8 Scream for Me

by Karen Rose

  “Can Alex identify Bailey’s voice once we get that message from Social Services?”

  “She hasn’t talked to Bailey in five years, so I doubt it. I’ll check with the salon where Bailey worked. They’re most familiar with her voice.”

  “It’s not looking good for Bailey,” Chase said. “She’s been gone five days now.”

  “I know. But she’s the connection. Hopefully Ed will find something at her house. I called the army chaplain who visited yesterday, but I haven’t heard back from him.”

  “You’re not gonna get anything out of the chaplain and you know it. Focus on getting something out of the little girl. Get her in to see Mary McCrady. If this kid has seen something, the sooner we pry it out of her the better.”

  Daniel winced. Mary was their department psychologist. “It’s not like the kid’s a splinter or something, Chase.”

  Chase rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Sensitize it up for Fallon, but I want the kid in Mary’s office tomorrow morning.” He went to the door, then turned, troubled. “When I heard what happened up in Philly, I thought whatever demons have been driving you ever since I’ve known you were finally dead. But they’re not, are they?”

  Slowly Daniel shook his head. “No.”

  “Have I given you enough rope to at least hog-tie ’em?”

  Daniel chuckled in spite of himself. “Either that, or I’ll hang myself trying.”

  Chase didn’t smile. “I won’t let you hang yourself. I don’t know what you think you have to prove, but you’re a good agent and I won’t let you sacrifice your career.” Then he was gone, leaving Daniel with a pile of paper and a few strands of Alex Fallon’s hair.

  Get busy, Vartanian. The demons have a head start.

  Chapter Ten

  Tuesday, January 30, 3:45 p.m.

  Bailey.” Beardsley’s voice was muffled. “Bailey, are you there?”

  Bailey opened one eye, then closed it again when the room spun wildly. “I’m here.”

  “Are you all right?”

  A sob tore free. “No.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  “Injection,” she said, trying not to let her teeth chatter. She was shaking so hard she thought her bones would pop out of her skin. “Smack.”

  There was silence, then a muted “Dear God.”

  He knew then, she thought. “I worked so hard to kick it . . . the first time.”

  “I know. Wade told me. You’ll get out of here and you’ll kick it again.”

  No, Bailey thought. I’m too tired to go through that again.

  “Bailey?” Beardsley’s whisper was urgent. “You still with me? I need to keep your mind clear. I may have a way out of here. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” But she knew it was useless. I’ll never leave. Five years she’d fought the demons every day. Feed me, feed me. Just a taste to get you going. But she’d resisted. For Hope. For herself. And with one push of a syringe, he’d destroyed it all.

  Tuesday, January 30, 3:45 p.m.

  The phone on his desk was ringing. He ignored it, staring at the newest letter. Of course I’m the one he calls. This was worse than he’d ever thought possible.

  The phone on his desk stilled and his cell phone immediately began to trill. Furious, he grabbed it. “What,” he snarled. “What the hell do you want?”

  “I got another one.” He was breathless, terrified.

  “I know.”

  “They want a hundred grand. I don’t have that much. You have to loan it to me.”

  The photocopied page had come with instructions on how to deposit the funds. It was crunched by his own hands, his knee-jerk reaction at what seemed like an innocent page of pictures, but in reality was obscene. “What else did you get?”

  “A page with yearbook pictures. Janet’s and Claudia’s. Did you get one?”

  “Yeah.” A page of photos cut from their yearbook and pasted in alphabetical order. Ten girls in all. With Xs through Janet’s and Claudia’s faces. “Kate’s picture’s there,” he said hoarsely. My baby sister.

  “I know. What am I going to do?”

  What am I going to do. That phrase summed up Rhett Porter. For God’s sake, Kate’s picture was on that page and Rhett was only worried about himself. Selfish, whiny little prick. “Did you get anything else?” he asked.

  “No. Why?” Panic hitched Rhett’s voice up a half octave. “What else did you get?”

  As if Kate’s picture weren’t enough. “Nothing.” But he couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice.

