Blue Twilight (24 page)

I closed the closet door and peered through the window to obtain an unobstructed view of the bathroom. It was the perfect peephole for a Peeping Tom. Either Simmons could add
voyeur
to his list of transgressions, or Spencer wasn’t as angelic as I’d imagined.

Creeeaaak!

The sound reverberated across the floorboards, through the closet door, and straight into my heart. My stomach contracted into a tight knot. I gripped my gun tighter and tried to determine from where the noise had come. But the only sound to be heard was the noxious thrum of fear in my ears. Then the house let loose a low moan, followed by the closing of a door. I waited until I heard nothing more before poking my head out. The cabin was empty, as it had been on my arrival.

For chrissakes, Rachel. Stop scaring yourself to death
, the braver part of me chided, knowing there was still one more area left to explore.

I walked down the hallway toward the last door, fully aware this must be the bedroom. However, nothing could have prepared me for what was waiting inside.

The first thing to catch my eye were the wooden beams running lengthwise across the ceiling. Eureka! I’d finally found a room that wasn’t totally clean. Hanging down from the rafters were oddly shaped dustballs. However, far more curious was that they were all positioned directly above the bed.

I continued to stare, my curiosity gradually giving way to stunned disbelief, as the realization began to sink in. A shiver gleefully squealed, gliding up and down my spine on a surreal roller-coaster ride. I’d never seen anything so bizarre in all my life.

What looked like miniature cadavers wrapped in shrouds were taped onto the wooden ceiling beams. Only these little “corpses” were actually dozens of maturing chrysalides. This way, Spencer—or Simmons—could keep watch and pop the butterflies into the fridge as each emerged, before they had a chance to flap their wings.

I lay down on the bed and looked up, knowing that within each was a larva morphing into its final stage. Though unable to eat or move, they were undergoing the most amazing transformation, much like a fairy tale in which mice turned into footmen and pumpkins into gilded carriages.

A closer look revealed that some of the chrysalides had already become transparent. Inside were fully formed butterflies, their wings curled around their bodies, patiently awaiting the moment of rebirth. I dragged myself away, aware that I was also hoping for an epiphany of sorts—something, anything, that would tip me off as to where to find Lily. I glanced around the room, knowing that my search still wasn’t complete.

A bureau stood against one wall, and I jerked open the drawers. They were filled with socks and shirts, all perfectly ironed, folded and stacked in pristine piles. I took out my frustration by ripping apart each batch. But it was when I reached the last drawer that my heart turned into a jackham
mer, my eyes falling upon the contents. Inside were what could only be called trophies. There was a pink camisole top, a necklace with a wooden cross, bangle bracelets, ladybug earrings and dozens of panties and bras, along with other assorted souvenirs.

I flashed back to Dr. Mark Davis’s profile of an obsessive butterfly collector. He’d characterized my target as a white male, unmarried, with a need to control—someone who takes pleasure in holding the power of life and death in his hands. It was the exact same portrait as that of a serial killer. I gazed in growing horror at the trinkets and keepsakes all neatly laid out like precious relics.

My apprehension accelerated into terror at the possibility of what I might be facing. I whirled around, having felt a breeze on the back of my neck. It was almost as if the house were alive and enjoying my predicament.

While turning, I caught sight of a slight movement and glanced back up at the ceiling. A chrysalis had split open and a butterfly was starting to emerge. It slipped out like a letter from an envelope and, unfolding its shriveled wings, began to pump them full of blood. A breeder would have thrown it into the fridge at this point. Instead, I watched in awe as the wings continued to expand with liquid protoplasm, knowing that the butterfly would soon take off and fly away.

I wished I could do the same, but there was still one last place in which I had to look. My only consolation was that the faster I finished, the sooner I could get out of here. With that in mind, I hurried toward what I felt sure was a clothes closet and flung open the door. Two items stood ominously facing me—a large hourglass and a pedestal holding a bible.

