Blur (Blur Trilogy) (29 page)

CHAPTER
SIXTY-THREE

“Come out where I can see
yo
u,” the photographer called.

Daniel entered the chamber, stood up, and directed his light toward the far end of the cavern.

Quickl
y,
in the breadth of a moment, he took ever
yt
hing in.

The room swept before him: twent
y
feet wide, but sevent
y
feet long. It contained no gentle, sloping formations, onl
y
jagged boulders and rough fall-down.

Devil’s Throat la
y
at the far end and slit through the floor of the cave like an uneven gaping wound. It spanned the cavern and
ya
wned open four
ya
rds wide.

A natural outcropping stretched across the other side, ten feet higher than the floor Daniel was standing on. It was just wide enough for five people to stand on, shoulder-to-shoulder. A few large boulders la
y
on top of it.

Running along the right side of Devil’s Throat was a narrow rock shelf just large enough to walk on that allowed cavers to traverse around the
ya
wning pit toward the higher ledge. Someone had tied a thick rope off one of the boulders on it so people could access that level of the cave if the
y
dared.

The rope had knots ever
y
foot or so to help climbers keep from slipping down and falling into the shaft. It was precarious and dangerous. Daniel had been up there twice.

At the far edge of the saber of light cast from his headlamp, Daniel saw Nicole and Ackerman standing on that rock platform on the other side of Devil’s Throat. The photographer was behind her, holding her fast.

Daniel called out, “Nicole! Are
yo
u oka
y?
”

“Yeah! Get out of here, Daniel. He wants
yo
u t
o—”

Ackerman interrupted her: “Daniel, come here.”

“Leave, he want
s—”
Nicole began.

He grabbed her hair with one hand and
ya
nked. “Quiet now.”

“Ow!”

“Stop it!” Daniel
ye
lled.

Ackerman wore a headlamp, Nicole did not. It would have been a good wa
y
to make sure she didn’t run off while he was bringing her down here. Without a light she would’ve been lost in complete and total darkness if she’d tried to get awa
y.

Daniel crossed the room toward them, tr
yi
ng to think of a wa
y
to save her.

Come on, man, think! How can
yo
u do this? You need to get her awa
y
from him!

“You called m
y
name before
yo
u came in here,” Ackerman said. “How did
yo
u know it was me?”

“The press photos that ran in the newspaper articles about the dead girls: in the pictures, the girls were all wearing the same-st
yl
e necklace. That couldn’t be a coincidence. You’re the one who took the photos. You’re the onl
y
one who’d know the
y
would have them on. You chose to submit those photos to the papers. You found a wa
y
to give them the necklaces, and whoever killed those girls had to have been at our awa
y
games. You went to take pictures for the newspaper.”

Daniel arrived at the edge of Devil’s Throat.

“That’s not enough,” Ackerman said.

“There was a picture in Mr. McKinne
y’
s hallwa
y
of the two of
yo
u in here. The ke
y
is the cell phone
s—s
omeone put them in his closet. He’s
yo
ur friend,
yo
u cave with him. You planted the phone
s—m
a
yb
e
yo
u were in there because
yo
u know him, ma
yb
e
yo
u snuck in through the unlocked cella
r—I
don’t know. Your home studio is right there in the neighborhood. Is that it? Is that how
yo
u saw us enter Mr. McKinne
y’
s house?”

“Ver
y
good.”

“Then what? Did
yo
u stop b
y
his place that night and see that the phones were gone?”

“Nicel
y
done. Yes. That’s when I knew it was time to
end this.”

“Daniel, g
o—”
Nicole hollered.

“Quiet!” Ackerman cut her off again. He moved her closer to the edge of the outcropping.

“Don’t!” Daniel
ye
lled.

You need to stall until
yo
ur dad can get here. Keep him talking.

“You chose girls from the schools Mr. McKinne
y
taught at on purpose, targeted ones he had in class back when he was a teacher there,” Daniel said. “You’ve been planning this, setting him up for
ye
ars. Wh
y?
”

“To make sure there were arrows that pointed somewhere other than at me.”

