Never Wake (23 page)

“Stop that. It’s not like you knew anyone else was out there. Thank God you had the security chains on.”

“I took them off when I thought you were on your way up.” Emma looked down at her hands and then somewhere far off. “I felt him coming, so I put them back on before he could get off the elevator. How did you get through the lobby doors?”

“I still had your keys in my pocket from this morning.”

Emma nodded, holding the bridge of her nose with her left hand. “Can you help me back upstairs?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Troy stood up and saw the knife lying by Emma on the steps. She reached down to help Emma up. “You were going to fight him with that?”

“I’m fine. Just not used to a fifty-yard dash down stairs.” Emma raised the knife, point down. “It was either this or my cane. I thought about hiding, but I kept picturing you getting off the elevator and running into him out there. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Troy grabbed Emma’s shoulders. “Listen to me. If anything like that ever happens again, you hide. You hear me? I can take care of myself.”

Emma’s expression was hard for Troy to read. “I couldn’t just let you walk in to that. He could have hurt you.”

“It wasn’t worth the risk. You didn’t even know if I was coming back, Emma.”

“Yes, I did.”

Troy noticed the apologetic quality to her voice. As if she had overheard something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Or because of—you know?”

“Both. I hoped, and because I felt it right here.” Emma touched her chest. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this right now. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Troy interrupted. “Don’t apologize. I mean, yes, it’s—you know—embarrassing to know that you knew stuff about me before I even became aware of it, but I’m kind of glad about it now. I mean, if you hadn’t sensed it wasn’t me…” Troy started looking angry again, and Emma stood up and started walking up the stairs as if every part of her body hurt. Troy followed behind her, wondering why the fact that Emma was so attuned to her had ever felt so disconcerting in the first place.

The blood-smeared floor was the only evidence left of Reba Stefani’s murder. His head smarted where he had hit it on the side of the chair. She was a hooker; the years of abuse were as telling as a diary. In her case, she was still young, but she had suffered a lot in her young life.

Abe touched the back of his head and winced. He had misjudged her. How had he been so damn careless? He had spent so much time trying to figure out why they weren’t reacting the way he thought they should that he had missed something important.

“Son of a bitch.” He stood up and kicked the mattress. He kicked and kicked until he was out of breath and his foot was sore.

Gregory Shorenstein, his research partner, had been right. He should have allowed someone else to do the observation. Someone with less to lose if things went wrong. And things had gone wrong. He had to admit that now.

He glanced at his watch, an extravagant gift from his wife—make that ex-wife, once she learned he would be unemployed.

He was running out of time. He had to find them. It was time to end this thing.

*

“Emma, we should pick up the pace.” Emma stopped in the center of the condo.

“I know,” she said, but made no effort to move faster.

“Here, I’ll help you pack a few things.”

“All right.” Emma sounded sluggish and distracted.

She’s stalling because she’s scared to leave the condo again. Too bad. We can be scared after we’re safe. We have to get out of here, now. I’ll apologize later.
“Emma, are you listening to me? We need to get going. That guy could be on his way back with a gun.”

Emma nodded, but made no effort to move. The skin on her face looked thin and delicate.

Troy reached for her hand. “Hey, are you…?” Emma started to topple forward and Troy lurched forward just in time to keep Emma from crashing to the floor.

“Jesus, Em, are you all right?” Troy lowered her to the floor.

Tears were streaming down the side of Emma’s face. “Em, are you hurt? Tell me what’s going on? We don’t have to leave right now. The doors are locked.”

Emma tried to smile. “It’s okay. Just give me a minute.”

Troy caressed her cheek. She felt too warm, almost feverish.

“Don’t be scared. It’s just a migraine. I used to get them all the time.” Her voice was a whisper. Her eyes closed after each word, as if the very act of speaking hurt.

“Tell me what to do.”

“I have some stuff in the medicine cabinet.”

Troy looked toward the bathroom and then back down at Emma. “Are you going to be okay?” Emma’s smile was nothing more than a grimace.

A headache couldn’t possibly cause this much pain, could it? Troy took a few steps and noticed that Emma was wincing at her every footfall. Troy took off her shoes and carried them into the bathroom. Emma’s medicine cabinet caused her to flash back to the pharmacy that she had raided in her failed attempt at suicide. Emma had everything from herbs to two-year-old expired prescriptions. Troy grabbed as many bottles as she could and hurried back.

Emma’s eyes were closed, but the tears had pooled in her ears. Troy brushed at her hair and felt tears prick her own eyes. She felt so helpless. “I forgot to get water.” She would have stood, but Emma reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“It just needs to run its course.”

“I’ll get you some water so you can take something,” Troy said, but Emma didn’t release her.

“Can you dim the lights while you’re in the kitchen?” Emma’s eyes were slits of pain, but she opened them and looked into Troy’s eyes. “Don’t be scared, okay?”

Troy didn’t say anything. It made no sense to deny that she was afraid. Emma could feel what she was feeling. “I’m trying not to be,” Troy whispered, but Emma just closed her eyes. Troy hesitated and then forced herself to get up and hurry into the kitchen. She was careful not to slam the cabinet doors, and she only took her eyes off Emma for the second it took her to find a glass. She shut off the lights, grabbed a throw and a pillow from the couch, and kneeled at Emma’s side.

Emma’s hands were small, tight knots of pain. Chill bumps had risen on her arms. Troy draped the quilt over Emma’s body. “I’m going to have to help you sit up so that you can take these, all right?

Emma’s response was a hard clicking swallow.

