Visions

by Kelley Armstrong

  "How indeed. Aren't you wondering how I got past your lover?"

  I stiffened, my gaze swinging to the door.

  "Oh, he's fine. In fact, go ahead and text him to make sure. I wouldn't suggest mentioning I'm here. If he comes to your rescue, I'll have to leave. Better if he just keeps watching that building."

  I texted Ricky. He replied: All clear.

  "See?" the man said. "He can take care of himself. All his kind can."

  He knew Ricky was a biker, then. How much else did he know about him? Even the thought made me anxious.

  "You needn't worry about the boy," he said. "I know better than to hurt him. His family would retaliate, and they are more than I care to tackle."

  "They are."

  "Do you even know who I'm talking about?"

  "The Saints. Ricky's gang."

  He smiled. "Ah, yes. The bikers. Definitely not enemies one wishes to make." He looked around. "What do you think of this place? Does it look familiar?"

  "Actually, yes, I remember staying here . . . despite the fact it's probably been closed since before I was born." I glowered at him. "I don't know what you're playing at--"

  "Memory," he said. "I'm playing at memory, Eden Olivia. Prodding and pushing. You may have never stayed here, but you have relatives who did. Sad cases, really. The perils of mixing blood that was never meant to be mixed. There is so much that can go wrong. Just ask your parents. Or Seanna Walsh. Or Ciara Conway."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I can't tell you. Too many ramifications. But I can poke at your memory. Inherited memory. If I prod enough, you will question, and if you question, you will find the answers and you will see exactly where you stand. On quicksand. Two sides offer you ropes. The two halves to your whole. Mortal enemies. Both want you. Both promise safe ground to stand on. Both lie."

  Frustration welled in my gut, and I thought of those words in the bathroom. I DON'T UNDERSTAND. Goddamn it, I didn't understand, and I was so sick of these teases, of these hints, of all this weird shit that meant something and didn't mean something, and I just wanted--

  "To go back to your old life?" he said, as if I'd spoken the words aloud.

  "What are you?" I asked. "I want answers, or--"

  "Or you'll what, Eden Olivia? Shoot me? Walk away? Neither does you any good. As for what I am, that's a very personal question. I'll give you a name instead. You may call me Tristan."

  My cell phone buzzed. I glanced down at the screen.

  "Mr. Walsh, I presume?" Tristan asked.

  It was. As the call went to voice mail, Tristan came closer. I lifted my gun.

  He smiled. "I think we've already established that won't do any good."

  "I'll take my chances."

  "Go ahead." He put his hand over the barrel of the gun, palm blocking the end. "Fire at will, Eden Olivia."

  Before I could decide whether to do it, he snatched the phone from my hand and danced backward, hitting Play on the voice mail as he did.

  "I see you called a couple of hours ago," Gabriel's voice said. "But I'm certain my phone didn't ring. Is there a problem? Call me."

  Tristan tapped the screen and started to text.

  "Hey!"

  I lunged. He dodged and kept typing until I managed to grab the phone. Too late. The message had been sent.

  Need help. Please come. Followed by an address, then, Don't call. Too dangerous. Just come. Please.

  I started to text him.

  "You know that won't help. What will you say? Sorry, but a madman who lured me to an abandoned hospital sent that. I really don't need help."

  I hesitated.

  Tristan continued. "Even if you could explain it, he'd come anyway, just in case. The cry for help has been sent. He must answer. It's his job."

  "If you mean he's being paid to protect me--"

  "Paid? No. I chose my words poorly. It's his duty. One he executes with pleasure. He's formed quite an attachment to you, as has young Mr. Gallagher. And you to them. Three pawns in a very old game. Do you like being a pawn, Eden Olivia?"

  I said nothing.

  "Of course you don't. You are Mallt-y-Nos. You rule over pawns; you are not one of them."

  "I am what?"

  "Special," he said. "Isn't that what every little mortal wants to be? Oh so very special. Except it's not nearly as wonderful as they think, because when you are special, you inspire avarice and fear. Everyone wants to control you. Use you. If they cannot, they will kill you, because if you are not theirs, you are dangerous. Right now, they circle, watching and waiting. You've seen the ravens. The owls and the hounds. Watching. Evaluating. Do you want to know why?"

