Wandering Soul (22 page)

“How did you do all of this?”

“I did not do it alone. Your friends have been incredibly supportive. Rachel took care of decorating our loft, and Jazz has been…” He shook his head, and said, “Amazing.”

“I still don't understand—”

Dante leaned down and kissed Elsa before she could say anything else. He kissed her deeply, passionately, until her head spun from lack of oxygen. Or maybe it was just his arms around her, his closeness, the love and trust that were still so new to her.

“You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?” she asked when he let her come up for air.

“Only when necessary.”

He kissed her again, this time, presumably without ulterior motive. She let her fingers burrow through his hair, clutching him against her as if she would never let him go. But she would have to for just a little while, until they could get back to their loft.

They walked out of Dante's exhibit room, arms around each other's waists. Nothing stood in their way now. They could have the life together that she had always dreamed of. An even better one, because it was one they were going to create together.

They had almost exited the gallery when a loud crash, followed by swearing, caught their attention. From the stream of Mandarin that followed, Elsa knew Jazz was in her very rare freak-out mode.

Dante took Elsa's hands and led her toward their friend. “We should find out if she needs assistance,” he said. Elsa nodded.

They found Jazz kneeling in the middle of another roped-off room. A display stand was on its side on the floor, brochures surrounding it. Jazz was on her knees, gathering them together.

“Let us help you,” Elsa said.

She knelt next to Jazz and started gathering brochures. Dante righted the stand, then set it down slightly off to the side so it wasn't in their way.

Jazz said something else in Mandarin that had to be a curse-word. “Thanks. I'm running so far behind, and Rachel hasn't shown up yet. The new exhibits open tonight, and—” Jazz looked up, as if seeing Dante and Elsa for the first time. “Oh, Dante. I'm glad you're here. Is your exhibit ready? I want to open it tonight along with this one. Can you be here?”

“The exhibit is ready to show, however, I believe Elsa may have other plans for me this evening.” He gave Elsa a mischievous grin, running his hand down her back as he knelt beside her to help pick up brochures.

“Let me have him for one night.” Jazz turned to Elsa, waving brochures. “Honestly, I'm trying to start his career here.”

“I'm sure we can work something out,” Elsa said. “But you really need to calm down.”

“Calm down? Rachel decides to miss work for the first time ever on the opening night of not one, but two brand-new exhibits. And you want me to calm down?”

“She didn't call?”

“No. And she's not answering her phone, either.”

Elsa felt a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. “That's not like her.”

“Who knows what she's like anymore. Ever since she started dating this guy.” Jazz gestured around the room. Only then did Elsa notice the art hanging on the walls.

A dozen portraits of women surrounded her. There was a brutality in the brush strokes, dark paints and shadows dominating each scene. All of the subjects were hiding their faces, cowering from view.

She stood up slowly, the fine hairs on her body standing on end. The brochures dropped to the floor from her suddenly numb fingers as she turned in a circle.

As expansive and filled with light and hope as Dante's paintings were, these were the exact opposite. Elsa felt the weight of them crushing her. She collapsed into a ball, trying to make herself smaller, to get away from the feeling, but it was everywhere.

Snakes crawling on her skin. Ants in her veins. Sheer, naked terror.

There was no hope in this room. Only despair.

And then she traveled.

It wasn't like any of the times she'd traveled before. She felt herself leave her body, but she moved straight up into the air and could look down and see the city beneath her. It was like she was flying, but she couldn't control where she was going.

She felt herself being pulled away from the city, to an area sparsely housed and overgrown with palms and patches of Evergreen. She plummeted toward the earth so quickly that she screamed, though she knew no one could hear her.

When she landed, it took her a moment to realize that she had stopped. There was no light. She was so disoriented, it seemed she could feel the world spinning.

She heard a faint rattling noise. Chains. And then she heard a whimper. Someone was in the room with her.

A door opened and a light came on, casting the room in a harsh fluorescent glare. Elsa was in a garage completely filled with workbenches and shelves. Mason jars containing nails, broken glass and other bits and pieces sat in meticulous lines on every shelf.

The center of the floor held an easel, with a huge canvas visible above the tops of the workbenches. Two vaguely feminine forms had been outlined in what she thought at first was heavy graphite, but there was a weird reddish cast to it. One of the figures was just starting to be filled in with dark paints.

