Whisper in the Dark

53

Ten minutes before the alarm went off, before The Rhythm gave its final push, bringing all of the elements together in the old, dead hospital, Solomon St. Fort thought about what he was supposed to do and hoped it would all go the way they’d planned.

When the nurse lady came to him earlier that day and told him what she’d seen and who she was trying to protect, he had readily agreed to help her. If the woman who wasn’t quite Myra had not yet completed her transformation, there was still a chance he could reverse the process and make her go back to wherever she’d come from.

He didn’t know if the incantations his grandfather had once taught him would work. He’d never had to use them himself and wasn’t even sure if Papi ever had. But it was worth a try if it meant getting Myra back.

And he knew now that for him, personally, this day had been about much more than Myra.

It was about redemption. The redemption of a soul scarred by a lie. A lie he had been telling himself for far too long.

If The Rhythm didn’t want him here, it would’ve kept him away. His “yes” to the nurse lady, his agreement to do this deed — at (he might add) incredible risk to his own life and limb — was all part of The Rhythm’s plan.

So at the appointed time, a time chosen to take maximum advantage of the security crew’s shift change, Solomon climbed off the bunk he’d been assigned, then went into the hallway, around the corner and, careful to stay one step behind the motorized video cam as it panned the adjoining hallway, approached a locked door marked AUTHORIZED STAFF ONLY.

Using the key card the nurse lady had given him, he went through that door and found himself on a stairway leading down to the basement. A moment later, he was standing in the basement itself.

It was exactly as described: a row of storage lockers adjacent to a maze of pipes. Mounted on the far wall was his first target, the electrical panel, a column of switches that controlled power to the entire detention unit.

Sitting on the floor below it was a flashlight and an umbrella.

Grabbing them both, Solomon stared at the switches, each of them labeled for a different part of the detention unit. He turned off the backup power first, then, sending up a prayer to God and Henry and Papi and his sweet departed mother, reached up and switched off the main power line.

The shouting began almost immediately.

A few minutes later, Solomon was upstairs in one of the main corridors, using the flashlight to help him navigate in the dark. Patients all over the detention ward were calling out for lights, spilling out of the Day Room into the corridors. Those in seclusion banged on their cell doors, screaming obscenities, as a frazzled staff and security crew struggled to maintain order.

Without hesitation, Solomon moved to his second target: a locked fire alarm mounted on the wall. Inserting a key, he turned it, flipped open the door, and pulled the alarm. He had wondered if it would work with the juice off, but the nurse lady had assured him it ran on a separate power system.

And, boy, was she right about that. The racket it made was loud enough to curdle cheese. The moment it went off, Solomon opened the umbrella as water valves came alive overhead.

Target three, coming up.

As the hospital erupted in chaos, Solomon rounded another corner and made his way to the seclusion rooms. The moment he stepped foot in the corridor, a light shone in his face and someone said, “Who the hell are you?”

It was a police officer, posted outside seclusion room three. He was holding a hand above his head in a fruitless attempt to stay dry. Solomon gave him a concerned look and said, “The guards sent me to fetch you. Up in front. They need help with the evacuation.”

“What about the people in here?”

“They’ll get their turn, but right now they need you up front.” Solomon held out the umbrella and was immediately hit by a shower of cold water. “Here, take this.”

The guard took it, said, “Thanks,” and headed around the corner.

Solomon then turned to his new target: seclusion room six.

At the wire-mesh window stood a kid of about twenty, looking so calm and quiet you’d think he was a monk saying his evening prayer.

But the moment Solomon shone his light on the glass, the kid’s eyes brightened, lips curling into a grin.

Solomon had seen him before, in the shower room, when two guards had escorted the kid inside. They took him to a spigot and stood back, their hands resting lightly on their weapons as they watched him undress and shower.

He’d looked dangerous then. But now, up close and personal, he looked downright lethal. Which, Solomon had to admit, gave him pause.

But the nurse lady had assured him that the kid could help them get Myra out of here, and if anything went wrong, he looked like just the type of guy you’d want on your side. So Solomon pressed the intercom button and said, “You’re Bobby, right?”

“Just open the door, old man.”

Solomon figured he’d take that as a yes, then punched a code into the keypad. The moment it buzzed, the door flew wide and Bobby Fremont stepped into the corridor.

“Why’d you give away the umbrella, you useless turd?”

Solomon ignored the insult and pointed to seclusion room three. “She’s in there.”

“I know where she is. You think I’m a fuckin’ moron?”

Fremont crossed the corridor and stood before the door to SR-3. “Open it up.”

Solomon moved up to the glass and tried to peer inside, but it was too dark to see anything.

“Come on, goddamn it. Open it.”

Turning to the keypad, Solomon punched in the code.

“Be quick,” he said. “We’ve gotta get her out of here before that cop comes back.”

“Fuck you,” Fremont told him. “I’m gonna enjoy this ride for as long as I want.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Fremont snatched the flashlight from him. “You did your job, old man, now go tell Lisa that this bitch is as good as dead.”

Then he put a hand on Solomon’s chest and pushed.

Solomon stumbled back, nearly losing his footing on the wet floor.

Had he just heard what he thought he’d heard?

Was Fremont planning to kill Myra?

No, no — that couldn’t be right. They were supposed to take her out to the parking lot and meet up with the nurse lady.

Regaining his balance, Solomon moved toward the kid, watching as Fremont shone the flashlight beam into the darkness and aimed it at the bed.

But the bed was empty.

“What the fuck?”

