Dark Visions (14 page)

She started to pinch a small piece of skin
on the back of her hand, imaging it was hair she was removing. She
pinched harder, hoping to calm herself.

Her moans increased.

Something hard hit her in the side of the
head, which knocked her into the wall of the trailer.

Consciousness swam away.

Chapter 31

Denise flipped off the news; nothing worth
listening to. She hadn't been paying attention anyway. Thoughts
about tomorrow kept running around in her head. Was everything
worked out? Did they have all the precautions in place? Would Mr.
Ward be a problem?

She hated dealing with people like Mr. Ward.
So self important, living life as if he's on stage. A drama fixed
for the audience of his employees. But he was the man with the
money. And she wanted this deal, seeing as it was going to be one
of her last, if not
the
last deal she made in this
business.

She swiveled in her office chair and opened
the bottom desk drawer. In it, a dated photo of her mother sat face
up. It had been taken a year before her father died. The same year
they stopped talking.

Her mother had been quite upset with
Denise's decision to sell off the family heirlooms. A couple
generations of artwork left to Denise in her father's will. Various
collectors snooped around after Denise's father passed away,
looking to find out who would be in control of the small
fortune.

Denise sold it piecemeal, living off the
smaller, less expensive items for the first five years. Then she
met Mr. Ward. He paid her top dollar for some of her father's
collection. In the last fifteen years, Denise had sold almost
everything.

The painting called 'White Center' by a guy
named Rothko was rumored to fetch millions at Sotheby's in New York
if she wanted to auction it. It was completed in 1950, and by the
late fifties her father had bought it for under a hundred thousand
dollars.

A large seven foot canvas wasn't easy to
transport without damages. She wasn't in the art business, she was
only a seller. But they'd done it. Now it sat in the secured and
renovated shell of the Sky Blue motel, guarded twenty four hours a
day by armed security. Some of the best money could buy. There was
a reason for it; the recent break-ins at Sotheby's and two serious
art dealers who had sent men to threaten and intimidate Denise to
secure this painting for their collections.

Denise had her storage facilities broken
into too. She wasn't good at being discreet, or security conscious.
It was better for her to keep the higher priced stuff in warehouses
and storage units, than just keeping it at home.

This was her last piece that held notoriety,
her ticket back to normalcy. Once it was gone, she'd have nothing
left for collector's to hound her for. Museums could take the rest.
What did she care? Mr. Ward had made her a generous offer; one that
would keep the painting out of an auction house.

Staring at her mother's picture brought back
a lot of memories. Maybe when this was all over, she'd give her a
call.

"Esmerelda."

She said her mother's name out loud,
digesting the sound of it in her ears.

She jumped when the phone rang.

"Yeah."

"We got a problem."

"What problem?"

"A cop was just here."

"A cop? What are the police doing there? No
one knows where the painting is."

"He pulled in and dumped the car. I've got
the girl."

She wondered where these guys got their
smarts. Half explanations were frustrating. She stood up and turned
to look out her window. It opened to a garden surrounded by trees.
Calm
, she thought.
Stay calm
.

"What do you mean by 'I've got the girl'?
And why would a cop dump his car?"

"The girl he was traveling with. She ran
into the motel. Jenkins and I scanned the perimeter, but the cop is
gone. He just disappeared."

"Disappeared? Cops don't dump cars and
disappear. Could it be he wasn't a cop?" She put a hand on her
forehead. This was not good. Mr. Ward wouldn't do business with her
if he knew the police were snooping around. Whether it was a real
cop or not, this could be bad.

"He disappeared. I would know if he was
still here. I've tracked people before."

"Then ask the girl who he was and why they
came to the motel."

"I can't."

Frustration hit new levels.

"Why can't you?"

"She's unconscious."

"Why is she unconscious?"

"I knocked her out to keep her quiet."

Great
, thought Denise.
This had
horrible written all over it
.

"Look, I can't be there until the
transaction happens tomorrow morning. Keep the girl safe, but keep
her out of the way until this is done. Can you do that?" A beep
came through the line. Someone was calling her. "Hold for a second.
Someone's calling me on the other line."

She pulled the phone from her ear, pressed
the button and said hello in too gruff a voice.

"Is something wrong?"

She collected herself immediately. "Not at
all, Mr. Ward. What can I do for you?"

"I was calling to make sure our meeting is
still on for tomorrow morning."

"It is. Everything's set. I'll have the
account numbers for the wire transfers. The package will be ready
for transport."

"Good. I'll see you in the morning," he
said, and hung up.

She went back to the other line.

It was dead.

Chapter 32

The edge of town was near. He checked the
signal on his cell phone; one bar. There had better be a good
signal soon.

He needed direction. He needed purpose. He
needed to know what to do. Better yet, he wanted someone to tell
him. Something his late brother would offer. Since he was dead, the
boss would have to take his place.

He checked his phone again. Two bars.

He dialed the boss's cell number. He got a
machine after five rings. He hit redial and waited. It was answered
on the third ring.

"What's up? It's like, two in the morning.
Why are you calling now?"

"I got trouble." He heard his boss moving,
like he was getting out of bed.

"You're fuckin' right you do, Gert. What the
hell were you guys thinking? I still can't get over the fact that
you two didn't take the girl we'd planned on."

"Because this girl fucked that up. She got
in the way. It was the second time she'd been at a planned
kidnapping in six months. Too coincidental. She was trying to steal
our car."

Gert heard his boss swear under his
breath.

"I figured something was weird with her when
I saw her at the Psychic Fair the other day. I thought it was the
same girl you spoke about on the Bennett kidnapping. She looked as
outlandish as you described her with all that hair missing in
clumps. I called her house and tried to set up a meeting with her,
but she hung up on me in mid sentence."