  "Yes."

  "Then start asking questions, Eden Olivia. I've been sending some to you."

  "You've been sending me body parts. You killed an innocent--"

  "I did not kill Ciara Conway. I merely took advantage of her death to . . ." He smiled. "Stir the waters. Wake you up. Wake them up. You say Ciara Conway is innocent, and you are correct. Yet there is someone who was even more wronged in this: the girl waiting for you here. She's connected to Ciara and has suffered through that connection. Those responsible for her suffering surround you in Cainsville. Find the connection. Ask the questions. See what it has to do with you."

  He turned and headed for the door.

  "Hold on," I said. "I--"

  "You'd best go find Miss Macy. I may have"--he grinned, all teeth--"moved her. I wouldn't suggest you leave until you find her. That would be very unfortunate for the poor girl. This place doesn't see many visitors."

  He walked out. I ran after him, but when I got to the door, he'd vanished, just as he had that night at Ricky's apartment. I knew now that it hadn't been a trick of light and shadow.

  As I retraced my steps, I called Ricky.

  "He got past you," I said.

  "Shit."

  "Not your fault. It was some kind of trick. He's gone now, though, I think."

  "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine. We just had a conversation. A very weird conversation. I'll get the girl and--"

  I veered into the room where Macy said she'd be. It was empty.

  "Damn it," I muttered. "She's not here. He said he moved her. Great."

  "Hold on. I'll be right there."

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  After I gave Ricky directions, I searched the room. It didn't take much. The place was about fifteen feet square, with one exit, no windows, and no debris large enough to hide anyone. The walls were covered in graffiti, but it was only the usual "I was here" markers.

  As I paced, I tried to call Gabriel to let him know what was going on, but I got a "customer unavailable" recording. I texted a very basic Everything's fine now. Call when you can.

  "Hey," Ricky said softly behind me.

  I silenced my phone.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  I nodded. "I just want to find her and get out of here."

  He gave my hand a squeeze. I relaxed against his shoulder--a brief moment of rest before I looked around.

  "It's hide-and-go-seek now," I said.

  "Are you sure it's not a wild-goose chase?"

  "No, but he suggested he's put her someplace where she can't escape. Meaning she'll be there until someone else finds her. Which isn't likely to happen soon enough."

  "Shit." He exhaled. "We don't have much choice, then."

  "I think that's the point. Oh, and Gabriel's on the way." I explained what had happened.

  "Well, that's not a bad thing," Ricky said. "Three of us can cover more ground."

  --

  We searched the main building methodically, starting at one end and moving through every room, checking any items big enough to hide someone. We were nearly at the end of the first floor when I stepped into what seemed to be a closet. I was about to leave when I noticed rungs, beginning six feet from the floor and extending into the darkness.

  I was gaping up when Ricky joined me.

  "Huh," he sa
id, shining a light up. "Looks like the bottom rungs are missing. Not exactly an easy climb."

  My gaze stayed fixed on those rungs.

  "Your gut says she's up there."

  "No, I . . ." I swallowed the denial. "We should take a look."

  "Let me give you a boost."

  He lifted me to the bottom rung, telling me to test it first. It seemed solid enough, so I pulled myself up and checked each rung as I climbed. Ricky swung up below me, which took some serious upper-body strength, but he managed it with only a few grunts. At the top was a hatch. With some effort, I heaved it open and lifted my flashlight through to--

  Something creaked in the room above. My flashlight beam landed on a chair, rocking. It stopped as soon as the light hit it. I lifted the light higher and saw that the "rocking chair" had thick leather restraint straps across the base and the back, and two smaller ones on the arms.

  That was the only thing in the tiny room. A rocking restraint chair.

  "Liv?" Ricky whispered below me.

  I continued up. Once I was standing in the room, I instinctively moved away from the chair, but I kept my gaze on it. That's when I noticed the writing on the ceiling.

  We are imprisoned by the truth we dare not see.

  We are imprisoned by the questions we dare not ask.