Fremont stepped past the threshold and swept the light around the room.

The woman was nowhere in sight.

“What is this?” he growled. “Lisa promised me some prime pussy, so where the hell is it?”

Then, as if in answer to the question, they both heard a sound. A faint whimper. Coming from overhead.

It sounded more animal than human.

Fremont aimed the flashlight beam toward the ceiling. And despite Solomon’s concerns about this young punk’s intentions, what he saw there made his entire body go numb.

“Holy shit,” Fremont said.

A moment later, he wasn’t saying anything.

He was too busy screaming.

54

It started to rain.

Blackburn crushed out the last of the Winston and flipped his wipers on, wondering when the hell De Mello was gonna call back and give him that location. He had been headed in the direction of Baycliff just out of instinct, but for all he knew, it was the wrong direction altogether.

He was about to pull to the side of the road, debating whether to try calling Carmody again, in the dim hope that he’d been wrong about that severed ear.

Then his cell phone bleeped.

“I don’t know what the holdup was,” De Mello said, “but they’ve got it pinpointed.”

“Where is she?”

“Baycliff — sort of.”

“Sort of? What the hell does that mean?”

“The tracker shows her up the hill a bit. Somewhere between the new hospital and the ruins. From the satellite photos, it looks like she’s in the trees.”

The pepper trees. They grew like weeds up there.

Not liking the sound of this, Blackburn reminded himself that they were only tracking Carmody’s phone, not Carmody herself. But then the thought of that little detail made him feel even worse.

“You okay, Frank? You sound a little tense.”

“Hunky-dory,” Blackburn said.

“Don’t worry about Carmody, I’m sure she’s fine. The cell signal up there isn’t worth shit.”

He hadn’t told De Mello about the ear.

And what De Mello hadn’t mentioned was that a phone caught in a dead zone doesn’t ring. It goes straight to voice mail.

Carmody’s had been ringing like crazy.

And if her phone was caught in a dead zone, the GPS trace wouldn’t have worked.

“By the way,” De Mello continued, “we just got an anonymous squeal on a possible break-in at Tolan’s house. Hogan and Pendergast are picking it up.”

“Nothing on Tolan himself?”

“Not yet. But he’s bound to show up sooner or later.”

Probably later, Blackburn thought. A lot later.

He thanked De Mello, told him to get his ass home, then hung up.

Sticking his flasher on the dashboard, he flicked it on, hit the siren, and bore down on the gas pedal.

Five minutes later, Blackburn was tearing up the hill toward Pepper Mountain Mesa. As he closed in on Baycliff, he cut the siren and heard a sound — the piercing ring of a fire alarm.

Pulling into the parking lot, he saw no sign of the car he’d left for Carmody, and was surprised to see staff and patients piling out of the detention unit, as well as the hospital proper. While the main building was still lit, the EDU itself was dark, as if someone had cut the electricity.

And this was no orderly evacuation.

The patients were unruly and wild, staff and security having a tough time containing them. Half of them were soaked to the bone, but Blackburn couldn’t tell if this was because of the rain — which was quickly turning into a thunderstorm — or if the overhead sprinklers had gone off inside.

For some reason, it all reminded him of a scene from Night of the Living Dead.

Spotting an OCPD uniform carrying an umbrella — talk about prepared — Blackburn skidded to a stop in the middle of the aisle, jumped out, and ran toward him, showing him his badge.

“What’s happening here?”

“What’s it look like? A fuckin’ mess, that’s what.”

Blackburn gestured toward the detention unit. “Is Detective Carmody inside?”

The uniform shook his head. “I just got on duty, but the guy I replaced said she took off hours ago.”

Shit, Blackburn thought. He’d known it was too much to hope for.

As the cop moved past him to grab one of the wayward patients, Blackburn turned, looking off toward the trees. It was raining fairly hard now and a handful of patients were running for shelter as EDU staff members tried desperately to corral them.

Blackburn followed, crossing the wide lawn toward a narrow pathway with a NO TRESSPASSING sign. He was halfway to it when a hand grabbed his arm.

He turned sharply, expecting it to be one of the nutcases, but was surprised to see it was the old man from The Avenue. The one who said he knew Psycho Bitch.

And he didn’t look good.

His eyes were wide with shock, the front of his hospital garb ripped open and covered with blood. His neck was crosshatched with severe lacerations, his left shin sliced open and bleeding, and he barely had the power to stand. He looked as if he’d been attacked by a wild animal.

“You’ve gotta stop her,” he said.

“Who? Who did this?”

“You know who. The woman. The one who used to be Myra. She’s one of the children now. The children of the drum. Just like Henry.”

Blackburn had no earthly idea what the old man was talking about, could easily have dismissed it as the ravings of a lunatic, but there was something in those eyes of his that told Blackburn he needed to listen.

“Where is she?”

The old man did his best to point toward the trees. It looked as if it was a Herculean effort just to lift the finger. “… In there. You gotta stop her… before she hurts someone else. You gotta…”

He faltered then, falling to one knee, and Blackburn grabbed hold of him. The rain was coming down in sheets now, soaking them both, a pool of bloody water forming on the grass beneath them.

“How did she do this to you? Does she have a knife?”

The old man managed a negative shake of the head, then turned his face toward the sky, letting the rain wash over him.

“Reminds me of Katrina,” he said. “He shoulda taken me then for what I did. Instead, he helped me.”

“Who?”

The old man coughed, bringing up a bubble of blood. “Henry. My brother, Henry.” He didn’t speak for a moment, disappearing into a memory. Then he looked at Blackburn and said, “Can you keep a secret?”

