Buried Secrets
Alexandria Clarke
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
20. Two Weeks Later
About the Author
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Prologue
2:10AM
Downtown Chicago
Megan Hollows’s shrill giggle echoed off the damp brick walls of a dark street corner as she left the bar and scurried toward her hotel. The date had gone well, almost too well for a guy she’d swiped right on, but the bartender’s heavy pours and chiseled jaw had captured more of her attention. While her date went to the bathroom, she craftily jotted her number on the receipt. The bartender grinned and winked when he spotted it. He probably wouldn’t call, but the brief moment warmed her cheeks regardless.
Megan’s tan visage glowed red beneath a stoplight as she darted over the crosswalk. Her breath came out in silver puffs, lingering in the air before disappearing. She’d been sweating in the bar, and the damp collar of her coat rested coldly against her neck. Hopefully, neither the bartender nor her date had noticed the deodorant stains beneath the arms of her dress. What an embarrassment that would have been.
Chicago was unusually quiet that night. No one partied much on a Sunday evening, all too busy dreading the beginning of the work week. A chilly wind swept between the buildings. If you stood in its way, you might sense the city’s ghosts as they plucked at your sleeves and nipped at your heels. Most people had the chance to leave, but the souls who rode on the wind would never escape the blaze they died in.
Megan shivered and quickened her pace. A hair tickled her ear and sent a thrill down her spine. She swatted it away, drew up her hood, and zipped the coat to her chin. Her excitement waned as she sank into a puddle of melted snow. The frigid liquid ricocheted off her boots and splashed against her calves. She clenched her teeth.
The darkness seemed more complete in between streetlights and bar signs. The shadows deepened and grew longer. An ambulance screamed by, breaking the spell of silence. Megan savored the flashing lights and roaring siren as safety radiated from the presence of living people. A moment later, the ambulance and its comfort turned a corner and vanished, leaving her alone again.
Her phone chimed. She fumbled pulling it out of her pocket. It slipped between her fingers and landed in the gutter. With a short swear, she swooped to pick it up and wiped the wet gravel from the screen. An unknown number blinked at her.
“Hello?” she answered.
Silence greeted her.
“Hello?” she said again. “Is anyone there?”
Nothing.
Megan hung up and rolled her eyes. Up ahead, the hotel shone like a beacon. She set her gaze on the top floor, where the pointed roof struck the sky like a fist of lightning. Not far, she thought to herself. Another block or so.
A ragged cough made her glance over her shoulder. A homeless man sat slumped against an alley wall, easily mistaken for a pile of rags. On his knee rested a shivering shaggy dog. Megan pulled off her scarf.
“May I?” she asked the man.
He nodded, and she draped the thick scarf around the dog’s thin bones, tucking the fabric beneath its paws to keep the animal warm from the concrete. The dog wagged its tail.
“Thank you,” the man grunted. “She likes it.”
Megan waved goodbye and ambled on, still slightly tipsy. After what seemed like forever, she arrived at the front door of the hotel. The doorman beckoned her inside, and she sighed as she stepped into the heated lobby.
The nighttime concierge glanced up from his computer. “Good evening, Miss Hollows. You’re getting in quite late.”
“Drinks,” she said with a shrug, as if this were a satisfactory answer in all regards. “You know how it is.”
“I certainly do. Can I help you with anything?”
“Room service?”
“I’m afraid the kitchen is closed already.”
She pouted. “You’re no fun, Jeffrey.”
“It’s Jordan, ma’am.”
Megan waved her purse by way of goodnight and headed for the elevators. Inside, she pressed her finger to the button for the twelfth floor and her nose against the glass. As she zoomed upward, she watched the lobby drop away.
She stumbled to her door and swiped her key card—once, twice, three times—before the light turned green and the lock clicked open. Megan lurched inside, shed her coat, and dropped it on the floor. She made to fall into bed, but there was one problem:
Somebody was already sitting on it.
“What are you doing here?” Megan demanded. “How did you even get in?”
She never received an answer, no longer conscious to do so.
1
Gwyneth Paltrow came to me in a dream and told me I wasn’t taking enough vitamins. As if to prove her right, my skin shriveled and my bones sagged. If I dared to move, my entire body threatened to fall apart. Gwyneth offered an angelic smile and opened her palm to reveal a single golden pill. Light emanated from the little gel capsule, as if the sun lived inside it.
“Take it,” Gwyneth urged, nodding encouragingly.
I reached forward. My gray flesh disintegrated and fell off, revealing the muscle beneath. I groped for the capsule, desperate for relief.
“Take it,” Gwyneth said again, more insistently this time.
“I’m trying!”
The golden pill expanded and outgrew Gwyneth’s palm. I covered my eyes as the sunlight grew brighter. Gwyneth’s voice deepened, but she was no more, absorbed by the astronomical vitamin.
“Take the pill, Jack.”
I woke with a start, my heart pounding, but it wasn’t the dream that had pulled me out of sleep. My phone buzzed angrily on the nightstand. My eyes watered as I squinted at the screen and recognized the number. I slid across
