

Title Page
Prologue
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Published by Shannon Esposito
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Copyright © Shannon Esposito, 2011
Smashwords Edition
Cover Art by Zero Gravity Design
Editing by Karen Schindler
Other mysteries by Shannon Esposito:
KARMA'S A BITCH (A Pet Psychic Mystery)
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Needle-like legs worked furiously trying to scale the glass. It didn't care about the human eyes watching, unblinking, peering into its prison; didn't care about time or the futility of trying the same thing over and over. It only cared about survival. About release.
Wings battered the inside of the jelly jar in a new flurry of hope as the lid was unscrewed and fresh air rushed in. But it was not freedom the creature was offered. Instead a cocktail of toxic chemicals filled the jar as its keeper exhaled gray smoke and then screwed the lid back on. A tidy little gas chamber for his prisoner.
"Have nothing to say now?"
The sunset wings beat frantically in the fog and then the Monarch fell to the bottom---stiff and unmoving.
"Who sent you?"
Could it still see the eyes peering in, waiting for an answer?
Through the smoke, two thin black antennae reached out to touch the glass. A soft, high voice resonated within the belly of the jar.
"You know who sent me."
The human jerked back, his eyes dilating in surprise. So it was true. In the darkened room, the TV abruptly blared. The Pope stood on his balcony, staring out into the void, smiling.
It was a sign. So it was God who had sent this little winged messenger to him. He squinted into the jar once again. "What is my mission?"
"Set them free."
"Set them free," he repeated. "Free, that's what she had said..."
Slowly, he unscrewed the lid once again. He shook the butterfly out of the jar, the smoke dissipating into the room. Its wings shuttered, the tips tapping the wood table top lightly in a slow methodical dance.
Outside a heavy rain began to pound the curtained window. The man watched his captive's struggles with a new intensity, a new understanding as wobbly legs came to life and lifted the Monarch unsteadily to its feet. In the background, the Pope pointed a strong finger, his voice becoming almost unbearable inside the man's head.
"You must have courage. Spiritual freedom requires sacrifice. Supreme power is a gift. You have that gift. Use it to set them free!"
The man jumped up, his chair toppling over. Finally, the world made sense. He knew what he had to do. He crushed out the cigarette, rubbing it violently into an overflowing glass ashtray. Then his palm came down hard, crushing the Monarch into the table.
After the ringing blow, silence swept through the room. Sweet, sweet silence. The TV screen was once again only a gray square in the darkness. The man didn't smile, but he now knew relief.
Anne Serafini was tired of death. She was tired of it stalking her, bullying her and jumping out at her from every dark corner.
She sat on the white sand beach of Anna Maria Island, a small barrier island off the southwestern coast of Florida, fingering the bottle of sleeping pills in her jacket pocket and pushing away the urge to swallow them all. When you haven't slept in weeks, it's hard to function, let alone be reasonable. Anne liked to be reasonable. She forced herself to focus on breathing, on just being still and waiting for a new day to begin. If she couldn't find peace and a new beginning here, on this little sliver of paradise, it didn't exist anywhere.
The dark sky lifted above the ocean, the light being dialed up by the mysterious forces that turn a whole world toward the sun. She was starting to believe these same forces were screwing with her---turning her world toward or away from the light for reasons of their own.
Anne shifted her legs as the morning sun began to glint off the Gulf of Mexico and unzipped her white, running jacket. It was early October, cool, with a brisk ocean breeze adding to the chill, but Anne was barely aware of the cold sand, the damp air weighing down her hair. Minor inconveniences were outweighed by the ache in her shoulder from the stab wound not yet healed and the bigger aching wound in her heart. Two weeks. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
She flinched at the brutal memory.
Blood, so much blood. Ava screaming in her high chair as her psychotic daddy stabbed her loving mommy thirty seven times on the kitchen table. The same table Anne had helped Amanda sand down and refinish earlier that week. Anne had tried to stop him, but Bobby's knife and rage were vicious. He stabbed Anne and tossed her to the side like a ragdoll. Then he went back to finish Amanda. Only Ava had come out physically unscathed. But who knew what scars something like that would leave on a child?
Anne's own physical scar would heal eventually. The emotional one, she wasn't so sure about. Sorrow welled up and threatened to swallow her. Could she live with what she'd done, and more importantly what she hadn't done? She had failed. Amanda was dead and she was alive. Why? She wasn't the one with a two year old daughter who needed her mommy. Thank god for grandparents. Ava would be ok. But life still seemed so maddeningly unfair.
With tremendous mental effort, Anne pushed her way back to the present. She stood, stretching and shaking out the numbness in her legs. Lifting her gaze, she squinted at the open sky.
Breath came so much easier here, with nothing above or around her but sky and water. No oppressing ceiling of clouds, no towering barriers of rock and no dark corners. Everything here was silvery light, sand like sugar and endless ocean. The beauty was almost painful. She felt small, lost and unworthy. Virginia lay behind her, so what now?
Anne walked along the shoreline, letting the ocean lick her toes and the rising sun warm her aching back. Movement caught her eye about fifty yards down the beach to her left. Something big rolled back and forth in the tide. She hoped it wasn't a dead dolphin. Dead dolphins were always so sad.
She sighed and made her way along the curve of the wet sand to investigate, flip flops in hand, being careful not to step on the broken shells littering her path. Gentle waves made swishing noises as they rolled in and were sucked again, her footprints vanishing with them.
Anne kept her eyes on the object as she approached it. Her nose twitched as the smell of salt water gave way to the smell of rotting flesh. She should have known then, but this place was heaven. She wasn't expecting death to find her here.
She stood a few feet away, her mind failing over and over to process what she saw. Something large wrapped in plastic. Garbage maybe? And then the tide rolled the face toward her. A face, pressed against the plastic. Nose, mouth...empty eye sockets.
"No, oh no," she said aloud. She'd found a body wrapped in plastic. She could tell it was a female by the long tangles of hair pressed against the plastic. But it was hard to tell more than that.
She stood there with her nose buried in her jacket, the breeze lifting strands of hair from her temples and carrying the smell to her in nauseating waves. She bowed her head, offering the dead girl a moment of silence. What else could she do? Her own frustration with life boiled over as this girl's senseless death sank deeper into her psyche, solidifying her belief in the unjust nature of life.
"God, why?" Just a question thrown out to the universe. She didn't really believe in a god. After everything she'd seen and witnessed in her twenty seven short years, she was starting to have a hard time believing that anything good existed at all.
"I'm sorry this world is such a cruel place." Her green eyes watered from rising emotions. She whispered, "I hope, wherever you are, you have at least found peace."
Fear began to brew, churning her stomach as she walked a few feet up the beach and sat back down in the sand. It could no longer be ignored. Death and violence were stalking her. No matter where she went, death showed up.
"Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide," she recited absentmindedly. Reaching a hand into her pocket, she pulled out her keys, sleeping pills and finally her cell phone.
Two officers arrived within minutes, trudging through the sand toward her wearing dark blue uniforms and sunglasses. One was tall, young, olive skinned, his black hair cropped tight. The other one was older, sporting a red mustache and confidence. Anne barely acknowledged their approach. She couldn't take her eyes off of the discarded girl in the water. She sat hunched in the sand, transfixed both by fear and an abnormal sense of peace, the kind that happens when time stops as if the world held its breath. Palpable fear was new to her. She tried to give herself a break, considering that suffering the kind of death she saw in front of her would be her own personal hell: Her water phobia and claustrophobia rolled into one.
But, why did she also feel a little bit envious? What would it would be like to be Snow White---eternally asleep in her glass coffin, unreachable, unaware, completely free?
The police officer speaking pulled her from her thoughts. She needed to focus.
The older officer spoke again and nodded at Anne. "Miss Serafini? Anne Serafini?"
"Yes." She looked up expectantly, shading her eyes from the glare with a tired hand.
"I'm Officer O'Brady. I understand you're the one who found the victim?"
"Yes."
"All right." He glanced at the shoreline, his mouth sinking at the corners. "Officer Williams will get your statement. There's no need for you to come back over to the scene." He nodded at his partner and then made his way toward the plastic encased body, now lodged in the sand, collecting tangles of seaweed.
#
Officer O'Brady squatted a few feet from the body, covering his nose with the back of his hand. His Irish temper flared. How many times had he walked this beach with his wife and grandkids? This island has historically had one of the lowest violent crime rates in the nation. That was one of the reasons he'd moved his family here twelve years ago from Michigan. Now some psycho had taken a sledgehammer to their sense of safety, shattering it into oblivion. Anna Maria Island would never be the same. It made him sick to his stomach. He stood and popped an antacid. Poor girl. No one should have their life ended like this.
#
"You doing all right?" Officer Williams asked Anne as he opened his notebook. Just two years out of college, he was struggling with keeping his own emotions in check.
"No."
"Yeah, I can imagine it must have been some shock to come upon a victim like this, huh? Not a good way to start a day, that's for sure. Will you spell your last name for me?"
She spelled it out for him, glancing up. Now that he stood closer, she could see how young he was. Did he even have to shave yet? He had a pureness about him, an innocence that hadn't yet been dissolved by life's acidic nature. A young horse ready to buck the world. She probably only had a few years on him, but her life so far had given her wisdom beyond her years, and had certainly eroded any sense of safety. She didn't want to buck, she wanted to hide. What did they call that? Jaded? Cowardly?
"Address?" he asked.
"I'm sort of in between places. Staying at the Island Breeze Inn right now." She gave him her cell number instead.
"Okay. Did you see anyone else on the beach? In the parking lot, maybe?"
"No. I've been here for a few hours. I haven't seen a soul, sorry." She wanted to add that the body had probably been in the water for a few days and only made its way to this spot via the tides, not dumped here this morning. But, she held her tongue. She wasn't part of this investigation. This time, she was only a witness.
Officer O'Brady returned, his face tomato red and twisted up in self-contained fury. "Call it in, Williams. Get the crime scene tape out of the car and get Sam Larson here. Tell 'em we'll need the M.E."
"Right, Joe." He moved with long strides through the sand, back toward the parking lot. A group of gulls squawked and flapped as he disturbed them.
"Guess this wasn't part of your vacation plans, eh?" Officer O'Brady asked.
Anne looked up at him. He seemed nervous as hell underneath all that anger. He kept glancing back at the body, biting the inside of his cheek and adjusting his firearm. This really had him spooked. She doubted Anna Maria Island had experienced many dead bodies washing up on their pristine beaches.
"I've kind of given up on making plans," she said. "They never seem to work out."
"Oh yeah? How's that goin' for you?" The attempt at humor again.
"Not so great."
His face softened a bit as he looked down at her. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a pale forearm. "You here with family?"
"No."
"All alone, huh? How long you been here?"
"Three days."
"Where you from? Jersey? New York?"
"I lived in New York City for a little while, when I was younger." She didn't offer all the places she'd lived in since. She wasn't even sure she could remember if she needed to.
"I've got relatives there. Crazy place. So, how long you gonna be on the island?"
"Don't know," she said. "No plans, remember?"
"Yeah." He nodded. "Right, no plans. Well, Detective Larson will want to talk to you, then you can..." he stopped, squinting up at the parking lot she had first entered the beach on. "Wonderful." Anne followed his gaze and saw a knot of people carrying rolled yoga mats coming down the beach.
Anne watched as both Williams and O'Brady hustled to head them off, a roll of crime scene tape and wooden stakes tucked under the younger officer's arm.
Anne would have liked to be friends with women like that. Be out doing something healthy with them. But they were still shiny, unaware. Anne's knowledge of fate and how little plans you made for yourself mattered would just infect them with anxiety. She turned away and wiggled out of her jacket. The sun soaked through to her bones. Too bright. Too intense. She began to feel queasy. Probably from lack of sleep and food. Did she even remember to eat yesterday? A vague memory of a bag of peanuts surfaced. She pulled her knees up against her, rested her forehead on them and pressed her hands against her ears, shutting out the world. Just five minutes of darkness and silence was all she needed. She got four.
A heavy hand rested on her shoulder, by chance connecting with the wound beneath her t-shirt in the shape of an eight inch kitchen knife. Startled, she jerked her head up to stare into the face of the man seated in the sand next to her. She couldn't separate his eyes from the sky, they were so blue.
"Didn't mean to scare you." He held out his hand, "Detective Larson."
"Anne," she said, slipping her hand into his, feeling warmth and strength radiate up her arm. "Serafini." He smelled of soap and musk and his focus made her feel like the only person in the world. She sucked in a breath.
"You okay?" She saw his gaze move to her mouth.
What's he looking for? A smile? A word? A coherent sentence?
He looked back up and when she met his eyes she felt a tiny shock as if something had jump-started within her. How ridiculous. Anne shifted in the sand. They were at a murder scene, and her body was reacting to this man like she'd been living on an all-female planet. Irritated and confused, she shifted her attention to the dead girl.
"Better than her," she said.
Officers O'Brady and Williams were just finishing up taping off a square of the beach that would give them enough room to work. The Medical Examiner and her assistant were approaching the body. More uniformed officers moved in behind them, alert and scanning the beach.
She felt the detective shift beside her and his hand brushed her thigh as he plucked something from the sand.
After a moment, he cleared his throat. "I assume you have a prescription for these?"
Anne turned back to him and saw her keys and a full bottle of sleeping pills resting in his palm. They must have fallen out of her jacket as she took it off.
"Of course. My name's on the bottle." She snatched the keys and pills out of his hand with a bit more hostility than she meant to. She felt stung by his disapproving look, the silent head shake. She wasn't some druggie or suicide case that he had to feel sorry for. The shift in his attitude toward her was subtle enough, but she noticed it. Or maybe her own paranoia had just kicked into high gear? She knew he had seen it all on the job. He had to be jaded, too. Still, it really bothered her that he would think that about her.
He looked away, maybe disappointed, maybe disgusted---she didn't know which---and then stood up, dusting the sand off of his tan slacks. His abrupt withdrawal left her chilled. The world became noisy once again. Wind, waves, screaming gulls, police radios.
"I'll need you to answer some questions for me, Miss Serafini," Detective Larson said brusquely. "And then you'll be free to go."
Anne wondered why she would care about what Detective Larson thought of her. She felt herself getting defensive. She wanted to ask him what gave him the right to judge her. It was her life. If she needed a prescription to help her sleep or even wanted to swallow the whole damned bottle that was her business. He didn't know anything about her. She wanted to tell him off, wanted to yell a little, but instead she just sat there, silently fuming.
Warm tears blurred her vision but she wouldn't let them fall. She hadn't even cried at Amanda's funeral---or since then---Anne damn sure wasn't going to cry over something as trivial as a judgmental cop. She tried to convince herself that his opinion of her didn't matter. But for some reason, it felt like it did. This revelation even made her even more furious with herself.
Detective Larson had taken out a notepad but squinted up at the boardwalk. Anne followed his gaze and saw a young woman---petite with short, dark hair--walking briskly toward them, a camera slung over her right shoulder, a leather satchel swinging from her left hand. She took in the scene as she approached.
"Gina." Just the one word. This got Anne's attention, the way Detective Larson said the woman's name with a mixture of irritation and sarcasm. "Don't you have a lotto winner to interview or something?"
"Sam," she said, amused and confident. "You know I wouldn't miss a murder for the world. Besides, you should tell your rookie to use his cell phone, not his radio if you don't want me around."
Sam mumbled something under his breath.
Anne smiled to herself. Only a reporter at a crime scene could get a detective that aggravated in such a short amount of time. She pushed herself up off the sand, ignoring the stiffness in her legs, and held out her hand.
"Hi, Gina. I'm Anne Serafini." She became aware of Detective Larson's attention shifting to her.
"Nice to meet you. Gina Lombardi." She gripped Anne's hand, her smile widening. "I take it you're the one who found the victim?"
"Yes."
"Miss Serafini, Gina is a reporter..."
"I know," Anne cut him off, her eyes still locked on Gina's. "In my previous job, I learned to respect the power of the press. Friend not foe, that sort of thing."
"Good advice," Gina said. "So, what did you do in your previous job?"
"Forensic photographer."
"Really? Huh." Gina glanced at Detective Larson, her right hand moving to rest on her hip. "On vacation?"
"Not really."
"Major in Law enforcement?"
"No. BA in photography. I just kind of fell into the crime scene part. Bit of a long story."
"Interesting. Well, if you're going to be staying here and need work, this little scrap of sand posing as a town actually needs a good crime scene photographer now that there's more than dirty old men and bike thefts to investigate." She turned her smile on Sam Larson, her dark eyes softening. "The boys in blue lost Big Rob last month. Heart attack. Very sad. Anyway," she pointed at the officer crouching in the shallow surf, photographing the body. "Lenny there sucks. Great with fingerprinting, doesn't understand a lick about lighting. His sketching is pretty atrocious, too."
"Gina," Sam tried to interrupt.
She ignored him. "You sketch?"
Anne nodded reluctantly. Maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut. After all, she had no idea what was going on here and she did come here to recover, not get involved in crime scene investigation again.
"Seriously," Gina turned to Detective Larson, shrugging. "This is like kismet, Sam. It's like fate just dropped her here at the precise moment you needed her."
Yep, that seems to be fate's modus operandi. She noticed a small, playful smile pull at the corner of Gina's mouth. Had she and Sam been involved? Maybe the friction between them came from that. Maybe it was personal.
"I'm sure if Miss Serafini came here looking for a job, she would know how to apply at the station." He let his eyes meet Anne's. "Which you are welcome to do. We actually do need someone with skill. If you're going to be around." He turned back to Gina, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Go ahead and get your shots, but keep your distance."
"And you'll give me an interview before you leave?"
"No, I will not."
"Don't get grumpy with me, Sam Larson. I'll call your mother." She started to walk away and then turned back to Anne. "Hey, you got a place to stay yet?"
"Um, no, actually...no." She found herself glancing back at the detective. He flipped through his notebook, ignoring both of them.
"I've got a friend with a little place for rent. He's getting desperate; probably give you a great deal. You can reach me at the Daily Sun if you're interested."
"Thanks." Anne hadn't really thought about staying long term. Everything she owned sat in boxes in a motel room, except for her photo equipment, which lived in the trunk of her car. Her hand closed tighter around the bottle of sleeping pills as she glanced toward the body. A crushing blow of disappointment hit her like a truck. Disappointment that this beautiful, restful place that she thought she had picked---this island of white cranes and light hearts--- had been, once again, chosen for her. The illusion she had been holding onto for three days---that she could enjoy a warm, sunny place where people came to forget their everyday lives, to rest, to be a stranger to themselves---was now gone. It would have been nice, to be a stranger in her own life. Right now it didn't even feel like her life.
Could she do the job again? Could she be as objective now? As distant? No, things had changed for her. Since Amanda's death a fatal wall had been breached. Death now made her tremble. It was personal. Still, she wanted to make one decision that felt like her own, one that felt like she wasn't just a pawn in someone else's agenda.
A beautiful butterfly fluttered erratically for a moment directly in front of her and then swept up toward the sky, free to choose its own flight path. Lucky little guy, she thought.
"You ready, Miss Serafini?"
"Sure."
Anne answered Detective Larson's questions. When she found herself watching his long tan fingers moving, scribbling and jotting in his notebook or noticing the way the sunlight lit up the gold in his hair, she struggled to ignore it. She clamped down on her body's prurient interest and concentrated on the crime.
Two officers helped hold a stretcher as the ME and her assistant gingerly lifted the victim. Then they carried her slowly toward her new temporary home---the white bag waiting on shore.
Who was this girl? She didn't know her name, but she did know that she had been someone's daughter; someone who was about to have their heart shattered and their world turned black by grief.
Death would come and it would be a welcome relief, she knew. Still, as her lungs burned, she fought. She struggled against the hand that clutched her hair and violently pushed her head deeper into the river. She fought against the panic, against the frigid water that foamed and churned with her struggle and she fought against death as if she could scratch out its eyes and bloody its face enough, it would release her. And then she grew silent, her energy spent. Her time had come. Her lungs exploded. She inhaled, flooding them with river water, her body convulsing with terror and panic one...last...time.
Anne bolted up in bed, fighting and kicking the bedspread onto the floor, her breath coming in jagged fits. She clutched her throat, a cry escaping before her hand flew to cover her mouth. The air conditioner rattled in the dark room. She welcomed the noise. Her heart rate began to slow.
When she got her bearings, she let herself move back into the dream. She searched out new details within the familiarity. This time she could still feel the icy water, even though hot sweat had plastered her t-shirt and hair to her. She also knew that the woman in the dream had been tortured. Her hands, her feet, were horribly damaged and she had the echoing emptiness of starvation.
"Who are you?" Anne whispered into the dark, musty room. "And why are you haunting me?"
As if in answer, a car alarm went off somewhere in the distance. She jumped. Her nerves were officially shot. "Damn it." Sighing, she swiped her sleeping pills off the nightstand and swallowed two with some warm water left in a paper cup.
After two hours lying, lost in her own thoughts, she got up, checked the door and window to make sure they were locked, walked to the bathroom, turned around and went back to check them again. Locked. Locked. Locked. You're safe. She pushed the stiff camel colored curtain to the side and looked out onto the dark, quiet street.
Anne had no idea what had made her keep driving through Bradenton and cross the bridge onto this island. Maybe she wanted to just keep going until she couldn't go any further. Until the ocean became a barrier.
No, it had been more than that. Something had drawn her here and she had obeyed. She remembered looking back in her rear view mirror, as she drove across the bridge, seemingly suspended over the choppy water, expecting something to be chasing her. But that was all just probably due to the things her aunts had hinted at.... things she wasn't ready to hear. She had left it all behind, whatever it was. Maybe just real life. After all, how could she not feel sheltered from the real or occult world here amid lush tropical trees and houses the color of skittles? This was a place built for escape.
#
When she got up in the morning after a blessed two hours of sleep, at some point while standing under the gentle, hot trickle of water, she decided to stay in Anna Maria. As she dried off and slipped on a fresh t-shirt and khaki shorts, she tossed the decision around in her mind. Was she deciding to stay or was she being manipulated again? Sighing, she decided not to answer her own question.
#
She'd found the address Gina gave her no problem, but Anne felt anxious as she waited in her car. Maybe it's just the heat. Or maybe it's the fact that her whole life is one big out of control mess. Yeah, that definitely contributed to the anxiety.
Rap. Rap. Rap.
Startled, Anne rolled down the car window. "Yes?"
"You Anne?"
"Oh." She eyed the tall man with the leathery, tanned face. "Yeah."
"Ah, good. Doc Tarpon." He shook her hand through the window. "Gina should be here any minute. You wanna go on up? Take a look at my rental?"
He seemed harmless enough. "Sure."
The condo sat on the first floor of a stucco peach building. When Doc jiggled open the door, Anne tried not to be visibly shocked by the faded pink carpet and lime green walls.
"Here she is." Doc grinned, escorting her around the white rattan & flowered living room couch, gesturing to his left. "Kitchen's in there. Basic cable and water's included. Go ahead, have yourself a look around." He walked to the back of the condo, pulled the blinds and opened the sliding glass door. "Look at this view, would'ja. Just spectacular."
"It is a great view," Anne said after taking a brief tour, making the mistake of opening the soured fridge and knocking her shin on an ill-placed mermaid statue. A thin strip of pavement ran in front of the dunes. Beyond that a squat sea wall and then pale green ocean met bright blue sky as far as the eye could see. Anne found herself smiling.
"Hey, you found the dump!" Gina walked in and greeted Doc with a kiss on the cheek. She smiled at Anne. "Good to see you again."
"You, too," Anne replied. And she meant it. Gina made you feel like the only person in the world when she smiled at you. Anne had no doubt that skill made her a great interviewer.
"Now you give her a good deal, Doc. Don't go trying to skin her like those tourists. She's going to be around here a while...working for the police department." Gina had her hands on her hips. Was she being serious? Anne would have bet not.
"Oh, Doc, can we do a month to month lease? I'm not sure how long I'll be staying."
Doc eyed her, rubbing his chin. "What kind of work you doing for the police?"
"Well, I'm a forensic photographer, but...I don't know." The room began to shrink. Anne pulled at the collar of her shirt. "I was thinking about just picking up some weddings, family portraits on the beach, that kind of thing." Her voice trailed off.
Gina stared at her. Anne could tell her reporter curiosity itched to dig into her personal story. She moved back into the condo and they trailed behind her.
"Plenty of folks around right now that'll pay for beach portraits. May not be good work come April, though."
"That's six months away," Gina said, opening the fridge then slamming it shut with a grimace. "Give a girl a break. You should be glad it's not a couple weeks vacation rental."
"All right, well...I tell you what, you pay the first two months up front and you got yourself a bargain."
"Oh, Doc," Gina said. "No one with any sense would call this musty old place a bargain." She stepped into the living room. "Looks like somebody slaughtered a bunch of flamingos in here."
"You just don't know style," Doc chuckled, throwing an apologetic look at Anne. "It's got a great view."
"That it does," Anne smiled. "And furniture. Which is important, since I don't have any."
"Hey," Gina glanced at her watch. "I've got an hour to kill, want to grab some lunch?"
"Sure," Anne said, surprising herself because she really did. Lately she had shied away from making friends. She had a feeling it would be harder here, to keep her distance, to not get entangled in these people's lives. Then what? Someone new would be violently ripped from the world and she would be here to bear witness? No. Not this time. This time would be different. It had to be.
Anne found herself seated with Gina at a table on the back deck of the Sandbar restaurant, the sugar sand beach spread out before them like a glittering welcome mat. Anne allowed herself a smile as a breeze played with her hair and whispered in her ear. She listened. What was she hearing though? Ancient secrets? Voices trapped in the wind over time? Warnings? Mermaid gossip? She relaxed deeper into the plastic chair, enjoying letting her mind play. This island seemed more alive to her than some of the people she knew. Under her breath she said, "Nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Anna Maria."
Gina stopped chair dancing long enough to say, "You'll love this place, best crab cakes in town. Hey," she held up her hand at a waiter inside. He waved back and motioned he'd be there in a minute. "Thaddeus Whitaker," one thin eyebrow rose playfully under dark, cropped bangs. "That one's not playing with a full deck. Don't make eye contact."
"What can I get you, ladies?"
Anne suppressed a grin as Thaddeus hung over them, his flowered shirt darkened with sweat, his beady eyes hopefully locked on her; the new chick.
"The usual times two, Thad," Gina said. Then she smacked his belly with a plastic menu. "And stop drooling all over my friend."
"Wow," Anne mouthed after he left. "Interesting. So, Doc? Is he really a doctor?"
"Actually in his former life he was a dentist. Here he's a tour boat captain."
"Former life?"
"Yeah, the people who end up staying here have either discovered themselves or lost themselves. Accountants become artists, stockbrokers become yoga teachers, dentists become boat captains," she smiled. "But don't tell anyone, it's our little secret."
Anne laughed, looking around at the crowd dining around them and playing on the beach. "I think your secret's out."
"Yeah, maybe." Her smile faded as she watched a little blonde girl run down the shoreline with a kite trailing behind her. "So," Gina reached into the big leather satchel by her feet. "Read this morning's paper yet?" She placed a copy of the Daily Sun on the table and slid it across. Anne glanced down at the front page:
SECOND MURDERED GIRL FOUND
Beneath the headline was a photo of the ME and officers, dark, solemn figures silhouetted against the pale ocean, lifting the body from the sea. It was a good shot. Tasteful yet tragic.
Anne glanced up at Gina, her mind reeling. "Second girl?"
"Yep," Gina dumped sugar into her lemon water. "Katelyn Brody, sixteen year old from Wichita, Kansas, found floating in a hotel pool six weeks ago."
"In a plastic bag, too?"
"No, nude."
"And so...why did they rule it a homicide? Couldn't she have just been skinny-dipping and drowned?"
"That's the thing. She didn't drown. There was no water in her lungs. She was dead before she hit the pool."
"Huh." Anne glanced at the paper again, her heart sinking. She scanned the article for details on the second girl, the one she'd found. "Carleigh Richter," she whispered. "Nineteen years old, vacationing with her family from Germany." It was real now. The girl in the plastic bag had a face and a name. She had a family. She had a home far away, a room; probably friends...stuffed animals, pets that she would never see again.
"They were able to ID her fairly quickly. The girl's parents had reported her missing two days ago. Bridgett, the ME, says there was no sign of sexual assault. She's ruling her death asphyxiation, just like the last girl. Katelyn's death was put on page three. We don't like to scare away our tourists, aka 'revenue,' until it's completely necessary. But...not putting this second murder on the front page would have been unethical." She folded her arms on the table. "It's time for them to lock up their daughters."
Anne felt awash in emotion. Mostly she felt rage. This kind of senseless shit always got to her. "I still don't understand why you think these two homicides are linked?"
"I can't say right now," Gina lowered her voice as Thad arrived with their food.
"Can't or won't?"
"Just trust me...they are." She wiped the sweat off a Becks Light and handed it to Anne, her expression grave. "Cheers."
Anne took a swig and glanced at the people around her. They seemed happy enough, talking, eating, relaxing...basically enjoying their time away from reality, away from bills and home-repairs; away from their offices and responsibilities. But, for how much longer?
"So, what you're saying is," she moved her attention back to Gina, "there's possibly a serial killer loose on Anna Maria Island?"
"Most likely. One more body will make it official. Next body will earn him a name, my editor's already brainstorming." She finished swallowing some crab cake and smiled. "Having second thoughts about staying?"
"No," Anne said, surprising herself again. What did Aunt Clara say about her? Always in the wrong place at the right time? Yeah, that about summed it up.
"You sure?" Gina stared directly at her now, concern tightening her mouth. "Look," she said, when Anne didn't answer. "I don't know what happened to you to make you want out of the crime scene gig, but maybe you should rethink staying here, considering..."
"How do you know I want out?"
"I've seen you squirm twice now when I've brought it up."
"Oh." Anne pushed a crab cake around with her fork. "Very perceptive of you."
"Comes with the territory."
"Well, I appreciate your concern, but I...feel like I need to be here."
"Okay." Gina watched as she stuffed a fork-full of crab cake into her mouth. "You hiding from somebody?"
Anne felt herself smile, despite the image that flooded her mind. She had wondered if it would be the murdered girl or her own past Gina would try to grill her about because one thing she had learned---reporters were always looking for a story. It was never just lunch.
"Maybe just myself." That was as honest as she could be. "Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"Detective Larson," she tried to be casual, but felt her face getting warm. "You and he have a thing?"
Gina almost spit out the swig of beer she had just taken. Then she laughed, her eyes narrowing. "Ah...if by 'thing' you mean a mutual irritation to each other's presence, then yeah."
"Oh," Anne stammered, "You two just seem...close."
"Well, you know," she shrugged, "when you grow up on a small island, everyone is family. So, sure, we're close. Brother-sister kind of close."
"Sam grew up here?"
Gina glanced away, then folded her arms and rested them on the table in front of her plate. A flicker of sadness surfaced in her dark chocolate eyes. "Yeah. He's a native. But, Anne," she paused, as if deciding if she should say anything, and then shook her head. "He's a good guy. A wonderful guy, actually. Or, at least he was. But girl to girl--he's damaged goods. Really damaged. I'm not talking jaded...I'm talking fucked up beyond repair."
"Oh," Anne felt a mixture of embarrassment and sadness. "Bad breakup?"
Gina shook her head, her lips pressed together. "Worse. But, I've said too much already. Sam made us all promise that we wouldn't speak of it. That it wouldn't be spread around as cheap gossip. I'm sorry. I'll call him a jerk to his face, but I won't betray his trust."
"You're a good friend," Anne nodded, then glanced away. "Well, I...I'm not interested or anything, not in that way. I've got enough drama in my life." She shrugged in a way she hoped was convincing. "Just curious."
"Aha," Gina's smile returned. "Well, just remember curiosity killed the cat."
"Ha ha." Anne smiled back.
Gina swallowed the last of her beer and checked her watch. "Well, I've got an interview to get to."
"Hey, Gina?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for your concern. Really, it's appreciated."
Gina's mouth turned up a bit at the corners, but her eyes grew sad. "I operate mostly on instinct...hunches. And I know when I like people." She threw her satchel over her shoulder and leaned under the umbrella. "And when I need to protect people."
Anne nodded. On some level she understood. "Okay. I'll watch my back."
Gina's larger than life smile returned. "Hey, a bunch of us hang out at a place on Pine Avenue called the Tiki Torch Friday nights. You should join us."
"Sure...okay." Anne watched Gina thread her way back through the tables, heavy with tourists, and wondered if Detective Larson would be there. She shook her head, stop it. Damaged goods, remember? Like she wasn't.
Sighing, she began to get up when she noticed a man with a graying beard and baseball cap leaning against a doorframe staring directly at her. When they made eye contact, he lowered his head and slipped into the building. Despite the warm October sun, the hair stood up on her arms. She often had the feeling of being watched, but had never actually caught someone in the act. She glanced around, feeling unsettled, realizing if there was a serial killer walking the streets of this little beach town, he could be anywhere. Anyone. She felt a touch on her arm and jumped.
"Oh, sorry." Thad pulled his hand back like he had been bitten by a snake and wiped it self-consciously on his shirt. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Anne said.
"I was just wondering if you needed anything else?"
"No. No, I'm fine...done," she took a deep breath, realizing that jumping at every shadow made her look like the one who wasn't playing with a full deck. "Thanks. I'm leaving."
The black duffel bag sits open on his bed, waiting for the new uniform to be secreted away.
People with power wear uniforms.
He cocks his head, listening to the whispers as they grow louder. The Voice is smarter than him. It tells him things he could never think of on his own.
They must struggle.
He moves back toward the duffel bag, humming. It helps to hear the sound out loud, feel the vibration in his throat. It's getting harder to know what is out loud since the Voice speaks so clearly now. He accepts this. It is his own struggle.
Even people with power must struggle.
He strokes the uniform before zipping up the duffel bag. A quickening in his chest lets him know that it is almost time.
Soon there will be another.
Even with only a few boxes and a suitcase, move-in day proved to be troublesome. Mainly because of the buckets of rain the sky dumped on the tiny island. Anne's windshield wipers pounded back and forth trying to keep up, but the world had become a sheet of gray littered with smeared red brake lights. She felt exhausted from lack of sleep and out of sorts, out of control and on edge. Maybe getting settled in a more permanent place would help. She had tried running through the deluge with a box from the parking lot to the condo, but by the time she reached her door and fumbled to open it, the wet box collapsed and her belongings fell through to the floor.
