Realm of Shadows

by Eldon Farrell

  “Would y’all have?” Jebediah replies, “The flash in the dark woulda gotten me on that barge, sure as shitting. Y’all want more proof—it’s waiting on that island. Why y’all think they’s got it locked down?

  “They mighta been able to bury the bodies at sea but an execution leaves marks deeper than that. Somewhere in that village is the spot where it was done and there y’all will find the bullet holes and invisible stain of blood. There…y’all will find the truth.”

  “Do you have any idea where?”

  “I don’t,” Jebediah stiffens in his seat, “And I don’t want to. I’ve told y’all what I promised. Now I want twenty thousand for it and I’m gone. Tain’t my problem no more.”

  “I’ll get you your money by the end of the day.” Cole closes up his notepad saying, “But before you leave Mr. Earl I need a favor. I’ve been here for over a week and can’t find a way past the cordon around the island.

  “I don’t think anyone knows these waters better than you, am I right? Take me and my photographer past the security and onto that island so I can gather the evidence of what you say and put the bastards away forever.

  “Do this for me…do it for them…” he gestures at one of the framed photos saying, “Do it for Maggie.”

  He chews this request over for an excruciatingly long minute before answering, “We leave ‘fore dawn. I get y’all there and that’s it. I don’t go on the island and y’all find your own way back.”

  Thrusting his hand out Cole exclaims, “Deal.”

  Chapter 28

  Atlanta, Georgia

  “…lynne…”

  In the prevailing silence of the room, Caleb’s muttering hangs expectantly in the still air.

  He is dreaming fitfully, his covers bunched around his waist as his arms and legs flail about him. “…lynne…lynne…” he mumbles in his sleep.

  In his mind’s eye he can almost reach her, almost touch her, almost save her.

  “Lynne!”

  He jerks awake breathing heavily and covered in a cold sweat. Closing his eyes a moment he takes a few steadying breaths before reaching over for a glass of water.

  As he drinks the lingering images of his dream fade from memory leaving him only grim reality.

  “What has he done to you?”

  The ringing of the phone in his room surprises him. Since he’s been awake here he’s not heard it ring once. Anyone who wished to talk to him has come in person.

  Lifting the receiver he wonders to himself—who would be calling me here?

  “Agent Fine.”

  The crazed cheeriness of the voice makes Caleb’s skin crawl. Clutching the phone tighter to his ear he waits.

  “It’s been too long.”

  “Who is this?” Caleb asks through clenched teeth.

  “You know who it is.”

  “Heath,” he growls.

  A moment later, the smiling voice declares, “After all we’ve been through…please, call me Ryan. May I call you Caleb Agent Fine?”

  Feeling his heart thudding in his suddenly dry mouth Caleb asks, “Where is Lynne?”

  “We’ll come to that later,” Ryan gleefully replies, “But first, I was saddened to hear about your…accident. Mustn’t be too careful these days Caleb; I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. That is, before I hurt you.”

  “Where. Is. She?”

  “This is what I’ve always liked about you Caleb,” Ryan responds in a sickeningly polite manner, “That zeal, that zest you possess. Such drive in you. What do you think it will be like when that drive is taken away? Will you crumble?”

  His hand shaking with rage, Caleb hisses into the phone, “If you’ve hurt her I’ll tear your fucking head off.”

  “Now, now Caleb,” he admonishes him, “Is that anyway to talk to me? Here we were having a nice discussion and you’ve gone and ruined it.”

  “I don’t have nice discussions with psychotic monsters. Tell me where you are and I’ll show you what I have with your kind.”

  “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

  Silence stretches across the line as Caleb grinds his teeth in impotent frustration. Why didn’t they put a trap and trace on this line?

  “You’d like to hurt me,” Ryan continues, “You’d like to…as you put it, tear my fucking head off. And yet, you call me psychotic. How long have you harbored these thoughts about me Caleb? Surely by now you realize that what I do is necessary. It has to be this way.”

