Epiphany (Legacy of Payne) (8 page)

The first question was easy—I hadn’t 
really
 slept in weeks. The second took longer to answer. “I think I ate yesterday before my shift.”

“You 
think
?” Shaking his head, he let out a sigh. “C’mon,” he said, pulling me to my feet.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.” He shut Six’s door and led me to my apartment without any input on my part, which should have alarmed me, but I was too tired to care. He pushed my door open and treated me to another long-suffering look. “Don’t ever leave your door unlocked again, okay?”

“Okay.” At his insistence, I reclined on my worn sofa.

“I’ll go find something to cook up in the kitchen.”

This take-charge side of Aidan was disconcerting. I was used to taking care of myself, though I realized with shame that I’d done a lousy job of it lately. Then another thought occurred to me, blocking out my exhaustion. The drawings, all of Aidan, were scattered in plain sight on my dinette.

I bolted from the couch just as he reappeared. My gaze fell to his hands where he clutched a sketch in each one. I opened my mouth but could find no explanation.

“You drew this?” He held up the drawing in question—the one I’d finished right before Halloween of masked faces and him lying on the ground.

“Yeah.” I bit my lip and told myself not to panic.

He studied the scene, which was mostly black with various grays and a few splashes of red. “You’re very talented,” he said, and then he held up the other, only this time his expression wasn’t so friendly. “Explain this one.”

I gulped. I’d sketched the portrait a couple of years ago, using my dreams as inspiration. His hair was shorter, not so wild and unruly, and a
 
wide expanse of bare chest tapered down into the unknown. The tantalizing image still burned in my memory.

I faced his stony expression, certain my face had turned several shades of red. “I’m an artist. You caught my eye, so I got creative. I draw a lot of people.” Nonchalance wasn’t easy to forge when faced with such incriminating evidence. What would I think if our positions were reversed? If he’d drawn me before I cut my hair a few months ago?

“The necklace,” he said. “Who told you?”

A simple gold chain encircled his throat—the only thing he wore in the drawing, and the only spot of color. I tilted my head and frowned. What was he getting at? “No one told me anything.”

He seemed transfixed by the drawing, or more accurately, the necklace adorning an earlier version of himself. The paper shook in his hands, and for a moment I thought he was going to crush it in his fist. “How is it possible . . . that you came up with this on your own?”

My only option was to play dumb. “I’m not sure what you mean. Do you have a similar necklace or something?”

His mouth hardened into a straight line. “Not anymore.” Without warning he disappeared into the kitchen again.

I fell onto the couch and dropped my head into my hands. As I pulled myself together, I heard the refrigerator door open, followed by the creak of cupboards, the slide of drawers.

“How about eggs, potatoes, and toast?” he asked from the other room.

Despite the nervous flutters in my stomach, I nearly salivated at the thought of a cooked meal, even one as simple as breakfast. I hoped he was better in the kitchen than I was. “Sounds perfect, thanks.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled is fine.” Another drawer opened and closed, and I wondered at the speed in which he’d shifted gears. Something about the drawing disturbed him—disturbed him so much he’d let it drop? More sounds echoed from the kitchen. “Need help finding something?”

“Nope, found it.”

While he busied himself cooking, I thought of how little I knew about him. What 
was
 his story anyway? He’d literally walked out of my dreams and into the flesh just days before Six went missing.

“I did a little digging on the Internet today,” I said, listening as he chopped what I assumed were potatoes.

“About what?”

“The Boise Hangman.”

He didn’t answer for several moments, though the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board ceased, so I figured he’d heard me. “What did you find?”

“He killed several women, mostly bartenders. The media was all over the case, and he sent scathing notes to the major newspapers.” Silence stretched into minutes, and soon something sizzled from the next room. My stomach rumbled, and I yawned, fighting to keep my eyes open.

Sometime later, he startled me awake with a plate full of steaming food. How he was able to get it all done at the same time, I’d never understand. I’d eaten cold eggs on more than a few occasions. He set the plate down on the coffee table and added a glass of milk.

I scooted over, giving him room to sit. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” Noting the single plate, I asked, “You’re not hungry?”

