Hunt the Dawn

by Abbie Roads

  The wireless receiver in his ear pinged. Work most likely. They were the only ones who ever called him.

  He walked over to Subject 85. “I apologize for the interruption. I’m getting a phone call that I need to take.” He stepped on her throat, cutting off her air and the last of her voice. He tapped the button in his ear. “Hello.”

  “Eric here. We caught an interesting one.”

  “Yeah?” James held his tone at the mildly interested level.

  “I’ll need you and your father at Quantico in the morning to generate the profile.”

  “Dad’s not available until early afternoon.” Actually, James wouldn’t be back in the area until late morning, and since father and son were a package deal, always working cases together, Dad was the perfect excuse. Nobody questioned the great Dr. Jonah.

  James’s skill was overshadowed by his father’s fame. But he was his father’s equal in every measure and more, so much more. With the way he trained, his knowledge ran deeper, to a more visceral level than any other profiler’s. Someday, when his father chose to retire, James would be the best the world had ever known.

  “Want a teaser?” Eric’s tone carried a hint of humor.

  “Sure.”

  “You familiar with the Janie Carson case?”

  Intimately. “Yes.”

  “Janie Carson’s eye was found in—”

  Tension grabbed James’s neck and squeezed all the muscles in a painful embrace.

  Found. They couldn’t have found it. It was hidden in—

  “—in Ohio.”

  You fool. You have the wrong eye. “Ohio?” He kept his tone at the mildly confused level.

  “Yeah. Lathan Montgomery called it in. It’s a bizarre story.”

  Lathaniel Montgomery. The name just kept coming up. It couldn’t be simple coincidence that the special skills consultant claimed to have found Janie Carson’s eye. Why would he make such a claim anyway when DNA was going to prove it wasn’t? What did Lathaniel have to gain by such a bizarre assertion?

  “Can’t wait to hear the full story,” James said instead of asking for the details. Self-control was his god.

  “Later.” Click. Eric was gone.

  James tapped the receiver to disconnect from the call.

  He stepped back from Subject 85. Shades of purple mottled her face. She snorted in nostrils full of air.

  “Six thirty-two.” He bent down and pulled the duct tape from her mouth. “Time to get to work.”

  Subject 85 screamed—at least tried to. The best her shredded vocal cords could do was a harsh whisper.

  He removed two pairs of snub nose pliers from his gear—one to hold the toe bones, one to snap them—and began.

  Chapter 7

  The glare from the fluorescent lights in the interrogation room burned Evanee’s eyes. She rubbed them for the millionth time, but didn’t find any relief. It wasn’t the lights. It was the waiting and the worrying. Waiting for Sheriff Rob—a.k.a. the stepdad from hell—to make an appearance. Worrying about what was happening to Lathan.

  She probed the cuts on the insides of her lips with her tongue, welcoming the sting of pain.

  “Why don’t you tell me what really happened in that room?” Hal asked for what seemed like the millionth time.

  “Seriously, Hal?” She couldn’t contain the frustration in her voice or the way her eyes rolled.

  “It’s Detective Haskins.”

  “It was Hal’s Your Pal when you were running for student body president.”

  “We’re not kids anymore.”

  “Yeah, but you’re still best buds with Junior, aren’t you? Does he have to call you Detective Haskins?” She set both her arms on the table, showing him the murky bruises cuffing her wrists.

  He averted his gaze.

  “Why won’t you document my injuries? You want to charge Lathan for assaulting Junior, but what about charging Junior for assaulting me?” God, it felt strange to say those words aloud. Sacrilegious almost. Which was stupid. “What about Brittany? Have you talked to her? Junior did something to her.” She’d found out Brittany was alive after they’d gotten to the station. “And what about my car? He stole it from me. He claimed to be repo-ing it, but the bank never issued the order. I bet if you drove behind his shop, you’d find it.”