Wh
y
is he telling
yo
u this? That can’t be good. He’s not going to let
yo
u walk out of here alive.

“But wh
y
did
yo
u plant the cell phones now, this week?”

“I heard
yo
ur dad was looking into Emil
y’
s death a little more closel
y.
That was reason enough.”

Daniel dropped his pack of equipment. “Were there more than those three girls?”

“Just those. But there will be. Once
yo
u start
”—h
e took a deep, satisfied breat
h—“
it’s ver
y
hard to stop. No
w—”

“But wh
y?
” Daniel’s voice was strained as he thought of the appalling crimes Ackerman had committed. “Wh
y
did
yo
u kill them?”

“The thrill. The challenge. The adrenalin
e—
y
o
u must know what that’s like from
yo
ur games. It can be addicting, can’t it? Now, let’s get this over with. Do
yo
u see that rock shelf on
yo
ur right?”

Daniel glanced toward it.

Waist-high. Not ver
y
large.

Nicole’s cell phone sat among a cluster of rocks. The smallest was softball-sized, the rest were as big as bowling balls.

“What about Mrs. McKinne
y,
did
yo
u kill her too?” Daniel said.

“That was actuall
y
an accident. That’s wh
y
I chose drowning for Emil
y.
To wrap it all up in a sweet little bow. Enough talking. Now, toss
yo
ur phone down the shaft.”

There were a few questions Daniel still had, but Ackerman seemed to have thought things through prett
y
well, and right now Daniel realized he needed to focus completel
y
on rescuing Nicole and not worr
y
about t
yi
ng all the remaining threads together.

“Throw it down,” Ackerman repeated.

Daniel tossed his phone into Devil’s Throat.

It clattered against the walls, then, after what seemed like an impossibl
y
long time, it shattered to pieces with a sharp
crack!
on the bottom of the shaft.

“Now, take Nicole’s phone. You’re going to t
yp
e in
yo
ur confession and suicide note.”

“What?”

“You lured Emil
y
out to the lake, where
yo
u drowned her. Guilt-stricken,
yo
u fainted at her funeral. Nicole found out about it and
yo
u had to kill her too. You brought her here to do it. And then, overcome with remorse,
yo
u felt compelled to take
yo
ur own life.”

“No. No one will believe it.”

But Daniel had the sense that the
y
just might, considering his dad alread
y
suspected him: he’d told him about the blur
s—t
hen there was digging up Akira’s corpse, the interest he’d shown in Emil
y’
s death, the lens in his locker, his prints being the onl
y
ones on the glasses.

If Ackerman had deleted the last couple texts from Nicole’s phone, with Daniel’s destro
ye
d—u
nless the phone compan
y
kept records of the
m—t
here wouldn’t be an
y
proof that an
yo
ne had texted Daniel to get him to come out here to Wolf Cave, or an
y
proof that Daniel hadn’t picked up Nicole after he left K
yl
e . . . .

“What about
yo
ur car?” Daniel said. “You being out here?”

“I came here to stop
yo
u, but, tragicall
y,
I was too late to save either of
yo
u.”

No, it’ll never—

“I trust
yo
u, Daniel,” Nicole called.

“I’l
l—”
Daniel started

“Take the phone, Daniel,” Ackerman told him. “I’ll tell
yo
u what to t
yp
e.”

He’s going to kill her an
yw
a
y!

You need a bargaining chip. Something to—

“I trust
yo
u!” she shouted again.

Her e
ye
s were on the wall beside him, where the phone la
y
beside those rocks.

Does she mean the phone or—

He glanced up at her and saw her sl
yly
tuck her leg between two boulders to lock herself in place.

No. She didn’t mean the phone.

She means the rock.

“Pick up the phone, Daniel,” Ackerman ordered.

“Oka
y.
” He held up his hands palms forward to tr
y
to reassure him. “I’ll do it, just don’t hurt her.”

Onl
y
Ackerman’s shoulders and head were visible as he held Nicole in front of him.

He’s nine
ya
rds awa
y.
You could hit her.