"Great."
She rubbed her shoulder. It ached and burned. Even though it had healed nicely, sometimes it still felt fresh, like if she moved the wrong way, the wound would rip open.
"Hi, you need some help?"
Anne turned to see a young girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen, tall and willowy with long strawberry blonde hair, her freckled face peering anxiously through the open condo door to her right. She pushed dripping hair out of her eyes, walked over and offered her hand.
"Hi, I'm Anne, your new neighbor," she smiled. "Sorry about the commotion."
The girl shrugged and smiled back, "You're really wet."
"Yeah," Anne laughed. A damp chill made her shiver. "Is your mom home?"
"Nope, she's at work. I'm not supposed to let anyone in but I can get you a towel or something."
"I could really use some garbage bags."
"I'll see if we have some." She disappeared inside then bounced back to the door with a box in her hand. "Here you go."
"Thanks." Anne took the box. "What's your name?"
"Roselyn Grace Meeks."
"Well, Roselyn Grace Meeks. I'll bring the box back when I'm finished." She waved and added with a grin. "Now lock your door."
Anne wrapped the plastic bags around her remaining boxes and carried them in. Mercifully dry again, Anne pulled a tee over her head noticing in the chipped vanity mirror that her eyes were starting to look like bruises. Sleeping pills were false advertisement.
After checking all the door and window locks, she dug a coffee mug and an instant coffee packet out of one of the boxes and walked into the kitchen. Water sputtered out of the faucet at first and took awhile to get hot. She eyed the kitchen suspiciously, it smelled like old grease. She made a mental note to add cleaning supplies to her shopping list. But first, she needed to make a list of things she would need for her new career choice. Flyers, business cards, an album for sample photos. She thought about Roselyn. She would ask her mother later if they wanted some free beach portraits in exchange for being in her sample book. Maybe she could do that for brides, too. Free bridal portraits until she had some sample weddings under her belt.
Leaning back into the couch, she began to relax. This could work. She could have a normal existence with a normal job, a job that had nothing to do with crime or death. She already had all the equipment she needed. Anna Maria Island was a cozy little town with great views, nice people. She might even decide to settle down here.
Anne closed her eyes, trying to squeeze out the one little detail that threatened to bring her fantasy to a screeching halt. This wasn't just a cozy little town, this was a town being haunted by a possible serial killer and she did not land here by accident but by someone or something else's design.
It was too early to try to sleep, so she switched on the TV and flipped through the channels. She stopped on a picture of Carleigh Richter and turned up the volume. The camera focused on a forty-something newswoman as Carleigh's picture moved to the top corner of the screen; a phone number scrolling across the bottom. The newswoman was saying, "The coroner will release the body tomorrow so the grieving family can fly back to Germany. Detectives are asking the public to call the Holmes Beach police department with any information about Carleigh's movements on or around Sunday evening. Now, here's Natalie with a look at our weather. Natalie."
"Thanks, Marsha. Well, folks, we're keeping an eye on Tropical Storm Oscar who may very well impact our area late next week."
Anne switched the TV off and walked out to the patio to sit. The rain had stopped and the sun once again brightened the island. Her mind moved back to Carleigh and the other girl...Katelyn. Why did Gina think the two deaths were connected? Probably some detail the police were keeping from the public. That would make sense. Both girls were found nude but not sexually assaulted. That didn't make sense. But then again psychos don't make sense. Her hand involuntary moved to her shoulder as she watched two kids run along the beach. Their laughter seemed so foreign. When had she forgotten the sound of laughter? Hell, when was the last time she'd laughed?
The doorbell rang, almost shocking her out of her skin. She shook her head. Laughter, doorbells...when did everyday life sounds begin to cause her so much anxiety? Keep it together, Anne.
"Hi!" The petite redhead at the door gripped Anne's hand, her blue eyes lit with an inner joy. "I'm Stacy Meeks, your neighbor."
"Oh, hi. I met your daughter, Roselyn earlier, thank you for the trash bags." Anne couldn't help but smile back at Stacy's slight southern twang and her obvious energy. "Your daughter is a sweet girl."
"Yeah, she can be a handful, too, though. Don't let her fool you." Her face showed nothing but pride in her little girl. "It's just me and her. Has been since her dad left us when she was two." She waved her hand in dismissal. "Anyway, I came over to see if you would join us for dinner. Nothing fancy. Just pizza I picked up on my way home from work."
"Sure," Anne said. "I'd love to. Just let me lock up."
Stacy's condo oozed warmth. The clutter of books and excess furniture, large throw pillows, jars of shells and stacks of games in the corner made it feel like a home. Roselyn beamed a hello at Anne over the large pepperoni pizza. The first thing she said was, "Do you have a boyfriend?"
"Ros, remember what we talked about? You're being nosey."
"It's okay," Anne said. "She can ask me anything. And no," she smiled. "I don't have a boyfriend. How about you?"
The girl pinked under her freckles. "Sort of," she giggled.
"Oh, really?" Stacy raised an eyebrow. "The mother's always the last one to know."
"Well, he doesn't really know either."
Both women laughed.
"Best to keep it that way," Stacy said in the tone of a warning. Then she reached over and kissed her little girl on the cheek and sighed. "Stop growing up."
"How long have you two lived here?" Anne asked.
"On Anna Maria, almost eleven years. In this place, about six. How about you? What brought you here?"
Anne swallowed and took a sip of water. "It's a long story."
"Involving a member of the opposite species?" she smiled.
"Yeah," Anne nodded. "Something like that."
"Well, this is a good place to start over." Her smile faded and she glanced out the window. "Or at least it used to be. I don't like what's been on the news lately."
"What Mom?"
"Nothing, sweetie," she turned to her daughter and stroked her hair. "Nothing for you to worry about." Her blue eyes were suddenly damp. "You've got to stop opening the door when I'm not here though, okay?"
"Oh, Mom." Roselyn rolled her eyes. "I just opened it for Anne. She's not a monster or anything."
"But there are real monsters out there," Stacy said. "Purple ones that eat little girls for lunch."
Anne smiled as Roselyn giggled but when she looked at Stacy; she could see real worry deepening the creases around her eyes. She made a mental note to ask Stacy her work hours. Maybe she could help keep an eye on Roselyn for her when she wasn't home. At least until the police caught the real monster.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Remi Marion turned restlessly and kicked the blanket off the bed. She was so done with this place. Why was it so hot? October should be crisp and cool. It should smell like wet leaves and rain...not dead fish. She couldn't figure out what her parents thought was so great about this place. The only things to do were sunbathe and shop. She was sick of both. Maybe if they would let her hang out with people her own age. That guy she met yesterday at the beach...what was his name? Brad? Brian? She couldn't remember, but he seemed cool and he'd invited her to a club in Bradenton. If her parents would just stop being so overprotective, and loosen the leash a little maybe she'd learn to like this place. They were so lame.
She sighed, listening to the whirl of the creaking ceiling fan in the dark. It didn't seem to be helping. The sheets in this crappy rental house were scratching her sunburn and she missed her friends back home. She tried to fluff up the pancake of a pillow. "Four more days," she mumbled. "You can make it four more days." She thought about sneaking out to the couch to watch a movie but it seemed like too much effort. After a bit she found herself drifting off once again.
Suddenly, she bolted up in bed, her heart pounding in her chest. She stared into the darkness, trying to get her eyes to adjust. What was that? She sifted through the fog of her half awake brain. It had sounded like something being dragged across the floor. She tried to slow her breathing so she could hear better. Pulling the sheet up closer to her chin, she stared at the hulking shadows of furniture as they came into focus. Nothing seemed out of place. There was no noise now, not even that annoying owl that had been on the roof all night hooting. Just silence. She listened so hard, the silence started to hum. The back of her neck tingled. Nothing. So, what had woken her? She had been sleeping; so maybe she had just dreamed she heard something.
Movement caught her eye to the right and she turned to see the curtain gently fluttering in the breeze. A draft blew over her bare arm and she realized too late that the window was wide open.
He was quick. Vice-grip strong. Before she could even scream, he had one arm against her throat, his hand holding a damp rag over her mouth and nose; his other arm wrapped around her, pinning her arms and torso to the bed.
Still, Remi fought. As her eyes burned, she kicked violently, squirming against his hold on her. Against the cloth she screamed, "MOM! DAD!" But no one stirred in the house. She wasn't making enough noise. This isn't happening. I can't die! She screamed louder. But no one heard her. She started to black out and she fought that, too. With one last burst of effort, she ripped a hand free and clawed at the hand covering her face. But it was no use, her nails slipped off of a latex glove. He wrenched her hand back under his arm and pressed the cloth even tighter against her face. Her mouth and throat felt like they were on fire. She tried to remember what the nightstand held. Maybe she could swing her leg around and knock off the lamp. That would wake up her parents in the next room.
"Yessss," a voice said in her ear. "Struggle. You must struggle. You have learned that life and death are both a struggle. Good girl." Coherent thoughts screeched to a halt. The darkness closed in and swallowed her whole.
Detective Sam Larson stood in the doorway of the bedroom, grinding a cinnamon toothpick to pulp between his clenched teeth and watching Lenny dust for prints. His stomach had been in a knot ever since they got the call this morning. Frantic parents with a missing sixteen year old girl.
He listened to O'Brady's interview with the parents, his eyes scanning the room hoping to find something, anything that would help to catch this guy in time. Remi could be a runaway, but his gut told him otherwise.
"Mrs. Marion, I know this is difficult, but I need you to try and remember anyone your daughter might have met, any males who may have befriended her? Anybody that harassed her?"
"I...I don't know." She wiped her cheek with a Kleenex. Her hand shook violently. "Do you think someone would hurt her? Oh god," she broke down again, her whole body racked with sobs. "I saw on the news, the girls who were killed. I told my husband we should leave." Her husband pulled her into his chest and gave the officer a worried look.
"There's no evidence of a break in here, Mrs. Marion and besides, those girls you mentioned, the ones from the news? They weren't taken from their homes. We get missing reports all the time, vacationing teenagers who sneak off the island, party too hard, and end up showing up the next day once they've slept it off. "
In a hopeful voice Mr. Marion added, "Let's pray that's what it is ...Jill, you know she's been complaining about us not letting her have any fun." He turned back to Officer O'Brady. "She wanted to go out to some club, but we wouldn't let her. It's possible she snuck out...went there anyway. I mean, she's a good kid but ya know."
O'Brady nodded. "Sure, that's possible. All right, do you have a recent picture of Remi? We know the places teens hang out. We'll show it around, see if anyone saw her last night."
"Yeah, sure." He gently released his wife and stood up. "I'll get you one."
"You know," Mrs. Marion whispered after he'd left her, "when Remi turned three, she suddenly became afraid of a monster under her bed. I would hold her in the middle of the night, my nose buried in her hair, rocking her and just thanking God that she was there in my arms, safe. Those were some of my favorite moments, those ones I got to steal at night...just me and my baby. I promised her I would never let the monster hurt her. And now..." Her eyes were wide with fear as she took O'Brady's hand. "Please find my little girl. I couldn't take it....." She shook her head, tears breaking free. "I couldn't live if something happened to her."
"We'll do everything in our power, Ma'am. I promise."
Sam Larson closed his eyes. Not much lately felt like it was in their power. When he opened his eyes, he scanned the room carefully again. The starfish patterned bed sheets were all scrunched down at the foot of the bed, but that didn't mean a struggle. That's good. Then again, the parents couldn't find anything missing...no clothes, no shoes. That was bad. He stared at the bedroom window. The parents said they were sure it had been locked when they went to bed. But there was no sign of forced entry. Which meant that their daughter would have had to unlock it and open it from the inside. And that probably meant she left on her own accord. It just didn't feel like it. There was something here that raised the hackles on his neck. Something familiar. He just wished he could answer whatever was knocking at his brain. He said,
"Hey, Lenny. When you're done in here, I need you outside."
O'Brady approached him with a photo of the missing girl.
"What'd ya think?"
Sam stared into the girl's eyes. Dark brown, full of both love and rebellion. One lock of dark hair falling over her shoulder. The dead girls had long hair, too. Not dark, though. They were blondes. Maybe that meant something. Maybe this one wasn't part of the deadly puzzle emerging on Anna Maria.
He thought about what the killer had done to the other two girl's hair of his victims and handed the picture back.
"I think we have a very short window of opportunity to find her," he whispered to O'Brady. "And if that's true, if it's the same guy, then he's accelerating the time between murders." He added. "Take the photo to the neighbors first. See if anyone heard or saw anything last night."
"On it."
"I'm ready, Sam." Lenny said.
"Let's go."
Sam and Lenny stood in the sparse grass outside the bedroom window. They had checked for shoe prints already, with no luck. Sam had put on gloves and opened the window from the edges of the pane. The screen was missing. "Okay, I want you to dust for prints on the top and bottom of the sash, where someone would hold it to shut it again. Then see if you can get a match on the prints you found inside for Remi."
Lenny nodded and then leaned over the window sill, being careful not to touch anything.
"Aw, shit," Lenny whispered.
"What is it?"
Lenny straightened back up. "Sand. On the inside of the window. Someone definitely came in the window."
Sam's head dropped. Time to call in more help to search for the missing teen. He just hoped it wasn't too late.
Anne kneeled down in the sand, holding her camera steady against the wind. "Molly, turn sideways a bit. Yes, just like that. That's great."
Molly Shillings was her first bride; a pretty, outgoing, petite twenty-one year old. Anne found herself really enjoying the shoot. She was capturing beauty and joy...not recording death and ugliness.
Molly's bright smile widened as the wind whipped her silky white dress and dark hair around. She kicked at the water playfully. Anne just kept shooting, smiling along with her, asking her questions about herself, her one year old daughter, her fiancée; where they met, what they did for a living. As the sun sank behind Molly the sky glowed with streaks of gold and orange. Anne shot silhouettes as the sun dropped further and then some close-ups with the fill flash.
"Cute tattoo." Anne motioned to Molly's ankle.
"Thanks!" Molly lifted her dress higher and posed her foot at a playful angle while Anne snapped away. She laughed and said, "I got it the first day we got here. Hurt like hell."
Anne laughed with her. Today would have been perfect if it wasn't for the dozen or so police and sheriff deputies searching the beach for another missing girl. They'd been at it all day. Patrol cars had come in from different areas, converging on Anna Maria Island to help in the search. The drone of helicopters searching from above had been a constant background to the day.
"I think we better wrap up." Anne nodded toward the line of officers coming their way.
Molly pushed her hand through her hair to hold it out of her face. "It's so sad. I can't even imagine what her parents are going through. Not knowing where their daughter is...not knowing if she's hurt...or worse. I would be going crazy if it was my baby missing."
Molly walked beside Anne back to where they'd left their shoes and bags in the sand. As Anne put her camera away, she happened to glance up at the ice cream shop. Her heart stopped. Even in the fading light, she recognized him. The man standing staring down at them was the same man she had seen after having lunch with Gina. Same baseball cap. As soon as he saw her looking, he turned and disappeared around the building.
Confusion set in. What should she do? Should she call the police? What if she was just being paranoid? Then again, what if she wasn't? Could she even describe him? How unusual was a man in a baseball hat?
"You okay?" Molly stared up at the shop. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Yeah," Anne tried to force a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. I guess watching the news recently has just got me spooked."
"You and me both," Molly slid her arms into a beige sweater. "If this missing girl turns out to be the third murder, my fiancé says we're cutting our honeymoon short and leaving right after the wedding. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind. I just want to go home and hug my little Hannah. It was hard enough leaving her with my dad. After thinking about what it would be like to lose a daughter....well, now I don't ever want to leave her again."
"Can't blame you for that," Anne said. "Mother's instinct kicking in. It's kind of hard to enjoy yourself, anyway, when you don't feel safe."
Her words echoed in her mind. Who was she kidding? She didn't feel safe. She wasn't going to be able to just relax and shoot weddings and happy brides. Not when fate kept dragging her through one crime scene after another. She wasn't remotely safe.
To take back her power, she was going to have to dive head first into the loop, be part of the solution. There would be no sitting back and staying out of harm's way for her. If harm was coming, she was going to meet it head on.
Anne sat in the front room of the police station staring at the wanted posters tacked up on an oversized bulletin board. She stiffened her resolve by repeating I can do this, I have to do this over and over in her head. But she eyed the door and thought about beating a hasty retreat. How could she purposely be around death again? She'd known many people who thrived on death and destruction, but she knew herself well enough to know she wasn't one of them. Driving over, she had noticed an increase in news vehicles from all different areas prowling the narrow streets of Anna Maria. Gina probably hated sharing her beat. She'd have to call her later and see how she was doing.
"Miss Serafini?" The receptionist behind the bullet proof window waved her over. "Miss Serafini, Captain Moretti will see you now. I just need your driver's license."
"Thank you." Anne willed herself out of the chair and exchanged her license for a visitor's badge.
When the door buzzed open the sharp scent of coffee made her crave a cup. Business first. Captain Moretti's office sat immediately to her left as she walked in. He stood and hung up his phone.
"Miss Serafini," he said, an Italian accent evident in his speech.
"Captain," Anne shook his hand.
"You come to our town at a bad time, yes?"
"It has been interesting." She took a seat in the metal folding chair in front of his desk.
"I first hear your name in the report. Terrible thing to find on the beach. Terrible for everyone."
"Very sad." Anne nodded.
"Yes, very sad. So, because I am a no-nonsense guy and it seems we have recently become much in need of a forensic photographer," his wiry gray brows pushed down above worried eyes. "I will just tell you, you can have the job."
"Oh, well thank you." Anne said. Too easy. So it's not her plan after all. The jury is no longer out. Fate's in charge of this one boys and girls.
We'll be happy to have you," he waved a thick hand in the air, as if blessing his desk. "You know, as long as there are no problems with the background check, psych eval, and so on." He smiled and reminded her of her father. "There will be no problems, I am assuming?"
"No." she returned his smile. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered about the psych eval. Sam Larson might have told him about her sleeping pills. Had he also relayed his suspicions about what she was doing with them? She'd just have to wait and see if the well had been poisoned. "Thank you."
She hesitated and then decided she better take care of another issue while she was here. "There is one more thing I would like to discuss with someone. I kind of feel silly but considering what's been happening here, I think it's worth mentioning."
"Sure." He removed thick black reading glasses and she could see the dark circles under his eyes, too. Was anyone on this island getting any sleep?
"Well, it's just that I've seen this man, twice now. Both times, was watching me and when I notice him, he disappears. He wears a baseball hat and has sort of a graying beard."
The captain rubbed his chin with a short, weathered finger. "You're an attractive woman...you sure he's just not admiring you from a distance, too shy to talk?"
"No, that's not the feeling I get."
"He makes you uncomfortable at these times?"
"Yes, very."
"Okay," he nodded. "We must take these things seriously. Like you said, at these times, we can't be too alert. You can sketch, no?"
"Yes."
"Good." He pressed a button on his phone. "Sam?"
After a pause, in which Anne felt her heart rate rise, Sam answered. "Yes, sir."
"You come to my office, please."
Anne shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Of course, he would call Sam Larson, he's the detective on the murder case. What did she expect?
It was a small station. Sam stood in the doorway before she could gather her thoughts. She could feel him behind her; the air grew warmer and smelled of his lemony, musky scent.
"Sam, come in," he urged.
Anne cringed inwardly. By the Captain's tone she knew Sam must be hesitating.
"You remember Miss Serafini?"
Sam glanced down and their eyes met. Anne felt her face flush. His eyes were the pale blue of a hot fire. Why did he seem so angry with her? Maybe he was just angry with the world, period. Maybe she shouldn't take it personally. Gina did call him damaged.
"Yes," his tone hinted at sarcasm. "So, you're still around?"
She felt herself getting defensive and tongue tied. Each response that flew into her mind would make her seem hot-headed and crazy. Not things she wanted to be in front of her new boss. Luckily, the Captain spoke up.
"Miss Serafini is going to be working with us. So, you are to take her back to the lab to meet the team."
"Why me?"
Anne felt like the kid nobody wanted on their team in kickball.
Captain Moretti seemed surprised by his question. He glanced at Anne and back to his detective, holding out his hands. "Because I ask." He stared at Sam, his eyes narrowing and then glanced at Anne again and smiled, mumbling something under his breath. "Okay, because also Miss Serafini has a concern about a man that may be important to your case. She will make a sketch of him. Okay?"
Sam rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. "Sure." Then walked out. Anne thanked the captain again and hurried to catch up. As she reached him, his phone rang.
"Detective Larson." He stopped walking and Anne almost ran into him. "Yes, Agent Thompson. Do you have something for me?" He turned around and motioned for Anne to follow.
He led her to the back of the station, past two small interrogation rooms and into an open room with four desks, each separated by a divider wall. Anne squeezed into the cramped space he indicated and took a seat in front of his desk. Papers were stacked in one corner; a monitor took up the other corner. She glanced around for any clues to his personal life, but there were no family photos, no mementos, not even a coffee mug.
"Okay. Right." He nodded as he wrote. "Yeah, that's pretty much the consensus around here, too." Anne took the opportunity to study him as he talked. His jaw muscle tensed in concentration under a gold five-o'clock shadow. His sleeves were rolled up and she watched the muscle in his forearm contract under smooth, tan skin as he moved the pen across the notebook. A sense of tight control emanated from him. A balled up soul, protective and ready to wrestle control from the universe's hands any time he thought things weren't going his way. She found herself idly wondering what he'd be like if he uncoiled.
"Okay," he grimaced and leaned back in his chair. "At least it's a direction. Thanks, Agent Thompson. I look forward to reading your full report."
He hung up his cell and tossed it on the desk. Anne watched a storm of emotions drift in and out of his eyes. His expression, however, remained chilly. He stood abruptly and slipped his phone back in his pocket.
"I have to talk to the captain. You'll be all right here?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"No." He turned away.
No? Was he just dismissing her like an annoyance he could brush off? A brief rush of anger prodded her tongue. "Detective?"
"Yes?"
"Was that a profiler?"
Hesitation, then, "Yes."
"We are on the same side, you know. Anything useful you can share?"
He stared at her for a moment, struggling with something she couldn't even guess at. Then, his shoulders relaxed and without smiling, he gave her an answer. "He's not following a majority pattern. This is an atypical killer. It makes him harder to catch."
The profiler had been right about one thing. Remi Marion's body surfaced three days after she went missing---wrapped in plastic and dumped in a private beachfront pool. Anne watched the news film footage as Remi's mother exited the coroner's office and collapsed on the concrete sidewalk. Her husband hunched over her protectively, trying to shield her from the cameras.
"Leave the poor woman to grieve in peace," Anne shouted at the TV. She flipped it off and threw the remote across the room.
Anne had done her job that morning. Photographed the crime scene, then came home, vomited, showered and sat mindlessly on the couch staring out the window. She didn't cry, though. She couldn't let herself cry. She knew instinctively that she would never recover, never get the rage and sadness back in check. If she let the tears fall, they would never stop. She had definitely lost her ability to separate herself from the crimes she photographed.
"Who are you?" She pictured a man, his face concealed behind a black hood, oversized hands, long dirty nails, reaching out toward his next victim. But, in reality, she knew, most likely, it would be someone she'd walk by in the street and never suspect. He could have a wife, a steady job, even kids. He could be a teacher by day, killer by night. She thought about the man in the baseball hat and shuddered. Whoever he was, he had to be stopped before he struck again.
There had to be something she could do, some piece of the puzzle she could put together. Fate wouldn't have tricked her into coming to Anna Maria if she couldn't help in some way.
She would find out everything the police knew. And she would have to pay better attention. She had been shocked to see that Remi's eyes had been removed. She remembered it clearly now... the ocean rolling Carleigh Richter's body over ... seeing the eye-less sockets. Had she blocked that out? She couldn't trust her own mind if she was blocking things out. She had asked the ME and mercifully she had said Remi's eyes were removed post-mortem.
She hoped he had also braided the strips of yarn and ribbon into his victim's hair after they died as well. The thought of his hands---the hands that would eventually end her days on earth--touching Remi's hair, for the length of time it would have taken to complete the task, made Anne sick.
Apparently, this showcased his signature. She knew now that was why the police immediately knew the murders were connected, even though the first girl wasn't wrapped in plastic. The ME felt he probably kept them alive for a day or two before he killed them. But where did he keep them? How had no one seen or heard them? It was maddening.
The plastic, the ribbons, removing their eyes then dumping them in water? It had to all mean something to him, fit in some way into his sick, psychotic fantasy. But what? These things were specific enough that maybe it could give them some clue to his identity.
Even as Anne thought this, she recoiled from it, rebelling against the thought of giving in and giving up control of her life to the forces she had come to see as her enemy. Fate, serendipity, destiny...whatever label she gave it didn't matter. What mattered was "it" made her free will obsolete. If she decided to give in and help stop this killer, she would also be giving up any idea her life belonged to her. Any idea that she would ever feel normal or safe. Maybe she should just skip town? Just head back over the bridge and run as far and fast as she could go. Maybe then it wouldn't catch up to her, wouldn't be able to control her.
She really hoped she didn't already know him. At that thought, a tiny pang of sadness touched her. She realized how much she had come to love this island and its inhabitants in such a short time. She felt a kindred spirit in Anna Maria. A security. It was almost like they needed each other. Anne shook her head. Ridiculous. You can't feel a kindred spirit with a sand bar.
Exhausted, she drifted off into a fitful sleep, awaking with a start twenty minutes later, her hair plastered to her neck, her heart racing, gasping for air and trying to shake off the terror of being drowned.
Friday afternoon the island buzzed with rumors and mounting fear. Captain Moretti decided to try and prevent widespread panic by holding a press conference. Anne had spent the morning, photographing the worried crowd assembled outside the police station. The Captain thought maybe the killer would show up to hear about himself. While she snapped shot after shot, Anne hoped the guy in the baseball hat would be there and she could get a picture of him as well. In the end it took hours to scrutinize the images and they came away with nothing of value.
Exhausted to the bone, Anne decided to stop at a beach shop, buy herself a bathing suit and go crash on the beach. She ended up with a black bikini that barely fit her hips. She smiled in the sallow light of the dressing room as she recognized the shape and breadth of her mother's hips. Her mother had also passed down her thick, wavy hair, long legs and penchant for anxiety. She missed her mother. Ovarian cancer had stolen her mother from her at thirteen. That same year she had had her first encounter with fate. She had saved those boys lives back in New York. Everyone had been so grateful and happy. Everyone but her mother.
She had seemed irrationally angry with her and then sad over the incident, which confused Anne still to this day. Her aunts had started saying Anne had a knack for being in the wrong place at the right time. Her mother would glare and shush them.
She wished she could talk to her mom about the terrors life held for her these days. She'd most likely be afraid for her. And somehow that idea was comforting.
While the hot sunlight soaked through her skin, a heavy breeze kept her cool and comfortable as she lay, stretched out on her belly on a beach towel. Her legs and arms felt like lead...her heart, too. The gulls crying in the distance and the rhythm of the ocean lapping at the shoreline began to soothe her. She became aware of a pulsing in her shoulder blade as the sun warmed her wound. She smiled at the idea of sunlight being magical. She'd like it if it could heal wounds that were more than skin deep. Wouldn't that be nice? She found herself melting into the sand, letting the heat pull the pain from her body, relaxing for the first time in a very long time.
Just as she fell asleep she felt the air change above her and opened one eye. A shadow hung over her.
"Anne?"
Her heart skipped a beat as she lifted her head. Sam stood there, barefoot and glorious in yellow baggies. She focused on his eyes, keeping her gaze off of his muscular, smooth bare chest and shoulders. He looked so much younger and freer with the wind tousling his hair, the sun brightening his eyes, turning them an even lighter shade of blue. "I thought that was you."
"Hi," she managed. She realized he was gaping in shock at her scar. She quickly pulled the rubber band out of her hair and let it tumble down her back, hiding the livid reminder of recent violence and sat up. A tall, redheaded young man walked up behind Sam lugging two skim boards. He eyed Anne.
"Ah, thanks, Finn." Sam said. He took one of the boards from Finn, his questioning gaze still holding Anne's. His expression had softened, as if he had forgotten his animosity toward her. "Finn, this is Miss Anne Serafini."
"Hi, Finn," Anne said, shielding her eyes so she could look up at him. "Nice to meet you."
"You, too," his gaze skipped off hers and moved to the ocean.
Sam put a hand on his shoulder. Finn didn't say much. He was obviously shy and Sam seemed protective of him. Was he a relative? Or was Sam that protective of all his friends? She could see him being the big brother type.
"Guess this part of the beach isn't as private as I thought," Anne said, pulling a towel self-consciously over one hip as she noticed Sam's gaze slide down her body. Her face burned and it had nothing to do with the sun.
"This is our favorite spot. Pockets of smooth water like lakes this time of day." He shared a smile with Finn. Anne realized she hadn't really seen him smile before. It lit up his whole face and she had a hard time taking her eyes off him. He nodded at a skim board, "Want to give it a try?"
"Who me?" She fought down the rising panic at the idea of being at the mercy of all of that water. "That's okay," she held up a hand. "I don't know how to swim, so water sports aren't really my thing."
"Everyone should know how to swim." His smile disappeared behind a darker expression. "Ready, Finn?"
Finn nodded, glancing from Sam to her, curiosity surfacing in his expression. Anne thought he seemed sad. Then again, she thought everyone seemed sad lately. She was probably just projecting her own feelings onto the world.
"Well," Sam said, flat professionalism returning to his tone. "See you around."
After they walked away Anne felt emptiness welling again. On impulse, she dug her cell phone out of her bag and called her Aunt Clara in West Virginia. Clara had become the mother figure in Anne's life after her mother died. Dad wasn't that fond of her, so even now most of their conversations were over the phone. Clara didn't answer and she didn't leave a message. What could she say? I know I haven't talked to you in awhile, no... I'm not fine but don't worry, there's nothing you can do.
She watched Sam and Finn skim board for a little while. When she started to feel like an unwanted third wheel intruding on their special bonding time she shook off her towel, packed up and walked back to the condo.
Juggling towel, lotion and keys, she plucked the sticky-note from her door. Written in black magic marker, it read: "Tiki Torch, 8:00 tonight! Gina"
She went in, locked the door behind her, balled the note up and tossed it on the table. Then she went back and checked the door lock again, sighing. Should she go? Was she ready to be led around by the nose? To her, the note might as well have been signed "fate."
She stripped off her sandy bathing suit and turned on the shower, her mind racing. Going out would give her a chance to meet some of the locals, to hear any theories that were out there. Yes, she would go. Anger boiled up inside her...indignation at seemingly being a slave to an indifferent, unknowable force.
"This better end differently," she whispered as the steam rose up, curling around her. "You want to be in control of my destiny? Then you better damn well have a fairytale ending for me this time."
Sam Larson sat at the Tiki Torch shaking his head in frustration. A dozen pages of an FBI report lay on the table in front of him and a pile of chewed up toothpicks grew by his elbow.
"He's dumped two bodies into security monitored pools and managed to avoid the video cameras. Do we really believe that's a coincidence?"
"Bastard's probably just getting lucky," O'Brady said.
"Hey guys, what's up?" Gina said, walking up. "Can I join the fun?"
Four pairs of weary eyes turned to her. Sam shook his head.
"Not tonight, Gina. This is kind of an informal meeting. No press allowed."
"Aw, come on, Sam. I promise not to be a reporter tonight."
"Sorry." He tossed another crushed toothpick onto the pile.
"Fine, I'll go sit by myself." She sighed and walked away.
"So, what do we know so far? Let's lay it out," O'Brady said.
"His abduction method is slick. Bridgett found evidence of starter fluid around their mouths. He doesn't want a fight. His motive is atypical in that it's not sexual...no assault. His victims of choice have been teen girls with long hair, all three tourists...so far. No other link has been established between the victims. He seems to hold them for twelve to thirty-six hours. He kills them by asphyxiation, removes their eyes, puts ribbons in their hair, wraps them in plastic and dumps them in water."
"Ribbons in their hair, for Christ's sake. What kind of psycho are we dealing with here?" Lenny shook his head and took a big swig from his beer mug.
"What about the ribbons? Anything useful there, Sam?"
"Nope. Standard acrylic ribbon and wool yarn. Could have been bought anywhere."
"And the profiler's report?" Lenny asked.
Sam opened the folder in front of him and sighed. "Offender displays traits found in both organized and disorganized killers. His disposal of the bodies in water may be an attempt to thwart the gathering of forensic evidence, which suggests that he is probably familiar with law enforcement or forensics. His signature pattern and post-mortem activity suggests he is acting out a fantasy and is not getting satisfaction from the actual killing, but from the completion of the fantasy. The eyes of the victims may be taken as souvenirs to relive the fantasy when the memory starts fading."
"As in...he keeps them?" O'Brady asked, grimacing.
"That's what the profiler thinks," Sam continued. "Offender is most likely a white male between the ages of twenty and thirty. The weight and height of victims chosen suggests offender is probably average height, slender but strong enough to carry the victims alone. Offender most likely lived alone with abusive father...never established a connection to a mother figure. May be of average or below average intelligence. The mutilation suggests he suffers from some form of mental deficiency."
"Yeah, no shit," Officer Williams said.
O'Brady nodded his agreement. "Okay, he nabbed the last girl from her bed. There's something drawing him to these particular girls. Does he first see them at a club? At a particular spot on the beach? Somewhere he works?"
Sam shook his head and popped a fresh toothpick into his mouth. "The last girl didn't go to any clubs, so we can rule that out."
"There has to be something they have in common that we're missing."
They all became silent, lost in their own thoughts. In the lull, Sam found himself glancing at the door again. He didn't want to admit to himself that he was hoping to see Anne. It had been ten years since he'd even thought about a woman. Why now, in the middle of this crisis? And why her? How could he be attracted to a woman who would consider throwing away her own life like tossing out the garbage? How dare she think about an easy out when there were so many women being murdered, so many women who didn't have a choice and would have gladly traded places with her, just to be alive again, no matter what kind of pain life threw at her.