  “Sheriff Malone isn’t going to put up with you spreading rumors about Junior.” Hal’s voice softened a bit. “How could you do this to your mother? This is going to kill her. For what? A tattooed freak you just met. Are you really going to choose him over your suffering mother?”

  Chose him over my suffering mother?

  Hell yeah.

  What had Mom done for her? Given her to Junior. That was unforgiveable.

  Lathan cared for her. Believed her. Protected her.

  “No one is going to buy this.” Hal gestured to the statement she’d written out hours ago. “When we find evidence that proves you’re lying, you’ll be looking at jail time. You know what jail is like? Ever had lice?”

  She tuned him out as he went on about the epidemic of lice the female inmates spread among one another.

  Nothing he could say was going to change her story. She would not let Lathan be punished for helping her. Deep down, in the gut of her guts, she knew something very bad would happen to him if he stayed here.

  Hal’s phone chirped. He read the screen, scowled, and then flipped the report closed. “You can go.”

  “Where’s Lathan?”

  “Go. Before I change my mind.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the closed door.

  “I’m not leaving without him. Where is he?”

  “Where is she?” Lathan’s voice boomed somewhere outside the door. “I’m not leaving without her.”

  Her soul smiled. She was as important to him as he was to her. She practically ran for the door.

  Lathan barreled down the hallway toward her. His gaze ranged over her, cataloging her from tippy top to toes. He reached for her, an invitation for her to bury her face against him and let him be strong for her. Evanee stared at his chest, at the spot over his heart where she would rest her head, and couldn’t resist. She was inside his arms and never wanted to leave.

  That was the only place the world made sense, where she made sense.

  “You’re coming home with me.” Even though he’d made a statement, she heard the tiniest hint of question.

  She nodded, rubbing her cheek against his shirt. “I am.” She wouldn’t have been able to go back to Morty’s. Not only was the door destroyed, but bad memories lived in that room and they’d attack her the moment she walked in.

  Twenty minutes later, Gill parked them in Lathan’s driveway. The defend-Lathan adrenaline that she’d been galloping on had bucked her off five minutes ago, but there was one thing she needed to do before she could allow herself the oblivion of sleep. Wash Junior’s touch off her skin.

  Inside, she went straight to the bathroom.

  Alone. For the first time in hours. But she wasn’t really alone. Junior was in her head. His words a recording stuck on repeat, playing over and over and over. Had been since the moment he’d spoken them. The only difference was their volume. At the police station, their volume had been low, but now that she was alone, his words thundered through her mind.

  Your mom owed a debt, not of money, but of life, to my dad. She repaid him by marrying him and giving you to me. You were a wedding present. A wedding present.

  “A wedding present.” Speaking the vile words, tasting the rot of them in her mouth, suddenly made them real. “Stop. Just stop. Stop thinking. Just stop. Stop. Stop.”

  The thoughts wouldn’t go away, wouldn’t retreat, and wouldn’t relent.

  She stripped off her clothes, turned the hot water knob as far it would go, and moved under the spray. Molten lava poured
over her, cauterizing Junior off her skin, but nothing could boil his words from her brain.

  She repaid him by marrying him and giving you to me.

  Mom gave her to Junior. Gave. Willingly. Voluntarily. As if Evanee had been no more than a stick of chewing gum. Her mom had known. Had condoned.

  Everyone had known. Mom, Rob, Junior. What about Thomas? Did he know? Had her baby brother known and done nothing?

  She shoved that thought deep down into a cold, dark place—the compost bin where she stored all the bad memories, keeping them dark and cool and waiting for them to break down into essential elements. Elements that would eventually fertilize and heal her.

  A sound escaped from that place, rumbling up and out through her body. Hiding behind the sound was a lifetime of pain. Her knees buckled, and she folded to the slate floor. Beneath the scalding shower spray, she hugged herself and rocked. She wanted to cry, but couldn’t. She wanted to be angry, but couldn’t. She wanted to die, but couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that either. She wanted to feel something—anything—other than the obliterating agony that threatened to eviscerate her, to rip her wide open, dumping parts of her all over the floor.