Blackburn knew the old man was dying. Nobody could survive this kind of punishment. “Yes.”

“I’ve been lying to myself all these years. We do that a lot, don’t we? Lie to ourselves.”

Blackburn nodded, his feelings for Carmody immediately coming to mind.

“We keep lying and lying and when you mix that in with all the booze, after a while the truth don’t matter much anymore. The lie is what we remember. The stories we make up to keep us from going crazy for what we’ve done.”

He faltered again, coughing up more blood. Then he said, “I loved my little brother. I don’t know why I pushed him in front of that police car… but… but my instincts just told me to. It was The Rhythm. The Rhythm makin’ me do it. Keepin’ the world synchronized.”

He paused, trying to catch his breath. “I don’t know why Henry went after that drunk-ass cop instead of me. I deserved it more. But there musta been a reason for it. Somethin’ he had to do to restore the balance. And he musta known this day was comin’.”

The old man looked up at the sky again. “You knew, didn’t you, Henry? You knew it all along.”

As if in answer — and Blackburn wouldn’t have believed this if he hadn’t witnessed it himself — thunder rumbled and rolled, shaking the earth beneath them.

The old man closed his eyes, listening to some inner voice, then said, “Forgive me, little brother. Please forgive me…”

Then his body weight shifted in Blackburn’s hands and he slumped forward.

Dead.

Blackburn stared at him a long moment, listening to the thunder recede, to the sound of the chaos around him, feeling the rain soak through to his skin, still not sure what the old man had been talking about.

But his confession — if that’s what it was — his expression of regret for deeds long past, cut Blackburn right to the bone.

Carefully laying the old man on the grass, he turned toward the trees and ran.

55

Tolan knew there was a pathway in here, but he couldn’t find it.

He didn’t have a flashlight, so his vision was limited. Yet despite the rain, there was enough moonlight filtering through the trees to keep him from being completely blind.

The moment he’d heard the fire alarm, he had headed straight for the forest, Lisa calling out for him to stop. But he’d ignored her, still reeling from the revelations of what he’d done, what they’d both done, and of her willingness to go so far to protect him.

A day that had started with a simple but terrifying threat — imagined or otherwise — had now spiraled so far out of control that Tolan didn’t think he would ever regain his balance. The things he’d learned about himself — the horrible atrocities he had committed — made him believe that if he were to look into a mirror he’d see a demon staring back at him.

But if what Lisa had said was true, if The Rhythm or the heartbeat or whatever it was had worked its magic and there was even a chance that Abby had returned, then he’d do everything he could to keep her from harm.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

He thought about that night in Abby’s studio, what Lisa had witnessed, the fury that had overcome him, made him do the unthinkable, and he didn’t care about her warnings. He didn’t care whether Abby was dangerous or why she’d come here.

Or what she might do to him.

Because, in truth, he deserved whatever punishment he got. And this one small act of redemption could well be the key to his personal salvation.

Running through the trees, he thought he saw the trail ahead, a narrow unpaved path that snaked through the forest. But as he drew closer he realized he had somehow gotten turned around and the trail was no longer in sight.

Had he doubled back without realizing it?

He couldn’t be sure.

What he did realize was that he was suddenly lost, unable to determine which direction he needed to go.

A vision of Bobby Fremont looming over Abby filled his head, and he came to an abrupt stop, squeezing his eyes shut, willing it to go away.

As he stood there, the rain filtering down on him through the trees, he was struck by a new notion:

If what Lisa said was true, that the things he’d seen in seclusion room three were real, that Abby was back, was it also possible that he hadn’t imagined Vincent after all? Could those phone calls have been as real as he’d thought they were?

And if so, was Vincent out here somewhere, watching him squirm like a bug under a pin?

A cell phone bleeped, startling Tolan.

Faint, but unmistakable. Somewhere nearby.

Opening his eyes, he looked around, did a full three-sixty, and saw nothing but the forest and the darkness.

It bleeped again and he turned toward the sound, pinpointing its location. Focusing his gaze, he saw a dim light shining in the distance. Dark shapes.

Moving through a tight cluster of trees, he stepped over a pocket of fallen branches and came to a small clearing that was littered with the bones of abandoned cars. He knew now that he had doubled back, was close to the access road that he and Lisa had taken to the old hospital.

Among those old bones was a shiny new carcass.

A Crown Victoria.

Frank Blackburn’s unmarked squad car.

The rear passenger door hung wide, the overhead light burning, the sound of the bleeping telephone coming from inside.

His stomach clutching up, Tolan approached. He could see that the backseat was soaked with blood, and there was no doubt in his mind that a killing had taken place in there. A butchering.

Sue Carmody?

No matter how hard he tried to remember it, he could not put that knife in his own hand.

Had it been Vincent after all? Was this one killing Tolan wouldn’t have to take credit for?

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about this. None of it mattered anymore. He was wasting time. He had to find his bearings and get to the hospital, get to Abby. But that one small kernel of hope buoyed him, and he wasn’t sure why.

Turning in his tracks, he studied the slope of the earth, trying to determine which way to go now, listening as the cell phone bleeped one last time, then went silent.

And just as he’d made his decision, had chosen what path to take, a bright white beam of light assaulted him, and a familiar voice said, “Don’t move or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

“Lock your fingers behind your neck,” the voice said.

Its owner was standing near the tight cluster of trees, a flashlight in one hand, a gun in the other, his hair plastered down by the rain, his clothing soaked, a butterfly bandage adorning his forehead.

