by T. M. Cromer
She lifted a brow and narrowed her eyes, but refused to dignify his comment with an answer.
“What’s yours?” Ramirez wanted to know.
“I have total recall of the lives I’ve lived before.”
His dark eyes took on a speculative light, and Margie imagined he’d stay and ask questions all night if he could. She dubbed him Spock, anticipating he’d say words like “fascinating” or “interesting” in response to her answers.
“When can you meet to accompany us to the site, Mr. Holt?”
James shrugged. “First thing tomorrow? We’re tired from the flight and need to catch a few hours’ sleep.”
“That should allow the medical examiners and investigators time to finish.” Ramirez nodded as he jotted James’s number on his silver clipboard. “I was told the hospital intends to keep you overnight, Ms. Holt. May I stop back in the early afternoon with any further questions?”
Margie turned to Gabriel.
“That will be fine,” he said on her behalf. He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to Ramirez. “You can also call me for follow up. We’re happy to cooperate in any way we can.”
“I’m sorry you were put through this, ma’am,” Jones had the grace to say. All disbelief was suspended as he offered sympathy for what she’d been through. “We’ll wrap this up as quickly as we can.”
Compressing her lips tightly together, she nodded. The quicker, the better as far as she was concerned. She never wanted to hear Don’s name again as long as she lived.
James escorted the detectives from the room as Margie, Gabriel, and Annie all shared a speaking glance.
“How much trouble is Margie in, Gabe?”
“It’s hard to say. If they rule Don’s death self-defense or an opportunity to save herself, they’ll go easier and it will be simpler to defend.” He rested back against the windowsill and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “With any luck, James will help them discover what happened to the other victims. If Don did murder them, this is pretty open-and-closed.”
Margie appreciated Gabriel speaking in layman’s terms. Neither she nor Annie were well-versed with the law.
“You don’t mind hanging around a bit longer?” Margie hated to ask when she knew it would torture them both.
His mouth tightened, and a fine white line appeared around his lips.
Annie placed a hand on his bicep and rubbed briskly. “She didn’t mean it as an insult, Gabe. We appreciate your help.”
The warning glare from her mild-mannered sister almost made Margie laugh. Almost. Maybe at another time, it would’ve, but right now, she was mentally exhausted. “I’m tired,” she murmured, shifting to present her back to them.
Closing her eyes, she regulated her breathing, as she’d done many times during the weeks she’d been captive. Pretending sleep had been her one true escape, until she did.
When next Margie woke, the darkened room and the lack of sound in the hallway told her it was after visiting hours. She sensed the presence before she looked up.
Gabriel.
He dwarfed the visitor’s chair with his large frame. The thin blanket covering him couldn’t have provided much by way of warmth. She was able to look her fill while he was sleeping, and she registered the fatigue on his face. Usually, he looked younger in sleep, but not this time. The ravages of the last few months were evident.
“I dreamed of us,” he said quietly, his eyes still closed. The warmth of his voice caressed her insides where she didn’t want to feel anything.
“What did you dream?” she asked, equally as soft.
“Our time on the ship. We were searching for your sister. You and I at first, then me alone. Michael, or rather Andrew, saved me from belowdecks after I was locked in.”
She inhaled sharply. “I never knew, but I often wondered.”
“We made it topside, but the last of the lifeboats were gone.”
“It must’ve been terrifying.”
“It was. But I was more sad than anything.” Finally, he opened his eyes, and in those silvery depths, she saw a fierce love. “Sad because you and I never had a real chance.”
Biting her lip, she nodded as the remembered sorrow permeated her soul. “I recall feeling that, too.”
“Was Michael really Andrew and Sammy really Rosie? Or was that all my imagination?”
“That’s how I recalled it.”
“They were in love even then.”
“Yes.”
