Every hidden thing, p.32
Every Hidden Thing, page 32
Maybe it was the fog—or the fact that so many bad things had happened to Parker in the Everglades. But the tangle of dread in Angelica’s stomach was growing more knotted. “You think the boys are okay, right?”
Ella hesitated, then nodded.
“Good. I wish I felt the same.”
Ella angled her head slightly. “I used to get all scared watching some movies—just knowing something bad was about to happen.”
Angelica totally got that.
“But now I listen to the movie soundtrack. It always changes just before something bad happens. It gets more ominous . . . off-key or something. When I get tense, I check the music. If it hasn’t changed, I can relax.”
That actually made sense. “So, when it comes to the guys . . . you don’t sense the music changing right now?”
“Exactly. The soundtrack of my life has been pretty horrible all week, but it’s not getting worse at the moment. So I think they’re okay.”
“This is it,” Uncle Vaughn said. “We’re here.”
Angelica and Ella rushed out of the pickup the moment Uncle Vaughn stopped.
Mr. Steadman was there, pacing along the quarry’s edge, but he was alone.
“The boys are still down there?” Angelica couldn’t believe it.
He nodded. “They were really focused on finding some evidence, even though I told them I already searched the quarry. My guess? They haven’t found a thing—and they’re sucking their tanks dry to find something that isn’t there.”
Uncle Vaughn growled. “Parker knows better than to push it like that.”
Angelica thought it sounded very much like Parker. She should have been here. Then again, what could she have done? Tied a rope to him so she could pull him up?
“I put in a call to Rankin,” Steadman said. “If the boys got lucky and found something, it would be good for the police to witness it. He said he’d have a car swing by.”
Obviously Steadman was giving Parker and Harley the benefit of the doubt, which was a lot more than Angelica was doing. She stared into the black water. There was no way somebody could pay her to strap on a tank and dive to the bottom of that abyss. Not for a million bucks. She wasn’t so sure Parker would do it for money either. But he’d do it for a friend. Apparently so would Harley. And now they were pushing the limits of safety and sanity. She was going to kill them when they surfaced. Actually, she’d hug them first. Then she’d kill them.
Uncle Vaughn swung over on his crutches. “How long has it been?”
Steadman checked his watch. “They’ve got a few minutes before I told them I’d be going down after them.”
Angelica walked along the south rim of the quarry—with Ella beside her. The stark lines of the granite. The fog. The black mirror surface of the water. Nothing but shades of black and gray. Totally eerie. She pulled her trail cam from her pack. The camera wasn’t ideally designed for handheld use, but she had to capture the spooky feel of the place.
Angelica took a half dozen pictures, changing her angle each time. She sat on a granite slab and scrolled back through the pictures. They actually looked pretty good.
That’s when she saw the other images—from when the trail cam had been strapped to the tree. The renters pouring out after Shadow-man made his creepy visit Saturday night. Shadow-man leaving the rental house and circling to the side of the house where he’d been picked up by Steadman’s surveillance camera.
Angelica’s images were okay—but didn’t offer anything new from those captured by the high-tech security cameras. There was nothing here that would have helped them figure out who Shadow-man was. Black hoodie. Black pants. Black everything—but nothing distinguishing about any of it.
Ella sat beside her. Angelica angled the screen so they both had a decent view.
“That was the worst night of my life,” Ella said. “That’s when I knew we were finished. I was right . . . and here’s the proof.” She pulled the legal papers from her backpack. “Signed copies for Mr. Steadman. Grams asked me to deliver them to him so he won’t have to stop by later. Guess there’s no point stalling this.”
Ella motioned Mr. Steadman over. “I have something for you.” She held the documents up like a white flag. “All signed.”
Steadman hustled over and took the papers. Checked the back page. Nodded. “Now it’s over.”
Weird. Angelica had no idea what that was supposed to mean.
Steadman gave Ella a pat on the head. “You’ll both have a new start now.”
She pulled back. “Not a new start, Mr. Steadman. It means we have to start over. There’s a big difference.”
Angelica put her arm around Ella’s shoulders. Ella reached up and squeezed her hand.