  “Enough riddles Heath,” Caleb demands, “What have you done with Lynne? Tell me now!”

  “Yes,” Ryan purrs, “I suppose you’re right—you’ve earned that much. One last riddle Caleb; solve this one and you shall have your answers. I look forward to meeting you face-to-face for its time you joined your precious in the realm of shadows where all of hope has been lost.”

  “What—” the click of the line going dead cuts him off. “What was that?” he screams into the phone to no avail.

  Letting out a roar he tosses the phone across the room desperately trying to hang onto the exact words he heard—the words that hold the key to finding Lynne.

  “God, I should’ve known,” Josh Fisher whistles upon entering the sprawling room and seeing him seated at a table.

  All around the room, inmates of the Fulton County Jail are being watched by the ever present eyes of correctional guards as they have visits with loved ones.

  Having few visitors since he’s arrived here, Josh has had no reason to be in this room until now. Taking the seat across the table from Roger he glances at the guard standing close by and says, “You are persistent Roger, I’ll give you that much.”

  His hands clasped on the table in front of him, Roger doesn’t reply. Instead he stares straight ahead; a great distance evident in his gaze.

  “I thought I made myself clear the last time though,” Josh absently raps a knuckle on the table saying, “I’m not testifying against Tait.”

  “I’m not here about Tait,” Roger says, his voice barely audible over the scraping of chairs and the chorus of voices around the room. “He’s been set free—insufficient evidence.”

  With a nod Josh ineffectually offers, “It’s for the best. You may not believe that now but…”

  The look on Roger’s face stays his words. They stare at each other a moment before Josh looks away asking, “So if you’re not here for that then why are you here Roger?”

  “We used to be friends Josh,” Roger waits until he looks at him before asking, “Right?”

  The plaintive look on his face makes Josh uncomfortable, causing him to fidget in his seat. “Come on Roger, what is this all about?”

  “We were friends?”

  “Yes,” Josh grudgingly admits, “What of it?”

  “I want you to do something for me,” Roger states, “As someone who was a friend; I want you to tell me the truth.”

  “About what?”

  “You sold my itinerary to Tait?”

  Visibly squirming in place Josh shakes his head saying, “Damn it Roger what is all this about? Why are you here?”

  He doesn’t answer—just waits for Josh to reply.

  “Fine.” He leans back in his hard plastic chair saying, “You know I did. Is it an apology you’re after? Is that why you’re here?”

  Shaking his head, Roger slowly responds, “No. I need to know if you told them the day to…take Miriam.”

  Confused for a moment Josh blurts out, “What?”

  “Please Josh,” he implores him, “Just answer the question. Did you tell them the day to grab her?”

  “No,” Josh shrugs his shoulders, “No I didn’t. All they wanted to know was how long you’d be gone for. That’s what they paid for and that’s what they got.”

  “I came home early.”

  The haunted sound of his voice gives Josh a moment’s pause where he’s uncertain if Roger is speaking to him or himself.

  Finally Josh ventures, “So you came home early—so what?”

  Ra
ising his eyes to his, Roger asks, “Why did they take her when they did? It was early; why didn’t they wait until the day before I was supposed to be home?”

  Feeling increasingly uncomfortable discussing this with him, Josh glances around at the other tables in the room. “What does it matter now?” he asks, “Who knows how they chose the day and who cares? What’s done is done.”

  “The night before they took her…” Roger trails off a moment before confessing, “I met Tait at the hotel bar.”

  Ceasing his restless behavior, Josh leans fully forward over the table suddenly very interested in what Roger has to say. Noticing the movement the guard nearby steps closer and Josh rests back onto the seat.

  “What do you mean you met him?”

  “It’s my fault,” Roger mutters, “It’s all my fault.”

  “Roger,” Josh makes to reach out to him but is stopped by a glare from the guard. “What happened with Tait?”

