by Jordan Dane
After that I never intruded on her privacy again. I respected her wishes to cut me out of her life. It was how she dealt with the accident that killed our parents—a tragedy she found easier to blame on me. I accepted how she felt after the funeral, but the wall between us had gone up brick by brick over time. The accident only sealed the deal.
If I could have changed things, I would have. Hindsight sucked.
The way my parents died drove a bigger wedge between me and Sarah. I became an easy target. I didn’t understand my sister’s need to hate me. I let it happen for her sake, but by that time, my dreams had turned into nightmares and grown worse. My mother’s death had pushed me over a line, because I had no one left to tell, no one who wouldn’t judge me. I quit talking about how I dreamed. That part of my life got buried—deep.
My nightmares became my payback for being the center—and the reason—for my fragmented family. I thought my sister would reach out to me in time, but as the years went by, I’d lost hope that would ever happen.
“Sarah,” I whispered in the dark.
When I didn’t see her inside the houseboat, I felt a hollow in the pit of my belly. It was as if I’d lost something important that I didn’t even know was missing.
She could’ve moved and left the state for all I knew. In that moment of doubt, I’d been thrust back to my darkest days after our parents had died, after I’d lost everything that mattered to me. A sudden rush of memories hit me hard—bad ones that slashed at me like fresh wounds. I shut my eyes and winced when I heard my sister’s voice in my head—the yelling and the arguments we used to have—the accusations that could never be taken back.
Because Sarah looked like our mother, seeing anger and hatred in her eyes killed me.
“Stop it, Ryker. Quit being the self-appointed poster child of dismal.”
I fought the flood of memories. What did I expect? I’d gone looking for my sister and a past I didn’t want to relive. I wasn’t ready. I turned to leave, but stopped when I heard the clank of a metal gate, followed by the hollow thud of heels on the wood pier and a voice I recognized.
Sarah’s voice. She spoke to a child she held in her arms.
It only took one glimpse of the dark haired woman dressed in a business suit for me to know. I’d found Sarah and she had a child who looked to be three or four years old. They were talking and touching, the way a mother spoke to and held a child. Even though I was too far away to hear what they said, there was no mistaking it. The likeness was too strong.
My sister had a little girl.
“Sarah,” I whispered.
I had a niece—and I didn’t even know her name.
Oh, God.
I had every intention of walking away, but my sister caught my movement in the shadows. The khaki in my FBI gear didn’t exactly make me camouflaged. I’d been a moron, but what else was new?
“Hey. Stop right there.”
“Who’s that, mommy?” Her little girl pointed toward me. Before I could step out of the dark, my sister deflated me.
“No one, honey,” she said. “Go inside and help daddy. I’ll be in lickity split.”
With my jaw clenched, I stepped into the light, with a cyclone fence between us. I hadn’t missed the irony that a barrier separated us.
“Ryker?” She stared at me in disbelief with her arms crossed, until her expression hardened. “Why are you here? What do you want?”
I couldn’t find the words. Despite her abrupt cold response to seeing me after all these years, I honestly didn’t know why I’d come. Nothing had changed.
“I’m working a case. I thought…”
She didn’t let me finish.
“You thought you’d stop by for a chat, catch up on old times? How did you get my address?”
She treated me like a stranger. A stalker. I should’ve turned and walked away, but an ember burned hot in my belly. I didn’t deserve this, not from her.
“I thought time would…help, but I can see you’ll never change. You’re always gonna blame me for what happened. Well, take a look in the mirror, Sarah. For once in your life, own up to your part.”
My words hung in the air like a caustic cloud. I never should’ve said it. I’d lost my temper and crossed a line I swore I never would. I’d hurt her. It showed in the stunned expression on her face and her eyes welled with tears.
“I’m sorry. I never should’ve come.” I turned and stepped into the shadows and didn’t look back, not until she called to me.
“Ryker. Wait.”
Hearing her voice gave me hope, but when I faced her, I knew I’d been wrong to believe anything would change between us.
“Don’t make me live with this,” she said. “I just…can’t.”
She acted as if I were the one torturing her with our past, like it was all on me.
“But you make me live with it, every day,” I told her. “You’ve cut me out of your life. Why? You’re all the family I have, Sarah.”
“I can’t let you in, Ryker. I told my husband you died in the car crash that killed my parents. He doesn’t know you exist. Please try to understand,” she said. “The day our parents died, you came to me with your crazy dream, telling me how it would happen. It scared me, but I hated how connected you were to mom. I thought you only wanted her attention…again. You were the special one, not me. She loved you…so much.”
Tears streaked her face and Sarah sobbed.
“Yeah, you saw how they would die and you told me, but they were only driving to church. Ten minutes away. I never thought…” She broke down. “You’re right, I made the choice not to warn them…and I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life. But that’s why I haven’t told my husband and daughter about you.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want you in our lives. If you have another vision about something happening to them…” She stopped and wiped her face. “I couldn’t go through that again. I won’t. There are things a person shouldn’t know. You’d be forced to tell me and I...would be living in constant fear. I’m sorry, Ryker. I’m not as strong as you. I don’t know how you live with what you see.”
