The Night Bird

36

Near Ocean Beach, the thunder of the waves was unrelenting. Frost got out of his SUV and felt salty spray on his face. The long stretch of the Great Highway down the hill from Cliff House was deserted, but Frost could feel the Night Bird watching him. Somewhere in the darkness of the beach, or on the rocky trails of Sutro Heights above him, the man had binoculars to spy on his prey.

The stretch of sand here was wide, flat, and seemingly endless, like a cold imitation of Santa Monica. He shivered as the damp chill got inside his bones. Across the street, he spotted one lonely car in the beachfront parking lot. It was an imperial-blue Chevy Malibu. This was no accident; the Night Bird had done his research. Katie had driven the same kind of car.

He ran the vehicle plate. The car had been stolen three days ago. It was all part of the plan.

Frost called for backup, but he didn’t wait for the sirens. He had to know. Ocean wind screeched in his ears, and a headache pounded behind his eyes. He crossed the street toward the Malibu, just like he’d done once before, when a mysterious phone call took him here. In the middle of the night. Six years ago.

Are you looking for Katie?

Yes, I am. How did you—

She said she’s waiting for you at Ocean Beach.

What? Who is this?

A cloud of sand rose off the beach and blew grit into his face. White surf undulated from the water. His chest felt heavy. Time drew out, making each step a journey against an invisible tide. He didn’t want to get there. He didn’t want to see what was waiting for him.

Streaks of mud crusted over the car’s blue paint. He saw a single sentence scrawled in the dirt of the rear window. The same awful question.

What’s your worst memory?

Frost remembered everything about that night. Every sensation was tattooed on his brain. The blue-and-green wool of the blanket in the backseat, covering Katie. The cool metal of the door handle. Her torso spilling out, head nearly severed, blood everywhere, like a red ocean. The wail of his own screams.

He pulled open the rear door of the Malibu, and his heart seized. Again, again, again. A blanket covered Lucy’s body. Blue-and-green wool in the same diamond design. He knelt down, using both hands to peel back the blanket to reveal her face, and there she was. Eyes closed. Perfect and peaceful. He put two fingers on the soft skin of her neck, and he found—

A heartbeat. She was alive.

Frost yanked the blanket from her body. She wore the same outfit as when he’d last seen her. Cropped jeans. Striped top. Gently, he lifted her torso and climbed into the back of the car beside her. He rustled her shoulders and whispered her name.

“Lucy... it’s Frost. Lucy, wake up.”

Her eyes blinked open and closed. And open again. She tried to focus, but her gaze wandered, as if she were following the buzz of a fly. Her limbs squirmed. A groan rumbled from her throat.

“Lucy. It’s me.”

She shook off the fog. Her fingers rubbed her face and left pink impressions on her skin. Through dry lips, she said, “Frost?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t — where are we?”

“Long story. Do you remember anything? What’s the last thing you remember?”

Her eyes blinked again. “I don’t even know.”

“That’s okay. Hang on. I’m getting you out of here.”

Frost climbed out of the car and listened for the wail of an ambulance, but he heard nothing. He leaned in again and put his arms under Lucy’s knees and around her back. Instinctively, she clung to his neck and let him carry her out of the car. He kicked the door shut with his foot and half ran across the Great Highway back to his Suburban. Part of him wanted to scream at the Night Bird, knowing the man was watching him.

Why are you doing this?

At his truck, he eased Lucy into the front seat, just as he’d done once before, atop the Bay Bridge. He called in an update and threw his phone on the seat between them. He headed east, driving fast and using his siren to cruise uphill through the stop signs. The nearest hospital was on the other side of Golden Gate Park, three miles away. Lucy stared vacantly through the windshield as the city flashed by on both sides. He kept looking at her as he drove, but she didn’t look back at him. Pieces of a puzzle worked their way through her brain.

Finally, she said, “He took me?”

Frost nodded. “Yes.”

Lucy was silent again as he sped through two more intersections, and then she went on: “How long?”

“More than twenty-four hours.”

“An entire day,” she murmured. “I don’t remember any of it.”

“What do you remember?”

“I–I remember picking out a dress. To meet you. I draped it across the bed. After that, nothing.”

He glanced at the expression on her face, which was intense, as if thinking hard would bring everything back.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“The hospital. I want you checked out.”

Frost kept driving through the residential neighborhoods, which were empty of traffic. The up-and-down hills made a roller coaster, and the Suburban nearly left the ground as he shot over each peak. He made good time. He was already turning toward the emergency room on the east end of the park when Lucy suddenly grabbed his arm and said in an urgent voice, “Frost, stop!”

