Unseen. Part 7

"Oh really!"

"Do we have to do this, Holly? I'm here for you, I've always been here for you. You're my sister. I don't always like how you behave but..."

"Well I'm sorry I haven't lived up to your exacting standards, Jake! We can't all be perfect like you."

Dan stepped in. "Guys! We don't have time for this. We have to figure out what we know, and get Gabe back. We should be thinking about him right now."

Whether it was exhaustion or an overwhelming surge of emotion, Jake didn't know, but Holly started to crumble to the ground. He reached out and pulled her into his arms. They fell against the couch and Holly began to shake and cry uncontrollably. Her voice was desperate and weak. "I'm sorry, Jake. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm such a screw-up..."

He held her tighter. "We're okay, Holly. We're going to be okay."

"I break everything I touch." She s.h.i.+vered. "And I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to stop being a screw-up. I don't know how to be strong for him. What is wrong with me?"

"We're going to get through this."

"I'm not strong enough to save him, Jake. And I'm afraid. I'm so afraid I'll never get him back. Even if they save him, I'll never get him back."

"We'll get him back, Holly. Shhhh, it's okay." He rubbed her back.

Her voice became a whisper, and tears poured from her eyes. "I need him so much, Jake. Don't take him from me. Please don't take him from me."

He held her and let her cry. There was nothing else he could say. He couldn't make her believe that he was not there to take Gabe away. That was something Holly had to figure out on her own. His words were empty. Only actions would prove his love was real. Despite all her flaws, she was still his sister, and he loved her, unconditionally.

He had tried to be a good brother, but her destructive behavior seemed to always pour out into his life. That was why he'd started pulling away. It wasn't a lack of love, it was self-preservation.

Once he started getting his life on track, it seemed wise for him to not be around at all. He couldn't stand to see her and Gabe surrounded by the destruction of her bad choices, and she'd refused to listen to him. He thought it was pride and stubbornness, but he could see now that it was simply weakness. Holly was just like their mother. She didn't have the strength to face life, so she ran to drugs to numb the pain. She ran to men to rescue her, but they weren't men, they were boys controlled by their own appet.i.tes. They offered easy access to the drugs she craved but lacked the moral fiber and willpower to be the hero she needed. She needed someone faithful, someone honest, someone stable.

Jake looked at Dan perched on the edge of the couch like a stone gargoyle, watching patiently for an opportunity to help, like a hero, waiting to swoop in and save the day. Jake had never considered it before, but Dan was a stand-up guy, in spite of his quirks. He was good to his family, held down a steady job, and kept a clean lifestyle-even with the decay of western society all around him. How different would both their lives have been if she had responded positively to that letter? Maybe he would have done anything for Holly. Maybe she would have been his inspiration, challenging him to do more with his life; find a house, get a better paying job, come out of the coc.o.o.n of his living room and breathe fresh air once in awhile. Maybe he would have been the stability she needed to raise her son right, living a clean, happy life.

Jake looked down at Holly, and his chest puffed out slightly as he choked back his own emotion. The wrong man was holding his sister. She didn't need a big brother, she needed a hero, and, even with his mild quirks, Dan Clark was the man for the job. All Jake had to do was get Holly to stop loathing him.

Chapter 10.

Holly was spent, so Jake left her on the couch with a cold compress. He turned the television on low in case there were any updates, then went into the kitchen to talk with Dan.

"She going to be okay?" asked Dan, looking past him through the door.

"Yeah. She just needs some time."

"She having withdrawals?"

"Yeah. That's definitely part of it, but I think mostly she's just been through the ringer emotionally. There's a lot going on in her head right now. She doesn't know how to process it."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"We just need to keep pumping the water into her and let her rest. When she's ready, she'll come out of it." Jake got a cloth from under the sink and wet it down with cold water. "These will help too. Go swap this with the one on her head."

Dan's eyes widened. "Me?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"She hates me, Jake."

"She doesn't hate you. She just doesn't get your humor."

"I'm pretty sure I saw hatred when she saw me on the steps. She won't admit it, but she saw that letter. She saw it-and she hates me."

