Sanders 01 - Silent Run (13 page)

“It was the name she called her little girl. Jessie had a doll when she came to the foster home. It was the only thing she had with her from her past. The doll's name was Caitlyn."

Dylan drew in a quick breath, not sure what to think. “Is that why you thought your friend had suddenly come back from the dead? Or were you grabbing at straws because you felt guilty that you weren't around for Jessica before she disappeared?"

“I never said she was dead,” Catherine stated. “In fact, a few months after she disappeared I got a note in the mail. There was no return address, no signature, just the initial J."

“What did it say? Do you remember?"

“Every word. It said, ‘
Don't try to find me. It's too dangerous. I'll love you forever. Stay safe and happy
.' ”

“Did you keep the note?"

“For a long time."

“But you don't have it anymore?” he asked, unable to keep the skeptical note out of his voice.

“Now you sound just like the doctors, suggesting that I see her face everywhere I go, that I hear her voice, that I make up stories because I can't accept the fact that I let her down."

“You've seen doctors?” he asked, his doubts returning.

“Two,” she admitted. “I couldn't sleep for months after Jessie disappeared, because of the dreams, and my boyfriend told me I needed to get help so I could go on with my life. He didn't stick around to help me get there. He said I was obsessed and crazy. But that wasn't just because of Jessica. He didn't like that I could see things about him."

“What kind of things?"

“Just things that made him uncomfortable. I have a sense about people sometimes. And I get feelings about events that might happen."

“You're psychic?"

“And you're a skeptic. I'm not surprised,” she returned. “Most people are, especially reporters like you."

“I don't think I said I was a reporter,” he replied, feeling more than a little uncomfortable with her accurate assessment.

She gave him a little smile. “You are, aren't you?"

“It could be a lucky guess."

“Sure,” she said. “Whatever you say. I'm used to people doubting me, getting nervous when they're around me."

And everything she was saying was making him nervous. Was she nuts or giving him a real lead to follow?

“It's funny that your friend's name is Sarah,” Catherine continued. “Jessica had a grandmother named Sarah who lived in Boston. Jessie kept waiting for her grandmother to come and rescue her, but she never did."

Boston
! His gut turned over. Sarah had told him she'd lived in Boston with her grandparents after her parents had died in an accident. Was that just a fabrication, an embellishment of the fantasy she carried in her head after she was abandoned? It was enough of a connection to send a jolt of adrenaline through his bloodstream.

“I think we'd better sit down and talk this out,” he said decisively. “I want to know everything there is to know about Jessica, including her last name."

* * *

As Jake drove down the Pacific Coast Highway past Malibu and Santa Monica, heading for Venice Beach, Sarah soaked up the images of Southern California sunshine, swaying palm trees, in-line skaters, skateboarders, bicyclists, and joggers crowding the cement path that ran alongside the beach. Umbrellas, beach towels, and sunbathers filled the wide, sandy beaches, and surfers rode the large waves out by the Santa Monica Pier. It was a beautiful spring day, the kind of day that made her feel that something good was about to happen, that anything was possible. Her sense of optimism surprised her. But there was no denying the fact that she still had hope she'd find the answers to all her questions and that she'd hold her daughter in her arms very soon.

Her body had been battered. Her memory was in hibernation, but her fighting spirit was gaining strength. She was going to survive this. The voice in her head refused to let her think otherwise.

As they drove through the city she studied each street sign, each building, searching for something familiar to jog her memory. Her nerves tightened with each passing block. She began to feel on edge, wary. But she didn't know why.

She glanced into the side-view mirror, repeating an action she had done many times in the past few hours. Looking over her shoulder felt natural to her, too, as if it were part of her normal existence. Unfortunately there was a ton of traffic, and it was impossible to tell whether the cars behind them were on their tail or just going about their business.

“We're almost there,” Jake said, checking the map they'd picked up at a gas station. “With any luck, maybe we'll find your past and my daughter before this day is over."

Sarah didn't like that he referred to Caitlyn as his daughter, but she'd save that battle for another time. She didn't know what to make of Jake or the way she'd left him. She wanted to believe she'd had a good reason, but so far that reason eluded her. She'd seen no hint of violence in Jake. Anger, yes, definitely. And his words could cut like a knife. But she'd never felt physically afraid of him. He could be putting his best foot forward, hiding his dark side, but she didn't really think so. His emotions were too raw, his pain too real. He hurt too much over the loss of his daughter. And even perhaps her own betrayal. Despite the fact that he professed not to care about her at all anymore, sometimes she wondered if he wasn't trying to make that true, rather than it already being true.

And then there were her own feelings, an odd stirring whenever she looked at him. On some elemental level she recognized him, maybe trusted him, perhaps even loved him. That thought shook her to the core. She couldn't love a man she couldn't remember, could she?

The silence and intimacy of the car suddenly became too much for her. Reaching for the radio, she turned it on, blasting the car with music. She flipped through a couple of stations until a familiar beat tugged at her memory. She knew this pop song. She'd heard it playing before. Where? Closing her eyes, she let the melody run through her head.

The music was coming from a bedroom down the hall. How odd, she thought. No one should be in there. As she reached the door, she saw that it was half-open. She gave a knock, a push.

She heard a shriek and didn't realize it was coming from her until the two naked people on the bed rolled over to look at her, shock and horror on their faces -- or at least on the woman's face.

Betrayal ripped through her, and she ran from the room.

“This is the place,” Jake said.

“What?” Her eyes flew open as Jake stopped the car and turned off the engine. “What did you say?"

“I said we're here.” His brows drew together in a frown. “Where were you?"