The same quaking that I’d felt in my dream last night now took hold. Only this was no tremor, but my legs shaking beneath me. I remembered the scythe leaning near the shed
door. That, the hourglass, and pedestal were all part of the same statue—the winged figure looming behind the weeping maiden. Big Sam had referred to the statue as Horus. Simmons had called it the Angel of Death. The one thing I now knew for certain was that I was inside Horus’s lair.

I took a deep breath and began to approach the pedestal when the floor grew oddly pliant beneath my feet. Another step and the wooden boards emitted a loud creak. Whipping the flashlight from my back pocket, I ran its beam along the ground. Revealed was the outline of a trapdoor that had been neatly cut and fit into place. I leaned down and pulled on the handle. It emitted a low moan as though a covey of tormented souls were being released.

All was silent after that, the quiet so acute that it reached up and clawed at my throat. I slowly began to descend a set of rickety wooden steps, my feet taking me where I didn’t want to go—down, down, down into a crude dirt cellar.

I should have known there was bound to be a place like this hidden away in the cabin. Nothing is ever completely immaculate, and the upstairs had been far too neat. The world just isn’t that orderly. The thought was punctuated by a sour reek as I reached the bottom step. It was an odor that I’d smelled before—the stench of decomposition.

I pulled out a tissue and held it over my mouth and nose, keeping the flashlight firmly gripped in my other hand. My eyes remained glued to the ground while I took a step forward and
Wham!
My head slammed smack into a beam. Wouldn’t you know? I was in a crawl space with a ceiling so low that I was forced to bend over.

I took another step and a cobweb wrapped itself around my face, conjuring up visions of big hairy spiders. I could feel them crawling up my clothes and slipping inside my head to spin their odious webs. But all such thoughts fled as the flashlight’s rays illuminated a dark corner.

On the ground were a number of cigar-shaped bundles eerily similar to the chrysalides upstairs, only much larger. They were industrial-sized rolls of shrink wrap. Even from this distance, I could tell there was something contained in each one. I dropped the tissue, tucked my gun away, and clutched the flashlight tightly in both hands. Then I tremulously approached, aiming its beam at the nearest roll. The light landed on a pair of wide-open eyes that stared back at me in stunned horror.

A scream raced up my throat but never made it out of my mouth, blocked by sheer terror. I wanted to race up the stairs and never come back. It was my demons that made me stay.

I took a deep breath and ordered my shaky hands to continue running the light beam down along the rest of the roll. Inside was a man’s body that had begun to decompose. The remains looked remarkably like a butterfly pupa, already liquefying into a strange primordial goo. Only there’d be no rebirth in this crawl space. Death was the final stage for all of these bundles on the hard dirt floor.

I broke into a cold, clammy sweat and the room began to spin around me like a carousel ride.

Oh, dear God, don’t let me pass out now
, I prayed with all my might, wondering if these were possibly the remains of the Fish and Wildlife consultant, John Harmon.

I lowered my head and took another deep breath. Then I went back to the grisly process of shining my light on the rest of the plastic-wrapped occupants.

The bile rose in my throat as I caught sight of the first young girl. The same sense of terror filled her eyes, along with baffled confusion. It was as though she couldn’t understand how her life had come to this. I’d witnessed enough death and killing of both animals and humans to know the answer. There’s such a thing as pure evil in this world.

What sounded like the rustling of dry leaves on pavement
suddenly sent my blood pressure soaring, disrupting the vacuum of silence. I jumped, so filled with fear that I tried to bolt for the stairs, only my feet refused to run. Then my eyes witnessed the impossible. One of the bundles had begun to move, as though its contents were shifting.

I held the flashlight as steady as I could, trying to ignore the rush of liquid dread that pulsed through my veins, afraid of what I was going to find. Forget about werewolves and vampires. I was surrounded by something far worse: a chamber of the living dead.

My flashlight landed on yet another young girl who stared back at me in unspeakable fright. Only there was something different about these eyes that made me linger. They weren’t yet frozen in death. At the same time, I spied the ugly red scars marking her neck. The pent-up cry inside me now came rushing out, fueled by the desperate hope that I had found Lily.

