulled out the small pile of paper she’d been saving. Most of the paper in the stack had already been filled with sketches.
She let her eyes linger over the scenes of winter beyond the big fence, vegetables blooming in the little garden, and the faces of women who had come and gone throughout the years.
She lifted a small finger and traced the outline of a woman’s face on a slip of paper, wondering if she’d ever seen the lovely face, or if the woman it belonged to lived only in her dreams.
Something about the woman was familiar. Maybe it was the look of hopelessness in her eyes, or the trace of a sad smile that turned up the corner of her mouth.
Standing to look at her own reflection in the small mirror above the sink, Skylar frowned, then picked up a pencil and began moving it through the air, imagining the lines she would need to draw to capture the forlorn expression on her own pale face.
But she couldn’t afford to waste a piece of paper on a self-portrait, could she? She didn’t know when she’d have the chance to filch more paper. Of course, if the Professor never came back, the drawing might be the only thing left to prove Skylar had ever existed.
A pang of hunger stopped her morbid thoughts, and she crossed to the storage shelves where the Professor had stacked enough boxed, canned, and packaged food to last a year.
Picking up a can of tomato soup, Skylar opened the can and poured the thick red liquid into a small saucepan, then placed the pan on the two-burner hotplate that was her only cooking appliance.
As she waited for the soup to heat up, Skylar imagined that the weather was growing colder outside, and pictured the snow piling up on the treetops on the other side of the fence.
She realized she missed watching the sky fade from blue to black outside the big windows as she cooked the Professor’s dinner.
Skylar had been the only one the Professor allowed to roam freely around the big house while he spent countless hours at his computer, obsessed with the world outside the compound.
During the summer she’d been tasked with growing vegetables and fruit in the back garden, which was surrounded by a high concrete wall and equipped with a high-tech security system.
The relative freedom she’d been given had gone only as far as the compound’s big fence. It had often been taken away without notice whenever the Professor decided it was safer for her to go underground.
But now that she’d been trapped in the safe room for days, reduced to moving around the small area with no natural light or air, the upstairs world seemed like an unattainable dream.
Standing under the hatch that provided the only way up and out of the safe room, Skylar wondered if she could find a way to reach it without the little ladder.
Could she stand the little cot on end? Or maybe take out the shelving
and build her own ladder?
The ideas all seemed impossible, and the little voice in her head scoffed at the possibility she’d be able to concoct some kind of solution on her own.
Even if I did manage to get up there, the hatch is locked from the outside.
Skylar smelled the scent of bubbling soup, and turned away from the hatch, knowing she had to eat to keep up her strength.
But a disturbing thought had wormed its way into her mind as she’d looked up helplessly at the hatch.
What will happen if the Professor doesn’t come back? Will I live out the rest of my life locked away down here? How long will I last?
Spooning the hot soup into her mouth, Skylar tried to clear her head of the troubling questions. She finished the soup without really tasting it and went back in her room to sit on the cot.
The sketches were still in a pile on the floor, and she picked up the paper on top, staring again at the face of the woman with the sad smile.
Holding the slip of paper against her chest, Skylar curled up on the cot and closed her eyes. Within minutes she was dreaming.
Skylar heard the woman’s frantic voice shouting up at her. Looking down, she tried to make out the woman below, but her face was cloaked in darkness.
Staring upward, Skylar gazed at the circle of brilliant blue sky above her.
"Climb up, Skylar. We have to run and hide."
Skylar tried to move her legs, but she was too scared. Her legs were frozen with fear, and she felt her body start to wobble on the ladder.
Soft arms suddenly surrounded her.
“I’ve got you,” the woman whispered. “Hold on tight.”
Skylar felt the sweet warmth of the woman’s breath on her face as she was carried up toward the light.
Gasping at the sting of icy air on her face, Skylar looked around, squinting in the brilliant sunshine, blinking against the wind that sent her hair whipping around her face, blocking her view.
“Now run, Skylar. Run for the woods and don’t look back.”
The ground was frozen solid under her little shoes, and she slipped and fell forward, her bare hands sinking into a clump of snow.
Scrambling to her feet, she saw the trees in the distance. The tops of the trees were covered in snow, and the sun glistened off the blinding whiteness as she ran forward, her breath puffing out in front of her.
Skylar jumped when a big hand fell on her shoulder.
Lifted high into the air, her hands flailed as she was carried back toward the dark opening in the earth.
“Skylar!”
The scream echoed in the air.
Kicking at the arm holding her, Skylar broke free from the iron grip.
Then she was falling and falling, until at last her head connected hard with the frozen ground and the sky blinked out and disappeared.
The burning odor roused Skylar from her sleep. She hadn’t turned the hot plate off, and the remnants of the soup had blackened in the pan, filling the little room with an offensive smell.
She switched off the hot plate and dropped the pan in the sink, shaken by the intensity of the dream.
Was the woman in the drawing the same woman that had been in her dream? The woman that had told her to run and hide?
Something bad happened to that woman.
The words fluttered through her mind, but she pushed them away, not sure if she was unable or unwilling to remember.
Walking back to the hatch, she looked up and frowned. Had the dream been a memory, or a warning?
In her dream, the ladder had led up to a bright blue sky.
This couldn’t be it. This hatch leads to the bottom floor of the house.
Could there be another way out?
