by Kylie Brant
With a sick feeling of inevitability, he left the agent to round up the task force while he ran out of the building toward his vehicle. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind now that those “sightings” in Tennessee had been staged to direct attention away from the area.
They’d wondered what was keeping Sutton and Aldeen in the region. Ryder unlocked the SUV and climbed inside, backing it out of its space. And despite the precautions the task force had put in place, the two fugitives were currently enacting the plan they’d had all along.
Samuel
“I always wondered if you’d remember me. You were so young, of course. And one of the few of my guests I let go.” That was before he’d known the true extent of his divinity, he recalled. Before he’d learned how to recognize the Takers and their mission to deplete him of organ, tissue, and blood to use his strength for themselves.
Before he knew what it took to regain what was stolen from him.
“You look so like her, you know.” Samuel cocked his head as he studied the young woman in front of him. It was like seeing Aurora again, the way she’d appeared all those years ago. Eryn shifted slightly, attempting to hide whatever she held behind her back. Poor dear. She’d sealed her fate the moment she stepped inside the room. “I was always fond of your mother. I wasn’t pleased at all when she called a few months after leaving Charlotte and told me what David had done to her. I abhor senseless violence.”
“That’s an interesting claim, coming from you.”
Like a mighty fish on the end of a fishing line, the boy in his lap struggled in his grasp. Samuel had him scissored between his legs with an arm clamped around his chest, while holding the gun in his free hand. He tightened his grip to quiet the boy. Samuel’s wasn’t a catch-and-release program. He chuckled softly at the witticism. At least not anymore.
“Sassy. Like your mama. I’m so gratified that I made an indelible mark on you. That’s ego, I suppose, but there you go. I had my friend Joe bring me some of your early progress notes that were converted to audio.” He’d dreamed of obtaining a collection of recordings of a nine-year-old girl lisping a retelling of her murderous deeds, or a sobbing recount of the time they’d spent together.
He’d been doomed to disappointment. The recordings were merely the doctor’s dictations about the sessions. But there had been some pleasure in learning he’d stayed with the child in some fashion. A man liked to believe he’d made a difference.
“Why did you come here? What do you want?”
She was surprisingly calm. Almost eerie in her lack of expression. Perhaps he’d had a hand in teaching her those qualities as well. There was no use wasting energy when the outcome was already predetermined.
“My assistance was required. But it’s not all work for me, thanks to your young cousin, here.” He caressed the boy’s cheek with the weapon. “I’ve afraid it’s you who’s not needed any longer.” He swung the barrel of the gun toward her. “Goodbye, Eryn. Tell your mother hello for me.”
Cady
She could see the flames a half mile from the house. Reaching for her cell again, Cady pressed redial as she continued to speed toward the Pullman Estate. “Send fire trucks. And ambulances, just in case.”
“You got it. I’m five minutes out.”
“I’m here.”
“Keep me posted.”
She slowed beside the sheriff’s car parked down the road a ways. Throwing the Jeep in park, Cady grabbed her Maglite from beneath the seat while drawing her weapon with her free hand. Trepidation closed her throat as she approached the SUV, aiming a beam at the front seat. Empty. Her tension eased a fraction. She stepped close enough to see there were no slumped bodies in the front or back. She flicked the light about. No bloodstains or bullet holes inside the vehicle or near it.
That didn’t explain where the men were now. She jogged back to her vehicle.
The gates were closed, she realized as she drew closer to the drive. Smoke plumed in the air beyond the tree line. Her stomach sank. The house was on fire.
Cady got out of her vehicle again and surveyed the wrought-iron spiked sections of fence framed between brick pillars. It was designed more for looks than security, she determined. Without another thought, she ran back to the Jeep. Backed up and stomped on the accelerator. It smashed through the gates without even triggering the airbags. She pulled off into the grass to allow room for the emergency vehicles to enter and then parked, grabbing her Maglite and drawing her weapon before leaping from the car. As she drew closer to the house, she saw a car parked in front of it. Flames prevented her from accessing the door. She rounded the house at a sprint, intending to try the back. Before she got there, the beam of her flashlight caught three figures in the grass.