Blackburn.

Tolan had to squint to see him. Raising his hands, he locked them behind his head.

“Where’s Carmody?”

Tolan hesitated, not knowing what to tell him. If he told him the truth — however vague that might be — Blackburn would surely pull the trigger, and Tolan needed to stay alive long enough to find Abby.

“Please,” he said. “I have to get to the hospital.”

The flashlight beam didn’t waver. “You don’t look hurt to me. Down on your knees.”

Tolan did as he was told, twigs crackling beneath him. Overhead, the wind continued to howl through the tree-tops.

“Where is she?” Blackburn said. “What did you do with her?”

“Please, I don’t have time for this. I have to find Abby.”

“Abby?”

Realizing his slip, Tolan quickly corrected himself. “Jane. Jane Doe. I have to get to her.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late for that.”

Tolan’s heartbeat quickened. “What?”

“It’s a mess down there. She escaped. Along with a bunch of other nut jobs.”

“How do you know that?”

“One of the patients told me. An old man.”

The old man again.

“He had a run-in with her and he wasn’t in too good of shape. Said she came this way.”

Tolan’s gaze shifted to the dark silhouettes of the trees. Did this mean that Bobby Fremont had failed? That Abby was safe?

Was she in here somewhere? Hiding?

“I don’t know what kind of weapon she’s carrying, but she ripped the shit out of him. And frankly, I don’t give a damn right now. I just wanna know what you did with…”

He stopped talking then, aiming the flashlight beam at the Crown Victoria behind Tolan.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered, moving a step closer. “What did you do to her?”

There was a sudden rustling sound nearby, a flash of movement through the trees—

— and it wasn’t the wind.

Blackburn stopped and swept the flashlight around, illuminating the darkness. “What was that?”

Tolan turned. Abby?

Another rustling sound, this time coming from the opposite side of the clearing. Higher in the trees, like the flutter of bat wings.

Blackburn pointed the flashlight toward it, but caught nothing in its beam. It was an unguarded moment and Tolan wondered if he should jump to his feet and run—

— but Blackburn quickly brought the light down again and shone it in his face.

“You can try,” he said. “But you won’t get very—”

Another sound abruptly cut him off.

A thudding sound.

Blackburn exhaled sharply and went down, the flashlight tumbling to the ground in front of him.

Tolan watched him fall, then looked up to see Lisa standing over him, a thick tree branch in hand. She tossed it aside and crouched over Blackburn, prying the gun out of his fingers. He was either out cold or dead.

“Get up,” Lisa told Tolan. “You heard what he said. Your precious Abby is loose, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let her hurt you. We need to finish what we came here to do.”

Blackburn stirred and Lisa pointed the gun at his head, about to pull the trigger.

Tolan sprang to his feet. “Lisa, no!”

“I have to,” she said. “He saw you. He knows.”

“No, it’s one thing to want to help me, to clean up after me, but you’re not a murderer. Don’t do it.”

“What difference does it make?”

“More than you can know,” Tolan said. “Trust me on this. I’d give anything to take back the things I’ve done.”

There was a flutter of movement again.

In the trees behind Lisa. A flash of white.

Abby?

Crossing to Blackburn, Tolan picked up the flashlight and pointed it, seeing nothing.

Then, another flutter, off to his right. A faint whisper:

“A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two…”

He and Lisa exchanged quick looks as he swept the beam toward it.

Again nothing.

“A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two…”

“Oh, my God,” Lisa said, panic filling her eyes.

Another flutter, off to the left now.

“A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two…”

Tolan swept the light in that direction—

— and there she was, crouched at the base of a pepper tree, looking out at them with dark, feral eyes. Not the product of a deluded mind, but real. Very real.

“Abby,” he said, feeling a sudden, overwhelming ache, accompanied by an unbridled sense of relief.

She was alive. She was alive and she was back and she didn’t look dangerous at all. She was the same woman he’d met five years ago, the same woman who had taken him into her bed, into her heart.

His lost soul.

“Oh, my God,” Lisa said again in a trembling voice, and brought the gun up to fire.

“No!” Tolan shouted, hitting her arm with the flashlight. The gun cracked, the shot went astray, and when Tolan returned his gaze to Abby—

— she was gone.

56

“Jesus,” a voice said. “What the hell happened to you?”

Blackburn had a mouthful of twigs.

He opened his eyes and spit, then realized he was lying on the ground. His head felt as if it had ballooned to twice its size.

Turning on his side, he looked upward toward the source of the voice. All he could see were two overlapping circles of a light.

Double vision.

Shit.

“Somebody sure did a number on you,” the voice said.

Then hands grabbed him, pulling him upright.

Clayton Simm crouched next to him, aiming a flashlight toward his head, fingers immediately going to the butterfly bandage, then moving to a spot just above Blackburn’s temple.

There was something wet there and Blackburn winced, pain shooting through him.

“This is bad,” Simm said. “You don’t want to be moving around too much.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Fire alarm. Some of our patients got loose. I thought I heard a gunshot. Did one of them attack you?”

“No,” Blackburn said, fighting confusion. “Maybe. I don’t know.” He squinted at Simm. “You picked the perfect time to finally show up.”

“Yeah, thanks for dragging me out of bed, then disappearing on me. I figured if I’m awake, I might as well be doing something useful.”

“Good, then help me to my feet.”

“I don’t think you should be—”

“Just do it.”