Steadman rolled the selling agreement like a relay baton and tapped it on his open palm. “I’ll just run these back to the truck.” A moment later he tucked them under the front seat.
Angelica focused on the trail cam again. She scrolled back more frames—then froze. She’d captured images of Shadow-man breaking into the guesthouse.
She backtracked further through the images—like she was seeing the night unfold in reverse. She’d actually captured pictures of Shadow-man watching the house. Standing with his back to the camera, but really close. His upper body dominating most of the foreground. From the time stamp he’d been standing there a good ten minutes or so. Watching. Listening. Totally creepy.
She did a rapid scroll backward another dozen images or so. Shadow-man was still there—but something was different. No hoodie. A baseball cap instead. Long-sleeved T-shirt. Gray, maybe? His back was still to the camera—so not much to go on—except for the fact Shadow-man had light skin. It was something anyway—but not much. Shadow-man was a white male . . . like 90 percent of the other men in Massachusetts. So the guy had been watching the place—and changed into his Shadow-man garb right there in that little patch of woods?
It made sense. If the guy was seen walking through the neighborhood with a black hoodie, the cops may pick him up for questioning. But wearing a T-shirt and a backpack over one shoulder, he’d look totally normal. He didn’t put on the hoodie until he was sure he was going in.
“We’ve got a visitor.” Ella pointed to a dim set of headlights approaching on the gravel road. Moments later Officer Greenwood swung out of the cruiser. He talked with Mr. Steadman for a few seconds, then walked over to the lip of the quarry.
Greenwood looked their way and caught Angelica’s eyes. There was something about his face. A quiet confidence—yet kind. She felt better knowing he was here.
Angelica went back to the camera. So she had images of Shadow-man when he was in his hoodie outfit—and she had images of him before he’d changed. What was in the middle? She flipped through the images. The hat was off now. He was still wearing the T-shirt—but he was stepping into some kind of one-piece thing . . . like a wet suit. When he had it pulled up to his waist, he reached back and pulled off his T-shirt.
For one image his bare back dominated the screen. Angelica sucked in her breath. A giant tattoo covered his back. What looked like a Navy battleship—bearing down straight at her through heavy seas. Humongous cannons bristling off both sides—all belching fire and smoke. Above the ship were the words CLEAR THE WAY. And below the ship—OR HELL TO PAY.
They could use this to absolutely identify Shadow-man, right? Her hands trembled. She struggled to steady her breath. This was hard evidence—the most concrete thing they had.
“Mr. Steadman.” Ella looked out over the still surface of the quarry. “Shouldn’t we see some bubbles or something?”
Angelica motioned Officer Greenwood over. He held up one finger—his eyes back on Mr. Steadman like he needed to hear his answer first.
Greenwood was right. There was time for him to look at the images later, when the boys were out of the quarry . . . standing around with towels over their shoulders.
Steadman studied the water. “At the depth they’re at, the bubbles may be dissipating a bit before they reach the surface.”
But even if the bubbles rose from sixty or seventy feet, shouldn’t they see a little movement? A bubble gasping at the surface?
Uncle Vaughn looked antsy. He crutched along the rim one way, then back. Scanning the surface. “How long has it been?”
Steadman checked his watch before answering. “They should have been up by now. They’re probably ascending as we speak.”
But if they were on their way up, the bubbles would be more obvious, right?
“I don’t like it,” Uncle Vaughn said. “They’re pushing it. The quarry is too dark. Parker wouldn’t cut it that close on the air.”
Angelica got a sick feeling in her stomach. Parker wasn’t cutting it close. He was in trouble. Ella clutched the cross pendant with both hands and backed away from the quarry until she was nearly beside Angelica.
“Bad feeling, Jelly,” she whispered. “The music. It’s changing.”
Exactly what Angelica was sensing.
Uncle Vaughn pointed to Steadman’s tank. “That thing filled?”
Steadman seemed like he was one step ahead of him. The man sprang into action. “Officer, call in the water rescue team. The moment they get here, send them down. I’m not waiting.”
