CORE Shadow [1] Shadow of Danger

by Kristine Mason

  She relaxed, stretched her legs along the couch, and curled her bare toes, painted pink. “You know what’s funny?” she asked, her voice sleepy as she closed her eyes. “Lloyd was the boy.”

  The Viking?

  “He’s a big badass now. Back then he was nothing but skin and bones. Some kids that used to pick on him had dared him to meet them at the river that night and he’d gotten lost.” She shrugged. “But I found him.”

  That prick of jealousy was there again, but he tamped it down. He had no claims to Celeste. “Okay, so no other episodes of sleep walking until the first vision. Got it.” He blew out a deep breath. “Now, when the trance in my car happened, you started telling me about the first vision, how the night of the dream you felt groggy and tired, then bingo, you were under. Do you think you could go under a trance the same way?”

  She covered her mouth as she yawned. “Don’t know, but I’ll try. Just let me get more comfortable.” She moved a bit until her body was deep into the cushions, then rested her forearm along her head. “That night I’d come home from the diner and had the same odd feeling as the night before. Deep exhaustion, as if I’d just worked back-to-back double shifts days in a row.” She closed her eyes and stayed silent for a few moments before curling on her side. “After a hot shower, I crawled into bed,” she said, her voice thick. “I felt so tired...sleep, I needed sleep.”

  She grew quiet. Her breathing regulated, and her eyes remained closed.

  He stayed on the carpet, kneeling next to the couch, and waited. Minutes passed, and he began to wonder if she’d gone under a trance or simply fell asleep.

  “Celeste,” he whispered. “Are you with me, honey?”

  She didn’t respond. He smiled and brushed a curl from cheek. Nope, not a trance, more like a much-needed cat nap. He started to rise when she suddenly grasped his wrist.

  “Celeste?” he asked, and tried to calm his racing heart.

  Her eyes flew open, but she stared past him. They’d turned that same eerie midnight gray just like during the first trance. Staring wide-eyed at the brick fireplace, she lifted her shoulders and whispered, “He’s over there. Shhh, don’t move. He thinks he knocked me out, but doesn’t know what I’m capable of handling. My mom has hit me worse, but at least I knew she’d eventually stop. Not him. Oh, man, not him. He’s not going to stop. Shh. He’s turning around...I...close your eyes. Close your eyes. Pretend. Just pretend.”

  He looked to his cell phone recording every word she said, wishing they were in an environment with a doctor or a forensic psychologist. But he’d stupidly allowed his emotions, his feelings for Celeste to rule his sensible mind. Now he was stuck, treading in unfamiliar territory.

  Sweat began to coat his forehead and upper lip. His stomach soured. The case wasn’t worth putting Celeste through another trance. Even if she wouldn’t remember her own words and visions, he would. Ready to shake her out of it, he moved forward. She recoiled, then scooted against the couch cushions.

  “He knows I’m awake. Oh God. Not again.” Tears hung, unshed around her blue gray eyes. Her mouth gaped open, puffs of air coming in quick succession. She blinked once and an odd look of relief crossed her pale face.

  “What is it?” he asked tentatively. Not sure if he wanted to know.

  “I...I don’t know, I think I’m safe for now. He raped me, you know.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Raped and punched me so many times. I tried to fight him. My mom used to beat me, say I was nothing, just a little slut, but I was a virgin.” She bit her trembling lip. “I was a virgin,” she whispered again. “And he knew. I know he did.” She raised her voice.

  John swallowed back grief for the woman using Celeste’s body to tell her story. While he desperately wanted to end the trance, end the pain crossing Celeste’s beautiful face, he couldn’t. Not yet. They’d come this far and if she had been willing to risk herself to undergo the trance, he hoped they could walk away with some answers and leads. “What’s he doing now?” he asked.

  “Staring at me,” she said, her tone devoid of emotion.

  “Honey,” he coaxed. “Can you see him?”

  She nodded. “I’d thought he was so hot. How stupid. Why would a good-looking guy want anything to do with me?”

  “Can you describe him?”

