Into the Dark (15 page)

“Jeremy’ll be there to keep me straight.”

“He can’t always be there. And he’s not inside your head. You have to help yourself.”

Emilie stared at her hands. They were pasty white from lack of sun. Her fingernails were jagged from constantly gnawing on them. “I’m exhausted. Let me sleep for a while.”

“All right. But think about what I said, please.” Sarah slipped another chocolate bar underneath the inflexible pillow before she left the room.

Emilie lay down on the hard bed. All the fight had drained out of her. She just wanted to crawl under the covers and disappear.

It was a feeling she knew well. The same unyielding melancholy had struck her after the divorce and grew worse with each passing day until she had succumbed to the misery.

She couldn’t let that happen again. If she didn’t fight for herself, no one would. Time to stop living in the past.

“The past is an important part of life.” She repeated the Taker’s words from the bank. “A split-second decision can change everything.”

She rolled over. On the wall was a large watercolor, a reproduction of Cézanne’s
Le lac d'Annecy
. Emilie preferred the Impressionist style of Pierre Auguste Renoir, but
Le lac d'Annecy
was lovely to look at with its soft blue water reflecting the peaceful green of the landscape.

Maybe she should start painting again. It had been months since she’d taken up a brush and put her emotions onto paper. Nothing was more therapeutic.

The room tilted. Emilie’s head swam. An image of a large area with soft lighting and expensive hardwood floors burst into her mind. Emilie had felt out of place milling among Las Vegas’s upper echelon. But there it hung—the painting she’d come to see. Renoir’s
Girl with a Straw Hat
temporarily displayed at the Bellagio’s fine art gallery.

It was December and unseasonably cool. The heat was up and the room crowded. The skin on the back of her neck prickled with warmth and nerves. And then the strange man appeared at her side, asking questions in a quiet, sophisticated voice.

She’d had her first encounter with the Taker at the exhibit six months ago.

Chapter Sixteen

“How long did you talk to him in the gallery?” Ronson and Avery had arrived only minutes after Emilie had her epiphany.

“I don’t know. Ten minutes, maybe.”

“Did he tell you his name?”

“Jim. That’s it.”

“What did he look like?” Ronson’s tone was clipped, excited.

“Trimmed beard. Cropped hair, had some gray in it. Trimmed nails, expensive clothes. Silver ring on his right middle finger.”

“Anything about his face that stands out?”

“Only his eyes and voice. I still think he disguised it.”

“You can’t know that.” Avery spoke for the first time.

Emilie gritted her teeth and turned to Agent Ronson. “It was the way he talked, just like in the bank. His voice was too controlled. Everything he said was precise.”

“This is a big break,” Ronson said.

“How?” Emilie asked.

“It gives us a starting point. From your description of the Taker in the bank, we’ve always believed he wasn’t a street hustler. Now we know he’s capable of mingling with the wealthy crowd at the very least.”

“So how does some rich art enthusiast end up trolling the Las Vegas tunnels?”

“Could be the bottom fell out at some point,” Ronson said. “Maybe he was already heading down the drain—no pun intended—when he met you and just grasping at some semblance of his old life. Or maybe he’s still rich.”

“And the tunnels are just his hobby?”

“They’re a good place to stash a body,” Avery said.

Ronson shot a reproachful glance at him. “This man is a predator. Something about you triggered an emotional response within him. From the moment he realized this connection, however imagined it may be, he decided to pursue you.”

The agent might as well have doused Emilie with cold water. “So he started looking for a place to keep me and decided on the tunnels?”

“That’s what I think,” Ronson answered. “Reciting your words from the gallery was either his way of trying to jog your memory or mess with your head. He’s the only one who knows for sure.”

How could she have forgotten? The man in the art gallery had been strange but impossible to ignore. She’d never had the urge to tell anyone the story about her grandparents and
Girl with a Straw Hat.

“The sketch artist is on her way for a new composite. When are you being released?” Ronson asked.

“Tomorrow. Apparently I need rest and nourishment.”

“I want you to think about something that could help us get more information about the Taker.”

“What?”

“Hypnotherapy. It may help to unlock details you’ve forgotten.”

