'What else, Cassie? What else can you tell me?'
'It's getting harder.' Her voice became uncertain, shaky once more. 'Harder to stay inside him. I'm so tired.'
'I know, Cassie. But you have to keep trying. You have to keep us with him.'
As always, she responded to his voice and his insistence, drawing on her pitifully meager reserves of strength to maintain a contact that revolted and terrified her. 'I hear her. The little girl. She's crying. She's so afraid.'
'Don't listen to her, Cassie. Just him.'
'All right.' She paused. 'He's turning. It's a winding road now. A dirt road. I can see the lake sometimes through the trees.'
'Do you see a house?'
'We're passing… driveways, I think. There are houses all around. Houses on the lake.'
Logan stepped aside as Paul gestured. 'What?'
'There's only one Andover Street close to a lake. It's Lake Temple. Bob, it's only fifteen miles away.'
'No wonder she's picking him up so well,' Logan muttered. 'She's never been this deep before, not inside this bastard. The teams moving?'
'I've got everybody en route. And we're chasing down a list of all the property owners on the lake. I'm told this is one of those places where the people name their houses, give them signs and everything. If we get really lucky…'
'Keep me advised,' Logan said, and returned to Cassie.
' Lake Temple,' she said, dreamy again. 'He likes that name. He thinks it's appropriate.'
'Don't listen to what he thinks, Cassie. Just watch. Tell me what he's doing, where he's going.'
Five minutes of silence lasted seemingly forever, and then she spoke suddenly.
'We're turning. Into a driveway, I think.'
'Do you see any mailboxes?'
'No. No. I'm sorry.'
'Keep watching.'
'It's a steep driveway. Long. Winding down toward the lake. I see… I think there's a house ahead. Sometimes the headlights touch it…'
'Keep watching, Cassie. When you see the house, look for a sign. The house has a name.'
'There – there's the house.' Her voice quickened. 'It has a sign near the door. The sign says… 'retirement fund.' '
Logan blinked, then glanced at Paul, who mouthed, 'Typical.'
Logan turned back to Cassie. 'Talk to me, Cassie. Is he stopping the car? Is this house where he's going?'
Cassie said, 'Wait… we're going past it. Oh. Oh, I see. There's… a boathouse. I think it's a boathouse. I see…'
'What, Cassie? What do you see?'
'It's… a weathervane on top. On the roof. I can see it moving in the breeze. I can… hear it creaking.'
'Hear it? Cassie, has he stopped the car?'
She seemed startled. 'Oh. Oh, yes, he has. The lights are out. I can see the shape of the boathouse, the darkness of it. But… he knows his way. He's… he's getting her out of the back. Carrying her into the boathouse. She's so little. She hardly weighs anything at all. Ohhhh…'
'Cassie – '
'She's so afraid--'
'Cassie, listen to me. You can only help her by paying attention to what he's doing. Where he's going.' He looked at his partner. 'Where the hell are they?'
'Almost there. Five minutes.'
'Goddammit, she doesn't have five minutes!'
'They're moving as fast as they can, Bob.'
Cassie was breathing quickly. 'Something's wrong.'
Logan stared at her. 'What?'
'I don't know. He feels… different about this one. Sly, somehow, and almost… amused. He means to give the cops something new. He – oh. Oh, God. He has a knife. He wants to just cut her open – ' Her voice was thready with grief and horror. 'He wants to… he wants to… taste…'
'Cassie, listen to me. Get out. Get out,
Logan 's partner started forward. 'Bob, if she stays with him, she might be able to help us.'
Logan shook his head, never taking his eyes off Cassie. 'If she stays with him, and he kills the girl, it could pull her in too deep, into his frenzy. We'd lose them both. Cassie? Cassie, get out.
Cassie drew a shuddering breath, then slowly opened her eyes. They were so pale a gray, they were like faint shadows on ice, strikingly surrounded by inky black lashes. Dark smudges of exhaustion lay under those eyes, and her voice shook with strain when she said, 'Bob? Why did you – '
Logan poured hot coffee from a thermos and handed her the cup. 'Drink this.'
'But – '
'You helped us all you could, Cassie. The rest is up to my people.'
She sipped the hot coffee, her eyes on the rose he still held. 'Tell them to hurry,' she whispered.
But it was nearly ten long, long minutes later before the report came in, and Paul scowled at Cassie.
'The boathouse was empty. You missed the fork in the driveway. One branch led to the boathouse, and the other led to a cove less than fifty yards away, where a cabin cruiser was tied up. He was gone by the time we found it. The little girl was still warm.'
Logan quickly caught the cup that fell from Cassie's fingers and said, 'Paul, shut up. She did her best – '
'Her best? She fucking missed it, Bob! There was no weathervane on top of the boathouse – there was a flag flying above the boat. That's what she saw moving in the wind. And the creaking she heard was the boat in the water. She couldn't tell the difference?'
'It was dark,' Cassie whispered. Tears filled her eyes but didn't fall. Her shaking hands twisted together in her lap, and she breathed as though struggling against an oppressive weight crushing her lungs.
Paul said, 'Five minutes. We wasted five minutes going the wrong way, and that little girl's dead because of it. What am I supposed to tell her parents? That our famous psychic blew it?'
'Paul, shut your goddamned mouth!' Logan looked back at Cassie. 'It wasn't your fault, Cassie.' His voice was certain.
But his eyes told her something else. Her own gaze fell, and she stared at the tissue rose he held, its delicate perfection emphasized by the blunt strength of his cop's hand.
Such beauty to have been created by a monster. Sick fear coiled in the pit of her stomach and crawled on its belly through her mind, and she was barely aware of speaking aloud when she said huskily, 'I can't do it. I can't do this anymore. I can't.' 'Cassie – '
'I can't. I can't. I can't.' It was like a mantra to ward off the unbearable, and she whispered it over and over as she closed her eyes and shut out the mocking sight of the paper flower that now lived in her nightmares.
ONE
RYAN'S BLUFF, NORTH CAROLINA FEBRUARY 16, 1999
As towns went, it didn't have much to boast of. It was about as broad as it was long, with more acreage than buildings. There was a scattering of churches and car lots and small stores that didn't call themselves boutiques but charged enough for their plain little dresses to be considered just that. There was a Main Street with a grassy town square, enough banks to make a body wonder where all the riches were, and a drugstore so old, it still had a soda fountain.
Of course, there was also a computer store on Main Street, as well as two video stores and a satellite dish