“I already ate.”

I took a bite of eggs. Damn, he could cook. When I scrambled eggs, they tasted like rubber.

“Do you work tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah. Six is supposed to work too.” I prayed she’d be back. We’d poke fun at the customers and talk about the regulars that Six knew on a more personal level.

“You should get some rest then.” He started to move, clearly intending to leave. The drawings sat between us like a third person. So did something else.

“Don’t go yet.” I set the fork down. “I need to ask you something.”

“All right.”

“Why did you come to Watcher’s Point? You said you’re passing through, but I feel like there’s another reason.”

“What reason is that?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” I winced at the petulance in my tone.

A sly grin flitted across his mouth. Obviously, he found me amusing. “I’m housesitting.”

“Housesitting?”

“Essentially.” He tilted his head. “What are you doing here besides sketching . . . interesting drawings and breaking into your neighbor’s apartment? Do you have skeletons rattling in your closet, Mackenzie?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” How had this conversation turned to me?

“You can’t answer a question with a question. That strategy won’t work on me.”

I hesitated. “My mom grew up here.” That was about as vague of an answer as I could get. I figured it was wise to leave out how I’d dreamed of the town for weeks preceding my move—how I’d seen horrific images that had kept me up at night. Still, something had drawn me to the place, and I was beginning to think it was Aidan.

He leaned forward and invaded my space in a way that unsettled, yet left me tingling with awareness. “And?”

“And . . . it was as good a place as any to get away to.” I folded my arms as a sudden chill went through me. “I never imagined I’d find out my mom’s been lying to me all my life.” Effortlessly, the words tumbled out. I hadn’t really talked to anyone—other than Six—about what I’d discovered, but talking to Aidan was becoming easier each time I saw him. “Turns out the man I thought was my father . . . wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You must’ve been stunned. Are you an only child?”

I shook my head. “I have two brothers and a sister.” I paused and let out a burst of bitter laughter. “And believe it or not, turns out Christie is my sister.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Are you talking about who I think you are?”

“Judd’s girlfriend? Yeah, and she hates my guts.”

“No doubt. She’s spoiled, rich, and you’ve come into town poaching on her territory. So, Will Beckmeyer was your father?”

I regarded him closely. “So I’ve been told. You sound like you know the Beckmeyers.”

“Sort of. I know of them. My mother is from here too.”

That tidbit of information surprised me. “But you’re just ‘passing through’? You know, I recognize evasion when I see it. Why are you really in town? Because according to creepy tattooed guy from last night, you’re trouble.”

“That part he’s right about.” He brushed an errant strand of hair from my brow, and his touch completely unhinged me. “You should heed his warning.”

“Aidan—”

“Let it drop.” He rose from the couch and pointed at my plate of forgotten food. “Eat and get some rest. Worrying about Six isn’t going to help you right now. If you want to find her, you need to take care of yourself.”

I halfheartedly glanced at the breakfast. Thanks to our conversation, I’d lost my appetite. But he was right; I needed to eat. Besides, it had been sweet of him to cook for me. Not many strangers were so thoughtful.

Maybe that was my problem; Aidan was far from a stranger in my mind.

He headed for the door. “I’ll come by later and walk you to work. If you don’t mind,” he added, making me think he’d picked up on my independent streak. “I want you to be safe is all.”

“I don’t mind.”

The door creaked open, and he stood on the threshold for a few moments. Behind his silhouette, dark clouds roiled with a vengeance, a dreary canvas for the gangly trees swaying in the breeze.

“I should probably tell you . . .” He hesitated and stuck his hands into his pockets. “I followed you last night. I wanted to make sure you got home safely. What you told me about Chloe’s boyfriend worried me.”

“I don’t know whether to thank you or run in the other direction,” I said.

“You can thank me by being more careful. You shouldn’t be out walking the streets at night by yourself.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

His jaw twitched. “Try not to worry about Six,” he said, completely sidestepping my question. “We’ll find her. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you later,” he said. “Don’t forget to latch the deadbolt.” He turned the lock on the handle and pulled the door closed. I forked up another bite of cold eggs, and only then realized that he’d never explained how he just
happened
to see me break into Six’s apartment.

