TPG (16 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Nothing.

Not a call, not a
letter, not an email
 …
nothing.
There hadn’t been one damn attempt to contact him since his visit with Slattery
a few days earlier.

He couldn’t
believe it. He was sure
someone
was
going to contact him. But so far, nada.

Eddie said to
leave it alone. They knew everything he already knew, so he should just let it
go and be thankful there was nothing more.

Liam didn’t say
anything because Kyle hadn’t told him about the conversation. He thought it’d
be too much for Liam to handle, that Liam would take it too far. Besides, there
hadn’t been much of an opportunity to discuss anything with Liam lately. The
man had been oddly quiet. His last text of substance was from a few days ago.
It was sent to Eddie as well and read, “On to something big. VERY BIG. The
transfer might be more of a key than I thought. Will keep u updated.”

But there hadn’t
been any updates. Not yet, anyway. Kyle’s paranoia had him suspecting Liam’s
silence might really be due to the fact that he’d finally read the deleted text
messages. Perhaps his ‘VERY BIG’ theory was that
Kyle
was the killer. But Eddie shot down that notion, saying Liam
probably would’ve been up his ass every minute if that was the case, then he
repeated to Kyle his continuing mantra:
The
authorities are investigating. They know what you know, so forget Liam, forget
Hillier, settle the fucking lawsuit, and then join me at the goddam shore.

The psychologist
in Kyle agreed with Eddie, and he was trying to do exactly what Eddie continued
to suggest as he sat on his couch eating Chinese takeout and watching the
Yankees game, repeating to himself that someone was investigating and there was
nothing more he could do.

As he ate the last
of the chicken fried rice and watched the Yankees post a four run inning in the
sixth, he heard his cell phone ring and reached for his BlackBerry.

But when he
grabbed it, he realized it wasn’t his BlackBerry ringing. It was a different
ring. His iPhone. The one Bree had given him at lunch just before she left for
sleepaway camp. His first thought was that she wanted to video chat, but then
he looked at the cable box clock and realized how late it was, already past
ten.

Something was
wrong.

He jumped over to
the dining room table and grabbed the slim smartphone, relieved when he saw the
screen as it showed he’d actually been right with his first thought
—
despite the late hour,
Bree was trying to video chat.

Kyle clicked on
the long green oval to engage FaceTime, but instead of seeing Bree via a video
stream on the other end, the screen went black.

He called Bree’s
name, she didn’t answer, but a light flicked on, sparking the screen to life
and showing some bushes. He listened carefully and heard the rustling of
leaves.

“It’s dad, Bree,”
he said, realizing she must have accidentally called him. “Your phone is on.”

But no one
responded and the light switched angles, pointing at the ground now, looking as
if someone had dropped it. Which probably meant the light was coming from a
flashlight, he assumed. He could see dirt and rocks surrounded by the blackness
of the night. He went over to the couch and muted the television, then called
out her name again.

She didn’t answer,
but he heard something else. The sound of heavy breathing, followed by the
muffled sounds of a girl’s voice, struggling. His knees became rubbery, his
head light. He still couldn’t see anything more than the small portion of dirt
lit up by the motionless flashlight.

And then it came,
the noise that made his blood curl, the sound he heard in his nightmares. His
worst nightmares, the ones that caused him to wake up in a cold sweat, unable
to fall back to sleep.

A scream.

The loud, pained
scream of a terrified young girl.

He shouted Bree’s
name at the top of his lungs, the veins in his neck bulging through his
reddened skin, tears starting to crawl out of the corners of his eyes.

He kept shouting,
begging her to answer.

Suddenly, the
screaming stopped. There was nothing but silence, the image remaining the
same—dirt and rocks.

He shouted again
for answers and watched the screen as someone picked up the flashlight, still
keeping it focused on the ground, but moving it away from its spot, slowly. He
saw some small skinny twigs that became larger and thicker as the light slowly
panned away. Then he realized they weren’t twigs. It was liquid dribbling down
across the ground. The light followed it to its source, but Kyle had already
figured out what it was when the light shone directly on two bare feet.

Blood.

He shouted again
as the light moved up from the bloodied feet to the ankles, then the thighs.
There was blood everywhere.

He heard a click
and then the light shut off.

Kyle scrambled
over to his BlackBerry and scrolled down to the camp’s phone number. A woman
picked up after the third ring.

“My daughter,”
Kyle shouted into the phone. “She’s in the woods. She’s lying in the woods!”

“Who’s your
daughter?”

Kyle’s eyes
remained locked on the iPhone’s screen. The video was on, but it was still
pitch black. “I’m looking at her phone,” he said, frantic, “she was screaming.
Then there was blood. And now there’s nothing.”

