Her Dying Breath (17 page)

I’m glad you warned me
.

Nick’s husky tone as he’d murmured those words kept Brenda awake half the night. She grabbed a cup of coffee to go the next morning, a headache burgeoning from lack of sleep.

Heaven help her, but she wanted that man in her bed.

Not going to happen, Brenda
.

She obviously wasn’t his type. So what was his type?

Muttering a few choice words for letting her mind even venture into that territory, she stepped outside on her front stoop to wait for Nick. Maybe the cool morning air would clear her head, and dispel the images of Nick naked in bed, doing wicked things to her.

Her phone buzzed, and she checked to see if it was her boss. She’d sent him an e-mail the night before, assuring him she’d have a fabulous story when she finished her research; maybe even several personal profiles on the subjects of the experiment, as well as a piece on Arthur Blackwood himself.

But Ron Stowe’s number appeared on the screen. She let it roll to voice mail. He should have been the man in her lust-driven dreams. At least she had a chance of sleeping with him.

Nick showed absolutely zilch interest.

Except his voice had turned husky last night. And he had warned her to lock the door as if…as if he might be worried about her.

Truthfully, she had been spooked by that car down the street. Of course it was gone this morning.

She was probably just being paranoid.

Maybe not.
A killer is sending you private texts. She might be watching you.

Nick’s sedan rolled up; he pulled into a parking space, but Brenda threw her purse over her shoulder, gripped her coffee, and hurried to his car. The grim expression he shot her when she settled in the seat wiped all sexual thoughts aside.

Not that he wasn’t sexy with that stern, tough scowl on his face.

But he definitely hadn’t stayed awake lusting after her all night.

“Did you hear anything else from our unsub?” Nick asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

“No.”

“You’re sure?” Nick asked as he drove from the parking lot.

Brenda folded her arms around her to ward off the chill. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“I checked, but no murders were reported in the area, none that fit the MO of our unsub.”

“Maybe she won’t kill again,” Brenda said.

Nick grunted. “She will. If Logger’s murder had been an isolated event, she wouldn’t contact you. She wants us to know she’s smart, and that it wasn’t an accidental asphyxiation. She wants to make a point. And the number she carved on her victim is significant.”

Brenda ignored Nick’s disgusted look as she made a note of his comments in her notepad. She had a good memory, but sometimes details were forgotten. And she wanted this story to be accurate.

They lapsed into a strained silence as he drove to Amelia’s. When they arrived, Sadie and Jake were already there. They obviously wanted to protect Amelia. If she were in their shoes, she’d feel protective, too.

Jake led them into the entryway. “She’s agreed to talk to you both,” Jake said. “But I’m warning you, Brenda, don’t report anything unless I give you the go-ahead.”

“I know the drill,” Brenda said. “You should trust me by now.”

Jake and Nick exchanged questioning looks, as if that was improbable, then Jake escorted them to the kitchen. Brenda noticed that the dark, ominous paintings she’d seen before were gone, and wondered if Sadie had hidden them from her.

“Hi, Sadie, Amelia,” Brenda said. “Thank you for letting me come.”

Sadie’s gaze met hers. “You did a nice job with the last story, Brenda. I just hope you respect our family and how much Amelia has suffered. Her condition is still delicate.”

Brenda’s heart squeezed. “I understand. I honestly don’t want to hurt any of you.” She turned to Amelia, who was sipping a cup of tea, and sank into the chair beside her. “You’re a very brave woman, Amelia.”

Amelia smiled, squaring her shoulders. She’d always looked as if she were in a fog before, mainly due to the drugs her caretaker had given her. Her eyes looked clearer, more focused, now. Maybe she was healing.

Sadie offered tea or coffee, but Brenda and Nick declined. Nick claimed a chair, and Jake joined Sadie. He laid one hand on her shoulder in a display of support, and emotions tugged at Brenda.

What would it feel like to have a man love her the way Jake loved Sadie? So deeply and unconditionally?

