There was no reason the guy needed to hear the rest.
He looked over at Lily, who was making every effort to appear engrossed in the idiotic rally racing game, while still glancing toward them every few seconds.
“You think we could get a change of clothes?” he asked. “She’s been in her pajamas since this all started.”
“Yeah, sure. Ellie’s got more than enough to spare. I doubt the little brat’ll even notice anything’s gone.”
Pushing off the couch, Travis headed for the door, only to pause thoughtfully. “So… how do you know I’m not in on it? I mean, this could be more of the conspiracy or whatever.”
Lily looked back, her eyes meeting Cole’s briefly before returning to the game.
“I don’t,” Cole admitted.
Travis grinned, obviously enjoying the answer. “Cool,” he replied, and then disappeared out the door.
Dropping the controller, Lily crossed to the couch, while behind her, the penguin crashed his rally car into the ice walls with a cartoonish display of disappointment.
“You okay?” Cole asked as she sat down next to him.
“We’re staying here?”
“Is that alright? You didn’t notice anything weird or…”
She shook her head morosely. “Not like Daddy. Not like the bad men. Not like you,” she listed the options. “Just… nothing.”
“The way that one guy felt?”
“Or the waitress.”
Cole glanced back at the door. Four categories then, in their crazy new worldview. Himself, the glowing men he could see, the bad guys she could see, and Travis and the waitress.
At least the latter group didn’t seem to be after them. Hopefully.
Studying her feet dangling off the side of the couch, the little girl sighed. “We’re not going home anytime soon, are we?” she whispered, only partly questioning.
He wasn’t sure what to say.
“And when Ashley goes looking for me… she won’t know where I am.”
Cole hesitated. “Ashley’s gone, Lily.”
She turned to him, almost fearsome certainty in her large eyes. “No, she’s not.”
He exhaled. “She was killed in the fire,” he said carefully. “On the cliff, after those men shot her.”
Lily’s gaze fell away, her determination dimming slightly. She shook her head. “She just doesn’t know how to find me. We got separated and now she’s lost. That’s all.”
Frustration rose in Cole, and he struggled to push it back. He’d gone for months after the robbery imagining his parents were still alive. He couldn’t begrudge her a bit of the same, especially since her loss was only a few hours old. And she’d have plenty of opportunities to accept the truth. A lifetime of them.
“We just need to stay here a while,” he said. “Till we figure out what to do next. Okay?”
She nodded reluctantly. “He’s goofy,” she said of Travis. “But he doesn’t feel bad.”
“That’s good.”
For a long moment, she was silent. “But I want them back,” she whispered. “Daddy, everybody… it’s not fair. I want them to come back.”
Tears slid from her eyes and her brow furrowed as she fought to keep the emotions at bay.
Hesitantly, he reached over, putting a hand on hers. “It’s okay to cry,” he offered quietly.
Lily shook her head hard. “Ashley’s strong. She’d want me to be strong too. Till we find her. Then everything will be alright.”
She trembled, holding the pain inside.
Cole watched her, remembering his ten-year-old self reacting so similarly. Daddy was strong. He’d want the same from me.
Pushing the memory away, he squeezed her hand. “You have to let it out, Lily. It’s hurting you. Ashley wouldn’t want that.”
A heartbeat passed, and then she looked up, fear behind the resolve in her shimmering blue eyes. “But it’s scary,” she whispered. “So much… it’s just so…”
He pulled her over and wrapped an arm around her.
“I know,” he said as the walls around her grief crumbled and she buried her head in his side. “I know.”
Chapter Seven
Hours drifted by. The cell bed creaked when she moved, and she could feel every twist of the metal springs through the thin mattress. Steel bars lined the front of the cell, and cement walls surrounded her on every other side. Across the concrete hallway, a narrow window hugged the ceiling, splintering the light with its own bars.
Shadows crept across the floor, tracking the passage of the last few hours of daylight. The cellblock was cold, and in the oversized sweatpants and shirt the police had provided, she shivered. They’d taken away her clothes upon bringing her to the cells, though they’d let her keep her shoes. Two female officers handed her the sweats and then watched her change with dispassionate eyes, before slipping her jeans and shirt into large plastic bags. Evidence, they’d explained. Because of the blood.
In the next cell, a drunk snored loudly, intermittently breaking the silence. Food had arrived a couple hours before, courtesy of a closemouthed officer who’d slid an orange plastic tray through a slot barely tall enough for a child’s arm. Though the drunk had thrown his dinner back immediately, where it now sat in cold lumps on the hallway floor, she’d nearly inhaled the meal, trying to fill the gaping hole where her stomach had been.
And time slid by, filled with snores and silence and a tiny ball of fire quivering inside.
Exhaustion pulled at her as she lay on the scratchy mattress, and memories and sleep interplayed through her mind, creating a reality all their own. In her dreams, the police’s story was true. Lily was fine. Missing, not dead, and still out there somewhere, waiting to be found. She could almost see the girl, so innocent and peaceful, her blue eyes twinkling as she smiled.
“It’s okay, Ashe. I’m right here. I’m safe.”
