Jack took stock of the situation. A cult was trying to abduct his daughter for some bizarre ritual involving human sacrifice. There was a secret underground chamber filled with skeletons, in the backwoods of Maryland. And now a psychopath in a coma was haunting him from his hospital bed and was able to take physical form?
He wanted to laugh at it all, pass it off as a grand delusion worthy of university study. But the images of the cave were too clear in his mind to be laughed away. A chill passed through him as he pictured Huckley’s apparition in front of him. The complete helplessness he felt with his body immobilized.
He absently rubbed his right wrist and hand, the one that had held the gun. The skin wasn’t broken but a deep bruise had already developed. Purple and red smudges covered his wrist and lower forearm.
The irony was that Jack was thankful for the bruise. At least it was something he could see. Something he understood. Proof that this wasn’t all in his head but that it, whatever it was, did exist at least in some small, painful, bruised measure in the physical world. His world. But even as the bruise comforted, it confirmed his worse suspicions.
However Huckley engineered his activities outside of the hospital room, he was getting better at it. This was the first time Huckley had the strength to take form and use force. But he hadn’t been able to sustain the force for long.
Jack wondered how long had it taken to empty the chamber into Lonetree? Five or six seconds? Then the force gripping his wrist had disappeared, as if the energy required for the action drained Huckley, forcing him to retreat back to his own body. It was all theory, but it seemed likely. Jack was starting to get a better feel for his enemy. If it had been possible, Huckley would have stayed around to gloat over Lonetree’s corpse. Not only that, but Huckley had said ‘first him, then yourself.’ He was certain that Huckley had intended the last bullet for Jack. Whatever the reason, Huckley hadn’t been able to finish the job and was forced to leave as Jack discharged the gun at Lonetree.
Jack smiled as he pictured Lonetree’s wide-eyed expression when he raised the gun and started firing. The ex-Navy Seal still had sharp reflexes but nothing was fast enough to dodge the blasts from such a short range. Lonetree had reached the same conclusion in the few hundredths of a second between the time Jack first raised the gun and the sound of the first shot exploded into the cave. Years of training hardwired into his nervous system made him drop and roll for cover even though he knew it was useless to avoid the gunshots. By the time he hit the floor, Jack had already fired three times with deadly accuracy. If there had been bullets in the gun, Lonetree would have been dead.
Luckily for both of them, Lonetree was a liar and a cheat. The whole scene before they started down the cave, handing Jack the gun as a sign that he trusted him, was a scam. Blanks. The gun was loaded with blanks from the beginning. Lonetree had played him for a fool.
Lonetree wasn’t apologetic for his deception. After the reverberations of the gun shots finally died down, he’d looked up at Jack standing over him, shrugged and said, “Didn’t think I’d trust you with bullets, did you?” And that was the end of the conversation about the gun.
Jack looked over at the driver’s seat and wondered what else the man had lied to him about. He pushed the thought from his mind. The last few hours had been a nauseating ride of emotions and the last thing he needed was to wander through the minefields of his own paranoia. He needed to trust someone and Lonetree at least knew something about what was going on. An old saying about strange bedfellows tried to work its way through the clutter in his mind. Lonetree interrupted him.
“You might get cell reception right about here. The main road is around that bend.”
Jack took the phone from Lonetree and flipped it open. He watched the Sprint icon flashing, Searching for signal. Another fifty yards up the road and the message blinked off and a single bar appeared. He punched the speed dial number for Lauren’s cell.
Busy.
He knew the hospital had a back-up pager to reach Lauren in an emergency. He needed that number.
He dialed Midland General and waited impatiently through four rings before the on duty nurse picked up.
“This is Jack Tremont. I need Dr. Tremont’s pager—”
“Mr. Tremont, they’ve been looking for you,” the nurse blurted out.
Jack felt a wave of nausea. Something must have happened. Please tell me Lauren’s not there. Please tell me she’s not there. “Is Dr. Tremont in the building?”
“Hold on. I’ll get her.”
Jack’s stomach dropped with the words. Then the line went dead. For a second he thought she’d disconnected him by accident. Then a sharp beep signaled that he was on hold. The beep only sounded twice before Lauren was on the line.
“Oh God, Jack. Where are you?”
Jack tried to answer but his throat was suddenly too dry. The panic in her voice answered his question. They had his little girl. It wasn’t a lie. Only then did Jack realize how well his subconscious had created a parallel explanation for everything that had happened, a carefully constructed rationalization that would lead him and his family back to their simple, quiet lives. But it all balanced on this phone call, on hearing that Sarah and Becky were safe, that they were in Baltimore watching the dolphin show at the National Aquarium. That the whole thing was a nightmare, a sticky cobweb that he had walked through, messy and hard to get out of his hair, but nothing a hot shower and a change of clothes wouldn’t fix.
“Jack! Are you there?”
“Yes,” Jack shouted into the phone, as though the volume of his voice would somehow clear up the choppy cell connection. “Are the girls with you? Is Sarah safe?”
Lauren said the words he expected, but still could never prepare himself to hear. “Sarah’s gone. Someone took her.” She broke down and started crying.
Jack wanted to soothe her, tell her they would get her back, that nothing bad would happen. But he felt numb and couldn’t speak.
Lauren’s tears stopped and she cleared her throat. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to call you all day. And…” the tone of her voice changed, lowered as if she were guarding her words from someone nearby. Even over the bad connection the words came across edged with trembling accusation. “How did you already know about Sarah?”
“Listen carefully. I know who took Sarah.”
“Jesus. Who? Where is she?”
“Huckley. Nate Huckley took her. I know this sounds crazy but I saw him and he told me what he was going to do.”
There was dead air. He could hear her breathing so he knew he hadn’t lost the connection. Lonetree tapped his shoulder to attract his attention, but Jack ignored him. He shouted into the phone. “Did you hear me? It was Nate Huckley. And there are others involved. Janney’s one of them. You’re in danger. You’ve got to believe me.”
“Oh Jack,” Lauren moaned.
With those two words, the bottom fell out of his world. He had been in a free fall all day and now the safety net had just been yanked away. She didn’t believe him. “Listen I’ll be there in half an hour, OK? Half an hour.”
More dead air. Then Lauren’s defeated voice, “Sheriff Janney wants to talk to you. I think you should do what he asks you.”
“No. I’ll be there in—”
“Hello Jack, this is Sheriff Janney. How are you?” He talked slowly, pleasantly, like a hostage negotiator asking the bad guy what kind of pizza he wanted while the SWAT team took their positions.