Gabriel sat up and swung the blanket around his shoulders to ward off the chill of the room. “It’s odd how love transcends death. How it follows us from lifetime to lifetime.” He scrubbed a hand along the stubble of his jaw. “When I saw you for the first time, in your hammock, it was as if my soul sighed. As if I recognized you. You hold a fascination for me I can’t seem to shake, Margar—uh, Margie.”
“Why are you here now, Gabe?”
“Why do you call me Gabe instead of Gabriel like you used to?” The question came across as mild, but it wasn’t. His burning desire to discover what had happened to her was easy to discern.
She shrugged and looked out at the blackened night sky. For three months, she’d gone without seeing anything but that damned cave. A shudder shook her, and she met his steady stare. “Isn’t it funny that someone who has the ability to see the past no longer has the desire to?” she said softly. “I’m forced to move forward.”
He leaned forward, eyes intent. “We can do that together.”
“No,” she said, weary to the marrow of her bones. “No, we can’t.”
“I know you’re going to require help, love. We’ll get you whatever we need, but please don’t shut me out.”
Shutting him out was the only option.
* * *
Gabriel had never seen anyone so void of emotion, and he’d defended a lot of people without a conscience. Witnessing this behavior was like dealing with a perfect stranger.
“What did he do to you?” His voice cracked; he couldn’t prevent it. “Tell me, Margaret.”
“No. Let it go. Let me go.” Her hardness startled him. It shouldn’t have, because she’d been detached since the moment he’d stepped into her hospital room. But this behavior wasn’t the woman he knew and loved, and Gabriel had a difficult time reconciling it.
“I’m staying.”
“Do what you want.” She pulled the covers around her neck. “You always do,” she muttered.
“You said you know I didn’t cheat on you. How about you tell me what else it is you think I’ve done?”
“Jesus Christ, Gabe,” she snapped, sitting up and throwing a pillow in his direction. “Stop! Just stop! This isn’t about you.”
“Obviously, to an extent, it is. You’re saying my name differently. I’m not allowed to call you Margaret, and you can hardly stand to look at me.”
All her anger seemed to evaporate, and she gave him a pitying look. “You’ve done nothing wrong, but I need you to leave me be, okay? I need you to run, not walk, as far and as fast as you can without looking back, because I’ll never be normal again. And this…” She gestured between them. “… this is gone. Over. I don’t love you anymore.”
Cold washed over him, followed by a burning humiliation. Suddenly, he was a little boy again and his father was sneering at him, telling him to grow up. Oh, how he wanted to delve deeper and find the root cause of her disdain, but he wouldn’t. Not now.
“How many times does someone have to tell you you’re not worthy, boy?” The words of his father echoed inside his brain, and the old self-hatred rose to choke him.
“Gabe?” He lifted his eyes to Margaret’s. Her concern for him was evident, and he wondered why she bothered. “You’re pale. Are you—”
“I’m fine,” he bit out. His body felt like that of a ninety-year-old man as he stood up and folded the blanket. “Get some sleep. I’m going to find coffee.”
She winced, covering it with a strained half smile. “You should go back to the hotel
and a real bed. The chair can’t be comfortable for someone your size.”
He nodded and headed for the door.
“Gabriel.” His name on her lips was dripping with regret. “I’m sorry.”
“For what, not loving me? Please, don’t sweat it. I’m a big boy.”
He rushed out of the room and down the corridor, but he wasn’t able to outrace his demons. They were hot on his heels and taunting him all the way to the vending machine. Scrounging around inside his wallet, he pulled out a five-dollar bill and inserted it. He wasn’t sure how long he stared at the digital display when a pretty blonde nurse tapped him on the shoulder.
“There’s better stuff in the nurse’s lounge. I could take you there.”
Looking down at her, he could see she was interested in more than sharing a cup of coffee. Some people were up for fast, furious sex with strangers. For all of five seconds, he considered giving her what she sought, just to feel the comfort of another person’s arms around him and ward off the chill permeating his soul as a result of Margaret’s words.