Simm stood up, then reached a hand out and pulled Blackburn to his feet. The world started spinning and Blackburn grabbed ahold of Simm’s arm to steady himself.

“I told you. You might want to sit back down. I’ll go get you some help.”

Blackburn said nothing, thinking he might toss his cookies. He tried searching the ground, but the double vision persisted. “Where’s my Glock?”

Simm swept his flashlight beam around the area, but came up empty. “Don’t see it.” Then he spotted something and stooped to pick it up.

Blackburn swayed again and Simm quickly caught him. “You drop this?”

It was a scrap of newspaper. The article on Anna Marie Colson that Kat had found in Tolan’s house. It must’ve slipped out of his coat pocket when he fell.

It was wet, but not soaked through. Simm shone his light on it, staring at the photograph of the college roommates. Blackburn looked too, trying to get his vision to clear, the image swimming before him, then finally coming into focus.

He stared at the fresh young faces, surprised by what he saw. Something he hadn’t noticed before. One of the roommates looking away from the camera, not at it, wearing an odd expression.

“Is that Michael?” Simm asked.

Blackburn shifted his gaze to Tolan’s smiling face, then snatched the article away from Simm and stuck it back in his pocket.

“I need to get up to the old hospital.”

“What the hell for?”

“Just help me get back to the trail. I’ll be fine after that.”

“Not likely,” Simm said. “I let go, you’ll fall flat on your face.”

Blackburn brushed a wet leaf off his cheek. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Tolan weaved in and out of the trees, finally clearing the last of them, then stepped onto the grounds of the old hospital, where the rain came down hard, turning the battered driveway to mud.

After the shot, he thought he’d seen Abby again, several yards in the distance, and had taken off after her without looking back, leaving Lisa in his wake.

“No, Michael! You can’t trust her! She’s not what you think she is!”

But Tolan didn’t listen. Nothing she could say could stop him. Not after he’d seen that face. That beautiful face with its striking brown eyes.

All he wanted was to make things right. To put his arms around Abby, to hold her, to tell her how sorry he was for what he’d done.

But now, as he stood at the edge of the forest, rain battering his face, he saw no sign of her, and the glimmer of excitement he’d felt only moments ago began to morph into the first seeds of despair.

From across the drive, the wide black mouth of the hospital’s main doorway seemed to call to him, beckoning him to enter.

He shone Blackburn’s flashlight toward it.

Was she inside?

A sudden feeling of déjà vu washed over him. A memory of Abby standing in the darkness of that doorway. Like something from a dream.

This is where it happens, Michael. Where it all comes together and balance is restored.

Steeling himself, Tolan crossed the drive and went inside.

“Michael!”

AS Lisa watched him disappear through the doorway, she felt heartsick.

After all she’d done for him, all the sacrifices she’d made, all these years she had put her own interests aside to love him and protect him and what does he do?

He ignores her. Leaves her behind. Humiliated.

And all because of that thing.

Because of Abby.

Always Abby.

Lisa had spent the last year — the last fifteen years — coddling him, nurturing his wounded heart, promising to always be there, even during the darkest moments of grief.

And what had it gotten her?

She was always second string in his eyes.

The consolation prize.

When they made love, she knew he was thinking of Abby. He’d even said her name once, not realizing it. But Lisa had never mentioned it to him, had never complained.

Was there nothing she could do to make him see her?

She was a beautiful woman. A lot of men had told her so. She’d felt their stares, their unchecked desire, but she’d never responded, never led them on.

Because her heart was Michael’s. Always had been. Always would be. No matter how he treated her.

No matter who he chased after.

And she’d thought it was finally working this time, this year together, only to see it destroyed by that woman. That aberration.

But Lisa was an optimist. She knew this night would soon pass, this terrible day would be over, and when she was done cleaning up — a chore she had been born to perform — everything would be on track again, and she’d have another chance to make Michael’s heart hers.

But she needed to catch him first.

And Abby.

Before something terrible happened. Like the old man had warned.

Hurrying through the rain, Blackburn’s gun clutched in her hand, she glanced at her BMW parked out front and stopped in her tracks.

A chill ran through her.

The trunk was open.

She hadn’t opened it, had she?

No, she knew she hadn’t.

Moving around for a better view, she looked inside and felt her stomach drop. The blanket was there, soaked with rainwater and blood—

— but the body was gone.

Sue Carmody’s body was gone.

Michael? Could he have taken it?

No, he didn’t have time. She’d just seen him a moment ago.

Could it have been Abby?

That seemed even less likely.

But if it was neither of them, then who?

“Hey!” a voice shouted.

Lisa wheeled around and saw Detective Blackburn emerge from the trees, a bloody gash in the side of his head. Clayton Simm, of all people, was propping him up, looking just as surprised as she was.

“Don’t fucking move,” Blackburn shouted. “Stay where you are!”

She should have shot the sonofabitch when she’d had the chance. Shouldn’t have listened to Michael, let him talk her out of it.

Oh, well. Better late than never.

As the two men approached, she brought the gun up and squeezed the trigger.

57

When the gun came up, Blackburn dove.

“Holy Christ,” Simm shouted, diving in the opposite direction.

Then the shots rang out, one after another, bullets ricocheting around them, Simm scrambling for cover in the trees as Blackburn rolled on the muddy pavement, narrowly avoiding a hit.

Pain shot through his head, and when he looked up, his vision had doubled again — two overlapping images of Tolan’s girlfriend turning away and running into the old hospital.

A moment later, she was gone.

