Live To Tell Part 42

They turned to Karen, who was already frowning. "But she got Evan. I checked them off; they headed down the stairwell right before me."

"You saw them enter the stairwell?" D.D. clarified.

"Yes. I grabbed a last few things, then headed down. I could hear them in front of me. At least, I a.s.sumed it was them."

"Danielle and a kid?"

"The Oliver boy. Evan. He was admitted earlier today-"

"Wait." D.D. whirled back to Greg. "This is the Evan you know? You worked for his mom, who was stabbed this morning?"

Greg nodded.

"And Lightfoot knew them, too, right?"

"He paid me a finder's fee."

"Excuse me?" Karen spoke up. "You worked for a family? Finder's fee?"

Greg winced, stuck his hands in his pockets. "Once things are calmer, I have some things I need to tell you."

Karen opened her mouth as if to demand an explanation immediately, but D.D. was already waving her hand. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, and confession's good for the soul. But first things first: I want Danielle. I want Evan. And I want Lightfoot. Anyone got a clue where the h.e.l.l they are?"

She glared at the nurse administrator, then Greg, then the staff as a whole.

One by one, they all shook their heads.

"She's the target," Alex murmured in D.D.'s ear. "Lightfoot did this to get to her. But why? And where?"

D.D. looked at him grimly. "And how much time does she have left?"

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE.

VICTORIA.

I jerk awake with my mouth open as if to scream. For a second, I lie still, struggling to get my bearings. My heart's racing. My side aches. I feel dazed, as if roused from a terrible dream.

By degrees, I register that I'm in my own bed. The windows are dark, my bedside clock glows four-fifteen. I start to relax, then realize I can't feel my arms and legs.

In a fresh rush of panic, I try to sit up.

And immediately understand the problem. My arms are tied behind my back. My legs are tied at the ankles. I am trussed up, like a Thanksgiving turkey. But I'm in my own home, in my own bed....

It comes back to me. Waking up in the hospital. My determined desire to see Evan on the eighth-floor pediatric unit.

I'd made it to the elevator banks. I can remember my hand reaching for the b.u.t.ton. I can remember thinking that I was going to make it.

Then Andrew appeared. His presence confused me. We didn't have that kind of relations.h.i.+p. He used my body for s.e.x, and I let him.

And, Sat.u.r.day's interlude aside, he hadn't wanted to see me at all. He needed to prepare something, he'd told me. A Monday surprise.

It comes to me. Today is Monday.

And when I'd met Andrew at the elevator banks, he'd hit me with some kind of electrical charge. A bone-deep, searing pain. And then...

My lover deliberately incapacitated me, and now here I am, alone in the dark.

I hear a groan, coming from downstairs.

No, not alone.

Michael is here, too.

What in the world?

Suddenly, I remember two recent cases in the news: families, both with troubled kids, murdered in their own homes.

We're missing Evan, I understand now. Andrew will bring Evan. Then the killing will begin.

Furiously, I work my hands against my plastic bindings. No time for the pain in my side. No time for the pain in my head. Have to get out. Have to get us all out. Michael, Evan. I have made such a terrible, terrible mistake.

But before I have a chance to get started, it all ends. I hear the door open downstairs. I hear footsteps in the foyer.

"Honey," Andrew's voice croons. "I'm home."

CHAPTER FORTY.

DANIELLE.

My f.u.c.king head. That was my first thought. Next came awareness of shooting pains down my arms, muscles cramping in my right shoulder. I needed to move, stretch out, sit up....

I was tied up.

The realization stunned me. I froze, trying to figure out what the h.e.l.l had happened. I'd been carrying Evan, working my way down the stairwell. A door opened. Andrew stepped out.

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d had tasered me. The realization was so shocking, I tried to sit up again, and promptly whacked my head against a hard metal surface. Sagging, I honed in on the sound of tires on pavement, the scent of exhaust fumes, the stifling heat of a closed-in s.p.a.ce, and the next piece of the puzzle struck me.

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d had tasered me, then tossed me into the trunk of his car.

Son of a b.i.t.c.h. He must've faked the whole poisoning episode. Gotten himself a free pa.s.s out of the unit, into the main hospital, where he'd disappeared, then circled back around to ... torch the hospital? Attack the ward?

Evan. Oh G.o.d. What had happened to Evan?

I struggled desperately, rolling helplessly from side to side in the darkness of the trunk. I encountered something that felt like a metal tool chest, then a soft duffel bag. But no Evan.

Maybe he was okay. Karen had been behind me. She would've found him, carried him to safety.

The thought comforted me. I rested, wiggling my fingers and toes as I heard the hum of the pavement below, and felt the weight of the trunk door above. I wanted to throw up. Instead, I forced myself to take a deep breath, then marshaled my resources, and determined the best plan of attack.

I wasn't scared. Maybe I should've been. But mostly, I was very p.i.s.sed off.

I'd hidden once in my life. I'd handed over my safety to another and I'd buried myself under the covers. And we all knew how well that had worked out.

This time, I vowed, I was gonna put up one h.e.l.luva fight.

The car slowed. I felt the momentum grind to a halt. Seconds later, the engine cut out; we'd reached our destination. My head pounded harder. The exhaust fumes had made me nauseous, while my right shoulder had locked up painfully. Despite my best efforts, I'd lost all feeling in my fingers and toes at least five miles ago.