Afraid I’d reached her too late—that I’d failed yet again, that someone else would be lost because of my inadequacies—I flicked open my Leatherman and began slashing through the sheets of shrink wrap covering her face tight as elastic. Finally I pulled off the very last layer. Her body was warm, yet I couldn’t feel a pulse. Equally strange was that Lily’s eyes remained open, though she seemed to be unconscious and barely breathing.

I quickly gave her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and pounded on her chest. But neither managed to revive her. Instead she stared straight ahead like a zombie, as the flicker in her eyes grew dimmer. I set back to work, frantically redoubling my efforts, damned if I’d lose the girl now that I’d found her. I continued until I thought I’d pass out.

My endeavors finally paid off as she sharply inhaled, as if having been pulled back from the entrance to the nether
world. I took a deep breath myself, and then tore the remaining shrink wrap from her body.

Lily lay silent for a moment, as if surprised to still be alive. Then her hands reached up and began to rub her eyes. That set off a chain reaction, as she broke into heart-wrenching tears. I raised Lily into a sitting position and wrapped the girl in my arms, holding her tight, wanting to make us both believe that everything was all right.

“It’s okay, Lily. Don’t worry. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

“How do you know who I am?” she asked, nearly choking on her sobs.

“I’m a friend of your father’s. He’s been searching for you. Let’s get out of here and you can tell me what happened.”

I helped the girl to her feet and tried to guide her to the stairs, but she pulled back as if not yet ready to leave.

“He’s not up there, is he?” she asked, in a voice thick with fear.

“No one’s here but us,” I assured her, anxious to get Lily out of the stench.

We slowly maneuvered the steps and exited the closet, careful to avoid the hourglass and pedestal. I gazed up at the beams and saw that three more butterflies had emerged and were furiously pumping their wings. I didn’t stop, but led Lily into the living room and sat her down in a chair. The girl continued to whimper and nervously glance around.

“Who brought you here, Lily?” I asked, hoping to extract some useful information. “Can you tell me that?”

“Horus. He wanted to show me a pretty blue butterfly. He said it was beautiful and that I could be just like it,” she revealed, hugging her thin arms around her body. “That’s why we went into the woods a little while ago. Because Horus said it was time.”

“Time for what?” I asked.

But Lily rambled on as though she hadn’t heard. “I was looking for butterflies when something suddenly stung me and then I couldn’t move. But Horus said it was all right and that I shouldn’t be scared. It was all part of my transformation. Then he carried me back to the cabin and took me downstairs.”

The rest of her words were drowned in a fresh onslaught of tears.

“Are you talking about Big Daddy, or Spencer?” I asked in frustration.

Lily wordlessly shook her head, too choked up to speak.

So that’s why the cabin door had been unlocked upon my arrival. I’d been roaming around upstairs while Lily was in the cellar being rolled in shrink wrap like a mummy. Had I not gone down into the crawl space, she’d surely be dead by now. A shiver rippled through me. Horus must have left through the front door while I was in the closet uncovering the peephole. Either he didn’t yet know I was here, or this was a game of some sort and he was still lurking around. In any case, a madman was on the loose and had to be found. It was then that I thought of Terri.

I pulled out my cell phone and quickly punched in his number. The response was the resounding echo of nothing. Damn. We were obviously in a dead zone. I looked around, but there was no phone in the house from which to call. I grew sick with worry, knowing that I somehow had to warn him. The problem was, what to do about Lily?

“Do you know how to use a gun?” I asked, pulling out my .38.

The girl’s hands grabbed onto it like a lifeline. “Yes.”

I didn’t bother to question how or why she knew. At this moment, I didn’t care.

“All right, then. I’m going to get my vehicle. I’ll be back
to pick you up. In the meantime, if anyone comes inside the cabin, shoot them,” I instructed.

Lily solemnly nodded, and I knew she’d do whatever was necessary.

Good girl,
I thought and took off.

I
began to search around the grounds, but couldn’t get my mind off what I’d found in the cellar—human cocoons all lined up in a row, each filled with indescribable terror. A different kind of chill now snuck up from behind and grabbed hold of me—one that vilely whispered in my ear.

