The Last Victim (38 page)

So which one was she desperately attracted to?

Garland, naturally.

Why? Because he was the ultimate unavailable male.

Diagnosis:
You are one screwed-up chick
.

Diagnosis of the diagnosis:
Very professional
.

Thoroughly out of patience with herself, Charlie got into bed, turned off the light, closed her eyes, lay there in the dark, and waited for exhaustion to kick in. She found herself listening for the TV. Opening her eyes in annoyance, she searched the shadows for the faintest shimmer that might indicate a ghostly presence. Shutting them again, she tossed, she turned, she cursed under her breath.

Then she got up.

Where is he?

She walked through the apartment, turning on lights as she went,
and much as she hated herself for doing it, even tried very softly calling his name.

Nothing.

Remembering what he had said about being yanked back to her by the sound of running water, she tried calling his name while turning on the kitchen faucet.

Nothing.

Finally she tried calling not
Garland
, but
Michael
, while turning on the kitchen faucet.

Still nothing.

You are nuts
.

She stomped back to bed. But even as she threw herself on the mattress and started to yank the covers over her head, a terrible thought had her sitting bolt upright again.

What if he’s here, but I can’t see him any longer?

Holly’s spirit had visited her, but she hadn’t been able to see it. She only had been able to see Holly in her dreams.

The spirits she saw were the
recently
violently departed.

Garland’s death wasn’t all that recent. He was getting close to the time when the Great Beyond tended to claim its own.
He was getting close to the time when she probably wasn’t going to be able to see him anymore
.

Her heart lurched. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Her palms went damp.

Charlie hated to even try to put a name to the emotion she was experiencing, but finally she did: panic.

Panic at the thought that, even if she had managed to bind him to the earth, even if he avoided being swept away into Spookville, soon she might never see Garland again.

She was shaken at how deep was her sense of loss.

How could I have let this happen?
she asked herself, appalled.

Charlie got out of bed, roamed the apartment, ate some ice cream, watched some TV, and finally, when there was still no sign of him, got out her laptop and called up his file.

Need a reminder of
why
you shouldn’t be falling for this guy?

It was all there, exactly as she remembered: unmarried, no known
children, next of kin Jasmine Lipsitz, no relationship specified; eight years as a marine, honorable discharge, military record otherwise inaccessible; in civilian life, work as a mechanic, owned his own garage at the time of his arrest; an adult criminal record that consisted of a public intoxication charge, an assault and battery that was the result of a bar brawl, and seven hideous murders of young women.

Their pictures were part of the file.

Charlie couldn’t do more than glance at them. The faces sickened her. They made her go cold all over, made her shiver. She had to turn off her laptop.

How can I feel anything except loathing for their murderer?

You really think I’d do something like that to a woman?
Charlie could almost hear Garland saying it. She could picture the revulsion in his face as he had looked down at Bayley Evans’ mutilated body.

He was a charismatic psychopath whose charm was his stock in trade. He was convincing, compelling, and calculating. A stone-cold killer. A monster who lured women to their deaths with his good looks.

Or else he was not.

The evidence of his guilt was overwhelming. It was all there in his file, ranging from the circumstantial to that absolute clincher, DNA. She would have to be the biggest fool on the planet to disregard it all.

I’ve done a lot of bad things, Doc. But I didn’t do that
.

What was he going to do, admit it?
Charlie demanded of herself with asperity. Of course he would deny everything. That’s what psychopaths do.

The thing was, she just couldn’t picture him killing those women.

But the sad truth was, that was probably because she didn’t want to.

Because she liked him. No, get real: because she burned for him.

If she never saw him again, she would be sorry for the rest of her life.

Where is he?

There was no answer to that. There was no answer to anything where he was concerned.

Eventually, Charlie fell asleep on the couch.

She was dreaming that she was fleeing desperately through a terrifying purple fog, when she saw Holly in that awful pink prom dress running ahead of her.

“Holly!” Charlie screamed, trying to catch up, but Holly, after a quick glance over her shoulder, disappeared into the mist.

“Holly, wait!”

Charlie sprinted after her, but the purple mist started to rise and swirl, disorienting her, wrapping her in creeping tendrils of cold and damp.

Where am I?

“Holly!” she cried again, heart racing as she caught glimpses of things barely hidden. Something was chasing her, she could hear it behind her, hear its labored breathing and echoing footsteps. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw—
Dear God, what was it
? Something so horrible that she screamed. Then, still screaming, racing away as fast as she could, she ran headlong into something solid in the fog.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“I’ve got you. Hold tight.” It was Garland, Charlie realized. She caught just a glimpse of his hard eyes and taut jaw as he grabbed her and pulled her against him. Her arms wrapped around his waist like she never meant to let go. Shuddering, she buried her face in his chest as whatever was chasing her let out a monstrous roar and Garland said urgently, “It’s your dream. Think of somewhere you want to be, quick.”

His strong arms held her close as the mist swirled and rose and parted, and then was gone. Almost afraid to look, Charlie lifted her head warily and registered a whole lot of dark.

“It’s all right. We’re out of there,” Garland said. Looking around again, Charlie saw to her surprise that they were in her house in Big Stone Gap
—somewhere you want to be
—and they were safe.

It was only then that she realized that her heart was pounding and her pulse was racing and she was breathing like she’d been running from a monster that had been chasing her through a fog. Why? Oh, because she had been.

That
had been a dream, though, she was pretty sure. This wasn’t.

This time there was no mistake. The floorboards beneath her bare feet were smooth wood. The cool breath of the air-conditioning whispered
over her skin. Outside it was raining hard. Storming. She could hear the drumming of the deluge hitting her metal roof, hear the rumble of thunder, smell the indefinable scent of the rain. Bright flashes of lightning streaking across the sky glowed through the windows, illuminating the entry hall to the point where Charlie could at least see where they were, which was right inside her front door.