“Amelia,” Nick said. “I hate to bring up this painful subject, but I need to ask you some questions about the sanitarium.”

Sadie squeezed her sister’s hand. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t feel up to it.”

Amelia pursed her lips. Outside, the wind chimes tinkled again. “No, Sadie—my therapist said that talking about it might help me heal.”

“You could help us save a life, too,” Jake said gently.

Amelia’s hand trembled slightly as she set her mug on the table. “I don’t remember a lot about that time.”

“Tell us about the CHIMES,” Nick said.

Amelia’s eyes darted to Sadie’s, then back. “I don’t know what all they did to us in the experiments.”

“How about the other children?” Brenda asked softly. “Did you meet them?”

Amelia’s hand moved as if she were playing an instrument. “
Ting, ting, ting
. The chimes are ringing.”

Brenda frowned, and Sadie spoke up. “They played music that sounded like wind chimes, the same repetitious sound over and over, to hypnotize the kids.”

Nick clenched his jaw, but Brenda forced herself not to react.

“What else do you remember, Amelia?” she asked.

Amelia looked at Brenda, and suddenly reached out and took her hand. “The clock. Ticktock. Ticktock. Ticktock.”

Again, more repetition. She’d read about brainwashing and how terrorists used repetitive sounds or sensory stimulations or deprivations to torture their captives.

“They lined us up, and then we went through the tunnel of darkness.”

“They forced them down to the basement of the sanitarium,” Sadie said, her voice cracking.

The room grew quiet, still, the tension palpable.

“They took the others with you,” Brenda said gently. “Who were they, Amelia?”

Amelia’s eyes looked haunted, as if she were far away in a disturbing, frightening place. “We didn’t have names. Just numbers.” One lone tear trickled down her cheek. “I was Three. Always Three.”

A sick feeling swelled inside Brenda.

“So far we know there were five of you,” Nick said. “Joe Swoony, Grace Granger, Bertrice Folsom, and Emanuel Giogardi.”

“Grace died,” Amelia said as she wiped the tear away. “He killed her.”

“I know,” Brenda said. Amelia was still clinging to her hand, her nails digging into Brenda’s palms. But Brenda didn’t release her. “Were there more?”

“More numbers,” Amelia said with a slow nod, as if a memory had surfaced. “A boy,” she whispered softly. “A big boy—he always stood behind me when they lined us up.”

“What was his name?” Nick asked.

“I told you we didn’t have names, just numbers,” Amelia said, agitation lacing her voice. “Grace was One, Joe Two. Emanuel and Bertrice, Four and Five.”

“Who was the big boy you mentioned?” Brenda asked.

“Six.”

“Was he the last one in the line?”

Amelia shook her head. “No, there was another girl.” She looked up, her eyes darkening. “She tried to run away, but they caught her.”

“She was Seven?” Brenda said softly.

Amelia nodded. “Seven and Six were his favorites,” Amelia whispered.

“Do you know where Six and Seven are now?” Nick asked.

Amelia took another sip of her tea, but when she spoke, her voice was calm. Controlled.

“They went to live with the Commander.”

As soon as they left Amelia’s, Brenda checked her phone. She wanted the killer to contact her again, wanted to establish a two-way communication with her. So she quickly sent another text.

Seven? Where are you? Talk to me
.

“Anything?” Nick asked.

Brenda shook her head. “Let’s give her some time.”

“If you can form some kind of bond with her, we might be able to use that to reel her in.”

Brenda nodded, and they lapsed into silence as they drove toward the prison, the hills the road wound through giving way
to farmland, ancient trailer parks, and countryside that was turning lush and green with spring.

An hour later, they slowed and entered through the security gates, then parked and walked to the front together. Several inmates played basketball on the court in the yard, while others congregated in groups to talk and smoke.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Nick asked as they checked his keys and their phones at the security desk. “My father can be…dangerous.”