  Returning to the moment Roger explains, “He introduced himself to me. We made small talk…he brought up my wife…said how nice it is to have someone to go home to. I told him I might be going home early. I told him.”

  Hearing the pain in those three words, Josh feels for his former colleague and friend. He can’t help but feel for the man he sold out and caused so much misery to befall.

  Chewing his bottom lip he realizes that this is the moment to take some of that misery back. If there is any hope at all to redeem his soul it is here and now.

  “Roger,” Josh drops his voice to a level barely heard over the din in the room, “Listen to me—you have to come off this. I know you have no reason to trust me, or listen to me, but if we were ever friends you need to hear this.

  “You have to let it go. You can’t blame yourself for what happened. What did you do—you made small talk at a bar, that’s all. What happened to Miriam wasn’t your fault—no matter what I said last week.

  “Tait wouldn’t have even been in that bar if I hadn’t sold you out. Do you hear me? What happened to Miriam is my fault. It’s Tait’s fault. It’s not yours.”

  “And yet if I hadn’t said anything to him,” he chokes up as he says, “If I hadn’t told him I might leave early, then they wouldn’t have taken her until the next night and I would’ve been there to stop them.”

  “You don’t know that Roger. You only think that but you could be wrong. Who knows what night they planned to grab her? Let it go man,” standing up he draws further attention from the guard. “You want my advice, go home to Miriam now and leave all this ugliness behind once and for all.”

  With a single rap on the table he turns and walks toward the locked prisoner’s entrance. With a guard in tow he stops, turns back and says, “I told you when you were here before that you were wasting your time looking for an apology but…I am sorry Roger. I do regret what I’ve done to you; just wanted you to know that.”

  Their eyes meet one last time and in that look convey the simple truth that there is just nothing more to be said.

  Happiness is an elusive thing.

  How many of us are truly happy? How many of us have found the contentment and fulfillment necessary to be happy? How many of us concoct reasons and excuses to remain unhappy—afraid to even allow ourselves a moment of perfect bliss lest we are unable to hold onto it?

  How many of us have come so close to being happy only to lose it all?

  With a practiced motion Roger slides his key into the front door lock and smoothly twists the tumblers open. Swinging the door open he calls out, “Miriam, I’m home!”

  Shutting the door he is immediately taken by the enveloping silence of the house. Seized by a terrible sense of deja-vu, he races down the hallway toward the kitchen—his heart beating in his throat.

  “Miriam?”

  Stepping into the kitchen his foot momentarily slips out from under him. Grabbing the edge of the counter he keeps from going down. Water splashes underfoot from an overturned pot he can see resting upside down on the floor.

  Moving around the island in the center of the room he spies her legs first—prone on the tile.

  “Miriam!”

  Rushing to her side he rolls her onto her back, cradling her neck and head in his lap. “Miriam! Wake up honey, come on. Miriam!”

  Pressing fingers to her neck he finds her pulse—weak and unsteady. Grabbing for the phone he calls for help.

  “I need an ambulance to 4536 E Brookhaven Drive NE. My wife is unconscious on the kitchen floor.”

  “Is she breathing sir?”

  “Yes,” he answers hysterically, “But her pulse is fading. I don’t…I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She won’t wake up.”

  “An ambulance is on the way sir. Stay on the line until it arrives.”

  Tears streaming down his cheeks, the phone slips from his hand and clatters on the floor. Squeezing her tightly to his chest he prays for her safety.

  “Please Miriam,” he begs, “You have to wake up. I can’t go on without you. You can’t leave me now…you can’t. This can’t be happening…it’s too soon…it’s too soon…”

  Chapter 29

  Hope, North Carolina

  The rain outside echoes loudly inside as Lawrence Clayton opens the door to the Medical Health building that the CDC has been using as a base of operations.

  Shaking himself vigorously, he shuts the glass door to block out the weather and hurries over to Wendy leaving a trail of puddles on the floor behind him.