Michael stepped into the room, his hair tied back and a crimson smear on the front of his white shirt. His lips were pulled in a tight smile. He was wiping something bright and red from his hands with a towel.

“That was really stupid, you know.” He rubbed the towel over his shirt. “Now I need to take more.”

Elsa followed at a distance as he navigated the labyrinthine room. Chains were bolted to the far wall, ending in manacles around a woman's wrists. She had her arms over her head and her blonde hair was matted and tangled. Her wrists were covered in rough cuts, blood coating the metal. She looked up at Michael, and Elsa felt as if lightning had struck her.

Oh God,
she thought.
Rachel.

“It's a big night for me, Rachel,” Michael said. “You're so selfish. This is my night. Mine!”

Rachel flinched as he yelled, hunching closer to the wall. Michael went to a cupboard and took out a mason jar and a length of plastic tubing attached to a needle. He carried them over to Rachel, then set them on the workbench nearest her.

As he bent toward Rachel, Elsa tried to get between them, to shove him away. Her hands passed through him.

“It's okay,” he said, smoothing Rachel's hair. “You all think you're so much better than me, but I know the truth. I'm the one that's going to make you immortal. What does that make me, Rachel? Think about what that makes me.”

Rachel let out a whimper as Michael stood. “I have to get ready for my opening. I'll be leaving for the gallery soon. Just remember next time you want to throw a fit that I can always take more. And I will take more. Till there's nothing left.”

Michael walked away, and Rachel collapsed against the wall, sobbing.

Before Elsa could do anything else, she felt as if a tether connected to her middle had suddenly been pulled taut. She found herself hurtling back over town toward the gallery. With a jarring jolt, she snapped back into her body, arms lashing out at whoever was holding her.

“Elsa! Are you all right?”

Glancing around, Elsa saw that she was in a different room in the gallery. Dante was on the floor next to her, holding her against his chest. Jazz hovered just behind him, one hand holding her phone and the other clasped over her mouth. Dante looked stricken, a deep furrow between his brow and his eyes wide with fear.

“Dante?” Elsa said.

“Thank God. I thought I'd lost you.” His arms tightened around her.

“No.” Elsa pushed him away, trying to get to her feet.

She didn't have time to be comforted by Dante. Rachel was out there—scared, alone, hurt. Michael said he was going to the gallery, so she might be safe for a while, but what if he went back?

Elsa had to get to Rachel. To save her.

“What the hell, Elsa?” Jazz slid her phone back into its holder at her waist. “Was that some kind of seizure?”

As Dante helped Elsa to her feet, she realized she couldn't save Rachel alone. And no secret was worth Rachel's life.

“You need to call the police and paramedics, right now.”

Jazz pulled her phone back out, then paused. “Police?”

Elsa nodded. “Send them to Michael's house.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Michael has kidnapped Rachel. He's hurting her.” Elsa shook her head, the horror of what she had seen returning. “I think he's going to kill her.”

“What are you talking about?” Jazz said. “Michael's a little off, but—”

“Jazz, I'm telling you, I know this. I just saw him.”

“You saw him? How?”

Elsa reached down and found Dante's hand, gripping it tightly, as if it was a lifeline. It was time to trust Jazz, to tell her.

“I can't explain everything now, but that wasn't a seizure. It was more like a vision.”

Jazz snorted. “What, you're psychic now?”

“No. I mean, yes.” Elsa shook her head. “I honestly don't know what I am. I've always been too afraid to research it.”

“Research what?”

“I can use art to leave my body and travel to other places and times.”

“This is really lame,” Jazz said. “You know I'm a believer.”

“Then believe me. Michael has Rachel. If you don't want to call the police, fine. But at least tell me where Michael lives so I can go and help her.”

Jazz was still scowling. She crossed her arms and glared at Elsa.

She had no idea what to say. She'd spent so much time trying to hide what she could do, she never thought about people not believing her. Elsa had to convince Jazz to help.

“Please, Jazz. He's hurting her.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Dante's stomach clenched as he thought through the implications of what Elsa had told them. He had sensed that Rachel needed help, but had no idea how far things had gone.

“I know this must be a shock for you, Jazz, but you must believe Elsa.”

