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It had been years since he’d been out in those woods, but some instinct seemed to kick in and he found the place without much trouble. All that was left of the old house were the outer walls and part of the roof. The fire had completely gutted it.
The storm cellar was about a hundred feet from the house, a domed concrete structure with an old wooden door that opened to steps leading down into the ground. As Lukas unfastened the bolt, he heard something inside that made the hair on his neck lift.
He threw open the door and the smell knocked him back a few steps. Hand to his nose and mouth, he aimed the beam into the opening. “Hello?” he called. “Anyone down there?”
He listened for a moment, then decided he’d imagined the earlier sound. Or maybe it was just a rat. Or worse, a den of rattlers hibernating for the winter.
Nothing was down there. It was a waste of time coming out here.
He turned and reached for the door.
And then he heard it.
A tiny whimper. Unmistakably human.
Slowly, he descended the concrete steps. It was cold and damp inside, and the smell was almost unbearable. Brushing cobwebs from his face, he angled the light around the cramped space. Wooden benches lined two walls and an old cot had been shoved up against the far wall where someone could sleep out the storm.
Someone was on that cot.
Lukas’s heart flailed against his rib cage as he moved across the room and shone the flashlight over the body. She was dead. Had been for days.
He stared down at the decaying face, framed by a cap of short dark hair. He could still make out her features, and recognition niggled at him. He’d seen her somewhere before.
An image flashed through his head as footsteps sounded on the concrete steps. He whirled, lost his balance and tumbled backward onto the corpse. Something wet oozed onto his hand and he snatched it away, the flashlight still clutched in his fingers.
“You down here, you little bastard? I’ll skin you alive when I catch you. ”
“Lukas, hide! Don’t let him find you!”
The door slammed closed and the bolt slid home.
“Let’s see how you long you last down there this time before you shit your pants. ”
Lukas curled himself into a ball on the floor, trembling with terror.
Because he knew now who had been leaving him those messages.
* * *
“You’re still relaxed, Sarah, still in control, still feeling good. You’re warm and comfortable. Perfectly safe. Do you understand?”
“Yes. ”
“What do you see on the screen now?”
“More blood. ”
“Where did all the blood come from?”
“It’s on me. ”
“Are you hurt?”
“No. ”
“Where are you?”
“The old Duncan farmhouse. ”
“What are you doing there?”
“Ashe said for me to meet him there. He has something to show me. ”
“Is he there with you now?”
“I don’t see anyone. Just the blood. It’s all over my hands. In my hair. . . ”
“How did the blood get on you?”
“I slid down. It’s all over the floor. ”
“What are you doing now, Sarah?”
“Crawling. ”
“Crawling where?”
“I see her. . . she’s on the floor. . . Oh, God. . . ”
“You’re safe, Sarah. No one’s going to hurt you. Just relax. ”
She paused and caught her breath. “It’s Rachel. I think she’s. . . ” Her breath shortened and her chest started heaving. “No. Please no. ”
“Do you want to stop, Sarah?”
“No. No!” She paused again. “There’s so much blood. . . so much blood. . . I have to go. . . have to get help. ”
“Do you leave, Sarah?”
“No. . . she doesn’t want me to. ”
“Who doesn’t want you to?”
“Rachel. She’s clutching my hand. She won’t let me go. ” A terrified whisper. “I won’t leave you. I swear I won’t leave you!”
“Are you still there with Rachel?”
“Yes. . . but. . . her hand feels cold. So cold. . . ” Her voice trembled with tears. “She’s trying to tell me something. . . ” Sarah gasped and drew back, her eyelids fluttering wildly.
“Someone’s there,” she whispered in a strange voice.
“Who’s with you, Sarah?”
“I don’t know. Can’t see. . . ”
“Whoever he is, he can’t hurt you. You’re safe and you can stop anytime you want to. You’re still in control. ”
“He’s there! I can hear him breathing. ”
“Where is he, Sarah?”
“He’s behind you! He’s right there behind you!”
Michael heard a floorboard creak behind him and he whirled.
* * *
When Sarah opened her eyes, she felt completely relaxed, as if she’d just awakened from a deep, restful sleep. Then she became aware of the unfamiliar surroundings and she sat up.
“Michael?”
No answer.
She went into the kitchen, then came back into the living room and called up the stairs. Parting the blinds at the window, she peered out into the front yard. But she couldn’t tell if his car was still there or not.
Surely, he wouldn’t have left without telling her. Maybe he’d just stepped out for some air.
Opening the front door, she went out on the porch. Someone was coming across the yard toward her. Her breath quickened until she realized who it was. He was hardly more than a silhouette, but she recognized the set of his shoulders, the way he walked.
He opened the screen door and stepped up on the porch.
“You must be wondering what I’m doing here,” Sarah said. Then she saw his face, the look in his eyes.
The blood on his clothes.
Her heart twisted inside her chest. “Lukas?”
“Lukas isn’t here, Sarah. He’s gone away for a while. ”
“Then who are you?” she whispered.
He smiled. “I’m Jude Cole. ”
Chapter 30
Sarah turned and lunged for the door. She slammed it closed and turned the dead bolt an instant before he put a shoulder to the wood. Screaming in frustration, he banged on the door, then kicked it.
In shock, Sarah backed away, not knowing what to do. Then she thought of her purse. The gun! Where was it? Where had she left it?
She searched frantically, but couldn’t find it. Lukas must have already taken it.
Lukas. . . but not Lukas. He’d called himself Jude Cole.
