When it disappeared over the tree line, he stormed out of the creek, picked up the torch, and began hiking back to his camp.
When he reached it, he found the fire nearly dead, only a rubble of embers smoldering.
He covered the dying fire with twigs and branches from the forest and feasted from the stream that he knew: earthworms from beneath the stones near his camp. He would run out of those at some point, but tomorrow was another day. Today, he had made a lot of progress. He had woken at death’s door and would lay his head down with food in his belly and a fire burning before him. That was progress, such as it was in the Triassic.
Soon, it became clear that the fire wouldn’t survive the night. The rain extinguished it, the sheets smothering it like a blanket.
That sucked. Sam should have thought of that. But what could he do? The light monsoon was a late afternoon tradition on this part of Pangea.
He made a note to gather some dry wood in the cave to start again tomorrow. That was the key to survival—doing better tomorrow than you did today. Getting up every day and improving.
When the smoke of the fire was gone, and the moonlight bathed the rock expanse, night was complete, and with it came the thoughts of what he had left behind. The first memory was of hugging Adeline in that incarceration room. He wondered where she was now. Had she given up on him yet? It didn’t matter. He would either die here or make it home. Losing his ability to see her and Ryan made him realize how much he missed them. For a moment, he was back in that Absolom chamber, staring through the glass, seeing them peering out at him.
In that moment, his world had been ripped apart in more ways than one.
But now, here in the past, a different set of eyes stared at Sam. They belonged to an old man. He stood at the tree line, in the rain, his long hair stringy and gray, his beard thick and matted. A wide scar ran down the left side of his face. He smiled, revealing crooked, broken teeth. He wore the same tank top as Sam—the kind issued by the Absolom departure facility.
The other prisoner had finally found him.
Sam’s heart beat faster. He gripped the stick.
The man stepped forward, into the clearing. His ratty tank top was stained with blood. He had killed before. Sam studied the man, the gleam in his eyes, the smile on his lips, and knew, with almost certainty, that he was here to kill again.
THIRTY
Adeline stared into Elliott’s eyes as her hand moved down to the small pocket in her dress. Her fingers were wrapping around the mobile phone when Elliott smiled. “There’s no service down here.” He studied her. “Which is good. We need to talk, and we don’t want anyone who can hack a mobile phone to be listening.”
He waited.
“Do you know anyone like that?”
Adeline swallowed. “I want to leave.”
Elliott smiled, a silent denial of her request.
A single thought ran through her mind: if she could keep him talking, that would buy her time, maybe enough time for Daniele to come looking for her.
Elliott’s tone was almost casual when he spoke. “You’re making a habit of this, aren’t you, my dear?”
“Habit of what?”
“Sneaking around people’s houses. Looking for their secrets.”
Adeline felt herself begin to shake.
“Constance called me. She’s worried about you.”
“She’s…”
“Not the killer.”
“She has a room. With pictures. From the past.”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“I’ve seen it.”
“Who are they?”
“People from Connie’s past. People she’s trying to track down.”
“Why?”
“It’s private. And it’s not what you think it is.”
Elliott motioned to the screen, to the video where Daniele was walking down the street. At the end of the loop, it paused on a frame where she was looking up at the camera.
“It’s not Connie’s secret that should concern you. It’s Daniele’s.”
“What secret is that?”
“That’s the question. She’s hiding things, Adeline. Her life doesn’t add up.”
Elliott pointed at the still image from the video. “She was there the night Charlie died.” He raised a finger. “And not once in my life has she told me that. Now ask yourself why? Why would she do that? She didn’t even know him. Sure, she knew he was having… issues, but in person, she had never even met him. Why was she there?”
Elliott waited. When Adeline said nothing, he stepped toward her. “She’s using you, Adeline.”
“She’s not.”
“She knows Connie’s secret.”
A chill ran through Adeline. “She does?”
“Of course. All of us do. Go ahead—when you get home, ask her. See if she denies it. See if she tells you. She won’t. For one reason.”
“Which is?”
“The same reason she sent you to Connie’s house.”
Adeline waited, staring at Elliott, knowing what came next.
“I told you. She’s using you, Adeline. She wants you to think it’s Connie because if you do, you won’t investigate her. But you’re the only person who really can. You’re living in her house. You have access none of us do. Why do you think that is? Why do you think you’re in that house?” Elliott paused, a smile forming on his lips. “Your father. He chose for you to live with Daniele for a very good reason, and it’s not the one you think. Do you know what it is?”
“Let’s assume I don’t.”
“I think you do. I think you want to find your father’s killer, Adeline, more than anything. So do I. Daniele doesn’t want that killer to be found—for one reason, and you’re smart enough to know what that reason is.”
*
In the car on the way home from the service, Adeline sat in the front seat, staring out the passenger window, struggling with whether to believe Elliott.
From the back seat, Daniele called to Adeline, “You disappeared for a while.”
“I needed to be alone.”
“You went to the basement?”
“Yes.”
“See anything interesting?”
To Adeline, the question was a fork in the road. One with consequences.
Tell the truth and trust Daniele. Or lie.
Adeline tried to make her voice even. “No.”
Daniele said nothing.
When Adeline turned to look back, the older woman was staring at her.
“Did you ever meet Elliott’s son, Charlie?” Adeline asked.
Daniele didn’t flinch. “No.”
Adeline learned something then. Daniele was a good liar.
*
That night, Adeline tossed and turned and tried to grab hold of sleep, but it was like a fish in a stream slipping through her fingers.
Her mind wandered. She thought about what she had found in the basement of Elliott’s house and in the spare bedroom in Constance’s home. They had secrets. Daniele did too. Everyone around her seemed to have secrets. Were those secrets the key to saving her father? Or were they simply part of the transition to adulthood—realizing that the world wasn’t what it seemed before, that everyone was hiding something, that every adult, on some level, wasn’t who they wanted children to think they were?
She pulled the blanket aside, got on top of it and stared at it. Her mother had created this quilt. In fact, it had been one of her last acts before her death. It was a photomosaic that included pictures of Adeline’s mother, father, her, and her brother. Together, the pictures joined to form a family photo taken at the beach years ago, when Ryan was barely walking. Every time Adeline looked at the quilt, it reminded her of what she had lost. And it steeled her to get her father back.
It also reminded Adeline of her mother—and her strength. It reminded Adeline that even at the end, when she was so sick, she kept working on something to leave behind. That something wasn’t a grand monument, but a soft, sentimental gift, a blanket that would comfort her children on a cold night. It was fitting. Because that was what her mother had been to Adeline: inspiring, comforting, always there for her—until she wasn’t, until she couldn’t be. She lived on in that blanket.