Gert stopped walking and turned from the
shoulder of the highway. An SUV passing him made it difficult to
hear well.

"I want the money for the kidnapping we were
supposed to do."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. My brother was killed and I won't let
him die for nothing."

"Can you hear yourself? Do you know what
you're saying? We can't do the ransom gig. You don't have the right
girl. We know nothing about her parent's financial status. Kill
this girl and dump the body in a swamp before every cop in the
country is after you."

He shook his head even though he knew the
boss couldn't see him. "No way. Put the money in the account or I
tell the parents who you are."

There was a pause before his boss spoke.
"You don't want to threaten me. I could give the police your name
and location and they'd hunt you down. They wouldn't even ask me
how I knew. They'd assume it was my psychic abilities."

He slowed his breathing. Better not lose
control. He needed help here, not an enemy.

"She's gone."

"What?"

"She's gone. She escaped. I couldn't find
her. I looked for an hour and then hunkered down in one of the
rooms to wait in this abandoned motel. I fell asleep until after
midnight. I've been walking back towards town ever since. I need a
car."

"You're lying. What motel? Where're
you?"

Gert didn't know what to say. What if the
boss wanted him dead? He couldn't tell him where he was. Too
risky.

His boss continued, "So go back and get her.
She can identify you. Once you have her, get her to write something
for you."

"What're you talking about, write
something?"

"When I saw her at the Psychic Fair, she
dropped to the ground and started writing in her notebook. I've
worked with a lot of psychic's over the years and I know she's an
Automatic Writer. I think she's aware of the kidnappings because
someone's telling her about them through her pen."

"Are you for real?" Gert asked.

"We need her off the street for good. She
can identify us."

"Now I know you're
fucking
with me,
because there's no way she could have that kind of information.
Listen to you. I don't believe in psychics."

"I saw it. Believe me. That's why she has to
die."

"Are you sure you don't want this one found
safe like the other girls we've taken?"

"She told Esmerelda something important. I
may have to remove her too. Everything is getting out of hand. Why
did you have to take Sarah in the first place?"

Gert gripped the cell phone tighter to his
ear as a loud rig passed by. "You actually believe this Automatic
Writer shit?"

"You're asking me if I believe in psychic
stuff. Come on, just do your fuckin' job and stop killing people. I
can't help you if they launch a nationwide manhunt. Don't make any
more mistakes. The girl has to die. Go back to the motel and find
her. You can keep her alive for at least one day. We may need her
for voice verification. After this blows over, we'll take a month
off and hit another city. I'll get close to the investigation on my
side so I can keep on top of their progress. I'll try to give them
something psychic."

Gert pressed end on his cell. A fly buzzed
his ear. He swatted at it and turned towards town. Instead of
walking back to the motel, he decided to steal a car and drive
back. It had been a two hour walk into town. He didn't feel like
just turning around and going back.

He looked at the time on his phone. That
could get him back to the motel by 5:00am or so, depending on how
long it took to get a car.

He would have the girl and be back on the
road before the sun came up.

He would need pen and paper to see if this
Automatic Writing shit was real.

She would write something for him or he
would kill her.

Just like that.

Screw the voice verification shit.

His step felt lighter with the knowledge
that Sarah would die today.

Chapter 33

Amelia heard the car and looked through the
living room window as Caleb strode up. He walked in the front door
and slammed it behind him.

"It's well past midnight. Where've you
been?" she asked even though she knew.

"What's all this?" His eyes seemed wild,
panicked. "Why are you people in my house?"

"Why didn't you tell me about the ransom
call?"

He glared at her. "I didn't want to worry
you. You went through enough when we lost Vivian. I wanted to check
something out first. Then I was coming home to fill you in on
everything."

Amelia stepped back.

"Why are the police here?" Caleb asked. "If
you know about the ransom call, why are the police involved?"

"We came because of the hit and run last
night." Amelia saw Sam Johnson step into the foyer. "We were
looking for a recent photo of your daughter. Once your wife and I
got talking, we realized she didn't know about our visit before
that so she invited us in. Now we're looking for your daughter the
right way. No cowboy stuff."

Amelia knew the smile on Detective Johnson's
face wouldn't win her husband over. They'd both lost a lot of
respect for the way police did things when Vivian was taken from
them. Vivian's killer never got caught.

"For the record, I don't like it," Caleb
said. "I already lost one daughter and I'm not going to lose Sarah.
The kidnapper told me to not involve the police. I don't want you
here, but I won't go so far as to tell you to leave yet. Find my
daughter soon, or get out."

Amelia looked at the detective. He nodded
his head and turned away, leaving them alone.

"You said you wanted to check something out.
Then you were going to tell me about it. What was it?" Amelia
asked.

Caleb reached out and took her arm. He led
her down the hallway and into their bedroom.

"Are they listening in?" he asked.

Amelia shook her head.

"I don't believe in psychics, but I went to
talk to Dolan Ryan. That's the guy who runs the Psychic Fair. If
he's really some kind of psychic, then why not help us find
Sarah?"

"You've changed. A week ago if I did the
same thing you would have laughed at me."

Caleb nodded and looked at the carpet. "I
know. But after that fortune teller told Sarah about danger and now
this, I just thought maybe there was something to it. That's why I
told you it was Jehovah Witnesses at the door. I didn't want the
police involved until I talked to Dolan."

"What did he say?"

"He said he wouldn't help us. Then the
police took me downtown and said I had to stay away from the
Psychic Fair. I got a cab back to the fair's parking lot to pick up
our car. For the last, I don't know how many hours; I've been
driving around hoping to spot Sarah."