In Her Shadow (24 page)

“Oh my God!”

“You know who she’s talking to,
don’t
you?”

“Malcolm, her grandpa’s cousin. Claire said he gave her the creeps! So much was going on, Hank. Why didn’t I listen?”

She tells him about Claire’s fear that she was being followed, her suspicions about her therapist’s murder and her grandfather’s warnings.

Hank shakes his head in disbelief. “She told me she thought her grandpa was saying something to her... But why didn’t she tell me the rest?”

“She just found out about Dr. Marsha. And, shit. I told her she was just being paranoid about the car thing. Some black SUV she saw twice.”

“You think Malcolm is involved in all of this?” It’s a lot of information to absorb and he hasn’t remotely connected the dots. But they have something—an identity.

“Maybe not all of it, but he’s involved somehow. If anything’s happened to her...” “What’s his last name?”

Elle closed her eyes, thinking. “Campbell.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Dr. Malcolm Campbell. It was on some chocolates he sent her.”

While Hank Googles the physician on his phone, Elle calls the police. Though her sentences come out jumbled, she gets the point across—Claire is missing. Her car is where she last parked it. She left a frantic sounding voicemail after nine o’clock and no one has heard from her since. And she suspects that a relative Claire called “creepy” has her.

“What do you mean?” Elle sounds anxious. “I just told you the reason... No, I didn’t see her leave with him...” She pauses. “Fine.”

She hangs up, disheartened. “They said we can come in and file a report. If she’s still missing in forty-eight hours—”

“Christ, we can’t wait forty-eight hours!”

“I know... Did you find anything more on him? Phone number or address?”

“There’s about a thousand M. Campbells in Minnesota, only a couple Malcolms. I found his work site, but that only has a clinic address... Cynthia said he lives near Rochester. But if that’s the case, he’s not listed.” He clutches his phone is his fist, resisting the urge to chuck it out the window. “Besides, he could’ve taken her anywhere.”

“I know... Wait! Claire has GPS on her phone. We can track it.”

“But her phone’s off.”

“It shouldn’t matter. We have the same phone service.” Elle dials the cell company and explains the situation. “It’s an emergency. Can you track it?” She pauses then looks at Hank. “We need her account password.”

“Great...” What could it be? Her address? Definitely not her birthdate. “Wait—try Zola.” Her apartment security system code.

Moments later Elle hangs up. “Score. We’ve got an address.”

“That’s near Rochester,” he says, scanning the image on Google Maps. A large wooden house surrounded by snow-covered trees. “He’s got her at a house...probably his. It’s about sixty miles from here.” They can be there in an hour. Less, if they hurry.

“I’m calling the police again,” Elle says. “Maybe now they’ll—”

“What, drive out there? Doubtful.”

“But shouldn’t they know where she is? My dad is friends with the chief. If I show up in person, maybe they’ll call him...or get him on it sooner. I can be super-persuasive when I need to be. And besides, what if she comes back? Or what if Malcolm has her phone, but not her? God, there are too many possibilities... I hate all of them.”

“Fine. You go to the police. Tell them everything we know. I’ll head to Malcolm’s place.”

Elle starts to object.

“Just go,” he says. “We can cover more ground apart.” They exchange cell numbers before she steps outside.

Hank sets his phone navigator on speaker and speeds off, certain of little but his destination.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

“
Aghhh!
” Malcolm bellows into the brisk night air, sending a flock of birds out from the overhead trees. After putting on clothes he’d run for close to an hour, searching three small cabins in his path, and where’d it get him? Nowhere but angrier.

Bringing Claire here was dangerous—a demon disguised as an angel. He should have known! What made him think she was better or different than Gil?
She’s an extension of him
. He hadn’t saved her the way he saved Jill. Should he have kept her, too?

It’s too late now. And already she’s turned his love against him. He could lose her...forever.

Lightheadedness washes over him like a suffocating fog. He doubles over, nauseous from the pain of his wounded eye. Closing his one good eye, he feels his knees giving out beneath him.

An image appears in his mind like a wakeful dream, lifting his spirits.
Dawn!