But that was it, wasn't it? That's what he connected to in her, the pain he had seen etched on her face the first time she had looked up at him, the vulnerability and suffering caught in those amazing green eyes. There hadn't been a woman in ten years who had stirred his emotions. And when he felt them well up, he had been so confused. Like he had betrayed Jessie in some way just by looking into Anne's eyes. That's when the anger had surfaced. The anger is what he had intended to hold onto. At least that was familiar. But then he'd seen her back. For the love of god, what had Anne been through? He forced himself to stop checking the door. He had a job to do and it was one that deserved a lead detective who was focused on the case.
As Anne navigated the crowds on Pine Avenue, a cool breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders and gently stroked her bare neck. Warm light poured onto the sidewalks from the windows of shops. A fat, silvery moon hung above the streets. A breeze carried the sounds of distant Reggae music, rustling palm trees, laughter and conversation. What a gorgeous night. Friday night in paradise.
A paradise that had been turned into a nightmare for three families. And there would be more killings unless he was stopped. Serial killers don't stop until they're caught or dead.
Anne found herself glancing at each young female she passed. Will she be his next victim? Was there a pattern? How did he choose?
She hesitated at the door of the Tiki Torch long enough to push the thoughts away. Taking a deep breath, she stepped in. The air was cool. Large palm fans created a breeze above the patrons. . She didn't want to look around, didn't want to seem like she was searching for anyone in particular. Luckily, Gina spotted Anne right away from where she was seated under the thatched roof bar, sipping something pink and frozen. She waved her over.
"Hi," Gina grinned, patting the stool next to her. "Have a seat." She lifted her arm and waved the bartender over. "Jimmy, give my friend here one of those Moonlight Madness thingies you do so well."
Jimmy winked, drying his hands on his bulging, aproned belly. "Anything for you, darlin'."
Anne smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Moonlight Madness?"
"It's a local secret. He only makes them during a full moon," she said. "And you can only drink one."
Anne laughed. "You're going to get me in trouble, aren't you?"
Gina feigned indignation. "I don't know what you're talking about." Then she nudged her softly and motioned to the table by the door. "I actually think I may have to keep you out of trouble. Those guys have been eye balling you since you walked in."
Anne glanced over. Two of the guys raised their beer glasses. She nodded and turned back to Gina. "Locals?"
"Yeah, landscaping crew. Tony, the one in the ball cap, is the owner. They get a bit rowdy after a few rounds, but they're harmless."
The bartender returned and sat a bowl with a stem in front of Anne. She stared into its frozen milky depths at the gold specs scattered through the drink. "Wow. Interesting. Is this thing even legal?"
Gina and Jimmy shared a laugh.
"On my tab, Jimmy." Gina said. She watched Anne sip tentatively through the fat orange straw. "You like?"
Anne nodded, letting the icy coconut drink slip down her throat. "I like. Thank you." It had been a long time since she sat with a friend. She pinched her mind off at the corner of that thought. Instead she thought about the last time she had been out for the purpose of relaxing. She couldn't remember back that far. Was that even her purpose here now? No, she came here for information. She let herself glance around the room. Her glance snagged on Sam. He was in the far corner table with some other guys from the station. He was staring right at her. She felt herself flush and forced her attention back to her drink. When she looked back up, Gina was grinning.
"Have you always gone for the damaged ones?"
Anne sighed; realizing denial wouldn't work with Gina. "I am a disaster magnet, it seems." She stole another glance toward Sam's table. He had disappeared.
"Okay, let's not write you off as hopeless yet." Gina nodded toward the group of guys playing darts. "See the tall one in the blue t-shirt?"
Anne shook her head. "Not interested."
"He's a fireman and divorced," Gina added with a teasing smile. "Messy one, too. She was a real psycho. I'm sure there's some damage there."
Anne laughed. "Wow, you must have the dirt on everyone in this town."
"Yeah, I love my job." Gina sipped her drink.
"So," Anne said, her heart sinking as she saw Sam emerge from the back room with a woman at his heels. "Who's the blonde?"
Gina followed Anne's gaze. "Oh," she rolled her eyes. "Princess Mia Meyers. Channel Four news anchor. You don't know who she is?"
"No."
"She would be crushed," Gina said. "Anyway, they dated in high school...Sam and her. She's still hooked on him but don't worry, tonight he's in cop mode. This killer's got them all worked up." They watched Sam shake his head and walk back to his table as Mia still tried to talk to him. She threw her hands up, straightened her back and walked away.
"See?" Gina smirked. "One track mind."
Anne watched Sam slip back into his seat. She recognized a few of the other cops she saw at the station, Williams, O'Brian and Lenny, part of the forensic team she had met. "So, they're discussing the murders?"
"Yep. Sam kicked me out of the circle tonight. No press, blah blah blah. I'll tell you one thing, though, whoever this asshole is, he picked the wrong town. Sam Larson won't stop looking for him until he's in a cell or in a hole in the ground."
"Makes you wonder why he did pick this town."
"We're just lucky I guess. Maybe we won the serial killer lottery or something." Gina frowned. "It makes sense in a weird way. We have a steady buffet of tourists. Families on vacation with their guard down...young girls just looking to have fun---talking to strangers is all part of being in a new place."
"So, you think he talks to them beforehand?"
"I don't know. This last one, Remi?"
"Marion, Remi Marion."
"Yeah, Remi Marion. She was the first victim taken from her house. So, he must have spotted her somewhere and followed her home. I doubt he spends his nights going around checking random bedroom windows hoping to find one left open with a sleeping teenage girl inside."
"Have you heard any of the theories being thrown around?"
"Everyone's got an opinion. This is such a transient place, new faces every day. The perfect place for a killer to waltz in unnoticed. I did get Sam to tell me yesterday that the FBI doesn't have any matches in their database for these types of murders. And the fact that he seems to be adding something new with each murder seems to add weight to the theory that we've got a budding serial killer, not a pro."
"But, he could have killed before anywhere in the world and then waltzed in here like you said. America doesn't have a corner on crazy."
"True." Gina waved as Doc came through the door.
"How's the place treatin' ya?" Doc grinned at Anne as he came over and put an arm around Gina.
"No complaints," Anne smiled, distracted. She sipped her drink as Gina and Doc talked, her mind going over everything she knew about the killings so far. Why risk going into a house where the parents were home? There had to be something specific about Remi that was irresistible to him. What is it about these particular girls that make them targets? Why does he need the bodies to be found? Is he proud of them? Then why throw them in water? Why not just leave them in a public place? Maybe he figured the water would wash away any evidence he might leave behind. No. That just didn't seem right. The water had to have meaning for him. Sick, sick, sick. Anne felt her stomach turn.
"You owe me a game." Doc walked away, heading for the pool table against the far wall.
Gina nodded and then eyed the dark haired guy sitting two stools down, blowing smoke rings into the lights beneath the thatched roof above them. "Excuse me," she leaned forward onto the bar. "Can I bum a smoke?"
"I didn't know you smoked," Anne whispered.
"Only when I'm drinking." She grinned and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level, "or need a conversation starter."
The man slid a cigarette from his pack, brought it over and held it out to her in silence. Gina put it between her lips and he lit it, the flame flickering for a moment in his light brown eyes.
"Thanks," Gina said. "I haven't seen you here before."
He looked from her to Anne and his tongue rolled across his teeth. He smiled softly and held out his hand. "Brian."
"Gina," she took his hand, exhaling a stream of smoke. "My friend, Anne." Anne smiled politely, hoping this wasn't a ploy on Gina's part to set her up.
"Nice to meet you, ladies."
Anne glanced at him. He looked young, maybe mid-twenties, but he had a sharpness to his demeanor that made him seem older.
"Where you from?"
"Upstate New York originally. You?"
"You're lookin' at it. I'm a lifer. Vacationing with family?"
"No."
Anne realized Gina actually seemed interested in this guy. She decided to give her some space. "Where's the ladies room?"
"That way." Gina pointed back at the doorway the blonde anchorwoman had disappeared through.
"Be right back." Anne felt a bit light headed as she slid off the stool. The Moonlight Madness must be setting in. She made a point not to look at Sam's table as she slipped into the hallway.
The restrooms were on the right but she noticed the hallway opened up into another room. She peeked in. The room held two more pool tables, a couch, some overstuffed chairs and a big screen TV. She spotted Mia Meyers standing against the wall holding a pool stick, watching another lady take her shot. She was pretty, petite, well put-together and confident. She wondered what had happened between Sam and Mia. Why wouldn't Sam be interested? If he was so damaged that he wouldn't even talk to a seemingly perfect woman like Mia Meyers, Anne certainly didn't have a shot in hell. She shook off the thought in irritation. Focus.
Someone turned up the TV to hear the weather report. A wisp of a weather woman stood in front of a projected map with angry lines moving up through the Gulf of Mexico and curving into Florida.
"Oscar is on the move again. After stalling for three days, this late season storm is now a Category One Hurricane. It is expected to strengthen as it moves into the Gulf next week. Here are some projected paths."
"Wahoo! Waves!" Some guys at the other pool table started high-fiving each other.
Anne made her way back to the bar. She thought about Molly's wedding next Saturday, would the hurricane affect their plans? She wanted to ask Gina about what to expect from a hurricane, but she wasn't at the bar.
Sliding back onto her stool, she glanced around and spotted Gina dancing with Brian over by the jukebox. Jeeze, Gina, what are you doing? There's a serial killer on the loose. Not a good time to start picking up strangers at a bar. Anne stirred her melted drink and listened to the music.
She felt someone slide between the stools beside her and looked up.
"You're too pretty to be sitting here all alone."
Anne took in the gold necklace, inflated ego and arms in one glance and smiled politely. "I prefer to be alone tonight, sorry."
His smile morphed into a leer as he leaned in closer. His cologne made her want to gag. "I find that most women don't really know what they want."
"Is that so?" Anne's polite smile faded.
"Well, think about it. How could you know you wanted to dance with me before I came over?"
"I don't want to dance with you."
"Hey," Gina said, suddenly standing beside her, eyeing the guy. Her arms were crossed. "What's up?"
"Nothing. This gentleman's just going back to wherever he came from," Anne said.
"Aw, come on," his slurred words rose in volume. "One dance. I'm not asking you to get married or anything. I just want a dance."
"No." Anne felt herself tensing up.
"She said no, buddy. Beat it." Gina's eyes were blazing.
"Who are you? Her mother?" He turned on Anne, his face reddening. "You think you're too good to give me one goddamned dance? Well, you're not. Come on." He grabbed Anne's wrist. Before Anne could react, the guy's face slammed into the counter.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he shouted.
"Shut up," Sam ordered. He applied more pressure to the guy's arm he had twisted up behind his back. Sam glanced down at Anne, his eyes moving from her face to her wrist. "You okay?"
She nodded.
"Do you want to press assault charges?" The guy struggled and Sam pushed his face harder into the bar.
"Easy man. You a cop?"
"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Sam asked.
Anne blinked and looked at Gina, whose expression morphed from surprise to amusement. Anne also realized that everyone else had stopped to watch the commotion.
"Not if he leaves the bar."
"You heard the lady." Sam lifted him off the bar by the back of his shirt and walked him toward the door. They both disappeared outside.
"Well, well, well," Gina said under her breath. "That was interesting."
Anne shook her head, rubbing her wrist as everyone resumed whatever they were doing. "Interesting?"
"Yeah, interesting the way Sam went all 'knight-in-shining-armor' on you."
"Well, he is a cop."
"Aha," she nodded. "But I've seen him react to situations like that with much less anger and violence. He was pissed."
"Yeah, well, like you said...these murders are getting to everyone."
"I think he likes you."
Anne turned to her in surprise. "No. He has made it quite clear that he doesn't."
"What makes you say that?"
Anne sighed, too drained now to decide how much or how little to tell Gina, so she just spit it out. "When I first met Sam at the crime scene, he found my bottle of sleeping pills. He got mad and made a rude comment along the lines of me having a choice of whether I wanted to live or not. I guess he thought I was planning to off myself with them."
"Were you?"
Anne shrugged. "I don't think so. I mean, it did cross my mind. Before I came here, I...lost a friend in a terrible way. So, I can't say that I've been the most stable person these last months, or if I'm even aware of what I'm capable of. But, I really don't think I would actually do it. I just can't sleep. The pills don't even help. Anyway, he's been giving me the cold shoulder since then."
"God," Gina almost laughed. "You two are a mess. I can see why he'd get the wrong impression of you. But, you know what?"
Anne gave her a sideways glance. "What?"
"I think you should talk to him. Tell him your story. Tell him yours and just maybe he will tell you his."
"Why?"
"Why?" Gina nudged her and grinned. "Well, I'm going to let you figure that part out on your own."
"Hey," Anne looked around. "Where'd your mister dark and mysterious go?"
"Oh, he had to go check on his elderly father."
"His father? Or wife?" Anne raised an eyebrow.
"Who knows." Gina twirled her empty glass. "That's his story. He lives near Tampa, but his father lives alone at the Brady Mobile Home Park here. His dad's been really sick the past few months so Brian's been spending more time visiting him here."
"The last few months?"
"I know what you're thinking," Gina glanced at her. "But he really doesn't seem like the serial killer type."
"They never do."
"Well, I'm either going to get a date or a story out of him then."
"I hope you're joking." Anne studied her face.
Gina winked, her eyes glittering with mischief. "I'll be careful."
He rarely sleeps. She waits to terrorize him behind his closed lids. She sleeps in his mind, her eyes haunting him as he drifts off into the dark. He hates sliding into his toddler body, standing naked and cold in puddles of dirty water. He shivers to see his feet, tiny and frail on the cold linoleum. He reaches out with a shaky right hand. He wants something desperately, something that is right in front of him. He pulls himself up to clutch at the edge of a bathtub. He peers over the edge. What he wants, what he needs is there, floating in red-tinged water. She sees him; her dark green gaze snagging him and holding him prisoner. He can't run.
She smiles and whispers to him. She knows he is scared. He tries to hear her words above the rush of white noise screaming in his ears.
"I'm not afraid," the ghost whispers. Her calm eyes seem separate from the confines of the pale oval floating in the crimson water. Those eyes. They hold him hostage. "Don't cry for me. God has given me wings. I'll be free now. Don't cry."
The ghost slips into the water, its long hair waving like transparent fish tails around it. He reaches out and touches a tiny finger to a pink ribbon tangled in her hair. Her eyes hold him even as she gasps and convulses, releasing a few bubbles as she sinks to the bottom. Then she is still.
Gone. Flown away on wings from god.
He falls back onto the wet linoleum, his bare bottom burning and then going numb as he rocks and rocks, trying to get the eyes out of his head. His mother's eyes.
Big boys don't cry. Big boys don't cry.
Anne tossed and turned, drifting in and out of shallow sleep, wrestling with familiar nightmares. A name kept surfacing with every episode of semi-consciousness. Katerina. Green eyed Katerina, drowning nightly in her dreams. Anne knew the dreams had to be telling her something, she just wished she knew what it was, and who Katerina was. She stared at the moonlight through the blinds until her heart stopped pounding and she could drift off again.
Turning over and untangling her hair from her damp neck, an odd noise brought her completely out of sleep. She sat up and propped herself up on one elbow, letting her eyes adjust.
What was that? It sounded like a shuffling noise outside her bedroom door. Maybe she had a mouse? She stared at the crack under the door and all the blood rushed out of her head as a shadow interrupted the moonlight from the living room.
Someone stood right outside her bedroom door.
A brief moment of relief that she always slept with her door locked washed over her, pushing aside the terror enough to allow her to act. She tried to breathe quietly into her constricted chest as she reached for her cell phone on the nightstand. The doorknob shook. Oh god. She realized if he got into the condo, he could get into the flimsy bedroom door and her body began to tremble.
She grabbed the phone and slid off the bed, almost falling as her legs gave out. She stumbled into the dark bathroom, locking the door as quietly as she could behind her. She stepped into the bathtub and pressed herself against the wall behind the shower curtain, trying to breathe and dial.
"911. What's your emergency?"
"Seascape Condos on Gulf Drive. apartment 142." Her voice shook uncontrollably and bounced back too loudly at her off the tile. She heard the bedroom door pop open. "Hurry!" she whispered. "Someone's broken in."
He shook the bathroom door knob now and she heard a grunt of laughter.
"Oh, god. Please hurry."
"Hang in there, Ma'am, we have units on the way. ETA is seven minutes."
The bathroom door burst open. Anne stifled a scream and pressed herself into the wall. She could see his shadow through the curtain.
"Come out, come out wherever you are," he growled. A cold chill ran up her spine. She was trapped.
She glanced frantically around the shower. She dropped the phone and grabbed a bottle of shampoo just as the man in the baseball cap ripped open the shower curtain, bringing them face to face. She gasped. His teeth were bared like an animal's; his eyes bulged with rage.
Screaming, she squeezed shampoo at his face. He roared, wiping his right eye with the back of one hand and punching her in the face with the other.
"Stupid bitch," he spat as she fell back into the tub.
A sharp pain shot through her scalp as he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her from the tub. She felt the kick to her ribs as fire. She fell to the floor gasping, unable to breathe.
This was it. Her life was on the line. She could die right here in this bathroom. Adrenalin rushed through her and, as he pulled her to her feet, she brought her elbow back and swung upward with all her strength, connecting with his nose. He stumbled backwards into the sink, blood gushing in torrents. She managed to get around him and back into the bedroom. If she could just get to the front door.
Holding her ribs, she willed her jellied legs to run. Go! Please. Go! But it was like running in water. As she reached the bedroom door, he pushed her violently from behind. She flew through the air into the living room, and slammed head first into the end table. Scrambling to get up, her knees buckled. She slipped to the floor, still conscious but unable to move. She could hear her pulse in her ears. Blood dripped freely from her head and face, soaking into the faded pink carpet.
He stood over her, one foot on each side of her, his own blood dripping onto her chest from his broken nose. She stared into the barrel of a gun pointed at her head.
"What do you want?" she choked out, despair washing over her.
"Revenge," he said.
"Revenge?" Revenge for what? Think, brain, think. The room spun wildly. She wanted to close her eyes. She tried to focus on his face and not the gun. He shook with rage. Who was he?
He cocked the gun. "You're the bitch who killed my brother, Bobby."
Bobby? Oh god. No. Her heart pumped wildly. "Please," she whispered. "Please."
"Did my brother beg for his life?" He asked between bared teeth. "Did you think about showing him mercy?" He swiped at his bloody nose with a forearm. "I doubt it, but I'll tell you what. I'm a merciful guy. I'll give you a chance that you didn't give Bobby. I'll give you a chance to pray for your soul."
Anne's skull began to pound with the steadiness of a jackhammer. She rolled her head to the side and tried to think. Nothing came to her. Nothing she could fight him with lay within her reach. Anne just stared.
"Well, go on, Bitch. Beg for forgiveness. This is your last chance before I send you to your Maker."
She opened her mouth. She should stall him. Keep him talking. The hell if she would beg for forgiveness for killing Amanda's murderer. That's not how her last moments on earth were going to be spent.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. She tensed her body, taking a deep breath and looking up into his hate-filled eyes. He had the same eyes as his brother. "I'm so very sorry, that your brother...was such a psycho!" Her foot came up and smashed him hard in the groin.
He stumbled backwards, vomiting and clutching himself.
"FREEZE!" The command came with the sound of breaking glass from the sliding door.
Anne saw the gunman turn, his face red, eyes wild. She saw him raise his gun and fire at the sliding glass door. She heard him screaming at the intruders, telling them to back off. She heard a voice telling him to drop his weapon. He continued to fire. She saw blood spray from his chest as a loud bang stopped his threats. Everything else happened in slow motion, the shouting, the window being smashed further, the blur of legs rushing past her, the sound of a gruff voice radioing for an ambulance and the hands...... time came back to normal as gentle hands pushed back her hair and blue eyes full of concern looked at her inches from her face and told her it was over, it was going to be okay.
"He's not the killer, Sam," she whispered before she drifted off into the darkness.
The world felt strangely silent. Anne stirred, moving her feet under the sheets and opening her eyes. The room blurred. She could only open one eye. A nurse checked her blood pressure.
"How we feeling?"
Anne turned her head toward the voice and winced as a sharp pain grabbed the back of her skull. "Where am I?"
"Blake Medical Center in Bradenton," the nurse answered, moving her face in front of Anne and smiling. "You've been here for about six hours. You have broken ribs, some stitches, a slight concussion and a nasty shiner on your right eye. Do you need some more pain medication?"
"No," Anne said. It all flooded back now, the breakin, the fight with Bobby's brother, the gun...the police saving her in the nick of time. She began to shake.
"Are you cold?"
"No."
The nurse tucked another blanket around her anyway. "There's a detective who has been waiting. He asked us to tell him when you regained consciousness. Do you feel up to talking to him?"
"Okay." She felt detached from herself. Everything that had happened seemed like a distant nightmare.
The nurse patted her arm and left. A few minutes later, she heard the door open again and Sam came in. He didn't say anything. She kept her gaze on the ceiling, afraid to move her head too much. She heard a chair being pulled up closer to the bed.
"That was quite a cavalry," she said.
"We weren't sure who we were dealing with." Sam Larson's tone had softened, he seemed tentative.
"He's not the serial killer. I know who he was. How did he get in?" she asked, her mouth like cotton.
"Glass cutter. He must have been watching, waiting until both of your neighbors were gone."
She rolled her head to the left, feeling the pain roll with her, and met his eyes. His face darkened as he looked at her black eye. "Much pain?"
"Not really." A flash of him pushing her hair away from her face and telling her it was over, it would be okay. Her mouth twitched. "Is he...?"
"Dead. Yes." He leaned forward and shifted in the chair. "I need to ask you a few questions. You feel up to it?"
"Yes."
He took out his notebook and she heard the rustle of paper as he flipped through it. "We identified the assailant as Mitchell Taulb. You said he's not the killer we're looking for and we think you're right. There was nothing similar about the attack. Was this personal?"
"Yes." Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, the words were hard to push out.
"Was this the guy you sketched? The one you thought was following you?"
"Yes."
"But you didn't know him?"
"No." She tried to clear her dry throat. Sam poured some water from the pitcher and raised her bed a bit so she could drink. He held the plastic cup carefully to her lips and she took a few short sips. "Thank you."
He put the cup back on the tray and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, so you didn't know him, but he knew you?"
"Yes." She answered, blinking, trying to keep her vision clear. "I killed his brother, Bobby Taulb."
Sam stared at her for a moment. She could see his cop training kicking in but it still seemed to take him a heartbeat too long to say, "Go on, please."
So this is how she would tell him her story? Okay, here we go.
"Before I came here I worked for the Chesapeake Police Department in Virginia. About eight months ago, I went to Chesapeake General to photograph an assault victim. Her name was Amanda Taulb. Her face was barely recognizable as human. Her husband had pummeled her. I visited her every day in the hospital after that. My heart broke when she got released and went back to Bobby---the bastard who beat her." Her voice cracked and she squeezed her good eye shut for a moment. "He terrified her, but they had a child and the child was his leverage. We kept in touch and became friends.
"Six months after she was released from the hospital we were sitting around in her kitchen having some coffee and watching Ava, Amanda's two year old daughter, finger paint with some oatmeal in her high chair. Amanda had called me because Bobby hadn't come home the night before...his absences had always been bad news and she was scared. I had just convinced her to get out of the house, to come with me but then..." she choked. She had managed to keep a distance between herself and the memory of that day, but now that she brought it to the surface, grief poured into her brain and chest like molten lava. "Oh, god, Amanda," she felt the hot tears come, soaking her cheeks. Sobs began to wrack her body. Sam leaned into the bed and took her hand gently between his.
"I'm sorry this is so painful for you." He let her cry and when her sobs became weaker, he pressed a wad of Kleenex into her hand and helped her sip some water. "You okay?"
Anne nodded. "She loved her daughter so much. She would have done anything to protect her." She took a deep, shaking breath. "Bobby walked in, still drunk. He had this smile on his face. I looked at Amanda and she had gone white. Ava started crying and Amanda went to get up to comfort her. Bobby grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back into the chair. He said something like she needed to take care of him first. I could see her trying to stay calm, but her eyes kept darting to Ava, who was screaming for her mommy. Amanda tried to plead with him but that only fueled his anger. He hit her in the mouth. She started screaming, 'Stop, Bobby, stop it.' He went insane and began raving, screaming, telling her to shut up, yelling at the baby to shut up.
"Amanda and I made eye contact. I knew she wanted me to protect Ava. I don't know what ran through her mind, maybe she was trying to give me a chance to grab the baby and run? She threw her coffee in Bobby's face and then swung the cup at him. He grabbed her by the throat, pushed her onto the table and picked up a knife from the counter. I was torn. I didn't know if I should grab the baby and run or stay and help Amanda. That's what she would have wanted me to do...get Ava out of there but, I couldn't just let him hurt Amanda either. When he lifted the knife, Amanda screamed and I reacted...I dove on top of her, protecting her face and chest. The knife came down into my back. I didn't feel it, I only felt his rage. He lifted me up by my hair, tossed me across the room and out of his way. I wasn't the one he wanted to kill. I landed by the stove and suddenly remembered that Amanda had told me she had had hidden a gun under the muffin pans in the bottom tray. It was our only chance. As I fumbled around for it, the baby screaming, him yelling...I realized Amanda had gone eerily quiet. My hands were shaking. I held the gun in both hands to keep it steady and peered through the sweat running into my eyes at Bobby. He turned and raised the knife to the crying baby, shouting at Ava that she was just like her momma. I heard someone else screaming and realized it must have been me because he looked at me, startled.
"Blood, there was so much blood, everywhere...sprayed across the walls, across him and Ava. Amanda lay sprawled out on the table, her white t-shirt and hair soaked in blood. Her face was turned toward me; her eyes staring past me, vacant. I knew she was gone. He said, 'This is family business bitch, don't interfere.' As he brought the knife down toward Ava, I pulled the trigger. I shot him. The knife fell onto the baby's highchair tray, bouncing to the floor. He clutched at his throat, more blood running through his fingers. I've never seen so much blood. I slid across the floor and pulled the highchair away from him. He couldn't hurt her anymore, though." She finally glanced at Sam. He shook his head slightly, giving her time, waiting to see if she was done.
"It's only been two weeks since the inquest. I was in the hospital for most of the investigation. I was cleared, they ruled it self defense. "
"I'm sorry you had to go through all of that, and had to lose a friend in such a horrific way." Sam squeezed her hand.
"Thanks. I'm sorry that Amanda won't see her little girl grow up. Ava's with her grandparents, but who knows how much she'll remember? It's a tragedy all around."
"Knock knock?"
Anne turned her head gingerly. Gina peered around the door. "Am I interrupting?"
They both stared at her for a moment, bringing themselves back into the here and now. "No," Anne said finally, clearing her throat. "Come on in. I think we're finished."
Gina came across the room with a vase of daisies, put them on the tray by the bed and gave Anne a careful hug. "How are you? Wow! Now that's a fat black eye."
"I'll live."
"Well," Sam moved for the first time in a while. "I'll let Gina visit. Thanks for cooperating."
"You don't have to run off on my account, Sam." Gina winked at Anne.
"It's okay. I've got paperwork to get done. Is there anything else I can do for you, Anne?"
Anne turned back to him and tried to change her anxious expression. She wasn't sure if her swollen face obliged. "If you could make sure Bobby doesn't have any more psychotic brothers, that'd be great."
He rewarded her with a soft smile. "I'll see what I can do."
"Aha," Gina teased. "Now what was that all about?"
"I told him my story." Anne adjusted herself in the bed, wincing. "Part of it, anyway."
"Does part of your story involve the man who just tried to kill you?"
"Yeah."
"Well, Jesus, Anne...you really are a disaster magnet. I'm glad you're ok." She shook her head, her large brown eyes full of empathy. "So, you up for telling your story again?" she asked.
"On or off the record?"
"Well, it would make a great human interest story."
Anne thought about it for a moment. She could give Gina this. "In some ways it's not my story; a lot of it belongs to my friend Amanda. But I think she would want other women to hear it. To let them know the monsters their mothers warned them about...really are out there."
It's been five days since he saw her in the window of La Femme Shoe Shop, her foot propped up on the windowsill as she admired a new suede green sandal. The light caught her ankle as she sat there smiling, her soft hair draped over a petite shoulder. He stopped in his tracks, staring. She smiled up at him through the window, then went back to admiring the shoe. A true miracle, the way God put signs on the women he needed to save.
Anxiety tiptoes in now. What if she discovers what he has done? What if he can't get her alone? What if he fails his mission?
"That is not an option."
He nods. He doesn't know how the Monarch talks inside his head, but he is used to it now, used to listening for the Voice and obeying. Who is he to try and figure out God and his Messengers? All he knows is his work is important and powerful.
"I understand." One thought. One Voice. One mission.
He lights a Camel and watches the smoke disappear in the wind.
He lounges on a bench between two giant banyan trees, resting like any tourist taking a break from a moonlit walk. His vehicle is parked for the fourth night behind the cluster of two story bungalows where she's staying. He tries to be patient. He knows God will create an opportunity for him to take her. He saw the sign. She is one of the chosen. He just has to be patient.
There are still a few stragglers riding bikes and walking back from enjoying a pretty sunset at the beach. An elderly lady leading a tiny white dog comes too close to him and he tenses, wondering if she can hear the Monarch, too. The Voice has been so loud lately.
"Shhhhh."
She glances at him and tugs on the dog's leash to walk wide of him.
He uses his polite voice to say, "I'm sorry, I wasn't talking to you."
Both lady and dog hurry away, but he doesn't worry about them. He has to stay focused.
The darkness thickens and the air cools as Anna Maria Island moves deeper into night. It is almost time. He can feel it. He tenses as the man steps out of the bungalow, gazes up at the stars, stretches and walks down the sidewalk and around the building.
This is it. His chance. He crosses the street and follows the man around the side of the building, watches him get into his car, back up and drive away.
He pulls latex gloves from his pocket and moves to the back window of Bungalow #6. He can see through the curtains that the bedroom light is off, but the bathroom beyond is lit up. He lifts the window just a crack and puts his ear to the opening. The shower is running. Perfect. With one final glance behind him, he pushes the window open wide and slips in.
Anne opened the door and stepped in. The blinds were pulled and the air was heavy. The space felt violated. She forced herself to close and lock the door, then moved around the edges of the condo, checking the locks. When she checked the lock on the new sliding door a chill traveled the length of her spine. Shivering, she hugged her sore ribs. A lemony smell lingered. She'd have to thank Doc for cleaning up. He'd even taken away the tacky statues. She smiled ruefully to herself. Small miracles from tragedy. Gina'd enjoy that.
A note had been tacked to the fridge:
'Call me as soon as you get home. I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you. Love, Stacy.
Ps. I put some left over lasagna in the fridge. Merlot on the counter.'
The gesture brought unexpected tears. She blinked them back. Great, now I'm going to cry over everything. She opened the bottle of Merlot and poured herself a glass. Halfway through the glass, she got the courage to pull the blinds and let in the Monday afternoon sunlight. Squinting, she stood at the sliding glass door, double checked the lock and tried to soothe herself with the ocean view. Her focus kept shifting to the reflection of her swollen black eye in the glass. What a mess. What was she doing? If this was the way her life continued---finding trouble wherever she went--she wouldn't survive much longer. A dull ache in the back of her head made it hard to think. She just felt lost, broken...and alone.
Going back to the kitchen for Ibuprofen, she decided to try her Aunt Clara again. She listened to four rings and then her Aunt's voice on the answering machine. Sinking into the couch, she sighed.
"Hi, Aunt Clara, it's me...Anne. I haven't talked to you in a while. Wondering how you're doing. I'm fine. In a charming little beach town in Florida called Anna Maria Island. Well, I guess that's all. Just wanted to say I miss you. Call me back, okay? I still have the same cell number."
Thumping shadows haunted her as she tried to rest, twisting and turning on the couch until a sharp pain startled her to full consciousness. She winced and sat up, holding her ribs and pushed her palm against her damp forehead. Could she feel any worse? She probably shouldn't tempt fate by asking a question like that. Fate. What a bitch.
Carrying the half-empty bottle of merlot to the kitchen, she filled her glass with tap water and popped another Ibuprofen. The clock said 6:15 pm. She sighed. She didn't have a shift at the police station until six tomorrow night. She didn't feel like going out or staying in. Opening the refrigerator, she eyed the lasagna. Nope, not hungry yet. She needed a shower, but the thought of stepping into the room where she had been attacked appealed to her even less than food.
Mindless TV. She settled back onto the couch and flipped on the news, Channel 4, hoping to feed her curiosity about Mia Meyers.
Instead, another breaking news story punched her in the gut.
"Police are asking for your help in this missing person case. Molly Shillings is a twenty-one year old Kansas native, reported missing by her fiancé Steven Ruckmeyer late last night. Anyone who witnessed any suspicious activity around the area of Second Street and Palmetto last evening is asked to please call Holmes Beach Police Department or Crimestoppers immediately. Foul play is suspected."
"No." The bottom dropped out of her stomach and out of her world. Molly's portraits would be ready to be picked up tomorrow. Molly's contagious smile in her bridal portraits; her joyful spirit wrapped in a wedding dress shining against the sunset; her baby daughter waiting for her at home. "No, this can't be happening."
Anne got up, her insides trembling. She grabbed her phone and keys. With no idea what she could do, she had to do something.
The police station was in chaos, surrounded by media vans and satellites, packed with tired, over-caffeinated cops and rumpled reporters waiting in the lobby. The receptionist threw her a sympathetic smile and buzzed her in. Sam sat at his desk with his fists pressed into his forehead. Joe O'Brady sat across from him, his hands folded and resting on his stomach.
"You didn't call me to photograph the bungalow?" Sam looked up at her sharp tone. Anne held up her hand. "Sorry, didn't mean it as an accusation." Molly being missing just made her so angry. At least shooting the crime scene would have given her something to do so she could feel like she was helping. But she knew taking it out on Sam wasn't fair.
Sam waved it off. "No worries." Frustration etched deep lines across his forehead. "No, the captain thought you needed a day to recover. I agreed."
Anne tried to hide the surprise she felt at his soft tone by lowering her eyes. Nodding at O'Brady, she leaned against the dividing wall.
"Jesus," O'Brady said, staring up at her face. "That asshole really did a number on you."
Anne suddenly felt self-conscious. She had forgotten how bad she looked. "I'm okay." She pushed her hair behind her ear and tried to swallow her fear and rage. "Sam, I know Molly. She's getting married this weekend. I shot her bridal portraits. I have to do something to help find her. I can't...the next time I take her pictures I want it to be at her wedding, not..." she couldn't finish the thought.