“That’s just it, Sarah. Sometimes I c-can’t.” I couldn’t stop the catch in my voice. I prayed she hadn’t heard it. “Sometimes it would be nice to have a sister to talk to, someone I don’t have to keep secrets from.”
What I saw on the day my parents died had triggered my escalating nightmares when it came to violent death. Nothing was simple after that. I’d become an FBI profiler to put my sorry ass misery to good use. Now the dead tell me their story and my mind interprets their message and I fret over missing something—over not doing enough. Because of what happened to my parents, I couldn’t stop from pulling back the curtain in my dreams. I knew whatever I saw would be terrible, but I forced my eyes to look.
I always looked. No matter how ugly things were, I had to see it—feel it—and dream about it. It was my process. My burden. My gift. I don’t know what I expected from my sister. I’d cut open a vein and stood bleeding in front of her, but she only shook her head and a tear slid down her cheek. She headed for the door to her houseboat, but turned to me one last time.
“Don’t come here again, Ryker. Please. I’m begging you.”
She closed the door and a profound emptiness squeezed my chest and made it hard to breathe. I struggled with how to feel about Sarah. I wanted to remember the childhood we shared, the happier times that had gotten buried along with our parents. Maybe one day the good stuff would come back, but all I felt now was sad. Sarah had turned into unfinished business. Regret and penance, she was a heavy medicine ball of guilt I carried and a gaping chasm in my life that will never be filled, because she kept clawing away from me as if I were the enemy.
Yeah, that pretty much described Sarah. Our blood line made her a reluctant hostage tied to me. She reminded me how fragile the bond of my family had always been from the start—thanks to me.
In the dark
my head filled with flashes of severed limbs. The case implored me to remain faithful, but I resisted the morbid distraction. My sister had put a face on blame for our parent’s death—a face I saw everyday in the mirror. She expected me to carry that burden for the two of us.
In a cruel blow, I’d invited my headache back.
“This day continues to bear gifts.”
I watched as my sister went inside, picked up her small daughter, and cradled the child in her arms. My gaze followed them from window to window as they moved through the houseboat. Sarah kissed the man cooking in the kitchen. I thought I’d seen the worst my sister could hurt me.
I’d been wrong.
She’d made a life in Seattle—one that didn’t include me—and I knew I’d never see her again. I’d seen enough. It had been a mistake to come. Sarah was afraid of me. I wasn’t her brother anymore. I’d become a freak show circus and threatened everything she valued. She had a normal life and a family she loved. I wanted to be happy for her. One day I hoped that would come, but not today.
Definitely not today.
***
Belltown, Seattle
After dark
Ben Stevens carried a large takeout bag as he left the front entrance to the Palace Kitchen at the corner of Lenora Street and 5th Avenue in Belltown. The neon yellow and red sign over the door cast its hue on the sidewalk and made his body a shadow on the cement. He grabbed his cell phone from his jeans pocket and took a selfie shot of him standing under the iconic neon sign, holding the handle of his takeout order in his teeth. He’d post the picture on Facebook later with the caption, Gonna eat ‘til I have a food baby.
A cute girl sitting by a window inside the restaurant saw the goofy face he made for the picture and she smiled and gave him ‘the look,’ the expression any guy wanted to see. Ben’s face heated up and he shrugged back. She looked real sweet, but she was with another guy and he had somewhere else to be.
He stashed his cell back into his pocket and hoofed it to his car. The popular restaurant had customer parking on the street and around back, but with the usual crowd, the place was packed. He’d left his Subaru a block down on Lenora Street behind a closed office building.
After his morning shift at Pike’s Market, he’d been at Seattle University’s Garrand building in the clinical performance lab most of the afternoon and had binged on Red Bulls and Cheetos while he studied. He could use real food. The smell of chicken made his stomach grind.
“Oh, shit. Promised to call.”
He had a not-so-surprise “surprise” for his mother. After he crossed the street, he pulled out his cell phone again. His mom answered on the fifth ring. He had to be patient. It took her time to get to the phone.
“Hey, Mom. I’m on my way home. Should be there in ten.”
“You didn’t need to spend your money on dinner, honey. I would’ve made your favorite. My homemade spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Not on your birthday, Mom. You better be hungry.”
Today his mother turned forty-eight.
“Hungry for what?”
“I thought you liked a good mystery.” He grinned. “I’ll see you soon. Love you.”
“Love you more, honey.”
He ended the call, still smiling. She always pretended to be surprised when he brought home her favorites from the Palace Kitchen. The rotisserie chicken was killer and the coconut crème pie may as well have been crack. He craved it as much as she did.
In his backpack in the car, he had another package stashed with his textbooks. He’d wrapped a gift to make her laugh—a kid’s bicycle bell for her wheelchair. Ben couldn’t wait for her to see it. She’d never use anything as rude as a bell in public, but at home she’d make an exception to see him laugh.
Since she’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis seven years ago, they had to work harder to find something funny to keep their spirits up as she struggle with the ebb and flow of her incurable disease. It was only the two of them. Taking care of his mother had steered him into SU’s College of Nursing graduate program. He had a year to go and she’d gotten him through it, despite what was happening to her.
