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‘No, he was always behind the scenes,’ Sam agreed. ‘He never took the spotlight.’

‘You were good friends?’

‘We hung out together and had a lot of laughs.’ He paused. ‘I never stayed in touch.’

‘This isn’t about what happened after,’ Zack reminded. ‘During high school, you were close?’

A pang of guilt made Sam lower his gaze. ‘Yeah, I guess we were close. He was my friend.’

‘So,’ Zack concluded, ‘if you’re the focus, a good way for someone to get close to you without looking like a groupie would be to first get close to Davey.’

Sam saw the reasoning. ‘By joining Davey’s lighting crew.’

Zack nodded. ‘If we can get the printed programmes from your plays, will they list all the people who worked behind the scenes?’

‘You bet. Signing everyone’s programme was
always a highlight of the cast parties. We made sure everybody had their name in there no matter how small a role.’

Zack tilted his chin at the office in the corner. ‘Time for you to turn the charm back on.’

Sam rolled his eyes. ‘OK, but first I need you to do me a favour.’

66

Nancy spun in her chair, her eyes twinkling with mischief, as Sam leaned over the mini-towers of books that guarded her small office.

‘I have another question for you,’ Sam said.

‘Anything,’ Nancy breathed.

‘Do you have copies of programmes from any of the school plays I was in?’

Nancy’s face dropped. ‘No, sorry. Those would have been nice to see, wouldn’t they?’ She tutted. ‘Nobody thinks at the time that they’ll want to look back and remember. People just don’t realize how special the moment is.’

Sam didn’t hide his disappointment.

‘I’m sorry,’ Nancy sighed. ‘Maybe one of your classmates held on to them. They must have been very special.’

Sam turned to leave and collided with Zack, who was knocked off balance and sent crashing into a wall of books. A dozen stacks toppled to the floor, sending yearbooks everywhere. Nancy
screamed in horror and dropped to all fours to guard several other teetering stacks.

‘I’m very sorry,’ Zack said. ‘Let me help you.’

‘Get out!’ Nancy’s face flushed a deep crimson. ‘I’ll fix it.’

‘I was just—’ Zack stopped as if his tongue was suddenly frozen to the roof of his mouth by Nancy’s icy stare.

Sam grabbed hold of his elbow and steered him away.

Zack and Sam hurried out of the school and across the parking lot to the Mercedes with its mud-encrusted Oregon licence plates.

‘That was cruel,’ Zack said.

‘True.’ Sam pulled the 1984 yearbook out from under his T-shirt. ‘But I promised this to a friend,’ he grinned, ‘a friend who kept everything.’

67

Sam directed Zack across the Burnside Bridge and into the empty lot where he had parked the night before. What remained of his Jeep lay in a blackened ruin. It had been stripped of its wheels, hood and front windshield before being torched.

Sam walked over to it and rested his hand on the dented rear fender. The blackened metal was still warm. His last possession gone.

Zack joined him. ‘Is that—’

‘Not even worth stealing.’

Sam turned his back on the smouldering heap and headed for the bridge.

Zack walked alongside. ‘You’ll want company down there. Your friend might not be as friendly after you set him on fire.’

Sam accepted the offer, and the two men walked to the bridge in silence.

At the top of the stairs, Sam stopped and looked across the river. The sky was beginning to turn a vibrant orange as the sun slid behind
a thin cloud on its slow journey to the ocean.

‘We used to come here as kids,’ Sam said. ‘Smoke pot, drink beer, cause trouble. The cops didn’t care so long as we kept it on this side of the bridge.’ He looked down into the darkness beneath the concrete and ironwork spans. ‘I wonder if it’s the same with them? So long as the tourists on the west shore aren’t bothered, the cops leave them be.’

Zack shrugged. ‘Probably. They have to live somewhere.’

‘Segregation again? We go where we’re comfortable, where we fit in.’

‘Or ghettoization,’ Zack retorted. ‘We go to the only place the cops won’t harass us.’

Sam accepted the opinion and looked over the water again. ‘Did you know what you wanted to be? In high school, I mean.’

‘Mostly,’ Zack said. ‘I knew I wanted to go into medicine, specifically surgery, but I was also fascinated by the new era of computers. In university, I studied both for a while. Specializing in cosmetic work came later. You?’

