What if Hannah was in some place like that?
Heat flushed through Kaycee. Mandy’s worst fear had come true, now so had her own. What if the worst had happened to Hannah too?
Kaycee’s lungs swelled until they ballooned against her ribs.
“You okay?” Mark’s voice sounded far away.
Kaycee tried to nod. Panic bloomed through her stomach. She could barely breathe. Her fingers curled around the edge of her chair. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. It was the only word she could pray.
Mark laid a hand on her arm.
Kaycee’s gaze roved to his face. He was bent over her, concern etching lines in his forehead. She raked in air. Slowly the panic receded.
“You okay?” He pulled his hand away and straightened.
“I . . . yeah.” She blinked hard.
Rich was eyeing her. The video on his screen stood frozen.
Kaycee’s cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. I’m okay. Really. Just . . . Hannah and everything.”
“I know.” Mark’s voice sounded the most empathetic she’d ever heard it. Kaycee looked up at him, and their eyes locked.
He moved first. “Want some water?”
“Yes, thanks.”
She leaned back in the chair, eyes averted from Rich. His chair squeaked, followed by the sound of clicking as he resumed watching the video.
Mark returned with a plastic cup of water. Kaycee drank it down and placed the cup on the desk. “Thanks. I’m really sorry.”
“No problem.” He walked around his desk and sat down. “So. You said you had something to tell me.”
Great. After that little display this would not be the best timing.
Kaycee straightened her back. “This morning on my computer I saw that dead man again. He blipped on in place of my desktop for a couple seconds, then disappeared. On the bottom of that picture was written one word. Exposure.”
Mark surveyed her. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
At least he wasn’t insisting she’d gone off the deep end. “You were looking for Hannah. That was more important.”
He shook his head. “Exposure. What does that mean?”
“One of my recent columns was titled that. I’m wondering if this is the work of some crazy ‘Who’s There?’ readers.” She didn’t want to tell Mark about her dream and how details from it had played out in the second photo. If Tricia hadn’t believed her, neither would he.
Kaycee picked up her purse and pulled out the bagged photo — her one piece of evidence, what was left of it. “Then when I got in my car to come down here, I found this stuck in the visor.” She held it out to him, face up. “It’s the same photo — the dead man, with a bullet hole in his jaw and one in his head. But this one has blood on it.”
“Blood? ”
“Then minutes after I found it, the picture faded to this black.”
She flicked a look at Rich. He had stopped clicking through a tape to listen. Mark followed her eyes. Rich shifted in his chair and resumed his task.
Mark took the bagged photo from her hand and stared at it.
He flipped the picture to see the back, then turned it right side up. Lines etched in his forehead. Slowly he raised darkened eyes to hers. “This was a picture of that dead man?” Mark’s words resonated, a doubting Thomas now facing evidence. “The third you’ve seen.”
Kaycee nodded. “It’s why I . . . almost lost it there for a minute.”
He held her eyes, speechless. Kaycee bit her lip. “The thing is, Mark, Hannah’s gone. And they — whoever’s doing this to me — are here. For real. Lurking, hiding. They obviously were around my house last night. I didn’t imagine that camera. And the minute I left to come here, they got back into my kitchen to whisk it away. If Hannah made it to my house, and I wasn’t there, but they were . . .”
Kaycee couldn’t bring herself to say the rest. Mark inhaled a long, silent breath. At the same time their eyes lowered to the blood on the photo.
THIRTY
“There she is.”
Rich’s voice made Kaycee jump. Her gaze snapped up from the blackened picture.
Mark rose. “You see Hannah?”
“Yeah. I’ll freeze it.” Rich hit a button then pointed toward the bottom left of the screen.
Kaycee dropped her purse on the floor and hurried to Rich as Mark came around his desk. They leaned down and peered at the frozen shot on the monitor. The camera was apparently mounted in the parking lot between the police station and railroad tracks, taking in a diagonal shot up East Main and mostly focused on storefronts across the street. Near the left edge was Rice Street, running parallel to the tracks, and the Rail-Side Museum. At far left ran the railroad tracks, disappearing at a slant into the side of the screen.
Just this side of those tracks in the darkness, faintly lit by a streetlamp’s circle of light, was Hannah.
“Oh.” Kaycee’s pulse skipped.
The nine-year-old had just crossed the tracks on the other side of the street near the museum. One foot posed in front of the other, midstride. She clutched a small suitcase in both hands.
Mark gestured with his chin. “Play it.”
Rich pushed the button and the picture slid into action.
In silent motion Hannah put down the suitcase and pulled it away from the tracks. Her shoulders were hunched, her head swiveling, as if searching the night for ghosts. She looked so small and alone. Kaycee longed to reach into the monitor and pull her out. Tell her everything was going to be okay.
Abruptly Hannah stopped. Her head turned right.
“She’s looking this direction,” Mark said.
Hannah veered left and headed up Rice Street.
Kaycee’s mouth creaked open. “Why would she go that way?”
“The station.” Rich shook his head. “I think she didn’t want to pass by here.”
In tense silence they watched her back as she continued up Rice Street. On her left ran the tracks.
Thirty seconds later she twisted to look behind her. At the edge of the screen red lights began to flash.
“A train’s coming,” Kaycee whispered.
Hannah drew in her shoulders as if she wanted to melt into the pavement. The train shot from the bottom left of the screen and up the tracks. So silent on the film. But at night in the darkness, and so close — the sound must have terrified her.
Hannah slapped her hands over her ears.
The trains passing through Wilmore were long. As this one sped by, car after endless car, Hannah hunched over, ears covered. Finally her small form straightened. The train continued to pass. Hannah grabbed the handle of her suitcase and scurried up Rice Street. They saw her under the light of a street lamp, but the next one wasn’t working. Hannah’s form dimmed.