There are worse things in this world than those that go bump in the night. Terrors beyond any you have ever imagined.

Though I tried to block the voice, it deftly burrowed deep into my head, producing darkly horrifying images. My only defense was to try and concentrate as best I could on what was around me. The effort paid off.

I spied a pair of fresh footprints near the shed, their tracks defiling the earth. Too large to be either mine or Lily’s, there was no question but that they were those of a man. A metallic taste filled my mouth as I saw where they led: back in the direction of the main house. More than anything I hoped that Terri hadn’t stuck around but was in Mendocino sipping a latte.

I followed the footprints until they vanished, swallowed up among the tall blades of grass. The fog had reappeared, making my task all the more difficult.

I passed the same rhododendrons and leathery green huckleberry bushes that I’d seen earlier. Soon everything familiar was consumed in a blanket of fog so dense that it felt
as if I were floating. I continued on, no longer sure of where I was going. The only thing certain was that the forest was closing in around me like a spooky fairy tale.

I was about to turn back and try again, hoping to regain my bearings, when a ray of light filtered down straight ahead. It was almost as if God were nudging the foliage aside and pointing me in the right direction. I stumbled toward it, slipping and sliding on the matted vegetation.

Damn! What was I stepping on, anyway?
I wondered, and glanced at the ground cover beneath my feet.

A layer of diminutive lotus plants, gaily topped with pretty yellow and purple flowers, led the way toward a bog. I followed along what appeared to be my very own magical yellow brick road.

The air was so dank and wet that beads of water began to drip off the tip of my nose.

Just think how good this is for your skin
, I tried to convince myself, feeling more like a bedraggled hound than some hot, gorgeous model.

But all such musings ceased as I stopped and stared in wonder into a stream of soft, filtered light. Dancing in the fog and mist were violet-blue butterflies fluttering about like a troupe of tiny ghosts.

My heart began to race, my pulse to pound; the rest of my body turned to stone. Mesmerized, I watched each little butterfly flit through the air with the grace and ease of a ballerina. I scarcely breathed, barely daring to hope. Could it be? Had I possibly tripped across the last colony of Lotis blue butterflies in existence?

I softly cried out and began to approach, afraid if I looked away for even a moment they would vanish. Another few steps and I was tantalizingly close. A bit farther and I could very nearly touch them. These were the butterflies that lepidopterists had dreamt of and which collectors lusted to pos
sess. They were legendary, part of that growing roster of species referred to by scientists as the living dead.

My hands trembled and my legs grew jittery, realizing I’d become privy to a highly guarded secret. I just wondered how many others were members of this elite club.

I drew still closer, wanting definitive proof that these were no phantoms but actual creatures. I didn’t take my eyes off them for a second. As a result, I was caught off guard as my feet bumped against something large and I tripped, flying headfirst without any wings to save myself.

The ground raced up to meet me, but I didn’t crash to earth. Instead, I landed on what felt like some sort of cushion. Only this pillow gurgled, followed by a deep drawn-out death rattle, as if bones were being shaken about in a box. The sound scraped against my soul, prompting the web in my head to spin furiously out of control, until it grew convoluted as a labyrinth. I looked down and the earth fell out from under me. A body had softened my fall. Then a sickening smell filled my nose and I knew I was being embraced by death.

I quickly rolled off and stared at what had once been a face, the skull having been crushed in by a rock. A wave of nausea rose up as I gaped spellbound at the body, unable to turn away. My eyes followed the line of an outstretched arm that doubled as a human canvas. Displayed on the mottled skin was an ornate tapestry of exquisite butterflies in flight.

I was gawking at the corpse of Big Daddy.

“I was hoping you’d come out and play.”

The voice encircled me, soft as a velvet-covered garrote. My stomach lurched as I whirled around to find Spencer Barnes standing there.

“You saw them, didn’t you? The Lotis blue?” he asked in near ecstasy. “They’re my pride and joy. It’s a trick of light, you know. Their wings aren’t really blue at all. It’s an optical
illusion created by refractive ridges built into each of their tiny wing scales. Absolutely amazing, isn’t it?” he chattered, as if it were perfectly normal that Carl Simmons should be lying there dead between us.