He owed her everything.
Ben had his mind on his mom as he approached his Subaru and noticed an old truck with a canopy parked next to his vehicle. Someone was working under the hood. Car trouble.
“You need any help? I got a cell phone…and jumper cables.”
Ben wanted to get home while the food was still hot, but he wouldn’t leave if the guy could use his help. When the man didn’t answer, he stepped closer and tried again.
“Did you hear me, mister?”
Ben saw the guy move too late. The shock of being hit across the face with something hard bombarded him with blinding stars. He cried out and collapsed as he dropped the bag of food and everything went black.
***
After the driver secured the hood and locked the tailgate of the truck—with another perfect one drugged and tied up inside—the smell of food filled the air. The contents of the takeout bag were on the asphalt, but the containers hadn’t spilled.
No sense wasting good food.
Sitting in the shadowy cab of the truck, the Totem Killer ate the chicken and pie. This one had come with a meal.
***
Two hours later
Ryker Townsend
I found a no frills motel room near Sea-Tac, the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. After the trip to Sarah’s houseboat, putrid slime from the pit of hell would’ve carried more cheer and made better company than me.
My sister had been my tipping point. Guess I wasn’t as evolved as I thought. It had been too easy to get mired in a brooding funk, reliving the worst of my childhood. Whenever I thought I’d moved on and had made a life of my own—using my gift in a way my mother would’ve been proud of—it only took one glimpse of Sarah and her daughter to dropkick me.
I had to let those feelings go. Obviously I didn’t know how.
“Desperate times. Desperate measures.”
Beer. A cold one. Something spicy.
I wasn’t hungry, but I needed a diversion of insanely hot food chilled by the mellow comfort of a cold brew. After I’d taken a long hot shower and changed into fresh clothes, I made a call for takeout to be delivered and forced myself to eat.
Vegetarian Pad Thai with extra tofu and a chaser of Singha beer.
After a particularly rough crime scene, I usually ate vegetarian for days after, but when the words of Jeffrey Dahmer—I’ve got to start eating at home more—refused to leave my head, I thought of meat as I ate. Weird.
Nothing had gone as planned, but being consumed by the TK case would distract me from the sister who’d written me off. At least, that was the idea. Lucinda Crowley hadn’t wasted any time. She knew I’d want a rush on identifying the last victim, so she’d scanned the body’s fingerprints before she departed Seattle, and texted me about it. She transmitted them to Sinead Royce to run through a series of databases, to search for a hit on ID while they were in the air.
Before my team had returned to Quantico, I had a video call from Royce, who’d worked overtime to get me what I needed. The word unconventional didn’t begin to describe the fifth member of my team.
She’d graduated from high school at sixteen, finished her undergrad degree two years later, and received a Master’s in Computer Science with a specialty in Security last year, before she turned twenty-one. The way her mind worked, if Sinead had an inclination to walk on the dark side, she would’ve made a genius hacker.
When I punched up her video call, I got a surprise.
“Hey there, Ryker. How’s the Grunge capital?” Sinead Royce’s eyeball filled my display screen when I answered the call. “I got new contacts. What do you think?”
When she pulled away from the video cam lens, I got a better look. Sinead had an addiction to weird eyewear that she donned when she worked after hours. She had a collection of peculiar eyeglasses at home and at her office,
but her assortment of contact lenses were her pride and joy. The one she wore now made her eyes look like black pits with shark teeth on the edges. When she blinked, it looked like a remake of ‘Jaws.’
“Your best yet,” I said. “Real subtle.”
No matter what kind of day I had, Sinead always made me smile. Her dark hair and eyes and delicate facial features made her appear younger than she was. Sinead looked like Ellen Page in oversized black glasses. She had the actress’s intelligent wit and wry cynical humor, but there were days she channeled Zooey Deschanel’s quirky weirdness. Either way she was a refreshing oddity within the disciplined structure of the FBI.
“You think? I got a shark week marathon party coming up. We’re having sushi to balance things out.” While she popped out her contacts, she kept talking. “Got a hit on those prints Lucinda sent. You ready?”
“Yeah. Shoot.” I grabbed a motel notepad and pen.
“His name is…was Nathan Applewhite. It made me sad to see his face on DMV. He was a hot guy with a body like a lumberjack. He also had a little boy. Tanner, five years old. Nathan was only twenty-seven, Ryker.”
Sinead felt everything and it showed on her face. Her emotion and passion were strengths that made her good at her job, but I knew every case took a toll on her. She gave me the run down on the last victim. Applewhite was a young guy who worked as an outdoor guide for several lodges and charter services near his home. He had an ex-wife and a kid he’d never see again. He had taken root in me and the more I learned about him, the more I hated what happened to him.
“The weird thing is, he lived and worked on the Prince of Wales Island in Alaska, but I couldn’t find a residence for him in the Seattle area or a flight itinerary,” Sinead said. “So how did his body end up tied to that tree, Ryker?”
If she knew about the tree, she’d seen the images Crowley had taken at the scene. Sinead didn’t have to look at them, but she often did to appreciate the stakes and be part of the team. I respected that.