Climbing to his feet, Blackburn staggered, then regained his balance, his head throbbing, the wound leaking a lot more than he would have liked.

He turned to check on Simm, to make sure he wasn’t hit, but didn’t see him anywhere around. The poor guy was probably halfway back to Baycliff by now, shitting his pants as he ran.

Feeling as if he’d just stepped off an overcranked merry-go-round, Blackburn staggered toward the open doorway.

Halfway there, he had to stop, resting against the BMW.

That was when he noticed the open trunk and the bloody blanket. And he had no doubt that there had once been a body inside.

The body of Sue Carmody.

He’d known she was dead the moment he saw that ruby earring. And whatever thin hope he’d carried for her survival had already washed away in the rain.

Tolan barely heard the shots.

They were little more than faint popping sounds, part of some other world, just like the wind and the rain.

This building, this hospital — with its charred and crumbling walls and shattered glass and broken tiles and peeling paint, with its long, shadowy corridors and darkened rooms — was a world unto itself.

He remembered it in more detail than he thought he would. But it looked different at night, the decay seeming more sinister in the darkness.

Yet, oddly enough, he felt comforted. His last good moments had been spent within these walls, with a woman he would always love.

Sensing she was here somewhere, Tolan worked his way down the corridor and turned a corner to find a broad staircase leading up to the second floor.

Abby had loved that staircase. Snapped a dozen or so photographs that day, taking her time, trying to get just the right angle, as she always had.

He could feel her now. A ghost, perhaps — or was it the real thing? — hiding in the shadows above.

He heard a sound from up there and swept the flashlight beam toward the top of the stairs. It flickered and grew dim. Probably damaged by the rain.

“Abby?”

His voice bounced off the walls, but it was the only voice he heard.

No one answered.

He banged his hand against the flashlight and for a moment it grew brighter, then flickered again and went out.

Shit.

Another sound came from the top of the stairs.

A whimper?

Tossing the flashlight aside, Tolan took the steps two at a time and plunged into the darkness of the second floor, moving down a long hallway, the only illumination coming from the far end, where pale moonlight shone in through a broken window.

There was movement down there. A shadow in the light.

“Abby?”

Picking up speed, Tolan barreled toward the end of the corridor and ran smack into something hard and metallic, banging his shin. Wincing in pain, he stumbled forward and landed on his hands and knees.

Sonofabitch.

Turning, he saw that he’d tripped over a portable generator, its thick electrical cord snaking toward a small, windowless room.

What was that for?

Was someone living up here?

Tolan rubbed his shin, waiting for the pain to subside, then got to his feet and approached the room, a sudden memory stirring in his brain. That feeling of déjà vu.

There was a table in the center, slanted slightly toward the floor, and next to it sat a rolling cart with an ECT machine atop it.

Hanging above it all was a blackened ceiling, holding the charred remains of a light fixture with missing bulbs.

He’d seen that fixture before.

But when?

Before he could give it too much thought, he heard the sound again and turned, listening carefully.

Not a whimper this time, but the faint echo of someone crying.

Tolan quickly followed it until he found himself in another long hallway. At the far end, open double doors led to a room he remembered from his time here with Abby.

The Day Room.

She’d taken his photo in there, the one that now hung over his bed.

Moving down the hall, he passed through the doorway into a cavernous room lined with high, wire-mesh windows, moonlight slanting toward its center, illuminating a grouping of dilapidated tables and chairs, each of them bolted to the floor.

A small figure was huddled near the foot of one of the tables, half hidden in the shadows.

Abby.

Tolan stopped, the sight of her riveting him to the spot.

Sensing his presence, she turned, looking up at him with wet, lucid eyes. “Michael?”

At the sound of her voice, Tolan felt something loosen inside his chest, a flood of emotion washing through him.

Rising, Abby held out her arms to him, opening them wide.

“It’s me, Michael. I’ve come back to you.”

And then he was across the room and in her arms, pulling her close, holding her so tight he thought she might break, but she didn’t seem to mind, the tears coming again, and he was crying too, unable to contain himself.

“It took me so long to get here,” she whispered. “I tried so hard to get here. I thought I was too late.”

“It’s all right, Abby. You’re here now. You’re with me.”

They held each other for a long moment, Tolan overcome by joy and guilt, not wanting to think about what he’d done to her. The savagery.

“I won’t lie to you,” she said finally, as if she knew exactly what was going through his mind. “You hurt me, Michael. So many times in those last few days. And then that night…”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, squeezing her tighter, fighting his tears.

“But that’s not why I’m here,” she continued. “None of that matters. Not now. Not anymore.”

He pulled away from her, surprised. “How can you say that? What I did to you is unforgivable.”

“No, Michael—”

“—I don’t even remember it. I don’t want to remember.” He closed his eyes, hearing Lisa’s voice in his head. “But she told me what she saw. She saw it all.”

“What are you talking about? Who?”

“Lisa. She was there that night. And she told me more than I wanted to know.”

Abby frowned. “What did she tell you?”

“Everything. Everything that happened. The fight. The knife in my hand. The blood…” More tears filled his eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you, Abby. Never. Please believe that.”

Abby just stared at him for a moment, as if she wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to say. Then sudden realization set in and she pulled him toward her. “Oh, my God, Michael, no… Don’t blame yourself for this. It isn’t your fault.”

Tolan pulled away from her again. “… What?”

“I can’t believe she’s got you thinking this way. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you at all.”

Tolan was confused. “What are saying?”

“Lisa’s lying to you. Everything about her is a lie. That’s why I came back. To warn you about her.”