He swung the SUV sharply to the curb opposite the University of San Francisco campus. “What is it? Are you okay?”

Lucy unhooked her safety belt and scrambled across the seat. She threw her arms around him and leaned into his neck. He could feel the heat of her skin. Her body shivered, and her breathing was crazy fast. “Frost, I’m scared. What did he do to me? What did he put in my head?”

“You tell me. Is there anything? Any memories? Any feelings?”

“No! It’s all blank! I need to know what he did. We can’t wait. Whatever it is, we need to get it out.”

“I can call Dr. Stein and ask her to meet us there. She’s the expert.”

Her reaction was volcanic. “No! No, not her, not her, I never want to see her again, ever. Ever. Don’t make me see her again, Frost. Please, I never want to look at her face.”

She burrowed closer to him and held him tight, as if she were hanging from a bridge and he could keep her from falling. Her fingernails dug deeply into his flesh.

“You don’t have to see her,” Frost said. “Don’t worry. We’ll talk to someone else.”

“Take me home,” Lucy said. “Not the hospital. Just take me home.”

“Your apartment isn’t safe.”

“Then take me to your place. Please?”

“I’m sorry, Lucy, the rule is, you see a doctor first. We don’t know what he did to you. We need to make sure you’re okay.”

Lucy slid back to her seat with a wild look of despair. Panicked tears rolled down her cheeks. She shook her head over and over, and she wrung her sweaty hands together. Blood smeared her mouth where she’d bitten through her lip. She was disintegrating before his eyes, and he wanted her with a doctor now. He put the Suburban into gear, but as the truck lurched forward, she took him completely by surprise. Without warning, she punched open the passenger door of the SUV. She practically fell into the street as he jammed the brakes, and then she took off at a sprint across the intersection.

Frost recovered from his shock and threw open his own door. “Lucy!”

He reached for his phone, but he realized that she’d grabbed it from the seat.

“Lucy! Stop!”

She was already twenty yards away, passing under the streetlight and charging up the Lone Mountain hillside toward the USF campus. The silhouette of the university tower loomed at the summit behind the tall trees. Frost jumped from the Suburban and laid chase. He ran for the slope and climbed after her through wet dirt and grass, but the darkness masked her trail. He followed blindly, shouting her name.

“Lucy!”

She didn’t answer, and he didn’t see her. The fir trees dotting the hillside kept her hidden. He stopped to listen for the noise of her footsteps as she moved higher toward the tower, but he didn’t hear her. Instead, in the quiet, he heard something else. Music. Sweet, horrifying music. Somewhere close by, among the trees, he heard the gentle notes of a piano solo. He recognized the song.

It was a killing song.

“Lucy, don’t!” he called.

He ran toward the sound, hearing it get louder, but he was too late to stop the music. The piano solo gave way to Carole King’s perfect voice trilling about the night bird, about the sailor seeking rest, about the nightingale singing out the theme to a stranger’s lonely life. His eyes tried to find Lucy among the trees, and all the while, he expected to hear her scream, like the others. Scream. Run. Die.

A pinpoint glow shined thirty feet away. It was the white light of a phone screen. His phone.

He skidded across the slope from tree to tree and found her with her back against one of the evergreens. In the glow of the phone, her brown eyes were scared. Her hair was messy. He closed the distance between them in a second and gathered her up in his arms, and she buried herself against him. He could feel the pounding up-and-down swell of her chest. He tried to pull the phone from her hand, but she struggled, and the song kept playing, tinny and loud. It was deep into the second verse before he realized something.

Nothing was happening to her.

Carole King sang, and the piano played, and Lucy’s mind didn’t break into little pieces. Not like Monica Farr. Or Brynn Lansing. Or Christie Parke.

Lucy realized it, too, and her eyes opened wide with relief.

“It didn’t work,” she murmured. “Right? It didn’t work!”

“I guess not,” he whispered, but he wasn’t so sure. He almost wished she’d lost control right here, where he could hold her and keep her safe. Then, at least, he’d know what the Night Bird had done to her.

The song drifted to an end and left them in silence. They didn’t move. He could feel her holding on to him, and in the darkness of the hillside, she was soft and warm. Her body relaxed, as if a storm had passed. She had a faint smell of perfume in his arms. Finally, she let go and stared at him, just inches away. Her face was filled with yearning and confusion.

“Do you think I’m really okay?” she asked.

“I hope so. Let’s get you to the hospital and make sure.”

“Frost, don’t let anything happen to me,” Lucy said, taking his hand.

“I won’t,” he told her. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”