Dark Obsession (4 page)

Dr. Traymore walked away, and for what seemed like an eternity, Erin stood staring down at Detective Slade, their gazes locked in a silent communication that seemed fostered by the darkness. Then suddenly, almost angrily, he turned and melted into the darkness.

Shaken, Erin turned from the window and began to pace the apartment. She should have felt better, knowing Detective Slade was out there in the darkness, but somehow she didn’t. Somehow his presence disturbed
her more than she cared to admit. What was it about him that drew her, in spite of her grief? What was it about him that intrigued her, in spite of her distrust?

What was it about him that made her want what she had always feared the most?

Erin clung to her cross as her pacing accelerated. It was late, nearly dawn, and she knew she should try to get some sleep as the coming days and nights would be trying enough. But in spite of her exhausted state, sleep was the last thing she wanted.

After all these years it was hard enough just being back here in this apartment. More difficult still to think about going into her sister’s bedroom, lying in her sister’s bed, falling asleep perhaps to dream her sister’s dreams.

Dreams that were also Erin’s. Nightmares that had belonged to both her and Megan since they’d been abandoned all those years ago.

Erin crossed the room to examine one of the pictures on the mantel—the one Detective Slade had been holding earlier. She tried to imagine what he’d seen when he’d looked at the faces of the two little girls. Innocence? A lovely thought, but Erin saw beyond the ribbons and lace, the white gloves and straw hats. She saw sad smiles and haunted eyes. Terrified hearts and agonized souls.

Kneeling behind the two little girls was their mother, a beautiful young woman who had had cold blue eyes and an even colder heart. Desiree, she’d
called herself. It wasn’t until years later that Erin had learned her mother’s real name was Doris. Doris Ramsey, a sometime actress, who had discarded her name as easily as she’d discarded her children.

If Erin closed her eyes, if she concentrated hard enough, she could still conjure up her mother’s made-up face, could almost smell her cloying perfume as she bent to place cool lips against her daughters’ cheeks. Erin could hear the whispery voice that still raised chill bumps along her spine, even in memory.

“Erin, I’m counting on you to take care of your sister. Don’t open the door to any strangers. And whatever you do, don’t let anyone inside, no matter what they say. It could be one of the monsters, tricking you. Remember that.”

Night after night, after Desiree had gone out, the two little girls had sat all alone in the apartment, watching the shadows on the walls, listening to the wind outside and waiting for the monsters to come and get them.

Erin had been four years older than Megan, and Megan had depended on her to chase away the nightmares, to stare down the unseen terrors, to scream at the demons to go away.

Now it was too late. Too late for Erin to chase away Megan’s monsters. The only thing she could ever do for her sister now was to find the one who had killed her. Somehow that thought comforted Erin, gave her a purpose that made her feel stronger. She
gazed around the apartment, the place where the nightmares had started. After all these years, maybe this was the place to finally put them to rest. To face down those monsters once and for all and make them go away.

But in spite of her resolve, when Erin finally fell asleep on the couch, her rest was plagued with distorted visions of dark creatures and laughing demons and Megan calling to her for help. Wearing her black beaded dress, Megan stood outside the French doors in the living room, her face pale and drawn, her eyes rimmed with darkness as her long, inky hair streamed back from her face. She lifted her hand and beckoned to Erin. “I’m so alone and frightened,” she whispered. “So cold. Open the door and let me come in, sissy.”

And then an ominous voice whispered in Erin’s ear, “Whatever you do, don’t invite anyone inside.” Erin whirled and saw Detective Slade appear out of the darkness. His black leather coat trailed behind him as he moved through the mist toward her.

“But she’s my sister!” Erin cried.

Detective Slade smiled, but his eyes were completely hidden by his dark glasses. “Trust me, Erin. You must trust me.”

“I can’t! I can’t trust anyone!”

“Then you’ll never be free of the monsters.” He retreated into the blackness and vanished before her
very eyes. She spun back to the window, but Megan had already disappeared, too.

And Erin was all alone.

She woke up crying. Shivering violently, she lay huddled on the couch, watching the patterns on the ceiling shift and change like stones in a giant kaleidoscope. Just images, she told herself. Just nightmares.