“Are you serious?” Avery laughed. “That mental mumbo-jumbo is a joke.”

“No, it’s not.” Ronson’s controlled voice had a sharp edge. “Hypnosis has been successful in treating addictions, medical issues, and in memory retrieval. You’d be amazed at what some people are able to remember.”

“I’m not sure.” Emilie twisted the sheet. Exposing her life for a few little details that probably wouldn’t help the case wasn’t worth the risk. She’d kept her secret too long to have it stolen from her by some medical magician.

“Just think about it.” Ronson left with Avery, and Emilie lay back down in the bed, staring at
Le lac d'Annecy.
Art no longer represented peace of mind but darkness instead—a living, breathing entity waiting to snare her within its labyrinth forever.

* * * *

Nathan knocked and hoped there would be no answer. What the hell was he doing? Getting close to Emilie Davis was only going to complicate his life and prove Avery right. But he couldn’t stop worrying about her, and now here he was, stepping into something that was going to get him into trouble.

“Come in.” Emilie’s voice sounded weak.

He pushed open the door. She lay in bed, her auburn hair spilling over the stark white pillow. She held an ice pack to her head. Her skin was ghostly pale with dark circles under her eyes. An IV was stuck in her right arm.

“Nathan.” Emilie sat up and smoothed her hair, blushing. “You’re pretty much the last person I expected to see.” She set the ice on the bedside table.

“Why?” He sat down in the chair next to her bed.

“Do you usually check in on old cases?”

“Honestly, no. But Ronson told me you were in the hospital. I wanted to stop by.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He felt his ears turning red. “How are you?”

“Pretty shitty. I’m sure I look even worse.”

“You look fine.”

She pulled the sheet tightly around her.

“Here.” Nathan grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed and spread it over her. “Get warm.”

“I had another flashback.”

“I heard. You wanna talk about it?”

“I told Ronson everything I remembered. Didn’t she tell you?”

“Not the details.”

Emilie looked down at her hands. “He talked to me about being afraid of the dark. Said darkness was our friend and that sometimes we have no choice but to stay there. I freaked out. Thought for sure he was in the apartment with me.”

“He wasn’t there.”

“I know, but I saw his face before I passed out.”

“In the mask?”

“No, his actual face. I’ve met him before, at an art exhibit at the Bellagio in December. He looked different, but I know it was the Taker.”

“But you didn’t see his face in the bank.”

“I didn’t have to.” She closed her eyes. “In the art gallery, we talked about history. That day in the bank, he repeated my exact words.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Besides, his eyes were the same. I’ll never forget those.”

So the Taker had been stalking Emilie for at least six months, maybe longer. The exhibit may have just been the first time he’d gotten the nerve to talk to her.

“That’s good,” Nathan said. “That you remembered, I mean. It will help Ronson.”

“She wants me to get hypnotized.”

“It works. My sister uses it in her practice.”

Emilie crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sure there’s nothing else to remember.”

“How do you know? You’d completely forgotten about the art gallery.”

“And now I remember it. Nothing else happened that night.” She wasn’t looking at him.

“But maybe there are other encounters—ones you don’t remember because they didn’t seem relevant. Hypnosis could bring those out.”

“I don’t think so.”

Don’t you want to help yourself? Nathan wanted to yell at her. What about getting the Taker off the streets? He was a menace to anyone who got in his way.

“You’re making it easy for the Taker, you know.”

“What?”

“This bastard is out there. Probably still watching you every day. He sees you falling apart, growing weaker. Think about it. If he snatched you today, would you have the will to fight? Or would you submit to whatever misery he has planned?”

“You think I wouldn’t fight?” Emilie sat up straighter, anger flashing in her eyes.

“I think you’re mentally exhausted. I think you’d give in to ease the torment.”

“So what if I did? At least it would be over.”

“That would just be the beginning. I don’t think he wants to kill you.”

“You think he wants to keep me?”

“Don’t you?”

“Yes.” Her voice faltered.

“And by pushing everything away, you may as well be offering yourself to him.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you can.” Nathan had never met a more stubborn woman. He leaned forward until their faces were inches apart. “You have to do anything you can think of to beat him.”