I watched as Spencer’s angelic face slowly began to transform into one I hadn’t seen before.

“I’ve kept their existence a secret for years. That’s why your colleague, John Harmon, had to be stopped. He would have destroyed everything I’ve worked so hard to maintain. Word was bound to get out. Then collectors from all over would have swooped down like locusts and wiped out the colony. I had no choice but to protect them. I’m sure you understand.”

I understood, all right. Barnes was apparently an eco-terrorist who’d gone over the edge.

“Then Simmons was the butterfly dealer, Horus,” I reasoned, assuming that’s why he’d been eliminated.

“Of course he wasn’t,” Spencer calmly corrected me. “I am.”

My theory instantly went up in flames.

“But I thought your objective was to preserve the butterflies,” I replied in surprise.

“It is,” Spencer responded with a cherubic smile. “I believe in protecting my investment, the same as any good businessman. If collectors find this spot, they’ll try to catch and breed them. That would cut into my market. It’s all a matter of supply and demand. The more Lotis blue butterflies there are, the less money they’ll command. As it is, I keep careful control over what’s sold. My buyers believe they’re obtaining one of the last Lotis blues left in existence. That way the price doesn’t drop. You can’t really blame me. Think about it. These butterflies are like gold. When something’s that precious, you have to keep its location secret.”

“That’s why you killed Aikens,” I hazarded a guess.

“I had no other alternative. He demanded money not to betray me. Besides, he began to get sloppy.”

My eyes were drawn again to Big Daddy. “And what about Simmons? I thought he was your friend.”

“Far from it,” Spencer retorted, and impassively glanced down at the body. “The man was my foster father.”

The news hit me with the strength of a punch. That meant Spencer had been the boy who’d brought charges against him—the one Big Daddy had pulled from a burning car.

“But why?” I asked, the question hitching a ride on a gasp.

“Any number of reasons. Let’s see. Which would interest you most?” Spencer smiled benignly, as though I were terribly naïve. “For one thing, Carl demanded I stop selling Lotis blue butterflies. He threatened to expose me to you, otherwise. I couldn’t let that happen. It was this whole St. Francis thing he had going. He’d become very spiritual whenever the mood hit him. Obviously, it didn’t kick in when he left my mother to die in that car crash.”

Spencer’s eyes turned cold, and his lips grew thin and pinched.

“Then there were the girls, of course. Carl kept wondering what happened to them. He liked to believe they’d simply gone home. I’m afraid he discovered differently this morning. Still I might have let him live, if only he’d attempted to grasp what I’m capable of doing. Instead, he refused to understand.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, unable to mask the quiver in my voice, remembering what Simmons had told me about the statue.

“Those girls were scarred, the same as you,” Spencer said, motioning toward my neck. “I explained they could undergo metamorphosis just like butterflies and have a second chance at life—one in which they’d be beautiful forever.”

Was it possible he really believed such crap?

Spencer studied me and sighed.

“Only I’m afraid that might not work in your case. The problem is, you’re more of a moth than a butterfly. Otherwise, why would you be so attracted to danger, and knowingly fly into the fire?” he plaintively inquired, as if expecting an answer.

“You’re completely out of your mind,” I uttered, queasy at the thought of how many young runaways he must have already killed.

“What say we find out?” Spencer sinisterly suggested. “There’s a game I like to play with the girls. It’s my own version of hide-and-seek.”

His cherubic façade now morphed into the face staring at me through the window in my nightmares, having become one more creepy, crawling predator.

Snap!

My nerves leaped at the sound and my eyes darted around, hoping Terri wasn’t about to stumble upon us.

“My goodness, but you’re jumpy, aren’t you?” Spencer softly noted with a chortle. “You should be mindful of that. Don’t you know a high stress level will kill you? Oh by the way, if you’re looking for your friend, please don’t bother. He’s already been disposed of.”