And then she woke up.
Tears traced paths through the dirt on her cheeks. Pushing away from the rough blankets, she drew her knees to her chest and hugged them tightly. Sniffling, she closed her eyes against the pain while snores echoed off the walls.
She wanted to go home. More than anything else in the whole universe, she just wanted to go home and have everything be alright.
The cellblock door clanked and the lock slammed back with a noise that ricocheted down the hall. Nervously, she looked up.
Two officers came down the hallway and stopped at her cell. While one watched her, the other pulled out a set of keys and then swiftly unlocked the door.
“Time to go,” he said.
She rose and walked to the doorway warily. The officer tugged a pair of handcuffs from his belt, and then jerked his chin at her.
Hesitantly, she held out her hands. The cuffs clicked around her wrists.
“This way,” he said, starting for the exit and leaving his partner to fall in behind.
She followed, while in the next cell, the drunk woke and began yelling for more food.
Malden glanced up as she stepped through the doors, and then returned his phone to his pocket. Pushing away from where he rested against the wall, Harris paused at the sight of her, and she could see him taking in the redness around her eyes. Blinking, she looked at the floor.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“FBI’s here,” Malden said shortly.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Oh.”
“Come on, kid,” Harris said, his voice kinder than his partner’s had been.
She didn’t resist as Malden reached over and grasped her arm, while Harris took the lead in escorting her down the hall. Behind them, the other officers turned to the cellblock and shouted at the drunk, who was steadily tearing his mattress apart.
The halls were a maze of taupe and tile, with archive rooms, storage closets and emergency exits providing the only break in the fluorescently lit monotony. Her sneakers squeaked on the linoleum, and by the time they reached the base of the stairwell, Malden’s grip wa
s cutting off her circulation.
A voice echoed from the top of the stairs. “So I’m to understand there was no lawyer present when you questioned the young lady before?”
Her heart stopped beating. The world froze, taking with it all the air.
She knew the voice. She’d heard it the moment after her father died.
“No,” she begged as her heels dug into the linoleum, dragging Malden to a halt. Eyes locked on the stairway, she backpedaled. “No, no, no…”
“Quit it!” Malden snapped, trying to yank her forward as she fought to pull away.
Confused, Harris turned around and reached for her other arm.
“No!” she cried.
Heat.
Waves of flame rushing over her hands. Her arms. Her body.
And Malden screamed.
Through a curtain of fire, she looked at Harris as the molten handcuffs fell from her wrists. Tumbled back against the stairs, he stared at her, and then his gaze dropped to his partner.
She looked down.
Bubbling, shiny flesh. Blood everywhere. He was still screaming.
“Oh God,” she breathed. “Oh God…”
Her eyes rose to Harris as the flames around her died.
The man was coming. Any moment. He’d be here.
“I-I’m sorry. I–”
Harris fumbled for his gun.
She ran.
Sprinklers kicked to life and showered water down. Slipping on the wet tile, she slid and caught herself on the wall.
Bullets shattered the plaster beside her head.
Gasping, she shoved away and raced for the emergency exit at the end of the next hall. Shouting broke out behind her, and then she slammed into the push bar across the door and stumbled into the sunlight.
Claxons blared. Clutching the banister, she launched herself up the steps and out of the stairwell. Glancing back and forth frantically, she took off down the alley behind the station, and then skidded to a stop at the street. From the main entrance, people were calmly leaving the building. Across the road, others milled about in their designated evacuation places. Drawing a ragged breath, she darted out of the alley, ducked around the corner, and prayed no one saw her as she raced away.
Streets blurred. Sirens howled in the distance, though if they were approaching or not, she couldn’t tell. Alleys provided short-lived cover and intersections were a nightmare. People stumbled back and then stared in confusion as she rushed by.
Energy fading, Ashley pushed herself to run faster.
The alleys grew cluttered, and the buildings around them older and more rundown. Passersby mostly ignored her, though a few shouted insults for the police. The words were confusing, but barely had time to register. Sirens still rang, growing closer now she was sure.
She was wearing police department sweats. Their logos were on her legs and chest.
The realization cut through her panic, and then made it grow.
She had to get out of sight.
Stumbling to a halt in the middle of an alley, she looked around anxiously. Shops with bars on their windows lined the road ahead, and brick buildings flanked the alleyway. Graffiti covered the boarded windows to her right, while a wind-ravaged sign advertised a date three years previous for the grand reopening of the famous Plaza Hotel.
She rushed toward the building. The plywood over the nearest window hung loose, and her fingers scrambled to push the covering away. Holding the wood aside awkwardly with one hand, she clambered onto the garbage bin beside the wall, and then hoisted herself over the splintered windowsill.
Dust puffed up as she landed and she coughed, fanning it away. Dim shapes resolved themselves from the shadows, becoming cloth-covered furniture and potted plants long since dead. Against one wall, the half-built remains of a front desk rested beside moldering rolls of carpet, while overhead, cobwebs dangled from the grayed crystals of a chandelier. To her right, a wide stairway swept up to a gallery overlooking the first floor. Light slid through gaps in the wooden coverings on the revolving door to her left, making the dust clouds glitter in the air.