  “Honey?” Gentleness and concern were braided into Lathan’s voice.

  The steady thrum of water was interrupted. Lathan moved under the spray—clothes and all. He wrapped a towel around her, covering her nakedness, her vulnerability.

  She looked up at him. Water washed over her face, stung her eyes, and dribbled into her mouth. “Mom gave me to him.” The tears she couldn’t cry soaked every word. “I was a wedding present. A present.”

  He didn’t offer vacant words of comfort. His face said everything. His freckles recognized her vulnerability. His tattoo offered her protection. His eyes were a promise of devotion and affection.

  He settled on the slate floor next to her—a silent offer to share her pain. She scooted the few inches to him and leaned against him, letting him cocoon her in his strength.

  * * *

  Austere, infinite whiteness surrounded Evanee.

  The White Place.

  After her last visit, no relaxation existed in the space. Intuitive fear bubbled up inside her. And then she felt it, felt the presence of evil. Fear wrapped its cold, dirty fingers around her. The skin on the back of her body tightened, flinching as if waiting for a blow. Her heart double-kicked against her sternum. Duh-dum. Duh-dum.

  She snapped her eyes shut. “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.” Her voice boomed around her as if she were in an amphitheater hooked up to a thousand mikes. Knives of pain pierced her ears from the megaton volume.

  The sound vanished. Gone. Not even an echo. Like it never existed.

  Silence. Heavy and expectant.

  The evil thing was still there. Behind her. Waiting.

  Should she turn and face it? Or should she play the if-I-ignore-it, maybe-it-will-go-away game?

  She’d never been fond of games.

  She flung herself around before she could talk herself out of it.

  A woman that wasn’t a woman anymore—a monster—stood behind her.

  The woman’s head was cocked unnaturally to the side, ear touching shoulder. Brown stringy hair hung in her face, obscuring all but her mouth and one filmy eye that was locked on Evanee.

  Dirt caked every crevice of the woman’s naked body. Her enormous breasts sagged to her waist, like socks filled with pennies. Her left foot faced the wrong direction, heel toward Evanee, toes pointing backward.

  Backward. Her foot was backward.

  Abhorrence rolled through Evanee’s stomach. Her throat opened. “Bbwwaa.” The gagging sound crashed through the space. She clamped her lips closed. Every sound she made was a punishment. She forced her gaze away from the foot before she actually vomited. Her hearing wouldn’t survive that particular cacophony of noise.

  No movie monster could compare to the hideousness of the woman standing in front of Evanee. She tried to back away, but hit something solid, something immense, and she knew the Thing that immobilized her last time had her again.

  She tried to run, her muscles twitched, mimicking the action of running, but she remained motionless. Invisible fingers pried her eyelids wider open.

  Not again. Please, not again.

  Adrenaline shot through her system, burning a tail fire of energy, but she couldn’t move. Her muscles, her innards, her eyeballs shook from the unexpressed pressure building. It hurt. Tears drizzled down her cheeks. That only made her mad. She wasn’t a crier. Never had been. Crying solved nothing. And yet her body wept.

  The woman’s torso tilted to the side, head still stuck on her shoulder, her arms swimming through the air. She swung her backward foot forward, plunked it down. Then a relatively normal step. Then the mutated step.

  The woman stopped in front of Evanee and opened her mouth, like she wanted to say something, but one of her front teeth fell out.

  Duh-dum, duh-dum, duh-dum. Evanee’s heart pounded a panicked rhythm. Maybe she’d have a heart attack and it would all be over.

  No. She wanted—needed—to be with Lathan. A tiny bit of the pain and panic eased as she pictured his face. His tattoo. His freckles.

  The woman bent, her breasts swinging wildly from her torso, and retrieved the tooth.

  She reached into her dirty hair, fishing around under the locks, and pulled out a tangled mass.

  Evanee’s arm rose. But she wasn’t in control of the movement. The Thing that had her on lockdown moved her arm.