“In the past. That song on the radio just now was playing in my head. I remember walking into a house, down a long hallway. I opened the bedroom door and there were two people having sex. I don't think they were supposed to be having sex."

“Who were they?” he asked quickly.

She licked her lips, wondering why their faces were now so vague. “I... I don't know. It's like the memory is just out of reach, hiding in the shadows. I felt a sense of deep betrayal.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe it was my parents."

“So you were a child in this memory?"

“No, that doesn't feel right. I must have been an adult. And the fact that these two people were having sex mattered to me.” A sudden thought occurred to her, and she turned to him with a question in her eyes. “Is it possible that you --”

Jake gave an immediate and definite shake of his head. “No, it wasn't me. I didn't cheat on you, Sarah.

I don't know why you left me, but you didn't leave because you saw me with another woman."

His green eyes were honest and true and, of course, angry, as if he couldn't believe she was questioning him about his fidelity after everything she'd supposedly done to him. “Okay,” she said.

“You can't turn this around on me."

“I'm not doing that, Jake. I'm just trying to figure out where the memory might have come from. And at the moment you're the only man in my life that I'm aware of. Did I ever mention any ex-boyfriends when we were together?"

“No. You said we didn't need to be one of those couples who shared every little secret.” He uttered a bitter laugh. “Little did I know just how many secrets you were keeping.” He tipped his head toward the street. “Why don't we table this for the moment and deal with what's right in front of us."

Looking around, Sarah noted that they were in a modest, working-class neighborhood on a street filled with apartment buildings a few blocks from the beach. “Which building did Margaret Bradley live in?"

“The three-story salmon-colored building about a half block down. I think there's a good chance that you may have lived in the same building. It's difficult to believe you'd be driving her car unless you knew her. I think she must have given you her vehicle because she wasn't driving anymore. She was in a convalescent hospital before her death, so that makes sense. It would also make sense that you were a neighbor or that someone who knew Margaret might also know you."

“I hope that's true."

“Only one way to find out. We start knocking on doors."

“Are you sure no one followed us here?” She checked the mirror once again. There was no one on the street, but quite a few cars were parked along the curb.

“I've been watching closely. I don't think we were followed, but if you did live in this area, whoever is after you might already know that."

“Maybe this is a bad idea. We could be walking into an ambush,” she said.

Jake stared at her. “We could be,” he agreed. “But I don't see that we have another choice."

“No, you're right. We have to find Caitlyn. And I'll do whatever it takes to accomplish that.” Opening her door, she got out and waited on the sidewalk for Jake to join her. A man came out of an apartment building across the street with his dog on a leash. He headed away from them, and Sarah let out a sigh of relief. She felt tense and on edge, acutely aware that there could be danger anywhere, from anyone, and she had to be ready.

They walked down the street and up to the main door of the apartment building. It was locked. There was a row of buzzers next to a speaker.

“Deputy Manning said that the people in Margaret Bradley's apartment didn't know her or you; at least, they didn't know anyone by the name Sarah Tucker,” Jake said. “But we might as well start with them.” He pushed the buzzer for apartment 310. When no one answered he tried the landlord. No response.

Sarah felt more uncomfortable with each passing minute. They were too vulnerable out in the open. “Maybe we should come back later. It's the middle of a workday. No one is home."

“Someone has to be home,” Jake said, moving down the list of buzzers.

“They're not going to let in a stranger."

“They might."

A moment later a young couple came through the front door. They were each so busy talking on their cell phones that they didn't give Jake or Sarah a second look. Jake caught the door before it shut. “After you,” he said. “We finally got a break."

“Those two didn't recognize me,” she said, following him into the building.

“Nor did they care who we were. So much for living in a secure building."

“Where are we going now?"

“Third floor. Might as well start at the top."

As they approached the steel doors of the elevator, Sarah hung back, her stomach clenching with fear. “I can't go in there,” she said shortly, her chest tight.

“In where?"

“The elevator. I can't go in that elevator.” She backed away as an image flashed before her eyes.

She was holding two bags of groceries. The metal doors were closing, but at the last second a man's hand came around the edge of the door. He slipped inside. She'd seen him before
.

A silent scream of terror ran through her. She began to shake.

Jake grabbed her arm, forcing her to look at him. “Sarah, what's wrong? Sarah, talk to me."

The elevator doors opened, and she bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. The open elevator revealed graffiti on the back wall, but otherwise it was empty.

“I've been in there before -- in that elevator,” she said. “A man got in just as the doors were closing. I don't know what happened next.” She put a hand to her mouth as waves of terror washed through her. Something bad had happened in that elevator. “I can't get in there. I can't."

“Okay, all right. Take it easy,” Jake said in soothing tones. “There's no one there now. But we'll go up the stairs."

She nodded, drawing in several deep breaths to slow her pounding heart. Jake pushed open the door to the stairwell.

“The good news is that you remembered being in this building,” he said. “That's the most specific memory you've had so far. It's a good sign."

She tried to feel happy about it, but the flashback had only brought back the fear she'd felt when the man in the hospital had tried to smother her. She'd fought for her life before. What had she done to make someone want to kill her?

When they reached the top floor, Jake began knocking on doors. They didn't have any success until they got to the last door. Sarah's heart skipped a beat as they heard footsteps.

“Oh, my God!” someone said in surprise.

Then the dead bolt turned with a decisive click and a woman opened the door. She appeared to be in her twenties and was dressed in black Lycra shorts and a tank top, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She gave Sarah a broad, relieved smile. “Where have you been, Samantha?” the woman asked. “I was so worried about you.”

“Samantha?” Sarah echoed in surprise. “Why did you call me Samantha?"