“There’s too much at stake.” Emilie’s eyes watered.

“What’s more important than your life?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” She lay back down.

“You’re right, I probably wouldn’t.” Nathan pulled out his wallet and fished out a white business card. “If you come to your senses, give Kelsi a call. She’s very good at what she does.”

He grabbed the complementary hospital pen from the bedside table and scribbled on the back of the card. “My number. If you ever want to talk about what’s really holding you back, let me know.” He laid the card on the table.

Emilie turned her head, staring at the painting on the wall. Nathan paused at the door. “Whatever you’re afraid of, it can’t be as bad as what the Taker has in store for you.”

Chapter Seventeen

The bright morning sun stretched over the McCullough Mountain Range, the sloping mountains that lay just east of Emilie’s condo. She watched the sky turn from a cool early-morning gray to brilliant hues of pink and orange. The sunshine made the black rocks of the mountains look like glittering jewels.
Mémé
had loved sunrises. She was often up before dawn just to watch the sky come alive.

“Every day is a new beginning, my child,” she would tell Emilie. “Whatever bad things may have happened the day before are washed away.”

But Emilie couldn’t appreciate the beauty of the mountains this morning. Today was her first day back to work, and the rising sun taunted her as the minutes ticked away.

Otis stretched out next to her and pawed the silver bell hanging from the delicate chain around her neck. She thought about what Nathan had said in the hospital. He was right. Emilie just couldn’t bring herself to reveal the story. She didn’t want anyone to know, didn’t want to see their looks of pity. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.

What would Nathan think if he knew the truth of her past?

The sun climbed higher. The light hit the small squares of stained glass in her bedroom window, and a rainbow of colors danced across the wall. Emilie climbed out of bed. Time to face the inevitable.

She meandered through her morning routine, sipping a cup of hot tea over a bowl of oatmeal while waging an internal battle. Jeremy would give her more time. She could put off life for another week.

Her anxiety was about more than the scene of the crime. She would have to face her coworkers. They’d undoubtedly read the newspapers. Emilie pictured conversation stopping every time she walked into a room and hushed whispers when her back was turned. Worse yet, what if one of them had helped the Taker? Ronson had found no evidence any of the bank’s employees had been involved, but she hadn’t ruled the option out. If the co-conspirator worked in the bank, Emilie’s every move would be reported back to the Taker.

She pinched her bottom lip. Banged her knuckles against the table. To hell with her pathetic worries. She wasn’t going to let the Taker control her life.

Grim determination set in. She couldn’t let the Taker dominate her thoughts. Emilie rinsed her cup and bowl and set them carefully in the sink. After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she pulled her thick hair into a neat twist, letting a few tendrils escape. Her bruises were mostly gone, and a light coat of foundation covered the remnants. She sifted through her closet and chose a sleeveless purple dress with a belted waist. Purple represented good judgment and peace of mind. Hopefully the Taker would get the message.

* * * *

WestOne Bank looked just as it always did, its large windows reflecting the busy flow of Fremont Street. The yellow crime tape was long gone. Fresh planters full of sage and wildflowers stood along the bank’s front. Emilie parked in her designated space next to Jeremy’s black Lexus and sat in her car. She clenched the steering wheel until her hands ached.

Emilie blasted the air conditioning and tried to relax. She could do this. She had no other choice. Fear and self-doubt had caused her to waste sixteen years of her life. Emilie couldn’t allow these doubts to win again.

She threw open the car door and stood on shaky legs. Like any other morning, the aroma of fresh doughnuts drifted from a nearby bakery, and the sidewalk was full of people hurrying to work.

Her heels thudded against the cement as she walked toward the employee entrance. A prickly sensation at the back of her neck alerted her nervous system. Chill bumps erupted on her skin.

The normally noisy street was silent, the pressure of the quiet making her feel weighted down and breathless. She looked around, terrified of what she might see. A chubby woman in orthopedic shoes trod past the bank, muttering into a cellphone. Two tourists—the fact made obvious by their T-shirts boasting the obnoxious ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’ slogan—came out of the bakery clutching coffee and an enormous box of sweets.