  “Dammit, tell me.” Rhett was sobbing now.

  “Don’t call me anymore.” He flipped his phone shut. Immediately it began to trill again. He turned it off, then threw it as hard as could against the wall.

  He pulled an old ashtray from his desk drawer. Nobody was allowed to smoke in his office anymore, but the ashtray had been a Father’s Day present from his son, made clumsily by five-year-old hands. It was a treasure he’d never throw away. His family was everything. They must be protected, at all costs. They could never know.

  You’re a coward. You have to say something. You have to warn these women.

  But he wouldn’t. Because if he warned them, he’d have to tell how he knew and he wasn’t willing to do that. He flicked his lighter and touched the flame to the corner of the photocopy. It burned slowly, curling on itself until he could no longer see the picture of his own sister, circled for emphasis. Kate had graduated the same year as Janet Bowie and Claudia Silva Barnes. The threat was clear. Pay up or Kate would be next.

  The last picture to burn was the eleventh, the one only his paper apparently had. He stared as Rhett Porter’s face melted, then burned to ash.

  Rhett. You dumb fuck. You’re a dead man because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut. When the photocopy was fully burned, he dumped the ashes in the coffee he’d left untouched from the morning. He stood up, smoothed his tie.

  I, on the other hand, can be taught. He carefully folded the instructions for the required bank deposit and slipped them into his wallet. He knew a guy who could do a bank transfer and keep his mouth shut. He wiped the dust from the ashtray with a tissue, then carefully placed the ashtray back in his drawer. He had to get to the bank.

  Dutton, Tuesday, January 30, 5:45 p.m.

  Oh, God. Alex. Daniel’s heart started to race as pulled into the street to Bailey Crighton’s house. An ambulance was parked on the curb, its lights flashing.

  He ran to the ambulance. Alex sat inside in the back, her head between her knees.

  He forced his voice to be calm even though his heart was stuck in his throat. “Hey.”

  She looked up, pale. “It’s just a house,” she hissed. “Why can’t I get over this?”

  “What happened?”

  The paramedic appeared from the other side of the rig. “She had a garden-variety panic attack,” he said, condescension in his tone. Alex’s chin shot up and she glared. But she said nothing and the paramedic made no apology.

  Daniel put his arm around her. “What exactly happened, honey?” he murmured, glancing at the paramedic’s badge. P. Bledsoe. He vaguely recalled the family.

  Alex leaned against him. “I tried to go in. I got to the front porch and I got sick.”

  Bledsoe shrugged. “We checked her out. She had a slightly elevated BP, but nothing out of range. Maybe she just needs some tranquilizers.” He said it with sarcasm and it wasn’t until Alex stiffened that Daniel understood what the man had meant.

  Sonofabitch. Daniel stood, fury hazing the edges of his vision. “Excuse me?”

  Alex grabbed his jacket between her fingertips. “Daniel, please.”

  But there was shame in her voice and his temper blew. “No. That was inexcusable.”

  Bledsoe blinked innocently. “I was just suggesting that Miss Tremaine calm down.”

  Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you were. Plan on filling out about fifty forms, buddy, because your supervisor’s going to hear abou
t this.”

  The color rose in Bledsoe’s cheeks. “I really didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Tell it to your supervisor.” Daniel lifted Alex’s chin. “Can you walk?”

  She looked away. “Yeah.”

  “Then let’s go. You can sit in my car.” She was quiet until they got to his car. He opened the front passenger door, but she pulled back when he tried to guide her in.

  “You shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t need to make more enemies in this town.”

  “Nobody should talk to you like that, Alex.”

  Her mouth twisted. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think it’s humiliating enough that I can’t even walk into that place?” Her voice became cool. “But what he intimated is true. I did swallow a bottleful of tranquilizers and nearly offed myself.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Of course it’s not the point. The point is that I need the people in this town until I find out what happened to Bailey. Long term, I don’t care. It’s not like I plan to live here.”

