Forty-Four Box Set, Books 1-10 (44) (126 page)

Then there was a message from Rebecca.

I hesitated for a moment but went ahead and listened to it.

“I think this thing will go away pretty fast,” she said, adding that she had talked with a few of the other customers and they had backed up my account. “But two of the passengers also heard you swear at him, Abby. At this point it looks like that’s what I have to consider. It was a lapse of your professionalism. But, given your track record, I’m leaning toward letting it go and calling it good with time served. I’ll be in touch when I have a final decision for you.”

It was strange. Just yesterday the river incident seemed very significant. I had trouble putting it out of my mind. Now I could care less. After spending the day looking for a ghost, it just didn’t hold the same weight. It all felt so far away.

There was a knock.

“Here you are, Abby,” Frazier said, handing me my backpack. “And here’s the DVD of the vigil. I’ll call you in the morning.”

I said goodbye, locked the door, and dropped down to the bed. The curtains flapped around above the air conditioner. I got under the covers. The room was cool, the hum hypnotic. I closed my eyes, just for a moment, thinking about all the good things in my life. Ty grinning as we floated the river, Kate sipping tea after a long day, Jesse nudging his baseball cap.

And then I fell hard into the darkness.

CHAPTER 16

I ran hard through the dark forest, the smell of moldy, damp dirt filling my lungs.

The earth was slick at my feet as I followed a narrow path that took me deeper and deeper into the woods.

The trail was choked with overgrown brush and fallen limbs that clawed and ripped at my legs. Ghostly pines closed in, creaking in the wind.

The forest felt different. Different than the ones I knew. Humid. Earthy. Suffocating. Like the inside of a coffin being washed away by a flood.  

Run,
a voice in my head said.
Faster.

Foggy wisps of breath poured out of me, trailing behind like cigarette smoke. The darkness crept into my lungs and wrapped its icy fingers around my heart.

I ran on. Through the aching pain in my chest. Through the trees. Through the night. Trying to outrun the terror. I ran on.

An owl hooted somewhere, its cry echoing through the forest.

There was suddenly a clearing in the distance. I squinted. Rays of moonlight spread out over the meadow, turning it almost white.

Finally, an escape from these dark and terrible woods.

Every fiber of my being wanted to go to the light, to leave this hell-black path.

But there was nothing left in me.

My legs, heavy and no longer under my control, gave out. I dropped to my knees, helpless, trapped behind the prison of the trees.

***

I sat up, drenched in sweat, squinting at the light from the TV bouncing around the room.

A dream.

I grabbed a towel and tried to shake off the feeling of dread that flooded over me like a river after a storm.

I glanced at the clock. 2:15.

I sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed my face.

There was something oppressive and unnerving about the dream.

It felt like death.

Or something worse.

CHAPTER 17

I opened the door and stepped out into the cool of the night. The parking lot was full. I could see a “No Vacancy” sign flashing in the distance, the first
n
in the bright lettering gone. I wanted to move, wanted to get out. For a moment I toyed with the idea of going for a run, but it was too early for roaming around these strange streets.

A short walk to the soda machine would have to do until dawn.

I fed it some quarters and grabbed the can of Coke. It felt like my throat had been left out on the sidewalk for a week. I pulled up the tab and drank deeply.

I went back to the room and bolted the door, putting the silly chain on.

As I drained the last of the soda, I concluded that the dream could mean one of two things. That I was running too much in real life, pushing my body and mind too hard, and the activity had started seeping into my unconscious.

Or the other thing.

That the dream wasn’t a dream. That it was a vision.

I brought out a notebook and rolled the chair in front of the television. I took a deep breath, slid the DVD into the machine, and pressed play.

From what I could tell, there were about a hundred people standing around on the grassy hill in front of a fence. A small platform was set up, with a podium and microphone.

The camera panned around slowly, zeroing in on a few people who were standing alone before finally stopping on Emily Ross’ ex-boyfriend. He stood in the back, his hands in his pockets, watching.

At times the focus fell on legs and feet and I suspected the person doing the filming was trying to keep it an undercover operation.

Mrs. Ross spoke first. She introduced herself, thanked volunteers, and read a prayer from a small book she was holding. She talked about faith and hope and how much she loved her daughter.

“I can feel it,” she said. “Emily’s out there somewhere. She’s still alive.”

She begged people not to give up, not to forget her.

She kept her composure until she stepped off the platform when she fell into the arms of a man and broke down, burying her face in his chest. I guessed he was the father. He walked her over to an empty row of folding chairs that were set up on the grass.

Sophie Richardson, the roommate, talked next. She was pretty, with long light hair. She seemed confident, like she was used to public speaking.

“We can’t give up,” she said as she looked out at the audience. “Let’s find her. It’s not too late.”

As I sat on the bed, I couldn’t help feeling that she was wrong. That it was too late, and had been for some time.

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness,” she said, quoting Martin Luther King Jr. and lighting a candle. “Only light can do that.”

Others followed suit.

A pastor recited the Lord’s Prayer. The missing girl’s parents embraced, wiping away tears.

The camera moved away from the people up front and went back Gareth Campbell again, his head down.

“And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

Campbell suddenly lifted his head and looked in the direction of the camera. He stared straight into the lens, like he knew he was being filmed. There was something about his eyes, cold and black. And threatening.

Apparently unnerved, the cameraman quickly turned away.

The video kept playing, but I was no longer paying attention.

I was still focused on Campbell, even though he was no longer on the screen. The thought came to me that he had looked just like a snake about to strike.

After the pastor finished, Sophie Richardson thanked everyone for coming and supporting the search and repeated the name of a website dedicated to finding Emily Ross.