The garrote twisted tighter around my neck cutting off all breath. I began to reel, not wanting to believe that anything bad had happened to Terri.

Get hold of yourself! Don’t let him see that he’s gotten to you. Otherwise you’ll never be able to get out of this, and there’s still Lily to consider.

But I couldn’t expel Terri from my thoughts. Spencer continued to leer at me, appearing calmer than ever.

“Tell you what. I’ll be a good sport. I’ll even give you a head start,” he said, and visibly trembled with delight.

Spencer clearly loved playing the game, and I knew it
must be some form of sexual turn-on. That was enough to stoke my fury. Each face in that crawl space popped back into my mind again, their terror-filled eyes demanding retribution. More than anything I wanted revenge for what he’d done to Harmon, to all those girls—and possibly to Terri. There was no way in hell this bastard was going to get away from me.

Just calm down and try to think logically.

My guess was that Spencer must have a weapon of some kind, although I hadn’t yet seen one. Otherwise, how could he act so cocky? Even so, the idea of physically beating the crap out of the man was becoming incredibly appealing.

I was about to make a move when common sense intervened. Hand-to-hand combat could prove to be risky. The safest thing was to go for my backup gun.

I swayed, as though feeling dizzy. Then, doubling over, I began to reach for the ankle holster.

“Don’t even think of it,” he warned.

I glanced up to find Spencer aiming a gun at me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tried to con.

“Oh, please. Give me a bit more credit than that. Don’t you think I watch cop shows on TV just like everyone else? Carefully remove your weapon from that ankle holster and slide it on the ground toward me.”

Every nerve in my body throbbed, knowing I had little choice but to do as instructed.

“Very good. Now we can start the game. It’s easy. Just do as I say and run.”

I stared at Barnes, uncertain if he was actually serious. What was this turning into? Some sort of sick, sadistic hunt?

“I told you to run!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, as if the rage inside him were bursting.

A rush of adrenaline screamed through my veins as I turned and took off, unsure of where I was going. Light no
longer filtered through the canopy. Rather the fog embraced me. Limbs slashed at my face and my feet stumbled over tree roots as I blindly ran through the forest. Was this how a deer felt while being stalked by a hunter closing in for the kill? If so, there was nothing either spiritual or sacred about it.

I struggled to catch my breath, not knowing what to do next. It was impossible to tell whether Spencer was still behind me. All I heard was the rush of blood in my ears, the rest of the world having become wrapped in a cocoon of oppressive silence.

Maybe I’ve lost him. Perhaps he’s not as good at the game as he thinks,
I repeated like a mantra, desperately wanting to believe it.

A tangy burst of salt air suddenly filled my nose, and I now understood where I’d been heading all along. But it was too late to do anything about it. I came to a lurching halt, having caught sight of the massive gray rocks looming in the water below. They sat hunched together like a group of judges deciding my fate.

Snap!

There was that sound again. Only this time, I knew what it was before I even spun around. Spencer was standing as close to me as I’d been to the butterflies, his gun raised and leveled at my body.

Thhhnnk!

Something shrieked through the air and a stinging sharp pain bit into my neck.

My hand flew up, expecting to feel a gush of warm blood, only to find a pencil-thin projectile embedded in my flesh. It remained lodged just above the collar bone. How strange. I glanced down and found it was decorated with pretty blue feathers, much like those that I’d seen on the front seat of Spencer’s car in San Francisco.

Oh, shit.

I looked again at the weapon in his hand and the realization now hit. Spencer was holding a dart gun.

My arm dropped like dead weight to my side, and my legs buckled under me, as the paralyzing drug swiftly kicked in. I fell to the ground, my limbs having turned to lead. Muscle, tissue, and sinew were overcome by a tingling sense of numbness. But far worse were the fear and disbelief that rampaged inside my head.

I couldn’t move; I couldn’t speak. Yet, I was still able to see and hear everything perfectly around me. I now knew that’s what those eyes frozen with dread had tried to relate. They’d lain in that crawl space immobilized, having been turned into living zombies, forced to die a thousand deaths before finally managing to suffocate.