She skirts among the trees wearing a lavender sun dress. Green grass. Wildflowers. No more snow. The sun’s rays make a halo around her light hair. It’s just like the first day they made love.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says. So young and pure...
alive
. The best parts of Cecelia, intensified. “I just want to hold you.”

“And you did, didn’t you, Sweet Malcolm?” she says, stepping out of the memory. “Find them and you’ll find me. They’re part of me, you know. Remember what we used to say? You plus me equals three? I guess you should have said four... Right, Sweet Malcolm?”

“Don’t look at me,” he says as she moves closer.

She doesn’t listen. She sweeps in, so near he can feel her breath. She presses her soft lips to his injured eye. As she steps back, her abdomen balloons out. Farther...farther. She’s pregnant.

She drops to the ground. “Help! It’s happening!”

The trees disappear. They are back in the delivery room—his basement. Dawn lays on the hospital bed he’s arranged in the basement, crying out in pain as he examines her.

“Your contractions have just begun.”

“But it’s too early! Will my baby be okay? It hurts! Please, make it stop.”

“I will take care of everything, just as I promised.” Inserting a needle into her arm, he hooks her to the IV. “When you wake up, she’ll be here. Rest now, my love.”

“But...my dad’s coming. I want to see my baby....”

Ten, nine.
.. Before he reaches five, she’s out.

He inserts the knife into Dawn’s abdomen, making a perfect, vertical cut, then another horizontal cut in her uterus. As he suctions out the amniotic fluid, the infants become apparent. Two tiny heads, eight limbs, four feet. Identical twins born from soul mates.

After lifting the babies from Dawn’s body and snipping the umbilical cords, he rinses both of them quickly then sets them down in the nearby crib. To the tune of their melodious cries, he stitches his love’s body closed. An end and a beginning.

As he lifts one of the girls from the crib, they both cry louder. “Don’t cry, little ones. You’ll be together again...someday.”

He carries baby Jill upstairs and places her in the crib he’s arranged in his bedroom closet. A mild sedative will keep her silent for as long as he needs.

Malcolm snaps back to the present, his heart racing, his head clear. He did not go to such great efforts over the years to lose all he has left.

Energy surges inside him like a volcano, sending him fleeing toward the house over ice and snow. Like walking on water. A miracle worker, not of this Earth. No amount of ice, snow or pain can stop him.

“Find them, find me. Find them, find me,” he chants under his breath, running to the rhythm of his words, feeling young, powerful. Indomitable.

In far less time than he’d taken to journey outward, he makes it home. Outside the patio door, he observes red droplets on the snow.
Blood
. With his eyes, he follows the red trickle. They lead in the opposite of the direction he’d run.

Why would they have run that way? More difficult terrain, fewer cabins... He recalls a time he had similar thoughts. It was years ago, after Jill tried to run away. The cabin he and Bob found her in was so well hidden, he’d wondered how she had managed it. Could she have found the cabin again?

Could he?

Chapter Sixty

Still huddled under the blanket, Jill drops her head on Claire’s shoulder then lifts it back up. Though unaware of the time, it feels like the wee hours of the night.

“Why don’t you sleep for a bit?” Claire offers. Sleep is out of the question for herself, Claire knows. But she figures Jill can use it. “I can keep watch.”

“You can’t sleep when you’re stressed either, can you?”

Claire smiles. “Not without Nyquil.”

“Nyquil. Ninety-three calories…” She looks at Claire. “Sorry, force of habit.”

“Habits we’re breaking, I hope.” This gives Claire an idea. “Maybe there’s food in here. Hunters eat, right? We can definitely use the energy.” She reaches around in a small cabinet for any kind of sustenance, but finds none. Instead, her hand lands on a small tin filled with bullet shells. She retrieves it and dumps the shells out.

“What are you doing?” Jill asks.

“We can put snow in here and melt it by the lantern. We should at least drink something.” Dehydration won’t help matters, Claire thinks.

“Good idea. And yes, habits
we’re
breaking.”

Had Jill sensed Claire’s ED symptoms as she had hers?

Claire steps outside, the frigid air reminding her of the bitter chill of Malcolm. An image of Malcolm, naked and infuriated in the basement, fills her mind. She shivers, pushes it away.

