Hold Me in the Dark

by Newbury, Helena

  “You crying?” he asked.

  “Only in a good way.”

  60

  Calahan

  I WOKE FIRST and lay there watching her sleep. She looked so peaceful: sleep seemed to be the one time that big brain of hers actually spun down and came to rest. There’d be moments, though: her brow would furrow, her eyes would tighten and her lips would silently move as she came up against some problem in her dreams. Then her face would relax as she solved it. A big swell of protective love swept through me. I could have watched her for hours.

  I slipped out of bed without waking her, hit the shower and then went in search of coffee. The penthouse felt absurdly huge: I was used to waking up and having all four walls of my apartment almost within touching distance. And the low counters in the kitchen still made me feel big and clumsy. But I found a couple of mugs and then poked at the coffee machine like a caveman trying to figure out a laptop, until it finally spat and gurgled into life.

  Outside, dawn was breaking. It was time to get back to work. I had to find Josh...and that presented a problem. I looked uneasily down the hall towards where Yolanda slept.

  There was a knock at the door. At this time in the morning? It turned out to be a delivery guy, with a brand new wheelchair for Yolanda. She must have ordered it right after we escaped the chemical factory, before we’d even had our wounds looked at, and had it rush-shipped overnight. I wheeled it through to the bedroom for her, along with her mug of coffee, and woke her with a kiss. She came awake slowly, clearly not a morning person, her nose twitching like a bunny’s as she smelled the coffee. She levered herself upright, drank half the coffee, and only then did she fully open her eyes. Despite what was weighing on my mind, I couldn’t help but grin at her. “Hey you,” I said softly.

  She smiled shyly back and glugged the rest of the coffee. Then she pulled on a nightshirt, slid into the new chair, and tried a few experimental moves. “How is it?” I asked.

  She gave a non-committal shrug and wriggled her ass further into the seat. “Okay. Weird. I’d had the old one a long time. It’s like trying to get used to new shoes.” She frowned and turned an adjustment knob a fraction of an inch.

  There was another knock at the door. This time, it was a package for me: a big, soft one. I tore open the wrapping, frowning in confusion.

  A brand new suit, shirt and tie. Yolanda had been busy.

  “I got your sizes from your old one,” she said. “Try it on.”

  I did, enjoying the feeling of new fabric against my skin. I couldn’t remember when I’d last bought a new suit. “How do I look?” I asked, pulling on the jacket.

  She smiled. “Great. But rumpled. As it should be.”

  I began doing up my tie. “I’m going to go track down your brother.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her nod. “Yep. Let me just take a shower.”

  I kept my eyes on my tie knot. “You went through a lot, yesterday. Rest up, I can handle this.”

  “I went through a lot? You fell through a floor! I’m coming.”

  Dammit. I focused very intently on the knot. “Maybe you should sit this one out.” I tried to keep my voice light, as if it wasn’t a big deal either way.

  That utterly failed. “What are you talking about?” asked Yolanda. “He’s my brother!”

  I finally lifted my eyes and looked at her.

  As soon as she saw my expression, her face twisted. Shock, then anger. “What is this?”

  I laid my hands gently on her shoulders. “I have to do this on my own,” I told her.

  “What? No, no way!”

  “He’s dangerous,” I said firmly. “I’m not letting him near you again.”

  “He’s my brother!”

  “He’s not...himself. You saw that.”

  And then she saw something in my eyes and she went pale. “You think you might have to shoot him,” she said slowly. “That’s why I can’t be there.” My silence was all the confirmation she needed. “No!”

  “If it does come to that, I can’t have you there,” I told her. “Last time, I almost shot you!”

  “If I’m there, I can talk him down!” she said desperately. “I can get through to him!”

