The little crystal clinks as it lands on the ground inside the cage. I turn towards the cupboard. Time to hide and wait.
He charges at me out of the darkness behind me, so fast and so quiet that I do not have time even to turn. He smashes bodily into me. I fly forwards into the cage, falling on the ground, him landing on top of me. He grabs my hair and smashes my forehead into the ground. Pain explodes in my skull.
On top of me his body stiffens. He knows something is wrong. I’d sprayed India’s perfume on me and worn her jacket to try to mask my scent, but he has sensed I am not her. He turns me over. He can see my face in the darkness though I cannot see his. He has recognized me.
“Fooled you,” I say.
“You bitch,” he snarls. “You little bitch. Where is she? Where is India?”
I open my mouth to speak, but his hands fasten around my throat. The bastard. I try to choke out the words I need to say, but he won’t let me. His hands are huge. They are squeezing. He is so fucking strong. My hand reaches for my pocket but he feels it. He squeezes his thighs around my torso, trapping my arm against it. The bastard. He has me pinned. I buck and I thrash but I cannot get free. My body is no match for his. Goddamn it.
I scream, but my breath only wheezes out. Lights are popping in the darkness before my eyes. Lights that aren’t really there. I am suffocating. I’m going to die.
The hell I will. I will not die. Not after I have waited so long for my payday.
My legs and my hips twist and writhe. I kick and buck and thrash. But there is no getting him off me. I’ve made it worse. My arm is trapped beneath my torso now, pinned by the full weight of him on top of me. I need that arm.
“India is here,” I say. The words do not actually come out of course, because he is choking me to death.
But he hears enough. “Where is she?” he snarls.
His hand eases away from my neck to let me speak, to tell him about India.
I say the incantation. The magic locked into the shield bracelet on my wrist explodes outwards. It throws him off me. But it doesn’t hurt him. It only winds him.
He screams in rage. He is between me and the door of the cage. I can’t get out. I scramble backwards away from him. He roars in rage and charges towards me. My bracelet is used up. There is no more shield magic. And I am weak. Too weak.
I scream in equal rage as he comes at me. I thrust my hand into my pocket. I came prepared. I grab the potion-tipped spike. He throws himself on top of me and I thrust my fist forward, the spike clutched in my fist. Its slender length sinks into his chest. He feels its sharpness, but it is too late. Even as his mouth contorts into a snarl of fury and realization, his body gives up on him. He collapses.
I crawl out from under him. I am panting with exhilaration and effort. I pat his cheek as he lays there helpless, the glint of his eyes telling me that he is glaring up at me. I’ve bested him, the muscle bound fool. I’ve reduced him to a dog.
“Stephen Manners, you little idiot. How do you like me now?” I taunt.
He says nothing. He resents me using his real name but he can’t speak. The elixir I jabbed into him is magically supercharged. I doubt he’s ever felt anything like it in his life. I switch on the torch of my phone so that I can enjoy the expression on his face. He is so potion-addled that he is drooling. The light is all the better for him to see me by. I want him to know who did this to him.
I drag the dead weight of his body a couple of feet. When he is close enough to the back of the cage, I cuff his hands to the bars. The elixir will eventually wear off and I want him helpless in here. I want him feeble and immobile.
“Sweet pea,” I say. “It’s time to accept that you tried and you failed. And nobody likes a failure.”
His eyes glower. If he could speak he’d be screaming at me.
I crouch over him, enjoying the sight of his impotence. “Poor pathetic you,” I say, enjoying how his eyes seemed to bulge at my words.
He doesn’t want to be pathetic. He wanted to be powerful. He is desperately trying to think how to escape even now. If he could, he would scream at me that it isn’t his fault. That none of what happened is of his making.
I laugh at him. “You know you have to die, right?”
He can’t answer, so I grab a handful of his hair and make him nod his head. I giggle at the pathetic helplessness on his face. The puce humiliation.
“You’re wondering how India got your phone number, aren’t you?” I ask him. “I gave it to her. Naughty you. Hiding in plain sight among the search party. I bet you just loved it. Speaking of phones…”
I search his pockets until I find his. I take it out and use his fingerprint to unlock it, and then I scroll through his contacts list. “Well, would you look at that? I wonder who this big old X could possibly be?”
He blinks his eyes rapidly. His eyes are the one thing that he still has control of. If he could, he would be shaking his head frantically.
“No? You don’t want me to call this number?”
I jerk his head from side to side, shaking it like he would be if he could.
I slap his cheek. “Too bad for you, buddy. But it looks like this payday is going to be even better than I thought.” I snap his slack jaw shut. “Hush now, puppy, while mommy speaks to the grown-ups.”
I dial the X and wait for the person on the other end to answer.