Her heart stopped for one brief moment. “Hands in the air! US Marshal!” she shouted. Two figures were prone. Unmoving. She moved close enough to see the remaining man with both hands half raised. She didn’t know him.
“Don’t shoot, for God sakes.” He coughed violently. “I’m Henry Pullman. I’ve got Rosalyn and my dad here. They need help. They were beaten pretty bad. The guy that did this is still inside. He might be dead.”
She didn’t lower her weapon. “You have ID?”
“Yeah.” When he started to reach for it, Cady said, “Use two fingers. Toss it over here.”
He did as she demanded. “You can point the gun somewhere else now.” He coughed violently.
Ignoring him, she flipped open his wallet. Shone the light on his license. It matched the guy in front of her. But that didn’t necessarily clear him. “Lay on your belly.”
“What? Why?” But he obeyed.
“Hands behind your back.” She set down the flashlight to swiftly cuff him.
“Some fucking thanks I get for risking my life to get my dad and his wife out of a burning house.”
She noted the slurred speech. Ignored the bitter tone. “I’ll apologize later.” Until Cady knew for sure what was going on, she wasn’t taking a stranger’s word for anything. She moved on to William Pullman and crouched beside him. His face was a battered mess. Feebly, he struggled to sit, raising an arm to shield his eyes. “Jaxson,” he croaked.
A loud wail emanated from the woman by his side, who was wrapped in a blanket. “My baby! Find my baby!”
“Where’re the boy and Eryn?”
Henry Pullman nodded toward a looming structure in the distance. “The second guy took Jaxson in there. Eryn followed them.”
Sick comprehension slammed into her. Samuel Aldeen had the boy. And Eryn. One armed lunatic with two hostages. Without another word, Cady began running.
She snapped her light off as she approached the open door of the stable. Strained to hear anything that would give away Eryn and Jaxson’s location. She crept inside, sweeping the vicinity with her weapon as she stepped deeper into the building.
You afraid of the dark, girlie?
Cady swallowed. She wasn’t. At least not anymore. Because she’d be damned if she’d let the old man keep a grip on her, even after his death.
The big drafty structure couldn’t be further from the cramped space she’d been imprisoned in more than once. But there were still arrows of dread shooting through her veins. It shouldn’t remind her of the shooting in Saint Louis. She was inside here, not out. She was alone. Not with another marshal. There was no one standing over her partner with a gun pointed at the man’s temple.
But the situation had parallels. She had a man nearby with two captives. Which made the situation even more grim than the one that still haunted her.
There. She stopped. Listened. Heard a murmur of indistinct voices. Cady moved toward them, halting every few feet to listen again and make sure she was headed in the right direction. As she drew closer she could make out a second sound. Quiet sobbing.
She took shelter in a stall close to the front. It still smelled faintly of hay and horses. She was close enough to hear most of what was being said.
“. . . let him go. You
have me.” Cady winced when she recognized Eryn as the speaker.
“A lovely offer. You’re too old, I’m afraid. The younger my guests, the greater replenishment to my strength. You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never had an army of Takers ready to ambush you at every turn.”
The sound of Aldeen’s voice had an icy finger of trepidation tracing down Cady’s spine. They’d long known Eryn and Sheila’s families had factored in this investigation. What they hadn’t counted on was the men getting to the Pullmans even with armed deputies posted outside the home.
“After what you did to me, you owe me an explanation first.”
Good girl, Cady thought silently as she slowly straightened. Stall him for as long as you can. She stared through the darkness until she spotted the half-open door. A room of some sort in the corner of the building. She could be sure that Aldeen and Eryn were in there.
But she didn’t have a view inside it. Easing to a crouch, she went to the edge of the stall and looked for a better vantage point.