We’ve been waiting for you, Erin,
the wind moaned outside.

“You won’t get me,” Erin whispered. “You don’t exist.” But her hands were trembling as she clutched the silver cross to her heart.

CHAPTER THREE

E
rin was amazed at how quickly the autopsy was performed and the body released to her for burial. She saw no reason to delay. After all, there was no other family to be considered, just her. With Detective Slade’s help and encouragement, the simple memorial services were hastily arranged and conducted late that afternoon.

It was a perfect day for a funeral, overcast and cold, with sharp gusts of wind, which tugged at the hem of Erin’s white wool coat. By the time the small procession arrived at the cemetery, the rain had come. The sky grew ever blacker, more threatening, flapping the black canvas awning covering the grave like the wings of a giant bat.

Erin stood at the edge of the open grave and wished she was anywhere but here. She’d written about funerals. Dozens. Usually it was the heroine’s mother she had buried in her books. But never the sister. Never had Erin imagined what it would be like to bury her own sister.

Cold and shivering, she watched as Father Grady said the final prayer, then tossed a handful of dirt into the grave. He motioned to Erin, and she stepped forward.
Unfastening her necklace, she dropped it into the grave.

The silver cross seemed to glow with an ethereal light as it lay atop the ebony coffin. It was the last thing—the only thing—Erin could give to her sister to thwart the darkness that had tormented them both for years. Megan needed it more than Erin did now, but as Erin stood at the edge of the grave, an almost overwhelming sense of foreboding stole over her.

As if drawn by a magnet, she turned her head and glanced over her shoulder. Through the misty veil of rain, she saw a male figure dressed all in black standing at the edge of the cemetery as if hovering on the threshold of a room he was forbidden to enter.

The form seemed to waver in the drizzle while the mist swirled around him with an unnatural movement. Erin couldn’t see a face, but somehow his dark gaze penetrated the layers of fog as easily as a beam of concentrated light. There was something familiar about the apparition, she thought. Something…dangerous.

Something evil.

Erin began to shake. She struggled to look away, but his dark gaze held her imprisoned. A strange lethargy crept over her. She tried to fight it, but slowly Erin felt herself drifting away, floating on a mystical cloud that seemed to carry her to this menacing stranger. She heard a voice, a dark, persuasive voice borne by the wind.
We’ve been waiting for you,
it
whispered.
Your sister’s here, Erin. I can take you to her. Don’t let her down this time.

A wave of dizziness washed over Erin, and a blackness so cold and so swift it seemed as if icy waters were closing over her head. She felt herself sway, and then her knees began to buckle. She was falling, plunging toward Megan’s open grave, descending toward that yawning abyss, that dark place from which there would be no return….

Erin! Help me!

Was that Megan’s voice that called to her? Was that Megan’s cry she heard?

Suddenly Erin no longer had the will to fight. She closed her eyes and let the darkness take her.

A gasp rose from the crowd. Just as she was about to pitch forward into the grave, someone grabbed her and pulled her back, with a hand that seemed capable and comforting, yet cold and dangerous. A hand that was scarred and battered, yet beautiful and strong. Erin opened her eyes and felt Detective Slade’s grip tighten on her arm.

“Are you all right?”

“I…felt faint,” she said weakly. His hand was still on her arm, and beneath the fabric of her coat, Erin imagined that she could feel the warmth of his hand seeping through her. Her skin tingled with awareness, with warning. Her heart began to thud against her chest as he guided her away from the grave.

He’d turned up the collar on his black leather coat,
but he didn’t have an umbrella, and his dark hair glistened with droplets of water. She’d forgotten how tall he was, how formidable he appeared. He was still wearing the dark glasses she found so daunting, but even guarded, his stare was powerful, mesmerizing, as he gazed down at her. Suddenly Erin remembered last night and how his gaze had seemed to trap her.

“Rough day” was all he said, guiding her out of the cemetery toward the street. But somehow those two simple words conveyed everything Erin was experiencing at that moment. She wanted to cry and gave silent thanks for the mask of rain on her face.