She looks around, inhaling the wintery air, then watches as it puffs back out like smoke. The light of the moon illuminates the spaces between the pine trees, making for a doily-like appearance. As she lowers down to the snowy ground, she observes a rustling in the trees. She imagines Malcolm appearing soundlessly, jumping out from behind a thick tree. She gathers snow then rushes back inside with a loaded box.

Within minutes, the snow starts melting. She swallows a mouthful—like a winter-flavored slushy. “It could use some sugar.”

“So could I... I think.”

“It’s going to get easier,” Claire says. “Everything.”

“I know.” She pauses then looks back at Claire. “Was our mother’s death really an accident?”

Claire’s heart sinks. In an effort to avoid the painful topic, she says, “Shouldn’t we be...listening for him?”

“I am, trust me. It’s too dark now. We’d see his lights before we heard him.” Jill pauses. “It’s okay. Whatever happened, you can tell me.”

Claire takes a breath;
she deserves to know
. “I thought it was a random accident until recently. It happened on my—our—sixteenth birthday.”

“I knew it.”

“You did? How?”

“He’d been promising me he would bring a mother home, someone to care for me. He left to go get her and came back alone. He had blood on his clothes.”

“Oh God... Now it makes sense.” Claire thinks aloud, tears stinging at her eyes. “I met with her counselor recently. She told me that Mom planned to meet someone that day, someone with something important to tell her. If that was the same day he promised to bring you a mother, it had to be him. He must’ve told her about you...or tried to convince her to leave with him.”

“So what happened?”

“From what I understand, he asked Mom to go alone. But she brought my dad.”

“Your...dad?” Jill turns to face her. “Claire, didn’t you know?”

Chapter Sixty-One

The moment Jill’s stated the question, a notion strikes Claire, affecting her insides like rotted food.

“He didn’t just deliver us and keep us apart, Claire. He’s—”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No!” She paces the cabin, walking fast, breathing as though she’ll hyperventilate.
Don’t say it.

“Malcolm is our father.”

Claire feels her knees lock, a sense of vertigo. She withholds a sob, her breath growing heavier, staggered. “I...” She gasps. “But—he can’t be! I
had
a father.” Tears spill down her cheeks as she inhales a gasp of chilled air. She recalls what happened in the basement—the kissing, fondling him, the wretched taste he left in her mouth. The monster. Then the film strip. Her mother naked, with
him
. “He’s... You’re s-sure?”

 
“I’m so sorry to have to tell you, but it’s true.” Jill steps closer, rests a hand on her back.

It seems unfathomable to Claire, but so does having a twin. Yet here she is, standing beside her. Claire turns toward Jill and falls into her arms, now unable to withhold her tears. She cries for several minutes, noticing the sharpness of Jill’s emaciated shoulder. No wonder she’s tried so hard to control her body weight, disappear. She might have too, if Malcolm was the only father she’s ever known.
Her father
... Half of her DNA came from a hideous monster.

Once she’s regained composure, Jill guides her to a sitting position on the ground. They wrap themselves up in the blanket.

“It doesn’t change who you are.”

“I know,” Claire says, not sure if she believes it. “In a weird way, I’m not entirely shocked. I mean, I was. And it’s probably still sinking in. But, it...makes sense.”

“Tell me about your father,” Jill says. “Your
real
one.”

Her dad’s face, smiling warmly, flashes in Claire’s mind. “I had a wonderful one. He was smart and kind...loving. And he adored our mom. He died that night, too.” Claire recalls the newspaper article: ‘
Drinking, drugged, driving
...’ “Malcolm must have meant to kill him. They met somewhere that served alcohol. He slipped Valium into their drinks—lethal amounts in my dad’s, and just enough in Mom’s to keep her calm...and persuadable. They must have realized that Malcolm was—disturbed.”

“Crazy. It’s OK, you can say it.”

“They were driving home when they swerved off the road and crashed. Malcolm must have been following them. Either that or Dad’s drugs kicked in.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jill says. “If I hadn’t been so eager for a mother, that might never have happened.”

“It’s not your fault. None of this,” Claire says, sensing guilt. Abused children often feel responsible... “I’m lucky I had my father for as long as I did. I’m sorry you didn’t. Was Malcolm always cruel to you?”