Chapter 22
DIANA
I wake up in the morning feeling terrible. When I check the clock on my wall for the time, I get a shock. It is late morning on Thursday already. What the hell? I grab my phone to make sure the wall clock is right, but it is switched off. The battery is dead. Rubbing my bleary eyes, I get up out of bed to plug it in to charge. I go to look out of my window. It is bright outside, and the street below is quiet, only one person walking up it. I cannot tell what time it is.
I only came home yesterday for a nap because I’d felt so crappy. I had meant to go and visit India again at the hospital yesterday evening. She will be worried that I left without saying goodbye.
Yawning, I strip off and step into the shower. I have a slight headache. I never wake up with a headache. My healing ability usually kicks in when I sleep. In fact, I feel like I’ve slept hardly two winks. I touch Theo’s amulet which is dangling on a chain around my neck. First my psychic powers, then my tiredness, and now my healing ability. How am I supposed to ask Theo if it is interfering with my healing ability, when I don’t want to tell Theo about my healing ability?
After showering I grab my phone and switch it on to call Theo. I am still yawning. My shower didn't do much to wake me up. I expect to have to leave a voicemail but Theo answers within a couple of rings.
“Hey Theo. Sorry, I’ve overslept,” I say. “And I’m so sorry I never picked up Beastie yesterday. I meant to but I conked out.”
I wince, expecting him to be displeased, but he says, “Don’t worry. You sound like you needed the rest.” He lowers his voice as if concerned that Beastie will hear him. “She’s fine. She hasn’t had time to sulk. Mozz has been carrying Beastie around under her arm everywhere she goes since yesterday. I’ve done my very best not to laugh.”
I chuckle. “Poor Beastie. Did she hate it? I doubt she’d put up with it if she didn’t secretly like it.” The mental image of Beastie dangling from beneath little Mozz’s arm makes me laugh some more.
Theo is not much for chit chat. “Let me guess,” he says. “You need to work on your other job today?”
I bite my lip. I had been working out how to broach the subject. It’s not exactly professional to notify Theo at the last minute like this. “Do you mind? I wanted to spend more time with India today.”
“That’s fine with me. You can have the whole day off if you like.”
I thank him profusely before hanging up. I notice I have a voicemail, and I brush my teeth as I dial it. I am surprised when the automated voice tells me there are four messages. I put my phone on loudspeaker to listen to them.
; The first message is from Storm. That smooth deep butterfly-inducing voice of his makes me smile the second I hear it. He asks me to call him back asap. I make a face. Too late now. He’d left the message yesterday. I hope it wasn’t urgent.
The second and third are from Theo wondering where I am and if I’m coming to pick up Beastie or not. I detect a tinge of concern in his voice that he fails to fully disguise. Poor Theo. He was probably worried that Wolf-Claw had got me. It’s sweet. I’ve never had someone worry about me in that almost parental way before.
I rinse out my mouth and pour myself some cereal as I listened to the fourth. It is from Remi informing me that India Lawrenson has gone missing from the hospital.
Feeling panicked I hang up and call Remi back immediately. She answers within a couple of rings. “Agent Remi Bronwyn.”
“Remi, what happened with India?” I say in a rush, my heartbeat still rocketing. “Is there any news? Do you want me to come down to Agency Headquarters? I can’t believe this. I should have stayed with her. What happened?”
“We don’t know all the details yet,” says Remi. “There is a search underway. I called to see if you could help.”
“But weren’t her guards there? What did they say?”
“A magical potion was used to knock out the Agency officer and the police officer posted on her door. They’ll be fine, but they were unable to tell us what happened.”
I feel a tinge of guilt. I had assumed that DI Zael’s police officer must somehow be at fault. “So the killer didn’t harm the guards,” I say. “That’s good news right?”
Remi hesitates. Her pause is long enough for me to worry she thinks India is dead. Either that or she thinks India might have something to do with her own disappearance.
“It can’t have been India,” I say stubbornly.
Remi sighs. “Nothing is clear cut in this case. We are operating under the assumption that Remi is a victim for now and trying to find out who ordered the tainted pizza.”
“And are there any other new leads on the killer?”
“We do have a lead,” says Remi hesitantly. “And we’re following up on it. But as Storm hasn’t formally hired you on this case, I can’t discuss it with you.” She sounds regretful.
“I don’t care if he’s hired me or not. How can I help if I don’t know? Please Remi!”
“I’m sorry, Diana. I’ll keep you updated If there is anything I can share.”
“Was it the landlord?” I ask sharply. “Jacob Jabari said that the landlord had followed Rachel and India to the bar. That’s your lead, isn’t it?”
“Sorry, Diana. I really can’t discuss it. But I was hoping that you might have dreamt something useful last night maybe?”
“No, no dreams,” I tell her miserably.
“Oh. I had thought maybe your visions were making you feel unwell yesterday…?” Her voice trails off, waiting for me to say something.
She is probably as frustrated as I am. She doesn’t know what is wrong with me. Given my personal connection to India, maybe she thinks I am hiding something.
