Edge of Midnight (16 page)

16

T
he doll dangled from the driver’s-side window, its gold hair shimmering in sunlight. Mia stayed on the curb while the other child approached the hatchback. The male voice coming from inside the car was barely audible, wrapped in the radio’s pulsating beat.

“Hey, sweetheart, look what I have. Don’t you want it?”

The doll waggled enticingly in the hot, sluggish air. Sweat beaded on Mia’s brow and her heart began to beat harder. This wasn’t…right. She watched as the little red-haired girl inched shyly closer.

“Tell your friend it’s okay. She can come, too.”

Cuddling the doll now, the child grinned and looked back, motioning excitedly to Mia as the door creaked open behind her. Within the space of a breath she was snatched up in hard, corded arms, her skinny legs kicking in midair. A hand clapped over her mouth, stifling her cry. The eyes that met Mia’s were clear and cold…and hungry. Her knees felt shaky. She took several steps back, nearly tripping on the curb. The girl was stuffed inside, the door slammed closed and the hatchback peeled away, tires screeching on the sleepy neighborhood street.

Mia stared at the bedroom’s white ceiling as she waited for the frantic pace of her breathing to slow. She had seen the car’s driver in her nightmare this time, but he hadn’t really been a man at all. More of a rangy teenager, with a shock of dark hair and wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. But his
face…

It was a much younger version of the man in the sketch.

Although the night-light cast a soft glow, Mia sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. The alarm clock indicated it was after two in the morning. Shoving away the sheets, she got up and paced the room, arms wrapped around herself. She once again contemplated Dr. Wilhelm’s theory that the dreams were merely symbolic of her recent trauma. That premise made even more sense now, since in this latest version the face of her abductor had been transposed onto the man in her nightmare.

Still, something kept stubbornly whispering to her the dream could be real.

She hadn’t found anything to support such an idea, however. No articles about children abducted from foster homes in Jacksonville, either recently or twenty-five years ago. But there was one additional place she could check, she now realized—the newspaper’s microfiche archives, stored in a basement room known as “the morgue” since it was a burial ground for old news clippings, most from decades back. She had forgotten about it until now, since pretty much all research these days was done online. The problem was, she wasn’t sure if the film even still existed. Much of it had been disposed of several years earlier and the archive manager laid off. Newspapers, even the larger ones, were all undergoing hard times.

When she went into work in another few hours, she would find out if the archives were still intact. Or she could go now. Mia felt restless and couldn’t sleep anyway, the troubling dream nagging at her like a sore tooth. Making a decision, she showered and dressed, then took off for the paper in the early-morning hours.

Pulling her Volvo into the building’s parking garage, she felt a trickle of nerves. She’d braved the decks several times since her abduction, but this was the first time she had navigated them with no one around—no other cars or people walking through, and in an eerie blanket of darkness. Mia prayed it wouldn’t set off some terrifying flashback.

She parked close to the glass-door entry that led to the building’s lobby, her heels echoing off the concrete walls and her skin prickling as she hurried through the shadows. Sliding her employee ID card through the after-hours entry system, she let herself inside.

The newspaper offices were empty; the lights lowered at the chrome-and-glass reception desk. Mia walked past it, down the corridor and into the newsroom, flipping on the harsh overhead fluorescent panels. She placed her purse inside her desk drawer and locked it, then headed to the elevators.

Getting off on the windowless basement floor, she gasped as she nearly collided with Ronnie, one of the evening janitors, who seemed just as surprised to see her.

“What’re you doin’ here, Miss Hale?” The African-American man with graying hair frowned as he checked his watch. “It’s the middle of the night. You got some kind of breakin’ news story?”

“I’m just looking for something. An old article, actually.”

“You’re here all by yourself?” He shook his head. “You think that’s a good idea, after what happened?”

“Probably not.” Mia felt sheepish, aware of his wisdom. “Ronnie, is the morgue still down here?”

“Uh-huh. What’s left of it, anyway. Door’s locked, though. I don’t think anyone’s been in there in a long time.”

“Can you let me in?”

He fished into his trouser pockets, withdrawing a massive key ring. Mia waited as he rifled through it before finding the right one. “C’mon.”

She followed him to the end of the hall. He unlocked a metal door. “I was just leavin’, but you want me to stay down here with you? This ain’t a real morgue, but it still gives me the creeps.”

“Thanks, but I may be down here awhile. I’ll be fine.”

Ronnie gave a polite nod and departed. Mia turned on the light. Tall filing cabinets lined the walls, and there were several antiquated microfiche viewers sitting on desks in the middle of the room. She went to the cabinets and began looking. Multiple decades were missing, but to her relief the year she was interested in was still among the remaining film. She pulled out the entire section, which consisted of a stack of acetate sheets upon which the newspapers were imaged, page-by-page and reduced to thumbnail size. With no searchable index, it could take hours or even a full day to scan through all the headlines, she realized dejectedly. She figured she could at least eliminate the ones from the winter months, since in her dreams the heat had been sweltering.