Carefully, she eased the plywood back into place. Still waving at the dust, she inched farther into the lobby, and then froze as the floor sagged alarmingly beneath her feet. Picking her way across the room, she clutched the tarnished brass banister and then crept up the steps, her heart pounding as they creaked and groaned.
Atop the stairway, a gaping space for double doors led to a large room, and past the slats on the windows, deep gold sunlight streamed in. Paint tins and old blankets crowded a corner of the room, and beside the doorway, dented food cans lay scattered beneath a broken ladder. Warily, she walked to the windows to peer through a crack between the boards.
The sun was setting, and purple shadows spread over the streets. The last beams of sunlight reflected in shop windows, and lit on the faces of people walking by.
A cop car drove past.
She jerked back, her heart jumping into her throat.
Without pause, the vehicle continued down the street until it disappeared from view.
Closing her eyes, she exhaled and then turned away from the window and sank to the floor. She couldn’t stop trembling. Her lungs burned from running and her muscles ached horribly, but above all, she just couldn’t stop trembling.
Malden lay on the floor, his skin peeling and blood everywhere. She could hear his screams echoing in her ears.
Nausea rose and she swallowed hard to keep from vomiting. Squeezing her eyes shut, she smashed the memory into the flames, and bore down on the fires with all her might, trying to crush them into oblivion. Flickering and twisting, they fought for a heartbeat and then retreated, fading into an infinitesimal wisp of flame that refused to go away.
She gasped and then choked on the air. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She hadn’t meant to do anything at all.
She just hadn’t wanted to die.
Tears slipped from beneath her lids to join the dust on the floor.
The stairs creaked.
Her eyes went wide and she rushed toward the blankets against the far wall.
“Well, look what we have here.”
Halfway across the room, she froze, the amused voice dragging her terrified gaze back to its owner. From the doorway, a man regarded her, and he felt wrong. So wrong. Like her father, but darker. Like the men in the forest, but still alive.
Trying not to sob, she shook her head, backing up and then running into the wall.
He chuckled as he strolled into the room. “Here I was thinking I’d have to give up my cripple hunting and go home empty-handed.” The humor left his eyes. “But then I found you.”
Frantic, she lunged for the space between him and the door.
“Stupid little bitch!”
Something slammed into her. Nothing slammed into her. But it sent her back against the wall like a blow from a two-by-four.
She crashed into the plywood and then plummeted to the ground.
“You’re in my territory and now you’re going to run? You think I’m just going to let you get away from me like that?”
Scrabbling at the rough floor, she tried to stand. The horrible, dark mess of energy around him swelled up, and then crushed in on her like a vice. Circling her neck and cutting off her air, the impossible nothing lifted her up and pinned her to the wall.
Her legs kicked ineffectually as he came closer, and his face was all she could see. His eyes drank in her fear and then he scoffed, stepping back as the energy around him faded. She tumbled to the floor.
“Come on, bitch. Make it fun for me.”
Gunshots echoed through the room.
Paralyzed, she stared as the man’s brow furrowed at her. Confusion twisted across his face and he stumbled forward.
Legs giving way beneath him, he toppled sideways to the ground.
By the doorway, two black men stood, guns in hand and a German Shepherd the size of a wolf at their side. In stained jackets and jeans, they watched her, no
expression touching their dark eyes.
Hysteria bubbled up and it was all she could do not to scream. The man had… he’d… and then these two men had…
They felt like the boy who’d died. Something missing. A void where something should have been.
The older of the two made a clicking noise, and immediately, the dog started toward her. Momentarily, it paused by the body, sniffing it, and then continued on.
She couldn’t breathe. Small, panicked noises escaped between her clenched teeth as the creature stopped beside her, and her eyes couldn’t leave the massive jaws inches from her face.
The dog licked her cheek and then glanced back at its master.
In a smooth motion, the older man tucked the gun behind his back and crossed the room. Ignoring the body, he crouched down in front of her, while the younger man made an aggravated noise.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
She was shaking too hard to speak.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” he said gently.
Annoyance on his face, the younger man covered the distance between them quickly. “We’ve got to go.”
The man in front of her didn’t reply.
Muscles jumping beneath the skin of his jaw, he gripped the man’s shoulder. “Now.”
Looking back, the older man met his companion’s eyes.
“Call Bus,” he said evenly. “Tell him to get ready to leave.” He paused, returning his attention to Ashley. “And that we’ve got a guest.”
She stared at him, struggling to process the words.
Incredulously, the younger man scoffed. “Are you crazy? You saw the news, right? You know who this is?”
Anguish suffused her. They’d saved her. They’d shot the monster. And now they’d leave because of lies on television.
But the older man just gave him a flat look. “Don’t tell me you believe that crap.”
Ashley blinked, her gaze going from one of them to the other.
Shaking his head, the young man scowled and then took out his cell phone. Ignoring his companion, the older man turned back to her and held out a weathered hand.
The Children and the Blood Page 13