Despite the endless questions I had, sleep came easily. So easily in fact that I passed out on my sofa and dreamed of Six’s murder again. Unlike the first time, this dream was so detailed it played out like a horror film. The way he brutalized her body, how he dragged her through the woods naked, pulling her by the noose around her neck. Scene by scene, I watched my friend die. Worse was the realization that it was probably too late. Six had been missing for more than a day, and my dreams still hadn’t revealed who had kidnapped her.

I jolted awake and sprinted to the bathroom, barely making it in time to throw up the breakfast Aidan had cooked me. I didn’t know how long I lay on the floor, wasting precious, valuable time, alternating between bawling and puking. I finally pushed myself up from the linoleum, depleted of tears and the contents of my stomach.

The shadows had deepened by the time I re-entered the living room. Sifting through the details of my dream wasn’t easy, but one part crystalized into a vivid image: a rock structure high above the ocean. I pulled my sneakers on, grabbed my keys, and almost forgot my purse. Hysteria chased me around the room, and I was close to tears again when a knock sounded.

I turned the knob and edged the door open. Aidan waited on the other side. In the midst of despair, I’d forgotten he was coming. Without thinking, I blurted, “I think I know where to find Six.”

“Where are we going?” Aidan asked from the passenger seat.

“Some sort of rock structure.” As I jabbed the key into the ignition, I recalled the details from my dream. A rocky path winding through an archway of stone, muddied from rain. Blood pooling under Six’s feet . . .

I jerked the door open and dry-heaved. “I’m too late. He’s already killed her.”

“You don’t know that. We don’t even know for sure if she’s missing.”

“You don’t understand, Aidan.” I pulled the door shut with a slam and then pounded my fists on the steering wheel.

He grabbed my hands, and I met his eyes, imagining what I must look like to him—like a crazed lunatic. “Take a deep breath,” he said. I focused on his soothing touch and forced air into my lungs. “I can’t help if you won’t talk to me. What’s going on? Why are you so certain she’s in trouble?”

I’d give anything to have a tenth of his composure. “No time. We need to find that rock structure.” I closed my eyes and let the images come again. Darkness. Cold. Stone and mud. Tall trees swaying in the breeze. I inhaled the salt in the air, and I wanted to cover my ears against the roar of the sea. “Somewhere high above the ocean.”

“A rock structure?” he asked, his confusion palpable.

“Yeah.” I pulled out of the driveway. The inevitable questions would come now, and there simply wasn’t time to answer them, even if I was willing. I steered the car into late evening traffic. A minute of thick silence filled the air as I drove toward HWY 101, and when we reached the main road, I came to a stop.

North or south?

“I don’t know where I’m going.”

“Pull over at that gas station,” he instructed. “I’ll find out if the attendant knows of any rock structures.”

I pulled over, and Aidan jumped from the car before we’d come to a complete stop. As I watched his hurried interaction with the pimple-faced kid working the pumps, I marveled at the fact that he was so willing to help, despite his obvious confusion over my hysterics. Doubt gnawed at me—doubt regarding Aidan’s intentions and even the validity of my dreams—yet the intense feeling of urgency in my heart pushed my reservations aside.

Act now, question later. Six’s life might depend on it.

He returned a minute later. “There’s a turnoff a few miles down the highway. He said to follow the road to the top, and we’ll find a scenic area up there. He called it a rock shelter. Apparently, it’s a bit of a hike.”

“We’re going to need flashlights.”

Aidan exited the car again and rushed into the convenience store. When he came back, he held two flashlights and a package of batteries in his hands. “What makes you think Six is up there?” he asked once we were back on the road.

I winced at the question. Now was not the time to get into this particular conversation. “Can we talk about this later? I don’t want to miss the turnoff.”

Aidan busied himself with ripping open the package of batteries, and I sensed his questioning eyes on me every few seconds. A rising sense of urgency pushed me forward, but I slowed anyway, keeping an eye out for the turnoff. Had he not pointed to the sign, I might have missed it.