Hidden in the Dark (Harper Flagg Book 1)

by Alyson Larrabee

  “I’d like that. But you’re right. First the end.” And he begins.

  “I needed one more murder, because a murderer isn’t considered to be a serial killer until he has killed at least three people. I decided the best place to find another victim would be in a hospital emergency room. A lot of abused children end up there multiple times. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake I made with your mother. Ever since that night, I’d had second thoughts about her guilt, and I felt worried and depressed because I suspected I may have killed an innocent woman. I wanted to be sure this time. I needed to know without a doubt. I should’ve felt elated, because Marianne was finally gone and Brittany was safe, with me, forever. I couldn’t feel completely satisfied, though, because of my doubts about your mother. There was only one way to fix that. The woman I chose to be the third victim had to deserve her fate, one hundred percent.”

  “So you hung around hospital emergency rooms, pretending to be a pharmaceutical salesperson or a consultant or something.”

  “Correct. And during one of these stakeouts, I saw John MacGregor bring in his son, Shane. But they didn’t see me. After they left the hospital, I asked around about them, and the nurses really seemed to enjoy filling me in on the gossip. Shane’s dad had asked for their help as witnesses because he thought he might soon be divorcing his wife and suing for sole custody of their son. This was prior to the final visit, the one when Shane had a separated elbow. During this earlier visit, he had suspicious bruises on his body, and his father wanted them documented.”

  I wince and cover my mouth with my hand. “Poor Shane.”

  “Exactly. He was only four years old, for god’s sake. The nurses and doctors had the same reaction. Everyone was on Shane’s father’s side. They were willing to sign affidavits, testify in the custody hearings, whatever MacGregor needed. Lucky for me, they were happy to brag about their heroic roles in rescuing Shane.”

  “Lucky for you.” I’m too stunned by Gabriel’s strange tale to do anything but repeat this silly phrase.

  “Yes. The rest was pretty easy. I found out where the MacGregors lived, drove over there, started watching their place, chose my opportunity, and began stalking Shane’s mother. I witnessed the separated elbow scene, followed John MacGregor to the hospital later that night, and was close on her tail when she took off with Shane. It all went according to plan. I wasn’t even questioned in connection with the MacGregor murder. Right afterward, I packed everything up. Sold the house Brittany and I had been living in and moved to New Hampshire. We started a new life. A happy life. It didn’t last forever, the way that I’d planned, though.”

  “And here you are now.”

  “Yes, here we are now, Harper. I feel like I finally have another chance at happiness. With you.”

  Holy shit! He’s crazier than I ever imagined, and I have to play along. This could be the moment when he begins to really trust me. I decide to do something that will come naturally to me, because it’s how I really feel. I grab his hand and beg. “Please don’t lock me in there again.”

  He rises, grips my hand firmly, and pulls me to my feet. I hang my head and allow tears of sadness and despair to flow so freely they’re dripping off my chin and onto my shirt. My nose is running. My shoulders are heaving, and I can’t stand up straight. I’m all hunched over. I’m not faking it, either. Once the tears begin, it all gets away from me. I can’t stop now, even if I try. Slowly, we make our way back to the cave. Neither one of us speaks. When we arrive at the entrance, I turn my face up to the sun so he gets a really good view of the mess dripping down it. He places his hand on my slimy, disgusting cheek and says, “Soon, Harper. I promise.” Then locks me inside.

  Miraculously, I didn’t have to turn in an Oscar-winning performance today. Every emotion was real, which is good, because I’m bad at faking stuff. But I’m determined to get better at it. I turn on the flashlight, grab a tissue, swab my cheeks, and blow my nose. It’s time to revisit the imaginary Scrabble board with imaginary Gabriel. And this time, I’m going to whoop his crazy ass.