  Daniel blinked, for the first time considering that at some point she’d return to the life she’d dropped so abruptly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it that way.”

  Her shoulders sagged, the cool façade vanishing. “And I’m sorry. You were trying to help. Let’s just forget it.” She bent to get into his car and her face relaxed. “Riley.”

  Riley sat behind the wheel, alert and sniffing. “He likes the car,” Daniel said.

  “I can see that. Hey, Riley.” Scratching Riley’s ears, she looked through the driver’s window to Bailey’s house. “A grown woman shouldn’t be afraid of a house.”

  “You want to try again?” Daniel asked.

  “Yes.” She backed out of the car and Riley stepped over the gearshift, following her to the passenger seat. Her expression was severe. “Don’t let me run. Make me go in.”

  “Ed won’t like it if you throw up on his crime scene,” he said mildly, taking her arm and slamming the car door in Riley’s face.

  She huffed a chuckle. “If I turn green, run.” But the chuckle disappeared as they neared the house. Her step slowed and her body trembled. This was a real physical reaction, Daniel realized.

  “PTSD,” he murmured. Post-traumatic stress disorder. She had all the signs.

  “I figured that out on my own,” she muttered. “Don’t let me run. Promise me.”

  “I promise. I’ll be right behind you.” He lightly pushed her up the front porch stairs.

  “I got this far before.” She said it between her teeth. Her face had grown very pale.

  “I wasn’t with you before,” he said. She leaned back at the open front door and Daniel gently but firmly propelled her forward. She stumbled, but he caught her, keeping her upright. Her body was shaking now and he could hear her muttering to herself.

  “Quiet, quiet.”

  “The screams?” he asked and she nodded. He looked over her shoulder. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, her face was clenched, her eyes closed tight. Her lips moved in a silent mantra of “Quiet, quiet.” Daniel slipped his arms around her waist and held her to him. “You’re doing great. You’re in the living room, Alex.”

  She only nodded, her eyes still clenched shut. “Tell me what’s here.”

  Daniel puffed out a breath. “Well, it’s a mess. There’s garbage on the floor.”

  “I can smell it.”

  “And there’s an old mattress on the floor, too. No sheet. The mattress is stained.”

  “With blood?” she asked through her teeth.

  “No, probably sweat.” She was still trembling, but not as violently. He tucked her under his chin. She fit perfectly. “There’s an old picture hanging on the wall, crooked. It’s one of those beach scenes with the sand dunes. It’s discolored and old.”

  She was relaxing into him a little more each minute. “That was never here before.” She opened her eyes and drew a sharp breath. “The walls are painted.” There was relief in her voice and Daniel thought about how this house must appear in her dreams.

  She’d found her mother dead in this room. He’d discovered gun-to-the-head suicides over the course of his career. At least one of the walls would have been covered in blood, brains, and bits of bone. What a horrific memory to have carried all these years.

  “The carpet is blue,” he said.

  “It was brown before.” She turned her head, taking it all in. “It’s all different.”

  “It’s been thirteen years, Alex. It’s to be expected that they’d clean up. Paint. Nobody would leave the house the way you remembered it.”

  Her laugh was self-deprecating. “I know. I should have known, anyway.”

  “Sshh.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’re doing great.”

  She nodded, her swallow audible. “Thank you. Wow, the cops were right. This place is a sty.” She nudged the mattress with her toe. “Bailey, what were you thinking?”

  “You want to come with me to look for Ed?”

  She nodded quickly. “Yes,” she blurted. “Don’t—”

  Don’t leave me alone. “I won’t leave you, Alex. You ever see those old vaudeville acts? We’ll just walk like them.”

  She chuckled, but it was a pained sound. “This is ridiculous, Daniel.”

  He started walking, keeping her close. “Ed?” he called.

  The back door slammed and Ed came in through the kitchen. His serious expression became one of surprise when he saw Alex. “Did the EMTs say she was okay?”

  “You called them?” Daniel asked.

  “Yeah. She was white as a sheet and her pulse was through the moon.”

