Whisper in the Dark (A Thriller) (30 page)

“Where is she?”

“Baycliff—sort of.”

“Sort of? What the hell does that mean?”

“The tracker shows her up the hill a bit. Somewhere between the new hospital and the ruins. From the satellite photos, it looks like she’s in the trees.”

The pepper trees. They grew like weeds up there.

Not liking the sound of this, Blackburn reminded himself that they were only tracking Carmody’s phone, not Carmody herself. But then the thought of that little detail made him feel even worse.

“You okay, Frank? You sound a little tense.”

“Hunky-dory,” Blackburn said.

“Don’t worry about Carmody, I’m sure she’s fine. The cell signal up there isn’t worth shit.”

He hadn’t told De Mello about the ear.

And what De Mello hadn’t mentioned was that a phone caught in a dead zone doesn’t ring. It goes straight to voice mail.

Carmody’s had been ringing like crazy.

And if her phone was caught in a dead zone, the GPS trace wouldn’t have worked.

“By the way,” De Mello continued, “we just got an anonymous squeal on a possible break-in at Tolan’s house. Hogan and Pendergast are picking it up.”

“Nothing on Tolan himself?”

“Not yet. But he’s bound to show up sooner or later.”

Probably later, Blackburn thought. A lot later.

He thanked De Mello, told him to get his ass home, then hung up.

Sticking his flasher on the dashboard, he flicked it on, hit the siren, and bore down on the gas pedal.

F
IVE MINUTES LATER
, Blackburn was tearing up the hill toward Pepper Mountain Mesa. As he closed in on Baycliff, he cut the siren and heard a sound—the piercing ring of a fire alarm.

Pulling into the parking lot, he saw no sign of the car he’d left for Carmody, and was surprised to see staff and patients piling out of the detention unit, as well as the hospital proper. While the main building was still lit, the EDU itself was dark, as if someone had cut the electricity.

And this was no orderly evacuation.

The patients were unruly and wild, staff and security having a tough time containing them. Half of them were soaked to the bone, but Blackburn couldn’t tell if this was because of the rain—which was quickly turning into a thunderstorm—or if the overhead sprinklers had gone off inside.

For some reason, it all reminded him of a scene from
Night of the Living Dead
.

Spotting an OCPD uniform carrying an umbrella—talk about prepared—Blackburn skidded to a stop in the middle of the aisle, jumped out, and ran toward him, showing him his badge.

“What’s happening here?”

“What’s it look like? A fuckin’ mess, that’s what.”

Blackburn gestured toward the detention unit. “Is Detective Carmody inside?”

The uniform shook his head. “I just got on duty, but the guy I replaced said she took off hours ago.”

Shit, Blackburn thought. He’d known it was too much to hope for.

As the cop moved past him to grab one of the wayward patients, Blackburn turned, looking off toward the trees. It was raining fairly hard now and a handful of patients were running for shelter as EDU staff members tried desperately to corral them.

Blackburn followed, crossing the wide lawn toward a narrow pathway with a NO TRESSPASSING sign. He was halfway to it when a hand grabbed his arm.

He turned sharply, expecting it to be one of the nutcases, but was surprised to see it was the old man from The Avenue. The one who said he knew Psycho Bitch.

And he didn’t look good.

His eyes were wide with shock, the front of his hospital garb ripped open and covered with blood. His neck was crosshatched with severe lacerations, his left shin sliced open and bleeding, and he barely had the power to stand. He looked as if he’d been attacked by a wild animal.

“You’ve gotta stop her,” he said.

“Who? Who did this?”

“You know who. The woman. The one who used to be Myra. She’s one of the children now. The children of the drum. Just like Henry.”

Blackburn had no earthly idea what the old man was talking about, could easily have dismissed it as the ravings of a lunatic, but there was something in those eyes of his that told Blackburn he needed to listen.

“Where is she?”

The old man did his best to point toward the trees. It looked as if it was a Herculean effort just to lift the finger. “. . . In there. You gotta stop her . . . before she hurts someone else. You gotta . . .”

