After Moonrise: Possessed\Haunted (16 page)

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“The case is still open.”

Irritation laced with anger flooded him, and he popped his jaw.
Why hadn’t Lana reported her as found? Why hadn’t Harper come forward? Fear that
Topper would find her again? But then, that would mean she remembered him, if he
was truly the one responsible, and it was clear that she didn’t.

Levi replayed his new memory of the night he’d come
face-to-face with Topper. Topper had been standing beside…what? All he could
picture were rivers of blood. Lots and lots of blood, flowing this way and that
way and all around. Had there been any secret rooms? Someplace Harper could have
been stashed, bound and helpless, forced to watch? Someplace she could have
accidently stumbled upon and hidden?

A cage flashed through his mind.

A cage?

“Was there a cage in Topper’s home?” he asked. “Actually, don’t
tell me. Just give me the crime scene photos.” He’d never seen them.

“You know I can’t do that,” Bright said sternly.

“All I want is a glance at them.” He could compare them with
Harper’s painting.

A sigh met his words. “I’ve always been a sucker. I’ll see what
I can do.”

“Thanks. So how’s our man Topper doing?”

Bright rolled his shoulders, easing tension. “He recovered from
the injuries you gave him and is now locked up without bail, awaiting trial. We
managed to find evidence of his crimes
after
his
arrest.”

Meaning, everything they’d found the day they’d arrested him
had been thrown out because of Levi and they’d needed something new. And thanks
be to God, they’d gotten it. Levi had read what had been fed to the media and
knew there was more, but he wasn’t going to ask. Yet.

Don’t make everything a battle,
son,
his dad told him once. He didn’t remember this on his own. He’d
seen a home video of the two of them together.
You do, and
you’ll never win ’em all.

“You got anything else on Harper?” he asked.

“A bit.” Bright gave the computer screen another read. “The
night of her disappearance, the art showing had wound down and only the owner
remained in the building when she left, but he claims he was counting receipts
in the back room and heard nothing unusual.”

“Any connection between Topper and the owner?”

“Not that we’ve found.”

“Are there
any
suspects in Harper’s
case? An ex-boyfriend with an ax to grind? A neighbor with a record? A stepdad
with a grudge?”

“Oh…no, but I’ll be sure and…close things now, and I suppose
there’s no real reason to press charges for withholding information.”

Why the hesitation?

Bright cleared his throat and said, “Why don’t you bring your
Harper in? To me, only to me,” he added in a rush, “and
I’ll
question her about what happened.”

“What do you know?” Levi demanded.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re acting weird, hesitating to say certain things.”

The detective pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m telling you
everything I can, Levi. Given that you’re on a leave of absence, in fact, I’m
telling you more than I should, and could even lose my own job over this.”
Bright’s scolding tone lacked anger but was filled with understanding. “Now,
what about bringing her in? I’ll make sure she’s protected while she’s
here.”

No one was better at interrogation than Bright, and he’d be as
gentle as possible, but… “Questioning her right now won’t do any good. She
doesn’t remember. Whatever happened—” and it had to be bad for her to have
repressed it as deeply as she had “—she’s painting the image of a murdered
woman.”

Another frown tugged at the corners of Bright’s mouth. “A
woman? Describe the woman you’re talking about. Could she—” a pause, a shifting
in his seat “—
be
Harper?”

“No. You know I can’t see the dead.” His stomach clenched as he
once again brought the painting front and center and saw the pale skin of the
woman, the delicacy of her bone structure. “There are similarities, granted, but
no. And I can’t tell you much more because Harper hasn’t yet painted the
face.”

Bright worried two fingers over his stubbled chin. “Bottom
line, there’s a chance she saw the guy torture someone else.”

“Yeah.”

There was a whoosh of air as Bright straightened in his seat.
“I want to see the painting. If we are, in fact, dealing with Topper, I want
every piece of evidence I can gather. Yeah, he’s going away for life, will
probably be put to death, but maybe this is the way we’ll find the bodies of his
other victims.”