  I sighed and squeezed her shoulders. I hated fighting with her but I had to protect her. “When he’s in cuffs in an interrogation room, I promise you can talk to him as much as you want. But until then, it’s too dangerous.” I pulled her into a hug but she was stiff, staring at me in disbelief. I felt like a piece of shit, but there was no other way. If Yolanda was there, she was at risk: Josh would hurt her to get to me, or she’d get hurt trying to save him from me, or she’d watch me kill him. I couldn’t let any of those things happen.

  I turned around and headed for the door. But before I’d gone two steps, I heard the hiss of tires. “Tough,” she said. “I’m coming with you, even if I have to come in a goddamn nightshirt.”

  As I left the apartment, she caught up with me and wheeled herself down the hallway beside me. I shook my head in despair. What the hell am I going to do? Her determination was one of the many things I loved about her. But right now, it could get her killed.

  We reached the elevator and she hit the button to call it, then looked up at me, defiant. Dammit! I remembered how she’d wheeled herself through dark, rain-soaked streets to find me in that bar. There was no stopping this woman, not once she’d decided she was going somewhere.

  And then, as I watched the elevator’s floor indicator climb, it hit me. There was something I could do. But it made my stomach churn. Aw, hell no, I can’t….

  The elevator arrived and the doors opened.

  I had to make a split-second decision. I imagined her getting in front of my gun again, blood soaking her nightshirt. Or her brother, coming at her with a gun or a knife. Or her watching as I ended her brother’s life—

  I had to do this to protect her. Even if it meant the end of us.

  I leaned inside the elevator and hit the button for the first floor, then quickly pulled my arm back. The doors closed and the elevator started to descend. Yolanda frowned at me, mystified.

  Oh God, I don’t want to do this. But there was no other way.

  I took a deep breath...and opened the emergency exit door next to the elevator. The one she never used.

  The one that led to the stairwell.

  I heard an intake of breath behind me as she realized what I was about to do. “No. No, wait!”

  I was already running down the stairs. The elevator had to go all the way to the first floor and then she’d have to call it all the way back up again and then ride it down. I’d be out of the building and gone before she caught up. It was a good plan.

  But it was a shitty thing to do.

  “Sam!” I heard from above me. “Sam, please!”

  I kept going.

  “Calahan, you son of a bitch!” she yelled, her voice cracking. As I reached the thirty-eighth floor, I heard the tears start. “If you do this, we’re through!”

  I stumbled to a stop, looked up, and saw her leaning over the handrail. I’ll never forget her expression: absolute, horrified disappointment.

  I hated myself. But it was the only way.

  I started down the stairs again, as fast as I could. I told myself it was because I needed to make sure she didn’t beat me downstairs. The real reason was, I wanted to escape her pleas. But it didn’t work. They echoed down the stairwell, following me all the way to the bottom.

  I burst out of the stairwell, legs burning, and staggered out into the street. The sky was darkening as a storm rolled in: it almost felt as if dawn was reversing back into night. I stood at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for a gap in the traffic so I could cross to my car. I kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing. I’m keeping her safe. That was worth it, even if it meant we were finished.

  A gap appeared. I started to jog across the street.

  I’m doing the right thing. But I kept seeing her expression, when she’d lo
oked down at me on the stairs. I’d seen that look once before: the very first time I’d met her, when I’d seen the wheelchair and I’d reacted with shock. She’d been disappointed then, too.

  I slowed to a stop in the middle of the street and looked back at Yolanda’s building. I’d just proven everything she’d first thought about me. It had been a split-second decision and I’d been trying to protect her but...what was I thinking?! I’d utterly fallen for this woman. I couldn’t do this to her.

  Horns reminded me that I was still in the middle of the street. I sighed, turned around and trudged back towards Yolanda’s building. I had no idea what I was going to say to her, or what I was going to do about her brother. I only knew I couldn’t leave things like this.

  61

  Yolanda

  I ROLLED BACK to my apartment at walking pace. It had hit me on three levels: first, the sharp, humiliating pain of what he’d done, like a slap in the face. How could he do that to me? Second, the crushing loss: we’d had something, something great, and it was gone. And third, the mocking voices in my head, the ones that had quietened down since Calahan entered my life, were back and louder than ever, telling me I’d been stupid to think he wanted to be with me.