Mia took the film over to the closest viewer, plugging the cord into the electrical outlet and wiping dust from its acrylic screen. Beginning with the microfiche marked
April 1987-week one,
she inserted the first sheet into the slot and focused it. She began scanning the headlines, turning the viewer’s knob to see each page.

Some two hours later, she stopped to rest her strained eyes. Frustrated and feeling foolish, she wondered again if the whole thing was a waste of time.
Dr. Wilhelm believes the dreams are just that…dreams.

Another half hour had passed when she placed the film marked
June 1987-week two
into the viewer. She began scanning the pages of the daily editions. When she reached page two of the paper dated Tuesday, June 11, she felt her heart drop into her stomach:

Child Missing from Foster Care Group Home.

A little girl named Joy Rourke had vanished without a trace.

It hadn’t even made the front-page news.

Mia sat at her desk as Eric read the printout from the newspaper archives. She had called him a short time earlier, waking him to tell him what she’d found. Outside the newsroom windows, the morning sky was still dark and only one or two other early birds had made it into work.

“Why wouldn’t I tell someone?” she asked, confused and unable to hide her upset. “A little girl was taken right in front of me, the article proves it. It happened at the same group home where I stayed until I was placed with a foster family. I never said a word. I never even remembered it until—”

“Until you started the memory-retrieval therapy.” He finished her statement, his voice still a little husky and sleep-roughened. His eyes were sympathetic. “You were a six-year-old child yourself, Mia. Torn from your mother and home just days earlier. And the only friend you’d made was abducted off the street. You were
traumatized.
Your mind couldn’t process anything else, so it shut down and repressed what you saw.”

She rubbed a hand over her tired eyes. Eric’s rationale failed to lessen her guilt. If she had given a description of the hatchback and teenage boy she’d witnessed taking Joy Rourke all those years ago, she might have been able to help her. She shook her head, still in disbelief that she’d somehow shut out the terrible event. While she had awaited Eric’s arrival, she’d gone through later issues of the archived newspaper, but so far had found no additional articles. “I wonder what happened to her. Whether she was ever found.”

“Now that we have a name, I’ll contact the Sheriff’s Office and see if they can come up with any files. It was a long time ago, though.” Eric dragged his fingers through his short hair. He’d taken only enough time to put on jeans and a T-shirt, and his jaw held a bluish hint of stubble. Even in the current situation, Mia realized she felt the same hard attraction to him.

“Dr. Wilhelm was wrong about the dreams,” she said quietly. “They weren’t symbolic at all. They were real.”

“They could mean a lot more than that, Mia.”

She didn’t respond. Eric lowered his words. “It means there’s a possibility this guy’s connection to you is deeper than we thought.”

Mia rose from her desk, fidgety and nervous. She’d told him that in her latest dream, Joy Rourke’s kidnapper appeared to be a younger version of the man who had abducted
her
in present day. Until now, the assumption was that Mia had been taken because she’d gained The Collector’s attention by writing about the recent kidnappings. But what if he’d also known her to be the same little girl who had witnessed him taking another child off the street all those years ago? The possibility put goose bumps on her skin.

“I need coffee,” she murmured, seeking an escape.

She went into the staff kitchen. No one had started the coffeemaker yet, so she busied herself with filling the carafe with water and placing a packet of grounds into the filter. She didn’t have to turn around to know Eric had followed her.

“Look at me,” he ordered softly. When she finally turned to face him, he asked, “What time did you get here this morning?”

“I don’t know, three-thirty, maybe. I couldn’t sleep and I remembered the clippings archive in the basement.”

“So you came here alone, in the middle of the night.”

She stiffened at the censure in his voice. Mia gave a small nod.

“That can’t happen again. You were already taken once, right out of this building’s parking garage.”

“I’m not going to live in fear, Eric. And you said yourself it’s rare for someone like this to go after the same person twice—”

“Will Dvorak told me a car might’ve followed you last week. Did it?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know.” Mia sighed, realizing she wasn’t sure what she thought anymore. “I think I probably just spooked myself. Seeing Pauline Berger’s body had me rattled.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wasn’t sure…and I didn’t want you to think I was some panicky—”

“Mia.” He whispered her name. When she tried to pull her gaze from his, Eric’s fingers caught hers. Something in the air shifted around them, and she felt her heart beat a little harder as he bent his head closer to hers. His intense eyes held a seriousness that made her throat ache.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you. We need to start taking some precautions. Especially if your dreams were really repressed memories and the unsub knows you from before. We also need to alert Dr. Wilhelm about this.”