  A wan smile touched her lips. “The ideal, only the ideal fucking sucks. I was better off sticking with those skinny, dorky guys.”

  “He’s big then?”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. “Too big. He...he hurt me so bad. I ache.” She reached between her thighs. “I was a virgin,” she whispered again.

  Hating himself, hating putting her through this, he asked, “Please, honey, can you tell me what he looks like? If I know, I can help you.”

  “Dark hair, trimmed beard, oh God, I was so stupid to think he’d like a girl like me.”

  Winston? Was it possible? “Shh, you’re beautiful,” he said, hoping to soothe her.

  “No, I’m fat, but he said he liked my curves, and he smelled so good, and I thought he was sexy. If only I’d known,” she said, then gasped.

  Panic clawed at him. “What’s happening?”

  “Shut up and listen. Someone’s coming, can’t you hear it? The leaves are crunching. Closer...closer.” Breath whooshed from her lungs. “Oh my God, there’s another one. He’s wearing a mask,” she said in a rush. “His eyes are beady, like a little rat. I can’t see anything else.”

  “His build, scent?”

  “No, I can’t,” she sobbed, hiccupped then calmed herself. “Wait, okay, I can do this. He’s tall, but skinny. And he stinks. Like bleach.”

  She suddenly shoved at her breasts and stomach. “Stop touching me. It hurts, he’s so rough. I need to get away...wait.”

  She gulped as a deep frown creased her forehead. “They’re talking about me and laughing. It’s not funny you pricks,” she shouted. “It’s not funny. Oh no, the guy with the mask is coming for me.” She scooted her legs under her and edged into the corner of the couch.

  Watching, witnessing, taking part in her horror, he didn’t know what to do. Even though he knew Celeste wasn’t the one being tortured, his heart raced and instinct kicked in. “Run, honey. Run.”

  “I can’t. He’s—” She screamed, and flipped onto her stomach, then released another muffled cry into the cushions. Her body began to rock in deep forceful jerks as if an invisible force slammed into her backside. Gasping and wailing, she strained her neck back away from the cushions and flailed her arm behind her reaching for her hair.

  “It hurts so bad.” She began to cry. “He’s pulling my hair, grunting like a fucking pig and laughing. Laughing because they both took my virginity.” Her head slammed against the cushions, her body jerking violently. “Make it stop, make it stop,” she pleaded into the cushions, tears streaming down her face.

  Disgust ran through his already soured stomach. The urge to hurt, to maim, to kill settled deep in his soul. The powerful force spread through him, along with helplessness. The victim Celeste had become was not only raped, but now was being sodomized. Right in front of his fucking eyes.

  For the first time in years, tears burned and swelled. He couldn’t stand watching Celeste undergo this horror, whether she was reenacting another person’s nightmare or not. As he was about to shake her from the trance, she flipped onto her back, reached out, scratching, clawing. He ducked and missed a swing.

  Her breathing grew heavy, she panted and gasped. Blond curls stuck to the sweat coating her face. “Get away from me you sick fucks. Get away,” she yelled and kicked at the air. “How’d you like that?”

  Tears stained her cheeks and her breathing calmed. A slow, chilling smile shaped her lips. “I hurt the masked one, got him right in the balls. Now’s my chance, I’ve got to run. I’ve got to...he’s on me. My neck...I...I...” As she kicked her legs, she gasped and clawed at the loose collar of her sweater. “I can’t breathe. I can’t...”

  She suddenly stopped moving. Her
breath came in short, shallow puffs as she dropped her arms away from her neck and closed her eyes.

  “Honey, are you with me?”

  “It’s so dark,” she whispered. “No moon tonight. The blackness is good, though. I’m not scared anymore.”

  Gulping, he stared down at her. “Why do you say that?” he asked, even though he already suspected the answer. Celeste was the vessel of a dying woman. As the thought ran through his mind, so did another. Could she go into cardiac arrest? Damn it, he should never have allowed this to happen without a doctor present. Stupid, so stupid.

  “Celeste, wake up. You have to wake up,” he shouted.