  I reached my apartment and rolled inside, slamming the door behind me. The place was a mess, paper still strewn around the floor and hanging from the ceiling and walls, but I ignored it. I wheeled myself over to my chalkboards: the exact place I’d been sitting, when I first heard his knock at my door. It’s like it never happened. It’s like I’m back where I started. Isolated. Scared to come out. Utterly alone.

  I leaned forward in the chair as the wracking sobs began. It hurt. It hurt so bad. It wasn’t just the loss of us, the romantic us. I’d thought that we were friends. Partners. I’d thought we were a team. What he’d done violated all of that. I put my elbows on the chair’s armrests, laid my face in my hands and just let it pour out.

  There was a knock at my door.

  My head lifted slowly, suspiciously. Then I drew in my breath.

  He came back.

  I started to roll towards the door, slowly at first but picking up speed. He’d realized he was wrong. He wanted to apologize. He came back.

  My hands hauled at the wheels, hurrying, now. Maybe...maybe there was still hope. Maybe we could talk about it and figure it out. The important thing was, he came back. My chest lifted and filled. He came back, he came back, he came back!

  I grabbed the door handle and threw it wide open.

  “Don’t fight,” said Josh.

  And he stepped forward and plunged the syringe into my neck.

  62

  Calahan

  Weird. I’d reached the lobby and headed for the elevator, but it was already on its way back up to Yolanda’s apartment. Had she called it? That made no sense. If she was going to chase after me, she would have done it as soon as I’d headed down the stairs. The elevator reached the penthouse and then stubbornly stayed there, no matter how many times I pressed the button. Was this her way of pulling up the drawbridge, so I couldn’t come back?

  I scowled at my reflection in the elevator doors. Well, fine. I deserved that, and more. But a few stairs weren’t going to stop me.

  By the time I’d climbed twenty floors, I was a cursing, sweating mess. Thirty, and my legs were ready to quit...but I wasn’t. I’d messed this up. I’d put it right.

  As I passed the thirty-fifth floor, I heard the elevator rattle into life. Shit! Was she heading down? I forced myself into a run, pounding up the last five floors, and burst out of the stairwell panting and groaning.

  The first thing I saw was a metal door wedge, beside the elevator doors. Someone had wedged them open: that’s why I hadn’t been able to call the elevator from downstairs.

  Then I looked down the hallway and saw the door to Yolanda’s apartment standing wide open. And inside, her new wheelchair...on its side.

  My exhaustion suddenly wasn’t relevant. Raw fear took over and I covered the distance to her door at a dead sprint. “YOLANDA!” I yelled as I burst in.

  Nothing. Dead silence. But the wheelchair told me all I needed to know. There’s no way she’d leave her apartment without it.

  The elevator! I raced back to it: it was already down to the twentieth floor. She’s in there!

  And there was only one person who could have taken her. Oh Jesus. He must have walked into her apartment seconds after I walked out. This is all my fault! I’d tried to protect her and instead I’d left her alone, right when she needed me.

  I pounded down the stairs for the second time. Adrenaline was flooding my veins: I didn’t feel the pain in my legs, anymore. But I couldn’t overtake the elevator. When it reached the first floor, I still had ten to go. Come on! Come on!

  I burst out into the lobby and looked wildly around. The doors to the street were still swinging and I raced outside. There! Across the street, a beige sedan with its passenger door open. I could see Yolanda inside, slumped as if half asleep. And Josh was standing beside the car, fastening her safety belt. Shit!

  I started forward across the street...and had to jump back as a truck missed me by inches. Josh glanced up, saw me, and calmly walked around to the driver’s side of the car. I raced forward again...and almost went under an SUV. Fuck! I pulled out my FBI badge and held it up, showing it to the oncoming traffic. A few drivers slowed down and I dodged between the lanes. But I could see Josh starting the engine….