“A sense of entitlement is so unattractive. Now drop the bat, or I’ll shoot your cousin. I’d be quite unhappy about the waste. You have no idea how needy one can get in a loony bin.” His laugh sounded unhinged. “Or maybe you do.”
Cady moved silently, tiptoeing to avoid having her boots sound on the cobblestone floor. There. She had a view into the partially opened door leading to a small room. Two small beams of light split the darkness inside. One came from Eryn’s cell. The other from a low spot Cady couldn’t see. A small flashlight on the floor, perhaps.
“I don’t recognize you,” Eryn was saying. Her voice was eerily matter-of-fact. “But I know your voice. I heard it whispering in my head when I was little.”
“You have no idea how that pleases me.”
And the sick fuck looks gratified, Cady thought, staring into the shadowed space. The walls and floor were stone. Aldeen was sitting with the boy draped carelessly across his lap, the child’s legs confined by the fugitive’s. One arm was wrapped around both of the kid’s. Aldeen’s free hand held the weapon. And it was trained on Eryn.
Trepidation dampened Cady’s palms. Drawing the man out of the space would be the safest scenario. It was chancy to risk a shot while the three were inside. The boy was too close. Eryn was moving nearer Aldeen. Even a miss would be potentially dangerous. A ricochet off the stone could kill any of the three.
“Uncle Arlo was my mother’s brother,” Samuel said. “My, I certainly wasn’t fond of the time I spent alone with that man. But I survived him, just as you did me. Until now. Drop the bat.” He shifted his weapon from Eryn to the boy. There was a loud clang on the stone floor. Then a metal bat skittered out of the doorway, as if it’d been kicked. It landed a foot from where Cady crouched. “Much better. I’m afraid you’re interrupting this young lad and me. Three is indeed a crowd.” Aldeen raised the gun.
Mini snippets of the scene in Saint Louis flashed across her mind. Deputy US Marshal Gagnon on the ground, writhing in agony. The kid standing over him with a Glock aimed at his head. There’d only been one decision then. Only one now.
Adrenaline mingled with dread as Cady sighted her weapon at Aldeen’s forehead, sending up a silent prayer.
In the next instant, there was a blur of movement. A scream sounded, turning Cady’s blood to ice. “Bitch! Oh, you bitch!” She rushed into the compact space, shoving Eryn away from the man. One of his hands was raised to his face. He continued shrieking as blood poured down it. A knife was buried to the hilt into one of his eyes.
“Get out!” she shouted. Eryn bent and pulled the boy from Aldeen’s loosened grip and half carried him from the room. Cady took position behind the half-open door and trained her weapon on the fugitive. His gun was still raised, but his free hand was clutching at the knife, a wild animal-like keening coming from his throat. “Drop the weapon! It’s over, Aldeen. Put it down and we’ll get you medical help.” She saw the intent in his expression a split second before he fired. She dove out of the way. The sound of his shot echoed and reechoed in the cavernous structure as the bullet tore through the old splintered door and slammed into her chest.
Even with the ballistic vest she wore, the force of it knocked her backward, driving the breath from her lungs. Cady battled to breathe. Long moments ticked by. Laboriously, she got an elbow beneath her and aimed, her weapon more unsteady than she would have liked. The two shots she fired through the door sent fragments of wood flying like tiny missiles through the air. Aldeen screamed.
Cady used her heels against the damp cobblestone floor to leverage herself close to a stall. Used its support to struggle to her feet. When she could stand without swaying—much—she approached the ruined door. Swung around it, her weapon ready.
Aldeen was slumped motionless against the stone wall at his back. The knife still protruded from one eye. His gun was by his side. Cady took a gulp of oxygen to feed her burning lungs. He was bleeding from his eye, right leg, and side. But she knew better than to lower her guard.
The man’s fingers twitched. Then slowly closed around the weapon’s grip.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, inching nearer. “Your wounds might not kill you. But I will.” She watched cautiously as he slowly withdrew his hand from the gun before she sidled farther inside, kicking it away from his body.