There are grey wolves and mountain lions out there, girl. They’d love nothing more than to have you for dinner.
The Professor’s grim words echoed in her ears. What would happen if she did manage to get outside?
It’s probably snowing again, and the wolves might be howling.
She wasn’t sure what would be worse, the Professor finding her, or being hunted down by the other predators that roamed the forest.
Forcing the Professor's angry face out of her mind, Skylar picked up a pencil and found her last empty sheet of paper.
I’ll draw Astrid before I forget what she looked like. Before it’s too late and there’s nothing to prove she was ever here. Before I disappear, too.
Chapter Nineteen
Tucker’s Truck Stop was quiet as the Professor pulled off the highway. The old gas station didn’t see much traffic in the colder months when few people ventured off the interstate on their way to the coast. Steering the big rig into the lot, he noted the white Honda parked under a battered Truck Repairs Here sign.
The car had been left just as he’d been promised, and the Professor grunted in satisfaction as he maneuvered into an empty parking space reserved for semis and RVs.
Jumping down from the cab, the Professor jogged across the lot and circled the white car. It wasn’t as new as the black Toyota he’d used the night before, but it would do. Looking around to make sure he wasn’t being observed, he opened the driver’s door and slipped behind the wheel.
He leaned forward to open the glovebox, picking up the key fob and eyeing the big Ruger inside. His contact had delivered everything to plan. Now he just had to wait for Diablo to arrive.
A drop of water splashed onto the windshield, and then another. Within minutes the rain was beating down on the little car.
Starting the Honda’s engine, the Professor flipped on the heater. He was used to much colder weather, but he’d anticipated the Florida temperature to be almost warm, if not balmy, and was wearing only a thin jacket he wore on spring days back in the Bitterroot Valley.
The Professor adjusted his seat back and rested his hands on the steering wheel. Taking off his gloves, he stretched his bruised fingers as he replayed the events of the last twenty-four hours and planned his next move.
It had been relatively easy to transfer Astrid’s frozen body from the big chest freezer into the backseat of the Toyota. She’d been stiff and, to his relief, hadn’t started to smell of decomposition. It had almost been like moving an awkward piece of furniture.
But the trip into downtown Willow Bay had been nerve-wracking. The Professor had been sure someone would wonder why the black Toyota was circling around downtown in the pre-dawn hours. But the city had seemed deserted, and he’d encountered no one as he’d loaded Astrid onto the lightweight, folding wheelchair and rolled her into the old square.
Arranging her on the bench just as the sun started to rise in the east, the Professor had been prepared to greet any passersby calmly, as if he and his female companion were simply taking a rest before moving on about their day. But he’d been alone in the frigid square and had wheeled the chair back to the car without incident.
He’d been elated as he’d dropped off the Toyota and climbed back in his rig. Parking at a rest stop on the interstate, he’d slept like a baby most of the day, waking only to buy a sandwich and coffee from the rest stop café and check the local news on the mounted screens in the visitor’s center.
Veronica Lee’s report on the body found in Old Willow Square had set his heart pounding, and he imagined everyone in the little town was watching, including his ex-wife.
The traitorous bitch is about to learn that I always keep my promises.
A fist suddenly pounded on the passenger side window, and the Professor saw a man lean over and motion for him to unlock the door. Tempted to take out the Ruger just in case things went south, the Professor decided against it.
He doesn’t have the balls to kill me outright, even if he wanted to.
Leaning over, the Professor unlocked the door, and Diablo dropped into the passenger seat, his black leather jacket dripping rainwater onto the console between them.
Diablo wore a dark hoodie under his leather jacket, with the hood covering his head, and dark glasses, though the sun
had already dropped below the western horizon, and thick rain clouds obscured any daylight that remained.
The Professor gave the man a cursory look, quickly confirming that the man sitting next to him was in fact the man he’d expected.
There was no need to ask him to push back the hood or to take off his glasses. The Professor already knew what Diablo looked like, along with almost everything else about him.
If living in hiding all those years navigating the darknet had taught him anything, it was how to follow an online trail.
And the Professor had found many trails leading back to the man sitting next to him. The man who’d recently started calling himself Diablo hadn’t exactly laid low his whole life, and he hadn’t been savvy about using the darknet.
Assuming that no one on the illicit discussion boards would be able to track him down, Diablo hadn’t counted on the cunning and persistence of the man who’d created the discussion board dedicated to trafficking drugs, weapons, and on occasion, even human cargo.
“Okay, I’m here,” Diablo muttered, keeping one hand on the door handle as if prepared to jump out at any minute. “You said you had information for me. What is it?”
The Professor reached into his pocket. Diablo stiffened, then relaxed when he saw that the Professor held only a newspaper clipping from the Willow Bay Gazette.
“What’s that, a help-wanted ad?”
Diablo’s sarcastic grin evaporated as he saw the headline on the front page of the newspaper.
“You’re big news around here, aren’t you, Mr. Diablo?” The Professor drew out the name as if it tasted bitter on his tongue. “And you’d be even bigger news if your new career were to be exposed.”
The dark glasses hid Diablo’s expression, but the Professor could see the hand on the door handle ball into a fist. He spoke before Diablo could say something they would both regret. He now had the upper hand, and it was time to offer Diablo the bait.
“However, it seems we have mutual enemies, and I have information that will help us both get what we want.”
Her Winter of Darkness Page 12