At the edge of the graveyard, she stopped and looked back. The tombstones blurred in the rain, creating an eerie, almost mystical illusion. Someone was watching her, she thought. Someone was watching her
again,
and she shuddered, a dark portent creeping over her. She looked up and found Detective Slade gazing down at her with hidden eyes.

“What is it?” His voice held an edge, as if he knew—or sensed—what she was feeling.

But Erin didn’t want to admit even to herself that she was suddenly, desperately afraid. She hugged her arms to her chest, then shrugged. What could she say? That her imagination was running away with her? That she was seeing monsters now, even in daylight?

As if sensing her reluctance, Slade let the matter drop. Without another word, they began walking
again. After a few moments, Erin said, “How is the investigation progressing?”

It was his turn to shrug. “As well as can be expected.”

“What did the autopsy report show?”

Slade hesitated. “We can talk about that later.”

“I want to hear it now,” Erin said, mustering her courage. She braced her shoulders as if to prove to Slade she could handle whatever he had to say. “What was the exact cause of Megan’s death, Detective? I want to know.”

Again that odd hesitation. “There were marks on her neck.”

“Marks? You mean she was strangled?” That would explain why there was no blood that night, Erin thought.

Detective Slade stared straight ahead as they continued to walk. “Your sister wasn’t strangled,” he said.

“But I thought you said—”

“There were marks on her neck. Two puncture wounds. Almost all of Megan’s blood was drained from her body.”

Erin staggered to a stop. A wave of horror washed over her. Slade’s hand shot out and steadied her once more, but Erin was hardly aware of it. Instead, in her mind she saw an image of Megan’s body on the ground, the smile on her lips. Erin put a hand to her mouth as her stomach churned sickeningly. “My
God,” she said. “What kind of person could do that? Especially to Megan. She was so young, so beautiful….” And now she was dead. Dear God, Erin wrote about this kind of stuff. It didn’t happen in real life. Not to Megan. Please not to Megan.

“How did he do it?’ she asked weakly.

“We don’t know for sure.”

“
Why
did he do it? What kind of monster would do such a thing?”

Slade said nothing, but Erin barely noticed. Her mind was racing with the implications. “What if it was because of me?” she whispered. “What if this happened because of my book?”

Slade was still holding her arm, and now his grip tightened. “You had nothing to do with this.”

Erin lifted her agonized gaze. “How can you be so sure? There are a lot of people out there who read my books. What if one of them decided to…”

“There are a lot of people out there,” Slade said evenly, “who have never read your books. And they kill, anyway.”

“But do they drain their victim’s blood?” Erin’s heart was beating so fast she felt light-headed. She swayed again, and Slade steadied her once more.

His mouth tightened as he gazed down at her. “We’ll get him, Erin. I promise you that. He won’t get away with this.”

“No, he won’t,” she agreed, the horror inside her
turning to rage. “He won’t get away with this. I’ll see to that.”

“What do you mean?”

They stared at each other in silence. Mist shrouded them in an illusion of privacy, and once again Erin became conscious of how tall he was, how immense he looked in that long black coat. She hadn’t been aware of how far their walk had taken them, but as she looked around now, she realized the cemetery was long behind them. They stood in the gray afternoon, a myriad of desolate buildings surrounding them, and all Erin could think was how quiet everything seemed. How alone they were.

Behind his dark glasses, Slade continued to hold her gaze. Erin’s fingers began to tremble, so she forced her hands deep into the pockets of her coat.

“What did you mean you’ll see to it?” he repeated suspiciously. His voice was low and rough. She could see the hint of anger in the rigid set of his mouth, a mouth she knew could look at once cruel and sensuous….

Erin tilted her chin, denying her thoughts. “I mean I can help you find him. I knew my sister better than anyone else. If anyone can trace the last few days of her life, it would be me.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

He drew her up so close the frost of their breath mingled in the cold air. Their bodies were almost, but not quite, touching, yet Erin had no difficulty at all
imagining the warmth of his skin next to hers. The hardness of his body against hers…

Dear God, she thought. What am I doing? What am I thinking?