by Blake Pierce
“We can’t prove it’s him yet,” Ryan explained. “In fact, we haven’t been able to prove he’s done anything illegal at all since he got out of prison.”
That reminded Jessie.
“Speaking of, I’m going to check back in with Dolan. I texted him on the drive over but haven’t heard back yet.”
She got out her phone and called. Dolan picked up on the first ring.
“I was about to call you,” he said without a greeting. “I just heard back from our overnight surveillance team. They’ve got nothing.”
“What does that mean?” Jessie demanded, putting him on speaker.
“It means they’ve got cameras in multiple rooms in the townhouse, including his master bedroom and bathroom, living room, and kitchen. He’s asleep. He did exactly what he said he would: eat sushi and crash early. He went to bed about ten forty-five. It’s not some mannequin under the covers either. My guys say he got up a half hour ago to go to the bathroom, then went straight back to bed. Nothing notable has happened.”
“That doesn’t strike you as odd?” she pressed.
“What exactly?”
Jessie tried to keep her frustration in check.
“Kyle obviously knows he’s being watched. He waves to your agents all the time, right? But today he makes sure to tell them that he’ll be home eating sushi and stays visible and boring all night long?”
Dolan sighed. Jessie could hear that he was as frustrated as she was.
“What do you expect him to do, Jessie? He’s been as dull as mud since the day he was released. It’s the middle of the night. Did you think he’d be throwing some coke-fueled rager?”
“No,” she countered. “Those days are probably behind him for now. But he suspects there are cameras in the house. He baits your guys by messing with them sometimes. But tonight it’s all by the book. It just seems awfully convenient.”
Dolan didn’t respond for a few seconds. Jessie knew he was thinking how best to craft a diplomatic answer.
“Jessie,” he finally said. “I know your ex is a bad guy. You don’t have to convince me. I’m the reason he’s being surveilled at this moment. And I believe he’s after you. I don’t even doubt that he might have been responsible somehow for Garland’s death and the attack on Ryan. But doesn’t it make more sense that he’s having one of the cartel people do his dirty work? I mean, my guys just sent me a clip of him rolling over in bed. I don’t know how to square that with what you’re alleging.”
“The cartel thing does make sense,” she conceded. “But I know this man. I’ve known him for over a decade. I slept beside him in bed for most of that time. I know how his mind works. He wouldn’t outsource this stuff to someone else. When it comes to hurting me and the people in my life, he wants to do the dirty work. That’s the whole point of it.”
After what felt like an eternity, in which everyone in the room and on the phone was silent, Dolan finally responded.
“I trust you. And if you say he’s doing this, I accept that. I don’t know how but I won’t argue. I can have my guys go over and wake him up, do a search of the place. It’ll likely mean his lawyer will be in court tomorrow, claiming harassment. We’ll probably have to close up shop on the surveillance early. But I’ll do it if you want. Just say the word.”
Jessie looked at Ryan and Hannah, both of whom shrugged. She could tell they were torn between the facts Dolan was laying out and their faith in her. Neither doubted her. But they clearly couldn’t square her certitude with what they were hearing.
“No,” she finally said to Dolan. “I don’t want to mess up the surveillance. Maybe he’s waiting to make his next move. I guess they should just keep watching him.”
“Of course,” Dolan assured her. “I’ll tell them to update me if they see anything even slightly suspicious. And if you want, I’ll call you right after I hear from them. How does that sound?”
“I appreciate it, Jack,” she said, using his first name for the first time in weeks. “That sounds reasonable.”
“Okay then,” he replied, obviously relieved. “I’ll do that. But you have to make me a promise too.”
“What’s that?”
“Get some sleep.”
“I’ll try,” she told him. “Thanks again.”
After she hung up, they all agreed to try to get a few hours of shut-eye. Hannah went to her room and Jessie and Ryan to theirs. At his urging, she consented to take one pain pill, as much to make her drowsy as to relieve the discomfort in her back.
“You’re going to have to set multiple alarms for tomorrow morning,” she told him. “I’m worried I’ll sleep right through my normal one.”
“Already done,” he assured her, smiling. “In addition to your phone and mine, I reset both our bedside alarm clocks. I also texted the overnight desk sergeant and asked him to give me a wakeup call in the morning. So I think we’re set.”
“My knight in shining armor,” she said, batting her eyes and planting a quality kiss on him.
“Just taking care of the people I love,” he said, before hastily adding, “You better get ready for bed. That pill is going to kick in fast.”
She started toward the bathroom to get cleaned up, then turned around.
“I love you too,” she told him.
He smiled broadly before hopping on the bed and pulling up the covers like an eight-year-old giddy to secretly read a comic book he had hidden under the pillow.
“See you soon,” he said.
She could already feel the pain medication kicking in within just a few minutes of swallowing it. Her eyes felt heavy as she brushed her teeth and changed for bed.
When she got out of the bathroom, Ryan was already out. His soft, rhythmic breathing worked on her like a metronome. As her head hit the pillow, she wasn’t worried that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. She was afraid of what nightmares awaited her when she did.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Jessie woke up with a start.