Garland’s arms around her were muscular and hard. When she had rested her cheek against his chest, it had been warm and unyielding. Every inch of his big body felt as substantial against hers as any living, breathing human male’s. And she knew that was almost certainly because she’d gone running after Holly again, done the astral-projection thing again, and Garland had found her and now here they were.

This is real
.

“You went chasing after your friend?” Garland’s hold on her wasn’t quite as tight now, but he wasn’t letting her go. Which was fine with her. She wasn’t letting him go, either. For the moment, all she wanted to do was lean against him and breathe.

I’m so glad to see you
. Of course, she had absolutely no intention of ever saying that to him out loud.

Instead she said, “You didn’t see her?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She sagged a little with disappointment. “Holly. Her name is Holly. I was lost in a purple fog and I saw her.”

“That purple fog was Spookville, and it’s no place you want to be. Lucky I heard you screaming. How the hell did you manage to dream yourself in there?”

She’d been waiting for him. She’d fallen asleep. Charlie’s brows snapped together as she remembered. Her eyes jerked up to meet his.

“Probably because you’ve been filling my head with all kinds of horrible images of purple fog and scary monsters ever since you died,” she said tartly, and he smiled. Remembering the last time she had seen him—when she had been crying her eyes out over his grave—sent a rush of embarrassment shooting through her. Then she remembered more, remembered exactly why she had been thinking so hard about Spookville when sleep had finally claimed her, and that smile drove her around the bend. Flattening her hands against his chest, she pushed almost all the way out of his arms—she wasn’t about to pull
completely free, just in case one or the other of them should go spinning off somewhere—then punched him not all that gently in the ribs. “Where have you
been
?”

“Ow.”
He winced, grimacing. But the remnants of that infuriating smile remained as he looked down at her. “Been worried about me, Doc?”

She wasn’t about to answer that. Instead she glared at him. “Well?”

He shrugged. “I went up to the Ridge. Looked around. Nothing had changed. Ran across that piece of shit Nash—Johnson and one of the other guards were just getting him out of the hole. I was pissed off about being dead and … a lot of things … so I’m guessing I had a pretty good energy buzz going on. I didn’t realize anybody could see me until Nash screamed and Johnson whirled around and grabbed for his gun. Just about as soon as I figured out I was solid I got hit with what felt like an atomic blast that kicked me straight into Spookville. Only this time, I couldn’t find a way out. I thought maybe that was it. Then I heard you scream. I busted my ass to get to you before something else did. You stay out of Spookville, Doc. You don’t want to mess with what’s in there.”

“I didn’t go there on purpose, believe me,” Charlie said with feeling. “Anyway, I think it was just a nightmare. I don’t think anything could have actually hurt me.”

“Yeah, well, when I grabbed you, you felt real enough to me. As real as you feel right now. I don’t think you can count on being safe in there.”

“That place is horrible.” Charlie shuddered just thinking about the things she’d glimpsed in the fog. The most horrible was realizing that Spookville was where he inevitably was going to wind up, probably on his way to somewhere even worse. Remembering the epiphany she’d had about his imminent disappearance from
her
world, she no longer felt even remotely like punching him. Her hands clenched on his shirtfront as her heart swelled with sorrow. The muscles beneath the soft cotton felt taut and warm and
real
. He felt alive under her hands. But he wasn’t, and she was hideously, horribly afraid he couldn’t stay. Charlie suddenly had trouble catching her breath. “One of these days, you’re not going to be able to get out of there.”

“I know.” His eyes were dark and unreadable. But even through
the shadows that lay all around, she could see the sudden grim set to his mouth. “Doc, look. When—if—that happens, I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be all right.”

Charlie felt a lump forming in her throat. They both knew it was probably
when
rather than
if. Oh, God, until this afternoon I hadn’t cried in years and now I’m about to do it again
. Then she swallowed hard.
Get a grip
. The last thing on earth she wanted was to let Garland know how confused her emotions were where he was concerned.

Like he doesn’t already have a pretty good idea
. Well, she didn’t have to break down and spell it out for him.

She took a deep breath, and lifted her chin challengingly. “Why would I worry about
you
?”

That infuriating little smile was back. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe for the same reason you were crying your eyes out over my grave.”

Charlie stiffened. “If you’re implying that I …” She stumbled trying to find the appropriate term; they’d definitely gone way beyond
like
, “… care about you—”

“Care. Now, there’s a word, Doc,” he interjected softly. His eyes were intent on her face.

Charlie’s breathing sped up. They were heading into territory she had absolutely no wish to explore.

“I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s more like I feel responsible for you.”

“Oh, yeah? So what you’re telling me is, you were crying like that over me because you’ve got the whole save-a-life-and-you’re-responsible-for-it-forever thing going on?”

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him, and chose the safe route. “I didn’t save your life.”

“No, you didn’t.” His voice turned husky. “What you did was, you saved my soul.”

Charlie’s heart lurched. The lump in her throat swelled, making it almost impossible for her to speak. She looked at him, at his chiseled, handsome features, afraid of what he might read in her eyes, praying that it was too dark for him to see.

A piece of her heart was in there somewhere.

“I hated seeing you cry,” he said.

“Garland.” Her voice sounded choked to her own ears. His fingers
dug into her waist in response. His eyes glinted down at her, watchful as a bird of prey’s, and she knew what he wanted to hear instead. She took a deep breath. “Michael.”

“Charlie.” Her name was the merest whisper of sound, uttered as he pulled her tight against him and his head bent toward hers. But that whisper wrapped itself around something deep inside her, and she knew, as she went up on tiptoe and slid her arms around his neck, that after this, after
him
, her life would never be the same.