‘It never crossed my mind that I could be anything other than an actor,’ Sam said. ‘I was so determined, so focused on that goal, I just assumed everyone felt the same way. The idea of not knowing where you belonged never entered my head.’

‘You’re talking about the kidnapper,’ Zack said.

‘Yeah, and about people like Davey. It’s like
graduation takes them by surprise and suddenly their entire support network is gone. One day you’re part of this cool club, and the next you’re on your own. As soon as graduation was over, I was off to Hollywood to become a star. But what did Davey do? He’s still here, smokin’ dope, drinkin’ beer and causing trouble.’

‘And now we’re back here, too.’

Sam raised one eyebrow as if to protest, but then let it drop and began descending the stairs.

At the bottom, he turned and walked under the bridge. The makeshift village looked deserted and the burning barrels were unlit. A few cold eyes peered from the darkness of the bridge’s ironworks, fearful faces hidden beneath masks of soot.

Sam called out, ‘I’m looking for Davey O. It’s important.’

A pile of rags beside a large wooden spool rustled and shifted, then rose up to form a familiar shape. The hobbit strode forward, his western slicker dragging behind him. His beard was matted with egg yolk and tiny fragments of bright blue shell.

He strode to within a foot of Sam and placed his hands on his hips. ‘Davey don’t want to see you. You hurt him last time.’

‘That was unavoidable,’ Sam said. ‘But I have something for him. Something I promised I would bring.’

The hobbit’s eyes narrowed. ‘He said you burned his book.’

‘I want to make it up to him.’

The hobbit cleared his throat of phlegm and spat a thick glob on the ground. ‘Why should he trust you again?’

‘I made a promise,’ said Sam.

The hobbit snorted. ‘Promises are like shit round here. Plentiful supply, but it can’t buy bread.’

‘I have his book,’ Sam explained. ‘A new one. I want to give it to him.’

‘I can deliver it.’

Sam shook off the suggestion. ‘It needs to be me.’

The hobbit showed his teeth. They were the colour of wet coffee grounds. ‘Cause you need somethin’ else, right? Never nothin’ for free round here. Not even on a promise.’

Sam bristled, but held his tongue, knowing the man was right. ‘Can you get the message to him? I’ll be back later tonight.’

The hobbit didn’t nod or shake. ‘If he wants to see you, he’ll be here.’

68

At the motel, Sam held up his arm to stop Zack in his tracks. The door to their room was ajar.

Sam motioned for Zack to stand back before he crouched and nudged the door with his foot. The door creaked open, but nothing moved within.

Sam peered around the doorway. The room looked undisturbed.

He stood and entered. There was nowhere for anyone to hide, so he walked quickly to the bathroom and kicked open the door. Empty.

When he turned to give the all-clear, Zack was standing in front of the TV.

Scrawled across the screen in white grease pencil was a simple message:

Mall
Midnight

The cellphone rang as Sam leaned over the sink,
scraping the stubble off his face with a disposable razor.

He answered on the second ring.

‘Have you thought about the money, Sam?’

The electronic voice sent a chill across Sam’s skin, raising goose bumps despite the steamy warmth rising from the sink.

‘Yes.’ Sam thought of the message left on the TV. ‘I’ll be getting the last of it tonight.’

‘Very good. I had faith in you even when you doubted yourself.’

‘Can I talk to my family?’

‘They are scared, Sam. They don’t like the dark.’

Sam fought back his anger. ‘I need to know they’re alive?’

‘Soon, I would think. Very soon. You are almost finished.’

‘Please don’t hurt them,’ he pleaded.

‘That’s not up to me,’ said the voice. ‘Their fate is entirely in your hands.’

69

The watcher looked down upon the frightened woman huddled in the darkness with nothing but a moth-eaten blanket to keep her warm.

The army surplus cot had become fragile with mould, the bottom third of its canvas length already split with rot and preventing her from stretching out. At least she should be grateful that its steel frame kept her off the damp ground, which would leech every bit of heat from her shivering body.

He surmised that if he cared anything about her survival, his choice of prisons didn’t reflect it. But he also knew the harshest environments produced the fastest results.