Greenwood whipped out his phone. Angelica stared at Ella. Fought a sense of dread. “You pray much?”
Ella shook her head.
“You may want to start.” Angelica sure was kickin’ it into gear.
“Please,” Uncle Vaughn said. “Hurry.”
Steadman peeled off his T-shirt. “I’ll be on the bottom in two minutes.”
Uncle Vaughn nodded. “How can I help?” Without waiting for an answer he propped Steadman’s tank up.
Ella stood. Angelica did too, but her knees felt like they could collapse. All she knew was that Parker was somewhere deep in the quarry—and three grown men were getting nervous. “Dear God, help Parker . . . Harley too.”
She studied the water. Still no sign of bubbles.
“Rescue team is on the way.” Greenwood pocketed his phone and joined the others. The men were moving fast now, silently focused on getting Steadman geared up.
Steadman bent to get his hood—and turned just enough to reveal a massive tattoo on his back. A battleship.
God, no. Sweet Jesus . . . no.
Suddenly it felt like one of the battleship cannons fired a live round below the waterline—and right into Angelica’s heart.
CHAPTER 78
Saturday, June 18, 5:39 p.m.
WITH ONE LAST SAW OF HIS KNIFE, the final nylon tie broke loose. Parker felt the bag of weights drop off Harley’s tank. They were free! Instinctively Parker grabbed Harley. He wasn’t about to lose him now.
Parker tugged on Harley’s arm. They had to get away from this silt. He kicked desperately, sucking so hard on his regulator that his chest hurt. Harley kept up, with a death grip on Parker’s forearm.
Suddenly the water cleared, and the two faced each other. They weren’t ten feet from the Valiant.
Harley drew one hand across his throat and jerked his thumb toward the surface.
God, help us—what do I do? They could make the seventy-foot ascent, couldn’t they? But if they surfaced now, what was to stop Steadman from picking them off like fish in a barrel? He shook his head. Held his hand out like a gun.
Harley looked to the surface, like he was ready to take his chances with Steadman.
And in that instant Parker knew what they had to do. He held his palm up for Harley to see, and drew on it like he was sketching a pass pattern. He pointed at the Valiant, then motioned sharply away from it at a hard angle.
Harley pointed at himself, then at Parker—like he understood Parker was telling him to follow.
Parker nodded and kicked off for the Valiant with Harley following close. Even as he reached the drowned car, Parker’s chest already felt like it was going to cave in. He checked over his shoulder once to be sure Harley was still behind him. God, help us. Help us.
Parker pushed off the Valiant at a right angle, trusting the line of the open driver’s door to point the way to the south wall. Swam hard into the darkness, staying just low enough to see bottom but high enough to not disturb the silt.
I pray I got this right. There would be no second chance. Cutting a straight line was iffy underwater. One leg would pump stronger than the other, and he’d angle off course. He focused on steady strokes. Jesus, we need a break here!
His tank was basically empty—and slowing him down. He unbuckled the BCD and wriggled out of the harness. The tank hit bottom, sending up a silent plume of silty smoke. Harley was beside him now—he’d shed his tank as well.
His light picked up the wall of the quarry. Thank you, Jesus! Now the tank, the tank!
Parker’s lungs burned and did that convulsing thing. Desperate for air, his body was trying to take over. He clenched his teeth and fought the urge to breathe. His body would go on autopilot soon and force him to inhale—even if it meant sucking in water. The craving to breathe grew stronger by the second. The instant it caused him to draw in water—he was dead.
His beam reflected off something shiny. He swept the area again.
There! He pointed at the black scuba tank lying on the bottom.
Harley saw it too—and the two of them raced for the cylinder, kicking hard and clawing the icy water.
Parker grabbed both mouthpieces—shoved one in Harley’s hands. Jammed the other in his own mouth. Had no air left in his lungs to blow first and force the water out of it.
He sucked hard—taking in a mix of water from the mouthpiece and air from the tank. He coughed. Gasped in more air—but no water this time. Coughing, gulping in air, repeating. Over and over he hacked to clear the water from his windpipe. But he had air—and his breathing evened out.
