Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night (83 page)

“Psychic?” Grace glared at him. “I’m warning you, Alex Trammell—”

“It’s true,” Dane said. Violently he wished that it weren’t. “She’s having a vision now. Another murder is happening right now.”

“If this is a joke—”

“It isn’t,” he said flatly.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Trammell instructed. “Other than the three of us, and Lieutenant Bonness, no one else knows.”

She looked uneasily at Marlie. “How long does this last?”

Dane checked his watch. It was 10:36, earlier than the other two murders had happened. “I don’t know. Half an hour, maybe.” The last time, when Jackie Sheets was killed, it had taken him longer than that to bring her out of it. Somewhere in the city, at this very moment, another woman was dying a horrible death; Marlie was gone from him until it was finished.

At 10:54, her right hand twitched convulsively several times, in an abbreviated stabbing motion. Both Dane and Trammell understood the significance of the small movement. Sweat rolled down Dane’s face despite the chill of the air conditioning. He caught her hand and held it, hoping that the contact would comfort her on some unconscious level. Trammell paced restlessly, his dark eyes hooded and dangerous.

“Make some coffee,” Dane murmured. “Or tea. She’ll need it.” Grace moved toward the kitchen, but Trammell waved her back to her seat and went to do it himself.

At eleven, Dane sat down beside her and eased her against his shoulder. Her arms felt icy to his touch. He shook her gently. “Marlie? Can you come back to me now, honey?”

Her eyes didn’t even flicker.

He waited a couple of minutes and shook her again, calling her name. He saw some small movement in her eyelids.

He began stroking her hands and arms, trying to rub some warmth back into her skin. “Wake up and talk to me, honey. Come on, pull out of it.”

Slowly her eyes began to close, and she drooped in his arms as the rigidity began to leave her muscles. He shook her again, not wanting her to slide into that deep, unconscious sleep. “You have to talk to me, Marlie. You can’t go to sleep yet.”

With visible effort she lifted her eyelids and looked at him. She was dazed, incomprehension in her eyes. Panic
edged into the blue depths as she fought for consciousness, for her sense of self. It was another moment before recognition flared, followed closely by horror and anguish.

“Shhh, shhh,” he whispered, holding her close. “I’m here, baby.” He could feel the tremor that started in her legs and worked upward, becoming stronger and more violent with every passing second. He reached out, and Trammell put the coffee cup in his hand. Carefully he held it to Marlie’s trembling lips, forcing her to sip. She was gray now, as the shock worsened.

“Please,” she begged, her voice shaking and barely audible. “Let me lie down.”

“Not yet. Drink some more coffee.” He wanted to carry her to bed and let her sleep, while he held her close against the terrors of the night, but ruthlessly he pushed that impulse away. He had to get the details before he could allow her to rest.

“Tell me about it,” he demanded, putting force in his voice. “Tell me what you saw.”

She closed her eyes, trying to pull away from him.

“Damn it, Marlie!” He wasn’t gentle when he shook her this time. “Tell me!”

Her mouth trembled wildly, and tears seeped out from under her lashes. “It’s dark,” she said. She took a deep breath and let it out with a shuddering sigh. She opened her eyes. “The electricity is out. The storm knocked it out.”

That flat, expressionless tone entered her voice, as she let herself sink into the horror again. She stared straight ahead, and Dane braced himself. “She came home earlier than expected. She’s drunk. She puts some candles on the dresser, lights them. Incense candles, in little glass holders. They stink. She takes off her clothes, puts on a robe. Nice of her; saves him some trouble. She goes into the bathroom and washes her face. When she comes out, he’s waiting for her.”

“Dear God,” Grace said quietly, as the horror of what she was hearing, of what Marlie had endured, began to come home to her.

“He comes up behind her when she bends down to blow out the stinking candles. She sees him, turns around. She doesn’t scream; they almost never do. He’s already too close, the knife already at her throat. Even though she’s drunk, the stupid bitch, he can see that she knows what’s happening. Good. There’s no point in punishment if they don’t understand the lesson.