The woman didn’t look so beautiful now. Some of the bruises on her face and arms had turned ugly colours and her hair was an unkempt mass. If she looked in a mirror, she would probably scream. But there were no mirrors here, just him. He would become her world; her
saviour; her prince on a charging white stallion.

Fortunately, he still had his imagination and the secret photos that he stuck to the wall as a reminder that he never stopped watching. Once she was completely his, he could make her exactly the way he desired.

Her body and face were simple to repair; a little food to bring back the curves, a long bath to make her skin glisten, and, of course, time to heal. Her mind, on the other hand, was more delicate to control, but it was almost there.

He closed the cell door behind him and walked closer. Her eyes lifted to his and he greeted them warmly. Within those red-rimmed orbs he still saw the pulsating fear of the man who had ripped her from her comfortable world. But it was only a matter of time before that terror was replaced with utter devotion.

She was already willing to do most of the things he asked of her. All he needed was to make her
want
to do them.

The watcher stroked the woman’s hair and cradled her head against his thigh. She started to cry again, but he made her stop with gentle shushing sounds and a tightening of the grip on her neck.

‘Now tell me again,’ he whispered soothingly, ‘why you love me so.’

70

The dark-haired woman cooed to the sleeping child, rocking her gently upon her lap. She felt so weary. The pain in her ribs combined with the lack of food, water and light drained her energy with every movement. Time was immeasurable in the dark, the passing of days or hours no longer relevant to their existence.

When MaryAnn awakened, the woman planned to teach her how to stretch her muscles and control her breathing, using yoga to keep up her strength without too much exertion.

She found she no longer cared about herself. Death wasn’t something she feared. If she had been alone, she may have found a way to end it, but now she needed to keep the child strong.

A flame of anger still burned within her and whispered fiercely that an escape would present itself, a small crack, a mistake. The child would have to be able to run. She could tackle the man again, surprise him, hurt him – she had proven
that – and hold him back for at least a short time.

The woman talked to herself, repeating the plan inside her head, a silent monologue of affirmations.

With every fibre of her being she swore she would allow no one to harm the child.

71

Sam stopped the Mercedes in the empty parking lot at the rear of the mall and retrieved his gun from the glovebox. He took his time reloading the ammunition and making sure the chamber under the hammer was empty. Once satisfied, he slipped it into the pocket of his vest and waited.

At midnight, a sleek black Cadillac Escalade SUV with tinted windows cruised by his window and stopped a short distance away. Sam climbed out and crossed the gap as the SUV’s rear passenger window rolled down in whisper silence.

Vadik’s wide face peered out from the inner darkness. Another figure sat beside him, but he sat deeper in the shadows, face turned away.

‘You got my message?’

‘Hard to miss.’ Sam focused on his breathing as he struggled to keep the nervousness out of his voice.

‘You up for this?’ Vadik asked.

Sam nodded, his eyes hard, stance solid, showing confidence.

‘Just like the movies, huh?’ Vadik’s smile narrowed. ‘Only in this case, we want all cameras off.’

‘It won’t be a problem.’

‘Good.’ Vadik glanced down at his watch. ‘My crew will be here in twenty minutes. Make sure the cargo doors are open and they have full access to every store.’

‘What about my money?’

Vadik grinned and Sam saw a brief flash of white teeth from the stranger beside him.

‘A man after my own heart.’

With a nod from Vadik, the driver’s door opened and the hulking guard stepped out with a briefcase. He walked around the large vehicle and handed it to Sam. A short steel chain dangled from the black handle, ending in a single handcuff.

Sam accepted the case, noticing its heft. Paper isn’t heavy, but a quarter million dollars’ worth has real weight. The guard handed him two small silver keys on a single metal loop and returned to the vehicle.

‘Once my men are inside and we’re sure you’ve done your job, you’re free to go,’ Vadik said. ‘Any questions?’

Sam shook his head, steeling himself for the job ahead.

Vadik stared at him a moment longer, the
silence uneasy. Sam could feel himself being measured, judged. He didn’t flinch.

Vadik flicked his eyes to the side and the stranger gave a short nod. The window slid back into place, its dark tint obscuring the interior.

The SUV drove away as Sam approached the mall.

72

Sam rapped on the large metal doors at the rear of the mall, knowing that if Ken had stuck to his regular patrol schedule he would be in the immediate area.