Whatever Elsa had seen, it terrified her. He and Jazz had watched as Elsa's expression changed from fear to horror, as her body started to convulse, her limbs flailing wildly.

The only thing he could think to do was to get Elsa away from the art in Michael's room. Dante was terrified himself—that it was not the proper course of action, that he might lose her forever.

“You're in on this too?” Jazz said. “I bet this is Rachel's idea. I don't have time for jokes, and this one sure as hell isn't funny.”

“Rachel's the one who doesn't have time!” Elsa said. “I can't believe all these years I was so afraid to tell you about what I can do, and you don't even believe me.”

“Maybe because it's you. You're the most grounded person I've ever met. We've known each other for a decade. There's no way that you could be into this stuff without me knowing.”

“I've been hiding it,” Elsa said. “I use art to travel through time to research my books. That's why I had you find all those pieces for me over the years. That's why I always insisted on a private viewing alone in a locked room the first time I saw them. I didn't want anyone else to know.”

Jazz remained unmoved. “This is bullshit.”

“I'll prove it to you. When I went into that room and saw Michael's paintings, I traveled to his house. Normally, I go to different times, but I traveled over the city instead.”

Elsa closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. Dante wrapped his arms around her to anchor her where she was. He didn't want her to leave again. Not to go to such a horrible place.

“He lives several miles south of town,” Elsa said. “Away from the suburbs, in a forested area near swampland.”

“You could've looked that up.” Some of the harshness left Jazz's features, pensiveness taking its place.

“But I didn't. Rachel is in danger. I'm begging you to help me.”

“So all this time, you've been using astral projection for your research?”

“Astral what?”

“Astral projection. The ability of the soul to travel outside the body, unbound by the limits of space or time.”

“That is quite an accurate description.” Dante wished he could ask Jazz more questions. She seemed to know more about Elsa's ability than anyone.

“Let me guess,” Jazz said. “You're a time traveler too.”

He could hardly refute it, but now was not the time to open himself up to a line of inquiry regarding his origins. He simply said, “I am Dante Lucerne.”

“Yeah, I know.” Her forehead creased and her mouth fell open as she stared at him. Her arms dropped to her sides. “Wait a minute—”

“We don't have a minute!” Elsa said. “I swear to you, I will answer all your questions after we've saved Rachel.”

Jazz nodded. “Have your phone handy. I'll send you his address, then call the cops. When this is done, we're going to have a long talk.”

Elsa grabbed Jazz and hugged her briefly, then practically ran for the door. Dante muttered a hasty, “Thank you,” and followed.

The car's engine was already humming when he jumped into the passenger's seat. Elsa accelerated away from the curb so quickly her tires screeched in protest.

“We must be alive in order to help Rachel,” he said.

Elsa nodded and slowed down a bit, but did not turn to look at him. Her gaze was intent upon the road, her focus palpable. He wondered if she had been this intense when trying to save him.

One thing he knew for certain. She would do whatever it took to save Rachel. And so would he.

Moments later, he was relaying Michael's address to Elsa from the text message Jazz sent to Elsa's phone.

When they reached Michael's home, Elsa didn't bother trying to be furtive. She drove right down the driveway and stopped close to the house. Dante looked around them, but did not see any other cars. Perhaps they were fortunate and Michael had indeed gone to the gallery as Elsa thought.

The gravel of the drive crunched beneath her feet as she leapt from the car. She ran to the trunk and opened it. Dante wasn't certain what she had in mind until she pulled out a large metal cross. From his research on cars, he knew that it was one of the tools used to change tires. This one had a flattened end that could be used as a crowbar.

He followed her to the house. “Should we not wait for the police?”

“I don't know if we have enough time for that.”

She tested the door, but it was locked. With barely a pause, she smashed the glass window that ran alongside it with the tool, then knocked out all the loose shards. She reached in to unlock the door and let them in.

They passed through a small foyer. She led him toward the right side of the house, where the garage was situated. A door with a heavy padlock blocked their way. She struck at the lock with her tool to no avail.

“Allow me.” He took the tool and placed the flat end between the door and the metal that held the lock in place. Prying the mounting loose took much less force than trying to break the lock itself.

Elsa pushed open the door when he was done, then turned on a light as she stepped into the garage. She did not even have to look at the switch to find it.