  Chapter 40

  Gabriel

  Doubts

  Gabriel closed the door to Harper’s prison, slid the padlock into place, locked it, and stood there battling his emotions. He wanted to open the door again. Right now. Let her out. Dry her tears. Comfort her. Hold her in his arms and promise her he’d never lock her up again. That’s why he decided to leave her inside the root cellar for two more days. Alone. He didn’t trust his emotions right now. He hadn’t felt anything for anyone since Brittany. His current mood felt foreign, which made him uneasy. He needed time to think, and Harper needed more time alone in the darkness. A lot more time, so he could be sure that she’d begun to truly appreciate him. He decided on forty-eight hours. That should be enough time to convince her that she needed him. He had to do it, because he sure as hell needed her.

  In two days, he’d open the door and see how she behaved. If she was furious, he’d know that his dream of happiness with her would never become reality. Then he’d finish her off with the knife and leave her where he’d left her mother, discarded like trash. Detective Thomas Flagg would find what was left of her in the corner of a deserted parking lot.

  After Harper was gone, Gabriel would go on the hunt for someone else and then someone else and then someone else until they caught him. Maybe he’d do what Ted Bundy had done. Go on a spree in Florida, where they still executed murderers. Then he wouldn’t have to rot in jail for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t file any appeals; he’d just accept his fate. A life without Harper wouldn’t be worth living.

  He hoped it didn’t come to that. He wished he could be sure about her, but he wasn’t. His emotions were sure, but the logical part of his mind still nagged at him. Her conversion seemed genuine, but it had happened much too quickly. It had been too easy. He’d give it a couple of days. Let her marinate in solitude. Even his mother had never left him in there for more than twelve hours. He’d quadruple that time. That should do it.

  When he opened the door to the root cellar again, he’d reassess the situation. If Harper was furious and unruly, he’d failed. If she still trusted him and treated him like a friend and confidant, they’d be okay together. They’d be great together. It was a crapshoot, but he was willing to take the risk.

  Chapter 41

  Harper

  Alone in the Dark

  After Gabriel slides the padlock on and clamps it shut, I shuffle over to the blanket nest, lie down, and close my eyes, but when I try to set up the big Scrabble board in my head, I fail. For the first time ever, I can’t focus. The rigid, impenetrable darkness has weight and three-dimensional presence, and I’m boxed up alive inside it. I can’t see. I can’t hear and I can’t breathe. I’m going to die. My own despair will surely suffocate me if I have to stay in here for even one more minute. I turn on the flashlight, but the batteries have worn down, and within seconds the bulb fades from dim to completely off. I grab it with both hands and shake as hard as I can. The light flickers twice and then goes out again, leaving me trapped in the rock-solid darkness.

  I bury my face in the blanket and begin to cry. And cry and cry. I can’t stop. When no more tears will come out, I sob drily into the drenched blanket. Soon I’m heaving, gasping, and finally vomiting. All that beautiful food from the sunny picnic. When nothing’s left, I lie down on the wretched-smelling, soaked heap of blankets and fall dead asleep.

  I wake up feeling a little better, but I’m hungry and thirsty, and the same solid mass of black surrounds me. I try to stand, but I’m too weak, so I crawl around on the floor, groping everywhere until I find a box of crackers. The one bite I manage to swallow sticks in my throat. Maybe an apple would be better because it’s juicy, not dry. As soon as my lips touch the smooth skin, my stomach does a crazy flip, and I realize that if I swallow anything it will come back up, so I put the apple down. I’ll just take small sips of water throughout what I think must be the day, but I have no way of knowin
g. It might be night.

  What if something happened to Gabriel? What if he never comes back? What if he fell off a ladder, or got in a car accident, or simply took off and left me here forever? It has to have been at least twenty-four hours since he closed the door and locked it. It feels more like twenty-four weeks since I last saw his face. The flashlight’s dead. I can’t eat. I can barely even swallow the tiny sips of water I’ve been forcing myself to take from time to time. I try to stand but sink down, weak, disoriented, dehydrated, and cold. I’m not going to make it.

  I start hoping that he’ll come back and finish me off with the knife, because waiting for him is torture, and at least the knife would be fast. I need him to return and put me out of my misery. None of the usual distractions are working. Not the Scrabble game. Not the imaginary book reading. Nothing. So I lie down prostrate in this godforsaken void and wait for him. But he doesn’t come. Finally, I crawl to the door, curl up on the floor in front of it, and close my eyes.