"That was a million years ago, she doesn't hate you."

"She caught me staring at her one time in gym cla.s.s. She told me then she hated me."

Jake stared at his friend a moment, then stuffed the cloth into Dan's hand. "Just do it. Maybe she'll hate you less."

Jake watched as Dan took the cloth into the living room and replaced the one on Holly's forehead. Holly's eyes opened to slits, and her face tightened. Jake's best guess was she didn't like having anyone see her like this, least of all Dan. But somewhere in there, there had to be a twinge of grat.i.tude.

Dan returned with a told you so look on his face.

Jake grabbed the cloth from his hand. "Hey, Rome wasn't built in a day."

Dan circled him and leaned on the counter. "What are you up to, Jake?"

"What do you mean?"

"Rome wasn't built in a day?" He pointed at the cloth. "And the whole put a cloth on her forehead thing? Are you trying to-you know-get me and Holly together?"

"Don't you like her?"

"Yeah, in the eighth grade!"

"Shhhh. Keep it down."

He leaned in close. "Jake. A lot has changed since the eighth grade."

"Look. I'm not thinking straight, okay? I lost my job, my nephew has been taken by a serial killer-I'm seeing ghosts. I'm a little messed up right now, just trying to play damage control. If that freak kills Gabe, he'll be killing Holly too. She needs someone stable, someone strong."

"No offense man, but I don't think I have what it takes to put a reign on your sister. She's about as wild as they come."

"You could use some excitement in your life."

"My life has plenty of excitement thank you very much."

"You work at the bank all day, and you sit in your living room all night, every night, like you've given up on life."

Dan folded his arms. "I like my life."

"You need to get out of virtual reality and step into the real world, and Holly, my friend, is as real as it gets."

"I'm not gonna lie, Jake, I think she's beautiful, I mean really beautiful, but I can't be with someone who does drugs. And she has a kid." He brought his hands up apologetically. "A great kid I'm sure, but he doesn't even know me."

Jake looked at his sister curled up on the couch, and his heart ached for her. "This isn't my sister, Dan. This is not the life she wants, but she feels trapped. She needs someone strong who can show her the way out."

Dan's eyebrows rose. "There's only one problem with your plan, Jake. She..." he gestured dramatically toward the living room, "hates my..." he pointed at himself, "guts."

"Never-mind. Forget I said anything." Jake went over to the kitchen table, slid a chair out, and slumped down into it. His sister wasn't the only one struggling with the stress of the day, but he couldn't afford to take it out on Dan.

Dan took a seat across from him, and they quietly waited for the heaviness to leave. Dan was the first to speak. "So, what do we do now? Just wait?"

"Well, Holly is no condition to brainstorm with us, so I guess waiting is all we can do. The FBI has a list of leads. Maybe something will pan out."

"What about the ghost kids?"

"I don't know if I even want to think about that. If they are ghosts-and I don't think I'm ready to believe that yet. But if they are, and if they were sent to help, why didn't they help? And where are they now?"

"Why don't you go look for them?"

"How am I going to do that?"

"Well, you know what they look like, right? The girl at your place, the two boys, and the girl here.

Jake looked up. "You're right. There were four of them, the same as the number of victims. The girl here looked like the two-and-a-half-year-old Agent Grant talked about. Do you remember what she said about the others, what they looked like?"

Dan rubbed his thick neck. "I don't remember. She didn't give much of a description. Just ages and hair color." His hand fell to his side. "But I could look online."

"Holly doesn't have a computer."

"We could go to my place."

Jake looked into the living room again. "No, I don't want to leave Holly alone. And there's no way I am ever bringing her up to your place."

Dan frowned. "Yeah, it is kind of a mess."

"Ya think?"

"Hey, how about you go get my laptop. I'll plug it into my cellphone and run off the cell signal."

"That's actually a good idea."

Dan scowled. "What? I don't have good ideas?"

Jake ignored his wounded look. "I'll go grab your laptop and then stop by my apartment building to see if I can find that first little girl. You watch over Holly and call me if you hear from the FBI, or if there is a news update."