Sam took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, glancing at O'Brady. "Okay. Here's what we know so far. Her fiancé, Steven Ruckmeyer, returned from a trip to the grocery store around 9:45 p.m. to find their rental empty, the shower curtain torn off its hangers. The only thing missing besides Miss Shillings was a white cotton robe. Seems he used the same point of entry as the last time. An unlocked bedroom window. Crime techs found no prints on the window, no evidence of a break in or struggle besides the shower curtain. He's efficient. In and out."
One thing really bothered Anne. "Let's go back to the window. Doesn't it seem a little too coincidental that the women he goes for leave their bedroom windows wide open for him?"
"Yeah, we were just discussing that point. That's just it, they don't." Sam said. "Each victim's family was surprised the window was unlocked. He only used an open window once before, but it seems to be becoming part of his pattern."
"It's possible he's unlocking them himself somehow?" Anne crossed her arms, barely registering the pain that rippled through her ribcage. "Someone like a landlord who has a key?"
"It may very well be an inside job," O'Brady said. "But not a landlord, we know the landlords of both places. Long time residents in their late seventies."
"Yeah," Sam sat up straighter. "Maybe not a landlord but a worker. O'Brady, you get hold of Remi's parents. See if there was any work done on the place while they were staying there. Anything...plumbing, painting, a salesman who asked to use the bathroom, anybody who had access to the home during their stay. I'm going to call Mr. Ruckmeyer."
"You thinkin' someone slid in and opened the window in preparation for the kidnapping?"
"Can't think of any other way a window would get open that should've been locked, can you?"
"Nope. I'm on it." O'Brady got up, giving Anne's shoulder a light squeeze as he slid by her. Hope began to stir in her chest.
Sam opened the folder in front of him and scanned it with his finger, then dialed a number, pencil poised at the ready.
"Mr. Ruckmeyer, this is Detective Larson. If you could please return my call as soon as possible, I've got an important question for you. Thanks." He hung up and sat staring at the open file. Anne could see a vein throbbing in his temple. Her heart went out to him.
"What can I do, Sam?"
He looked up, shaking his head. "Everything that can be done is being done. We've got four counties of officers and dozens of local volunteers searching every hotel pool, combing the beach, wading through the sea oats on the dunes, we even have two dive teams checking lakes."
"So, you think it's too late?"
"His MO has been to kill them within twelve to thirty-six abduction." He glanced at the clock. "It's been twenty-two."
Anne collapsed into a chair, her head bowed. She felt so helpless. There had to be something she could do. "So," she said finally. "I guess the age of the victim isn't really a factor for him then."
"No. Molly wasn't a teenager. She was small, though. Easy to carry."
"That can't be the only reason he targeted her. Why her?"
Sam's phone buzzed and he picked it up. "Sam Larson." He leaned back in his chair. "No, no news, I'm sorry. I just had a quick question for you. Has there been anyone inside your bungalow since you've been there? Any workers or work being done, casual guests of any kind?" His face fell. "Okay, well, sorry to bother you, Mr. Ruckmeyer. I'll be in touch."
"Nothing?" Anne asked.
"Nope."
They sat in silence for awhile, both wracking their brains for a different angle.
Sam's phone rang again. He answered it quickly. "Yes, Mr. Ruckmeyer?" He sat listening for a moment, his eyes moving from his desk to Anne. "Thank you sir, we'll speak with her right away." He hung up. "Mr. Ruckmeyer said there's a maid who comes every other day. She's got a key."
"A woman?"
He shrugged. "Worth talking to. Maybe she's got a psycho boyfriend." He stood up and slipped a tan suite jacket on. "I'm going to find her."
"Can I come?"
"Sorry." He gathered up his phone and keys.
"I have to do something. Tell me what I can do."
"Do you pray?"
She stared at him. "Do you think it will help?"
He shook his head as he moved away from the desk. "No, I don't. But it couldn't hurt."
Only a few inches of empty space separated them. Anne could smell the cinnamon toothpick he gripped between his teeth; she could see his ghostly white lashes framing his troubled eyes. For that split second, as their eyes met, she didn't feel so alone. She hoped he felt that way too.
Anne found herself restless and driving around the island. She knew she couldn't just sit around and wait, but she had no concrete idea of how to help find Molly.
Making her way down Gulf Drive and taking a slow right onto Pine Avenue, she scanned the clusters of people milling about the shops, hoping by some miracle, to see Molly safe among them. The road ended with no miracle.
Anne steered left onto North Shore Drive, looped around and turned left again, following the two lane road as it curved along the edge of the island.
The sun had already disappeared below the horizon and a bright orange dusk mutated into darkness. She flipped her headlights on. Time rolled on at the speed of light. With every second that ticked by, she felt her frustration building as Molly slipped further away. Where are you, Molly?
As she headed back toward Gulf Drive, she noticed activity along the road. Police and volunteers moved in groups from house to house, knocking on doors, poking at overgrown bushes, checking pools. There had to be something she could do here. She just needed to find a place to park.
A lime green hotel caught her eye. As she scanned the lot for a parking space, a man stepped out of a room and headed for his car. She realized something looked familiar about him. And then it came to her. He was the guy Gina had been dancing with at the Tiki Torch. Brian, the one with the sick dad.
Brian had told Gina that he'd been coming to the island for a couple of months. Something about the way he looked around the lot before getting into his car told Anne she needed to follow him. She tailed his black sports car, being careful to keep some distance between them. If he came to Anna Maria to take care of his sick father, why wasn't he staying with him? Or why wasn't he staying in a better hotel? What was Brian hiding?
This could be one of those times she happened to be in the right place at the right time. At least she could steer Gina away from this guy if he turned out to be a liar. Or if he turned out to be worse, maybe she could save Molly in time. He did tell Gina he'd been coming to the island for a few months. Coincidence? Either way, she had to find out the truth about him. To save one friend or the other.
After about a mile, his tail lights flickered. He slowed down and then sped up before suddenly veering into a gas station on the right.
Crap. She had to keep going. She couldn't be obvious and drive in behind him. She pulled off onto the next side street, turned off her lights and waited. He had either noticed her following him, or he was used to checking for a tail. She scrounged around in her back seat, wincing as her ribs protested, and found a straw beach hat. Twisting her hair into a bun, she tucked it all up under the hat. She moved her car back further from the main road and went back to waiting. If she was lucky enough to pick him up again, she didn't want him to see her and bolt before he led her to Molly if that was where he was going. She breathed a sigh of relief when he came into view. She waited for two cars to pass before she pulled back out into traffic. Ten minutes later, they were turning onto Key Royale Drive.
Anne kept her distance as she watched him park and walk toward the boats. She parked on the other side of the sand lot and then got out and quietly threaded her way through the cars. Hiding behind a white van, she peered out. Brian was talking with a short, stocky guy in a suit. Boats rocked gently in the bay behind them.
"Hey, you're Anne, right? What are you doing?"
Anne jumped at the sound of her name and stumbled backwards, falling out into the open, her hair tumbling out as the straw hat landed behind her. She glanced at Brian. He was staring straight at her. Great. Blown. Now what?
She peered up at Finn, the tall, redheaded young man she had met at the beach with Sam. He stood frowning, gazing down at her.
"What happened to your face?"
Involuntarily bringing her hand up to her black eye, she glanced back over at the two men as they boarded the boat and pulled away from the dock. "A really bad guy happened."
"But," she smiled up at Finn, shaking her head. "I'm okay. Except for being a complete idiot." She stood up and dusted the damp sand off of her shorts.
"Was Sam very upset that you were hurt?"
Anne didn't know how to answer that. Did Sam talk about her to Finn? Were they that close? She said simply, "Sam and the other officers actually saved my life."
"Hmm." Finn nodded. "That's good. Real good." He stuck a key in the van door while grinding out a cigarette with his sneaker.
"Oh, is this your van?" She leaned back, reading the side: BARB'S BEACH BOBBLES
"My mom's."
"Oh, I've seen Barb's, it's that little jewelry shop on Pine Avenue, right?"
"Yeah. I don't have a car. Gotta drive hers." He had the door open, but seemed reluctant to get in. "Um, please don't mention me smoking to Sam, he doesn't like it...."
She had a sudden urge to give him a hug. He seemed so awkward, so uncomfortable in his own skin. She wouldn't want to go back to being a teenager for anything. Painful years.
"Sure. Okay." Anne turned to watch the little fishing boat Brian had boarded cut through the dark waters of the narrow pass. It made a wide arc, a white trail of foam following in its wake as it banked around the island and out of sight. She couldn't see a name or any markings on it. She sighed. "You like boats?"
"Yeah. We've got one. I take care of it." He pointed toward the left of the marina at a blue boat. "It's an old aluminum cabin cruiser. My uncle left it to us last year. I just finished painting it."
"Not bad." Anne nodded.
"It's a good place to think. Well, I've got to get the van back."
"Okay, Finn. Take care."
Anne walked out onto the dock and sat down. She stared in the direction she'd last seen the fishing boat. Where were they was Brian going at night? Not fishing, that's for sure. Neither man had been dressed for handling fish. Since he'd done nothing when he saw her following him, she didn't think Brian was the killer, but he still seemed wrong somehow to her. But with no actual evidence, it would be hard to explain to Sam what she meant by wrong. Maybe she should talk to Gina about it. As the water lapped at the rocks around the dock, she had a better idea. She would wait and see if Brian mentioned to Gina that Anne had followed him. If he did, he had nothing to hide. But if he didn't...he was keeping secrets. She just hoped for Molly's sake they weren't the deadly kind.
By Wednesday evening Anne was a wreck. She had been so preoccupied with the search for Molly; she hadn't paid much attention to the category one hurricane headed for the island.
Anna Maria had been a frenzy of activity for two days as residents boarded up windows, tied down anything likely to blow away, shut off water and electricity, emptied pools, filled sandbags and secured boats. The Manatee county sheriff's department drove through the streets using loud speakers to give evacuation procedures. Anne could hear the announcements through the condo walls.
"This is not a drill. Evacuation is in progress. Please follow the blue evacuation signs toward a Bradenton designated emergency shelter." Rinse and repeat.
She didn't want to leave. The search had been called off and they still hadn't found Molly three days after her abduction. Anne felt like she was abandoning her.
Anne stepped out onto the patio, the wind whipping her hair and making her eyes water. The sea looked angry, foam crests upon churning waters. Since no body had been found, maybe Molly was still alive. Maybe her little girl still had a mother. Maybe there would still be a wedding, something to celebrate. She held onto that hope as she went through a mental checklist and zipped her suitcase.
Toothbrush, check. Extra clothes, check. Phone, phone charger, check. She had unplugged everything as instructed, turned up the refrigerator setting and taped the glass in the windows. She was as ready as she'd ever be. She stepped into the hall and locked the door.
Roselyn sat on her purple suitcase, all scrawny legs and long braids, clutching a worn bear.
Hey, there." She gave her a smile. "You ready?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"You seem sad. You okay?" Anne kneeled down beside her.
"Yeah, it's just I don't like hurricanes. The wind is so loud. They mess up everything. Mom says we have to be prepared for the island to get flooded." Roselyn's eyes filled with tears. Pink blotches formed under her freckles.
"We shouldn't worry about things before they happen. Besides, this is my very first hurricane. And I'm scared, too."
"You are?"
"Yep. It's okay to be scared. But, we're going to a really safe place to ride it out. It'll be like an adventure, like camping."
"Okay."
She didn't seem convinced. "Can I ask you a favor?"
"Yeah."
"If I get really scared, will you hold my hand?"
Roselyn laughed and hugged Anne. "Okay."
"You gals ready?" Stacy appeared in the doorway, an overstuffed book bag thrown over her shoulder, blanket and pillows shoved under her arms.
"Ready." Roselyn slipped her hand into Anne's and they were off.
#
They crawled through the island streets with the other evacuee traffic, leaves and debris flying around them. Anne eyed the vacation homes boarded up with metal shutters or plywood. Her car rocked violently with each gust, the wind roaring around them, whipping palm trees back and forth. Anna Maria seemed angry. Like maybe if she ranted and raved enough, she could shake the killer from the island. Anne silently cheered her on.
Finally, after almost two hours inching forward in traffic, they made it to the mainland and headed to the Purple Parrot. Gina had told Anne that some of the island locals went to the Parrot during evacuations.
Anne said to Roselyn, "Gina says the Purple Parrot is a good strong building and overall it'll be much better than riding out the storm in a stuffy school or church building with the snowbirds."
Stacy laughed. "So true!" Then she directed Anne to a parking garage a few blocks away.
"We'll walk from here. Can't leave your car on the street, there'll be stuff flying all over."
Anne's car was a 91 Camry, not a Mercedes. But still, she didn't want to have to deal with broken windows or worse, so she parked it inside. They all grabbed their things out of the trunk and walked silently to the Purple Parrot.
Besides the boarded up shops and sidewalks empty of both umbrella tables and people, there were other changes, as well. Anne could feel the storm building. The air was charged and thick with promises of the fury to come. The gusts were stronger now. A ceiling of smoky grey clouds sped overhead. Anne's mind went to Molly and she felt a stab of anxiety. If by some miracle she was still alive, she hoped she was indoors.
The large picture window in front of the Purple Parrot had been covered with plywood. Someone had spray painted 'Oscar sucks' below another storm's crossed out name. Anne slipped her Nikon out and snapped a couple of shots.
The place was packed and loud, but it was nice to step in out of the wind. The flat screens behind the bar were turned to the local news, the screens blaring coverage of the angry red and green bands of Oscar moving toward them at 13 mph.
A lumbering, gray haired man in Bermuda shorts and a white t-shirt sporting the Purple Parrot logo greeted them.
"Haven't seen you around much lately, sweetie." He gave Stacy a quick squeeze.
"Been working, Jerry. You know how it is." She motioned to Anne. "This is my new friend, Anne. Anne, this is Jerry. He owns this rat hole."
Jerry chuckled as he took Anne's hand. His hand was warm and sweaty and he had the grip of an honest man. Anne liked him immediately.
"Hi, Anne." Jerry dug in his pocket, pulled out a tootsie roll and offered it to Roselyn. "Ole' Jerry didn't forget about you, Ros. Good lord, you're taller than your mom now! Hey, your friend Shelly came in with her mom a little bit ago. I think they set up camp in the back by the pool tables."
Roselyn grinned as she accepted the tootsie roll. "Thanks."
"Shelly's a lovely girl." Stacy said to Anne, watching Roselyn lope off to find Shelly. "Thanks for having us, Jerry."
"No problem. You just let me know if you need anything. Nice to meet you, Anne."
Anne smiled, "You too."
Gina came out of the back room and waved.
"Hey, you." Gina came over and gave Anne a hug, being mindful of her ribs. "How you feeling? The black eye is starting to purple, that's good, really brings out your green eyes." She chuckled.
Anne smiled back. "Thanks. I guess."
"Any time. Hey, come help me carry some buckets of water into the bathrooms. You can stow your stuff behind the bar."
"So, why are we doing this?" Anne walked behind Gina trying not to spill the heavy bucket.
"Incoming!" Gina yelled into the men's room, pushing the door open with her foot. She held it open for Anne. "Because we will most likely lose the ability to flush. Which, when there are this many people in one place, is catastrophic." She pushed the bucket against the others lined up along the wall and Anne followed suit. "These are for manual flushing. If you pour the water quickly into the bowl, it does the rest."
"Ah."
"Come on."
Anne followed Gina to the kitchen and chaos. Pots of boiling water steamed up the room, a few guys in dirty aprons were dragging in boxes from the back door, a dozen or so other guys were scurrying around, pouring ice into big freezers, stacking crates of water bottles, peeling, chopping and wrapping various fruits and vegetables. Jerry yelled orders to everyone at once.
"Hey, Jer!" Gina yelled over the noise. "What else needs doing?"
"You pass around the donation plate?"
"Yeah, Jer. Simon has it."
"All right. That's it for now. Thanks, now go sit your ass down and tell Simon to make you something on the house."
Gina shrugged and pivoted around to Anne. "You heard the man," she said. "Let's go join the party."
"What's so funny?" Gina eyed Anne as they sat at the bar watching Oscar's progress on the flat screens.
"Well," she lifted her wine spritzer off of the bar. "When you said 'hurricane party' I didn't think you actually meant party."
Gina laughed. "We gotta do something to kill the time."
Anne could only nod.
After a while, Gina nudged her shoulder. "You're thinking about Molly Shillings aren't you?"
"Yeah." She turned to her. "Why do you think they didn't find her yet? Do you think she could still be alive?"
Gina searched Anne's face and shook her head. "I don't think so hon, I'm sorry."
It would have been nice to hear Gina say she had hope, but Anne realized she would have known it was a lie anyway. "Her fiancé must be going crazy. And her little girl..." the words stuck in her throat. She swallowed them with a sip of wine spritzer. "Why hasn't she turned up?"
"You know what I think? I think there were too many cops and people around for him to...you know, leave her anywhere. Volunteers were all over every pool on the island."
Anne suddenly recalled Brian leaving with that man on the boat. What if Molly's not on the island at all? Should she tell Gina what she suspected? No, but maybe she should call Sam and ask him to check out the boat and Brian's hotel room.
"You're right, with so many people on the alert he'd have to be more cautious." And then, as if she had conjured Brian by thinking about him, he walked through the front door.
"Oh, hey!" Gina's face lit up as Brian walked a frail man in bedroom slippers over to them. "Hi, Mr. White. I'm so glad you made it."
Brian gave Gina a kiss on the cheek and turned to Anne. "Hello."
"Hello." Anne gave him a speculative look. So, he did have a father here? And Gina had obviously been seeing Brian. They seemed very familiar with each other. Interesting. Had Brian said anything to Gina about Anne following him to the dock? As soon as they were alone again she'd ask Gina. Anne held her hand out to his father. "Hi, Mr. White. I'm Anne."
The old man clutched Anne's hand between both of his, his head wobbling a bit on his neck. Yellowed, watery eyes searched her face. "Call me Walter. That's some shiner you've got there. I hope the other guy looks worse."
Anne could only offer a thin smile. Brian rescued her. "Come on, Dad. I'll find you a place to rest and then go get your things from the car."
"Oh, go ahead, Brian." Gina stood up and put an arm around Walter's rounded shoulders. "We'll get your dad situated. You go get his things."
Brian nodded and, as he turned to go, his gaze raked Anne's. She ducked behind Gina. Yeah, he had definitely recognized her on the dock. Well, game on. His move.
They kicked some teenagers off the couch in the back room and got Walter settled in.
"What can I get you?" Gina said over the noise of clanking pool balls and the TV.
"Water, please."
"Be right back," Gina said.
Anne perched on the end of the couch by Walter's feet, watching the latest information on Oscar. The hair on her neck stood up when she felt hot breath in her ear.
"Playing amateur detective, Anne?"
She leaned away from him, keeping silent. After a few heartbeats he moved away chuckling. She looked up at Brian's grinning face.
"You seem amused."
"I am amused," he said, piling his dad's things up in the corner between the couch and the wall. "But I get it, you don't trust me and you want to look out for Gina. Don't worry, I won't say anything. You're a good friend."
"Thanks." Anne eyed him warily and hoped the conversation would end there, before he figured out that it wasn't just Gina she wanted to protect. She didn't like the fact that he had turned this around and now held a secret over her. She would have to tell Gina herself.
"Here ya go." Gina returned and handed Walter a chilled water bottle.
"Time for a pill, Dad."
Brian squeezed Gina's shoulder as he moved around her to rummage through Walter's bag.
Anne spotted Roselyn playing checkers with Shelly at a table across the room. Perfect reason to get away. She needed to think. "Hey, I'm going to go check on Roselyn. Be back."
After talking to Roselyn, Shelly and Stacy for a few minutes, Anne slipped into the bathroom. It was stuffy and reeked of Pine sol, but offered solitude. She washed her face, grimaced at her deep purple eye and pulled her hair up into a loose ponytail.
Away from the noise, she could hear the wind gusts blowing against the building and the rain beating on the roof. Mother Nature played the part of the big bad wolf rather convincingly. Huffing and puffing, blowing houses down. But Anne knew the big bad wolf was a man. A man who would continue ripping lives apart on Anna Maria Island until somebody stopped him.
Did she really think Brian was the serial killer? She listened to the roof rattle and moan. No answer there. He seemed to be the only person fate kept leading her to. She was so used to running from fate, she wasn't sure how to recognize the signs when she stood still. She glanced at herself one more time in the mirror. Well, you're just going to have to learn.
Anne stepped out of the bathroom and ran smack into Sam.
"Oh, hey," she said. "I thought you'd be working."
"I am," he answered. "I was coordinating search and rescue but I got a lead and wanted to check someone out." He glanced behind him as a couple pushed past him in the hallway. The guy put a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, Sam."
"Hey, Marcus. You get the dogs to the shelter?"
"Yes, sir."
Sam nodded and leaned into Anne. "We'll talk later." He moved into the back room. Anne tagged along behind him.
Sam walked over to Gina. She introduced him to Brian and his dad. Anne watched Sam's expression as he shook Brian's hand. Was he the one Sam was there to check out? If so, Sam hid it well.
"You play pool?" Brian asked.
"Not very well," Sam answered.
"Good, let's play for cash, then."
Sam barely smiled as he motioned to the pool table. "After you."
"Boys." Gina rolled her eyes. "You all right here by yourself for a bit, Walter?"
"Don't you worry about me. I'm not as frail as I look. You get me up on my feet and I'll take both those boys' lunch money."
"Well," Gina folded her arms, holding back a grin. "Now, you better not move from there or Brian will not be happy with me."
"He doesn't deserve a nice girl like you anyhow." He waved a hand, his false teeth making an appearance with a wide smile.
"You stop flirtin', Walter." Gina leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Come on, Anne. Let's go finish our drinks."
Gina went behind the bar, grabbed a notebook out of her satchel and slid onto a barstool next to Anne.
"What are you working on?" Anne asked.
"Oh, I'm just taking some notes. I'm always assigned the fluffy hurricane human interest piece, while Burton Mills and his little protégé Covington get to cruise around getting the real stories outside during the storm."
"So...let me get this straight," Anne leaned her head on her hand, watching Gina's intense scribbling on the pad. "You would rather be driving around in ninety mile an hour winds, on flooded roads with boats flying at you than sitting here in the safety of a bar with food and water?"
"Yeah." Gina shrugged.
Anne shook her head. "Brian makes so much more sense now."
"Brian?" She still didn't look up.
"Yeah, you like danger. That's why you're dating Brian."
"Oh." She paused to take a sip out of her sweating wine glass. "Nah, I'm just sleeping with him."
Anne stared at her. "You're joking, right?"
"Nope." She finally looked up. "And why do you think he's so dangerous anyway? He's very charming."
"So was Ted Bundy."
Gina laughed and clinked her glass to Anne's. "To knowing the difference between charming and dangerous, then."
A chill ran up Anne's arm as she finished her drink and glanced around the bar. Really, the killer could be anyone, even someone in the room with them right now. She wished she knew who Sam had come here to investigate.
The power flickered and then cut out, plunging them into darkness. The assemble crowd
moaned their displeasure.
"Lanterns, boys!" Simon shouted from the bar.
Battery powered lights winked to life around the room. The effect was eerie, all blue light and shadows. The wind howled, louder now without the drone of the televisions. At last report, the hurricane had made an unexpected turn east, a bit of good news for them. It wouldn't be a direct hit. If what they were experiencing was the outer bands of Oscar, Anne would be happy to avoid the rest of him.
Anne felt new prickles of anxiety as something large thudded into the building. She leaned over to Gina. "So, this building is pretty safe in these kinds of winds?"
"Yeah, don't worry. Jerry keeps his place up to date with the newest hurricane codes. That's why he opens it up as a shelter."
"The only thing we have to worry about is a tornado. Nothing you can do to prepare a building for those bastards."
Gina turned on the burly man nursing a beer beside her. "Hush, Bill. We'll be fine. You trying to scare the poor girl?"
"No, I'm just sayin'."
"Well, don't. Drink your beer and mind your manners." She turned back to Anne and winked. "We'll be fine."
Simon plopped a battery powered radio up on the bar. It crackled as he tuned it to a channel with hurricane coverage. They were talking about flooding along the coast and reporting pier damage at Longboat Key.
"Well," Gina slid off the stool with her notebook. "I'm going to go get some interviews before these local yokels get too drunk. Be back."
"All right," Anne said, spotting Sam finally alone. She slid off the stool and made her way over to where he leaned against the silent jukebox, deep in thought.
"Hey, Sam."
He offered her a tired smile. The dim lighting cast deep shadows beneath his eyes. He looked haunted.
"Any luck?"
"Not sure," he said after a deep sigh. "I'm not feeling good about it."
"Can you fill me in?"
He glanced around. No one stood near them. "Well, I found the maid who cleaned Steven and Molly's place. She says about four days before Molly was abducted, she was vacuuming the living room and she saw a man slipping out the back door. She never saw his face. He was wearing a black baseball cap and a brown jumpsuit with some kind of bug on the back. She figured the landlord had called an exterminator and didn't think much of it."
Anne got chills. "An exterminator. Do you have a suspect then?"
"There are three extermination companies on the island. The owner of the building says he uses Pest-X about twice a season. But he said they weren't scheduled to come out that week. Vick Grady and his son run Pest-X. They're both here." He motioned to a table under the boarded up window. "And not too happy about the questions I had for them."
"So, what do you think? Is it possible one of them is the killer?"
"They said they were together in a bar the night Molly disappeared. After the storm passes, I'll talk to the bartender and try to verify their alibi. I've known Vick for a long time. He coached our baseball team in high school. He's got a temper; given his son more than a few black eyes. But, still, I would be shocked if it was him." He sighed. "But I don't want to rule anyone out too soon."
"I thought maybe you were looking at Gina's new friend, Brian."
"No, Gina just asked me to hang out with him, see what I thought. He seems like an all right guy."
"Oh."
Sam focused on Anne's face. "You don't think so?"
"Well, I don't know that much about him. He told us that he has been visiting the island for a few months, seems like about the same timing as the first murder. And," she hesitated. "I followed him the other night."
"You what?" Sam moved closer to her. "Anne, you can't do stuff like that. You're going to get yourself killed."
For some reason his concern made her mad. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
Sam moved in really close and reached up, gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing her bruised eye. "Oh really?"
"Yes," she said, but with less certainty. The unexpected touch made her feel vulnerable.
He caught himself and withdrew his hand.
"Well, if you're going to insist on putting yourself in the middle of dangerous situations, you should at least take some self-defense classes."
She wanted to say that she wasn't putting herself in the middle of anything, that she had no choice, that some unknown force in the universe used her, moved her around like a goddamned chess piece...but she would just sound like a crazy person. "That's actually a good idea," she said instead.
"One of Vick's competitors is a guy named Bradley Stark. He's not a local, but he's been here about three years. He's at the end of the bar over there." He nodded. "He's kind of a loner. No girlfriend. When he's not killing bugs he spends most of his time fishing at the pier or out on his boat. I'm going to talk to him next."
"Brian took off in a boat when I followed him. Met some guy on the dock. The whole thing seemed fishy to me. Also, he's staying in this run down hotel when he looks like he could afford better. Seemed odd."
Sam crossed his arms. "You really don't like this guy?"
"You think I'm just being paranoid?"
Sam blew out a deep breath. "No. I need all the leads I can get. All right, thanks for telling me. I'll keep him in mind."
"Thanks." Anne said, feeling more relieved than she had expected to feel. They both looked up as the roof moaned and crackled from the assaulting winds.
"Hurricane clips, don't worry," Sam said.
Anne nodded. "I'm not...worried. I just didn't know wind could be so loud."
Sam looked worried enough for both of them, but she didn't say anything.
"Let's go to the bar, I'll buy you a drink and it'll give me an excuse to strike up a conversation with Mr. Stark."
"How could a girl resist an offer like that?" Anne followed Sam back through the bar, trying not to step on any toes in the dim light. She noticed people had settled down, their collective voices a background hum in the room. The air was heavy and the room was beginning to smell like stale beer.
Some folks had already moved tables and rolled out sleeping bags. A group of guys were still trying to play darts in the gloom. The table by the door had a poker game going; a few people were sitting in front of the lanterns with open books. All in all it wasn't a bad way to spend a stormy evening.
When they reached the bar, Jerry and a few kitchen guys were emerging from the back carrying trays of sandwiches and fruit.
Sam slid into the stool next to Bradley Stark and held up two fingers to Simon.
"Coming up, Sam."
Anne took the stool to Sam's right, stealing a glance at the man to his left.
He had unkempt sandy blonde hair that just touched his wide shoulders. His profile was classic; straight nose, full lips. He could have been attractive, except for the hard lines deeply etched into a face that seemed too young for such wear and tear.
Simon sat a beer and wine spritzer on the bar, clearing the empty mug at the end in one fluid motion. "Can I get you another, Brad?"
Anne watched as Brad glanced at the bartender then continued cleaning his nails with a small pen knife. "Sure."
"How's business, Brad?" Sam asked.
"Business is great, Detective." He didn't look up. "One thing Florida doesn't lack is goddamned bugs."
"Where are you from?" Anne leaned on the bar to look past Sam.
Brad glanced up and stared at her too long for comfort. His eyes were hazel stones, clear and unblinking. She felt very much like a bug under his gaze.
"Maryland. What happened to your face? Your boyfriend get a little rough with you?" He grinned.
"I fell." Anne saw Sam's knuckles turn white as he wrapped his hand around his mug. He must have caught it too; the way Brad enjoyed the thought of her getting hit.
"So, detective," he slipped the pen knife into his t-shirt pocket. "How goes your business?"
"Not too good, Bradley." Sam took a long pull from his mug and shook his head, shifting in his seat to look the exterminator directly in the eye. "I'm sure you've heard we've got a killer on the island. It's making people a bit nervous."
"Yeah, seems like these dead broads are all anyone's talking about." He sighed. "I don't know what the big deal is. Everyone dies eventually. At least those girls are getting their fifteen minutes of fame."
Anne almost choked on her drink. She glanced at Sam. His jaw muscle twitched.
She could only imagine what it cost him to choose to ignore that comment. "You don't have any family, right Brad? You live alone?"
"That's right," Brad said, swallowing a mouthful of beer.
"Can you tell me where you were Tuesday evening, around nine?"
"Last Tuesday? Yeah, I can. I was at the dock, fishing."
"Anyone see you there?"
"Am I a suspect, Detective?" He straightened up, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"Not yet."
He laughed. "I suppose anyone on the dock would have seen me. I don't pay attention to who's around though." He seemed about to turn back to his beer. "Oh, wait, I'm not sure what time it was, but I did see that redheaded freak that you're always palling around with. He was washing that shitty blue eyesore of his when I was leaving."
"Okay," Sam said. "That will be easy enough to check out. Finn's here, I'll ask him if he remembers seeing you." Anne and Sam both watched his reaction. He didn't seem to be worried.
"I don't think Brad would be stupid enough to make comments like that if he was the killer." Anne said as they went to find Finn.
"Then you may be giving him too much credit."
They found Finn in the back room, playing cards with his mother and Bobby Hutchins. Gina had told Anne earlier that Spina Bifida had Bobby wheelchair bound, but it hadn't affected his cheerful disposition.
"Who's winning?" Sam rubbed Finn's shaved head. "Nice buzz."
"I am," Bobby grinned.
"Not for long," Finn laid a pair of Kings on the table.
"Aw, damn it." Bobby rocked his head back.
"Bobby Hutchins, you watch your mouth in front of ladies," Finn's mother said.
"Yes, Ma'am."
"You going to introduce me to your friend, Sam?" Finn's mother eyed Anne with open curiosity.
"Barb Stuckey, Anne Serafini." He waved his hand between them. "Anne, Barb."
Barb lifted herself off her chair enough to offer her hand. She was a husky woman, late fifties, silver hair hanging past her shoulders in two girlish braids. Her eyes were dark and warm. "Nice to meet you, Anne. She shook Anne's hand and glanced back at Sam with a raised brow. "I hear they got you doing Big Rob's job? Shouldn't make a young girl take pictures of such things."
"I was a forensic photographer before I came here," Anne said.
"Oh that's right. I read your story in the paper. Real sad, what happened to your friend. I don't know how you can do what you day after day. Do you actually get used to seeing dead bodies?"
"No. Not really. In some ways it gets harder."
"Well, here look at me, I'm being rude." She moved her chair closer to Finn and motioned to two wooden stools against the wall. "Grab a seat and join us."
"Hey, Finn," Sam said as he got settled on a stool. "You remember what you were doing last Tuesday night, around nine?"
"Probably washing that boat," Barb chuckled. "He's obsessed with it. Even sleeps on it lately. Thinks he's going to sail around the world with it one day."
"Yeah. I was at the dock," Finn answered, ignoring his mother.
"Do you remember seeing Brad Stark there?"
Finn shuffled the cards, thinking, then passed them to Sam. "Yeah. He was there fishing."
"Do you remember what time you left?"
"He has to have the van back by ten now," Barb said.
"All right, that helps. Was he still there when you left?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"You didn't see what time he got there by any chance?"
"No."
"So, the question is," Sam turned to Anne, talking low. "Would Brad have had time to take Molly, hide her somewhere and go sit on the dock where people would see him, giving him an alibi?"
"He would have had about thirty minutes. Why wouldn't he go somewhere more populated, though?"
"Because he didn't want to do anything out of the ordinary? He fishes down there regularly, that's what he does, so that's where he'd want to be seen."
"Are there any surveillance cameras at the dock?"
"Nope." Sam kept shuffling the cards. The hair around his face was dark with sweat.
Anne pushed her own damp hair off her forehead and raised her voice a bit to address Barb.
"It's getting warm in here."
Barb nodded. "Yeah. That's the worst thing about having no power during a hurricane. No air conditioning. And we can't even run a fan or crack a window."
Sam smiled at Finn and Bobby as he dealt the cards. "So, what else is going on, boys?"
"Well," Finn slouched down in his chair. "I used mom's credit card on Ebay. She's mad so I can't drive the van for a week."