No,
yo
u can do it. You’re that accurate with a football at twice this distance,
yo
u can hit him with a rock from here.

When he looked back at Nicole, she made an oka
y
sign with her fingers.

Do it.

Reaching toward the phone, Daniel chose the softball-sized rock instead and spun toward Ackerman. Instantl
y,
subconsciousl
y,
he calculated velocit
y,
trajector
y,
muscle flexion, the weight of the rock, the distanc
e—a
ll in a private, hidden corner of his mind, just like he did on the field, just like he did when he solved problems in math.

He fired the rock at Ackerman’s head.

Instinctivel
y,
the man ducked, and when he did, he loosened his grip on Nicole, who pulled awa
y
and leapt deftl
y
to the side.

The rock smashed against the cave wall and bounced off, clunked across the platform, and dropped into Devil’s Throat.

If the other rocks had been small enough, Daniel might have tried again, but the
y
were all too big to throw.

He didn’t have a choice. He needed to get Nicole safel
y
off that platform as fast as possible, and there was onl
y
one wa
y
to do that.

Knock Ackerman off it first—

—the rock hit the bottom—

Devil’s Throat loomed before him, a jagged twelve-foot-wide gash on the floor of the world.

The rope dangled on the other side. If he actuall
y
made it across, it would be possible to grab it, but the momentum from the jump would mean he would slam hard against the wall.

Traversing over there will take too long. Ackerman will throw her off before
yo
u can get to them!

But if
yo
u do this,
yo
u cannot miss that rope.

No choice.

Go!

He backed up to get a running start, sprinted toward the fissure that plummeted twelve stories into the earth, aimed for the rope hanging on the other side, and launched himself into space.

CHAPTER
SIXTY-FOUR

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he flew over Devil’s Throat, just like it had at the game when Emil
y
appeared to him on the field. He saw Nicole scrambling as far as she could awa
y
from Ackerman, the murderous look on the man’s face, the rope coming closer, and then—

Hands open, he grabbed for it. He missed with his left hand, but managed to snag it with his right. He rotated his bod
y
to take the force of impact against his side, but his knee was what hit the rock wall first.

For a brief moment adrenaline smothered the pain, then it rolled up his leg.

Even though he was clenching the rope as tightl
y
as he could, the force of impact jarred him harshl
y,
and his hand slid down to the next knot, ripping skin off his palm as it did.

Fire blazed through his hand, down his arm, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he gripped the rope with both hands and, ignoring the pain of his shredded palm, climbed to the ledge, pressed his toes against a small foothold, and clambered over the edge onto the platform.

He rose to his feet and faced Ackerman.

The man’s demeanor had changed and he had transformed into something dark and demonic, as if all the evil inside of him had risen to the surface, overwhelming an
y
good that used to be there. He hardl
y
looked like the same person. Narrowed e
ye
s. Tight fists. Bared teeth. Fierce. Primal.

You’re the bigger threat.

He’ll kill
yo
u, then he’ll throw her off too.

No.

He won’t.

Daniel tried to keep his injured leg from giving wa
y
under his weight, tried to disguise how much it hurt. “Don’t worr
y,
Nicole. It’s oka
y.
”

Ackerman said cooll
y,
“The
y
won’t be able to sort out the bones of the two of
yo
u on the bottom.”

He lunged toward Daniel, who managed to spin to the side, just as he would’ve if he were evading a tackle on the football field, but his leg buckled and he collapsed. Before he could stand again, Ackerman kicked him fiercel
y
in the ribs.

Pain chugged through him, but Daniel kept from cr
yi
ng out.

You might have a broken rib.

Yeah, well, deal with that later.

Ackerman kicked at him again, but Daniel was able to roll to the side, get hold of a boulder, and work his wa
y
to his feet.

The photographer swung a roundhouse punch and Daniel threw an arm up to block it. The force of the blow sent him reeling against the rock face. He tried to land a punch of his own, but Ackerman ducked out of the wa
y
faster than Daniel guessed he would and he almost lost his balance, almost went down again.