  She furrowed her brows, then a serene smile crossed her lips. “So dark. No sound but the mill. It always did help put me to sleep. The humming and drumming...it’s relaxing. I’m going to sleep now.”

  Fear had him grabbing Celeste by her upper arms and shaking her like a rag doll. “Wake up, baby. Please.” He cradled her to his chest. “Wake up, wake up,” he begged over and over, as he tried to jar her from the trance. As he rocked her body against his, a tear escaped and rolled down his cheek.

  She drew in a deep, gasping breath, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Embracing her tight to his chest, he held her and swore he never wanted to let her go. Ever. He wanted to cherish her, love her, keep her safe and secure. Always. They might have only known each other for a short time, but he knew in his gut, in his heart, in his soul, that she was his. He’d tried to deny their connection, tried to deny the chemistry that had confused his logical mind and set his body on fire, but he couldn’t any longer. Watching, witnessing Celeste suffering the death of another woman made him realize how short life truly was, and that life without her would be meaningless.

  He held her tighter. Until Celeste, he’d been running on autopilot. Punishing himself for Renee’s crimes. Tired of living like an unemotional robot, he wanted the warmth, the trust Celeste offered. He also wanted her off the investigation.

  “You’re crushing me,” she half-giggled.

  “Sorry,” he said, and with reluctance, eased back. She’d scared the hell out of him tonight, and he didn’t want to let her go.

  Her smile faltered as she lay her hand against his cheek, wiping the single tear away. “John?” Her eyes had returned to their normal bright blue. She looked confused, disoriented and blessedly alive.

  “What happened? Did I...?” She let her hand fall away and winced. “Was it that bad?”

  He cupped her face then kissed the corner of her mouth. “Worse. You won’t be doing this again. Ever.”

  She stiffened. “Ever?”

  “That’s what I said. It’s for your own good.” There was no way in hell he’d allow her to go through another trance. She might not remember it, but what if in the dark recesses of her mind, the vision showed itself? He didn’t want to take that chance. He didn’t want to risk her remembering the beatings, the rape and sodomy, the death.

  “For my own good,” she echoed.

  “Exactly.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me about the trance.”

  Not in this lifetime. “Now’s not the time. I need...to listen to the recording.” Remembering his cell phone, he quickly shut off the recording device then slipped the phone in his pocket.

  “You promised to let me listen,” she said, her tone firm and laced with accusation.

  “Not tonight,” he spoke louder than he’d meant, the fear, the terror of what he’d witnessed ran strong. He’d break every damned promise to protect her. If she heard herself being...

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then when?”

  Never. He shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Just let me listen to it again and then maybe—”

  “Forget it.” Her eyes hardened into blue shards of ice. “It’s time for you to go.”

  “Celeste, no.” He laid his hands on her shoulders to keep her from storming away from him. He hadn’t meant to hurt her or betray her. He only wanted to protect her.

  “Then at least tell me what I said.”

  He looked to the ceiling before meeting her gaze. “I can’t. Not tonight. I need—”

  “To go,” she said, knocking his hands from her shoulders.

  Panicking, he snagged her hand before she stalked off, then turned her to face him. “I can’t leave you alone.”

  “I’m a big girl. Besides, I’m used to being alone.”

  “You don’t have to be,” he said softly. “After what you said during the trance, I can’t leave you here by yourself.”

  She frowned and shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know how you’d said that during the second vision you’d felt as if you were being pulled in two different directions? That’s because there were two men attacking the victim in your vision.”

  Her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. “Was one of them Winston?”

  “Could be, but I’m not sure.”

  “And the other? Did I describe him?”

  “I’m not going into details until I’ve listened to the recording again. Please believe me. It’s for your own good.”

  Shaking her hand free of his, she stomped toward the foyer. “Stop saying that. I’m not a child.”

  “Then quit acting like one,” he countered.

  “Really?” She laid the sarcasm on thick.

  “Okay, I didn’t mean that, but you have to trust me on this. Look, in all likelihood, there’s another killer out there. If he knows about you, you could be a threat to him.”