Troy placed her hand beneath Emma’s neck, so that she could slip her leg beneath Emma so that her head was pillowed on her thigh. She picked up the glass and waited; Emma’s breath came out in a shallow release of air.

“Which one do you need?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Emma sat up with Troy’s help, swallowed two pills, and lay back down, all without opening her eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” Troy struggled to find her words and settled for wiping the tears from the side of Emma’s face.

“Not your fault. Had these since puberty.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“Right side of my head.”

To Troy’s relief, Emma’s labored breathing became more even as she stroked Emma’s temple.

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t feel well?” She stopped speaking when Emma winced. “I’m so sorry for yelling at you before. I thought you were stalling,” Troy whispered. Emma opened her eyes again, and Troy brushed a tear from her face. “And I’m also sorry I’m so scared right now. So you’ll just have to get better, okay? Please?” Troy leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.

“Don’t say anything. Just let those pills work.” Troy was whispering now, but Emma just stared at her as if she no longer understood what Troy was saying.

The knot in Troy’s belly eased when Emma’s pink-tinged eyes fluttered shut. Troy brushed the hair back from her moist brow and slumped forward.

Her back ached; the small cuts from her fall began to sting. She allowed herself to sit that way for several minutes until she forced her eyes open. She needed to get Emma in bed and settled so that she could check all the doors downstairs. Emma was in no condition to travel. She would also need to find a weapon.

She leaned close, smelling Emma’s shower gel. “Em…?” Guilt kept her from saying anything more, but she still hoped Emma would open her eyes. “We should get you on the couch. The floor’s too hard.”

Emma’s even breathing continued. “Emma?” Troy said again, this time louder. She would feel awful if the sound of her voice made Emma’s head hurt worse, but she hadn’t stirred. “Emma, please don’t—” Troy broke off and looked toward the window.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m tired, too. You just go ahead and rest as long as you need to. I’ll wait right here.”

*

If it hadn’t been for the mirror-like finish on the back of his new iPod with video, Jake wouldn’t have seen the man in the white shirt following him. He wasn’t surprised to see him, per se. He had known about the others for a few days now. What surprised him was that the man had followed him home.

“What are you waiting for?” Jake said as he peered through the blinds at the large oak in the front yard. He had watched the man squat there half an hour before, and then, nothing.

Jake cut off the lights and had been kneeling at the windowsill ever since. He could see him, now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. The man was crouching behind an oak tree that wasn’t quite big enough to hide him.

Whoever he was, he knew how to wait on his quarry. And so did Jake. He had learned to be patient at a very young age.

The man in the white shirt hadn’t seemed all that interested in speaking with him because he had made no effort to do anything but follow him home.

He’s a perv
. The idea that of all the people who could have been left awake, he would get himself a perv amused Jake. Jake grinned at the window and shook his head. If he was a perv, he would have tried harder to catch him, but he hadn’t.

Now that Jake thought about it, why hadn’t the man called out to him? It was almost as if he wanted to see what Jake would do. How he would react. Yeah, that was it. He hadn’t wanted to catch him. He wanted to see what he would do. Jake understood that part. It was like dropping salt on slugs to see them squirm.

The idea made Jake angry. He didn’t like being played with. He was the master of the game, not the other way around. Whoever this guy was, he had no idea who he was up against. Jake backed away from the window and headed to his bedroom. He was not content to let the man outside make the first move.

Jake pulled the bat that his father had purchased on his thirteenth birthday from its hiding place under the bed. His dad had given it to him in the hopes of luring him away from the TV set.

Jake hadn’t been fooled. He had stashed the bat under his bed because he knew it would frustrate Father. Jake took a few practice swings with the bat. He thought he would have been a good baseball player, if he had cared to try.

With the bat slung over his shoulder, he walked barefoot to the sliding glass door. His heart quickened. Time to deal with the perv.

He circled wide around the house and approached him from the rear. He raised the bat high over his head. The man in the white shirt jerked and reached in his pocket. Jake paused. The man pulled out a stick of gum. The wrapper sounded loud in the quiet. As far as Jake could tell, the man never took his eyes from the house, as if afraid to miss something.

Curiosity burned in the back of Jake’s head. He nudged the man with the tip of his bat.

“Son of a…” The man toppled forward and then rolled on his back. He looked at the bat and then at Jake’s face.

Jake raised the bat an inch higher. “Who are you?”

The man held out his hand. “Hang on a second, son.”

“I’m not your son.”

“Listen to me. I’m here to help you.”

“Help me? How?”

“It’s hard to explain, but your parents sent me.”

His curiosity got the better of him. “My parents sent you?” he asked, cautiously. “Why should I trust you? You followed me home.”

“I know, and I’m sorry I did that. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. Listen, I know you have no reason to believe me, but I can get you out of here.”

Jake stared at him, and then dropped the bat to his side.

“Really?” His voice sounded young and close to tears.

The man seemed relieved not to have the bat threatening him anymore. He stood without being told he could do so. “Yeah, I really can.”

“How?”

The man looked at his watch. “In about twelve hours my associate will start the process. It’s very difficult to explain, but by this time tomorrow, you and I will be home reading the funny papers.”

Jake smiled.
Reading the funny papers? What century is this dumb ass living in?

“I’m at home now.”

“Yes, you are. I mean I can get things back to the way they used to be.” The man’s voice had taken on that exasperated quality that grown-ups get when a kid asks too many questions. Jake tightened his grip on the bat.

“Back the way they used to be? You can do that? Is it because you’re responsible for me being here in the first place?” Jake’s voice had lost its dreaminess.