“Warn me?”

“You can’t trust anything she tells you,” Abby said. “You weren’t the one holding the knife. She was.”

And as Tolan tried to process these words, Lisa stepped into the doorway and pointed Blackburn’s gun directly at Abby’s chest.

“I think it’s time for you to go now.”

58

Blackburn was halfway up the stairs when he heard the echo of voices.

For a moment he thought they might be the voices inside his own head, the way everything was so jangled up in there. He felt dizzy and nauseous and wished he could just lie down and sleep for a long, long time.

But when you’re on a mission, there’s no time for sleep. When you’re on a mission, you keep climbing, keep walking, keep going until you reach your stated objective, no matter how difficult that may be.

And while Blackburn’s objective at this particular moment was not noble, not smart, and most decidedly not danger-free — especially when you considered the fact that his Glock had been stolen from him — it was all he had to keep him upright.

The thing that drove him.

Ever since he’d seen that ruby earring, then the bloody blanket in the trunk of the BMW, the sense of loss he’d felt, the sense of finality, the realization that he would never again see Sue Carmody alive, told him exactly what that objective needed to be.

He was no longer looking to catch a killer.

He was looking to kill one.

Funny thing was, the man he’d initially suspected was no longer the one he was after. When he stood with Clayton Simm in the forest, looking down at the newspaper photo of those fresh-faced college kids, he was shocked to realize that the only one who wasn’t smiling, the only one who wasn’t looking directly at the camera—

— was Nurse Lisa Paymer.

A much younger Lisa, to be sure, but it was unmistakably her, as unmistakable as the barely disguised scowl on her face.

And instead of smiling for the camera, she was looking directly at the victim.

At Anna Marie Colson.

And in that moment, Blackburn realized his mistake. Unlike Tolan, he was no expert on the inner workings of the human mind, but that one look into Paymer’s soul put it all in perspective for him. What he was dealing with here was a classic obsessive psychotic, and the old, stale proverb rang especially true:

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

When Anna Marie Colson messed with Paymer’s man, Paymer had gunned her down. Then, when history repeated itself fourteen years later, Paymer had taken a knife, a PowerBlast cauterizing tool, and had gone to work again.

Her only mistake had been Todd Hastert and Carl Janovic.

Blackburn couldn’t give you the wheres and the whys of her introduction to Hastert, but Paymer herself had told him she’d worked at County General, and he was sure that the crucial information about Vincent Van Gogh had been passed along to her there.

A look at Paymer’s bank records would undoubtedly yield some interesting activity.

The wild card, of course, was the evidence he’d found in Tolan’s house, but he hadn’t abandoned his theory that Tolan may have been set up.

Yet none of that really interested Blackburn right now.

For him it was all Paymer, all the time.

And she wouldn’t make it through the night.

As Blackburn reached the end of a long hallway, the voices grew louder and more distinct.

“Don’t you listen to her, Michael. She’s a freak of nature. A goddamn demon.”

“Put it down, Lisa. Nobody needs to get hurt.”

Blackburn picked up speed — or at least the best approximation of speed he could muster in his condition — and rounded a corner, finding himself in another long hallway, a wide doorway at the far end.

Standing in the room beyond, in a pool of pale moonlight, were three familiar figures: Tolan, Psycho Bitch, and Paymer.

Paymer was holding the gun. His gun.

Stopping short, Blackburn quickly ducked into a darkened dooway. His Mag-Lite had disappeared along with his Glock, and he needed a weapon of some kind, something heavy to wield.

It was dark, but he could see that there were several loose chunks of cement on the floor — reminding him of the one Psycho Bitch had tried to use on him this morning. But they’d be too awkward to deal with.

He needed a pipe. A piece of two-by-four.

He wished he’d had enough sense to get the crowbar from that trunk.

Scanning the darkness, he saw nothing he could use and was about to step outside again when he instinctively stopped, sensing a presence behind him.

What the hell?

Hearing the faint shuffling of shoes on cement, Blackburn spun, bringing his arms up defensively, but his reflexes were shot and he moved too slow.

A hard blow to his solar plexus doubled him over, then a fist slammed down on his back. He crumpled to the floor, the world once again spinning.

This was getting tiresome.

Then a dark figure crouched next to him, putting a hand over his mouth.

“Quiet now. Let’s let the children have their fun.”

Lisa was waving the gun around and Tolan stepped in front of Abby, shielding her. “Lisa, listen to me…”

“Don’t you try to protect her, you sonofabitch.”

“I’m begging you, leave her alone. You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, please, Michael. Are you gonna tell me how much you love me now? Huh? Promise me it’ll all be better in the morning?” Her eyes were wild. The eyes of a psychotic.

“Waving that gun around won’t get you what you want.”

“Won’t it? It did before.”

Tolan’s receptors were on overload, the information coming at him too quickly to be processed. All the things he’d thought about himself, all the damage he thought he’d done, had been a fabrication. A jealous woman’s lie. And what frightened him most was that he’d actually allowed himself to believe her.

“She’s a whore. You said it yourself. And you just stood there like a pathetic fool and let her slap you.”

As she spoke, the information train continued to roll through Tolan’s head, transmitting images in rapid-fire succession, a fast-forward replay of Abby’s last night on earth.

He was remembering it now.

It was all coming back.

The blackout he’d suffered had not been the product of a dissociative personality at all, but a reaction to severe trauma. The trauma of seeing his wife stabbed to death by his best friend.