Behind Ackerman, Nicole went for the rope. She
ya
nked it up, tugged it toward another boulder, and pulled it tight between them, forming a line about knee height behind Ackerman.

“Do it!” she
ye
lled.

Ackerman came at Daniel, punched him violentl
y
in the face, driving him back against the side of the cave again.

“Now!” Nicole called.

“Sa
y
good-b
ye
, Daniel,” Ackerman hissed.

Daniel leaned against the wall for leverage, swung his left leg up, and kicked Ackerman hard in the chest, driving him toward the rope.

“Good-b
ye
.”

The photographer stumbled backward, hit the back of his legs against the rope that Nicole was holding taut, and toppled toward the shaft.

He seemed to hover for a moment at the edge of the sheer drop-off as he flailed his arms to tr
y
to regain his balance, then he tipped back and disappeared. The beam of light from his headlamp swirled crazil
y
up through the shaft as he fell. A long, thin scream trailed behind him as he hurtled toward the bottom.

And then the scream stopped as a thick crunch echoed up through the fissure, the light blinked out, and Devil’s Throat devoured the man who had killed three people.

But Daniel’s attention wasn’t on the scream.

Or the thud.

It was on Nicole, who’d slipped to the side from the force of Ackerman’s legs smacking against the rope she’d been holding.

“Daniel!” she cried as her legs dipped over the edge and the rest of her began to follow.

No!

He dove toward her, tr
yi
ng to keep his momentum from taking him over the ledge.

Just as her arm was disappearing, he snagged her wrist with his right hand. Her weight dragged him forward until he was l
yi
ng on his stomach, bent over the lip of the outcropping, holding her with onl
y
that one hand.

“I’ve got
yo
u! It’s oka
y!
”

Get her up fast. You can’t hold on like this,
yo
u need to—

Someone called out from the other end of the room. At first Daniel couldn’t tell who it was, but when he momentaril
y
tilted his headlamp up, he saw that it was his dad, flashlight in hand, emerging from the crawl hole.

He shouted for them to hold on and started to rush toward them, but Daniel didn’t think he had time to wait for his dad to get across the traverse before helping Nicole up to the ledge.

He grabbed her other wrist with his free hand, then worked to hoist her toward the ridge of the outcropping so she could hold on while he repositioned himself to help her up.

“You can do this,” he told her.

“Don’t let me fall,” she gasped.

“I won’t.”

He lifted her right arm, bringing her hand to the edge. She clung to it while he got a better grip on her and then leaned back, heaving her the rest of the wa
y
up.

She swung her legs over the edge, rolled onto the outcropping, and collapsed into his arms.

For a long moment neither of them spoke. The
y
were both breathing heavil
y,
riding on the rush of adrenaline and the lingering fear coursing through them.

“That was a good idea,” he said at last, “with the rope.”

“That was a good throw,” she replied, “with the rock.”

“I might have hit
yo
u.”

“Yeah, that would have reall
y
ruined m
y
da
y.
”

It took a little bit for them to catch their breath, then he pulled back from her slightl
y.
“Listen, I need to explain something about Stac
y.
” Whether or not this was a good time, he didn’t know, but he felt like he needed to do this.

“No, it’s . . .” Nicole sounded suddenl
y
distant. “It’s oka
y,
I . . .”

“Listen, there was never an
yt
hing there between us.”

“What do
yo
u mean?”

“Ever
yt
hing I thought I felt toward her was . . . well, I can honestl
y
sa
y
it was an illusion.”

She looked at him curiousl
y.
“Are
yo
u sure?”

“Yeah. She’s not someone I plan on ever seeing again. When I look at
yo
u it’s as if she never even existed.”

A faint smile. “Reall
y?
”

“Reall
y.
”

And then, as Daniel’s dad once again told them to sta
y
where the
y
were and made his wa
y
around the traverse that led along the rim of Devil’s Throat, Daniel held Nicole tight.

He felt her heart beating against him.

Not like a ghost.

Not like a blur.

Just like a girl he should have drawn close to him a long time ago.