  “Thank you, Agent Randall,” she said, and Daniel could hear the embarrassment in her voice. “I’m okay now.”

  “I’m glad.” He looked at Daniel, gentle amusement in his eyes. “I offered to hold on to her, but she turned me down flat.”

  Daniel gave him a don’t-even-think-about-it look and Ed bit back his smile, then sobered, his hands on his hips as he looked around the room. “This is staged,” Ed declared, and beneath Daniel’s chin, Alex’s head shot up.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Yes, ma’am. Somebody wanted this place to look like a mess. This carpet is dirty, but the dirt’s not ground in. The base of the carpet fibers are clean—somebody’s vacuumed recently and often. The dust on everything? We’ve taken samples and will run all the tests back at the lab, but I’m betting it’s all the same composition. Looks like a mix of ash and dirt. The toilets are so clean you can drink out of them.” His lips curved. “Not that I’m recommending it, mind you.”

  “The social worker said Hope was found in a closet.” She pointed. “Right there.”

  “We’ll check it out.”

  Daniel knew Ed well enough to know there was more. “What did you find?”

  Alex went rigid against him. “Tell me. Please.”

  “Outside in the woods in back of the house, there was a struggle. We found blood.”

  “How much blood?” Alex asked, very quietly.

  “A lot. Someone had covered the area with leaves, but the wind last night blew them around. We’re finding a lot of leaves with blood smears. I’m sorry.”

  Unsteadily she nodded. She was trembling again. “I understand.”

  Daniel tightened his hold on her. “Did you find blood here in the house, Ed?”

  “Not yet, but we’ve really just started. Why?”

  “Because Hope is coloring with red crayons,” Alex answered for him. “If she was hiding in the closet the whole time, she wouldn’t have seen the blood.”

  “So she was either looking through a window or she was out there,” Daniel finished.

  “We’ll check it out,” Ed promised.

  Daniel tugged on Alex. “Come on, Alex. Let’s go outside. You’ve seen enough.”

  Her chin went up. “Not yet. Can I go upstairs, Agent Randall?”

  “If you don’t touch anything
.”

  But she didn’t move. Daniel leaned down to murmur in her ear, “You want to walk vaudeville or ride over my shoulder, caveman style?”

  She closed her eyes and her hands clenched around the bandages. “I have to do this, Daniel.” But her voice shook. She was past cool, past scared.

  Daniel didn’t necessarily agree that this was a good idea. He could already see the change in her face. She was pale, her forehead clammy. Still, he gave her a squeeze of encouragement. “If you think so, then I’ll go with you.”

  She got to the stairs and stopped. She was shaking head to toe, her breath shallow and rapid. She grabbed the banister, her fingers digging in like claws. “Just a damn house,” she muttered and pulled herself up two of the stairs before stopping again.

  Daniel turned her face so that she looked at him. Her eyes were glassy and terrified.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “Then don’t,” he whispered back.

  “I have to.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But I have to.” She closed her eyes, wincing with pain. “It’s really loud,” she said, sounding more like a child.

  “What do they say?” he asked and her eyes flew open.

  “What?”

  “What do they say when they scream?”

  “ ‘No.’ And she says, ‘I hate you, I hate you. I wish you were dead.’ ” Tears rolled down her ashen cheeks.

  Daniel smoothed away her tears with his thumb. “Who says that?”

  She was sobbing now, silently. “My mom. It’s my mom.”

  Daniel turned her into his arms and she clutched the lapels of his suit as her whole body shook with the force of her silent weeping. He backed down the few stairs she’d climbed, taking her with him.

  When they got outside, the ambulance was packing up to leave. Bledsoe took one look at Alex, bowed over and stumbling, and started toward them. Daniel leveled the man his coldest look and Bledsoe stopped in his tracks.

  “What happened?” Bledsoe asked.

  “This is not a garden-variety panic attack,” Daniel bit out. “Get out of the damn way.”

  Bledsoe started walking backward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think . . .”