She looked at him, tension radiating from her in unseen waves, the tendons in her neck taut. She must have a splitting headache, and knowing Miranda, she’d just suffer with it. She’d told him once that pain reminded her she was alive. He thought it was more personal punishment stemming from her guilt that she’d survived and Sharon hadn’t.
“I can see her, Quinn,” Miranda whispered, her voice quivering. “Ashley. In the dark. Cold. Naked and scared. Terrified. Worse than I was.”
“Miranda, don’t do this-”
She shook her head, leaned into him as if imploring him to understand. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.
“No, no,” she said. “I have to focus on her. I have to remember. Don’t you see that it’s worse for her? She knows. She knows he’s the Butcher. Rebecca was killed only days ago; Ashley must be thinking she’s next.” Her voice caught, as if in a sob, but no tears came.
He gently pulled her all the way into his arms and enveloped her. Her body shook as she tried to contain her emotions. That she let him console her was a huge step, one that gave him hope.
And knowing there was hope opened his heart even more.
She took a deep breath and said into his chest, “I called Charlie with my search team,” she continued. “We’re starting out at oh-eight-hundred.”
“You need to sleep,” he murmured, rubbing her back.
She pulled back and shook her head. “I can’t sleep. Not knowing Ashley is out there. But-dammit, I don’t know what to do! We search acres and acres and never find the women alive. But I don’t know what else to do. I can’t do anything.”
Miranda had never been one to sit around and let other people do the job. She jumped in with both feet, from the beginning.
Before he could speak, to try and offer her some inadequate platitude, a tall, skinny doctor with a full head of dark, graying hair approached. “Agent Peterson?” he said, hand extended, dark eyes glancing at Miranda, then back at him. “Doctor Sean O’Neal.”
Quinn shook it. “Thanks for coming out. What’s the status of Ms. Anderson?”
“Is she going to make it?” Miranda asked.
Dr. O’Neal sighed, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. He put his lenses back on and said, “I don’t know. The odds were against her going in, but she held strong. Fifty-fifty, now that she survived the surgery. Sheriff Thomas contacted her parents out of state and I just got off the phone with them. The blows to her head were severe. Fortunately, her spine wasn’t damaged. I feared the nerve had been severed, but it’s good. Unfortunately, even if she wakes up, I have no idea what short- or long-term brain damage there will be.
“In short,” the doctor continued, “she’s in a coma.”
Ryan Parker awoke with a start. His heart pounded in the grayness of his room. He felt damp, and for a moment thought he’d wet himself, then realized he’d sweat in his sleep, enough to chill him.
But he was chilled even more from the nightmare.
He glanced at his digital clock: 5:46 A.M.
He swallowed several times and gagged because his mouth was so dry. He’d had nightmares before, but nothing was as real, as scary, as this one. Because this nightmare had happened. That girl really had been killed, and he’d seen her hollow stare in the middle of the woods, accusing him. He’d almost closed her eyes because of that
But his nightmare combined reality with fiction. She hadn’t reached out for him in the woods, he told himself over and over again. That was a dream, something his mind made up. It took several minutes for Ryan to separate what he’d really seen last week with what he’d imagined in his dream.
But Rebecca Douglas’s blank eyes haunted him whether he slept or not.
He slid silently out of bed and crossed over to his dresser, carefully sliding open the bottom drawer. Inside were his special things, in one of the few places his mother didn’t search in his room. Cool rocks, a fish fossil he’d found at Yellowstone, a piece of petrified wood, baseball cards, wrappers from Double Bubble gum that had funny cartoons.
And the belt buckle.
He didn’t remember the entire nightmare, but right before he woke himself, he’d pictured the belt buckle, the bird with the glowing green eyes.
He didn’t turn on any lights, but felt around in the far corner of the drawer until his hand touched the cold steel. He froze, sensing something was wrong, but not knowing what.
He should have gone down to that FBI guy and showed it to him. But it was too late now.
It was probably nothing, just some guy pissing in the woods.
His fingers wrapped around the metal bird almost as if they had a mind of their own. And at that moment, he knew what he had to do, whom he needed to show the buckle to.
His father wasn’t the easiest person to talk to, but he was the smartest person Ryan knew. He was a judge. He’d know exactly what to do with the buckle, who should have it.
He started toward his parents’ bedroom, then smelled coffee downstairs. He detoured into the kitchen, hoping his father was there.
He was. “Hi, Dad.”
“You’re up early.”
He shrugged, fingered the belt buckle. “I was wondering… well, I found something and don’t really know what it is. I thought you might…” That sounded stupid. He knew it was a belt buckle, he just didn’t want to tell his dad where he’d found it.
“Sure, what is it?”
“There you are.”
Ryan jumped. His mother walked in wearing her robe, and frowned.
“Delilah,” his dad said, “I thought you were still sleeping.”
“I woke up and you weren’t there. I went to check on Ryan, and he wasn’t there, either.”
“I went to check on the horses, they seemed kind of spooked, and couldn’t get back to sleep so I made a pot of coffee. Can I get you a cup?”
“I can get it myself,” his mother said.
Ryan didn’t want to talk to his dad with his mother there. He was sure to be punished for going back near where that dead girl was found. His father’s punishments were usually lighter than his mother’s. He’d catch his dad tonight.
“I’m going to get ready for school,” he said.
“Didn’t you want to show me something?” his dad asked.
“It’s not important. I’ll show you tonight.”
“Okay.”
His mother leaned over for a kiss, and he brushed his lips against her cheek, then his father’s, before scrambling up the stairs.
CHAPTER 20
Before Miranda could leave the hospital, she had to see JoBeth Anderson. She had no trouble talking her way past the guard. Sometimes being Nick’s ex-girlfriend had its advantages.
JoBeth was a survivor. She wasn’t Rebecca or any of the dead girls. She was alive. More than anything, Miranda wanted her to know that she was strong and had to fight. Fight to take down the bastard who’d kidnapped her friend.