  The lobby has corniced ceilings, ceramic tile floors, a reception desk behind a glass divider, and a lounge area complete with four chairs and a blue sofa where Wendy is going over some notes.

  Taking one of the chairs, Clay runs a hand over the stubble on his head saying, “It’s really starting to come down out there.”

  “Why did you go out anyway?” she asks him.

  “For this,” he smiles as he removes a soggy sheet from inside his bright yellow raincoat. “Wanted to get the latest forecast released by the National Weather Service.”

  “Hmmm,” she nods distractedly.

  Pointing at the notes spread out on the sofa around her he asks, “That the Peruvian data again?”

  “It is.”

  He says nothing, instead just waits for her to raise her head and look at him. When she does the disapproving look in his eyes says it all.

  “What?” she snaps, “It’s not like we’ve found anything here to go over. No surprise that this trip has been a complete waste of time; excuse me for wanting to accomplish some actual work.”

  “Hey buck up,” Clay says, “We might be out of here sooner than you think.”

  “Buck up?” she arches a questioning brow at him.

  Blushing slightly he continues, “Sorry. The good news for getting out of here though is that the latest forecast shows Fiona knocking on our doorstep—they expect it to make landfall here in thirty-two hours.

  “The word’s been handed down that evac is supposed to begin immediately. Pack up your gear and maybe we can catch the first ferry out of here.”

  The news brings a smile to her lips. “Halleluiah,” she exclaims, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Gathering up her paperwork the prickling sensation of being watched overcomes her. Lifting her eyes momentarily toward the doorway she spies a shadow standing outside, concealed by the driving rain.

  Pausing in her work she studies the figure until the shape triggers recognition in her.

  “Lynne,” she says breathlessly.

  “What?” Clay spins around to look where she’s looking. “Where?” he asks but it is too late—Wendy is already rushing for the door.

  Bursting outside through the curtain of rain she stands in the deserted street scanning in every direction. Catching a glimpse of movement to her left she darts after it as Clay emerges from the building.

  “Wendy!” he hollers, “Where are you going?”

  Reaching the mouth of the alleyway next to the building, Wendy blinks the raindro
ps from her eyelashes and peers into the darkness. “Lynne?” she calls out, her voice drowned by the falling rain.

  A moment later Clay is at her side grabbing her by the elbow, “What is going on?” he demands.

  Shaking free from his grip she steps into the alley calling, “Lynne!”

  Her voice travels mere feet before being swallowed by the darkness and the storm.

  From behind her Clay asks, “You think you saw Lynne here?”

  “I did!” she whirls on him declaring, “I know I did.”

  “And she was just standing out here in this weather?” Clay asks dubiously, “What would she even be doing here?”

  Through the rain she stares at him. She’s breathing heavily from adrenaline and is soaked to the bone. She can tell he doesn’t believe her but she won’t recant. I saw her. I’d know her anywhere.

  Turning back to the alley she stands resolutely. Why did you run? Why won’t you answer me now?

  As she is about to leave her eye is caught by a glint of light on the ground a few feet away. Stooping over for a closer look she finds a wristwatch with a broken face resting in a puddle of water.

  Scooping it up in her hands, her heart leaps into her throat. “I know this watch.”

  “What?”

  Spinning around excitedly she thrusts it out to show him. “This is Lynne’s watch! I’d know it anywhere—she got it from her father.”

  “Or it just looks the same,” Clay offers, “Come back inside; we’re getting drenched here and we need to pack.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Wendy proclaims.

  “What?” Clay can’t believe what he’s heard. “All week you’ve been complaining about being here. You couldn’t wait to leave and now that you can you want to stay because you found a broken watch in an alley?”

  “Lynne’s watch,” she forcibly replies, “She’s here and I’m not leaving without her. You can still catch the ferry Clay—I’ll just catch a later one. I’ll be fine.”

  As she brushes past him he groans, “I can’t just leave you behind you know.”

  Calling back through the falling rain she says, “Then I guess that means you’re going to help me look for her.”