I tensed, bracing myself for G.o.d knows what. Andrew would come around the car. Pop open the trunk. And I'd ... leap out at him? Scream b.l.o.o.d.y murder? I was bound and gagged. Couldn't move. Couldn't scream. Didn't have a cell phone. Didn't have a weapon. I was doomed.

A car door opened. Slammed shut. Another door opened, maybe a pa.s.senger door. Andrew was getting something out.

My body screamed with tension. I squeezed my eyes shut, though I was already lost in the dark.

Footsteps, growing closer. I had to do something. Think.

There was nothing I could do. I was trapped, helpless.

I didn't feel brave anymore. I pictured my sister, gunned down in the hall. I remembered my brother and his desperate race for the stairs. And I wanted to cry for them. I wanted to cry for all of us, because after tonight, I was pretty sure there would be no survivors.

The footsteps faded away. Long seconds ticked by without anything happening. My body relaxed, degree by degree. Think, think, think.

Both D.D. Warren and Greg seemed to feel that Andrew had personal feelings for me. Could I use that? Could I convince him that I liked him, too? If I could just sweet-talk him into loosening the bindings, giving myself one shot at escape ...

The footsteps were back, growing louder. Then, before I was ready, the trunk flew open. Andrew loomed above me, his body shrouded in night. I couldn't see his face, but felt his eyes upon me.

"Do you understand?" he asked me.

Bewildered, I shook my head, cotton gag chafing my lips.

"You will. It's time to face your past, Danielle. I've been trying to tell you that, but you ignored me. Drastic times call for drastic measures. So here we are. Twenty-five years later. Same day. Time for a new understanding."

He reached down, grabbed my shoulders, and forced me up. I screamed against the gag as blood-starved nerve endings roared to life. The sound was m.u.f.fled, the shriek rebounding into my throat, where it died a quick death. Andrew grunted in satisfaction.

"You must open your senses," he intoned, hands under my arms, dragging my deadweight from the trunk. "Remove your judgments. Listen with your heart, remember with your mind. He'll find you. He's been trying to contact you for years."

He set me on the pavement. Run, my head commanded, even as my legs crumpled and I fell against my captor. Andrew was strong. I remembered his stories of running six miles in soft sand. Now he hefted me easily onto his back in a fireman's hold. I tried to kick out with my legs, but couldn't get any momentum.

With me in place, Andrew trudged toward a large house I didn't recognize. He pushed open the front door and strode into the darkened foyer.

"Honey, I'm home," he called out.

Upstairs, I heard a woman begin to weep.

Memory is a funny thing. My entire life had been defined by one episode, that until today, I'd a.s.sumed lasted no more than forty minutes. In my memory, my father was holding the gun. In my memory, my father shot himself, instead of me. In my memory.

Andrew removed my gag. I opened my mouth to scream, and he pressed a finger over my lips.

"Shhh, don't forget about Evan and his mother and father. Surely you'd like to save one family."

I closed my lips and stared at Andrew. We were upstairs, in a pink ruffled bedroom that clearly belonged to a young girl. I didn't see any sign of her, and the bed was made, so I was hoping that meant she was no longer around, or maybe this room had been staged for my benefit. I wasn't sure, and the not knowing kept me silent.

I studied Andrew, a mouse pinned by a cat, desperate for a glimmer of escape.

"What do you mean?" I asked. My mouth felt cottony from the gag. I couldn't get enough saliva to enunciate clearly. I licked my lips, but it didn't help.

Andrew set the flashlight between us. I'd grab it and bash it against the side of his skull, except my hands remained tied behind me. He'd released my ankles, allowing us both to sit cross-legged on the floor. I had my back against a wall of dark windows. He had himself situated between me and the bedroom door.

I didn't hear crying anymore. The house had gone eerily quiet, the silence freaking me out more than the noises had. Bad things happened in places that were this hushed.

"Evan is an old soul," Andrew stated.

This sounded like the Andrew I knew, so I nodded.

"He feels too much, is saturated by the negativity of this world. Other, crueler souls haunt his dreams. They seep into his waking consciousness. They encourage him to do bad things, such as kill his own mother. It's a terrible way to live, such a young boy, fighting a war n.o.body else can see."

I'd heard this spiel before, so I nodded again.

"He's not the only one, Danielle. There are other souls caught in a horrible abyss. They cannot return to this world for a fresh set of experiences, nor can they journey to any other plane. They are trapped in the black hole of unfinished business. This is the h.e.l.l writers such as Dante described for us. It is a horrible, horrible existence, Danielle, for it has no end. Old, sensitive souls trapped for eternity."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I nodded again. Gag was gone. Ankle bindings were gone. If he'd just release my hands, I might have a chance of winning this.

"People fear death. They're bound by primitive notions of Heaven and h.e.l.l. But that a.s.sumes we exist only in one dimension. Once you accept that souls are capable of moving among many spiritual planes, then you understand the greater truth of our existence. Physical death is nothing, merely a blip on a soul's radar screen. Ozzie and his parents-they're not gone; they've simply moved to the next set of experiences. Ishy, Roch.e.l.le, Tika, and baby Vivi. Again, not destroyed, just set free from an unfortunate corporal existence."

"You killed the Harringtons and the Laraquettes?" I exclaimed in horror.

"I enabled them to move on to the next plane of existence," Andrew corrected.

"Oh my G.o.d. And Lucy, too?"

"I've already explained to you that she's happier now. You know what happened to her here. Surely you can understand it's been better for her to journey on."

"You hanged her?"