Brenda’s gaze met his. “Lives are at stake, Nick. If I can reach your father, it’ll be worth it.”

A war raged in Nick’s eyes, but he finally murmured agreement, and they walked into the prison together.

Their conversation with Amelia echoed in Nick’s head.

Seven and Six were his favorites.

Nick knew what it meant to be the favorite. “I’m going in with you,” Nick said as they were escorted to a visiting room.

Brenda turned to him. “Don’t you think your father might open up more if he’s alone with me?”

Nick gritted his teeth as images of the way his father had brutalized him raced through his mind. He’d seen his father’s crazed, detached look in the basement at the sanitarium when he was about to kill Sadie. Ruthless. Cold. A bastard. “My father is dangerous, Brenda.”

“I know that, but there are guards everywhere.”

That didn’t alleviate Nick’s anxiety. “Typically the inmates on twenty-four-hour lockdown are restricted in their visitation, and you could only talk to him through a Plexiglas screen. But I arranged for you to have a room today.”

“Good—he’ll be more relaxed that way, and maybe let down his guard.”

“The Commander never lets down his guard.” Nick scraped a hand over his chin, rubbing at the stubble already spiking up.

The guard showed them to the room. “All visits are taped for security purposes. There’s a room next door with a TV monitor where you can watch, Agent Blackwood.”

Nick took Brenda’s arm, forcing her to look at him. “Be careful. If he says anything, tries anything—”

Brenda’s eyes locked with his. “I’ll be fine, Nick. I’m not afraid of your father.”

Nick swallowed hard. “You should be.”

Brenda’s lips curled into a smile. “Don’t worry, I can handle myself. Besides, I trust that you won’t let anything happen.”

She squeezed his hand, then disappeared into the room.

Nick grimaced. She might think she was equipped for anything, but she didn’t know the depth of devious behavior his father was capable of.

The scars on the back of his neck itched.

If his father touched her, he’d kill him.

Brenda took a deep breath as she entered, and Nick slipped into the next room to watch. His father was already seated, his feet shackled, his handcuffed hands splayed on the table. Just like always, the son of a bitch appeared calm, confident, in control.

The sick monster.

Brenda sank into the chair facing him, removed a mini-recorder, and placed it on the table. “I hope you don’t mind if I record our conversation, Mr. Blackwood.”

“Of course not, Brenda. I’m glad someone in this backwoods town finally wants to hear my side.”

Brenda offered him a smile. “I’m sure everyone is eager to know the motivation behind the research you conducted in Slaughter Creek. Maybe if they understood the purpose of the experiment, all the negativity would settle down.”

The Commander leaned back in the chair, his eyes intense as he studied Brenda. “Yes, that’s what everyone is missing. The fact that the research was intended to help our government. Back during the Cold War, people were terrified about the measures
foreign governments were taking. The US didn’t want to be caught off guard in a biowarfare attack.”

“So your research involved chemical testing on subjects?”

“Yes, along with behavior programming and mind control.” He rubbed a finger along the corner of his mouth, obviously enjoying her undivided attention. “Basically, a soldier’s biggest flaw is that he’s human. Emotions cloud his judgment. We were striving to eliminate that emotional factor so we could hone soldiers to be more efficient, to enable them to follow strict military orders and commands.”

“So the soldier experiences no guilt or remorse when he kills?” Brenda asked.

“Exactly,” the Commander said. He leaned forward, a sinister smile curling his lips.

“To do that, you sacrificed innocent children without their parents’ consent?”

“As in all wars, there are casualties of the cause.”

Nick balled his hands into fists. He wanted to make him a casualty.

“Let’s talk about those casualties,” Brenda suggested.

“Of course.”

Brenda laid a piece of paper listing the names of the victims they’d uncovered on the table. “We have identified these subjects, but we know there are more.”

“Where did you get that information?” he asked with a smirk.

“Amelia is finally talking,” Brenda said.