  I reached Yolanda’s door. Grabbed the handle.

  Locked.

  Yolanda turned to me. Her eyes were glazed. God, he must have drugged her. But she was lucid enough to recognize me. Her lips formed my name.

  I clawed uselessly at the window, almost hysterical. Yolanda!

  The car roared away.

  For a second, I just froze. Then I turned and raced to my car—thank God, I’d parked only a few yards away. As I threw myself behind the wheel, Josh’s car was halfway down the block. I started the engine, hit the gas and pulled out—

  The car spun sideways as someone slammed into my rear fender. Then two more crashes as cars piled into that car in a chain reaction. I hadn’t thought to check my mirror.

  I jumped out of my car. One of the rear wheels was bent almost sideways: I wasn’t going anywhere. Behind me, a woman in an SUV was looking pale-faced at her crumpled hood. No one seemed to be hurt, but—

  I jumped up onto the hood of my car and just managed to spot Josh’s car as it reached the end of the block. He turned right...and was gone. No way would I catch him on foot. Even if I could commandeer a car, by the time I got to the end of the block he’d have made more turns. I’d never find them.

  I’ve lost her. Oh Jesus, I’ve lost her. Josh was taking her God-knows where and from the way he’d drugged her and abducted her...she was going to be his next victim.

  The despair hit me. My legs, worn out from racing up and down stairs, buckled and I half-sat, half-fell on the hood. Part of me refused to believe it was over. She was still so close, probably only a block or two away. But I didn’t know where, and she was slipping deeper into the maze of streets each second. I’d gotten a good look at the car, a crappy beige sedan. I’d know it if I saw it again. But there was no way to search every damn street.

  I froze. Unless there was.

  63

  Yolanda

  WHATEVER DRUG he’d given me was gradually wearing off. When he’d zip tied my hands and slung me over his shoulder in my apartment, I’d been a dead weight, barely conscious. By the time he’d carried me down in the elevator and loaded me into his car, I was beginning to stir. And when Calahan ran up to my window, I managed to turn my head and look at him. I saw the regret on his face. The fear. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of, what he’d been trying to prevent when he insisted on going it alone. It’s not your fault, I wanted to tell him.

  And then the car roared away.

  Now, a few minutes on, things were starting to work again. I could move my jaw an
d lips but forming words still felt awkward and clumsy. I focused on Josh, taking in the long, greasy hair, the tattoos, the dirt that was ground into his skin and his clothes. Ever since I first saw him in the chemical works, I’d been struggling to process him being alive...and being so completely different to the brother I remembered. “How?” I mumbled.

  He kept his eyes on the traffic ahead but he spoke, his voice eerily calm. That was the scariest part of the change in him, that calm. It was as if all self-doubt had been taken away and he was utterly certain that he was doing the right thing. “They got you out,” he told me. “And then the debris pile collapsed. I was buried, down near the bottom of the river. Pitch black, like before. Except this time, I was alone.”

  The way he was describing it was all wrong. His voice was as casual as if he was discussing what he’d eaten for lunch. “The new air pocket wasn’t much bigger than a coffin,” he said. “There was a slab of concrete a few millimeters from my eyes and lips, my nose was mashed up against it so I could barely breathe. It was…”—he considered and then, completely without emotion, “—claustrophobic. And my hand hurt. A slab had broken two of my fingers.” He glanced down at his right hand and I saw how the first two fingers were lumpy and misshapen. “They didn’t heal right. Had to learn how to write with my left hand.”

  My stomach knotted. That’s why I didn’t recognize his handwriting.

  “I waited to die,” he said. “I was glad you got out but I knew this was the end, for me. As the air started to run out, I didn’t want to die in panic and fear so I went deep. Figured I’d pass out while I was solving some equation and that didn’t seem like a bad way to go. But I was scared that my body would pull me out of it when I started to gasp for air so I went even deeper. Deeper than I’d ever gone before.”