If there was anything left of them. Levi had no idea why Topper
had deviated from his usual M.O. and bound that woman—with all her parts—to that
billboard. He had no idea why he’d kept mementos of some but not others. But
really, did Levi
want
to know the twisted reasons of
a psycho? “I’ll take a picture and email it to you.”

“Good, for starters.”

“And I’ll want a copy of the missing-person’s report.”

“Fair is fair, but I’m only giving you a glimpse of it.” A few
clicks and the papers began printing. “You can’t take it with you. And don’t
dare ask if I’ll do the same with the crime scene photos. That’s a bigger deal,
and you know it.”

Disappointment struck him, but he said, “All right.
Understood.”

Bright held out the paper, and Levi scanned the contents. He
didn’t try to sort things out; he simply memorized every detail for later. When
he finished, he stood. “Thanks for everything. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime. And keep me updated on what you learn about Harper,
okay? I’ll work a few angles from this end.”

Meaning, legitimate ends. He nodded and trudged to his
partner’s office, only to find that Vince had left. Whatever. They’d talk
eventually. Next time, he wouldn’t let Vince ignore him.

Now to dig through the report, and question Lana. That guilt
he’d glimpsed at the gallery…she knew something more. Had she helped the
abductor? But why report Harper missing? To hide her own actions? And yet, he
doubted that was her motive. Genuine affection existed between the pair.
Although, a lot of people could be bought, whether they loved someone or
not.

Great. He was talking himself into believing in Lana’s
culpability, then talking himself out of it. Well, he wasn’t going to wait until
Lana cracked. Tonight, he was going to crack her open…himself…and…darkness…so
much darkness…closing in....

No,
he nearly roared. Ice
crystallized in his veins, while sweat beaded over his skin. Breath boiled in
his lungs.

Right there in the bull pen of the OKCPD, a shroud of black
fell over his mind, slowly at first, stealing his thoughts one by one. He
tensed, hating this feeling, knowing what happened…next—how he would
lose…hours…perhaps days—but what he didn’t know was
why
this kept happening or what—

Black…

Nothingness…

Empty…

CHAPTER FIVE

Not again,
Harper thought,
panic rising as she peered down at her paint-splattered hands. She clutched a
paintbrush, the tip drip…drip…dripping crimson onto her bare feet. Sickness
bloomed in the pit of her stomach like a poisonous flower, its pollen drifting
through the rest of her, sticking and growing until her blood was ice and her
skin fire, her breath jagged and burning as it rasped against her lungs.

Before she looked up and faced the reality of what she had
created, she spun and checked her surroundings. She stood inside her apartment’s
studio. Her shoulders sagged with relief. Okay. She could deal with anything
else. Right?

Her gaze took in other details. The clock on her wall flashed
12:01—no, 12:02. The dark of the night seeped through the five-inch crack in the
red, orange and yellow curtains Lana had made, and the scent of rain saturated
the air, a roll of thunder booming.

Once upon a time, she had loved storms. Had loved the smells
and the drop in temperature, the feel of raindrops against her skin. But lately
they reminded her too much of Lana’s tears, and even the tears
she
sometimes wanted to shed. Now that love was dead.
As dead as the girl you’re painting.

Ugh. The sickness intensified. So…she must have blacked out.
Last thing she remembered was sitting on the couch, talking to Lana, waiting for
Levi to come over, praying he’d learned something,
fearing
he’d learned something. Then…nothing.

Lightning suddenly struck, blazing the sky with gold and—a
scream lodged in her throat, her heart pounding uncontrollably. A girl stood on
the balcony outside her window, staring in at her with violet eyes. Other
details registered. A fall of black hair, the wistful features of a young woman
ready to fall in love, happy with her life yet somehow miserable at the same
time.

How long had she stood there, watching? Had she noticed the
scene unfolding on the canvas? As the questions filled Harper’s mind, anger
filled her chest. The peeping had to stop. Now.

Harper dropped her brush, heard the plop of it against the
plastic covering she kept over the floor and stomped to the window.

By the time she had the pane lifted, the girl was gone.