"Finn!" Barb snapped. "That's family business. Sam is not a priest, you don't need to go confessing your sins to him and burdening him with our family problems!" Everyone stared at her, surprised at the angry outburst. Barb looked flustered and tried to smooth things over. "I just mean, Sam's got enough on his plate right now."
"It's okay, Barb," Sam stared at her, his jaw working a toothpick. "Finn knows he can tell me anything. You know that, too."
"I know." She turned to Finn, her mouth softening, her eyes still intense. "It's just some things don't need to be talked about. This is a small town. You don't want folks thinking bad things about you do you Finn? Holding their purses tighter when you walk by and stuff like that, right?"
"No," Finn answered. He didn't seem bothered by her outburst.
His mother watched him for a long moment and then her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. You're a good kid, Finn." She glanced at Sam. "He's a good kid."
"He's not a kid anymore, Barb."
Anne glanced at both of them when she heard the mixture of grief and reproach in Sam's voice. Sam seemed to have a larger emotional investment in Finn than usually came with the role of mentor. Could he be...? No. Finn looked nothing like Sam. And besides, Barb was easily twenty years older than Sam.
She glanced back at Finn. He was slouched in his chair mumbling something to himself. She smiled. Nope, wouldn't want to go back to being a teen for anything.
One of the kitchen guys brought over a tray and gave them all a sandwich and fruit cup. They pushed the cards aside, listening to the roaring winds pound the walls around them, eating in silence.
Anne began to feel claustrophobic. The warm, stale air, being stuck elbow to elbow with all these people, the fact that she couldn't open the door and step outside even if she wanted to, the idea that any minute high force winds could rip the roof off above them, and to top it off there may be a killer in the room with them... it was just too much. She could feel sweat begin to trickle down her neck and beneath her shirt. Her heart began to pound. She needed to take some deep breaths. Find something to focus on. Her attention settled on Roselyn. She had her head in her mother's lap staring wide-eyed at the ceiling in fear. Stacy stroked her daughter's hair, murmuring softly.
Anne's mind flashed back to her own mother, sitting on her bed, stroking her hair after a particularly bad nightmare, singing to her. The memory made her ache.
Shouting and a piercing shriek brought her back to the present situation. Sam jumped up, tripped over someone's legs, caught himself on the wall and disappeared into the next room. Anne jumped up and followed.
It was hard to see exactly what was happening. A tight ball of people had gathered around the end of the bar. Sam picked up a chair that had been knocked over and pushed his way into the center of the action. More yelling and then another scream. The crowd swayed, knocking two people into a table.
"Whoa! Okay, let's break it up!" Sam shouted. "Let's go. Break it up!"
The knot started to unravel, the people in the back dispersing first. Anne stood up on a chair and saw Sam working his way to the combatants, holding his ground as the swinging turned into pushing. She also saw Gina behind the bar, taking pictures of the whole thing.
"Go back to your tables, now." Sam kept repeating. Most of the people reluctantly moved back. Anne got down and stepped in closer to where Sam now crouched down on the floor. "What's going on, Vick?"
"That son of a bitch stabbed me in the arm, that's what's going on!"
Anne could see blood running down Vick's arm and soaking his jeans, despite the fact that his son held sopping napkins to the wound. Vick was propped up against the bar, his face drained of color. Sam yelled to Simon to get some water, soap and bandages. Then he stood up and glared at Brad.
"Is that true? Did you stab Vick?"
Brad leaned back against the bar with his ever-present smirk. "Hey, I was just defending myself. Vick here comes at me like he wants to kill me, spouting off about me being the one murdering those girls. I told him he should look at his son if he wants to blame somebody. Vick Jr.'s the one got kicked out of the strip club for getting too rough with the girls."
"Give me your knife," Sam said.
Brad took it out of his pocket, wiped the blood on his shorts and handed it to Sam.
"You shut up about my son," Vick said.
"You both shut up until I ask you a question," Sam snapped.
"What he said about Vick Jr. is true," a girl behind them said. "He gets too rough." They all turned to look at her. People were crowding around again. Anne could see fatigue and fear settling into their faces.
"Shut up, Julie!" Vick Jr. stood up suddenly, his fists in balls by his side. "You're a lying bitch."
"Whoa!" Sam stepped in front of Vick Jr. and stood inches in front of his face. "I suggest you settle down." He turned around and stared at the crowd. "I suggest you all settle down. It's not going to do anyone any good if we all turn on each other like this."
"Sam, we all know Brad's got no friends here." A burly man in a sweaty tank yelled. His friends made a point of stepping up behind him, their arms crossed, ready for confrontation. "I wouldn't be surprised if he is the one killing those girls."
Brad made a dramatic gesture of clutching his heart. "Aw, Jack, you're hurting my feelings."
"That ain't all we're gonna hurt, you sick son of a bitch!" One of the guys behind him yelled.
"Yeah!" A few others joined in. "If the police can't stop you, we will!"
Every muscle in Sam's body tensed. He could almost see the mob mentality jumping like sparks from person to person in the hot thick air of the room. He glanced back at the bar where Simon and Jerry watched him expectantly and nodded. They came around and flanked him. Brian pushed through the crowd and began helping Gina clean and wrap Vick's arm.
"Okay, guys!" Sam held up his hands. "That's enough! We've already got one man wounded with no way to get him to the hospital. Do you want more injured people? You guys seem to be forgetting that there are women and children here. Stop acting like a lynch mob and think for a minute."
In the silence, the winds tossed something into the building with a loud thud. Anne saw a few people jump. She realized she was holding her breath.
"Brad has an alibi for the night Molly disappeared, so you all can stop harassing him about that." He turned to Brad and pulled out white flex cuffs. "Bradley Stark, you're under arrest for assault."
"Aw, come on, Detective," Brad said as Sam motioned for him to get off the stool and turn around. "Where am I gonna go? Huh?"
Sam leaned in close to his ear as he loosely bound Brad's hands behind him. "Trust me, this is for your safety, not theirs. Let's go find somewhere comfortable for you in the kitchen."
As Sam and his prisoner left the room, the tension broke as applause erupted. Sam glanced over his shoulder and then patted Brad on the back.
"When that many people want some kind of justice, it's best to give it to them...or at least make a show of it."
When Sam came back out, everyone had returned to their tables or sleeping bags. He felt his chest loosening, his breath coming easier as he went to check on Vick.
"How's the arm?" Sam asked.
"Hurts like hell," Vick blew out a long stream of gray smoke. "I always knew that son-of-a-bitch wasn't right in the head." He shook aspirin out of a bottle Simon handed him and swallowed a few with a long swig of beer. "This shit's getting warm, Simon."
"Yeah, well, you can take it up with Oscar." As if in answer, the roof groaned and rattled.
"Glad to see you all haven't lost your sense of humor." Gina said. Then nodding at Sam she said, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Sure."
"Be right back," she said to Brian.
Sam followed her over to the jukebox. "What's up?"
Gina folded her arms and leaned a hip against the jukebox. "I've been thinking. Brad's an asshole, but he may have a point about Vick Jr. being someone of interest."
"You know something I don't?"
"I know mounds of things you don't." She grinned. "People actually open up to me, Sam, because I don't walk around all grumpy glaring at everyone."
"Point taken. So who talked?"
"A few people, actually. Over the past couple of years, I've met some of the ex girlfriends of Vick Jr. and none of them had anything nice to say. I ran into Cheryl Rhymes at Publix a while back and she had bruises on her neck and a sprained wrist. She told me Vick Jr. had knocked her around, but she was too scared of him to press charges. She did have sense enough to stop seeing him though."
Sam glanced over at Vick Jr. "He fits parts of the FBI profile. Grew up with an abusive dad, mother died when he was young. What is he, about twenty three?"
"Yeah, that sounds right."
"I don't know," Sam sighed, shaking his head. "I still think this lunatic has to be someone visiting the island. Not someone we've all watched grow up."
"You think?" Gina raised an eyebrow. "Or you want to think?"
Sam stared at her for a long moment. "Yeah, all right. I'll keep an eye on him."
Anne glanced down at her hands as she felt them vibrating on the bar. Must be left over adrenaline from Vick's stabbing. But then she realized that the whole building hummed and shook around her. The wind suddenly rose to the pitch and volume of a freight train. She glanced at Brian. His face probably mirrored her own. He looked as white and panicked as she felt. The vibrating intensified to rattling.
"Shit," Brian said.
"Oh no," Anne whispered.
Brian grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the floor. "Cover your head!"
As they hit the linoleum, the plywood board ripped free from the front window, showering the room with glass, rain and debris.
Anne threw her arms over her head, fear making it almost impossible to breathe. It sounded like a freight train was coming full throttle through the building. Screams mingled with gale force wind and stinging raindrops as tables blew over, sending lanterns and mugs crashing to the floor. The storm had come inside. Oh god! This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to be safe here. A huge chunk of metal fell from above, bouncing like a pinball as it tumbled in the wind and rain to lodge itself somewhere in the chaos.
"We're gonna lose the rest of the roof!" Jerry shouted. "We've got to get that damn window covered!"
Jerry directed people away from the dark fury of rain and objects flying in the window opening toward the relative safety behind the bar. Water was already ankle deep on the floor. Where were Gina and Sam? Anne strained to see a sign of them by the jukebox, but it was too dark.
"I've got extra plywood in the garage out back," Jerry yelled over the roars and screams.
Brian touched Anne's shoulder and shouted in her ear, "I'm going to help Jerry, stay behind the bar!"
"What about Gina?" But Brian was already gone. He hadn't heard her. The noise level was so loud now that when the glass shelves behind the bar wrenched free and crashed to the ground it made no sound. The wind swallowed everything. Anne was cut in myriad places. Behind the bar wasn't safe either. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the drum beating in her chest and struggled to see any sign of Gina, Sam, Roselyn or Stacey. Maybe the bathroom will be safer. Something she'd read about small interior rooms being a good place in a storm motivated her forward.
Keeping low, she moved out from behind the bar, feeling cold water slosh around her knees and hands and the wind push against her body. She picked her way slowly through broken glass and other objects floating in the darkness, moving toward the back of the bar. The worst of the storm seemed to have gone by. Rain still slashed in horizontal torrents, but the freight train wind had settled down to violent gusts. Anne could see Jerry, Brian and Simon struggling with a new sheet of plywood. Several men surged forward and added hands to the effort. The relative quiet once the barrier was in place was a relief until moans and cries for help filled the noise gap.
Anne called out for Gina and Sam with no answer. A flash of lightning illuminated an overturned statue of a grinning Polynesian god. Anne remembered seeing it earlier right by the jukebox. It must weigh three hundred pounds. If it was turned over...she started to panic.
Groping forward with her hands, nearly blind in the gloom, Anne blundered into a large piece of metal where the jukebox should be. She tripped over what turned out to be a boot sticking out from underneath the edge.
"Oh my god," she breathed. "Sam!" Moving around to the side, she tried to shift the metal but it was too heavy. Her hands slipped and she fell backwards into the statue. "Help!" she screamed into the storm. As she struggled to stand, pulling herself up on the wooden statue, another flash of lighting revealed a woman stretched out in the water, also pinned beneath the sheet of metal.
"Gina!" she screamed. She redoubled her efforts and tried to lift the metal again. Too heavy. "Hang on, I'll be right back!" She made her way back through the bar, crawling and sloshing her way through the water as fast as she dared. Something sharp bit into her palm, but she kept moving. "Someone, help!" she screamed at the men just finishing screwing the plywood to the window. "Sam and Gina are trapped."
"Show me where," a burly guy in a bowling shirt with "Jack" embroidered on the pocket shouted as he crawled toward her. Two of his friends crawled behind him as she led them back through the wreckage.
"Here!" she said, trying to catch her breath. Just as they got to Sam a piece of roof ripped off above the dart boards with a loud groan. Rain and mercifully a little light poured in through the hole. "Hurry, please hurry," she said.
"Shit, that sucker's heavy. We need something for leverage," Jack said, looking up at the hole in the roof. "We need to do this quick before the water gets much deeper."
Jack's buddy found two pool sticks floating nearby. Working together, they wedged the sticks under the metal until the gap was big enough to use the overturned statue as leverage. They heaved and gave Anne just enough space to slide Gina out. She came out limp. Her forehead had a large gash that seeped fresh blood. Anne held her cheek in front of Gina's nose but she couldn't tell if she was breathing.
"Gina? Can you hear me?" She pressed two fingers into her cold neck. She had a weak pulse, but it was a pulse none-the-less.
"Is she okay?" Jack shouted.
"She's alive." Anne pressed the hood of Gina's sweatshirt against the gash, trying to stop the bleeding.
The guys moved around to the other side to free Sam. Two of them balanced the metal while Jack shoved the statue until he had a gap big enough to slide him slowly out.
Anne saw Sam's shoulders and head emerge. Dark blood stained his hair and shirt.
"Oh Goddammit, he's not breathing!" Jack yelled.
Anne carefully slid her arms from underneath Gina whispering, "Hang in there, we've got you."
"I know CPR," she said to Jack. She crawled to Sam's side and pushed her wet hair from her face so she could see where it was safe to put her hands for chest compression.
"You are not dying today, Detective," she whispered.
Carefully positioning her palms on Sam's chest, she pumped three times and then pressed her mouth over his. She placed her ear on his chest. No breath. Shit. "Come on, Sam." She repeated the pumping and the breathing until his body suddenly came to life, wracked with a coughing spell. She helped him turn on his side so he could cough out the water in his lungs. He moaned and grabbed his leg. Anne checked the cut on his head. Deep. He definitely needed stitches.
He glanced around in confusion, then saw the hole in the roof. He tried to get up. "Gina? She was standing beside me..."
"It's okay, Sam," Anne said. "We got her. She's alive."
His eyes closed again, his head lolling to the side.
"Sam? Sam, you probably need to try to stay awake."
He opened his eyes and met hers with a grimace of pain. He tried to say something else but his words were slurred.
"We've got to get them to the hospital. He could have a concussion," Anne said.
Jack looked surprised. He said, "In case you haven't noticed, little lady, there's a hurricane out there and it's not like we can call an ambulance. With all the downed trees and power lines, they couldn't make it here in this weather even though the hospital is only about two blocks away."
"If the hospital's only two blocks away, I can make it. Somebody's bound to have a car that's close."
"You're going to get yourself killed---and them along with you!"
"Take a good look at them Jack, think either of them's gonna make it without immediate medical attention?" She answered, holding his stare.
His shoulders fell. "All right. You stay here with them and do what you can. I'll see who's got a car close by."
"Thank you."
He shook his head and crawled away.
Anne moved back and forth between Sam and Gina for what seemed like an eternity, making sure that they were both still breathing. Brian appeared at her side, taking Gina in his arms.
"Gina? Gina, can you hear me? Has she regained consciousness at all?"
"No," Anne said. "Brian, we need to get them to the hospital. Jack is trying to find out if anyone has a car close enough to get to in this mess so we can take them."
"We'll never make it."
"We have to try."
Brian looked down at Gina and nodded. "All right. We'll try."
"Jesus," Jerry said, kneeling beside Sam and then spotting Gina, lifeless in Brain's arms, his normally ruddy complexion visibly paling. "Is she breathing?"
"For now," Brian said. "We need to get them to the hospital."
Jerry surveyed the hole in the roof. "I've gotta stay here and try to keep this place together, patch up the people that aren't as hurt. I've got a car in the garage out back. It's insured. You're welcome to it. Keys are under the front mat."
"Thank you." Brian struggled to get on his feet with Gina in his arms. "Let's go." Jack slid his arms under Sam's armpits and Anne lifted his legs, trying not to disturb the gash in his right leg too much. She'd wrapped it with a bar towel, but it wasn't doing much to stop the bleeding. Anne got a firm grip and nodded to Jack.
Jack gave her an answering nod and began to make his way slowly backwards through the debris and water, toward the kitchen. Brian paused to ask, "Will you keep an eye on my dad in the back room?"
Jerry nodded, patted him on the shoulder then made his way through the debris to help the walking wounded.
Brian unlocked the back door and the wind ripped it from his hand. The floor instantly flooded and they were soaked to the skin before they even stepped outside. They stared out into the roaring darkness.
Okay, maybe she had been overly optimistic. Maybe just a touch naive. But it was too late now. They were about to step out into the storm on purpose. Anne took a few deep breaths and tried to will herself not to think.
"It's about twenty feet to the garage. Are you guys ready?" Jack shouted above the winds.
"Ready!"
They stepped outside and blindly pushed step by step against the storm, trying to hide their faces from the sting of icy rain. Something hard flew into Anne's shin and she stifled a cry.
They fell into the garage, Sam's leg wound pouring blood as they struggled to get him in the back seat. Gina was still limp. Anne buckled them both in, and then slid into the front seat. Brian started the car and gunned the engine. Anne flipped the air conditioner off. They were both shivering.
Brian made the sign of the cross as Jack smacked the car and gave a thumbs up sign.
"Here we go." Brian's voice was shaky, but he looked determined.
The winds assaulted the car as they backed out of the garage, rocking it violently. Anne forced herself to stay calm. They had to make it. Two blocks. The just had to make it two blocks.
The pounding rain sounded like hammers hitting the car. Between the frantic windshield wipers, she caught glimpses of uprooted trees, wildly swinging traffic lights and a river of gray water swirling with debris pouring down the flooded street. Brian wrenched the wheel violently to the left to avoid a tree as it crashed into the road ahead. He leaned closer to the windshield, fighting for vision, inching the car slowly along avoiding hazards. They moved forward for a bit, and suddenly seemed to be sliding at a weird angle.
At first Anne didn't grasp what she was feeling, but then she whispered, "My god, Brian are we floating?"
"Yep. Hang on, there's no way to steer, but at least we're heading in the right direction."
Anne clutched the dash as the wind blew the car sideways into a large palm tree. The impact turned them in a circle and then the current carried them backwards.
"Oh no! Now I think we're going the wrong way," Anne said.
"We'll have to look for street signs if any are still standing. There's no other way to navigate. I'm all turned around and nothing looks familiar." Brian turned the wheel back and forth in frustration. They were at the mercy of the storm.
"What do we do?" Anne glanced back at Gina and Sam. Still unconscious. Nausea and panic began to creep in. Stay calm.
"Damn it!" Brian shouted when the back bumper hit something hard and the car jerked to a stop. They both tried to see through the back window, but the rain was so dense it was like trying to see through a car wash.
"We're ok, don't panic. The car's still running. We just need to get unstuck from whatever we're caught on."
"All right. Let's go." Anne pushed on her door, fighting eighty mile an hour winds to get out.
"Anne, wait..."
"What?" she yelled.
"Stay in the car. Both of us don't need to be in danger!"
Brian struggled for a while, but couldn't open his door, so he powered down the window and climbed out that way, cursing the storm as it assaulted him. Anne hurried to close the window and climbed into the back to see if she could see what was going on. Tears sprung up in her eyes, but she clenched her jaw. This was no time to fall apart. She checked Gina's pulse. Slow and uneven, shallow breathing.
"Come on, Brian. Please, hurry." As she tried to see Brian through the gray sheets of rain, something hit the car hard, cracking the back window with a loud thud and showering her with tiny glass shards. She jumped. The engine sputtered and died.
"No, no, no..." she clambered back into the front seat and turned the key. It caught, then died. "No, god no!" She tried again. It caught a second time and died. "This can't be happening!" She powered down the window and water poured in. Soon the car would be completely submerged! She was doing a good job of beating back absolute panic until she saw a snake as thick as a man's arm coming level with the window. She screamed and recoiled, but then realized it wasn't a snake as thick as a man's arm, it was a man's arm! Brian! He was floating face down, bobbing in the current right next to the car. She felt like her body was moving in slow motion, all the energy sucked from it as she tried to reach him. In what felt like stop motion action, she reached out and snagged his shirt.
"Don't you leave me here by myself!" Her words got lost in the wind. Pulling him through the window was easy, but man handling him onto the other side of the seat made her dizzy with the exertion.
She checked for his breath and banged him on the back a couple of times. He began to cough, throwing up clear liquid. A moan escaped his lips. She leaned him forward, relieved that he was alive.
"Brian? Can you hear me?"
His eyes didn't open, but he was breathing. Letting him slump against the seat, she tried to start the car again. Catch. Die. She pounded the steering wheel with her fist, the rage and frustration of the situation gripping her. "Okay, think." She glanced back at the rain soaking Gina and Sam threw the broken window. Did she risk their lives more by dragging them out into the storm?
Covering her ears to block out the fury howling around her, she took a deep breath. She couldn't fix the car; she had no idea what was wrong with it. Besides, it was still stuck on something.
Was there anything in the car that would float? She shook her head. Ridiculous. Even if she could make a raft, she couldn't pull three people two blocks in this storm. And she had no idea how far they'd floated. The hospital could be miles away. She would have to wait here, and hope for the best. What choice did she have? They needed a miracle. Where are you now, fate? Huh? Thanks a lot!
Okay, calm down. Getting angry isn't going to help anyone. She shut her eyes. When she opened them, lights shone through the fogged up windshield. She cleared a circle with her hand, trying to see where the light came from. Then she gasped. No way!
She flashed her headlights and blew the horn like a crazy person. The headlights lit the water in front of the car and the horn made a sad water logged sound.
She stuck her arm out of the top of the window shouting, "Over here! Help! We need help!"
A boat made its way slowly toward her, a rope on a life preserver landed near her hand. She grabbed the rope and reeled the prow of the boat to the driver's side of the car. A face grinned down at her through the rain, illuminated by a flashlight.
"What are you doing out here?" he shouted, holding on to her arm.
"I've got three people in the car that need to get to the hospital!"
It didn't take long for the three of them to get Gina, Sam and Brian tucked into the back of the boat. But they had to wedge them in between the video equipment wrapped in plastic. Anne crouched on a pile of life preservers, soaked and shivering. A man wrapped a wind breaker around her.
"You must be Burton Mills the daredevil storm chaser," she shouted, her teeth chattering. She couldn't remember what Gina had said the other guy's name was, but she recognized the Daily Sun logo on his hat.
"Yep. This here's Cal Covington," he nodded. We liberated his brother-in-law's boat when the roads started flooding.
"Nice to meet you," Anne slipped a shaky hand into his. He pushed the throttle forward and Anne felt like she could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
"You guys are damn lucky we came down this street. I thought Gina said she was going to the Purple Parrot but you're nowhere near there."
"Yeah, The Parrot got hit by a tornado or something. That's where Gina and Sam got hurt. The window blew in, the roof started peeling off. Brian got hurt trying to free our car."
"Anyone else hurt at The Parrot?"
"I don't think there were any more people with life threatening injuries."
"Well, we'll go back by there in a while. He glanced back at the three unconscious passengers."I think we really need to get these guys to the hospital first."
When they finally came to the emergency room doors, Anne jumped over the side and was relieved to see the glass doors slide open. She sloshed through the cold water that now surged into the building. Bright lights, green scrubs, the smell of antiseptic, all a welcome relief.
"We need help!" Her breath was ragged. Tiny spots twinkled in front of her eyes.
Two people behind the desk stared wide-eyed.
A man in green scrubs finally moved, rushing a wheel chair over to her.
"No, not me," she pointed behind her, "them."
Burton Mills and Cal came through the door carrying Gina.
The man pushed the wheel chair to them and they gently sat Gina in it. The man motioned for help and two other green scrubbed guys hustled over with more wheel chairs.
Anne didn't see them bring in Brian or Sam. She had passed out.
Molly Shillings was found two days after blue skies returned to the island. She washed up on the beach of a tiny lake in a retirement mobile home park. A circle of buzzards had to be chased from her body.
Anne couldn't photograph her. She had a perfect memory of Molly alive and glowing in her wedding dress on the beach, her future set in her smile. She couldn't destroy that. Besides, guilt gnawed at her insides. Had she missed something that could have saved her?
Gina had been released from the hospital the same day they found Molly. It surprised no one that she'd polished her hurricane interviews while convalescing, and her work had been on the front page of the Sun for days. She'd even had time to visit with Brian in the hospital since their rooms were in the same hall. Brian was clearly smitten with Gina. Any man who would give up his tapioca pudding in a hospital, where edible food was hard to come by, must be in love. After everything they'd been through, Anne wondered if she'd been wrong in suspecting him. Only time would tell.
Sam and Brian had been released from the hospital two days after Gina, both all stitched up and healing from bruises, cuts, a concussion in Brian's case and pneumonia and blood loss in Sam's.
Every day since the storm Anne had been volunteering her time doing clean up duty. Wherever she could lend a hand, she did. Some streets were still too flooded to drive a car down. A few dozen houses were severely damaged. Hopefully they wouldn't get any more rain. They could use a break.
Her evenings were spent wandering the eroded beach, still strewn with debris from the storm, trying to figure out what she was supposed to do next. Sometimes Roselyn would walk with her. Roselyn was a lot quieter since the storm. When she did speak, Anne noticed a change in her. She seemed more suspicious of the world and of its motivations. Oscar had wiped out her little girl innocence. Ros now had firsthand knowledge of death and destruction. How deeply had she let herself look into the eyes of mortality? She hoped not too deeply. She deserved a few more years of innocence.
Halloween came and went without the usual downtown celebration. Most shops were still closed and most people were still trying to clean up their property.
Anne was exhausted, but she hated the idea of sleeping. Sleep brought the repeating nightmare. Every time she closed her eyes she felt herself drowning.
Anne sat on the patio, her mood heavy even as she admired the faint blush beginning to tint the early evening sky. High tide sloshed the gulf waters against the sea wall. Gulls scuttled among the sea grape trees, which the storm had stripped, exposing their roots. It would be a slow recovery for the little island from Hurricane Oscar's assault.
A knock at the door made her heart leap. She crossed the living room in silence and peered through the peephole. Her mind spun as she opened the door.
"Aunt Clara! Aunt Barb! Sam? What are you doing here?"
"Starving, actually. You got our message about coming for dinner, right?" Clara chuckled and left a Revlon Coral Berry smudge on Anne's cheek. "I'm kidding, dear. Help me with Barb."
Confused, Anne opened the door wider to accompany her Aunt's wheelchair. "What a nice surprise. It's so good to see you both." She leaned over and hugged her Aunt Barb warmly before pulling her through the door. "How did you get here?" She glanced at Sam, who could barely conceal his amusement.
"On an airplane," Barb shouted, propelling her wheelchair into the living room and situating herself beside the couch. Barb made herself busy adjusting the tube of her portable oxygen tank. She looked much frailer than when Anne had last visited her in Virginia. Her favorite crocheted sweater hung off shrunken shoulders. She reminded Anne of a tiny bird, yet her dark eyes still hinted at mischief.
"What happened to this carpeting? It's so...ugly."
"It grows on you, Aunt Barb. Somebody needs to explain to me how the three of you showed up together."
"They called the police station from the airport," Sam said. "Asked for me when they couldn't get a hold of you."
"Sorry, I had my phone off. I wasn't expecting any visitors." Her hands went to her hips. "How did you know to call Sam?" Had she fallen through the rabbit hole?
"We saw a story about the murders on the internet and when I got your message you didn't sound right and, well...you look terrible, just as we suspected."
"I'm not sure how to take that." Anne glanced at Sam, one eyebrow rising.
He held up his hands. "Well, enjoy your stay, ladies."
"Ah, Sam," Clara lifted a coral polished fingernail. "Would you please stay? I think you need to hear this."
Sam glanced at Anne.
She shrugged, then motioned for him to have a seat. "What's going on Aunt Clara?"
"Do you have any tea?" Aunt Barb shouted from her wheelchair. "They didn't even have a damn tea bag on the airplane."
Clara leaned down to her ear. "Turn your hearing aid up, you're shouting."
"I have tea," Anne grinned. "I'll get you both some."
Sam followed her into the tiny kitchen. "I'll leave," he said when they were around the corner. "If you want me to. It's your call."
"Oh, no, you don't." She filled the teapot from the sink. "Those are not two sweet old ladies out there. They're pretty feisty. You don't want to go against their wishes. Besides, I may need you to rescue me again." When his grin faded she saw that purple shadows haunted his eyes. "You getting any sleep?"
"No." He folded his arms and leaned against the counter. "You?"
"No."
He nodded. "Sleep is over-rated anyway."
"Well, I guess the one good thing about Oscar is he cleared out the island. A lot of the tourists have left, right?"
"Yep. Not good for our economy."
"So, did the killer leave, too? Or will his next victim be a local?"
"I guess we'll find out one way or another."
He rubbed his eyes and his arm brushed hers. The kitchen was small. They stood tongue tied and awkward, waiting for the teakettle to boil. Anne thought about taking a step toward him and stopped, fighting the urge to slip into his arms. She had never felt so tired in her life, so vulnerable, so lost. When she brought her gaze to his, he didn't turn away. For the first time neither of them had the energy to fight. Sam reached for her hand, his fingertips touching hers, then sliding to intertwine their hands. They stood in the stillness of the moment, their eyes locked. Warmth radiated up Anne's arm, sending her heartbeat into triple digits.
A sharp whistle behind Anne startled them both and she jumped, letting go, spinning and sliding the teakettle off the burner. She felt heat flush her face and neck as Sam ducked out of the kitchen.
"Here you go," Anne placed two steaming teacups on the table in front of her Aunts. When she looked up, they were both grinning. "What?"
They glanced at Sam's pink face and back to hers, looking smug.
"Nothing," Aunt Clara leaned back into the couch. She looked tired as her smile faded.
"Anne, we need to stop fooling around and tell you some things before you get yourself killed, don't we Barb?"
"That's right! She's walking around with a target on her back and doesn't even know it."
"Okay, you two are starting to scare me." Anne sat down beside her. "What's going on?"
"It's simply time." Aunt Clara patted her hand. "Time you knew about the family history."
"Forgive us, Renata," Barb yelled at the ceiling while making the sign of the cross.
"What does my mother have to do with this?"
"She never wanted you to know. She didn't believe. Or didn't want to believe. Not her baby girl. She wanted to protect you, but denial does not equal protection. The danger in your life is growing." She shook her head, sadness darkening her expression. "Your father is still in denial. I'm sorry he isn't taking this threat more seriously. Maybe it's our fault. Maybe we didn't stress the danger you're in enough."
"No excuse for being half way across the damn world for your twenty eighth birthday!" Barb began to cough explosively. She sucked some oxygen until it subsided.
Anne was really getting worried. "It's okay, Aunt Barb." She rushed over and helped her take a sip of tea. "It's his job, he has to travel. And besides, he always sends me something to let me know he's thinking about me." Although, come to think of it she hadn't sent him her updated address when she moved from the motel.
As Anne sat back on the couch, Aunt Clara turned to her. "You have such beautiful green eyes, Anne. Have you ever wondered why you're the only one with green eyes in a family of brown eyed people?"
"Recessive genes?"
"Dominant in every fourth generation of women in our family."
"Green eyes?"
"Yes. Along with the gift."
"A gift of what?"
"Not, a gift, the gift and it's been different for each woman." She nodded to Barb, who pulled a leather book out of a bag hanging off of her wheelchair. She took it from Barb's shaky grip and cracked it open, sending the scent of old paper wafting through the room. " Luckily I kept this aside when we gave your mother the journal. We're going to have to hammer some sense into your father so he'll give it to you. This is a record of women in our family with the gift. Please try to keep an open mind, dear."
"All right."
"The first woman with the gift that we have a record of is Helene Baroni, your Great Grandmother to the 10th . She was beheaded and burned for the crime of witchcraft in 1647. Her gift, was being able to see future possibilities."
"Future possibilities?" Anne's hand fluttered up to her own neck. Beheaded! Could she be serious? "Like a psychic?"
"Well, the way my mother told it to me, no...not a psychic. Psychics sense the energy of the past. Helen sensed the paths of the future. The things she saw didn't always happen because paths change constantly. But, they happened often enough to get attention and scare the wrong people."
"So, they beheaded and burned her?"
"Don't be too shocked, Anne. There was much of that in those days...for much less." Barb interjected.
"The next woman in our family born with the gift was Katerina Camelli, your Great Grandmother to the 6th. In 1734 she was starved, beaten and drowned for healing a child by ungodly means."
Anne sat up straighter on the couch, her hand moving to her chest. "Katerina? I know that name. Was she drowned in a river?"
"Yes, she was," Aunt Clara gave her a knowing look. "The next one died in 1863. Your Great Great Grandmother Carlotta De Luca. Her gift was what you might call out of body travel. Her gift frightened her so much that she eventually went crazy and took her own life." Clara closed the book and sighed. "Which brings us to you."
"Me?" Anne stared at her aunts. Good god, they were serious! What could she say? "I'm sure that's all just folklore Aunt Clara. That's probably why my mother didn't want me to know. It's just stories. Every family has them." Anne looked at her aunts in dismay. Maybe they had forgotten to take their medication. Oh no, what if dementia was setting in?
Clara's eyes filled with empathy, but she held her mouth firm. "It's not just stories, Anne. When you were two years old, your eyes began to change from brown to green. When we pointed it out and said that you had the gift your father brushed it off as nonsense. Your mother panicked. She made us all swear you would never know about the family history of green eyed women. Fourth generation green eyed women." She paused. "They all died violent and young. None of them made it to the age of twenty eight."
"I'll be twenty eight in three weeks."
"I know. That's why we're here. Your mother, she loved you so much. She wanted to protect you. She wanted you to have a normal life. But, Anne?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have a normal life?"
She wanted to say yes, but that would be a lie. Tears stung her eyes. It was madness, of course, yet this news explained a lot of things. Was this why her mother reacted with anger when Anne saved the boys at the lake when she was thirteen? She felt faint. She sat down hard on the couch and put her head between her knees. Sam and the aunts converged on her, telling her to breathe deeply, and Sam went to the kitchen for a glass of water.
Even as she tried to brush off their concern, it all came together in waves rushing at her from different directions. The dreams of drowning were so real that they had become part of her history. For years she'd felt out of control of her own destiny. She kept finding herself in harm's way time and time again, no matter how random a direction she tried to choose. She took the water from Sam, who could only offer her a sad smile. What must he think? Her face grew hot.
The tears came then. She didn't want to admit that they were tears of relief. Admitting she was relieved would signal that she was ready to embrace this crazy story and she wasn't quite ready to do that yet, even though lining up what her aunts had told her with the events of her life made her feel less crazy.
"So, if what you're telling me is true," Anne said cautiously, "what does it mean, Aunt Clara? That they were witches? That I'm a witch?"
