Cainsville: Visions Part 33

"There's nowhere to run. I don't know where I am. There are all these abandoned buildings, and a cemetery. He's watching, too. He'll shoot me if I run." She paused. "You don't believe me. Oh G.o.d, you don't believe me."

She continued babbling. How cold am I if I admit I was ignoring her words and gauging her voice and her tone, trying to decide how genuine her plight was? Yet Ricky could hear, and he wasn't saying, Come on! We need to go help her! When I glanced over, I could tell he was a.s.sessing, too.

I made Macy go over her story again, in more detail. She'd been at a party. She'd left with a man. She didn't know who he was-it was a big party-only that he was alone and good-looking, and he'd singled her out for attention. They had a few drinks, and she was sure he must have slipped something in hers because otherwise she'd never just leave with him, especially without telling her friends.

He'd driven out of the city. She wasn't sure which way. They'd been talking and the next thing she knew they were in the countryside. He'd taken her to what looked like an army base, with lots of buildings. Then he'd gotten out and said he had to go inside and talk to someone.

After he'd left, she realized all the buildings were dark. When she'd taken a closer look at one, she'd seen boarded-up windows and doors. She'd just started to panic when a cell phone rang. It wasn't hers. She couldn't find hers. That's when she'd begun panicking for real. The phone kept ringing. She'd found it under the seat and answered. It was him.

He told her that she needed to follow his instructions and make a very important call. He gave her the directions and told her what would happen if she didn't do as he said. She started to scream. He hung up.

She'd tried to call 911, call anyone, but the phone was blocked. Hers was gone. The car keys were gone. She'd made a break for it. When she ran past the building she was supposed to enter, he shot at her, the bullet hitting the ground at her feet.

"It's-it's horrible in here," she whispered. "He left me a flashlight, but it barely does anything, and it's dark and empty and there's writing on the walls. Writing everywhere. Crazy stuff. I hear noises. I think it's only rats." A high-pitched laugh. "Only rats. I can't believe I said that. I hate rats. Bats, too, and they're everywhere, flying out when I walk into a room and-"

"Where are you now?"

"Inside. With the phone. He said if he sees me leave, he'll shoot me. I can only go when you find me. You will come, right?"

"Which building are you in?"

She told me, then continued, "He said something else, too. He said to remember Ciara. I don't know what that means. I asked him, and he wouldn't tell me, and-"

The line went dead.

I speed-dialed Gabriel. When the line connected, I hung up. What was he going to do? This wasn't a legal matter. I'd be dragging him into this. Forcing him to make decisions that weren't his responsibility to make.

I glanced over. Ricky hadn't said a word.

"We are awake, right?" he said.

"I think so."

"Hard to tell after that call." He paused. "Do you know what she was talking about?"

I hesitated. There was so much he didn't know. Most of which I couldn't share.

"Some of it," I said. "The name she mentioned. Ciara. She's the girl whose body I found while rescuing TC. Her death may have something to do with me or my parents. Gabriel's been helping me look into that."

"Do you want to call him?"

Yes. "This isn't a legal issue."

"Do you really think he'd tell you to handle it yourself?"

No. He'd come.

I shook my head. "I've dragged him into enough trouble. Did she sound as if she believed she was in danger?"

"Yes. The fact that it makes no sense actually supports it being real-she'd dream up a better fake story. But even if she is in danger, it's almost certainly a trap, so..."

He trailed off, but I knew what he was thinking. Would I risk my life for a stranger? No. Whatever brand of heroism that requires, I don't have it.

I looked down at the GPS coordinates Macy had given me. Macy. She wasn't some anonymous victim. Even if she was, I don't think I could have ignored her.

"We can go check it out," Ricky said. "You've got your gun, and you've got me. I don't think whoever's doing this is expecting either."

"You don't have to-"

"You think I'd let you handle this while I go back to sleep?"

"We'll take my car," I said. "I want to explain more on the way."

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR.

While Ricky drove, I navigated and told him about Ciara, which wasn't easy, piecing the hole-ridden cloth into a plausible story. I told him about the body in the car, but I skipped the "head in the bed." That's where it seemed to cross the line to a potential legal issue for Gabriel, given that I'd had photographic proof and we didn't report it.

When I finished, Ricky just kept driving, despite me telling him to make a left. He got turned around and back on course before speaking.

"So someone put this girl's body in your car, wearing your clothes, dressed as you."

"And then, while I was inside waiting for Gabriel, the killer took away all the evidence. Which sounds completely crazy, so you can't blame him for thinking I was imagining things."

Ricky glanced over. "I'm sure Gabriel knew you weren't. I'm sure he told you to keep it quiet. I completely agree, and I'd expect him to do the same as my lawyer. I'll buy whatever story you sell me, Liv."

"I-"

"I know there's more to it. There are things about my life I can't share, either, because they could put you in jeopardy. I have secrets; you have secrets. I'm here for anything you want to tell me, but I'll never push. Fair enough?"

I nodded. "Thank you."

"So clearly that corpse was a warning. Clearly Gabriel is concerned, which explains him getting you that security system. But if you were in serious danger, something would have happened by now. Instead, it's do as I say or this Macy girl ends up like Ciara. Meaning he needs something from you. Something you can't give if you're dead."

"Presumably." I looked out the window. "Any idea where we are?"

"You're the one with the GPS."

"Yes, but I haven't seen a landmark for almost ten minutes."

We were in the countryside. That much was obvious. On a dark, empty secondary highway. About a half hour outside Chicago, if I'd calculated the distance properly.