I sigh. How can I tell her that while wearing this amulet, there is no chance of me dreaming of anything? I wonder if I should tell Theo and seek his help, but my mind shies away from this idea. I can’t tell him, because he’ll ask questions and then all of my sordid secrets will come out. He’ll either believe me and think I am evil or he won’t believe me and think I am mad. I don’t know which would be worse.
In three short weeks I’ve come to depend on Theo’s stabilizing presence in my life. I need my job. I like that he trusts me. I like that I might even be able to call him a friend. The idea of jeopardizing all of that, of seeing the look of disappointment in his face, gives me a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can’t do it.
I realize my teeth are worrying my bottom lip hard enough to have broken the skin. I have to force myself to stop. How am I going to live with myself if something has happened to India because I chose to keep wearing Theo’s amulet? Because I chose to block off my psychic gift?
And yet I can’t take it off. It is my fear that Nemesis always counted on. What if she is waiting in my mind for this exact moment? What if she has grown strong? What if the second I take it off I lose control of my body and mind forever? That’s worse isn’t it? That’s worse because Nemesis is a killer.
“Are you feeling okay?” Remi asks. “Monroe thought you might be coming down with something?”
“I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll head to the hospital now.”
“Could you?” Remi says, sounding glad. “It would be great if you could pick up India’s trail. It’s exactly the break we need.”
I squeeze my eyes shut in mortification. Remi thinks I am going to perform a mini miracle. But all I can do is question the nurses and other patients there. Things that Storm’s team will have already done. If I find anything new it really will be a miracle.
I should never have come home yesterday. I should have gone straight back to India. I should have been with her.
“But you guys are searching for her too, right?” I ask anxiously.
“Yes, we’re searching,” says Remi. But I sense something in her voice that she isn’t saying. The possibility that India is already dead. They’re searching for India’s killer as much as they’re searching for her.
Chapter 23
STORM
Come Thursday morning Storm knows that the clock on finding India Lawrenson still alive is running out. If it was the killer who took her, this time he will have wanted to dispose of India quickly. With her went the possibility of her memory returning. Their chances of catching the killer have diminished hugely.
Kurt Gibbon is still currently their strongest lead, and yet Gibbon had been in police custody when India Lawrenson disappeared from the hospital yesterday evening. If he had been involved in India’s disappearance, then that would mean he had an accomplice.
Diana had not come in. Having no grounds for holding Gibbon, Storm had had to cut him loose last night. A smirking Gibbon had strolled out, already making threats about suing the Agency for unlawful detainment.
Storm had managed to find a couple of officers eager for some overtime and had them tail Gibbon. The officers had reported that Gibbon had gone drinking alone immediately after being released, and had continued drinking until the early hours of the morning. Then he had gone home and had not emerged ever since. He had not gone to visit a captive India. He had not gone to see any potential accomplice.
Monroe has started background checks on all of Gibbon’s known associates but so far nothing has jumped out to point the finger towards any of them.
Questioning the hospital staff and patients about India’s movements and the events surrounding her disappearance yesterday had provided no new leads. They had been unable to trace the dark-haired delivery girl that a nurse said had delivered the pizza. And the hospital’s CCTV system was no use. It was in the middle of being upgraded and the recording system had been switched off.
Storm had assigned Leo and Remi to take over the surveillance on Gibbon in the morning. At their last update they had still been parked outside of his house. They had seen no sign of him, and it appeared that he was still sleeping off the alcohol he’d consumed. This is worrying. Storm has nothing concrete to confirm Gibbon is their guy.
Storm has been busy digging into Gibbon’s history all morning, and so far he has found plenty that is of interest but nothing that points to an accomplice. Phone calls to Gibbon’s previous tenants and employees of his bankrupt businesses had revealed Gibbon’s disturbing pattern of behavior around vulnerable young women.
Storm had spoken with nine young women this morning and six of them had admitted that Kurt Gibbon had enticed and cajoled them into levels of intimacy that they never quite felt that they had consented to.
But when Storm asked whether they had ever considered pressing charges they had become reluctant to speak about it, saying that they didn’t feel that the
y could prove a lack of consent. That they had accepted gifts from Kurt Gibbon and therefore worried that they might have encouraged him more than they had wanted. They feared they would be blamed for allowing themselves to be caught alone with him.
When Storm asked whether he had ever harmed them, they said he had never physically assaulted them. His abuse had been psychological. He’d enjoyed damaging their self-esteem to exert control over them. He’d made them feel guilty for having accepted his gifts. He’d made them feel like they owed him something.
The conversations had left Storm with a bad taste in his mouth. And yet all six of the girls had refused to consider pressing charges. They’d all said Gibbon had acted alone. Gibbon had been clever. It seemed he had always stopped short of outright violence. So why would he have changed his MO with Rachel Garrett? Could he have been so obsessed with her that he broke his own boundaries? Or could it really have been that he’d met an accomplice who encouraged him to do things that he would not have considered doing on his own?
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