  At another movement, my gaze moved down. A dark-haired woman in a straitjacket sat in the chair, strapped down, her eyes covered in bloody bandages. She rocked forward violently, gripping the wooden arms. Her mouth opened, but she made only a garbled croak, like a raven's caw. Flecks of blood flew from her mouth, and when she opened it, all I could see was a bloody, cavernous hole with no tongue. She kept making that noise, that terrible noise, and I was stumbling back--

  Ricky caught me. He'd scrambled up and grabbed me from behind, and as soon as he touched me, the woman vanished.

  Ricky held me for a moment. The warmth of his chest and his arms tight around me felt so damned good, the beating of his heart, solid and steady.

  "Sorry," I said. "The chair was rocking. Gave me a start."

  "Opening that hatch probably set it going. Change of air pressure."

  "Which doesn't make that any less creepy." I pointed at the words on the ceiling.

  He squinted up. I shone my light. The words were plain as could be, but he kept his gaze searching.

  "I, uh, I thought I saw something up there." I rubbed my eyes. "Clearly this place is getting to me."

  "I don't blame you. Spooky as hell." He gestured at the chair. "That gives me the creeps, for sure."

  We headed out. The room led into a long hall lined with doors, all closed. I called for Macy. I'd been doing that since we'd started searching, and there'd been no answer. There wasn't now, either, but Ricky stood in the middle of the hall, listening and looking. His gaze traveled one way and then the other. Then, without a word, he started for the door at the end.

  He eased the door open, switchblade in hand, me at his shoulder. After a quick look inside, he walked through.

  It was a room with a half-dozen cribs. I stood in the doorway thinking, There are babies in mental hospitals? Then I realized the cribs weren't for children.

  Like regular cribs, they were made of wood, with an elevated bed and spindles. Except these ones were adult sized, with lids that could be fastened using thick leather straps. Cribs to restrain patients. To hold them there, lying on their backs, unable to move--

  A bump sounded, and I jumped, remembering the woman in the rocker. But Ricky heard this one and moved toward the noise, his switchblade in one hand, cell phone flashlight in the other. Another bump. Then the sound of muffled cries. I hurried forward to see a dark-haired woman in the last box.

  I stopped short. I'd seen two hallucinations of dark-haired women already, but Ricky quickly unfastened the straps and pulled off the lid, and it was indeed a woman inside. She was a couple of years younger than me, blindfolded and gagged.

  "Hold still," Ricky said. "I'm going to cut off--"

  She went wild, thrashing and screaming behind her gag.

  "Not the right thing to say?" he whispered to me.

  I spoke louder, to be heard over her panicked struggles. "Macy? It's me. It's . . . Eden. You're okay. This guy is with me. He's going to take off your gag and blindfold. Just lie still."

  She stopped moving and lay there, tense, sounding as if she was panting behind the gag. Ricky cut off her blindfold first, and when it fell away, he leaned over her.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  She stared up at him. Gaping, in fact. Yes, Ricky's face wasn't a bad first sight after a near-death experience. He didn't seem to notice, just cut off her gag. Then he went to work unfastening her hands and feet.

  "I'm Rick," he said when he finished. "She prefers Olivia."

  Macy took a moment to drag her gaze away from Ricky. When she saw me, she blinked.

  "Olivia . . . ? Eden . . . ?" Her eyes rounded. "You're . . ."

  She scrambled out of the crib, tipping it over in her haste. I dove after her and she gasped, like I was wielding a hatchet. Ricky grabbed me back as if she was wielding one.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Ricky said to her.

  "That's--She's--I saw her in the paper. She's--"

  "Her name is Olivia," Ricky snarled in a tone I'd never heard him use. "And she just saved your fucking life, so you will show some respect."

  "I-I need to leave."

  "No, you need to answer some questions. If you don't, I'll lock you back in that damned box until you're feeling chatty."

  One could argue this was not the kindest way to deal with a traumatized kidnap victim. But apparently Ricky wasn't in the mood to be charming.

  My cell phone blipped with an unread message.

  "Looks like I missed Gabriel's call," I said as I took it out. "He pulled in five minutes ago. We'll go down and meet him."