"No, darling. You have been given a gift. The others who came before you didn't have a chance to understand their gift. They didn't live in a world that would allow for such things. But you do."
"But, this thing of not being in control, always being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's more like a curse than a gift."
"If that's how it feels to you, then that's what it will be. But you have a choice. Your choice is your perspective---and that you can control. Will you choose to see the power you've been given as a curse or a gift?"
"Do you know how many times in my life I have almost been killed? How can I think of that as a gift?"
"But how many lives have you saved?"
"Not enough." Anne tried to shake the images of Amanda and Molly loose from her mind. Their ghosts, their blood, their pain, were etched into her own soul. They would haunt her until her dying day.
She hadn't helped them, but she had helped others. But the others were just coincidences. Or were they? Anne felt so confused. She needed time to think.
"When was the first time?" Sam asked, his voice husky, concerned. Anne wanted to think, but Sam needed some answers. It was the least she could do. And maybe going over it would help.
"The ice." She went back in her memory. "I was thirteen. It was winter in New York. I got lost in the woods, even though I had walked that path hundreds of times. I heard yelling. Three boys were skating on a frozen pond and fell through. I pulled them out. I was able to find my way back without any problem and get them help in time."
"Wrong place at the right time. Isn't' that what I always say to you, Anne?"
"Yes. But I don't believe in fate, Aunt Clara." The truth was that she didn't want to believe in fate, at least not the kind of fate that used her as a puppet.
"Well then don't look at it as fate, Anne. Think of it as a particular path that has been set in motion by events. Cause and effect. You're a finder of those who've departed this world."
Sam asked, "So, you're saying that finding dead bodies is a gift?"
"Well, yes," Aunt Clara said. "Part of it, I suppose. Though, finding them before they die, like the boys in the lake, would be preferable."
More tears streamed down Anne's face. She wasn't sure if they were tears of frustration, relief or pain. Probably all three. She wiped at them with the back of her hand. Sam pulled her to his chest.
"Anne, even if you don't believe everything that's been said today it wouldn't hurt to stay out of harm's way. At least until you turn twenty eight."
Anne stared at him. What was he saying? Did he actually believe her aunts' story? Having someone as sensible as Sam buy into the whole you have green eyes so you'll die young bit scared her more than her constant nightmares.
"Honey, we're only thinking of you. We asked Sam if he'd help us keep you safe."
"Wait," Anne held up her hands. She had to stop this. "Look, even if by some miracle, this is all true, I am not going to go hide under the bed for the rest of my life. I don't need someone protecting me like I'm a child, Aunt Clara."
"I told you we should have just given her a gun for her birthday," Aunt Barb yelled.
"Turn up your hearing aid," Aunt Clara yelled back, waving her hand in annoyance. "Okay, I've said my piece. Now I have a gift for you." Aunt Clara motioned to her sister who handed over a tiny box she had been cradling. "This belonged to Katerina Camelli. This, the record and the journal go together."
Anne took the box from her Aunt, glancing up uncertainly as she unwrapped it. She gasped as she stared at the ring resting on black felt.
"It's stunning." She picked it up gingerly, feeling the coolness of the worn gold band, turning it slightly in the light to admire the delicate figure of a woman intricately carved within the oval stone. Anne slid it onto her right ring finger. It fit perfectly. It felt right somehow on her hand. Her eyes filled with tears. "Is this Katerina on the ring?"
"No, the woman carved into the stone is the goddess Fortuna and that's a 17th century intaglios ring, so don't lose it." Her Aunt Clara chuckled and stood up, minding her knees. "All right," she said giving her niece a hug, "I think that's enough for now. I need to cook something. You look like skin and bones. Your mother would not be happy."
Aunt Clara busied herself cooking in the kitchen. After complaining about the empty cupboards and lack of anything fresh, she settled in with a box of noodles and canned tomatoes, stirring through the steam, humming to herself. Aunt Barb snored loudly from the bedroom.
While they waited for dinner, Anne and Sam took refuge outside on the patio with a bottle of merlot, each lost in their own thoughts as the ocean stretched out before them and the breeze caressed them.
Anne admired the new ring, running her finger over the carved stone. She'd have to do some research on this Goddess Fortuna and also on her ancestors. What had Katerina been like when she was alive? She believed she knew how she died. She must have been a brave woman. Anne sighed. This entire day had been so very strange and surreal.
She sipped her wine, letting her thoughts drift, listening to the sound of waves lapping at the shore, a seagull crying in the distance. The sound of the perfect rhythm of life.
In the clearing, in the silence, her Aunt's words came back to her: It would be better to find them before they were killed. But how? How do you learn to control a gift like this? It wasn't like she could take a class at the local community college. She was pretty much on her own. But hey, that wasn't anything new.
She glanced at Sam. His eyes were locked on the ocean, his jaw muscles clenched tight. Was he thinking about the murders? Or maybe he was thinking about her and her crazy family history. She took a swig of the warm merlot.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Since you know my story now...don't you think it's only fair I know yours?"
He closed his eyes and sat like that for a long time. She saw his jaw twitch, was he debating? A drop of sweat rolled down the side of his neck and she watched it roll into the collar of his pale yellow shirt. She imagined that his skin was warmer than hers; the energy beneath it seemed full of strength she didn't possess. She was so lost in watching him, it startled her when he opened his eyes and met her gaze. The deep sorrow that had risen to the surface was almost too much for her to handle. She knew that kind of sorrow.
He sighed. "I went to Harvard law school. My parents wanted me to be a lawyer and I didn't really have any particular passion for anything so I went. My junior year, I-" the words seemed pulled from so deep within him, he had to find them first. "I lost someone. We were meeting to take a night swim. I was late, too late. She was assaulted, drowned."
Anne watched helplessly as he struggled to keep all the emotions in check, his face paling with the effort. She put her hand on his arm.
"I'm so sorry, you don't have to finish. It's okay."
He shook his head. "You deserve to know. I came back here, to Anna Maria. I couldn't even go to her funeral. Couldn't face her family. I should have been there. If it wasn't for me being late, she would still be alive. I don't know what to do with that kind of guilt."
"It wasn't your fault. It was just a terrible event, Sam. We can't keep everyone we care about safe. Terrible things happen. We still have to go on."
He looked up at her then, his damp eyes meeting hers. She saw the pain, the guilt, and it poured into her own raw heart, hot and familiar. And then she understood. She understood now why he had been so furious at her for considering taking her own life. 'At least you have a choice,' he had said. They were quiet for a bit.
"You seem to have found your passion now."
"Yeah. I plan to spend my life removing every scumbag murderer from the face of the planet."
Well, if he could battle a demon, so could she. Anne took a deep breath and said,
"Sam?"
"Hm?"
"Will you teach me how to swim?"
Anne sat on the edge of the community center pool, waiting for Sam and shaking like a leaf. The building possessed a wet, sticky kind of hot and smelled strongly of chlorine. At least the kids' class was over. How stupid would she feel panicking in front of a bunch of five year olds? As she stared into the water, her anxiety level reached new heights and she scooted back away from the edge, her heart racing.
"I'm here." Sam slipped an arm around her shoulders.
She looked up. "I don't think I can do this."
He eased himself to the ground beside her. "All right, let's just sit here for a minute and take some deep breaths." He stretched his long legs out in front of them, his feet nearly reaching the edge of the pool, and led her in some slow deep breathing exercises.
She wasn't sure if the breathing or his warm hip against hers made the difference but something was working. Her muscles began to unknot and she no longer felt like running. Maybe she could do this.
"Can you tell me where the fear is coming from?" His voice echoed off the tiled walls.
"Yes. Drowning. It's no fun."
"Have you had a close call?"
Her eyes moved in his direction but she didn't look at him. "Something like that." Oh hell, he already knew enough about her to call her crazy and get no argument. Why stop now? She blew out a long breath. "It's a recurring dream of mine. A dream so real that it feels like part of my own history... but now I'm thinking it might be history, but not mine. It's a dream about a woman being drowned."
"Deliberately?"
"Yes. Someone is holding her head in the water, a river, and she's starved and scared and I'm her in that moment. I feel everything she's feeling. I'm there. I knew her name was Katarina before Aunt Clara gave me the ring." She snuck a glance at him. No ridicule, no smile.
"Well, you're not her. You are the one in control here, now. Do you know that?"
"Yeah, sure."
"No. I need you to really know it. I need you to trust yourself, and to trust me. We're going to teach you to swim, and you're not going to drown."
Anne stared at the motionless water. It was clear and not as threatening as the brown, churning river. "That's asking a lot of someone who's starting to feel like her life is not her own."
"You told your Aunt that you didn't believe in fate."
"I know. I guess what I meant was I don't believe things are predetermined." She was figuring this out as she talked. She hoped things weren't predetermined so she refused to believe they were. "I believe more in cause and effect."
"So effects being the path set by the cause?"
She thought about that for a moment. "Yes."
"Okay, what about this. What if we think of it like a car. What's your favorite kind of car?"
"An Aston Martin."
An Aston...okay," he smiled. "So, say fate is like an Aston Martin. You're in the driver's seat, but you can either let it careen all over the road, taking you wherever its path goes, or you can learn to steer it, learn to stop, learn to turn, learn to read the road signs."
"So, you think I could learn to be in control of my own Aston Martin?" She had to admit, the thought made her smile. But it gave her something else...hope. Something she hadn't felt in a very long time.
"I think you can do anything you put your mind to, Miss Serafini."
She looked back at the calm clear water. "Okay." She slid closer to the edge, took a deep breath and let one foot slip in, then the other. Silky warmth caressed her feet and ankles.
Sam moved next to her. Did he know that his presence made her feel braver? He gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze and then lowered himself into the pool almost soundlessly. Without letting herself think too much about it, she did the same, feeling the warmth move up her calves, thighs, torso. She slipped right into his arms, her arms around his neck. She could smell the cinnamon on his breath as he grinned, inches from her own mouth. She shivered.
"How does it feel?"
Being this close to him made it easy to forget about being in water. "Good. It feels good."
Anne felt warm within the circle of his arms. Their eyes locked and neither one of them moved. She felt safe, she felt energy pulsing through her. She felt daring. She let the water move her closer until their thighs tangled and she saw his gaze travel to her mouth.
Suddenly, the metal door banged as a life guard entered and the moment of intimacy vanished.
Sam turned his head, breaking their connection and nodded. "Hi, Kyle."
The kid climbed up into the lifeguard chair."Hey, Detective Larson."
"Now," Sam cleared his throat and pulled a flat floating device from the side of the pool. "I want you to hold on to this."
Anne regretted having to let go of him, but she did as he said. Twice she had to push the image of Katarina from her mind and control the panic, but learning to swim felt important. She knew this was one fear that had to be conquered. By the end of an hour session, her fear of the water, while not quite conquered, had at least been beaten into submission.
Her attraction to Sam, however, had blossomed into something wild.
Bayfest was the first big festival of the season. A magical two day fair with everything from costumed dogs and classic cars to margaritas and hot dogs. As the islanders hoped, the festival lured in tourists with money to burn, but nothing like the usual crowd of thousands. The weather seemed to be cooperating. The sun burned bright and a cool wind played with the palms.
Looking forward to some fun, Anne threw on a pair of jeans, light sweater and flip flops. On the way out she grabbed her Nikon. Surely they could have one weekend to actually enjoy the paradise they were living in, right? After all, there was safety in numbers. She walked up a block and took the trolley to Pine Avenue. When she hopped off, live music decided her direction. Joining the crowd standing around on a corner, she closed her eyes, swaying her hips to the reggae beat. Anne breathed in the salty warm air and felt her shoulders relax.
Depending on which way she turned, different scents reached her. Burgers and hotdogs, to the north, BBQ, citrus and fried shrimp to the south. Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn't eaten since snagging a quick banana this morning.
Before she wandered off in search of food, she stood for a moment, realizing that moments like this were what Anna Maria's heart was all about. She saw it in the closed eyes, the soft smiles, felt the energy of contentment in the moment. It surprised her how foreign it felt, this happiness. A brief glimpse of it flashed and flowed through her like the sun soaking through her skin. She had a sudden urge to hug the people around her, to laugh in the face of whoever was trying to destroy this community of island souls because they could still sing and sway and smile. They were survivors.
The playful breeze pushed Anne's hair to the side, exposing her neck to the salt air. She felt Anna Maria's spirit swirling around her. The killer was a virus, a scar on her soul, but Anna Maria was strong. As long as people didn't lose faith in her or abandon her, she would once again be a place of peace and paradise.
The killer. He could be here among them now. Anne's eyes darted from face to smiling face in the crowd. She shivered. Her brief moment of contentment withdrew like the tide.
The Monarch leans against the wall between two shops on Pine Avenue. There is too much noise, too much chaos. Smells and human voices overwhelm him. The outside world is just a distraction. It prevents him from hearing The Voice clearly. He pushes off the wall and walks. Booths jam the streets, stuffed with local artwork, fresh produce, jewelry, food and drinks. He struggles hard to stay focused on the mission.
A woman with yellow silk hair passes by too close for comfort. Their shoulders scrape. Her eyes meet his accusingly. They are the green from his nightmares. He begins to shake.
Mother.
He tails her, weaving through the crowds at a safe distance.
She meanders, picking up a scarf, running it seductively through her fingers, stopping for a glass of white wine at one of the booths, smelling the beeswax candles at another. Finally, she makes her way to the car show where she meets up with a man. The Monarch watches them for a moment. Sees the way he slides an arm around her waist. Effortless. He moves closer. Pretends to be interested in the shiny chromed Ford in front of them. But he is only interested in a sign. He scans her body. No sign. Too bad, he would have liked to free this one. Would have liked to keep those eyes; eyes so like those of his mother. But he must listen to The Voice. The Voice knows which ones need to be saved. Reluctantly, he turns and heads back, scanning the crowd and listening, always listening.....
Anne had made her way slowly to the other end of Pine Avenue, chatting and snapping pictures, and ended up by the City Pier where a homemade ship full of decked out pirates entertained both kids and adults.
"No more black eye, huh?"
His overloud voice startled her. A quick glance behind her made the hair stand up on her arms. She lifted the camera to her eye, trying to ignore her unease.
"Brad Stark, right?"
"Good memory."
She snapped a picture and turned to face his smirk. He stood a good two feet taller than her, a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
"Well, last time I saw you, you were getting handcuffed for stabbing a man. Hard to forget."
His smile spread. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You shouldn't." She brought her attention back to the pirates.
"Big storms tend to make everyone act a little crazy. Can't hold a little knifing against me," he chuckled.
"I won't even give it a second thought, Mr. Stark." Anne started to walk away, but then decided that bumping into Brad might be fate giving her a nudge. She turned to face him. "So, do you have any theories on who is killing women on this island?" She watched his expression for any sign of discomfort. Something fleeting and far away flickered in his eyes. Then they grew cold.
"Nope."
"I guess since you don't have a girlfriend or wife, you're not really concerned?"
"I make it a point not to get involved. I do my work and fish. Keeps life simple." He took a hard pull on his cigarette then dropped it on the ground. "As you said, I don't have a girlfriend, but I will consider a friendly romp in the sheets once in awhile." He grinned, running a finger down her forearm and grinding his cigarette into the sand under his boot at the same time.
Anne suppressed a shudder. Time to go. "Well, see you around, Mr. Stark." She ignored his parting comment. Walking away, she was glad to be out of the chill of his presence. Was he just a creep? Or could he be the killer? Anne wandered along lost in thought and almost knocked over a little boy.
"Oh!" She glanced down. Tears ran down his cheeks and his face was crumpled in fear. Anne crouched down and took two pudgy, sticky hands in hers.
"Hi, sweetie, where's your mommy?"
"She's lost," he stiffed.
"She's lost?" Anne pressed her lips together to keep from grinning at his point of view. "Well, don't worry, I'll help you find her, okay? What's your name?"
"William Jacobs."
"Hello, William Jacobs, I'm Anne Serafini," she stood, keeping hold of one of his hands and pulling out her cell phone with the other. "Hey, Sam. Are you at Bayfest? I've got a little boy here with a lost mommy."
#
Sam, William's frantic mother, and two officers met her in front of the Pine Avenue shops.
"William!" The woman breathed, dropping to her knees and sweeping the little boy into a crushing hug. "Oh my god, thank you for finding him," she said through tears, looking up at Anne. She lifted him up on her hip as she stood, his arms wrapped around her neck.
"He doesn't usually wander off like that," she said, holding out a shaking hand to Anne.
"I'm just glad..." a sickening sense of dread rushed up Anne's arm and into the pit of her stomach. Nausea mingled with anxiety, "that he's safe," she finished.
Anne glanced at Sam, who watched her face pale with growing concern.
"You okay?" He leaned into Anne, his voice almost a whisper.
"I'm sorry, what was your name?" Anne asked the mom.
"Linda. Linda Jacobs," she smiled, pressing her lips into William's soft hair.
"Linda," she nodded, giving the woman a quick once over. She was young. Maybe late twenties, slight build, medium length strawberry hair, cropped jeans and a pink lace top. "Can you wait here a sec?" She tried to smile then turned to Sam. "Can I talk to you?"
They walked a few feet away. Anne looked up into Sam's concerned eyes. "Don't ask me to explain why, but I think this woman is in danger."
"Why?" Sam said, then held up a hand. "Sorry, force of habit. What makes you think she's in danger?"
"Something happened when I shook her hand. A terrible feeling of, well.... just, dread."
Sam looked from her to the woman. "She does fit the physical profile of the serial killer's victims." He shook his head. "Have you ever had this happen before? This feeling?"
"No," she sighed. "But it's too strong to ignore. And besides, why did I find the little boy, when there's hundreds of people here? I'm trying not to ignore fate remember?"
"Okay." Sam looked into her eyes one last time and nodded. "Okay." Then they walked back to the woman and little boy, still clinging to each other. "Linda, can we have a word with you in private? Officer Janson will hold William for you for a minute."
"Sure."
Sam led them inside Barb's Beach Bobbles, where the walls muffled the music. Barb looked over from helping a customer and waved. Finn stood in the back of the store, busy gift wrapping something. He didn't seem to notice them.
"Linda, how long have you been on Anna Maria Island?"
"Oh, this is our first day. We live in Ocala. Our neighbors told us about Bayfest last year so I thought this would be a great place to spend a couple of days. Our neighbors own a place here that they're letting us borrow. William just loves the beach." She looked out the window and gave her son a little wave. "Why, is something wrong?"
"No. Not yet." Sam glanced at Anne. He was going to just have to say it, and hope she didn't think they were both crazy. "So, you're here alone?"
"Me and Will, yes." A crease formed on her forehead as she began to look worried. "You're starting to scare me."
"You're aware that there have been four women attacked by a serial killer on Anna Maria?"
"Yes. I saw something about that on our local news."
"And you're not afraid for your own safety?"
She suddenly looked confused, her brown eyes wide like a doe. "Well, I wasn't really, no. Should I be?"
"We have reason to believe you should be, yes."
She glanced around the shop. Looking for hidden cameras? The boogyman? Anne wasn't sure.
"Linda, I know this is going to sound crazy to you," Anne tried to put on her most professional air, "but when I shook your hand, I just got this horrible feeling that you were in danger."
"So, are you like a psychic or something?"
"Or something," Anne shrugged. "We're not trying to frighten you, we just wanted to make sure you were aware that you could be in danger so you can take all necessary precautions."
Sam took out his card. "Look, the killer finds a way to open the victim's window. That's how he abducts them. Just do me a favor and check your windows every night. Also be aware of anyone who has access to the place you're staying. A maid, repair man, exterminator. Call me if you notice anything suspicious."
"All right," Linda accepted the card as Barb walked over.
"Hey, Sam," she smiled. Her gray hair was freshly washed and curled, and she wore a flowered dress. "Everything all right?"
"Yeah, Barb. Everything's fine." Sam indicated William outside where Officer Janson was pulling a quarter out of his ear. "Just had a little lost boy who learned a lesson the hard way."
Linda reached out and touched Barb's arm. "I just love the necklace I bought here this morning," she said before Sam guided her back out into the street where her son waited. "And William loves the little seashell turtle. Thanks again."
"Thanks for the business," Barb sighed. "Lord knows we need it."
Gina turned over and looked at the clock.
"I gotta get to work," she groaned. "Brian?" Turning toward the empty pillow, she heard the steady beat of the shower. She slid out of bed, and began to gather her clothes from last night. Pants, shirts, bra, one shoe. "Where's my other shoe?" Still groggy, she flipped up the scratchy hotel comforter and peered under the bed. One shoe and...one suspicious looking black duffle bag?
Her heart flopped. Pausing to make sure she could still hear the shower running, she slowly dragged it from underneath the bed. A small padlock kept her from opening the zipper. She squeezed the outside of the canvas bag, trying to figure out what was inside. Square objects, hard objects. She shook it. No noise. The shower turned off. She shoved it back under the bed, scrambled up and got dressed, her heart still pounding.
"Hey, Brian, I've gotta get to work, I'm late," she yelled through the bathroom door.
He opened it, dripping wet. "Hey," he stopped her.
"Yeah?"
"We still going to that birthday party tomorrow?"
"Yeah, noon. Bayfront Park."
He grabbed her for a kiss before she could get out the door. "Always in such a rush. I'll pick you up."
Anne knocked softly on the divider wall. "Hey."
"Oh, hey," Sam quickly gathered up the photos he had been studying and tried to slip them back into the folder. Some of them fluttered to the floor. Without thinking, Anne went to help him pick them up.
"Anne," he tried to stop her. Too late. She stood riveted, the photos in her hand, staring at Molly's bloated, waxy face. The closely cropped photo highlighted tangles of matted, braided hair and missing eyes and lips. Oh god. The shock was like a jolt to her heart. She dropped the first picture onto his desk and was about to do the same with the second one but something caught her eye. This one was a close-up of her ankle, a patch of skin gone.
Sam stood up and came over to stand beside her. "Are you okay?"
"He did this. Why did he do this?"
"The missing flesh? He dumped her before the hurricane, Anne. She had skin missing all over, birds, fish. Anything could have caused that. We don't know that he did that. Removing skin hasn't been part of his routine."
"No." She shook her head. "It was deliberately cut out."
"It? What was it?"
"Her tattoo." She glanced up into his face, the hairs rising on her arms as the scene on the beach with Molly replayed in her mind. "She had a butterfly tattoo on that ankle. She got it while she was here. I have a photo of it."
"Her husband never mentioned that to us or the ME, I'm sure." Sam stepped out the from behind the wall, spotted O'Brady and waved him over.
"What's up?" O'Brady asked.
"The last victim, Molly Shillings, had a butterfly tattoo on her ankle. It's missing. I need you to go talk to Drake. Take photos of the other girls, see if he recognizes them, if they came into his shop, if there's been anyone suspicious hanging around. You know the drill."
"Already there." O'Brady nodded.
"Drake?" Anne asked.
"Kid who runs Island Tattoo & Piercings. The only place to get a tattoo on the island."
"Did any of the other girls get tattoos?"
He sat down at his desk and pulled a stack of folders out of the drawer. "Don't think so, maybe piercings though. He does those, too. The shop may be the link we need, if so."
Anne watched him go through the victim's files, the concentration turning to frustration. "No tattoos. First girl had a navel piercing but no jewelry. Maybe she got that done here. I'll have to check."
"I don't know, if it was fresh, she would have had to keep a stud or ring in it to keep from closing up."
Sam thought for a moment. "Could be her parents didn't approve and made her remove it. Worth a phone call."
Captain Moretti knocked on the door. "Sam, that girl reported missing last night has been found. She's fine. Oh, Anne, we need to do some PR photos tomorrow. Nine a.m. in the briefing room."
"I'll be there, Captain."
"Parents are getting paranoid." Sam sighed. "Can't blame them."
Anne couldn't help but think of Gina's words during lunch.
It's time for parents to lock up their daughters.
Pine Avenue was eerily quiet for a Friday night. Just the rustling of the wind in the rows of palm trees and an occasional car cruising by broke the silence. Cheryl Rhymes picked at her chipped orange nail polish, her elbows resting on the table outside Castaway's Grill.
"I don't know why you're still with Jeff, Tonya," she sighed. "He's such a loser."
"It's not like there's a lot to choose from here, Cheryl." Tonya glanced behind her at the waiter, playing with his phone at the table just inside the grill. "Hey, Frankie? You working or what? Bring us another round." Cheryl pushed aside her empty beer mug, shaking her head. "Talk about losers."
"Oh shit," Cheryl straightened up and pulled her black sweater tighter around her body. "Yeah, talk about losers." She nodded behind Tonya.
Tonya slowly turned and then groaned.
"Hola, sluts." Vick Jr. sneered as he approached the girl's table with one of his buddies. "What's a matter, no tricks tonight?"
"You're so witty, Vick." Tonya rolled her eyes. "I don't know how you can stand yourself."
"Just ignore them," Cheryl whispered, her eyes cast down.
"What was that?" Vick moved to stand over her, pushed aside her long brown hair and hissed in her ear. "You think you can ignore me? You're never gonna get rid of me, baby." The smell of vodka overwhelmed her and she jerked her head away.
"Come on, Vick," his friend tapped his back. "Let's go. Vipers will have some real girls."
Frankie brought two mugs out, sat them on the table and stood there, his eyes darting from one guy to the other, sizing them up.
"What are you lookin' at, freak?" Vick Jr. wobbled as he tried to stand straight.
Cheryl felt that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she always got around Vick Jr. Why did he have to cause so much trouble? She really just wanted to grab Tonya and run but she sat, frozen.
"Stop bothering my customers," Frankie said, his arms crossed against his belly.
Vick Jr. raised his hands and looked at his friend. "You believe this big sweaty oaf, Jay?"
"Come on, Vick." Jay shook his head. "We don't need no trouble. Let's go have some fun."
"Listen to your buddy," Tonya said. "Go have some fun somewhere else."
Vick glared at her, his brown eyes darkening. "I'll have fun wherever I want." He reached down and knocked over both beers and laughed as the girls jumped out of their seats with soaking wet laps.
"That's it." Frankie pushed Vick Jr. hard enough to make him fall on the sidewalk. "Get out of here!"
"Hey!" Jay shoved Frankie back against the building. "That was the wrong move, asshole."
"Son of a..." Vick Jr. was up, stumbling toward Frankie, rage sharpening the lines of his face.
Cheryl tried to stop him. She pulled at his arm. "Vick, you don't need this kind of trouble."
"Get off me!" He backhanded her hard enough to knock her to the ground.
The bleat of a police siren interrupted the fight.
"What's going on here?" Officer O'Brady got out of the car and slammed the door, assessing the scene as the owner of Castaways came out with the same question.
"Frankie, answer the officer. What the hell happened out here?"
Frankie helped Tonya lift Cheryl off the ground, handing her a paper napkin for her split and bleeding lip. Officer Williams moved around to help them.
"Just Vick Jr. being his usual asshole self, Officer." Tonya motioned to the beer all over her pants.
"That true Vick?" Officer O'Brady asked.
Vick sulked and glared at them all in silence.
"Don't you think we got enough trouble going on in this town? We don't need this petty fighting. You all got it?"
Everyone nodded.
"Good, now get home, all of you. Before I decided to let you sleep it off in lock up. Cheryl, you need a ride to the hospital to have that cut looked at?"
"No, thanks. I'll be fine."
"Vick Jr. do that to you?"
"Yes, sir."
Officer O'Brady turned to Vick Jr. "This how you treat women, Vick?"
Vick stood with his head down. "I'm gonna have to have a talk with your father. Now go home. Party's over." He watched Vick and Jay walk away then turned back to Cheryl.
"Will you press charges?"
"No."
You afraid of him?"
Cheryl nodded.
"You think he's capable of really harming someone?"
Cheryl looked up at him, tears welling up in her eyes. "Yes, sir."
"All right. Come on. I'll give you girls a ride home."
Anne sat out on the patio, cocooned in the bed's thin comforter, trying to shake a particularly vivid nightmare. The fall air was crisp, chilled. A billion stars shimmered above the dark sea. She felt safer in the dark, like she could hide from whatever force pulled her puppet strings. Running. Hiding. Reacting. Was this living? No, it was surviving. Moments like these, when she felt so exhausted, so tired of being tired, it became dangerous for her to have a full bottle of sleeping pills.
A sound behind her made her sit up and peer back into the condo through the open sliding door.
On the edge of the couch sat a man. He wasn't looking at her. He just sat there motionless, as if waiting for something.
Blinking, she rubbed her eyes and looked again. Still there. She stood, wrapped the comforter tighter around her and stepped back into the condo.
Anne felt no fear, only curiosity. Surely, she must be dreaming. She stared at the man, pale skin, dark hair, dressed in all black. Common sense said she should be panicking. Why wasn't she panicking? As she moved closer, her puzzlement turned into wonder. He seemed luminous. Where was that light coming from? He sat unmoving, large hands resting on his knees. Waiting. He didn't even seem to be breathing.
"Hello?"
He turned to her then. Sea foam green eyes smiled kindly at her. His mouth didn't change shape.
"How did you get in here?" Anne moved closer, wondering at her curious reaction to some stranger showing up in her living room. "I'm dreaming, right? I have to be dreaming."
"Hello. Anne." He gestured for her to sit. "I do not come to harm you but to help you. It is time to stop fighting your gift if you are to survive. You have questions."
She pinched herself under the blanket. It hurt. Still, this was too surreal to be happening. If her subconscious was playing tricks, she figured she'd play along. "Questions about my gift?" She took a seat in the recliner opposite the sofa.
He motioned toward the open sliding glass door. "It is breathtaking. The ocean. The sea air. The star light. Such a strange and wonderful view from your..." he paused, "your home."
Anne studied him. His whole being seemed to be made out of light. "Are you an angel or something?" She didn't believe in angels, but having one sitting on her couch, dream or not, could turn her into a believer.
His eyes were so beautiful, like liquid nature. She felt warmth radiate from them as he gazed at her.
"Anne, I am what I am, no matter the label. There are things in this world and others that remain hidden, undiscovered because people don't believe. They have preconceived notions about what they should or shouldn't be seeing and are very good at blocking out that which doesn't fit those notions. Mind blinders." His chest moved and Anne felt a sigh of sadness stir in her own chest. "But, that's a conversation for another time. You are moving into a period of great danger. We must discuss both your gift and the danger it places you in."
"You keep mentioning my gift. You must know I don't think of it as a gift?"
"Acceptance makes it a gift. Fear makes it a curse."
Well, that was easy for him to say. Anne pulled the comforter tighter around her. How did he know about her gift anyway? This whole weird conversation was probably just her mind trying to work things out in a dream? May as well listen.
"Environment, the state that something is fostered in, is crucial to its outcome. Do you understand?"
"No."
The man was so still, except for his eyes. They moved from the open sliding door back to her. "Your gift is like a newborn. Predisposed to certain traits, but the energy, the environment, that it is surrounded with, negative or positive is what shapes those traits and will determine their ultimate outcome. And make no mistake, there is going to be growth if you survive. You will go through a metamorphosis. Your skill will get stronger, but you will be the ultimate judge of whether it is a gift or curse."
Anne stared at him. "Let's go back to the part about 'if I survive'."
"Yes. You are aware of the short life spans of your ancestors?"
"Yes."
He paused for a moment. "Do you know that a butterfly must struggle, fight its way from the chrysalis to build sufficient wing strength or it will not be able to fly? The spirit meant to fly must be tested, its strength proven."
"By twenty-eight?"
"The timing is what it is. Nature is efficient but gives sufficient time."
"What do I have to do to live to be twenty-eight?"
"You already know the answer. It is within you. Trust yourself and accept your gift."
"I don't understand."
"Understanding is not necessary at this point. Time grows short. You must embrace your power, not fear it. Stop running and turn. Stand still. Look it in the face with an open heart and mind. Let go. Only then will you be able to fly." He stood, shimmering like the night sky. "But now you must rest."
#
Anne awoke the next morning, still wrapped up in the comforter in the recliner. She felt fully rested for the first time in years. Her eyes landed on the couch, remembering the strange green-eyed man from the dream the night before. The memory brought with it a sense of overwhelming well being. How nice to have a pleasant dream for a change. As she stretched and made her way to the kitchen to make coffee, a feeling started to solidify inside of her. Somehow, deep down inside, she was starting to believe that the green eyed man wasn't just someone she'd met in a dream.
The Monarch rocks back and forth muttering, "Spiritual freedom requires sacrifice, spiritual freedom requires sacrifice." He repeats the mantra over and over; voice and body maintaining the same rhythm.
His thoughts drift back to his mother. She is all flesh and hair at the bathroom sink. She is humming and cutting ribbons from the Christmas box into long strands. It's cold. One flutters to the floor and he reaches for it...
The girl begins to wake, her head rolling on her shoulders. She moans. He feels adrenalin rip through his body. It is the only feeling he has now and he savors it. There was a time he could feel other things, but that time is gone. Now he is just a vessel. A tool for the mission. He is an empty shell for the Monarch to work through. All humans are a shell, they just don't know it.
Her eyes open. She blinks. She registers her surroundings, starts to struggle against her bonds.
"You?" she says. "Let me go!"
He puts a gag in her mouth and she struggles harder. Such a beautiful thing, this struggle. He feels privileged to witness it. He alone has been chosen. He rises and moves behind her. He strokes her hair with his fingers. She whips her head back and forth violently, throwing herself forward and back in the chair. This creates a rhythm, a rocking that soothes him. He waits for her to stop, then once again strokes her hair. Her muffled screams sound like an animal's. Why can't she be calm? It makes him angry when they don't understand that he's their savior. So unappreciative. But she will soon understand.
He waits her out. When, at last, she sits exhausted, sobbing quietly, he begins the braiding.
The party got started at noon under a light blue autumn sky; a heavy breeze shaking the palm trees like pom pom's. The smell of hamburgers cooking wafted on the ocean breeze from the grill.
Stacy Meeks smiled at her daughter through the smoke. Ros and her friends had a good game of volleyball going on the beach.
She may not have been able to provide fancy clothes or big vacations, but this had been a good place to raise her little girl. Little girl, she shook her head. Where did fourteen years go? No, not a little girl anymore, but not quite grown. And Stacey wanted Roselyn to grow all the way up. She frowned and flipped a burger extra hard. If they didn't catch this killer soon, she was seriously thinking about finding Ros's father and asking him to keep her for awhile.