The room was completely filled with neat rows of shelves and workbenches. There were narrow aisles between them, but it was impossible to see the entire area at once. The shelves were metal and filled with jars. Some held screws and nails, some pencils or bits of broken glass. Some held liquid with things floating in them that Dante refused to examine too closely.

One of the jars contained fragments of porcelain. Dante halted for a moment, drawn to the familiar material, the shape of the larger pieces… A chill swept over him as he realized it had once been his original mask.

Michael had been the one who broke into their home. The very idea made Dante's skin crawl. They must leave as quickly as possible.

Elsa ignored the shelves and ran along the rows of workbenches toward the far wall. She disappeared from view as she dropped to the floor. Dante heard her say, “Rachel? Rachel, it's Elsa.”

He ran to assist them, but froze in horror when the women came into view. Rachel was chained to the wall, her arms outstretched like a butterfly pinned in a collector's case. She was deathly pale, dark circles standing out under her eyes like welts. The hopelessness and despair on her face was worse than any he had ever seen.

“Elsa?” Rachel's voice was thin and gritty. She was still blinking repeatedly, her eyes adjusting to the bright light overhead. “Oh no. Did he get you too?”

“No, sweetie. We're here to rescue you.”

“Oh thank God,” Rachel sobbed, leaning against Elsa. “How are you going to get me loose?”

The chains rattled as she moved, even with the little amount of slack in them. Her bloodied manacles were pulled tight against the wall, threaded through the first of several grommets that trailed up to the ceiling. Dante followed the lengths of chain to where more grommets suspended the taut metal above them before the chains trailed back down to a winch firmly anchored on the floor.

He stepped forward, determined to free Rachel. “Do not be afraid. I will have you free presently.”

Rachel turned her haunted eyes toward him. “Dante?”

“Did you not recognize me with my new look?” He was trying to distract her, to give her some respite from her terrifying circumstance. He kept his tone light, belying the turmoil within him at what had been done to her.

The skin of her wrists would be scarred. Every time she saw those scars, she would remember this event. The horror of it. After escaping her bonds, she would still have to free herself from the cage of fear Michael had created for her.

But Rachel was surrounded by friends. She would not be alone in this.

Dante managed to work the winch, slowly letting out all of the slack in Rachel's chains. Once that was done, he began to use the tool to try to pry the anchor of the chains free from the floor. It was much safer than trying to break the manacles.

Rachel let out a low moan. “That will take forever. Dante, you have to get Elsa out of here.”

Elsa smoothed Rachel's hair away from her face, making shushing noises and holding her close. “It's okay, Rachel. I'm not leaving without you.”

“You don't understand. He wants you too.”

“Well, he can't have me,” Elsa said. “And he can't have you, either.”

Rachel clung to Elsa, sobbing against her as Dante kept trying to get the chains free. Rachel would be able to move about now, but she was still trapped in the garage. If only they could find the key to her manacles.

“Dante…” Elsa said.

“I know,” he said. “I am hurrying.”

A chill swept over Dante's neck, and he turned back toward the door. He saw a flicker of movement through the shelves.

“Elsa, run!”

He turned back to her, but his words were drowned out by a loud bang. The sound of shattering glass accompanied it, along with a searing pain that ripped across the side of his face.

His vision clouded with red. Dante fell to his knees. He lifted his hand to his cheek, but his fingers flinched away faster than he could command them to—pricked by sharp objects embedded in his flesh. Elsa screamed, possibly his name, but it was hard to hear over the rushing sound of blood in his ears.

She appeared at his side, but he waved her away, back between the workbenches. She had to stay out of the aisle he was kneeling in, out of Michael's sight.

She looked stricken, but nodded. She grabbed the tool from where it had landed nearby, then disappeared around the side of the workbench.

That was not what he had intended. He wanted to keep her safe. Instead, knowing her, she was planning to sneak up on Michael to attack him.

The best that Dante could do was provide a distraction. He managed to rise to his feet, using the workbench to steady himself, though the movement sent threads of agony worming through his brain.

The pain clouded his thoughts. Blood was flowing freely down his neck, coating his chest beneath his T-shirt and making it stick to his skin. His only thought was that he had to help Elsa, to protect her and Rachel.

“Whatever it takes,” he whispered.