  “Give me a break.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you really think a killer is going to look at me as a threat? Hell, half of this town thinks I’m a crackpot. I highly doubt—”

  “Why are you being so stubborn about this? Damn it, Celeste, you didn’t see the woman from the bog. He sliced her face, cut her stomach wide open. I’m not about to discount anything where you’re concerned. But if you don’t want me here, then I’m calling Roy. He can find someone else to babysit you then until this investigation is over.”

  As he reached for his cell phone, she gripped his arm. “I do not need a babysitter.”

  “The hell you don’t.”

  A knock at the door had them both pausing. She quickly released his arm, then moved to the door. After peering through the peep hole, she released a sigh. “Hey, Will,” she said as she let her brother into the foyer.

  Will glanced between the two of them, then settled his gaze on Celeste. “Everything okay?”

  “Just fine,” she said, “John was just leaving.”

  “Celeste,” he began, then stopped when she raised a hand.

  “Will you stay here tonight?” she asked her brother.

  “Sure. Mind if I do some laundry?”

  “Not at all,” she said, and kept her gaze on his rather than Will’s.

  “Cool, I’ll just run to the apartment and get my things. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  After Will left, John moved toward her. “Look, I know you’re upset, but before you kick me out, let me just say this.” He cupped her cheeks, then sifted a hand through her soft curls and held her head. “I believe in you. Can you give me the same? Can you just hang tight for tonight and let me sort out what happened during the trace? I want to talk to Roy about it, and see what Carl finds during the autopsy on the girl from the bog.”

  The kitchen door banged shut. “It’s just me,” her brother shouted, but thankfully didn’t enter the living room.

  “Please, Celeste.” He stroked her cheek. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

  “You know where I work,” she said, and looked away.

  He resisted rubbing his thumb along her pouting lips. “I was hoping for something more private.”

  She met his gaze then, and stared at him as if he were a stranger. As if they’d never met or shared a deep, unexplainable intimacy.

  “Let me sleep on it.”

  “I think you need to understand something.” He he
ld his ground, not wanting to leave things the way they were. She had no clue what she’d put him through and she had to understand his motives. He wasn’t trying to boss her around or throw her off the investigation. He was trying to protect her.

  “Good night, John.” She ushered him to the door, then closed it in his face without an ounce of hesitation.

  As he stalked to his car, he tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong. He looked around the yard and caught a few accusing glances.

  “Goddamn gnomes,” he muttered to himself. What the hell did they know?

  *

  More loose ends.

  Rage settled deep in his gut as he watched John Kain leave the psychic’s house. Had they been discussing his little Deb from the bog? He’d been so careful with his sweet Deb, gutting her enough so that her body would sink into the lake, rather than bloat and float.

  Fucking cranberry farmers. They’d harvested two weeks earlier than last year. If they hadn’t, her body would have likely moved with the gentle current. It would have either ended up at one of the adjoining lakes, or traveled down to the river. If that had happened and she’d washed up on shore in another county, no one would have tried to connect the Deb to the women Garrett had dumped. And he knew they were trying to make a connection.

  He crouched low, the evergreen he’d been hiding behind giving him cover as Kain backed out of the driveway, then sped down the street. Five dead bodies discovered in less than twenty-four hours. That kind of shit didn’t happen in this county, which hadn’t seen a murder in decades. The odds against two killers could likely have them furthering their investigation against Garrett.

  Another loose end.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. The rage remained, but now mingled with painful shards of regret. He couldn’t, wouldn’t dispose of Garrett.

  So far, Garrett had done as they’d planned if he was ever caught—he’d confessed—but his brother was arrogant, impatient, and vengeful. It would be days before he could free Garrett. Days he couldn’t afford. The risk of the sheriff and that know-it-all prick, Kain, furthering their investigation scared the shit out of him. What if they discovered what Garrett had done in Florida or Alabama before they’d made their first kill together? Wisconsin no longer carried the death penalty, but those states did. What if Garrett talked? What if he spilled what he knew about him for a lesser sentence?