He faltered then, falling to one knee, and Blackburn grabbed hold of him. The rain was coming down in sheets now, soaking them both, a pool of bloody water forming on the grass beneath them.

“How did she do this to you? Does she have a knife?”

The old man managed a negative shake of the head, then turned his face toward the sky, letting the rain wash over him.

“Reminds me of Katrina,” he said. “He shoulda taken me then for what I did. Instead, he helped me.”

“Who?”

The old man coughed, bringing up a bubble of blood. “Henry. My brother, Henry.” He didn’t speak for a moment, disappearing into a memory. Then he looked at Blackburn and said, “Can you keep a secret?”

Blackburn knew the old man was dying. Nobody could survive this kind of punishment. “Yes.”

“I’ve been lying to myself all these years. We do that a lot, don’t we? Lie to ourselves.”

Blackburn nodded, his feelings for Carmody immediately coming to mind.

“We keep lying and lying and when you mix that in with all the booze, after a while the truth don’t matter much anymore. The lie is what we remember. The stories we make up to keep us from going crazy for what we’ve done.”

He faltered again, coughing up more blood. Then he said, “I loved my little brother. I don’t know why I pushed him in front of that police car . . . but . . . but my instincts just told me to. It was The Rhythm. The Rhythm makin’ me do it. Keepin’ the world synchronized.”

He paused, trying to catch his breath. “I don’t know why Henry went after that drunk-ass cop instead of me. I deserved it more. But there musta been a reason for it. Somethin’ he had to do to restore the balance. And he musta known this day was comin’.”

The old man looked up at the sky again. “You knew, didn’t you, Henry? You knew it all along.”

As if in answer—and Blackburn wouldn’t have believed this if he hadn’t witnessed it himself—thunder rumbled and rolled, shaking the earth beneath them.

The old man closed his eyes, listening to some inner voice, then said, “Forgive me, little brother. Please forgive me . . .”

Then his body weight shifted in Blackburn’s hands and he slumped forward.

Dead.

Blackburn stared at him a long moment, listening to the thunder recede, to the sound of the chaos around him, feeling the rain soak through to his skin, still not sure what the old man had been talking about.

But his confession—if that’s what it was—his expression of regret for deeds long past, cut Blackburn right to the bone.

Carefully laying the old man on the grass, he turned toward the trees and ran.

55

T
OLAN KNEW THERE
was a pathway in here, but he couldn’t find it.

He didn’t have a flashlight, so his vision was limited. Yet despite the rain, there was enough moonlight filtering through the trees to keep him from being completely blind.

The moment he’d heard the fire alarm, he had headed straight for the forest, Lisa calling out for him to stop. But he’d ignored her, still reeling from the revelations of what he’d done, what they’d both done, and of her willingness to go so far to protect him.

A day that had started with a simple but terrifying threat—imagined or otherwise—had now spiraled so far out of control that Tolan didn’t think he would ever regain his balance. The things he’d learned about himself—the horrible atrocities he had committed—made him believe that if he were to look into a mirror he’d see a demon staring back at him.

But if what Lisa had said was true, if The Rhythm or the heartbeat or whatever it was had worked its magic and there was even a chance that Abby had returned, then he’d do everything he could to keep her from harm.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

He thought about that night in Abby’s studio, what Lisa had witnessed, the fury that had overcome him, made him do the unthinkable, and he didn’t care about her warnings. He didn’t care whether Abby was dangerous or why she’d come here.

Or what she might do to him.

Because, in truth, he deserved whatever punishment he got. And this one small act of redemption could well be the key to his personal salvation.

Running through the trees, he thought he saw the trail ahead, a narrow unpaved path that snaked through the forest. But as he drew closer he realized he had somehow gotten turned around and the trail was no longer in sight.

Had he doubled back without realizing it?

He couldn’t be sure.

What he
did
realize was that he was suddenly lost, unable to determine which direction he needed to go.

A vision of Bobby Fremont looming over Abby filled his head, and he came to an abrupt stop, squeezing his eyes shut, willing it to go away.

