Page 67

She recalled more of the details now. “The cellist.”
He nodded. Seemed to find whatever he’d been looking for and enlarged the print on the screen to read it more closely. “Anyway, a month or two later, I arrived home after work to find a car idling in my drive. Paulie, Adam’s right-hand man got out and told me Raiker wanted to speak with me. I invited them inside for a long conversation. A week later he reached out to make me an offer.”
Although the conversation should have been a diversion, knowing the task he was immersed in splintered her attention. A fist clenched in her belly. “What are you trying to find?” she asked, nodding toward his phone.
“It’s unclear how or why Thorne would be involved in the car bombing or Greenley’s death. You’ve mentioned his skill level a few times. From my interview with him, I found his ability to integrate into society to be functional. The difference between our two perceptions may well come from seeing him on and off his medications. The chaotic thought patterns and violent impulses you witnessed firsthand would be quieted with the right meds. I remembered something you told Adam about Thorne hearing voices.”
“That’s not precisely correct.”
“I see that now. You said, ‘But in the jumble of chaotic half-formed thoughts, memories, and violent images, was a repeated clear phrase: “Good, goodies, goodness.” Like a voice of lucidity in an otherwise disordered mind.’ That’s how you knew to look for him in Goodness, Mississippi.”
“It was a gamble. Based not just on that, but yeah.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, suddenly cold. Reese wondered, not for the first time, how different her life would be if she hadn’t followed that hunch, made possible by the “gift” she’d never wanted.
“People, especially those with disorganized minds, can have thoughts of startling clarity among a puddle of otherwise tangled reasoning. But what if that repeated thought you picked up on wasn’t his own?”
She stared at him, comprehension slowly dawning. “You mean that voice didn’t originate with him at all. Maybe it was someone’s instructions he was recalling.”
30
The spotlights overhead strobed the canyon, sweeping and flashing. Stephen pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.Whop whop whop.The helicopter sounded closer than before. He pulled his legs tighter to his chest and ducked his head, trying to make himself very, very small.
His hidey-hole was only a notch in the cliff, but he’d pulled some brush to stack in front of himself. He didn’t like hiding, but there were more places to run outside than there’d been in his mom’s tiny home.
Just because you can’t see me don’t mean I can’t see you, dumbass.Cord’s words drifted through his mind.
“You’re the dumbass,” he muttered. “Fucking dead fuck. I killed you dead.”
The brown-eyed lady should have died, too. All he would’ve needed was a few more minutes. This was all her fault. After his escape, he would have gone far, far away. But he couldn’t let her live. She’d be three, lucky number three. After he popped out her eyes, he’d cut her up. Carve the meat right off her bones, easy as slicing a rabbit.
He imagined it. Saw the blood spraying, mangled muscles laid bare, laced with snapped tendons. The thought calmed him. Until he remembered where he was.
Right now, he was the rabbit, shivering in the night air, hiding from the hungry fox. If the police found him, they wouldn’t put him back in a cell this time. They’d shoot him dead, like a wild lion or bear.
Remember your safe place.
He nodded. He knew what to do. But he couldn’t lead the police there. They’d almost caught him once.
The rental had been perfect, with a one-stall garage without windows. He could come and go without anyone seeing him. Order food to be delivered.
But someone had seen. Someone had tracked him. Stephen didn’t know how, but he’d had a plan. Always have a secret way out. So when the stupid cops had been pounding on the doors, peeking into the windows, he’d been on the roof. Easy to watch their movements and slip away from the side they weren’t checking.
But nothing else about the escape had been easy.
The sound of the chopper wasn’t as loud now. He’d have to wait for it to go away before he left. Stephen couldn’t be here in the morning. He’d have to climb down the cliff at night. There still could be police with flashlights at the top. But if the helicopter went away, the cops might, too, to search somewhere else.
Then he’d find a way to the safe place. Only then could he put the SIM card back in his phone.
He’d need another car. Break in somewhere and steal the keys while the owner was sleeping. Windows were good. They often didn’t have alarms.
But first, he had to get away.
He stayed in position long enough for his legs to cramp. When he tried to stretch them, one foot caught the barrier he’d formed, kicking part of it away. He stilled, frozen in place. Drawing his leg closer, he leaned forward and peered out of one of the thin slits between the remaining bushes. He could barely see the lights from the helicopter anymore. It sounded far away. Just a while longer. Then he could climb down. Careful. Careful. He didn’t want to fall. There were paths in and out of the canyon. Simple to find in the daylight, so it had to still be dark. He’d climbed at night before. Lots of times. Like to the beach with Greg and Crazy Legs. He was a good climber. Another hour here, maybe, before the chopper gave up and flew away. Then he’d find the safe place and call for help.
Soon, now. Very soon. And then he’d find three. He didn’t know how yet. Or where.
You’ll get her. And then she’ll pay.
31