Exposure

the picture was smeared with red.

“Ah!” Kaycee flung it away. She thrust the car into park and fumbled with her seatbelt. Shoved open her door and threw herself out on the gravel. One foot slid out from under her. Her legs scissored until the foot took hold. Kaycee righted herself and swiveled toward the car, panting.

For a long moment she stared at the picture on the passenger seat floor. It lay face up and vivid. The dead man looked so real. Any minute now he’d sit up, right out of that photo.

Her right fingers felt sticky. She jerked up her hand and saw red.

Kaycee moaned. In her peripheral vision she saw more red on the door where she’d touched the handle. She jumped away.

Slowly Kaycee’s fingers raised to her nose.

They smelled like blood.

Something inside Kaycee snapped. She bolted around the car to the house.

At the back door she grabbed the knob and twisted, knowing it was locked, knowing the key was in her purse in that violated car. Knowing they were here, so close, watching and laughing. They wanted her to think she was mad.

But now she had evidence. Something to take to the police.

Tears burned her eyes. She swiveled around and stumbled two steps toward the yard. Threw back her head and shouted, “Where are you?” Kaycee’s throat closed up and her muscles went stiff. “What do you want from me?”

Mocking silence.

She strode across the grass and turned in complete circles, looking, shouting. “Come out here! What do you want?”

Motion from next door caught her eye. Kaycee wrenched around and saw Mrs. Foley, gaping at her like she was nuts. Kaycee’s mind bleached white. “Is it you?” she screamed. “Are you doing this to me?” She stomped toward the old woman. “Why are you doing this? Why?”

Mrs. Foley whirled and disappeared into her house. The door slammed. A lock clicked.

Kaycee pulled up short, breathing hard. She blinked through hot tears, logic slowly returning to her mind. What on earth was she doing?

Grimacing, she peered at her blurred right hand. The red was smeared all over.

That blood she’d smelled while climbing the stairs. Maybe it wasn’t from her dream at all. Maybe it was this blood now, on her fingers.

How had she known this would happen?

Was it from the dead man?

Helplessness and panic whirled inside Kaycee. What was happening? Who was doing this to her? They were taking over everything. Her house, her car, her life.

Her gaze cut to her car in the driveway. Its engine was still running, the driver’s door open.

Hannah. She had to go find Hannah.

Kaycee’s fingers curled inward. Okay. Whoever these people were, they’d made a big mistake this time. That photo and blood were evidence. Just wait till the police got hold of it.

Mouth firming, Kaycee bent over to swipe her bloody fingers against the grass. Taking a deep breath, she walked toward the car.

She closed the driver’s door. At the passenger side she peered through the window. The photo hadn’t moved. Somehow, she’d thought it might.

Screams rose in her mind. Footsteps and running. A door opening to bright sun . . .

Wait. That detail wasn’t in her dream. She’d seen a bright light but not a door opening. Where had this come from?

Kaycee pressed both hands against the car, leaned in and breathed.

Slowly the sounds and sights in her head faded. Kaycee pushed hair off her hot cheeks and gathered what courage she could find.

It took all she had to open the car door.

Her purse sat on the seat, her house key inside. Kaycee forced her gaze to the horrifying picture. She needed to put it in a plastic zip bag for protection. But she couldn’t leave it here while she returned to the house. She didn’t dare. By the time she got back out here, it could be gone.

Kaycee drew the key from her purse and stuck it in her pocket. Gingerly, as if it were made of flesh-eating acid, she picked up the picture by a corner that wasn’t stained with blood. Holding it out in front of her like the tail of a dead mouse, she made her way to the back door.

Their eyes watched.

The blood on the doorknob glistened as she inserted her key.

Inside the kitchen she laid the photo on the counter and snatched a large plastic bag from a drawer. She slid the photo into the bag. As she closed it, blood smeared inside the plastic. She lowered her eyes and swallowed hard, steadying herself.

Quickly, she washed the residue of blood off her hand.

She picked up the bagged picture and carried it to the car. Set it on top of the Cruiser while she checked her seat. She didn’t want to sit in blood. She saw none there, but the inside handle of her door remained smeared. She’d clean it up later.

Kaycee checked the visor. No blood there either. She pushed it up.

With two fingers she slid the bagged picture off the roof of the car, then got behind the wheel. Kaycee laid the photo on the passenger seat near her purse. She tried not to look at it, but it pulled at her eyes. Her gaze sidled to the picture.

She stilled, staring. Her eyes widened. Slowly she picked up the photo and brought it toward her face.

It had faded completely to black.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Fear nearly paralyzed Kaycee as she pulled out of her driveway. The photo-that-no-longer-was lay upside down on the floor of her passenger seat. The only thing left was a black rectangle and some smeared blood.

How to prove to police it had been a picture of the dead man?

Sure, she could tell her story, just like she’d told Tricia. Tell them about her dream, the photo on her desktop, and now this bagged one. She could tell them about smelling blood as she climbed her stairs. Hearing screams and footsteps. That would work, all right. Chief Davis would sign her into the mental ward on one of those mandatory seventy-two-hour mini-vacations.

But there was still blood on that faded photo. They couldn’t discount that.

Hannah. Even now Kaycee didn’t want to pull one officer off of searching for the runaway. Kaycee would hand over this evidence — what remained of it — and help in the search for Hannah. Once she was found Kaycee could tell Chief Davis everything. They’d deal with it then.

Kaycee’s mind chanted a mantra that her young friend was safe. Anything else was too horrible to consider. But hours were passing. Hannah should have called by now.

Kaycee reversed left onto South Maple and pushed the Cruiser into drive.

She rolled past the old homes on her street, focusing on the scenery she knew so well. Anything to keep her mind from thinking. Large bare-limbed trees dominated the green front lawns after the April rains. Here and there bright yellow forsythia bushes bloomed. On the right houses gave way to the long white building of Crouse Concrete.

Wait.

Kaycee slowed and gazed at the building. It ran long with a flat roof, the left side of the building a number of feet higher than the right. Three extra tall garage doors faced the street. The only windows were in two layers on