He shook his head, knowing any random hook-up would be pale in comparison to what he once shared with Margaret. Despite the fact she’d given him his walking papers, not once, but twice, Gabriel couldn’t begin to entertain the idea of being with another woman. “I’m good. Just trying to decide how much sugar I need to keep me awake.”
“Do you have a family member here?”
“My fiancée,” he lied. Turning back to the machine, he blindly plugged in a number.
Her disappointed “oh” didn’t make him feel guilt in the least.
“Excuse me,” he murmured as he moved around her to leave.
“If you change your mind about the better… coffee, my name is Elise.”
“I won’t.”
Gabriel found James stretched out on the couch in the waiting room. Seemed he, too, had a hard time leaving the hospital. He snorted. Margaret was going to get sick of the two of them playing bodyguard real soon. Living in a state of limbo, half out of their minds with worry, made it difficult to pretend everything was normal now. Impossible to pretend she was in the hospital with nothing more than a mild sickness when they knew she’d been starved, dehydrated, and abused. So they would stay—if only to ease their own minds.
“My sister kick you out?” James asked. His eyes were still closed, and his voice was husky from sleep. Not waiting for a reply, he said, “I’m not surprised.”
“Why’s that?” Gabriel sipped his coffee and grimaced. Maybe he should have agreed to accompany Elise to her break room just for the better brew.
James yawned and stretched before sitting up. “Annie. She was feeling all kinds of varying emotions radiating off Margie. Humiliation. Coldness. Isolation. Hopelessness.” He shrugged. “It’s not surprising she’s trying to shove us all away.”
“Yeah, well, has she told any of you she doesn’t love you anymore?” The snark in his own voice made Gabriel cringe. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. And she’s lying.”
“You didn’t see her face.”
“Gabe.” James waited until Gabriel met his steady gaze. “She’s lying.”
“We’ll see.”
Chapter 30
Because Gabriel needed to know more about what Margaret had gone through and because she refused to be forthcoming with anyone, he went with James to Don’s cabin. Once he stepped through the door, he wished he hadn’t.
Evilness seemed to hang in the air around them, and even someone without the Holts’ abilities could sense it. His skin crawled. A simple glance showed the eerie sensation wasn’t only messing with him.
Skin pale, James was focused on something neither Gabriel nor Ramirez could see. “Margie was right,” he said quietly. “There are spirits here.”
“How many? Can you identify them?” the detective asked.
“Give me a little bit.” James turned left and faced a blank wall. He nodded his head thoughtfully, turned slightly to his right, and nodded again. “Ramirez, do you have a notebook for the names?”
The detective produced a pen and pad for James. The fascination on his face meant Margie’s brother had a fan for life.
“When?” James asked the phantom in front of him as he scribbled on the paper. He held up a hand. “One at a time, please.”
There were a total of seven names when he was finished, and beside them were dates going as far back as twenty years ago. Ages, addresses, and various detailed incidents were noted as well.
“Seven women?” Gabriel asked, mouth drier than dirt. “Seven women died here?”
“Yes,” James replied grimly. The longer he listened to the women, the more ashen he’d become, and now, he refused to meet Gabriel’s eyes.
“What did they tell you?” he demanded.
James shook his head and rushed from the room.
“If it was anything like what we found for his sister, those other women suffered,” Ramirez told Gabriel.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s still a crime scene down there, but from what I’ve seen, I don’t understand how your client didn’t lose her damned mind.”
Client. Right. They didn’t know she was so much more.
Shoving by him, Gabriel headed for the stairs. His way was blocked by Detective Jones. “Let me by.”
“No, sir.”
“I want to see…” He swallowed and closed his eyes. “I need to.”
“No, sir, you don’t. Want to, that is.” Jones had lost all the previous night’s attitude. “No normal person does something like what that sonofabitch did. It’s too bad he didn’t die when your friend slit his throat.”
The blood rushed from Gabriel’s head, and he swayed. “What?”