“Sir,
who
is your daughter?”

He was in shock,
barely able to register what was happening, his mind unable to reconcile that
he’d just watched someone attack his daughter, attack Bree. “Bree Vine,” he
said, staring at the iPhone through tearing eyes. “Bree Vine.”

He heard the woman
say something to him, then someone else, but he couldn’t register what.
Everything around him became muted white noise. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t
speak
 …
could barely
remain standing. He dropped the BlackBerry onto the table.

Then the light
turned on again. It was shining against bare bloody legs being dragged across
the ground. Tears were streaming from his eyes as he yelled, “What did you do
to my daughter?”

No response, no
sound, and then the light clicked off again and the phone disconnected. The
screen’s icons popped back up.

Kyle frantically
fumbled with the phone and tried to call back. But it just kept ringing.

The only other
noise he heard was the yelling of the woman on the other end of the BlackBerry
sitting on his table, asking him what was going on, what was happening.

He redialed Bree’s
number again on the iPhone, and then he heard it.

Her voice.

But it wasn’t
coming from his iPhone.

It was coming from
his BlackBerry.

He grabbed it.

“Bree?”

“Dad? What’s
wrong?” she asked. “Is mom okay? Did something happen?”

“Oh my God!” he
cried. “Oh my God. You’re okay. Nothing happened? You’re okay?”

“
Me?
I’m fine. Why would something be
wrong with me?”

“Your phone.
Someone called me on your phone. They attacked you,” he said, tears still
rolling down his cheeks, his head still light.

“My phone?” Bree
asked. “How would they get my phone? It’s locked up with the others.”

Kyle rubbed his
eyes and continued to talk to her until he was calm, until he was sure she was
okay. The camp director came back on the line and told him one of the lockboxes
was missing, and it undoubtedly was the one with Bree’s phone in it. She said
the call he received was probably a prank and she already had a call in to the
police.

Kyle collapsed
into a chair, still unsteady, and wiped the sweat from his brow. He told the
director he didn’t want Bree sleeping in her normal bunk, he wanted her in the
owner’s bunk. He also said he wanted them to count the other campers to make
sure everyone was accounted for. The director said they were already on it.
Then he talked to Bree some more, assuring her everything was okay, that she
didn’t have to worry about anything.

After clicking
off, he went to the kitchen and poured himself some bourbon, wincing at the
harsh, bitter taste as it flowed down his throat. He wasn’t a hard drinker,
mostly stayed with wine and highly diluted mixed drinks, but felt the need for
something stronger right then to ease his nerves. He wondered if he should call
Sheila, but decided against it, decided there was no need to worry her.

The ringing of his
BlackBerry made him realize the camp had already called her.

He checked the
screen.

It wasn’t Sheila.

His eyes went wide
and his blood began to rise.

It was Bree’s
phone.

“Who the hell is
this?” he yelled as he clicked on.

There was silence
on the other end.

“I know what’s
going on,” Kyle shouted. “I know she’s fine. I know she’s safe.”

“You don’t know
anything,” an intentionally deep voice answered.

“Who is this?”

“It doesn’t matter
who this is. What matters is what you need to do to avoid having your daughter
wind up like the girl in the woods.”

“That wasn’t
real,” Kyle said. “I know it wasn’t. I know this is a prank.”

“I’m only going to
say this once, Mr. Vine, so listen closely. Do not take your personal
investigation any further. Do not perform any follow-up, do not speak to the
police any further, do not speak to any other authorities or agencies, do not
even think about it.”

“What the hell are
you talking about? Don’t speak to them about what?”

“You know exactly
what I’m talking about. And you are to leave it alone. No more asking around,
no more following anyone and no more going to the cops or anyone else.”

Kyle swallowed.
“This is about the strokes?”

The man didn’t
answer Kyle’s question. Instead, he continued with his warning. “If we even
suspect that you’re continuing to look into this, we will kill her. We’ll
torture your daughter in ways you can’t even imagine in your worst nightmares,
and then once we’ve had our fun, we’ll kill her. And we’ll let her know
why
we are doing it. We’ll let her know
it was because of you—because her fucking father wouldn’t do as he was
told. If you go to the police and tell them about this conversation, we will
kill her. If you tell your ex-wife about this conversation, we will kill her.”
The man’s voice became louder and angrier as he spoke. “If you speak to your
attorney about this conversation, we will fucking kill her. You are to stay
away from what is going on and not breathe one goddam word about this call to
anyone. Understood?”