"Can I take over for you?" Sam asked. "The mother of the birthday girl shouldn't be working."
"Oh, well, If you insist," Stacy laughed. "I wasn't really enjoying cooking on my day off, anyway. Thanks." She wandered leisurely down the boardwalk, pulling down the sleeves of her shirt as the air cooled closer to the water.
"Hey." Stacy waved as she spotted Anne coming toward her across the soft sand, her camera hanging from her shoulder. "Thanks for taking some pictures for me."
"My pleasure," Anne smiled. "It's nice to record a happy event for a change." Behind the camera today Anne had been able to forget the fear and suspicion hanging over everyone on the island for a while. And there hadn't been a dead body in sight. That's always a bonus.
"Yeah, I don't know how you do it." Stacy shivered. "I bust my butt waitin' tables, but I'd take that any day over what you do."
"I know. At first I felt like I was helping. Being a part of the solution to solving crimes." Anne leaned against the sun-bleached railing. "But now, I don't know. Am I really helping anyone? Or am I just destroying myself? It's getting harder. I'm not sure I can do it anymore."
"I guess that's a question only you can answer for yourself, Anne." Stacy glanced up at her friend, her blue eyes shining under a ball cap. "I'm sure you could do anything you set your mind to. Hell, while you decide, there's always restaurants here looking for good waitresses.
"Aw, good one, Ros!" Stacy cupped her hands and yelled, laughing as her daughter pushed herself up off the sand, dusting off sand and high fiving her teammates after scoring the winning point. "How's Sam, by the way?"
Anne laughed when she saw the smirk. "What is it with all you matchmakers on this island? Sam and I may just be the two most screwed up people alive and you all want to put us together?"
"Well," said Stacy, "there's at least one soul walking around this island who's more screwed up than you two. You two have just had some bouts of bad luck. The killer, well, he's broken in a way that's different than anything we can imagine."
"Yeah. You'd think a monster like that would stick out like a sore thumb."
Stacy shivered. "What if the killer turns out to be a local, ya know? What if he's someone I've let my daughter talk to? Do you think the police are getting any closer to figuring out who he is?"
"Honestly, I don't think so."
"Why this island? I mean, he's here, living, eating...hell, I might have served him dinner last night. Can you imagine?"
Both women glanced around. Anne felt like they were being watched, but then again, that was nothing new. She'd had that feeling all her life. She thought about her upcoming birthday. On November fourteenth she would turn twenty-eight. Would she make it? It seemed unlikely at the rate she was falling into one dangerous situation after another. Something had to change. And it had to change fast.
"Hey, Sam, can I talk to you a minute?"
Sam glanced up at Gina. "Sure, grab a plate and help me get some of these charbroiled burgers off the fire."
Gina grabbed a couple of plates off the picnic table and held them for him as he unloaded the grill. "Charbroiled? Is that what we're calling burnt these days?"
"You really missed your calling as a comedian." Sam gestured with the spatula. "So, what's up?"
Gina glanced around and folded her arms. "I found something in Brian's motel room this morning, hidden under the bed." She tried to keep her voice low.
"What? Like a dead body?"
"No, Sam, I'm serious."
"Me too, have you been on Anna Maria lately?"
"Ok, fair enough. But, no. It was a duffle bag."
"What was it in?"
"I don't know. It had a padlock."
"And?"
"And, well. I suddenly feel like he's keeping something from me. A secret. I guess it just made me realize that I don't know him that well. Secrets really make me nervous."
"So, don't see him anymore."
"But I like him. And besides, then how am I going to find out what's in the duffle bag?"
"How are you gonna.... what?" Sam straightened up and looked Gina square in the face. "You're not. He could be dangerous, Gina. Listen, Anne asked me to keep an eye on him. She apparently saw him getting on a boat with some guy before the hurricane. She thought it was really suspicious. He could be mixed up in something dicey. You don't know what you're dealing with here."
Gina's eyes narrowed. "She never mentioned that to me."
"Yeah, well...I'm telling you now so you don't put yourself in danger snooping through his stuff. If he does have something to hide, you don't want to be the one to find it. Especially if you're alone with him."
Gina stood in silence for a minute, listening to the kids laughing and shouting during the volleyball game. "I don't know, Sam. When did life get so complicated?" She waved the comment away. "No, don't answer that."
"Food's ready!" Sam yelled and then, leaning closer to Gina, "I mean it. Leave it alone. If I can find probable cause, I'll do a search of his motel room myself."
"Thanks, Sam." She squeezed his arm and went to find Brian.
A dozen hungry teenagers abandoned the volleyball net and descended on the pavilion.
"Thanks, Chef Sam. You can burn a burger with the best of 'em." Stacy teased adding ketchup and pickles to her bun. Anne also grabbed a well done burger and slid onto the picnic bench across from a sweaty, smiling Roselyn.
"How's the party so far?" Anne asked, sipping a cup of oversweet birthday punch.
"Awesome," Roselyn grinned. "I can't wait to open my presents. Hey, Shelly," she said, turning to her best friend beside her and holding out her arm. "Did you see the bracelet mom gave me this morning?"
"Ros, you weren't supposed to wear it to the beach," Stacy said.
Anne admired the thin silver chain around Roselyn's dainty wrist. A tiny charm dangled from it. "That's really pretty, Roselyn, it suits you," she said as the other girls took turns ogling it.
Something familiar, like déjà vu or a moment of clarity tried to push its way to the surface of Anne's thoughts. The more she tried to grasp at it, the more it slipped away. She shook it off as Sam slipped onto the bench beside her with a plateful of food. Gina and Brian sat down on the other side of Stacy.
The nagging thought got pushed aside as everyone started chatting about normal birthday stuff. Anne surrendered to the moment and let herself enjoy the party. She couldn't spend every waking second looking for clues. If whatever was bothering her was important, it would come to light soon enough....
Sam stepped out of the bar and walked toward the pier. A gorgeous November morning greeted him---low seventies, smattering of thin clouds drifting across a blue sky, strong breeze coming off the ocean. Three pelicans waddled in front of him as he walked the length of the pier.
He was frustrated. His mind kept struggling and grasping for some kind of connection that he was missing. He needed some clues.
The tattoo connection hadn't panned out. And so far none of his suspects had either. If he was honest with himself he hated the idea that Finn could alibi that psycho Brad Stark. His money had been on Stark since the beginning. If it had been anybody else he'd worry that Stark had paid them off, but Sam believed Finn. Checking out Grady's had been a formality after he found out that none of the three pest control companies on the island had brown uniforms like the one the maid had described. But he'd done it anyway just to be thorough. The bartender at Shore Shots said Vince Sr. had been there all night when Molly disappeared, but Jr. was out for about two hours with some unnamed girl. Could be the break he'd been looking for. Now he'd just have to run down the girl.
He hoped she wouldn't be a dead end as well. He kept hitting wall after wall on this thing. What was he missing? How could you even apply logic to the actions of someone as twisted as the person killing seemingly random girls?
He just had to keep working with the facts he had. Maybe the killer worked at a pest control company in another town. Or maybe the guy just got a uniform somewhere. It wouldn't be that hard to pick one up.
His phone buzzed on his hip.
"Yeah?"
"Got another body, Sam. She's a local."
He closed his eyes against the emotion that rose up like bile in his throat.
"Where?"
Sam parked his car and got out. The rolling green hills of Heron Point golf course were taped off and crisscrossed with the tire tracks of police cruisers. Sam made his way through the crowd of golfers who had just had their game interrupted by discovering the mutilated body of Cheryl Rhymes in the pond by hole nine.
Finding out if Vic Jr. had an alibi for either last night or the night Molly disappeared had just bumped itself up a notch on Sam's to do list.
Sam cruised slowly down Pine Avenue ten minutes after Cheryl's funeral, his eyes sweeping the sidewalks, the shops. Watching them put Cheryl in the ground, a girl he'd known for most of her life, made the sense of urgency to catch this freak almost unbearable. He waved to the staff at Shell's Bakery, standing outside having a smoke, no customers in sight. Some businesses were still boarded up while they waited for hurricane repair. There was almost no one on the street. A few stragglers still lingered, but normally this place would be bustling with tourists. A lot of businesses were really going to be hurt by this mess. He sighed. A serial killer and a hurricane in one season? What tourist town economy could survive that?
This little island thrived off of its visitors. This time of year meant life for them, before summer brought its heat and empty homes, part time residents heading back up north, business owners taking long vacations.
Bayfest had helped some, but not enough. While wandering the festival he'd overheard several knots of tourists whispering about Anna Maria Island being cursed as they scarfed down a final meal, grabbed a final souvenir and then high tailed it off the island. Who knows, he thought. Maybe the island is cursed. Hell, maybe he was cursed as well. Fated to be alone.
He thought about Anne. She was the only woman who'd made him feel anything since college. Funny that he'd be stirred by a woman with her own curse and a high probability of dying a young, violent death.
He steered his sedan over to the curb on Pine Avenue and parked.
Shells clanking against the door announced his arrival at Barb's Beach Bobbles.
"Hey, Barb."
Barb sat on a stool behind the counter, reading a worn paperback. "Hey, Sam. Come here to keep an old lady company?"
"Business slow I take it?"
"More like nonexistent. Catching up on my reading." She showed him the battered spine.
Sam knew that wasn't going to pay the bills. "That bad, huh? Sorry to hear it. Is Finn here? I thought I'd treat him to some lunch."
"Naw, he's out on that damn boat."
"How's he doing? I know you had some trouble with him lately."
Barb glanced up from her book and shook her head. "He's fine. Just keeping to himself a lot lately. I think the calendar's got to him. It's been almost a year since he found Maria Jones where she'd wrecked her car and died in that canal. It changed him, you know?" She squirmed and shot Sam an apologetic look. "Yeah, you do know. I'm sorry. It's just, hell, Sam...." she laid the book on the counter and rested her chin on her hands. "With his past, I don't know if leaving him be so he can wallow in it is helping the situation. Maybe I should get him back to church. We haven't been in a few years. Might give him someone to talk to."
"I think we're just going to have to give him time to heal. He's found something he likes and feels in control of in that boat. I think that's a good thing. All we can do is be there when he's ready to talk about it."
"And who's going to be there for you, Sam Larson if you ever decide to talk about your own misery?" She smiled and rested a comforting hand on his arm.
Sam shook his head. "Don't you worry about me." He pushed away from the counter.
"None of my business, but it seems to me," Barb said, going back to her novel, "maybe you should think about taking that lady, Anne, out for dinner. Pretty girl, seems smart."
Sam turned around at the door. "She is. She's smart and a lot more. But everyone's got their own demons, Barb. Tell Finn I'll catch him later for dinner maybe."
Filtered darkness. Anne's eyes flew open. She began to panic, struggle. Her breath came in gasps, fogging up the plastic wrapped around her head. She tried to scream, but no sound came. She tried to rip the plastic from her face, but her arms, her body were paralyzed. Trapped. No air left. Her lungs pulled at the darkness. Still, she struggled. Suddenly, the wrapping around her ripped and she sat up, new wings shuddering on her back.
Screaming, she kicked herself free from the tangle of covers and fell to the floor. She sat there for a moment, shaking, catching her breath, wiping the tears from her face with her t-shirt.
"Just a dream," she repeated over and over, stroking the carving of the goddess Fortuna on the ring her aunts had given her, trying to comfort herself. It wasn't the ring itself that brought her comfort. She didn't believe that some goddess ruled people's fate. But knowing the ring had once been worn on the hands of other women in her family, women with their own curse to bear, made her feel less alone. She sat trembling, trying to breathe slowly and settle down. After a while she climbed back into bed. But something nagged at her from the dream. She reached back thoughtfully to her shoulder blades and wondered about wings....
Vick Jr. sat in the tiny interrogation room, his nonchalant attitude really pushing Sam's patience to the breaking point. When he wasn't providing one or two word answers to Sam's questions he just sat and stared. There seemed to be no human feelings behind the stare; no fear, no anger, no emotion at all. Sam wanted to ask Vick how many weeks it had been since he bothered to wash his hair. What was it with kids these days? They all seemed so damaged.
"What can you tell me about Cheryl's death?"
"I didn't kill her."
"You hit her in the face two days before she disappeared."
"That don't mean nothin'."
"Sam leaned forward."Don't you feel bad that she's dead?"
"No," Vick shrugged. "She meant nothing to me."
Sam crunched down on a toothpick, shook his head and left the room. This line of questioning was getting him nowhere.
"Hey, Sam," Officer Williams, walked up and gestured toward a short guy wearing a suit and a predatory smile signing in at the front desk. "Vick Sr.'s here. Brought a lawyer."
"Fine. Let Jr. go. We can't hold him just for being a damn sociopath."
Linda Jacobs lay in bed, humming and stroking her son's freshly washed hair as he began to doze off. This had been such a great trip. Just her and her baby. She smiled. But they only had two more days until they had to head back to the reality of a life without Will's father. The cheating bastard.
Thank god for good neighbors. This little break had been just what she'd needed. A couple of days of no worries. And when they got back, Sal had offered to cut her grass and Helen had offered to watch Will if she needed to pick up a few extra shifts to make ends meet. They would be all right. She could love Will enough for two parents. She pulled a sheet over them as her eyes got heavy. And then she remembered the window. She had forgotten to check it. Will let out a little snore. She really didn't want to move and disturb him. She had checked the window last night. No one had access to the place except the lady who cleaned every other day, and today wasn't a cleaning day. But now that she had thought about it, there was no way she'd sleep without checking it. That Anne lady and the policeman had been so adamant about being careful. She sighed. Just get up and get it over with.
Slipping out of bed, she tiptoed across the cold tile floor and tugged on the window. Her heart almost stopped as it easily slid open.
"Shit!" Slamming it back down, she turned the lock, tugged on it again to make sure it was secure and ran to fish through her purse for that detective's card.
#
Sam got the call a little after eight o'clock. He sped to Gulf Drive only cutting the siren long enough to call Lenny at home to come over and dust for prints. Maybe they were finally one step ahead of this psycho.
And the break in the case might be thanks to Anne. As crazy as it had initially sounded, he really was convinced now that Anne had some sort of unique gift. Even if she wasn't sure it was a gift or a curse yet. He wanted it to be a gift. But he worried about the price her ancestors had paid for their gift. Dying before the age of twenty eight? No, that was not going to happen to Anne on his watch.
He pulled the sedan parallel to the little blue house, parking half in the grass, half on the street. Linda Jacobs opened the door before he had a chance to knock.
"Thanks for coming. I'm so freaked out right now. Will's still asleep in the bedroom. I was hoping we didn't have to wake him."
Sam fished out his notepad. "We don't have to wake him. I have an officer coming to see if we can get any prints off of the window but he can work quietly." He followed Linda to a tiny dinette table sandwiched between the couch and kitchen counter. "Who had access to the house today?"
"Just the cleaning lady, Stella. She comes every other day. But, I called the Murphy's and they said they did call her to come while I'm here. She's been their cleaning lady for ten years. They trust her completely."
Sam remembered the maid's name from Molly's bungalow. It wasn't Stella. So, they could rule out a conspiracy with the maid involved. "Are you always here when she comes?"
"No, she has a key. She came yesterday while Will and I were at the beach."
"About what time?"
"Had to be between nine and eleven." She wrapped her arms around her body. "The window was locked last night. Do you really think the serial killer is after me?"
"I can't say for certain but it's better to play it safe. We'll contact the maid in the morning, see if anyone came in while she was here yesterday. I'm going to get some undercover officers to watch over the house for the next few days. Maybe whoever did this will come back and we can catch him in the act."
"I think I'm going to just take Will back home if that's all right? This is too real now."
Damn. If the killer's watching her, he'll know she left and they won't be able to catch him sneaking in. Probably too late anyway, if he's watching. Sam's presence here tonight would have scared him off. "Sure. I understand." He flipped the pad around to face her. "I just need you to write down everything you did, everyone you talked to since you've been here. We need to figure out why you were targeted...if, in fact, you were." He knew in his gut that she had been, but there was no use in scaring her to death. She'd be safe once she left the island. At least he hoped she would be. It was nearly impossible to try to apply logic to the thinking of a psycho driven by some sick fantasy of his own making. Once a victim was chosen did they have to die? Would he be stalled if Linda left or would he just move on to the next victim? Sam's head spun.
Lenny knocked.
Sam opened the door for him, introduced him to Linda. "Okay, while you check the inside, I'm going to see if the neighbors are home. See if they saw anything."
The house on the right had a 'For Sale' sign and sat empty. When he knocked on the house to the left, an elderly man in a bathrobe peeked out.
"Yes?"
"Hi, Sir. I'm detective Sam Larson. I was wondering if you saw anyone suspicious hanging around the area the last few days? Any unusual activity at your neighbor's house?"
"Naw," he shooed a paunchy yellow cat away from the door. "Can't recall nothing suspicious. Someone get robbed?"
"No sir." Sam handed him a card. "Nothing to worry about. Give me a call if you think of anything."
Sam made his way back across the wet lawn when someone honked at him from the road. He waved and walked over to Barb's van.
"Hey, Finn. How was the water today?"
"Pretty calm. We skim boardin' tomorrow?"
"I'll give you a call. May have to do some interviews in the morning."
Finn nodded toward the house. "Everything okay here?"
"Yeah. All good." Sam checked his watch, "you better get the van back before your mother has your hide."
Sam waved as he drove off and then turned back toward the house, staring at the bedroom window that had been unlocked. It was visible from the street. Anyone driving by would spot someone sneaking in or out. Was the killer getting bolder? Getting sloppy? God, he hoped so. They could use a break.
Roselyn sat at the kitchen table staring at her algebra homework. She liked it when her mom worked the late shift because she got to listen to a radio station that actually played music from this century while she studied. She loved her mom, but her taste in music sucked. She almost didn't hear the soft knock over the music. She glanced at the clock. Anne wasn't supposed to check on her for another half an hour.
Roselyn dropped her pen onto her math book, turned down the music and crept over to the door. She pressed her eye against the peephole. The street light made it hard to see his face, but she still recognized him.
What was he doing here?
Don't open the door for anyone but Anne, her mother had said a gazillion times.
"Sorry. I'm not allowed to open the door," she yelled loud enough so he'd hear her through the door. Even if it was someone she knew, her mother had been very specific. And repetitive. And serious. She was not to open the door.
"So, your mom's not home?"
"No," she answered.
"Okay, well, I just wanted to give you your birthday present. I forgot it before. I'll just leave it out here by the door, okay?"
Birthday present? Well, that was nice of him. "Oh. Thank you!" she yelled through the door again. She kept her eye up to the peephole until he left, then slowly twisted the dead bolt open and peered down the hallway. No one in sight.
Kneeling down, she picked up the box wrapped in pretty pink paper. She turned it over. No card. She shook it a little, then she shook it harder. It felt so light. Like paper.
Roselyn didn't see him exit the janitor's closet, where he was waiting. She didn't see him step back into the hallway.
She turned when she felt movement behind her, but she didn't even have time to scream before the drugged cloth and strong arms clamped around her torso. She struggled until the world went black. Within seconds her limp toes dragged across the pretty pink present, crumpling it where it lay, mission accomplished, on the hallway floor.
Gina waited until Brian went out for cigarettes to pull the special tools she had borrowed from one of her shadier friends from her purse. She couldn't wait for Sam to find probable cause. She had to know what was in that duffel bag now. She couldn't imagine what Brian was keeping in there, locked away in secret. She hated secrets.
Once she had wrangled the bag out from under the bed, she slowly broke into the lock.
What she saw inside shocked the hell out of her. Oh great, Gina, you really picked a winner.
"Gina? I forgot my wallet." Brian stopped still in the doorway, staring down at her. His face darkened. "Oh, Gina."
Anger swept away Gina's common sense. "What the hell, Brian?"
"You had to go all reporter on me and snoop around, didn't you?"
"Oh!" she gestured wildly at the bag. "Don't turn this around on me. You're the one with the secret bag under the bed. If this bag was full of dirty laundry, we wouldn't have a problem right now."
"Do we have a problem? Look," he came closer and put a hand on her shoulder, "you don't understand let's talk about this."
"I understand plenty buddy. We have nothing left to talk about. I'm sure Sam will have plenty to talk to you about, though." She tried to push past him to the door, but he didn't budge. As he reached behind him and slammed the door, a prickle of fear ran through her as she realized that they were all alone, and Brian was a lot bigger than she was.
Anne dug out the metal box she kept for important belongings and stashed her ancestors' record book in it for safe keeping. It made for interesting reading but she wasn't in the right frame of mind for the stories right now. Some day. When things had settled down. Some day she would have to get the journal from her father and figure out what it all meant.
Anne hadn't left the apartment in four days. She'd promised Sam she'd stay put. She didn't have anywhere to go, anyway. She'd given her notice at the police station. She was done with crime scenes and dead bodies. She had no idea what she would do now, but she definitely didn't have the stomach for forensic work anymore. Maybe she would go back to shooting weddings. But maybe not. Weddings made her think of Molly. She wondered if that would always be true. She shook the sadness away. She had tortured herself enough over Molly's death. Could she really have done anything to prevent it? She really didn't know. But she did know that she wanted to survive past her birthday despite whatever fate might have planned for her. Until then she needed to stay alert and stay out of harm's way.
Sam called every couple hours to check on her, and stopped by at night to bring her Chinese take-out. Although she was growing tired of Kung Pao Chicken, Anne was enjoying his company. And she liked beating him at chess.
She would give him two more days and then she would have to go back to living some kind of life instead of hiding. In two days she would turn twenty-eight. She could stand being on house arrest until then. Why not give her aunts and Sam some peace so they wouldn't be so worried about her? That's what she kept telling herself anyway. Whether she believed the deaths were all coincidences was a different story.
Before she closed the lid, Anne wandered over to her dresser and pulled out a photo. Her thirteenth birthday. A pink frosted cake sat on the table in front of her and Anne wore a princess crown. Such a happy moment. Her mother leaned over her from behind, dark eyes shining, arms wrapped tightly around Anne. She could still smell her mom's lavender shampoo. She could remember certain things like that, her smell and she remembered how she sounded when she sang or laughed, the way she always twisted her wedding band when she was anxious. Other things had faded. Unless Anne was looking at a photo, her mother's face was smoothing out in memories, she couldn't remember the details. Had she had wrinkles? Long eyelashes? Freckles? Anne pushed away the panic.
"Wish you were still here in the land of the living, Mom." Her eyes teared up. "I miss you." She placed a light kiss on the photo and glanced up at the clock. A little after eight. Time to check on Roselyn. Wiping at her eyes, she put the photo carefully back in the box and closed the lid.
Anne pressed an eye to the peephole before she unlocked her door. It looked clear. She slipped on flip flops and light jacket and stepped out into the hallway.
The pink package lying in the hall got her attention first. Confused, she took a few steps and saw that Ros's door was open. Had Stacy come home early?
"Hello? Stacy? Ros?" she called from the doorway. Silence. Dread began to creep through her. This wasn't right. In fact, it was terribly wrong. "Ros?" She could barely squeeze the name out, her lungs were so constricted with fear. God no!
"Roselyn!" She screamed as she ran through the open doorway. She raced around the small place, checking the patio, the bathroom, her legs shaking with fear. She clicked off the radio. In the silence she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. "Roselyn!" She screamed once last time into the empty condo.
She ran outside and scanned the parking lot. No sign of movement. "NO, no, no! You bastard!"
Anne ran back into her place and grabbed her cell phone. Sam picked up on the second ring.
"Oh my god, Sam..." she pushed out between rapid breaths. "It's Ros! She's gone!"
Stacy had to be sedated. Anne sat in her hospital room, heavy curtains blocking out the morning sun. Stacy hadn't moved in the last hour. Anne held her cold hand and hoped that when she woke up they'd have good news. It was one of the most painful things Anne has ever been through, to tell a mother her little girl had been kidnapped. Last night when Sam had told Stacy that Ros had been taken, she had collapsed, clutching her chest and screaming, "My baby, my baby!" Anne had sobbed with her until her eyes were swollen shut. She felt responsible. If only she hadn't been a few minutes late checking on Ros. Just a few minutes...those minutes may have been the difference between Stacy still having a child or not. The doctor hadn't come right out and said it, but he hinted that if her daughter wasn't found alive, Stacy may not live through this crisis. Her heart wasn't dealing well with the strain.
Anne could feel the specter of death hovering over Ros, over Stacy and over herself. Tomorrow she would turn twenty-eight all hell had broken loose. Maybe her aunts were right. Maybe her ancestors' early deaths weren't just coincidences. But there was no way, despite Sam's pleas, that she could sit idly by and not help in the search for Roselyn. And now Gina was missing as well. No one had been able to reach her for twenty four hours. Was she a victim, too?
Sam said that Gina had discovered a mysterious bag in Brian's motel room the day before Ros's birthday party. She had been suspicious, and now Sam was afraid that she was in danger. He had gone over to Brian's motel with some officers and a search warrant this morning.
If Brian had Gina, maybe they would find Ros, too. And it might be soon enough to find them both alive. But what if Brian wasn't the killer? What if Ros had been taken by someone else? They'd be back to square one and time was running out. How much time did they have left? He usually killed in twenty four to thirty six hours and Ros had already been missing for fourteen.
Anne closed her eyes and leaned forward, pressing her fists into her forehead. Think.
She had to go out and do something or she would go crazy. There was nothing she could do here. Anne leaned down to Stacy and whispered in her ear. "I promise I will do everything in my power to get Roselyn back to you safely." And she meant it. Whatever it took. The family curse be damned.
The island was alive with search parties. Officers from three counties were canvassing the island with cadaver dogs. Volunteers converged and disbanded comparing notes as they went house to house interviewing people. A Coast Guard helicopter kept circling, its noise droning in and out, echoing off buildings and swallowed up again by the sand of the beach, and divers were brought back in for the search.
Anne drove over to Pine Avenue and parked. The retail part of town had already been thoroughly searched. Anne walked down the quiet sidewalk. Most shops sat in darkness with closed signs in the window. Most people had left the island. Probably for the best, but Anne wasn't deserting anyone. She couldn't.
An open sign hung in the window of Barb's Beach Bobbles. Anne stepped inside squaring her shoulders and trying to smile.
"Oh, hey, Anne." Barb sat in a chair behind the glass display case. "How are you?"
"Hi, Barb. I've been better. You're about the only one open." Anne glanced in the case. You've got some pretty things." She nodded to the jewelry in the case.
"Yeah, well, I don't know why I'm bothering," Barb sighed. "Don't know if I'll survive this year. Don't know if this island will," she added. "You picked a hell of a time to come here."
"Seems that way," Anne said.
"Any leads on the Meeks girl?"
"Not yet. I was hoping you could tell me something. I've been out of the loop sitting with Stacy this morning."
"Gads. Poor Stacy. I can't even imagine what she's going through. If something ever happened to my child, I couldn't take it. Horrible, horrible thing to go through. There hasn't been anything new this morning that I know of. I just hope they find little Ros safe."
Anne nodded, feeling tears welling in her eyes.
"You don't look like you've slept for awhile. I've got some coffee in the back."
"Thanks, that'd be great."
Resting her forehead in her palm, Anne stared down into the glass display case. Jewelry glinted under the artificial light, scattered among bleached starfish and sand dollars. She rested her mind, trying to let go of the panic. Fear would only blind her. She needed to get past it, needed to think clearly without feeling the pressure of time ticking by.
"Here ya go." Barb set a yellow mug on the counter with a couple of sugar packets. "Wasn't sure how you liked it. I'm out of cream, sorry."
"Oh, black's fine, thanks." Anne took a sip. Strong and bitter. Maybe it would kick her brain into gear. "Finn seems like a nice kid. He and Sam are close, huh?"
"Yeah, Sam's like a big brother to him. Finn has a hard time getting close to people. Always has. I think Sam understands that. Doesn't pressure him. Just lets him hang out. They spend a lot of time at the beach. Well, they used to. Ever since my brother left us that boat, that's been Finn's passion. I even gave him money to paint it. It keeps him busy, out of trouble. I just hope we don't have to sell it to pay the bills. That would devastate him. He's been through enough."
Anne nodded. Should she ask what he's been through? No, that would be prying into their family business. Instead, she finished her coffee and gave in to the pressure of time once again. "Well, I should be going. Thanks for the coffee."
"Any time," Barb said, picking up her novel. "I'll be here."
#
Anne walked into Drake's tattoo shop and glanced around. Drake came out of the back, black spiked hair, large corks in his ears, tattoo sleeves displayed beneath a black wife-beater.
"Hey there, what can I help you with?" he asked.
"Well, a friend of mine got a tattoo from you. It was a beautiful job. A butterfly on her ankle. Do you remember her?"
"Oh, yeah. The chick that got murdered. Sweet lady. Hey," he held out his hands, palms up. "The cops already talked to me. I didn't see her again after that."
"Oh," Anne shook her head. "No, no. I didn't mean to imply anything. I guess I'm just looking for something, anything we missed to try to help find Roselyn Meeks before it's too late."
He nodded and sat down, started cleaning off his equipment. "Wish I could help. Some psycho piece of shit ruining it for everyone here. I even told my sister not to visit this year cause it's not safe. Hope they catch the bastard soon."
"Me too." Anne flipped through one of the books he had on the counter. The artwork was amazing.
"That girl that got murdered? She came in with the biggest smile. Seemed really happy. Asked for the monarch tattoo cause she saw one on the beach on her first day. Thought it'd be a good memory of her time here."
Anne turned and stared at him. That feeling again. Something pushing to the surface of her consciousness, something clicking that she needed to put together. The same feeling she had felt at Roselyn's birthday party. And then, like a spark suddenly firing, she saw it. Her eyes widened and her heart began to race.
"You okay?"
Anne's mind had drifted back to the party. To the shiny silver bracelet and the charm dangling in the sun off of Roselyn's wrist. A butterfly charm.
"Yes. I have to go. Thank you for your help."
She raced back over to Barb's Beach Bobbles.
"Back again?"
Anne didn't say anything; she just stared into the glass display case. "Stacy Meeks...she bought Roselyn's bracelet here? The one with the butterfly charm?"
"Oh, yeah. We gave her a good deal on it, too. Why do you ask?"
Anne stared at her, but she wasn't seeing her. The butterfly tattoo. The butterfly bracelet. Could this be the link? Was this what drew the killer to these girls? She had to find out if the other victims had worn butterflies anywhere on their bodies to be sure.
Something else occurred to her. "That woman at Bayfast with the little boy who got lost. Do you remember her?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. She had that little blonde boy. Why?"
"Do you remember what she bought?"
"Yeah, it was a necklace. A teardrop shaped pendant, a monarch butterfly wing encased in glass. Real pretty piece."
"Butterflies. I think it's the butterflies the killer spots on the girls! It's how he chooses his victims. Excuse me, sorry I have to make a call...."
She had Sam on speed dial. But damn! It went right to voice mail. "Hey, Sam...it's me. Listen, I think I found a link. Both Molly and Ros had butterflies on their person. And that lady, Linda Jacobs, she bought a butterfly necklace. Can you check out the other girls and see if they owned anything with butterflies? Call me when you get this."
"Butterflies?" Barb was staring into the case now. She looked pale.
"We're going to find Roselyn alive, don't worry," Anne said. She patted Barb's arm comfortingly and rushed out of the door.
Anne walked and walked on the beach trying to put it all together. The sand reminded her of an hourglass, time slipping away. Stop worrying and think. Why a butterfly? Butterflies had to have some specific meaning to the killer. Was he really an exterminator? Did he hate butterflies? Was he a butterfly expert? No, that's too simplistic. A butterfly must be symbolic to him of something. But what? What do butterflies do? Fly. Migrate.
No.
She stopped walking. A chill ran down her back like an electric current from the image that solidified in her mind. She heard the man from her dream say the word.
Metamorphosis.
They change.
He puts them in a chrysalis....the plastic. Wraps them up alive...so they struggle. Makes them beautiful, with the ribbons.
Sets them free. Kills them.
But why remove their eyes? She couldn't make that part fit.
She dialed Sam and once again had to leave a message.
"Sam. I'm not sure what this means yet, but I think we've been looking in the wrong direction. We've been looking for a monster, someone killing for thrills. I think in some warped, twisted way the killer actually believes he's helping them. Setting them free." She paused. "Where are you? Call me."
#
Driving around aimlessly, trying to solve the puzzle with the pieces she thought she had was all she could do right now to help find Roselyn. She alternated between calling Sam and trying to get hold of Gina. No answer from either of them. She had to puzzle this out without help for now. But it made no sense....a serial killer who killed people to help them. They weren't looking for evil, they were looking for insane.
She had to pull over as the thought of Roselyn with this killer suddenly came up as bile in her throat. She sat heaving and crying for fifteen minutes and then pulled herself together. You're wasting time. Time Ros doesn't have. Think.
Okay. Why water? Why leave them in water? She drove toward the marina. The sun shimmered off the water. Such a beautiful day. Beauty pressing up against horror just made the horror worse.
Sam and two officers stood on either side of the lime green motel door. Sam tried to push the image of a dead Gina wrapped in plastic out of his mind. He wiped at the sweat dripping into his eyes. Adrenalin sending his blood pressure through the roof.
Sam had requested a duplicate key from the manager, who hadn't seemed all that interested in why they were there; he just didn't want to have to fix a door. Quietly, Sam slipped the key in, turned the knob and signaled for the officers to get ready. He wiped at the sweat dripping into his eyes then counted to three and swung the door open wide.
"Police!" Officer O'Brady shouted. "No one move!" Sam flicked the lights on and then they all halted as Gina squealed.
"Sam Larson, what is going on?!" She quickly wrapped a sheet around her naked torso as Brian slid out of bed cursing and fumbled around for clothes.
Sam holstered his gun and motioned for the other officers to leave the room. He had a sudden interest in the ceiling. "Sorry, Gina. I thought you were in trouble."
Gina threw a pillow at him and it connected with his face. "I would call you if I was in trouble, Barney Fife!"
"Hey," Sam said, flustered. "That's assault on a police officer and besides....your phone is off. I've been trying to get a hold of you and got worried after what you said about the duffel bag."
"Oh." Gina wrapped the sheet tighter around her body. She looked at Brian sheepishly. "Yeah. Sorry I freaked about that."
Brian chuckled as he slipped on his watch. "You sure do keep life interesting."