  Chapter 42

  Gabriel

  What Have I Done?

  Gabriel planned for Harper to be alone in the root cellar for forty-eight hours, but the image of her miserable, tear-soaked face kept haunting him, and he couldn’t hold out that long. At dawn on the second day, after barely sleeping at all, he jumped out of bed, brushed his teeth, and threw on some clothes. Quickly, he pocketed the knife, grabbed his pistol, and ran out to set up a simple picnic on the hill. She liked his picnics. As soon as the tea and the food were spread out on the quilt, he rushed over to the root cellar and unlocked the door. When he stepped inside he almost tripped over her.

  “Harper, what are you doing down there?”

  She lay in a quivering heap and didn’t respond. Her eyes fluttered at the sound of his voice but didn’t open. Quickly, he pocketed the gun, swept her up into his arms, and headed for the blanket he’d spread on the grass. Her body was cold, and she shook and huddled against him as he sped toward the hill near the meadow. When he reached his favorite view in the whole world, he set her down gently and lifted her head and shoulders.

  “Harper, look! It’s another beautiful day.”

  Finally she opened her eyes and shivered. “I’m cold.”

  He stripped off the flannel shirt he’d put on before leaving the house, poked her arms into the sleeves, then buttoned it up. She flopped over and curled into a ball on the blanket by his side.

  “Here, I’ll get you some tea.”

  He poured a steaming-hot mug of chamomile tea, spooned in some honey, floated a couple of orange slices in it, and stirred. Then he blew on it a couple of times. “Can you sit up?”

  Harper nodded her head and struggled to a sitting position. Gabriel knelt before her and placed the mug in her hands. She seemed so weak he was afraid she’d drop the tea and burn herself, so he held his hands cupped around hers and lifted the warm ceramic mug toward her mouth. “It’s hot. Blow on it first. Sip it slowly.”

  With her hands cupped in his, he guided the mug closer to her lips. She whistled out a small stream of air, rippling the surface of the steaming liquid, then took a sip. “Thank you.”

  Gabriel knelt in front of her, carefully holding the mug close to her face, and watched her drink until the tea was gone. Then he let go and sat down beside her. She reached into the cup with forefinger and thumb, picked up an orange slice, and nibbled the flesh off the rind. When the mug had nothing but orange rinds left in it, she asked for more.

  “Of course. You can have as much as you like, Harper.”

  “I threw up in the cave.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to go back in there.”

  “It’s disgusting and way too quiet and way too dark. The flashlight batteries died.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I thought you were never coming back.” A dry sob wracked her body, and he wanted to gather her up in his arms and hold her forever but settled for pouring another cup of tea and placing it gently into her waiting hands.

  “I promise never to lock you up again. It’s over. Try to eat something. You look terrible.” Her cheeks were sunken and pale, and she stared straight ahead, making no eye contact. Her expression was horrifyingly blank. Gabriel began to fear that she’d never come back from this. But she had to. He couldn’t bear to see her so empty. He feared that he had killed something inside of her, and he’d never forgive himself if he couldn’t resurrect it. He peeled the cover off a yogurt, dipped a spoon in, and held it up.

  “Take the spoon, Harper.”

  She looked confused and didn’t follow his simple direction, but then, miraculously, she managed a weak smile. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Like a baby bird, she opened her mouth and he began to feed her.

  After a few bites, she slapped her own cheek lightly and said, “Duh. What a tool. I can feed myself.” Harper’s reactions were delayed, and her movements slow and stiff, but finally she took the spoon and the yogurt from his hands, and continued eating.

  She still stared blankly off into the distance, but at least she’d smiled and attempted a joke. Maybe the situation wasn’t completely hopeless.

  “Whenever Brittany had an upset tummy, I used to make her some toast, with a thin layer of butter on top and a little cinnamon and honey. Do you want some toast?”

  “Mmmm,” she murmured around a mouthful of yogurt, nodding her head.

