sprawling to the ground in a stunning burst of pain. He cried out but then caught himself, clamping his hand over his mouth, tears burning in his eyes as he lay on the jungle floor for a moment and tried to decide what to do. Panting. Breathing. Watching. If he didn’t move, they might think he was dead. Yes, that might work. But then again, they might check, just to make sure. What should he do? He wanted to wake up from the nightmare, but he was stuck inside it. You can’t wake up when you’re not asleep. And he wasn’t asleep. He wished he was, but the jungle was real, and so were the tears and the babies and the bodies. So many bodies. You can’t leave the nightmare when you’re living inside it. When it’s living inside you.
If he stood up, they’d shoot him again. Yes, he knew that much. He knew they would. They’d kill him. But he had to get up. He had to! He had to keep going to get away from it all. Away from the screaming babies. Away from the quiet corpses.
So he did. He stood. His breath ragged, a streak of bright pain clutching his arm, he shoved himself to his feet while the gunshot wound screamed at him from his shoulder.
“There he is!” called a voice from somewhere behind him.
The boy flew toward the underbrush as another bullet ripped into the shadows that seemed to be growing all around him. The sounds of the night were beginning to envelop the jungle now that the sun had sunk into the trees. Strange and primal sounds surrounded him: rare insects and wild birds and the haunting cries of the predators who preferred to hunt only in the dark. Heavy clouds hung on the horizon, dark and distant and swollen in the sky, growing more and more gray by the second.
He stumbled to the shore of the river and collapsed, dizzy with pain, the water gently whirling around him, taking his lifeblood downstream toward some distant, unnamed shore.
The voices of the men reached him, but they were fainter now, floating on air. “I got him. C’mon. Let’s get back. There might be others who try to run.”
He heard the words echo somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, somewhere between sleep and death, between night and day. The boy couldn’t tell anymore where reality ended and the dreaming began.
And then, with the sky darkening above him, he closed his eyes and let the night climb in with its tawny fingers, sliding back the curtain and worming its way deep into the secret part of his soul.
That’s where the dream ended. That’s where he woke up every night now, dying beside the river, soaked in muddy, bloody water, as the night climbed into his heart.
He lay in bed, shivering despite himself. He wasn’t a ten-year-old boy anymore. He was a forty-year-old man. He listened. No gunshots. No screams. Just the gentle sounds of the house settling and sleeping all around him. And the autumn wind outside the house, prowling through the night.
He eased the covers down. A sliver of waning moon hung outside his window, but in the glimmering starlight his eyes found the evidence of the bullet hole on his left shoulder. The scar that told him it was all so much more than a dream. It was a memory.
“Soon,” he said to the darkness, “the circle will be complete.” With his fingertip he traced the ridge of the scar where the bullet had ripped into him. And to him it felt like evidence of his destiny. After all, he was bound for great things, and nothing could stop destiny. His parents had taught him that much, long ago. And Father himself had told him he was special; told him that he would carry on the work when the time was right.
Aaron Jeffrey Kincaid didn’t bother to close his eyes again. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore that night anyway. Not after the dream.
He rolled out of bed and sat by the window, letting the starlight caress him, inspire him, complete him. In just a few days, everything that he had worked for would be fulfilled. The message would reverberate around the world. Until then, all he had to do was stay alert and aware.
Alert and aware.
Sharper and more focused than ever.
24
“He called your room!” I had to hold the cell phone away from my ear. When Ralph gets upset, his voice is as unwieldy as his left hook. “How in the name of all that is holy did he get the phone number?”
“Well”-I was holding the phone at arm’s length by then-“I imagine it’s not too tough to call up a hotel operator and get connected to a room if you know the guest’s name.”
“How did he know you were there?”
“I don’t know. He might have followed us from Mindy’s crime scene on Thursday, if he was in the crowd.”
Ralph cussed under his breath. “Why didn’t you call me last night?”
I wasn’t really up for this. I rubbed my eyes. I hadn’t slept much. Again. “Ralph, it wouldn’t have done any good. I called the tech guys; they couldn’t trace it. I’m moving into the hotel across the street from the fed building this morning. Wallace is sending some guys to pick me up. He’s getting me a car.”
Ralph grunted. “’Bout time.” He’d calmed down enough for me to slide the phone under my ear as I shoved a sheaf of papers into one of the manila folders on the desk beside me. He must have been processing what I’d just said because after a moment he added, “That mean what I think it does?”
I glanced at the suitcase and the backpack that had been waiting for me when I arrived at the hotel last night. True to his word, Ralph had sent for them. The suitcase was for work, the backpack was for play. I’d been planning for months to spend a couple days climbing in Linville Gorge after that law enforcement conference. Didn’t look like I’d get a chance now, though.
“Yeah. I think I’ll stick around for a few more days. Nothing pressing on my calendar. And this guy has already made two mistakes-waiting for us at the mall and calling me at the hotel. He’s overconfident. We might still be able to save Jolene.”
“If she’s still alive.” His voice sounded grim.
I wasn’t sure if I should tell him the killer had mentioned my daughter, wasn’t sure if he’d want me off the case. I decided to risk it; after all, this was Ralph. “He knows I have a daughter, Ralph. He mentioned her by name. He might know where she is. I need to make sure Tessa and my parents are safe.”
“We’ll get them to a safe house out in Denver.”
That was Ralph for you. A good man.
“Thing is, Ralph, I need to see her.” I’d had a lot of time to think things through last night after talking with the Illusionist. My adrenaline had been pumping so hard I’d needed to do twenty minutes of pull-ups on the door frame of the hotel room just to calm down. It’s great exercise. Of course, you can only use your fingertips though. Back when I started working out it took me two years before I was able to do just one fingertip pull-up; another year before I could do ten. That was a decade ago. I’ve gotten a little better since then.
“What do you mean, ‘see her’?” he said.
I took a slow breath. “I need to see Tessa, Ralph. In person. The truth is, we’ve both been having a hard time. We’ve never really talked about Christie’s death. And now these dead girls, this case.. it’s getting to me. I need to make things right with her. You have a kid, Ralph, you know what I’m talking about. My parents can stay out there, but not Tessa. Either I fly back to Denver for a couple days or the Bureau needs to bring her out here.”
“Pat, you know I can’t-”
“Get her a safe place close by, Ralph.” I eyed the luggage. “Either that or I’m heading back to Colorado right now.”
I heard a knock on the hotel room door and peered through the eyehole. Even though it was still dark outside, I could see two very annoyed-looking officers standing outside my door. Neither one looked old enough to shave. One of them held up a set of car keys, dangling them in front of the peephole as if he were trying to hypnotize it. Ah, good. My rental car had arrived. I unlocked the door.
“Well, Ralph? I’m waiting.”
He cussed. Sometimes that was a good sign, sometimes a bad one. I figured the timing on this one was in my favor. “OK,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m saying this-I’ll make it happen. But once you two have ironed things