  No. No. No. She screamed the words inside her head, fearful of making a sound. The woman carefully placed the hair in Evanee’s palm, curling it into a nest, and then set the tooth in the center like a precious egg.

  Evanee couldn’t breathe.

  “Montañas. Guadalupe. Parque. Nacional. Montañas. Guadalupe. Parque. Nacional.” The woman pointed to herself as if that was her name.

  The Thing released Evanee and she fell.

  And fell. And fell.

  * * *

  Evanee slammed against the bed. She fought to sit up in the jumble of limbs—hers and Lathan’s. Her body convulsed as if it were being electrocuted repeatedly. An absurd need to scream and release some of the suppressed energy came over her, but enough of her sanity remained to know that wouldn’t be a good idea.

  “What’s wrong?” Lathan’s voice in the dark. His arms around her. “Holy Jesus. You’re shaking.”

  She clutched at him and sagged in the safety of his embrace.

  “A nightmare. Another nightmare. It can’t be like the last one. It can’t. That can’t happen again. It can’t.” The words rushed from her mouth.

  “Honey, I can’t hear you. I don’t understand. Let me turn on the lamp.”

  She gripped him as tight as she could, knowing she’d twist off into crazed oblivion if he let her go. “It was only a nightmare,” she yelled against his chest.

  He winced, but his arms tightened around her.

  Someone pounded up the stairs.

  “What’s going on?” Gill ran into the room, flicked the light switch.

  More than light filled the room. Certainty filled her mind. She pulled back from Lathan and looked down at her fist.

  She flung her fingers open. Hair. Tooth.

  She screamed then. Couldn’t contain it any longer.

  “How the fuck…” Gill said, but his voice began to fade—or maybe she was fading. She felt an odd sizzling sensation inside her head. The world burst into blinding X-ray color, then went black.

  * * *

  Soft afternoon light filtered through the bedroom window. Evanee lingered in the delicious place between waking and sleeping, where dreams of anything were possible.

  Reality finally drifted in, bringing unwanted memories with it.

  Yesterday had been one long, slow swirl down the toilet bowl of
life. Almost losing her job. Thinking Brittany was dead. Everything attached to Junior. Fighting for Lathan’s freedom. And the cherry on the shit sundae—the nightmare.

  Today was going to be a better day. Last night, when she’d felt the most broken, Lathan had pieced her back together, shifting the parts around in a combination that made her better than before.

  She raised her arms above her head and squirmed around, lengthening every muscle in a long, luxurious stretch. A million different aches and pains should be screaming from her fight with Junior, but she felt surprisingly good. Stable in mind and body.

  She got out of bed, used the bathroom, then headed downstairs to find Lathan. Like a smoker needs his cancer sticks, she needed Lathan. The world felt right when she was near him. The dude had healing properties or something.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Evanee looked through the living room to the kitchen. Gill stood at the counter, typing into his phone. Part of her was grateful he’d shown up last night. Lathan’s release probably had more to do with Gill’s FBI status than her stubborn fight for him, but that still didn’t make her want to socialize with him.

  She turned to tiptoe back up the stairs.

  “You’re awake.” Amusement sounded in his tone. He knew she’d been trying to sneak away and had called her on it.

  She turned and stuck her tongue out at him. God, she couldn’t stand how he looked. Too perfect. Too pretty. He reminded her of Junior. But he was Lathan’s friend. And she should at least try to be cordial to him. “Where’s Lathan?”

  “Coffee’s on.” He indicated the half-full pot. “And we need to talk.”

  Great. Another talk with Gill. She didn’t know him well, but she knew talk was his code word for interrogation. Three interrogations in three days. Gill, Hal, now Gill again. Had to be some sort of record.

  “Where’s Lathan?”

  Gill poured her a cup of coffee, set it on the table. “Have a seat.” He straddled a chair.

  “I’m not moving until you tell me where Lathan is.” She crossed her arms spoiled-brat style.