  “Good. Let’s go into the house and I’ll make you some. Two slices, lightly browned. With butter and honey and cinnamon. It will be just the thing. You’ll see.”

  He rose up from the blanket, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet.

  Chapter 43

  Harper

  Walk Beside Me

  I feel so much better with the sun on my face and the tea and the yogurt in my belly. Gabriel stands up and reaches out his hand. I take it and let him pull me up. We’re going into the house. I’ve never been in there before. The morning mist is beginning to disperse, and the sun’s warming the air, but inside my head, it’s still dark. My thoughts are slow and thick, like mud. I feel like my body and my brain don’t even belong to me. Someone has placed my mind inside an animated corpse and flipped a switch so it will turn on, but there’s not much juice left in my rusty old brain. The limbs on my unfamiliar body are stiff, and it takes a long time before I decide to move, and then even longer before I can actually do it. Gabriel stares at me, and his eyes burn brilliantly with concern. You could plant seeds in the furrows of his forehead. They’re so deep. I laugh out loud at this thought, and the furrows grow even deeper. He puts one arm around me and nudges me forward, toward the house.

  First things first. Maybe the toast will help. One thing at a time. Walk toward the house. I try to move faster but stumble and lose my balance. He catches me.

  Slowly, Gabriel lets go of me, reaches into his left pants pocket, and pulls something out. It’s the knife, and it’s six inches away from my face right now. A jolt of fear jump-starts me. Code red. My thoughts speed up. A lot. Within seconds, I have more control over my body, and it’s strong and fast. Thank god. But he’s faster. When I fling my arm up to deflect the knife, he catches me by the wrist, midair. “Take it easy, Harper, you’ll cut yourself.”

  Lowering the knife until it rests by his left side, Gabriel holds his right palm up and takes a step backward.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” He takes a few baby steps toward me.

  I stare bug-eyed at the knife and hop away from him. Then fall flat on my butt.

  “I’m only going to cut off your ankle cuffs. Then you can climb the steps and walk into the house. You won’t be able do that with the zip ties on your ankles.”

  I look up at him from my hapless position on the ground and pray that he’s telling the truth. He’s only going to cut the plasticuffs, not my throat.

  Gabriel bends over me, squats down, wraps one big hand around my left ankle, and says, “Hold still. This is sharp.”

  No shit.

  Fast a
nd silent, the blade slides through the tough, hard plastic. Within seconds, both my ankles are free. I nudge away his helping hand and coil up into a standing position. Rising from the ground was difficult with my ankles bound together, but it’s easy now. Some of my former strength has reentered my leg muscles and my core. However, maybe I’ll be better off if he thinks I’m weaker than I am. The fog in my brain lifts a little more, and I remember that I need him to underestimate me. It’s important. It’s part of the plan.

  Tentatively, I take a couple of steps and then deliberately stumble. He catches me.

  “Don’t worry, Harper; your balance is a bit off because your ankles were bound together for so long. And your leg muscles are probably weak from being locked up in the root cellar. Plus, you were sick. I made you sick. It was my fault.” He pauses and hangs his head. “We need to build your strength back up. I’ll help you get back in shape, but first things first. Let’s get some food into you. Then you can lie down and rest.”

  I grip his wrist and open my mouth. All that comes out is, “Nooooooo!”

  “Not in the root cellar. I promise. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He takes hold of both my hands and ducks his head down so he can make eye contact. “In the house. I set up a nice, sunny room for you. You’ll like it. I promise.”

  I must still have a horrified expression plastered on my face, because he squeezes my hands, looks into my eyes, and says it again: “I promise. Everything will be okay.” He pauses then adds, “Trust me.”

  We climb the back steps and walk inside.

  From outside, the house looks old and decrepit. Inside, however, it’s beautiful. The kitchen is all gleaming honey-colored wood, granite, and stainless steel, like something from HGTV. Gabriel lifts the shade on the biggest window, and the gentle early-morning sunlight floats in. He pops two pieces of bread into the toaster, takes the butter out of the fridge, and rummages around in a cabinet until he finds a container of cinnamon. “I’m just going to run back out and grab the honey jar. Wait here.”