A shiver went down Laurel’s spine. Not a question she hoped to have answered any time soon. “Why did you choose me, Mr. Drake?” She had to keep him talking, soothe his ego, and let him think she found him intriguing. At least that was what she had been told to do when one found themselves in the hands of a kidnapper.
He bent down below the table again, opening drawers. “You fit the bill, Ms. Carpenter, ordinary as that might sound. I saw you at the park that first day and noticed you bore a reasonable resemblance to Nick’s dead wife. The fact that you were involved with the case has made it sweetly ironic, wouldn’t you say? Ah, here we go.” He stood back up clutching a variety of items. “But as you likely have deduced by now, your hair color is all wrong.”
“So the dye was to make the boy resemble one of Nick’s children.”
“Yes,” he said. “Now then, let’s get you tilted up so I can get at you a bit easier.”
The head end of the table dropped down, and Laurel found herself down at knee level staring up at Drake. From beneath the table somewhere he had pulled out a snaking cord with a showerhead on the end of it. He was going to dye her hair right there.
“I don’t really make a good brunette, Mr. Drake.”
He smiled, and from her angle it looked like a twisted frown. “Nonsense. You’ll be lovely. Besides, we must do something to pass the time. Your friends aren’t close enough yet.”
“You want them to find you?”
“But of course, my dear,” he replied, spraying her hair down with warm water. The unusual care with which he took going about dying her hair made Laurel’s skin crawl. “I had thought you smart FBI types would have deciphered this game Nicholas and I have been playing. You have all the evidence you need, or are they too dense to believe in such a plan? But then again, the man does so dread involving others. Far more entertaining this way, really, I must say. Back in ’70 it was far more interesting. You fellows got rather close at one point. I dare say killing you will up the stakes a bit.”
With his hands covered in plastic gloves, Drake began to massage the coloring into Laurel’s hair.
Laurel could not get the morgue pictures of the boy out of her head now, close-ups of the dead skin colored with dye. “Why do all this though? Why didn’t you just kill him after you killed his family?”
“Suffering, Ms. Carpenter. One’s enemies do not suffer if they are dead, and besides, when you cannot die, one needs some way to pass the time.” He chuckled and continued working the dye into her hair. “You know, you really have gorgeous hair. Your best trait, I must say.”
“Thanks.” Laurel could not tell if he was being serious or merely playing her.
“Ms. Fontaine seems to like it. The little cunt has good taste.”
The breath caught in Laurel’s throat. He’d seen them together? How was that possible? It was the first time she had heard anything close to animosity coming out of his mouth. “You don’t like her.”
He gave her a faint smile. “In her way, she is more cold-hearted and vicious than I, but not to you. No, no. She’s sweet on you, Ms. Carpenter. That she made rather plain to see. So your death will be doubly delicious, I must say. Two birds with one stone, or so the saying goes.”
“How did you know?” She did not need to know, but it would keep the conversation going, and she was admittedly curious.
“I have my little helpers, just like Nicholas,” he said.
Laurel realized then. The ghost that stole the penny. The ghost she saw just prior to Drake showing up. He had help from the other side.
He pulled her hair out straight over the edge of the table and let it hang down before proceeding to rinse most of the dye from her hair. His fingers were gentle upon her scalp.
“Now then, I suppose that will have to do. Not quite the right color, but we don’t have much time. Your Ms. Fontaine has a bit of blood in her and will be closing in sooner than I wish.”
He came back up from under the table yet again, this time holding a bowl filled with items she could not see. Only a strand of rubber tubing jutted out from the top. “Now what?”
“I’m going to hook us up in a moment, Ms. Carpenter.” He set the bowl down on the table and began to roll up his sleeves. “But first, a proper bit of scenery needs to be dealt with if you’re going to be Nicholas’s Gwendolyn. Look, Ms. Carpenter. Look here,” he said and leaned over her with a soft smile on his thin lips.
She tried to turn away, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. That feeling of being trapped inside oneself was almost more than she could stand. “No.”
A hand slapped her face, snapping it back the other direction. Laurel gasped and winced, tasting blood in her mouth. “You will look, Ms. Carpenter, or I shall remove your eyelids with a razor and make your final moments in this world most unpleasant.”
Tears began to slowly trickle out of the corners of her eyes. “I’m not ready to die.”
“I’m not killing you yet, my dear. We have about half an hour, I’d say, possibly forty-five minutes. Now then, look here. This next part’s not really as difficult as all that, and you will be far more relaxed under my influence.
“How can you be so sure of that?” She looked at him as he asked the question and felt herself at once drawn in and shut out at the same time.
“I can feel them coming, Ms. Carpenter. They are closing in, eager to save their friend. It shall be close, painstakingly even, if I do say so myself. Now then, let’s get those pants off. I buggered Gwen before I killed her, and you shall have the same privilege. We can’t be leaving out any of the important details, now, can we?” The slight quirk of a smile held nothing but menace this time.
Laurel wanted to scream, but her body no longer belonged to her mind. Everything had become disconnected. Her only choice was to sit back and watch or let herself sink deeper, further out of his reach. He could abuse her body, but in the end, at least he could not touch her soul.
She sank into darkness, Drake’s deadpan accent fading away, finding quiet and solitude. Years of practicing deep meditation allowed her to find that place with ease. In this state, away from Drake’s prying presence, she could reach out. The spirit world was within her reach if she could only achieve a deep enough state of relaxation.
Shelby. If anyone could hear her cry, it would be Shelby. There was a connection between Drake, Nick, and Shelby, a link amongst the dead, but maybe Laurel could hear it. Her abilities did not lean in that direction, but what could it hurt? She had nothing left to lose.
Laurel thought of the sign over the door, with its flowing script and large FF that abbreviated Fitzsimmons Furnishings, and called for Shelby as somewhere above, in the world of flesh and blood, she gave hers willingly, and it began to siphon away.
Chapter 31
“He’s started!” The unmistakable voice of Shelby yelled into Nick’s cell so loudly Jackie could hear it from the driver’s seat. The words sent a chill through her.
“Started? Started what, Nick?”
Nick raised a hand to silence her so he could hear, and Jackie wheeled over to the curb-screeched to a halt. Nick bounced off the side of the door as the front tire hit and rolled up onto the curb.
“You tell where?” he asked Shelby, keeping his hand up to Jackie. A moment later he nodded. “Okay, yeah, I’m getting it, too, now.”
Jackie swatted the hand aside. “What’s he started, Nick?” Panic clawed through her, a tiger ready to devour the last vestiges of rationality and sanity she might have. “Tell me, goddamnit!”
“Head up Steele,” he told Jackie. “We’re at one hundred sixty-fifth, I think, so we’ll start moving up. It can’t be too far.”
“Nick, I swear to God, if-”
“He’s begun drawing her blood, Ms. Rutledge.”
“No! Fuck, no!” she screamed at him, punching him in the shoulder. “It’s been only three hours. It’s too soon.” Jackie pounded her fists against the steering wheel. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t fucking happening.”