Cool, moist air wafted inside the room, carrying the scents of
floral spices and freshly cut grass; both failed to calm her, only ratcheted her
anger higher. Harper pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she
snapped the pane back in place and threw the lock. She closed the curtains,
being sure to hook the edges and prevent even the smallest fissure from forming,
then she stood there for several minutes, knowing she was stalling, knowing she
needed to turn, to face the truth one more time. Maybe this time would be the
last. Maybe this time she had finished the painting, and all the answers would
slide into place.

Maybe.

But hopefully not.

As much as she wanted to know, she
didn’t
want to know.

“I can do this,” she muttered. Slowly, so slowly, she turned on
her heel. Deep breath in, deep breath out, she lifted her gaze.

And there it was, her painting. The overhead light seemed to
spotlight the entire canvas, and…oh, no, no, no! She hadn’t finished it, hadn’t
given the man a face, but she
had
finished the
woman.

Lana was the woman on that slab, a bloody blade poised over her
heart.

Lana.
Her
Lana.

No, no.
No!
That wasn’t possible.
Couldn’t be possible. Lana would have told her if she’d been in that nightmare
situation and somehow managed to escape. Lana was alive, and like Harper, Lana
had never come home with injuries.

How would you know? You black out, lose
track of time. What if her injuries healed during one of those blackouts,
huh?
No, no, no, she thought again. Panic…rising…

Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe the woman only looked like Lana.
But black hair bleached and colored red cascaded over slender shoulders—and how
many women had hair like that? Long black lashes cast shadows over hollowed
cheeks. A perfectly sloped nose, lips red and raw, chewed from worry.

Though Harper had painted over all the cuts and bruises, though
the woman’s skin was smooth and creamy, blood spilled from her neck, her wrists,
her stomach, her legs, her feet. Blood splattered the walls, pooled on the
floor.

Blood.

Lana’s blood.

Lana’s. Blood.

If this truly were Lana—no, no, no, it couldn’t be…just
couldn’t—how could Harper have known what happened to her? Lana hadn’t told her.
Or…what if she
had
told her, but Harper had
repressed the memory, as she’d first feared?

Harper raced to the bathroom and dry heaved, thoughts batting
through her mind one after the other. Every time Lana viewed the painting, she
paled and clutched her stomach. The first time, she had actually vomited. Could
she have repressed the memories, too, after confessing? Could something inside
her recognize the pain she had endured?

With shaky hands, Harper brushed her teeth, splashed water on
her face. “You have to confront her,” she told her reflection. “Have to learn
the truth. For both of you.”

Determined, she stalked down the hallway. She’d forgotten to
turn off the hall lights again—either that, or she’d turned them on during her
blackout.

She stood in front of Lana’s bedroom door. Her hand shook with
more intensity as she wrapped her fingers around the knob and twisted. As the
hall light spilled across the bed and the woman lying in the center, enveloped
by a familiar rainbow-colored comforter, her red hair tangled over her pillow,
her eyes closed in the sweet retreat of slumber, relief filled Harper to the
point of bursting.

Whatever happened, she
survived
.

Did she really want to awaken Lana to a nightmare?

Harper gulped, the heavy question weighing her down. No. No,
she didn’t. The truth could wait until morning.

As quietly as she was able, she closed the door, checked every
other door and window in the apartment. Levi had said he would get in touch with
her yesterday evening, but he hadn’t and now she was done waiting for him. She’d
waited all day, in fact, and hadn’t even received a hastily scribbled “Can’t
make it” note under her door. Well, he would now have to deal with the
consequences of breaking his word.

She stomped out of the apartment, locked up after herself,
double-checked the lock, triple-checked the lock, then padded to Levi’s and—dang
it! She’d forgotten to pull on a pair of sneaks. Someone had spilled a soda, so
the carpet was cold and wet. Shivers were soon raking the length of her spine,
intensifying when a clap of thunder boomed.