“Yeah, I hope he doesn’t get some smarmy lawyer who finds a loophole. Damned criminal attorneys…” He trailed off as if suddenly remembering Gabriel was one of their ilk. “Sorry.”
“Are you telling me Don Acker survived?”
“Yes. When they found him, he was barely alive. But the officer guarding him told me Acker pulled through surgery.”
“Surgery?” Gabriel was having a difficult time wrapping his brain around what the detective said. “Where?”
“Memorial.”
“That’s where Margaret is!” Redundant because Jones knew that, but Gabriel needed to stress it anyway.
“We have a guard on him, and Acker’s in recovery. He’s not going anywhere.”
Gabriel wanted to punch the smug confidence off the guy’s face.
“Margaret is in that hospital,” he said slowly as if talking to a moron, of which, he wasn’t convinced Jones wasn’t. “Don is obsessed with her.”
Spinning on his heel, he raced for the door. He noted with a grim satisfaction that at least Ramirez took the threat seriously. Outside, James was pacing with his head cradled between his palms, as if by pressing hard enough, he could crush the horrendous images in his mind.
“James!”
Gabriel’s tone was enough to prompt Margie’s brother into action. The men raced for the car as Ramirez spoke into his radio.
Even in dreams, Margie still couldn’t seem to shake Don. Ugliness and hatred burned brightly in the fanatical eyes glaring down at her.
“Look what you did to me, you bitch!” His voice was low and hoarse, not at all like how it had been when he was alive. But the same evil intent saturated the air around her.
He tore away the bandage and exposed his throat. Margie somewhat expected to see exposed muscle, tendons, and blood, or at the very least a raw, gaping hole. To see the three-inch gash stitched with perfect precision through her.
His icy fingers caressed her throat. “Now you’ll know what it’s like to taste death, Margaret. To feel what I felt when you left me on the cold floor, gasping for breath.” Wrapping his fleshy hands around her neck, he began to squeeze.
The monitor to her right went haywire, registering her elevated stress. She strove to wake from this vivid,
heart-stopping dream, but couldn’t. No amount of fighting, of telling herself this wasn’t real, could rouse her. As the fingers closed off her airways and she tugged at his thick, hairy wrists, the realization struck this was no dream.
Drawing her legs up, she attempted to wedge her knees between them. The leverage briefly broke his hold, but his strength far surpassed hers, and he latched onto her throat a second time. The promise of death was in the eyes boring into hers. The ones burning with a loathing so great, her terror escalated.
As she gasped for air, black spots danced on the outskirts of her vision, rapidly closing in. Panicked, she scrounged for a weapon with one hand as she clawed at his face with the other. Her wrist knocked the rail, and the blow to the IV underneath her skin sent a sharp pain radiating up her arm. In a last-ditch effort, she ripped the needle from its vein. Working her forearm between them, she used what strength she had left and jabbed him in his eye socket.
His agonized howl coincided with copious amounts of clear fluid flowing from the hole. Don’s shrill scream sent up an alarm, and from what felt like a long distance, Margie heard running and shouting.
The one remaining hand on her throat spasmed, and she lost the last of her ability to fight. As her eyes were drifting shut for the final time, she saw Annie slam a flower vase down on Don’s balding head. Margie wanted to scream. To warn her sister to run like hell. To say there was no stopping him now, because he was possessed and determined to finish this once and for all.
Don swayed on his feet but spun toward the new threat. Annie kicked him squarely in the giblets, and if Margie had it in her to cheer, she would’ve. But the lights were fading, and she knew no more.
“She’s coming around.”
Margie’s first thought was her throat ached like a bitch. It was as if she had strep, tonsillitis, and a wedge of cheese lodged all in one spot together. Her second thought registered the oxygen mask, covering two-thirds of her face. The edges applied pressure across the bridge of her nose, down her cheeks and along the line of her jaw, sealing it to her skin. The cool flow of air was forced into her airways. She lifted a hand to explore the device, and she frowned her confusion.