She tried to open her eyes, thick with sleep, and found it to be a challenge. Then she remembered why. She’d taken the pain pill, which had knocked her out almost immediately.
So why am I awake?
One of the major reasons she was reluctant to take the pills in the first place was how groggy and unfocused they made her feel. She felt certain that between that and the day she’d had, she’d stay dead to the world until her alarm went off at 7 a.m. But something had awakened her.
She couldn’t hear Ryan’s quiet breathing so she gently reached a hand across the bed and felt his familiar, warm body beside her. Forcing her eyes open, she glanced over at him and saw that he was lying on his back. His eyes were wide open and he was staring at the ceiling.
Maybe he should have taken a sleeping pill.
“Bad dream?” she whispered to him.
He didn’t respond. She leaned over and spoke a little louder.
“Did you see a ghost?”
Still no response. He gave no indication that he’d heard her.
Jessie propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. Something was wrong but she couldn’t tell what it was. He was breathing, if silently and shallowly. She put her finger to his neck and noted again that he was warm. He had a pulse, though it was faint. But he was unblinking, entirely unresponsive. She shook him aggressively. Nothing.
Her whole body went cold as a surge of panic gripped her. She could feel her mind starting to spin out of control and tried desperately to reel it back in. Though everything in the bedroom was still, it seemed as though the walls were closing in on her.
She ordered herself to stop, to focus. She pushed up onto her knees and looked around the room. Nothing seemed out of place. Still, she reached over to her nightstand to grab her phone. It wasn’t there. She opened the drawer where she kept her handgun and found it was gone too.
She turned her attention to Ryan’s nightstand and saw that his phone and gun were not resting in the spot where he normally left them. Bu
t there was something in their place: a syringe.
She was about to jump out of bed when she had a ridiculous thought.
Am I having a nightmare?
She reached down and actually pinched the back of her left hand hard. The sting was real. Suddenly alert, she jumped out of bed and flicked the switch on her bedside lamp. Nothing happened. Then she realized the noise machine they used to block out the sounds of downtown L.A. at night was off too. The power was out. She darted around to the bedroom door, about to go check on Hannah, when she stopped.
Someone did this; if not Kyle, then one of his lackeys. He’s probably on the other side of this door.
She hurried back across the room and grabbed Ryan’s baseball bat from the closet. As she returned to the door, she glanced at her boyfriend, half-expecting him to give her a displeased look at having commandeered his precious bat. But he continued to stare blankly at nothing.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered in case he could hear her. “I’ll be right back.”
She yanked open the door and stepped out into the living room, her hands tightly clasped on the grip of the bat, fully aware that she was a sitting duck. The room was mostly dark. The only light came from small slits in the curtain along the far wall, where the bright nighttime city lights managed to dully illuminate portions of the room.
She was just starting to steal across the room to Hannah’s door when she heard a jangling sound coming from the couch. Jessie strained to see what it was. Slowly, Hannah stood up. She was holding something in her right hand. It took several seconds of squinting for Jessie to identify what it was: handcuffs.
She opened her mouth to ask what the hell was going on when Hannah beat her to it.
“Don’t move,” her sister said. “Don’t call out for help.”
“Hannah, what are you doing?”
“I need you to put these on,” Hannah said, ignoring the question.
Her voice was flat and emotionless. Jessie felt her knees buckle. Had it finally happened? Had her fears about her sister’s capacity for darkness been realized at last? Was it possible that she had waited until the people caring for her fell asleep, then gone into their bedroom to drug one of them and handcuff the other for god knows what purpose?
Hannah had seemed to be doing so well. Jessie could have sworn they were connecting; that the girl, despite what had happened to her, was learning to embrace being part of a family unit again. Was it all just a charade? Had Bolton Crutchfield, the serial killer who abducted her, really turned her into someone who shared his bloodlust?
“Hannah,” Jessie said, making sure her voice betrayed none of her shock and horror, “we can find a way to work this out. You don’t need to do this.”
Hannah stared back at her in the dark, her expression hidden in shadow. She said nothing.
“Unfortunately, she does need to do this.”
It wasn’t Hannah speaking, but a deeper, male voice, one Jessie recognized instantly. Before she could reply, there was cracking sound and a large, red glow stick dropped to the floor, illuminating the room in a dull, bloody light. A second later, a figure emerged from where he’d been crouching behind the couch.
Despite the terror rising in her chest, Jessie made sure her words came out clear and calm.
“Hi, Kyle,” she said.
“Hi, Jessie,” he replied. “Don’t you love a reunion?”
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
He was even bigger than she remembered. He’d always been a physically imposing guy. But he’d clearly been taking advantage of the prison weight room. Underneath the police officer uniform he was wearing, his muscles were bulging. She suspected he’d chosen a too-tight shirt for exactly this moment, in order to either intimidate or impress her.
She studied his outfit, trying to fixate on small details like the name tag that read “Smith” so that she didn’t completely succumb to the sense that she was falling into a dark well with no bottom. As she did, something Hannah texted earlier that night, something she’d barely even registered, came back to her.