“She was cheating on you, Michael. I tried to prove that to you when I put those condoms in her purse. I knew you’d confront her and she’d have to confess.”

Tolan heard a rustling behind him as Abby took a step backward, receding into the shadows.

“You’re not making any sense,” he said. “Abby always considered you a friend. She never did a thing to you.”

“She took you away from me, didn’t she? And when the two of you started to fight so much, I thought there might be a chance for us. But then you took that little field trip up here and let her snap her precious pictures. I followed you, watched the two of you, and I knew, I knew she’d never let you go. She had her hooks in you and she’d keep them in, for as long as she could.”

“She didn’t trap me, Lisa. I was in love with her. I’m still in love with her.”

Another rustling sound behind him. A small whimper of pain. Tolan turned, peering into the darkness.

“Abby?”

“… A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two…”

He returned his gaze to Lisa. “You hear that? That’s you she’s talking about.”

“… A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two…”

“I did what I had to,” Lisa said.

“What about that murder last night? The one on The Avenue? Was that you too?”

“He was threatening us.”

“Us?”

“You and me.”

There was another murmur behind him. Unintelligible this time.

Tolan eyed the gun, then inched backward toward Abby, trying to see her in the darkness.

“If you wanted her dead, why didn’t you just kill her last night, when she walked in on you?”

Lisa’s eyes flared. “You think I wouldn’t have? I didn’t even know she was there. I heard a sound and ran like a scared rabbit.”

More rustling behind him.

Something about Abby seemed to be changing and he was reminded of what he’d seen in the seclusion room, the shifting of bones, the missing ear.

“Abby, are you okay?”

Lisa moved toward them, trying to peer into the darkness. “Don’t you get it, Michael? It’s happening. Just like the old man said. She’s one of the children now. The children of the drum.”

“Stay away from her.”

Lisa leveled the gun. “I can’t do that.”

“Put it down,” he said. “You’re not going to hurt her.”

“Move! I don’t want to hit you too.”

But Tolan didn’t move.

Face hardening, Lisa shifted her hand, pointing the gun toward the shadows behind him.

“Come out of there, you bitch. Show yourself. Show him what a freak you are.”

Her finger brushed the trigger, about to squeeze it, but before she could, a high, piercing shriek filled the room as a figure sprang from the darkness.

And what emerged no longer looked like Abby at all.

Was not even human.

Instead, a sleek, animal-like creature lunged for Lisa as—

— she stumbled back, wide-eyed, ready to fire and—

Tolan shouted, “No!” leaping in front of her as the gun went off, heat blossoming in the center of his chest.

He tumbled to the floor and the gun went off again and then again, followed by an agonizing screech of pain as something or someone fell nearby.

Then silence.

59

Someone was crying.

Tolan rolled, reaching up to touch his chest, his hand coming back red and wet.

Turning to see who or what had fallen next to him, he was surprised to find that it wasn’t the animal he’d seen only a moment ago, but Abby, her own chest and stomach covered with blood.

Her breathing was shallow, just like his, and he knew that she wasn’t long for this world.

Not again, he thought. I can’t lose her again.

Reaching across to her, he touched her hand, and she grabbed a hold of his fingers, her words coming out in slow, wet gasps:

“… It’s time, Michael… You can come with me now…”

“Abby, no…”

“It’s all right… we’ll be together… We’ll always be together…”

“Promise me,” he said.

She smiled at him.

“I promise.”

Then she squeezed his hand and quietly closed her eyes. And a moment later, as she drifted into death, she began to change again, her face shifting, cheekbones widening, nose growing narrow. And in a few short seconds there was a stranger lying next to him.

Jane Doe Number 314.

But it didn’t matter. Tolan knew that he’d be with Abby soon. Because he, too, was starting to drift, listening to the faraway sounds of someone sobbing.

After a moment, Lisa crouched over him, grabbing his hand, tears rolling down her face, and he wondered if hell reserved a special place for people like her.

“Don’t you die on me,” she cried. “Don’t you dare die.”

But he was dying. It wouldn’t be long now.

“I’m so sorry, Michael. Hang on. You’ve got to hang…”

The words suddenly caught in her throat as her eyes went wide, a look of confusion spreading across her face.

Then realization.

Then pain.

“… that hurts,” she said softly, and slumped forward, landing in a heap next to Tolan.

Tolan stared at her, at her lifeless eyes, but was too weak to muster up much surprise. What did surprise him was the man standing over her.

A familiar face.

A friend.

None other than Clayton Simm.

And he was holding a bloody scalpel.

He smiled at Tolan, his voice little more than a whisper. “I guess I owe you an apology, Doctor. Frankly, I’m a little embarrassed by this turn of events.”

“… Clay?” Tolan was trying to understand exactly what was happening here. “It was you…? You’re…?”

He couldn’t get the rest out.

“I think Vincent is what you’re going for. At least that’s what they call me now. Who knows what it’ll be tomorrow.”

Leaning down, he wiped the scalpel on the sleeve of Lisa’s T-shirt. BEST OF SHOW.

“I’m sorry it had to turn out this way. But I guess everyone makes mistakes.”

He smiled again, then backed away, disappearing into the shadows.

“Say hello to Han van Meegeren for me.”

The moment he was gone, there was a loud crashing sound and Detective Blackburn barreled into the room, looking as if he’d been hit by a very large truck.

He took one look at the mess, said, “Oh, fuck,” then collapsed to the floor, out cold.

That was when Tolan closed his eyes for the very last time, Abby’s sweet voice in his head:

Sleep, Michael.

Time to sleep now.