Two faces, Sarah thought. One light, one dark. One good, one evil. The clues had all been there. Everything they’d needed to know. Not identical twins as she’d first thought. Multiple identities in one body.
Lukas Clay. Jude Cole. . . Ashe Cain.
A face suddenly loomed in a side window, and Sarah saw him grin. He was taunting her now. He’d taken her gun, her cell phone. He knew he had her trapped.
“What do you want from me?” she screamed.
The face disappeared.
Fear was an icy chill down her back. She heard a window slide up somewhere in the house, and a moment later, the thud of his footsteps. He was already inside.
“Sarah. . . ” It was a soft, terrifying singsong. “Sarah. . . ”
She was already at the front door, turning the dead bolt. Rushing across the porch, she flung open the screen door and ran down the steps. Across the yard. Toward the barn. To her car.
At the last moment, she realized her keys were in her purse. And she had no idea where that was.
Groaning in frustration, Sarah slid to a stop, then dashed inside the barn.
The moon was up and a soft light filtered in through a high window over the h
ayloft. But everything below was in deep shadow.
Sarah glanced around in desperation. He had to have tools out here. A hammer, a pitchfork, anything she could use as a weapon.
But the search was taking too long. Any second the door would open and he would step inside.
Move! Get out of sight.
And then she saw it at the back of the barn. A car. An old green sedan.
The vehicle that had been seen in Holly Jessup’s neighborhood before she disappeared. The car that was now hidden inside Lukas Clay’s barn.
He’d killed Holly. He’d killed them all.
And now he’d come back for her.
Sarah’s heart raced, her breath came in shallow gasps as she lifted the handle and opened the door. Sliding behind the wheel, she checked the ignition for keys. Searched over the visor, under the floor mats. Nothing.
Glancing in the back, she saw her purse lying in the seat. As if it had been placed there for her to find, Sarah thought.
She had to check it anyway. If the gun was still inside. . .
The barn door opened and he stepped inside. He saw her at once and strode toward the car, eyes forward, head down, arms swinging purposefully at his sides.
Sarah slid out from under the wheel and dove over the backseat. Onto Michael.
He lay facedown on the floor, silent and still.
Dead.
Oh, God.
She grabbed her purse, tumbled out of the car and ran, sobbing, toward the side door.
Something slammed into the back of her skull, and pain exploded behind her eyes.
Sarah stopped, stumbled, then fell face forward onto the floor.
* * *
Wrists and ankles bound tightly with cord, Sean lay on his side on the cold wood floor and tried to focus on the shimmer of moonlight through the grimy window. His vision was blurred, his memory hazy. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. He only dimly remembered the chase through the orchard that had ended at the farmhouse, the agonizing jolt of the Taser and then a face staring down at him.
Lukas Clay’s face.
The bastard. It had been him all along. Or one of his personalities. What had Michael Garrett called them? Alters. The protector and the persecutor.
Which one had bashed him on the head and left him for dead?
No, that wasn’t right. He hadn’t been left for dead. For whatever reason, he’d been spared for the time being.
He struggled against the bindings, but that only made his head throb. He could feel the sticky wetness of blood on the side of his face, but he couldn’t tell how badly he was hurt. Head wounds were tricky. Even superficial wounds could bleed for hours. But then sometimes they didn’t bleed at all, and you could feel fine for days, only to drop dead getting up out of bed one morning. But Sean didn’t think he needed to worry about that. Unless he found a way out of his current situation, he might not have days or even hours.
He heard the sound of a car engine, and he listened for a moment, trying to judge the distance, wondering if it was out on the road somewhere. But as the noise grew louder, he realized the vehicle was coming up to the house. He scooted himself inch by agonizing inch across the floor and pushed himself up against the wall until he could see out the window.
An old green sedan bumped along the driveway and pulled to a stop at the edge of the yard. The driver turned off the headlights, then got out and came around to open the back door. The moon was up, and Sean could see who it was.
Every muscle in his body tensed as he watched Lukas Clay lean into the back of the car and pull something out onto the ground. When Clay shifted his position, Sean saw that the lump lying in the weeds was a body, motionless and silent.
Clay grabbed the body beneath the arms and dragged it across the cold ground, up the porch steps and into the house. A moment later, Sean heard a thud against the plank flooring below.
Clay went back out to the car and opened the trunk. He hoisted a second body over his shoulder, and when he turned, Sean could see a woman’s limp arms and the sway of long, dark hair as he carried her across the yard to the porch.
Sean’s heart thudded. It was Sarah. Had to be Sarah.
Was she dead?
No. No. Garrett had said that Jude Cole had some plan for her. She couldn’t be dead yet. Sean could still get her out of here.
Desperation pumped through his veins as he tugged at the bindings around his wrists. The harder he struggled, the deeper the cord bit into his flesh, but he ignored the pain. Ignored the blood that had started to trickle down the side of his face again.
He was breathing so heavily, he almost missed the sound of footsteps. At first he thought someone was coming up the stairs, but then he realized the footsteps were on the porch, just below the window.
Pushing himself back up, he glanced outside as Clay made a third trip to the car. When he closed the trunk lid, he stood for a moment, a shovel in one hand, a hammer in the other as his gaze lifted to the upstairs window.
Sean jerked away and slid down to the floor, his gaze darting about the darkened space for a weapon or a way out.
His gaze lit on the wardrobe across the room, where moonlight glinted on the broken mirror.
Dead of Night Page 53