A hard rap at his door, shifting from one increasingly
irritated and sticky foot to the other while glancing around to make sure no one
tried to sneak up on her. When she spotted the freaky girl with the violet eyes
gliding toward her,
dry
black hair floating back in
a breeze Harper couldn’t feel, her own bare feet seeming to lift off the ground,
panic threatened to engulf her. How had the girl gone from outside to in so
quickly, without getting wet?

“Such a naughty girl.” In a voice as eerie as the rest of her,
the teenager added, “You should have been nicer to him. He loved you, loved you
so much.”

Could she be… Was she a spirit, maybe? Harper had never
possessed the ability to see into that other realm, but this was just too weird
to be natural.

And, to be honest, she wanted no part of it. “Levi.” Another
rap, this one harder, yet still Levi failed to respond. “Levi, it’s Harper! Open
up.”

The girl was coming closer and closer.... Harper tried the
knob. It twisted easily. She darted into the apartment, quickly barricading
herself inside. One minute passed, two, but the girl never misted through the
door as Harper had been half convinced she would, never so much as knocked.

Still trembling, she peeked through the peephole but found the
hallway empty. As the panic left her, common sense piped up. Lana could see the
dead. Lana had always been able to see the dead. She knew the difference between
living and un-living at a single glance, and she would always tell Harper when
she spotted a spirit. Not once since they’d moved into this building had she
pointed one out.

Tomorrow, Harper was doing a little research of her own, and
maybe she would try to speak to an expert on those who developed a latent
ability to see into the spirit realm—and find out if it were possible for
someone to
lose
the ability. She wouldn’t speak with
Lana’s coworkers, though. If Lana was having trouble, she didn’t want anyone
else to know it. But then, who did that leave?

“Levi, it’s Harper,” she called. “Are you here?”

Silence.

No, not silence. Another crack of thunder boomed, practically
splitting the air in half. She yelped, her heart hammering against her ribs.

“Levi!”

Again, silence.

Why would he leave his place unlocked? That wasn’t very
coplike. And why wasn’t he here? He’d said he was girlfriend free. Unless…maybe,
while looking into Harper’s story, he’d met a woman and stayed the night at her
place.

Why that thought irritated her so much, she wasn’t sure. She
liked the look of him, yeah, but her life was a mess and she was pretty sure
she’d already decided not to pursue anything with him, so—
Oh, why are you trying to fight it? You like more than the look of him. You
like his strength and his intensity and that take-charge attitude of his. He
makes you feel safe—when he’s not sneaking up on you—and that’s something
you don’t get from anyone else. You’ll never know if something more could
grow between you unless you try.

Well, well. An intelligent line of thought, bypassing her
qualms. That’s how badly she wanted him, she supposed.

And he wanted her, too, which was an unusual occurrence,
really. Most guys went for Lana and never changed their minds. But would Levi be
okay with dating Harper, considering the trouble she was bringing to his
door?

“Levi,” she called again. “This is your last chance to announce
your presence before I start nosing around your place. If you shoot me after
I’ve given you this warning, I’ll be very upset.”

Again, silence.

“All right, then.” No way was she going back into that hall.
Sighing, she flipped the light switch, chasing away the darkness and
illuminating his living room.

She walked forward, intending to wash her feet in his
bathroom—only to stop short.

He was here.

He was sitting on his couch.

And he was staring at the wall with a blank expression on his
face.

Concerned, Harper approached him. “Levi?” She bent down and
waved a hand in front of his face, but he gave no reaction.

He wore the same clothes he’d changed into the first time she’d
been here. Black T-shirt, black slacks. A quick check of his pulse proved his
heartbeat was strong and steady, but his skin was chilled. Alarmingly chilled.
His pupils were unresponsive to the light, his ears somehow unaware of the
now-constant roll of thunder.

Harper reached out, intending to pat his cheek to gauge his
responsiveness to a more direct touch. He reacted with reflexes as swift as the
lightning outside, grabbing her by the wrist and stilling her.

He blinked. A moment later, his gaze locked with hers.
Awareness hit her with the force of a jackhammer. He smoldered with rumpled sex
appeal.

“Harper?” Her name was little more than a growl.

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk—”

“Never mind. Talk later.” He jerked, and she landed in his
lap.