As he stood there, the rain filtering down on him through the trees, he was struck by a new notion:

If what Lisa said was true, that the things he’d seen in seclusion room three were real, that Abby was back, was it also possible that he hadn’t imagined Vincent after all? Could those phone calls have been as real as he’d thought they were?

And if so, was Vincent out here somewhere, watching him squirm like a bug under a pin?

A cell phone bleeped, startling Tolan.

Faint, but unmistakable. Somewhere nearby.

Opening his eyes, he looked around, did a full three-sixty, and saw nothing but the forest and the darkness.

It bleeped again and he turned toward the sound, pinpointing its location. Focusing his gaze, he saw a dim light shining in the distance. Dark shapes.

Moving through a tight cluster of trees, he stepped over a pocket of fallen branches and came to a small clearing that was littered with the bones of abandoned cars. He knew now that he
had
doubled back, was close to the access road that he and Lisa had taken to the old hospital.

Among those old bones was a shiny new carcass.

A Crown Victoria.

Frank Blackburn’s unmarked squad car.

The rear passenger door hung wide, the overhead light burning, the sound of the bleeping telephone coming from inside.

His stomach clutching up, Tolan approached. He could see that the backseat was soaked with blood, and there was no doubt in his mind that a killing had taken place in there. A butchering.

Sue Carmody?

No matter how hard he tried to remember it, he could not put that knife in his own hand.

Had it been Vincent after all? Was this one killing Tolan wouldn’t have to take credit for?

He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about this. None of it mattered anymore. He was wasting time. He had to find his bearings and get to the hospital, get to Abby. But that one small kernel of hope buoyed him, and he wasn’t sure why.

Turning in his tracks, he studied the slope of the earth, trying to determine which way to go now, listening as the cell phone bleeped one last time, then went silent.

And just as he’d made his decision, had chosen what path to take, a bright white beam of light assaulted him, and a familiar voice said, “Don’t move or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

“
LOCK YOUR FINGERS
behind your neck,” the voice said.

Its owner was standing near the tight cluster of trees, a flashlight in one hand, a gun in the other, his hair plastered down by the rain, his clothing soaked, a butterfly bandage adorning his forehead.

Blackburn.

Tolan had to squint to see him. Raising his hands, he locked them behind his head.

“Where’s Carmody?”

Tolan hesitated, not knowing what to tell him. If he told him the truth—however vague that might be—Blackburn would surely pull the trigger, and Tolan needed to stay alive long enough to find Abby.

“Please,” he said. “I have to get to the hospital.”

The flashlight beam didn’t waver. “You don’t look hurt to me. Down on your knees.”

Tolan did as he was told, twigs crackling beneath him. Overhead, the wind continued to howl through the tree-tops.

“Where is she?” Blackburn said. “What did you do with her?”

“Please, I don’t have time for this. I have to find Abby.”

“Abby?”

Realizing his slip, Tolan quickly corrected himself. “Jane. Jane Doe. I have to get to her.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late for that.”

Tolan’s heartbeat quickened. “What?”

“It’s a mess down there. She escaped. Along with a bunch of other nut jobs.”

“How do you know that?”

“One of the patients told me. An old man.”

The old man again.

“He had a run-in with her and he wasn’t in too good of shape. Said she came this way.”

Tolan’s gaze shifted to the dark silhouettes of the trees. Did this mean that Bobby Fremont had failed? That Abby was safe?

Was she in here somewhere? Hiding?

“I don’t know what kind of weapon she’s carrying, but she ripped the shit out of him. And frankly, I don’t give a damn right now. I just wanna know what you did with . . .”

He stopped talking then, aiming the flashlight beam at the Crown Victoria behind Tolan.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered, moving a step closer. “What did you do to her?”

There was a sudden rustling sound nearby, a flash of movement through the trees—

—and it wasn’t the wind.

Blackburn stopped and swept the flashlight around, illuminating the darkness. “What was that?”

Tolan turned. Abby?

Another rustling sound, this time coming from the opposite side of the clearing. Higher in the trees, like the flutter of bat wings.

Blackburn pointed the flashlight toward it, but caught nothing in its beam. It was an unguarded moment and Tolan wondered if he should jump to his feet and run—