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was something.

Chapter 11.

Angela Grant and Agent Perez pulled up in front of a commercial construction site on the eastern edge of Sunbury in a black sedan. Agent Grant s.h.i.+fted into park and surveyed the possible exit points. "How sure are we on this intel?" she said.

"He's in there," said Perez in his hoa.r.s.e Mexican accent. "He's been working on this job for the last two weeks, every day till six."

Angela grabbed her binoculars and made a quick scan of the grounds; it would make matters less complicated if she could locate Mark Phillips before stepping on site.

There were only eight men visible inside the hollow ribcage of the building. Three of them were poring cement near the back. The one who had his back turned was of average height, with a lean build. His pose resembled the slight leaning stance of the serial killer while his white work helmet gave the appearance of a mask.

"I think I see him," she said. "He's pouring cement near the back." She set the binoculars on the seat and got out of the car. Perez came around and joined her.

"As soon as we step inside, the foreman is going to make a bee line toward us and tell us we need a helmet. I want you to play interference." They started across the street. "I don't want Mark to know we're coming, so let's enter through that right door where the plastic is." She pointed.

They crossed the dirt parking lot, keeping an eye on the three men at the rear of the building, and entered through the right door. The smell of dust and dirt filled Angela's nostrils. In the surprising quiet of the construction site, she could hear the dirt crunching between her shoes and the cement floor. Some of the men were eating lunch, and two others were pouring over a blueprint laid out on a piece of plywood between two sawhorses.

One by one heads turned toward them, and soon all eyes were watching. Angela kept her eyes fixed on Mark Phillips. He set a bag of cement down in front of him, wiped his forehead with the back of his dirty grey hand, and looked up. His first expression was one of confusion, but when she held her badge up, it changed to fear.

"Mark Phillips, I'm Special Agent Angela Grant with the FBI. I need to ask you a few questions." Her voice reflected off cement and metal.

Mark took a step backwards, and Perez said under his breath. "He's gonna run isn't he? Tell me he's not gonna run."

With that, Mark bolted toward the rear door. Angela and Perez took off after him.

"I hate it when they run!" shouted Perez. He was a muscular Mexican with a little extra meat around the midsection; great for breaking down doors, but not so great for chasing criminals. Angela's full bodied figure wasn't ideal for chasing down criminals either, but she tended to surprise her colleagues by how quickly she could move.

Angela cut through the center of the building in a dead sprint, then slowed at the rear door opening. The way was clear. Mark was sliding down the embankment immediately behind the building.

"Stop! We just want to ask you some questions!"

He continued to slide, so she slid down after him. The sharp gravel bit through her pants and into her hand. Perez ran along the bank and headed down to cut Mark off. There were only two choices, head toward the parking lot on the other side of the road that skirted the embankment, or run down the road and enter the residential neighborhood.

Mark Phillips got to the road and looked back. Agent Grant was halfway down the embankment. There was no way he was going to make it to the houses, so he jumped the guardrail and ran across the parking lot. At the far end was a fitness center, and beyond that a tree line. If he got to the tree line, he might lose them.

Angela hit the bottom of the embankment hard and regained her footing. As she ran her hand ripped the radio from the velcro on her belt and she brought it to her mouth. "Suspect is fleeing on foot to Boyd's Gym! We need backup!" She leaped over the guardrail. He was only one row ahead of her. If she dug in, she might be able to catch him.

Her heart pounded in her ears, her nose and lungs burned with each breath. Slowly the gap between them closed. But it wasn't enough. He made it to the gym and ran up the stairs and through the door.

Angela followed. She cut right and ran up two flights of stairs to see Mark running down a wide hallway with a Plexiglas view of racquetball courts on his left and tanning bed rooms on his right.

"Stop him!" she yelled as she pursued him past the check-in counter and down a tight stairway beyond. At the bottom she lost him briefly at the convergence of three large rooms and a hallway lined with lockers, but picked him up again after pa.s.sing beyond a divider wall. He was headed to the back of a workout room, and a red door with a glowing exit sign above it.

"Stop that man!" she screamed.