Cops didn’t find anything suspicious. One is staying outside our apartment. Another is downstairs in the lobby with the guards. The other one left.
The other one left. But neither Nettles nor Beatty had mentioned another officer helping out with either the search or security. Kyle must have somehow learned her address and, using the uniform as a ploy, insinuated himself into the condo. Then Nettles and Beatty arrived. When they left, Hannah likely assumed that “Officer Smith” had gone as well.
But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d been lying in wait this whole time as a real cop stood right outside. He’d been only feet away from Hannah while she watched TV, waiting for her sister to return. Maybe he’d hidden under Jessie’s bed or in her closet or in the storage closet in the living room. Wherever he’d settled, he’d remained there for hours, patiently waiting for everyone to return and fall asleep. Then he made his move.
“Were you in my closet the whole time?” she asked as casually as she could.
“Under your bed,” he admitted. “I didn’t know your bedtime routine these days and couldn’t risk you hanging up a shirt or something. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was when I didn’t get to be up close and personal for a little hanky-panky. I thought for sure there’d be some after the exchange of I-love-yous. But I guess you guys were just too wiped out, what with investigating those beach murders, including your senior citizen buddy and your boyfriend’s near-death experience this afternoon.”
“You’ve been busy, Kyle,” she noted dryly, deciding to fake a lack of fear in the hopes that her body would follow suit. “What did you inject Ryan with?”
“I’m so glad you asked,” he admitted, oddly exuberant at the chance to reveal the particulars. “It’s a specially formulated paralytic, originally designed by an eastern bloc security service back in the 1980s in order to stimulate…cooperation with people in their care. Later it was adopted by other unscrupulous organizations…”
“Like say, drug cartels?” Jessie volunteered.
“Now you’re getting it,” he replied. “Through trial and error, they’ve managed to formulate it so that they can give the perfect dosage.”
“The prefect dosage for what?” Hannah asked, somehow managing to sound petulant, even under these circumstances. Kyle seemed oblivious to her tone.
“For keeping him from moving while still allowing his lungs to function just enough so that he can breathe. It’s a delicate balance. Not enough and he can move around. Too much and his lungs shut down completely. The beautiful part is that he’s aware of everything. He can hear and see and feel pain. He just can’t do anything about it.”
“Sounds like the kind of thing you’d be into,” Jessie muttered.
He looked at her with unblinking eyes for several seconds before replying. His stare was icy and she felt like a gust of frozen wind had passed through her.
“Don’t be snide, sweetie. You’re in no position,” he said darkly before regaining his chipper tone. “Anyway, it normally wears off in a few hours, not that he’ll be around to feel it. That reminds me, your little sister here is going to put those handcuffs on you. So throw the bat over here. Please don’t try anything or I’ll have to shoot her with your gun.”
He produced the weapon to show he meant business. Hannah looked helplessly at Jessie, who tossed the bat in his direction.
“It’s okay,” she told her sister gently. “Go ahead and do it.”
Hannah walked over. Jessie held out her hands in front of her, smiling at her sister as if she had this under control. Hannah returned the smile, though she didn’t look as reassured as Jessie might have hoped.
“Cuff her behind the back, please,” Kyle instructed sharply.
Jessie turned around. As Hannah leaned in to attach the cuffs, Jessie bent back slightly and whispered.
“Be ready when the moment comes.”
When the cuffs were attached, she turned around and glanced at
her sister, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Jessie, who was being watched closely, didn’t react.
“What’s next?” she asked as if they were all on a tourist trip and Kyle was their guide for the day.
“Oh yes,” he said, sounding almost overwhelmed with excitement. “Big plans, happy to share them. First things first though. Jessie, I need you to sit down in that chair. Hannah, please grab a bunch of plates from the kitchen for me, like a dozen. All china, no plastic, please.”
While Hannah did as instructed, Kyle stared at Jessie. She wasn’t sure if his expression was one of longing or hatred. She imagined they were much the same for him these days. He sat down on the couch while they waited and leaned in, speaking to her like they were co-workers trading gossip in the break room.
“You’re not the only one who studies serial killers, Jessie,” he said. “I was watching this documentary on the Golden State Killer. You know what he did? Of course you do. But I’m thinking of one specific detail.”
Jessie was overcome with dread. She looked over at Hannah, collecting an armload of dishes, and knew exactly what he was referencing. The Golden State Killer was a serial rapist and killer in the 1970s and ’80s in California. One of his hallmarks was to tie up a husband, make him lie face down, and put china on his back. Before he went to rape the man’s wife, he warned that if he heard any of the plates fall, he would kill her.
“Who are you tying up?’ she asked once she was sure her voice wouldn’t break, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a direct answer.
He smiled, clearly tickled that she understood.
“I have my own variation on the theme,” he promised.
When Hannah returned, he instructed her to place half a dozen plates on Jessie’s lap. Then he had her put the others on the couch and lie down on her stomach. When she was settled, he placed the remaining plates on her, from her neck down to the small of her back.
“Be right back,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