There was a sound at the entrance of the stable. She shifted so she could keep it and Aldeen in her sights.
A moment later, she recognized Ryder approaching. “We’re back here.”
“Is he alive?”
“He might live.” A mingled tumult of emotion washed over her, shocking her with its intensity. She knew what it said about her that her words were tinged with regret. Cady just couldn’t bring herself to care.
Eryn: Then
“It’s so beautiful.” Eryn stared, awestruck. Mama held her hand tightly. Eryn hadn’t meant to get so close to the edge of the lookout point. There was a fence there, anyway. It wasn’t like she would have fallen over it. But she couldn’t help dancing from one foot to the other. This was her first time at Mount Mitchell, and the view below was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. Autumn had painted the rolling hills of the Smokies with splashes of brilliant reds, oranges, and golds. Gray wisps of fog drifted over hills, winding between mountains. She tugged at Mama’s arm. “I want to learn to paint fog!”
“If you’re good, I’ll teach you to do a wash,” Mama promised. “It’s a simple technique. You’ll have fun experimenting with it.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to paint anything as pretty as this.” Eryn never wanted to leave. When she got older, she’d buy a house right where they were standing. And she’d look at this scene every day forever and ever.
“That’s why artists keep trying. C’mon now, Eryn. If we don’t eat lunch soon you won’t be hungry at dinner. And then Mary Jane will scold us.”
But Eryn didn’t care about Mary Jane. She wished she could get close to the fence again and look way down to the bottom. If she were a bird, she could get as near as she wanted to the treetops below. “I wish I could fly,” she said wistfully.
“You will, baby.” Mama let go of her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Not like a bird, but by following your heart. Make every day a memory. That’s what dreams are made of.”
Eryn thought about Mama’s words. If dreams were memories, this day would be her favorite.
Eryn: Now
“How are you dealing with Rosalyn’s confession?”
Eryn looked out the window of the doctor’s office. They were nearing the end of the session. She’d hoped to conclude it without the inevitable subject that seemed to rise at every appointment. How, she wondered, am I supposed to feel? She’d been locked up most of her life for a crime she didn’t commit. And she had no doubt that if Sutton hadn’t been about to rape Rosalyn, she’d have let Eryn go to her grave believing she’d killed her mother. How could anyone handle that kind of information? It was like s
urviving an earthquake, only to be rocked daily by the unceasing aftershocks.
“It doesn’t seem real yet.” She’d said the same the last time they’d met. But nothing had changed in the intervening time. She finally looked at Dr. Ashland. “I don’t understand why she allowed me to take the blame. I was a child. She didn’t even know me.”
The other woman laid a reassuring hand on her arm. “No. She didn’t. I doubt she planned any of it—killing your mother, or the aftermath of the murder. But she still allowed you to be scapegoated and held accountable for her actions. People who refuse to take responsibility can rationalize the most reprehensible behavior. But from what I understand, she’s going to be held accountable now. She’s being charged with manslaughter, I read.”
Eryn nodded. She knew little more than what was in the news. Uncle Bill certainly didn’t talk about it. He didn’t talk about much of anything, unless she asked him a question. Once, Eryn had happened by the makeshift office in the rental house. He’d had his head down on his desk. His strangled weeping had been heartrending. She’d never felt so helpless. He was going through as much as she was right now. And she wasn’t at all certain how to help him.
As if reading her thoughts, the doctor said, “How are things at home?”
Eryn hesitated. Even that simple question was fraught with complications. Did she have a home anymore? The rental in Waynesville certainly didn’t feel like it.
But neither had the Pullman Estate. So maybe home depended on wherever family was.
What was left of it.
Finally, she answered, “Weird.” In some ways, it seemed like months instead of just under two weeks since the fire. The house hadn’t been a total loss. One wing was livable. But she didn’t know if they’d ever move back.
The psychiatrist frowned a bit. “I still think we may need to talk about another placement for you, until things settle a bit more.”