Kyle wanted to
lash out at the man, wanted to shout at him, threaten him.

“Do you
understand?”

Bree was a few
hundred miles away.

“Yes,” he said,
biting his lip. “Yes, I understand. I won’t say a thing. I promise. Just leave
her alone.”

The phone clicked
off. Kyle quickly slipped on his shoes and hurried out the apartment, his heart
pounding, knowing it wouldn’t stop until he reached his destination.

Until he reached
Bree.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

She wasn’t talking to him. Wouldn’t
even look at him.

Not that it was
unexpected. He knew he was taking her away from her best friends, away from her
little oasis, and doing so without entertaining any of her counterarguments.
After hanging up with the camp, he’d borrowed Sheila’s car and drove up to the
Berkshires in the middle of the night, snatched Bree out and said they had to
go.

She didn’t
understand why he wouldn’t even listen to her, why he couldn’t see it was just
a prank and she was fine. And he couldn’t explain. He just continued to repeat
he wanted her home. The director said she understood his concern, but she was
sure it had just been a prank and the children were completely safe. But she
didn’t know what he knew. And he didn’t tell her. He didn’t tell anyone. He
simply went to Sheila’s garage, where he was still on the permissible user
list, and drove the five hours up to camp to take his confused, frustrated, and
angry thirteen-year-old daughter home. Her antics on the ride back ranged from
pleading with him to take her back, to crying about how unfair he was being, to
questioning why he was acting so strange. But he wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t
tell her the truth, so he just said the prank scared him and he wanted her home
rather than hundreds of miles away in the woods.

What he didn’t say
was he had to prove to whoever was prying into his life that he was abiding by
their demands, he wasn’t giving the deaths a second thought. And he wouldn’t.
Not outwardly, anyway. He wouldn’t talk to Slattery anymore, he wouldn’t speak
to the Feds, and he wouldn’t meet with Liam or call Tom. He wouldn’t even speak
to Eddie about it.

He was done. He
had to be. He wouldn’t risk it, wouldn’t risk Bree being harmed.

But inside he
couldn’t stop churning the information around. Liam was right. More right than
he could ever know. There
was
a
killer out there. Someone was causing these deaths. And whatever pattern or
connection Liam was making was scaring whoever was behind the murders enough to
threaten Kyle with his daughter’s life.

Was it Hillier? An
energy transfer? Siphoning?

It was still hard
to fathom something like that could be happening, but there had to be
something
there because that was really
all Kyle knew. And someone was afraid of either something he already knew, or something
he was about to find out, or maybe both, and wanted to stop him from saying or
doing anything further about the deaths in the worst way. That message couldn’t
have been clearer.

But just because
he wasn’t going to say or do
anything
about it, didn’t mean he couldn’t think about it. In fact, he couldn’t
not
think about it, and kept drumming
the thoughts around in his mind during the entire ride back to the city, mostly
focusing on who was behind the call. There weren’t many people who knew what he
was doing. Not specifics. And it was obvious the caller knew intimate details
about his personal life, like where Bree went to camp and that their usually
strict policy against cell phones had been relaxed for the first time. But who
could know that information? How would Hillier know? The only people who knew
those details, and at the same time also knew about the hemorrhage deaths, were
Eddie and maybe Liam. Kyle couldn’t remember how much he’d told Liam about
Bree.

But that didn’t
foreclose the list of possible parties who
could
have gotten that information. If someone wanted to, they could have easily
found out the information by just asking a few questions, or probably surfing
the camp’s website.

Which meant the
list was far more expansive than just those in his inner-circle. But how would
they know he was even looking into the hemorrhage deaths?

The question
remained unanswered as he looked over at Bree. She had fallen asleep the second
hour into the drive. She looked so peaceful, so relaxed. A few stray hairs
covered her face, a camp sweatshirt pulled over the pajamas she hadn’t yet
changed. She looked like his little girl again. The one who would fall asleep
during every car ride, no matter how short. He remembered having to scoop her
up out of her car seat and carry her to their building. She usually woke right
before they got to the elevator and would look around with her tired eyes,
trying to orient herself. And when she did, when she knew where she was, she’d
simply reposition her tiny hands around his neck and give him a tight squeeze.
Nothing in the world made him feel better. He was her protector. He made her
safe. He was her father.

And whoever
called, whoever made that threat, knew there was absolutely no way in the world
he was going to do a damn thing to put her anywhere close to harm’s way. And
they were a hundred percent right about that. He didn’t know what was going on,
but he didn’t care anymore. He
couldn’t
care anymore.

It was no longer
an option.

The only thing he
cared about now was sitting right next to him.