Gina quickly tried to explain to Sam, "It was just money from selling his dad's boat for him. Not drugs or..." she picked at the comforter, "serial killer paraphernalia."
Sam had his hands on his hips now. "Brian, I apologize for the intrusion. Gina, I'll talk to you later." He left, shaking his head.
Anne sat in her car in front of the pier, looking out to sea. The sloshing of the boats, the pelicans swooping and landing, the sun glinting off of the small chop, all this served to calm her mind, help her focus.
Until her phone startled her. She glanced at the number and then answered it.
"Sam! Where are you? Is Gina all right?"
"She's fine. We've got her. Brian's no longer a suspect in the murders."
Anne breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Did you get my messages?"
"About the butterfly connection? Yes, I'm going back to the office to make some calls now. It's a good lead."
"Sam?"
"No, Anne. No word on Roselyn yet."
"Okay. Thanks."
"Where are you?"
"Out at the marina. Just trying to put some things together."
"Tomorrow's your birthday, Anne."
She could hear the warning in his tone. "I know. Roselyn needs me. I can't..."
"You call me before you act on anything. You understand?"
"Yes."
"I mean it. I will feel personally responsible if something happens to you."
Anne closed her eyes. She knew that feeling. "I know. Listen, I'll come by the station in about an hour or so."
"I'll be there."
She hung up and dropped the phone into the center console. Well, Brian wasn't a suspect so who does that leave? She thought back to the time she had watched him get on a boat here. Still suspicious but at least Gina was okay. Then again, that meant they were back to square one with suspects. If fate wasn't leading her to Brian, then who?
That feeling again of almost hooking something, connecting the dots. "Come on, I'm trying. Give me something." She dug deeper into her memory, going over the night she had followed Brian again. And then there it was. She looked up but no longer saw the ocean or the boats. That night she had followed Brian and again at the beach and the bar during the hurricane...fate wasn't leading her to Brian, it was leading her to...
She saw the face of the killer.
Doubt pushed it away. "It can't be." She twisted the idea around, turned it, thought about the butterfly connection and had her answer. In white block letters. Right on the side of his boat!
She scanned the docked boats. Not there. Jumping out of the car, she raced down the pier, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath shallow.
"Can I borrow those?" She asked an elderly lady perched on a rock, motioning to her binoculars.
"Oh, sure." She handed them up to her, holding her sun hat to keep it from falling off.
Anne scanned the open sea, checking dozens of boats that were moving both away and towards the pier. She stopped.
There it was, moving away.
"No," she whispered. She handed the binoculars back. "Thanks." She glanced around frantically and spotted a couple of teens resting on the rocks with jet skis floating in front of them. She ran over.
"Hey," Anne tried to think of what to say that wouldn't make her sound crazy. "Hey, guys. I know this is going to sound crazy, but I have to catch up to that boat out there. It's an emergency." She pointed out to sea. "Do you think you could help me out?"
The teens glanced around at each other. "You want a ride out?"
"An emergency? Like life or death or something?" The lanky blonde asked.
Anne kicked off her flip flops. "Yes! Please hurry!"
"Sure," he shrugged, "hop on."
By the time they were near enough for Anne to jump off of the Jet Ski, she was soaked to the bone. Her t-shirt and shorts clung to her and she felt nauseated from the choppy ride and panic. Thank god the boat had stopped. They would have never caught up otherwise.
"Thanks," she said and then remembered something. She should have called Sam first. "When you get back in, I need you to call Detective Sam Larson at the police department and tell him Anne is on that boat." She pointed at it. The kid read the name and nodded.
Anne took a deep breath and slid into the water. Freezing. Her lungs constricted and she had to stop herself from panicking and remember what Sam had taught her. You'll only sink if you panic. Kick, paddle, breathe.
She heard the Jet Ski roar away behind her as she fought the current to move toward the ladder mounted to the back of the boat. Relief flooded her as she wrapped her fingers around the metal. She pulled herself up quietly onto the swim platform, the water dripping down her body and pooling around her bare feet.
Trying to keep her balance on the swaying boat, her body shivering violently, she peered into the large open area where the steering and gears were. No sign of anyone. But she could hear a muffled sound, coming from a closed door leading to the front of the boat. Tiptoeing across the open area, she reached the door.
The latch hung open. Anne pulled at the door. The scene that greeted her shocked her to her core. She froze as the killer's eyes met hers. Time, which had been so precious before, stopped.
"Why are you here?" He finally spoke.
Anne ignored him. Her whole being was focused on Roselyn, strapped to the table and gagged, the right side of her hair adorned with braids and ribbon. Fear, rage and adrenalin coursed through Anne. She said softly, "It's okay, Ros. It's all over, you're safe now."
Roselyn began shaking her head furiously, trying to scream through the gag.
The blow to the back of Anne's head knocked her out cold.
She awoke lying on her side, a steady pounding in her skull, her arms and legs bound. When she remembered where she was, she glanced around in a panic. Where was he? The boat bounced through choppy water now, the engines roaring. Wait. Who had hit her? Voices echoed from nearby. Then a door opened and two people stepped out.
Anne stared in shock.
Barb leaned down to Anne, tears streaming down her face. "It's not his fault."
Anne looked from her over to Finn at the wheel, steering the boat with an eerie calmness. Then she moved her attention to the closed door. Ros? There was no sound coming from it, no muffled crying. She couldn't even let her mind go there. No. Roselyn had to be okay.
"Finn!" Anne screamed. "What have you done with Roselyn?"
Finn turned a face with empty eyes to Anne, "God has given me a mission. I am his vessel. The Monarch tells me what to do. I will set the girl free."
Anne's eyes widened in terror. God. There would be no reasoning with him. He truly was insane. Why hadn't she seen it? Why hadn't Sam? Anne stared hard at Barb, grasping at a straw, she cried, "Barb, have you gone crazy? You're his mother. You have to stop him!"
Barb kneeled beside her and whispered again, "It's not his fault." Her face was pale, pupils dilated. She was obviously in shock herself. "He's sick. His mother was sick, too..."
"His mother? "But you're his mother!"
"No, shhhh," she shook her head, glancing at Finn. "I never told him but I adopted him right before he turned four. His biological mother committed suicide in front of him. Slit her wrists in a tub full of water. Can you imagine? I didn't know it had affected him this greatly. He should have been fine. Probably finding that dead girl last year pushed him over the edge. Oh god, my poor boy."
"Girl? What girl?" Anne couldn't believe that Barb was calmly telling stories instead of doing something about the surreal nightmare happening around them. But wait, it must have been Barb who had walloped her in the head. She had no intention of stopping him. She was actually helping him!
"Yes." Barb stood then, no longer whispering. "There was a car accident. Finn saw it happen. A young girl. Her car flipped over into a canal. He pulled her out and sat there with her dead body for two hours before someone else noticed the upside down car. She had drowned. He wouldn't talk about it."
"She was free." Finn said, turning from the steering wheel and staring at Barb.
"He's my baby, Anne." Barb said, tears rolling harder. "He believes he's helping them, he's the only thing that matters to me in this world. What would you do?"
Anne shook her head. "He needs help, Barb. He needs to be locked up so he can't hurt anyone else. Think about those women. The teenage girls. Think about their mothers." Anne tried to steady her shallow breathing and stay calm. Her mind kept returning to how to save Roselyn. Maybe if she could just keep them talking....
"So, I should lose my child, too? It won't bring those girls back. Him going to prison for life. Or worse. It won't bring them back."
Anne wasn't getting anywhere with Barb. She turned her efforts to Finn. "You're not helping these girls, Finn. You're killing them! That's all. Taking away their life. Do you understand?"
"I am setting them free. This life doesn't matter. It's the next one that people are free in. I'm just helping them get there. Don't worry, you'll soon see, Anne."
Anne scrambled for a psychological foothold. She had to try something. "But, I can hear the voice, too, Finn. God spoke to me, too. That's why I'm here."
This got his attention. He finally turned to her. She tried to put some authority in her voice. "He told me that I was to take Roselyn's place. I am the one he wants you to set free."
"How do you know it was a message from God?"
"He gave me an image and told me this is how you would believe me."
"An image?"
"Yes. Of a butterfly."
Barb looked from Anne to Finn, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. But it's too late. She can't go home, either. Trickery isn't going to work Anne."
Anne stared at her in horror and then her head sank back to the floor. She squeezed her eyes against the tears, her body wracked with sobs. Oh, Roselyn. I'm so sorry. The pain was unbearable. Once again, she was too late.
"This is such a mess, Finn." Barb muttered, holding her head in her hands as Finn moved toward Anne. "Such a mess. My poor boy. You're sick, but I won't let them have you."
Sam hung up his cell after leaving a message about the possible butterfly connection with the first victim's family and his desk phone rang.
"Detective Larson."
"Hi, um, I have a message for you from a lady named Anne. She said to tell you she'll be on a blue boat called The Chrysalis."
"Did she say anything else?"
"Nope, just told me to call and tell you that."
"Okay, thanks."
Sam hung up. Why was Anne with Finn? Well, at least she checked in so he wouldn't worry about her. He tried to go back to making calls, but he couldn't concentrate. Why hadn't Anne called him herself?
He picked the phone back up and dialed Anne's cell phone. No answer. Maybe Barb would know what was going on. He tried her at the shop. The answering machine. He tried again a few minutes later and when the machine picked up again, he grabbed his jacket and drove over there.
A closed sign hung on the door. During working hours? Not like her. He knocked. Silence. The lights were off. He walked around back and climbed the metal stairs to the loft apartments above the shop. He knocked on the first door.
"Barb? Hello?" No answer. He tried the knob. Locked.
Sam walked down to the second loft where Finn lived. When he knocked, the door gave. Putting his hand on his gun, he pushed the door open further and stepped inside.
"Hello? Finn? It's Sam." He stuck his head into the apartment. It was gloomy. No light filtered in from the only window. For some reason it was covered with a towel. Stale smoke, boat varnish and an underlying sour smell greeted him. He frowned. Finn had promised him he had stopped smoking.
Sam could see that the main room was empty at a glance. He moved around the wall to his left and checked the bathroom. Empty. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he saw that the top drawer of the nightstand was open. Something lay broken on the floor beneath it.
Sam unsnapped the top part of his holster and glanced back at the door he had come in. All kinds of scenarios were going through his mind. None of them good.
He moved closer and bent down to see the broken object on the floor. Squatting, he surveyed the object. It was a shattered jelly jar. Smaller objects lay among the broken glass. Pulling a pen out of his pocket, he used it to turn one of the objects over. What the...? He recoiled. It looked like a shriveled eye. His mind tried to make him believe that they were something like leftover Halloween decorations, or a gag of some sort. Then his stomach turned as he studied the other ones. No. He stood up. These were real eyes. Finn had a jar of eyes in his room. My God.
The murdered girls had been missing their eyes. Could these be...? The room reeled and Sam supported himself on the wall for a minute. Then he kicked into cop mode.
Slipping on a glove, he pulled the drawer open further. In the corner lay a brown bag. He pulled it out and dumped the contents onto the nightstand.
A tiny butterfly silver earring, a butterfly barrette, a piece of something that looked like leather with a butterfly stamp...no wait. He dropped it reflexively. It wasn't leather. It was the tattoo cut from Molly's leg. Jesus!
He looked back down at the broken jar on the floor. Glass scattered everywhere, and tracked away from the nightstand. Looked like someone else had found it and dropped it in horror.
Barb! She must have found the jar and went to find Finn. That's why she wasn't here.
The impact of his next thought hit him so hard, he had to sit down on the bed.
No, not Finn. Impossible.
But if it was possible...Anne was on the boat with Finn.
He rushed out of the room, making the call to the Chief as he jumped back in his car and flipped on the siren.
"Yes, I know." Finn said. "I will not fail."
Barb watched him, still determined to keep her little boy safe, to save him from himself. She could fix this. There had to be a way. Just this morning, he was wrapping packages at the store and now...
"Finn, who are you talking to, Sweetie?" Barb asked in a sing song voice.
Finn turned to her, his eyes staring through her. His right hand clutched a scalpel. "The Monarch says you should not be here. You aren't part of the plan."
"Finn, I'm your mother!" Desperation overcame the fear. "I love you. I'll protect you."
"You are not my mother."
Barb's heart almost stopped. She had never told him about the adoption. She thought that knowing would only complicate his life. "What do you mean, Finn, of course I'm your mother. I raised you!"
"My mother set herself free from this world. I watched her. In the tub. Her eyes drained of fear, she found peace. She taught me. My real mother. She showed me how important the next life is. This one means nothing. We are just shells of what we're meant to be."
Barb stared at her son, now a grown man. A very sick grown man. How could he remember that? He had only been three when his mother committed suicide. The doctors had assured her that he wouldn't remember. How could she have not seen how he was changing these last months? How could she have missed how very ill he was? She slumped down against the wall, numbness washing over her as hope drained from her heart.
Consciousness returned with the slow awareness of a steady vibration beneath Anne's head and then the sledgehammer realization of the mortal danger she and Roselyn faced. But, I'm still alive. That's something. When Finn had walked toward her with that knife she had thought she was done. He must have just knocked her out again.
Before she opened her eyes, Anne listened to try and figure out where Finn and Barb were. She could hear their muffled voices coming from behind the closed door. But another noise caught her attention. A soft crying. Distant gulls? The wind? Or could it be Ros? Oh, please let it be Ros.
Anne tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She gulped deep breaths of ocean air as she broke out in a sweat and waited for her head to stop swimming. She had to find Roselyn before it was too late. Her hands and feet were still bound. The best she could do at the moment was roll in the direction of the crying. Back toward the swim platform. Adrenalin gave her some much needed strength. How much time did she have? Don't think about it. Just keep moving. She spotted a narrow folding door with two round windows at the top.
Maneuvering herself into a seated position next to the door, she waited until the nausea passed and then used the wall and all the strength left in her legs to push upright. Trying to prepare herself for what she would see, she held her breath and peered into one of the windows.
Roselyn! She squeezed her eyes closed as tears of relief blurred her vision. She could see the top of Ros' head. Using her shoulder she pushed against one side of the door, almost lost her balance, recovered and got it open enough to see inside. Anne dropped to her knees and pressed her cheek against Ros' tearstained face. Warm. Alive. She hadn't been too late. Roselyn's eyes widened and she tried to say something through the gag. Anne shook her head. They needed to be quick and quiet.
They had to get off the boat somehow. Barb made it clear she didn't plan on letting them go home. Her only concern right now was protecting Finn. Anne backed up, turned around and wiggled her hands. Ros nodded in understanding and pressed her tied hands against Anne's. Anne worked furiously to untie the knots, all the while keeping an eye on the door. Finn could come out any second and catch them. They had to hurry.
Ros slipped out of the bindings, turned around and untied Anne's hands. Ros threw her arms around Anne. Anne squeezed her tightly and then they removed their gags.
"It's okay, Ros. We're going to get out of here." Anne stroked the ribbons Finn had braided into Ros's hair and shuddered. Gazing into her eyes, she tried to push aside the thought of how glad she was Ros still had her eyes.
"I need you to be strong for me, okay?"
Ros nodded, hope replacing the terror in her wide-eyed stare. Anne worked to undo the bindings on their legs as she whispered. "I don't know how far out at sea we are but we need to somehow let someone know where we are."
She grabbed Ros's hand and pulling a life vest off of the wall, helped Ros into it. "Okay, here's what we're going to do." She opened a small wooden box beneath the "In Case of Emergency" sign and grabbed a flare gun. She pressed it into Ros's small palm. Then grabbed the second one and gave it to her as well. "We're going to put you in the water right now. If you see another boat or plane nearby, shoot up a flare. Just point it at the sky and pull the trigger."
Ros shook her head. "Anne, I can't..."
"Yes, you can." She stared at her, wondering if she was doing the right thing. All kinds of things could go wrong. The ocean posed real dangers---dehydration, jellyfish...sharks. But if they stayed on the boat, death would be a sure thing.
No, at least this way, they had a chance.
"Hurry. Before they see us." Glancing around, she pulled Ros out onto the swim platform. Anne helped her down the ladder then tossed in the ring lifebuoy.
"Anne, I'm scared."
"I know. Me too." She slipped the ring off her finger and put in on Ros's pointer finger. "Hold on to this for me. It's been in my family a long time and it'll help protect you. Believe and be brave. I'll be right behind you. We're going to get you home."
"Okay," Ros nodded, closing her fist on the ring and sliding into the ocean. She immediately began shivering from the icy water.
Anne padded carefully to the front of the boat. She could hear Barb murmuring to Finn from what must be the kitchen below. The smell of coffee wafted up, adding freakish normalcy to the nightmare situation. Anne found the radio and hit the "distress signal" button. She hurried back to the back of the boat. Ros was already a small dot in the waves. Anne's feet touched the ocean just as the engine stopped. Finn gripped Anne's hair and yanked her back up the ladder.
The siren on his dash screamed as Sam sped toward the marina, maneuvering around the cars on Gulf Drive that didn't quite have enough road edge to get out of his way. He pounded the steering wheel in frustration. How could he not know that Finn was the killer? He had screwed up royally on this one. Now, people he cared about were in serious trouble. Including Finn. He was like a little brother to Sam. It just didn't make any sense.
And Anne. God. Anne. She was out there alone on the water with him. She was supposed to turn twenty eight tomorrow. Was her family's curse coming true? He had to get to Anne in time. He wasn't going to let fate win. Fate. What a bastard. His foot mashed the gas pedal.
Gravel flew out from the spinning tires as he halted the car at the dock. The Sheriff's boat already bobbed in the water, waiting for him. He scanned the sky as he ran to board it.
"Where's the chopper? I don't see it."
"They should be in the air any time now. They had to refuel. Longboat's got their marine unit out, too. Coast guard just got a distress call ten miles out. We've got a general area to search at least." Sherriff Walker turned the wheel and hit the gas as he spoke. "Let's hope Lady Luck is on our side."
Sam braced himself against the back of the captain's seat and set his sights on the open sea. The Sheriff handed him a pair of binoculars. The vastness of the empty sea between the boat and the horizon made his heart sink.
Finn pulled Anne up the ladder and backhanded her across the deck. Fighting the pain, she scrambled and came up with an oar in her hand. Barb was closest. Anne swung with all her strength. Thwack! The wood connected with Barb's jaw. She went down like a sack of cement.
Anne still clutched the oar, but her arms felt like jelly, black dots danced in her vision. Finn stepped over his mother, grabbed Anne by the shirt, glanced around the boat and then brought his gaze back to her.
"Where is she?"
Anne shook her head, gasping for air. "She's gone. It's over, Finn."
A loud pop and whoosh resonated in the open air. Finn turned sharply and stared at the red ball of fire shooting into the sky. The scent of smoke blew toward them, mingling with the salty air.
The flare!
Anne searched the sea desperately hoping to see a boat coming their way. Now that the flare had marked the spot, even with the choppy water, she could see Ros bobbing up and down. Another flare launched into the air from Ros's position. Finn dragged Anne behind him to the wheel. He turned the boat and headed toward Roselyn in the water.
Anne squinted into the distance and could just make out a white dot moving toward them beneath the table of clouds. She could also hear the faint thump thump of a helicopter. The cavalry was coming! Time. She had to give them time to get here. Give Ros time.
"Finn, listen to me," Anne said, trying to pull his attention back to her. "You have to stop now. Ros is just a child. You can't hurt her! You've known her for a long time. She's your friend, remember?"
Finn looked deadpan at Anne, then his expression shifted from indifference to anger and back to utter calm. "I already explained to you. I'm not hurting her. I'm setting her free. You're not going to stop me." Finn calmly took two steps to the railing. There was a brief struggle, but Anne was too exhausted to win this battle. She screamed as he threw her over the side. She felt her muscles seize as the deep water of the ocean swallowed her up.
The wind had picked up and the water was getting choppier. They had passed six or seven pleasure boats, one sailboat and still no sign of Finn's. Sam could hear the Coast Guard chopper circling but he didn't look up. His attention stayed on the sea. He had to keep wiping the salt spray from the binoculars.
"Damn it, come on." His shirt was damp enough now, that it just smeared them. It was like looking through Vaseline. He had to work hard to keep his focus and his cool.
Suddenly, his heart kicked in his chest.
"There!" Sam yelled, the binoculars still pressed to his eyes. "A flare, two o'clock!"
Even as the Sheriff pushed the boat faster, he yelled back. "How do we know it's our guy?"
"It has to be." Sam felt his stomach tighten. "It just has to be." He couldn't live with himself if another woman he cared about got killed because he wasn't there in time.
The Sherriff turned the wheel toward where Sam was pointing. "Keep your eye on the flare, Sam. I'm calling in our position."
Anne managed to fight her way to the surface and now treaded water, watching as Finn dove into the ocean and swam easily toward Roselyn. No, no, no! She felt so drained. Her legs were barely working. Her head kept sliding under the waves.
A boat came into her peripheral vision. Finn turned and spotted the boat, too. He swam even faster toward Roselyn.
"No! Finn!" Anne's throat burned with the scream, her heart ached. "Please, stop!"
Finn was a good swimmer, his long, steady strokes brought him closer to Roselyn with every pull. Anne pushed herself as much as her exhausted body would let her. Oh my god! Anne breathed a sigh of relief as she came up from under a wave and her hand connected with the life preserver she had given Ros; one of the flare guns wedged under one corner of the tow rope. Anne grasped it gratefully. Her legs were sinking like they were made of stone.
Breathe. Kick. Breathe. Kick.
In the background, above the wind and slapping water, she could hear the boat getting closer. Her mouth slipped below the surface. Coughing and spitting out the saltwater, she pushed herself harder. She cried out in frustration. "Finn, stop!"
Finn was closing the gap quickly.
She redoubled her efforts, pushed her muscles passed the point of exhaustion. Numb and trembling, her legs obeyed, but barely.
Roselyn's scream cut through the air like a gull screaming from the jaws of a shark.
"Roselyn!" Anne was still about twenty feet from them and she could see Roselyn flailing and fighting as Finn reached her.
"Finn! Why are you doing this?" Roselyn screamed as he grabbed her hair and pulled her to him in the water. She punched at him with no impact.
"You don't understand, but you will." He unfastened the life vest straps and ripped it from her. It would be more difficult this way but the end result would be the same.
Freedom. For her and for him. A fitting end. All of this water. Would his mother be waiting for them?
Roselyn screamed, choking. But Finn didn't hear. He was listening to a much louder voice.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled them both under the water.
Anne watched in horror as Finn pulled Roselyn under the water. She was only about ten feet away now, but her legs cramped, her arms burned like they were on fire. She felt like she was moving in slow motion. The boat and helicopter were almost on them, but she knew if she didn't do something Roselyn would drown before they got there.
This was it. She had to let go. Let go of the fear. Let go of control. Believe in something bigger than herself. Believe that she was here, in this moment, in this situation for a reason. She had to believe in fate.
Anne took a deep breath, let go of the life preserver and let herself sink beneath the water.
The world was suddenly muffled, murky and pressing in on her from all sides. She fought the panic and the images from her dreams. She pushed aside Katarina's watery death and concentrated on the present moment, on saving a little girl from drowning in the bubbling water in front of her. Bubbles! Bubbles meant expelled air, she must be close. She just hoped that she could get to her before Ros started sucking in water.
Reaching out a hand, she touched something solid. An arm? A leg?
A hand grasped her arm, squeezing like a vice. She kicked instinctively, fighting to rise to the surface. The hand held her tight. Her lungs burned for air.
No. Don't struggle. She let her body go limp. The bubbles cleared as the water settled. Finn's face floated inches from hers. She could see Roselyn floating behind him. She looked dead.
The pressure in Anne's chest had reached critical levels. She was going to have to take a breath or drown. But Finn still held her captive.
Raising her fatigued right arm in slow motion through the water, she pushed the flare gun into Finn's chest and pulled the trigger.
The sea around them burned fluorescent pink. Then clouded with Finn's blood. Anne shut her eyes against the brightness. Her mouth opened, she gasped for air and saltwater rushed in to fill the void.
The Sherriff pulled alongside Finn's boat and Sam hopped aboard, gun drawn. "I don't see any movement!" he shouted. Just then, he spotted the faint light beneath the surface of the ocean a few yards away. "What the...? There!" he pointed. "That was a flare! In the water!"
Sam dove into the water just feet away from the flare. Bodies began to surface.
Sam grabbed at the nearest one and flipped it face up. Roselyn!
He checked her pulse as Sheriff Walker threw him a life preserver. "Is that the missing girl?"
"Yes! She's alive!" Sam yelled as he grabbed Roselyn by the waist and hoisted her wilted body up to the sheriff. The ribbons in her hair shot Sam with rage.
The sheriff started CPR on Roselyn as Sam swam back toward the next body.
The helicopter roared directly over them now, churning the sea as Sam flipped Anne over, fearing the worst. She wasn't breathing. Her skin was white and waxy.
"Oh God, Anne," he choked, swallowing water as he struggled to keep both of their heads above the surface. He pressed two fingers into her neck. A faint pulse flickered. There was hope. Putting his mouth on hers, he pushed a breath into her and then swam toward the boat. Before hauling her up with him, he administered another breath.
"Jesus," the sheriff motioned behind Sam as he boarded with Anne in his arms. Sam turned around. Finn's body floated in a widening circle of blood.
Heat washed through him, sorrow and regret and anger burned him from the inside out. Finn was dead. The boy who had been like a little brother to him for fifteen years. Dead. Dead and a murderer. He couldn't deal with either right now.
Sam lowered Anne's limp, waterlogged body onto the deck and began chest compressions.
Roselyn coughed. Sam saw Sheriff Walker wrapping a blanket around her out of the corner of his eye. A medic boarded the boat from the ladder hanging from the hovering helicopter and started working on her. Tears and ocean water stung his eyes. Roselyn would be okay. Someone in this nightmare would be okay.
Sam's heart felt like it was going to crack in his chest. As he counted compressions and silently pleaded for Anne to be okay; a part of his mind still struggled with Finn being responsible for so many deaths. Including his own.
Anne spasmed and coughed, her body rolling sideways instinctively, letting the water run out of her lungs onto the boat deck. Sheriff Walker gave him a thumbs up as he handed him a blanket.
Relief and pain, trying to coexist, drained the energy from Sam. His hands shook as he pushed the heavy wet strands of hair off of Anne's face and wrapped her tightly in the rough blanket.
She was as pale as a ghost, coughing and staring up at him with those green eyes. Her eyes. He just stared. The change in them startled him. The vulnerability and suffering had been swept away by whatever hell she had just gone through. Now they glowed with something that he didn't recognize. What did you call the absence of fear? Courage? Or was it hope?
"Welcome back," he said.
Anne glanced over her shoulder at Roselyn, who waved weakly at her as the medic administered oxygen. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears.
"Barb is on Finn's boat. I'm not sure how bad she's hurt. I hit her in the head. She was trying to protect Finn. I didn't have a choice. "
Sam's eyes widened and he shook his head. Barb tried to protect Finn? Even to the point of helping him get away with murder? How could she know and not.... Do you ever really know someone?
"It's okay," he said to Anne. "We'll let the Coast Guard sort it out. We need to get you two to the hospital." He looked behind them as the Sherriff turned the boat and headed slowly toward dry land. A Coast Guard crew member was using a boat hook to pull Finn's lifeless body back on to The Chrysalis.
It was over.
Anne didn't have the strength to do anything except press herself closer and stare up at the cottony clouds as they headed back toward shore.
Groggy, Anne awoke to the smell of flowers and disinfectant and the tick and hum of equipment, still partly tangled in a pleasant dream about the man with sea foam eyes. He had been saying something important. What was it?
The dream faded as she registered multiple silver objects floating dreamily beside her hospital bed, her eyes aching with the effort. Reaching a heavy hand to her face, she rubbed at the fog.
Balloons with Happy Birthday! scrolled in curly letters almost blocked out the ceiling, bouquets of flowers with cards stuck in them, and pretty streamers took up most of the rest of the space that she could see. Her hospital room looked like a party had blown up.
Oh. It was her birthday. Twenty-eight. She had made it. But with what price?
Memories flooded back in one gut wrenching rush. Roselyn's scream; the boat, the freezing water, hitting Barb with the oar, Finn's eyes, wide open as the flare pierced him. She had taken a life. She had taken Finn's life.
God. For the second time she had taken a life to protect an innocent person. Did it matter if the person she killed was a monster? It was still a life. A life that she took.
Anne reached for water and knocked her purse off the nightstand. Someone must have brought it for her.
When she looked up Sam was in the doorway.
"Sam," she whispered, tears spilling over her bruised face.
Sam moved to her side, knelt down and gathered her up in his arms.
"I'm so sorry about Finn. I didn't have a choice. He wasn't going to stop. I'm so sorry."
"Shhhh," he squeezed her as tight as he dared. "I know. It should have never got that far. I should have realized sooner. How could I have not known? I spent more time with him than anyone. Look," he pulled away enough to gaze into her eyes. "Let's not do this blame thing right now, okay. We'll work it out but right now you need to concentrate on healing. I know it's a shock, the whole island is in shock. But you have their support. You stopped Finn. You saved Roselyn."
"Ros? Is she okay? Where is she?"
"She's here. She and Stacy are waiting to see you. They both bounced back amazingly. You've been asleep since we brought you in. Seems like you needed it. Are you up for visitors?"
"Yes."
Sam leaned back and carefully took her face between his large palms. Their eyes stayed locked as he bent and brushed her lips with his.
"Happy Birthday, Anne." She could feel the relief in his words, the tenderness in his feathery kiss. "You made it. You're twenty eight. You're still here."
"I am, aren't I. Anne, one, Fate zero." She tried to smile and then winced.
It wasn't funny. But she did feel different, though. Changed. Stronger, maybe? Less like a puppet. She didn't have the energy to explore it right now. "Twenty eight's going to be an interesting year."
Sam let his eyes fall. "Anne, I wanted you to hear this from me. I'm going to go away for awhile. I was too close...it kills me that I didn't realize... I think in the back of my mind....I mean, I may have been picking up things, but not believing them.... Oh hell, I can't explain it, but I just can't stay here right now. It has nothing to do with how I feel about you. Do you understand?"
Anne was shocked. She didn't want him to go. She needed him. She wanted to beg him not to leave her now. But luckily, she didn't have the strength for that either, her begging wouldn't help either of them. So she lowered her eyes and said, "Of course, Sam, do what you need to do."
"Will you be here when I get back?"
"I don't know." If she had a choice, she probably would be. She had grown fond of this little island and its people. Fond of Sam. More than fond. But she didn't have to think about that right now either. She would have to wait for him to find his way back home. Just as she had to find her way. She knew now that she was going to accept her gift. She would go where she was needed. Maybe it was better if she didn't get too attached to one place...or one person. "I can't promise anything. After what happened, I have a lot to think about."
"Fair enough. Me too." Sam kissed her fingertips and went to tell everyone that Anne was awake.
"Anne!" Ros appeared in the door with Stacy and Gina behind her. Sam moved out of the way as the three piled onto her bed. "Anne, you're okay!"
"Ow, ow." Anne said. "A bit sore."
"Sorry," Ros rested her head gingerly on Anne's chest. Sniffing back tears, she slipped the borrowed ring back onto Anne's finger. "I kept your ring safe for you."
Anne glanced at her hand curiously as warmth washed over it and radiated up her arm. She didn't remember that happening when she had put it on before. Shrugging it off, she stared happily at Roselyn. "You were so brave." Fresh tears fell as she was hit with the fact that Ros was truly safe. Alive. Stacy had her baby girl back.
"I don't know how to thank you, Anne." Stacy stroked her daughter's newly bobbed hair. "You risked your life for us."
"You would have done the same for me."
"Well, let's hope that theory is never tested," Stacy laughed and her eyes shone with tears of happiness. "Seriously, name it. I have to do something for you."
"Um, well. How about a big chocolate cake?" Anne grinned.
Gina laughed, her expression as mischievous as ever. "Oh yeah, just as soon as you get out of this place, there is going to be the biggest birthday party this island has ever seen."
Anne smiled at Gina. She wanted to ask her about Brian but that could wait. It could all wait. They would all need time to heal.
"I'll tell you right now, you're getting self defense lessons from me for your birthday," Stacy said. "In fact, we're all taking them."
"Sounds like a good plan." Now that she had accepted her gift and lived, she knew self-defense lessons would be a good start.
"All right, everyone," a nurse came in. "The more rest she gets, the sooner she can go home. Out, out," she shooed them toward the door.
"We'll sneak you in some real food," Gina whispered as she kissed her forehead. Then she grinned and squeezed her hand. "You did good, sweetie. I expect an exclusive interview from you when you blow this place. I need some answers."
Answers. Yes, answers would be good. Anne planned on getting the journal from her dad as soon as she was well. She was tired of flying blind. It was time she knew the whole truth about her destiny.
Sam lingered when the girls left. He stood by the door, his hands clasped in front of him. Their eyes met and she felt the pain of his leaving like a knife in her heart. But it was clear that Finn was between them. Sam may not blame her, but she knew he would be reminded of Finn every time he looked at her. Maybe time would heal that. Maybe it wouldn't.
"Oh." She gestured at her purse where it lay on the floor. "Wait, Sam, I have something for you in my purse."
He scooped it up and handed it to her. She reached in and pulled out the bottle of sleeping pills and held them up to him. "I don't think I'll be needing these anymore."
He took them from her, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he gazed at her, "A lot has happened in these past few months." His voice was barely a whisper. "In all the horror, there has been some good." He looked down at her, his eyes the moist, the pale blue of a perfect summer sky after the rain. "I think sometime in the future, those good things will be the important things. After... I mean later on, well....you know..." he tossed the pills into the trash. He nodded, squeezed her hand and they both watched as their fingers slowly slipped from one another's grasp.
"Yeah," she closed her eyes. So tired. "I know." After the healing. After the nightmare fades. "Goodbye, Sam." When she opened her eyes again, he was gone. She sighed. "See you soon."
As fatigue pulled her into a sound sleep, the man with sea foam eyes returned to grace her dreams.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shannon Esposito is a Florida author who believes in the power of an open mind. Exploring the unknown through writing fiction is her idea of magic. Her novels are sometimes steeped in science and sometimes wrapped in the paranormal but, as in real life, the heart of all stories is the mystery. You can visit her online home at:

