Night Chill (31 page)

SIXTY-EIGHT

Lauren sat back in her chair and rubbed her temples. The three Tylenols she had taken an hour earlier barely touched her throbbing headache. It originated in a knot of twisted muscles and nerves at the base of her neck, shot out across her skull and seemed to be digging a hole behind her right eye. She needed rest but she knew sleep was impossible. Her daughter was still missing. Her husband, now a cold-blooded would-be murderer, was incarcerated in the Midland jail three blocks away. She could hardly sit still for a few minutes let alone lie down. Sleep, she decided, would have to wait. 

Her call to the FBI had gone nowhere. It was like no one had ever heard of her case, or it was such a small priority that they couldn’t be bothered to remember. She pictured a busy room full of agents, computer screens, phones ringing, and, on a corner desk that no one really used, a tiny Post-it note with Sarah’s information scribbled on it. Just one more little girl missing. One of thousands abducted each year. Abducted and never found. At least an agent had told her he would dig around and call back once he found out who was on the case.

She crossed the hospital cafeteria which had become the impromptu command center for the dual investigations of the kidnapping and shootings by the two madmen the police had taken into custody.
Madmen
.
My Jack was one of them
. Even though she had been right there, seen the rage in his face as he screamed and fired the gun into the bed, even though she’d seen all of that, she could hardly believe it. Deep down, the analytical part of her understood why she was so reluctant to accept Jack’s actions.

If he was capable of that, then he could have taken Sarah. Could have hurt her. Could have…

She wouldn’t allow herself to go any further. She couldn’t handle that right now. She couldn’t handle that ever.

The automatic coffee maker finished perking so she slid the glass pot off of the heating element and refilled her mug. She usually drank it black, but she reached for the cream and sugar to cut the bitterness of the dark roast. Her stomach was already rebelling over the first eight cups she had downed that night. She circled the spoon around the mug, allowing herself to be mesmerized by the dark brown coffee giving way to gentle tan swirls of cream.

The same questions filtered through her mind that had nagged her all night. How could Jack go so far, so quickly? The car accident with Huckley had been a few days ago. The waking dream -- and the scare with the baseball bat -- was just two nights ago. She cursed herself for agreeing to move from California, agreeing to help Jack run away from the memory of the
first
car accident. Maybe Moran was right and it really started back then. Maybe by moving to Maryland, Lauren had helped set the actions in motion. Thick layers of blame wrapped around her conscience. And it felt right; felt like it belonged there. After all, she was responsible for Sarah and now she was gone. No matter what, the responsibility for that would always come back to her.

Still, something bothered her. Obviously Jack had psychological problems, his actions since his accident with Huckley showed that. But he had still been coherent. Still Jack. More paranoid, sure, but still rational. So how did he turn into that animal she’d seen in Huckley’s room in just one day?

The only blessing was that Huckley had revived from the coma earlier that afternoon. The charge against Jack would not be murder, only attempted murder. But Huckley’s sudden recovery was another strange part of the story. It wasn’t that uncommon in strictly medical terms. Patients in comas quite often regained consciousness after a week or two. Some even did so after more than a year. More rare, but still it happened.

The strange thing about Huckley’s case was the speed of his recovery. Patients in a coma for a period of time usually woke up weak, disoriented, and required several days of rest to recuperate.

But Huckley was packed and ready to leave just hours after he regained consciousness. He acted as if he’d been in the hospital for nothing more than a routine checkup.  Dr. Mansfield had conducted the examination and Lauren had taken little notice when word had filtered through the hospital of the bizarre recovery. While his case on a normal day would have been an irresistible medical curiosity, it couldn’t compete with the unfolding tragedy of Sarah’s disappearance.

Now, with so many empty hours and nothing to do but let her mind wander, and with Huckley more linked to her family than ever, she gave the man’s sudden recovery more thought. Especially after the strange moment between her and Huckley last night. 

Lauren had only made eye contact once with Huckley during the ordeal of Jack’s arrest. Janney had stood between the two of them as they waited for Jack to appear. She had been both indignant and scared. Mad from being dragged to the third floor against her will. Terrified that Jack might actually show up.

It was after the horror of seeing Jack fire the gun at the pillows stuffed under the covers of Huckley’s bed that she caught the look from Huckley. It happened when Janney was handcuffing Jack, sprawled unconscious on the floor from the blow administered by one of the Midland cops. She turned her head, not trying to look at anything, just to look away, when her eyes locked with Huckley’s.

He had been staring at her, she was sure of it. And he was smiling. Not a self-satisfied smile of triumph, but a licentious crooked turn of his lips, an unwelcome appraisal of her body that made her feel naked, violated. On her skin she had imagined she felt the foreign touch of strong fingers moving their way up her leg, up her back, across her chest. She had reached for her clothes, pulling on them as if spiders crept across her skin. But, just as suddenly as it had started, the sensation disappeared. And when she looked up, Huckley was no longer looking at her. He was following Janney and Jack out of the door. But as she watched him leave, Huckley had raised one hand and waved his fingers in what seemed to be a slow, mocking farewell. 

Lauren noticed her knuckles had turned white from gripping her coffee cup as she relived the encounter. She took a sip and rested the rim of the mug against her lips, inhaling the steam, letting it soothe her.

This waiting around was killing her. As a doctor, she always had a course of action. There was always another test to run or more research to perform. There was always hope for a cure and a sense that somehow she could contribute to that cure.

But this was different. Sarah was gone and there was nothing she could do to bring her back. Except wait. Wait and let the professionals do their jobs. And that was the other problem. The professionals were not quite the varsity team of law enforcement. The Midland police were only slightly better than the Keystone Kops. Janney was an egomaniac who seemed more interested in prosecuting Jack than finding her daughter. And if her phone call was any indication, the FBI didn’t give a damn.

She had cried enough. Now she was getting angry. She had given the police their chance. She had done everything they asked, including not visiting Jack in the jail. But listening to the police had accomplished nothing. If Jack kidnapped their daughter, she needed to talk to him, needed to reach out. Maybe she could get him to tell her where their baby was hidden.  Lauren decided she didn’t give a damn what the police said. She was going to talk to Jack whether Janney liked it or not.

SIXTY-NINE

Jack stood on the bed to look out of the barred window set high in the wall. The jail was one of the town’s historic landmarks, old brick and mortar walls and open beamed ceilings that belied the fact that it was still a functioning police station. But improvements had kept it up with the times. In the rear of the building, away from the tourists, the metal bars were the same forged steel found in any big city jail and the floor was covered in shiny institutional linoleum for easy clean-up after locking up the drunks on Friday and Saturday nights.

The window gave him a decent view of the Savage River as it flowed through town. Besides thick metal bars, the window was secured by two sheets of thick Plexiglass, one bolted inside and the other outside. Someone had spent their jail time etching deep grooves in the plastic. Jack wondered if they had been bored or actually pathetic enough to think they could escape.

The door to the cell block opened. Since he and Lonetree were the only prisoners, he assumed the visitor was for them. He felt his heart beat in his throat when he realized who it was.

“Thank God.” He cried as he crossed to the bars. Her expression was cold and severe, but he didn’t care. At last he’d have a chance to explain things to her. But then another figure followed her into the cell block. Janney.

Lauren turned to the sheriff. “I told you I want to see him alone.” Janney hesitated. “What? Are you afraid I’ll slip him a file and break him out of here?” she snapped.

Janney nodded. “Five minutes. That’s it, all right?” he said as he left the room.

“Jack,” she said, forcing a smile. “Have they given you medical treatment?”

Jack waved off the questions. “I know who has Sarah.” Lauren nodded for him to go on. He noticed her expression wasn’t hopeful. Jack’s words tumbled over themselves, “It’s Janney. Janney and Huckley working together.”

“Sheriff Janney?” Lauren said slowly. “You think the sheriff kidnapped our daughter?”

Jack heard the condescension in her voice. He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. “Listen, what I have to tell you is hard to believe. I didn’t believe it myself until I saw the evidence. I need you to trust me.” He reached out and gripped her hands. She held on loosely.

“I’ll try. But--”

“No,” he whispered. “Don’t say anything else. Leave it at you’ll try.”

“O.K. Tell me.”

Jack hesitated. He needed to make Lauren understand. “This is Joseph Lonetree. He’s the man who came to the house a few days ago, the same night that I had those hallucinations. He’s who I’ve been with since I left Dr. Moran’s office yesterday afternoon.”

Lauren’s eyes shifted over to the hulking man in the corner. He smiled and nodded as if the gesture alone validated Jack’s story. “Go on.”

“Lonetree’s father and brother were both working on an archeological theory before they were murdered by people interested in keeping their past a secret. He came back to get revenge for their deaths. It just so happens that the people he wants revenge against are the same ones who have been screwing with our lives. The same ones who took Sarah.”

Lauren shook her head. “I don’t understand. They were killed over a theory?”

“This is going to sound crazy,” Jack winced at his own choice of words, “but keep an open mind until I’m done. The theory
was
the truth. It revolves around an ancient Indian tribe…” Jack gave a short version of the story related by the rock carvings in the cave. He described the cave itself and, finally, the story Max Dahl had told about Huckley. When Jack started telling about Max’s sudden death and his body’s deterioration, Lauren held up her hand for him to stop.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed, “I just can’t listen to this anymore.  I don’t know how this man has made you believe all of this, but it’s sick. You need help.” She gently took his hand again. “And I want to help you. I’ll get the best doctors and we’ll work through this, all right? But right now I need one thing from you.” She pulled his hands until she brought him face to face with her through the bars. “Where’s Sarah? Tell me where she is so I can go get her. Please. Will you just do that for me?”

Jack pushed back away from her. “You still think I took her! It’s Janney and Huckley. And someone they call the Boss. They’re taking her to the cave tonight. They’re going to kill her, Lauren. They’re going to kill our little girl.”

“Listen to yourself. Now there’s someone called the Boss trying to…” Lauren put her hands to her head and squeezed her temples. “Look, I don’t want to argue. I want to help.”

“You saw the numbers Sarah wrote on those papers at the house. Huckley’s room number. You know something strange is going on.”

“I talked to Dr. Moran last night. The psychiatrist. He told me you admitted to him that you wrote those numbers yourself.”

“Jesus. Moran’s one of them! You can’t trust him. He’s lying. Can’t you see what they’re doing? They’re trying to turn you against me.”

“Just tell me where Sarah is. Please, honey. Will you do that?”

Jack shook his head. “I swear to God all of this is true. You have to believe me. You’re the only one who can stop them now.”

With one last pained look, Lauren turned and walked to the door. It opened as soon as she knocked.

Jack shouted after her, “YOU HAVE TO STOP THEM, LAUREN. YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN!”

Once the door slammed shut, Lonetree grunted from the corner, “That went well.”

Jack pressed his head against the bars and squeezed his eyes shut. Never before had he felt so alone. It was already mid-morning. In only a few hours his little girl would die. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.