  "No," Macy said, shrinking into the corner as she stared at Ricky, her gaze far less admiring now. "I'm not going anywhere with you two. I know who she is."

  "You know who my parents are," I said. "You know nothing about me."

  "Except that she saved your fucking life." Ricky glanced my way. "Tell Gabriel how to find us, and he can convince her to talk. I'd really rather not have to stuff her back in that box."

  I called. Gabriel was trying to figure out which building to enter. I got him in the right one and on the path as I explained the situation. The basics, at least. I wasn't giving more with Macy right there.

  I also made sure to tell him I hadn't sent that urgent message, either, which I suppose didn't need to be done right away, but I hated him thinking I'd dragged him out of bed for what hadn't turned out to be a dangerous situation. Apparently, though, our definitions of dangerous differed. In his books, being led through a condemned building by a crazy man still qualified.

  One part of the story I left out? The part where I hadn't come here alone. As Gabriel got closer, Ricky motioned for me to mute the phone.

  "Want me to take off?" he whispered. "Explain it later?"

  I shook my head. "I'll go warn him."

  As I relayed instructions to get Gabriel to the ladder, I walked to the room with the ladder and crouched at the hatch. A moment later, the top of his head appeared below.

  He looked up.

  "Found it," I said.

  I grinned down at him. As calm as I'd tried to stay during this whole ordeal, there'd been a feeling that something was missing, something as essential as the gun nestled in my pocket. Seeing Gabriel, that knot untwisted.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "Better now that you're here. Thanks."

  His head tilted to the side, and he frowned, as if unsure he'd heard right.

  "I tried to leave you out of this," I said. "That's why I hung up the first time. I didn't want to bother you when it wasn't a legal issue. I'm sorry that guy got my phone and texted you. But I'm glad you're here."

  Another frown and searching look, as if he'
d moved from suspecting he'd misheard to suspecting I'd been dosed.

  I shook my head. "Just come up."

  He gave the bottom rung a tug. "It's not going to hold me. Is there another route?"

  "There must be, but it's a huge place. If you want to just stay down there, I can resolve this and--"

  "No, I'll try." He gave the rung another test pull. "Please note, I'm not a gymnast."

  "In other words, you'd appreciate it if I averted my gaze while you awkwardly try to haul yourself up?"

  He rolled his eyes, but I did turn away. God forbid Gabriel should be seen doing something that might require actual effort. I suspected that was more of a concern than whether the rungs would hold his weight.

  A few not-quite-stifled grunts as he got himself onto the ladder.

  "How did you manage it?" he said. "That bottom rung was almost over my head."

  "I, uh, had help. Ricky's here."

  He stopped, standing on the ladder, his head still a few feet below the opening. "Ricky?"

  "Gallagher."

  He gave me a cool look. "I highly doubt we have any other mutual acquaintances who go by that moniker. The implied question was: what is Ricky doing here?"

  "He was with me when I got the call."

  "With you? Where?"

  "Really?" I wanted to say, It was two in the morning. Do I need to spell it out? But Gabriel kept looking up at me with genuine confusion.

  "I was at home. Asleep."

  It still seemed to take a moment for him to make the mental leap. When he did, his eyes emptied, and that ice-cold stare blasted through me, and I felt like I'd just done something terrible. Something unforgivable.

  I'd woken him in the middle of the night and dragged him out here, into a dangerous situation, expecting his help, and now he finds out I'm screwing around with another man? That was crazy on all counts--I hadn't woken him or dragged him or expected anything, and we weren't sleeping together or even moving in that direction. He was only annoyed that I hadn't told him about the relationship earlier. If I interpreted more, it was because I felt more.

  That's why I hadn't told Gabriel I was seeing Ricky. Because of what it felt like, no matter how groundless that was. To feel guilty because a guy I wasn't dating found out I was involved with someone? That went beyond an overblown sense of fidelity and tripped straight into ludicrous.

  After what felt like ten minutes of silence, he said, "I see." Another five seconds, then, "I wasn't aware you were seeing one another."

  "It's recent," I said. "We hadn't gotten to the stage of telling anyone. Ricky told Don last night."