Wide-eyed, Harley held his regulator to his face with both hands, and by the volume of bubbles tumbling out the exhaust, he was absolutely gorging himself on air. He gave Parker an “OK” sign, but didn’t let go of the regulator.
Parker wanted out of this quarry. Fast. Just get to the surface and never come back. But Steadman would be up there. Waiting to make sure they were dead. And if they surfaced now? There’d be no mercy. He’d find a way to finish the job.
CHAPTER 79
Saturday, June 18, 5:43 p.m.
ELLA DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO HELP other than stand off to the side and stay out of the way. She clutched the cross necklace and tried to swallow an unexplainable fear slithering up her throat. Maybe it was the vapors that unnerved her. Maybe it was the desperate way Parker’s dad peered into the quarry. Steadman’s face was a little harder to read. He had that search-and-rescue focused look. She didn’t have much occasion to be around men—so she was no expert on reading them. But even the cop seemed to be in red-alert mode. Oh, yeah, the music had definitely changed.
“Officer Greenwood.” Jelly’s voice . . . just a ghost of a whisper.
Actually, she looked like she’d seen a ghost. What was going on?
The cop held up one finger. “Give me a minute. Reinforcements.” He pointed down the gravel road at the muted flashes of approaching rescue vehicles.
Mr. Steadman seemed totally cool. He strapped a nasty-looking dive knife to his calf, moving quickly. Ella’s theory? It was the tattoo. A guy with Clear the Way or Hell to Pay permanently etched on his back should be calm, no matter what was going on—at least the way Ella figured. But then what did she know about men, right?
“Ella!” Jelly whisper-shouted, frantically motioning Ella back to her, and pointing at her trail cam.
Just one more knot in a total string of weirdness, but the music was getting louder, too. More ominous. Ella hustled over, but glanced over her shoulder once. She didn’t want to miss a thing. Steadman’s hood was on now. He tucked it under the collar of his wet suit top.
“Ella,” Jelly hissed again. She pointed at her screen. “Shadow-man. The ghost—gearing up that night. Look.”
One image dominated the display. Partial image, really. A man’s back—with a massive Navy ship tattoo—and the words that looked anything but cool now. Shadow-man wasn’t a ghost—but he wasn’t a man either. He was a monster. Ella locked eyes with Jelly. “The moment Steadman goes under, we show this to Officer Greenwood.”
Steadman stood on the edge of the quarry—fins, mask, weight belt: all in place. Officer Greenwood lifted the tank and BCD rig for Steadman, like he was about to help somebody on with their coat.
Jelly gripped Ella’s arm. “The guys are still in the quarry. Do we really want a murderer down there with them?”
Ella’s mind flashed to Devin Catsakis’s funeral. “Stop him!” Ella pointed at Steadman. “He’s the ghost. He’s Shadow-man!”
“We’ve got pictures!” Jelly held up the trail cam. “The tattoo on his back—we have proof he’s the Shadow-man.”
Greenwood pulled the tank back. “Don’t move!”
Steadman lunged for his gear and jerked hard to free it from Greenwood’s grip.
The cop held on like a gorilla. “Let me see your hands!”
The wrestling match ended as quickly as it started—as if Steadman knew he wasn’t going to get that tank or fight off the firemen already stepping out of the truck. He stepped back, hands raised—but only to chest height. Reflections from the red flashing lights pulsed off his body. He drilled Ella and Jelly with steely eyes.
“On your knees.” Greenwood dropped the tank to one side.
“The boys,” Parker’s dad cried. “Are they—”
“Collateral damage.” Steadman took another step back—on the very edge now. “They figured it out. You’re too late.”
“No!” Parker’s dad roared, his face twisted in agony. “NO!”
Jelly dashed to the lip of the quarry. “Parker!” She screamed at the water. “Parker!”
“Knees, Steadman!” Greenwood reached for his gun.
Steadman leaped for the quarry just as Greenwood cleared the Glock from its holster. He didn’t fire. Maybe he feared Parker or Harley might surface at any moment. Or maybe he thought Steadman couldn’t go far without a tank.