"There's a town ahead," Ricky said. "Big one, judging by that glow."

I checked my phone GPS. "Looks like we're going to turn off before we reach it. Take the next right. We're getting close."

Two more turns and we were there. Wherever "there" was. We pa.s.sed a laneway leading into a golf course. It wasn't one I recognized. I'm not much of a golfer, but James is, and this didn't look like a course we would have played. It was meant for locals who wanted to knock a few b.a.l.l.s around a half-dozen times a year. At three in the morning, it was pitch-black.

The GPS led us past it to a laneway with gates. Huge gates, adorned with Keep Out and Private Property and Trespa.s.sers Will Be Prosecuted. Also, ma.s.sive padlocks.

"Let me out here," I said.

Ricky did. I went up and checked the gates. Chains looped them shut, but the locks were unfastened. I peered through. The lane led to a group of dark buildings surrounded by empty fields. h.e.l.l of a place to drive into. Anyone watching would see us coming for a quarter mile.

I jangled the chains, then called back to Ricky, louder than necessary, "Seems to be locked tight."

He could see d.a.m.n well that the chains weren't secured, but he said, "Think the call was a prank?"

"Maybe." I made a show of squinting through the gates again. "Let's drive around."

I climbed back into the car.

"It's too open," I said as he backed onto the road. "But if Macy's captor is listening, which I presume he is, I didn't want him to think we were taking off."

"You're pretty good at this stuff."

"It's in my genes," I said. "And I have Gabriel for a teacher."

"No s.h.i.+t, huh?"

As Macy had said, a cemetery bordered the property. Cemetery on one side, golf course on the other. Both dark and silent and empty. Two routes to choose from.

We parked at the golf course, looped around, and walked in through the cemetery. We'd dressed dark. Ricky wore a light T-s.h.i.+rt but had zipped his leather jacket over it. Remembering our game in the cabin woods, I let him take the lead. He walked silently, as if knowing where to step to avoid cracking twigs and crunching stones. As we moved, I could practically feel the low strum of energy vibrating from him, that dark and delicious mix of tension and adrenaline. When he'd glance back to check on me, his eyes glittered, as they had in the woods.

We reached the cemetery. It was a modern one, no weathered headstones and moss-laden mausoleums. Just row after row of death. We cut our way through as if the gravestones were merely obstacles. If there was anything frightening about a cemetery at night, it was lost on me. Always had been.

A strip of woods separated the cemetery and the abandoned buildings. Ricky stopped at the edge. He glanced back to make sure I had my gun out. He nodded, took something from his jacket, and palmed it. When I leaned in to see what it was, he opened his fist to show a metal cylinder. He pressed a b.u.t.ton. A knife shot out.

"Switchblade," I said. "Nice. I could use one of those."

"That's not enough?" he whispered, pointing at my gun.

"It does the job, if the job is to kill. I need a backup that's not always so lethal."

"You could try getting yourself into fewer situations where you need a weapon."

"I suspect that's not happening anytime soon."

A short laugh and he nodded as we carried on.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE.

We reached the middle of the strip of forest, which was so thin we could see the fields on either side. When I heard an almost soundless whoosh-whoosh, I looked up to see an owl pa.s.sing overhead. It was huge, like the ones I'd seen in Cainsville a month ago, a pair that had ripped apart a raven. I found myself looking for a second one. I knew this couldn't be the same owl, and I was sure they hunted alone. Yet when I looked, I saw another in a tree just ahead. The first lighted in the same one, and they sat there, watching us silently.

Oddly, seeing them seemed to calm me. Their unblinking gazes said to be alert and be safe. Stay watchful.

It took a moment for Ricky to notice them. When he did, he stopped.

"Now that's creepy," he said.

"Is it?"

He s.h.i.+vered. "Um, yeah."

I guess we didn't agree on everything. As we continued, he kept sneaking glances up at the owls, as if expecting them to dive-bomb us. It was cute, really. He'd just walked through a graveyard at night, accompanying me into a potential death trap, but what freaked him out was a pair of owls.

As we pa.s.sed, they watched us go. Then they took off, flying overhead in the same direction we were heading.

"Hey, they're leading the way," I said as I pointed.

"To our deaths probably," Ricky muttered. "They carry off children in the night, you know."

"Then I guess it's a good thing we aren't children. Where'd you hear that?"

"I used to read all that stuff when I was a kid. Every now and then it just pops up."

"For me it's omens. Someone stuffed them in my head, and they crop up at the most inconvenient times."

"Yeah? Nothing about owls, then?"

"Only if it's daytime. Although if you hear an owl hoot between houses, it means someone has lost her virginity. I think we're okay there, too. And if a pregnant woman hears an owl, her child will be blessed. Again, we should be fine. At least, I hope so."

"They didn't hoot."

"Excellent."

He grinned back at me, and I returned the smile. I hadn't planned to mention the omens, but as soon as the topic came up, I'd jumped on it, as if eager to unburden myself. When I'd confessed my mental library of superst.i.tions to James, he'd thought it was adorable, in that slightly condescending way that made me wish I'd never opened my mouth. Ricky only said, "So I guess you won't think my stories are so weird, huh?"

"I won't."

He returned to cutting the trail. He definitely must have better night vision than me, because he brought us out behind a building, where we could safely exit under cover of shadow.

We were behind a brick structure maybe half the size of the Gallaghers' cabin. Tiny for a residence, but that's what it looked like, one of at least a dozen squatting along a narrow road. Sterile brick boxes with barred windows and heavy doors. Cells more than homes. When I touched a brick, I shuddered.