“Everything that’s come before doesn’t matter,” she said. “What matters is what we do now. Don’t give up. Please keep looking for Emily.”

The crowd dispersed and a couple of workers stacked and loaded the chairs into the back of a pickup and drove away. Within a few minutes, the grassy patch was back to its original state, as though the vigil had never even taken place.

I turned off the TV and leaned back, thinking of questions I might have for Frazier, but I didn’t come up with any. Except for Gareth Campbell’s stare, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the video, nothing remotely paranormal.

It was all pretty straightforward.

And all very sad.

CHAPTER 18

I was on Pre’s Trail when the sun came up. It was nice being outside and not having to run on a beat-up treadmill at the motel’s fitness room.

I did an easy five and headed back.

I stopped off at the lobby for the free breakfast. It wasn’t spectacular, but it got the job done.

After finishing the last gulp of coffee, I left the breakfast room and headed over to the elevator. I pressed the button and waited. It was taking a long time. But just as I was about to blow it off and take the stairs, I heard a chime and the doors opened.

I stepped inside and hit the button for my floor.

Right before the doors shut, a hand forced them back open. I stepped to one side, making room.

The doors closed.

“What floor can I—” I started asking but stopped mid-sentence as my eyes got a good look at him.

I took a step back, my heart shooting up my throat.

Gareth Campbell was staring back at me with that look. The one I had seen in the video.

CHAPTER 19

I thought about screaming. Instead I reached for the lobby button, but he put his hand out to block me.

“You recognize me then?” he said.

Campbell was about six feet tall with short, spiky light-colored hair. He had a thin nose and a small mouth. But it was those eyes, large and protruding, that were the focal point of his face. 

The elevator began moving.

The walls felt like they were closing in as I realized I was alone and trapped with the prime suspect in Emily Ross’ abduction and possible death.

I reached for my mace, but I had left the key chain back in the room.

“There’s no need to be frightened,” he said, his English accent thick. “If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t be here in broad daylight.”

If I wanted to hurt you.

That didn’t sound like something an innocent person would say.

The elevator stopped. The doors opened slowly.

I kept my eyes on him and as soon as there was enough room, I slid out, feeling like I had dodged a bullet.

I started walking quickly down the hall, the breakfast doing circus tricks inside me. I pulled out my phone, ready to dial 911.

“Who are you?” he said from behind.

My room was just a few more feet away, but I knew there wasn’t enough space between us. There was no way I would be able to reach it in time, hoping the key card worked on the first swipe and then locking the door safely behind me.

I stopped and turned around to face him.

“That’s not your business,” I said.

“Pardon me, but I disagree.” He was now standing just a foot away from my face. “I have a right to know what you were doing at Emily’s flat yesterday.”

“I’m calling the police.”

“Calm down. No need for all that,” he said, holding up his hands and backing away from me. “You needn’t work yourself up on my account. I haven’t done anything to you and I have no intention of doing so. I would simply like to ascertain who you are and the nature of your involvement.”

His eyes dark and icy, he waited for an answer. I didn’t give him one.

“Six months have come and gone,” he said. “All her belongings have long since been removed. I see no reason why Constable Frazier would take you to her vacant flat.”

Again I didn’t answer. I wasn’t about to tell him what I was really doing there yesterday. Looking for the ghost of Emily Ross.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and puffed out his chest.

“I didn’t do it, you know,” he said. “Your detective mate thinks I did, but I wouldn’t jeopardize my future over someone like Emily. I can find the likes of her on any street corner. Girls like dear Emily are as common as leaves of grass in a summer field.”

The detachment in his voice was as thick as his accent.

You didn’t have to be a police detective with more than 40 years on the job to tell that there was something off about Gareth Campbell. Something that wasn’t easy to identify, something that bypassed your mind and hit you squarely in your gut.

Behind him the elevator opened and two maids and a maintenance worker got out. They went into a nearby room, leaving their cart in the hall and the door open.

I didn’t think Campbell would try something. If that’s what he had in mind. Not now.

“Emily broke up with you a month before she disappeared,” I said.

He smiled, revealing a row of white teeth.

“So you’re an investigator then? This pitiful excuse for a police department turns up nothing for half a year and then they bring you in to save the day? Is that it?”

“Why did she break up with you anyway?”

He stroked his face slowly and didn’t answer. I noticed that his nails were long.

“Is that a Barcelona bag I see?” he said, glancing at the drawstring backpack slung over my shoulder.

Normally I would have welcomed the chance to talk about soccer with someone from Europe, but not today. And not with him.

“I’m a Chelsea supporter,” he said. “Blue through and through. Or was that in my dossier as well? Something the esteemed Constable Ellis Frazier scribbled down to add to my lengthy list of motives for kidnapping and killing Emily?”

He went on.

“Do you think you’re ever going to find out what really happened to her? No, you won’t even try, will you? And why would you, when you have such a convenient scapegoat. There’s just one slight problem. I didn’t do it.”

“What’s your theory then?” I asked. “Who do you think took her?”

“That’s anyone’s guess, love. She was always running her mouth to any Tom, Dick, or Harry who would listen. Take your pick. Anyone could have killed her.”

He said it with absolute certainty and without the tiniest trace of feeling, the way you’d tell someone the time of day after glancing at your watch.

“How can you be so sure about that?” I asked. “That she’s dead.”

He ignored my question.

“This is going nowhere,” he said, before walking back toward the elevator.

I stood there, making sure he got on.

My legs felt weak.

I went into my room and looked out the window. A minute later I saw Gareth Campbell cross the parking lot.

I thought about calling Frazier, but just stood there watching him for a long time until he disappeared down the street.