“He makes her take off the robe. She’s too skinny; he can see her ribs. He doesn’t like that. She’s terrified. She doesn’t argue when he tells her to lie down. Not on the bed—the floor. He prefers the floor. He’s gentle with her, but he can see in her eyes that she knows who he is, knows his power. That’s nice, but it takes away the element of surprise.

“Afterward, he helps her to her feet. He kisses her cheek, strokes her hair. He pulls on her hair a little to make her tilt her head back, and she looks up at him. Please, she says, begging already. No pride. They never have any pride. He smiles at her, and watches her eyes as she feels the first sting of the blade. Then he lets her go, so the race can start.”

Trammell swung away, muttering a curse.

Marlie wasn’t looking at any of them, wasn’t seeing any of them. “She doesn’t run. She just looks at him. He cuts her again. Says,
Run bitch.
She doesn’t. She swings at him, hits him in the face. Then she’s all over him, hitting, kicking, screaming at him. He’s furious; this isn’t the way he wanted it to work. Stupid bitch. If that’s the way she wants it, he’ll give it to her. He slices deep, again and again, to get it over with. He hates her. She was stupid, she ruined it for him. It was supposed to be a race, like the Preakness. Maryland, O Maryland.” Marlie sang the last little bit.

“She’s down. His arm is tired. She isn’t even grunting now when the knife goes in. He gets up . . .” Her voice suddenly wavered. Dane felt her jerk, then begin to tremble again.

“What?” he asked softly.

Her face was colorless, her eyes stark. “He looked in the mirror,” she said. When Dane merely stared at her, puzzled,
she said it again. “He looked in the mirror! He saw himself—and
I
saw him!”

“Jesus Christ.” Every hair on his body stood upright, and a chill chased down his spine. Trammell and Grace were utterly silent, their attention riveted on her.

“He’s completely bald,” she whispered. “He shaves his head. A square jawline. H-His eyes are a little too small, a little too close together.”

Dane couldn’t contain himself. He was on his feet, his powerful body tense and ready for action. “We’ll get a police artist in,” he said. “He’ll work with you on the sketch, and then we’ll get it to all the television stations and newspapers in the area.” It was their first break, and it was a huge one. “Call Bonness,” he told Trammell. “Fill him in on what’s happened. We need to find the woman, too, one way or another. Marlie, what did she look like—” He turned back to her, and broke off in midsentence. Her head had fallen back against the couch and her eyes were closed, her hands lying limply in her lap.

“Ah, honey,” he said softly. She had given in to the debilitating exhaustion. For a moment he had forgotten the physical price she paid in this. He wanted to kick himself. Immediately he pushed all other concerns aside; others could take care of the details in finding the victim, but only he could take care of Marlie. “You handle everything,” he told Trammell as he bent over her to lift her in his arms. “I’m taking her home.”

“You can both stay here,” Trammell said, but Dane shook his head.

“She’s confused when she first wakes up, and it takes her a while to get her bearings again. It’ll be easier for her if she’s in her own home.”

“How long will it be before she’ll be able to talk to an artist? Bonness will want to know.”

“Noon, at the very earliest. More likely two or three in the afternoon.”

“He won’t like waiting that long.”

“He’ll have to.” With Trammell and Grace flanking him, and cradling Marlie gently in his arms, he carried her to the car. Trammell opened the door for him, and he placed her on the seat, let the back down into a reclining position, and buckled her seat belt.

“Do you need me?” Grace asked. She eyed Marlie’s pale, unconscious face worriedly. “I’ll be glad to sit up with her.”

“I can handle it. She’ll sleep for at least twelve hours.”

“Well, all right. Call me if you need me.”

“I will,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

Marlie didn’t move during the drive through the misty, foggy night. Having seen it before, he wasn’t as worried as he had been the first time, but on the other hand, now he knew how exhausted she would be, and how long it would take her to recover. This had to be the last one. He couldn’t let her go through this time and again. As soon as they got a police sketch ready and to the media, he would put his plan into action.

He had barely gotten Marlie home and placed her on the bed before the phone began ringing. Irritably he snatched it up. “Hollister.”

It was Bonness. “We can’t wait until tomorrow to get started on that sketch. This is information that needs to be in newspapers tomorrow.”

“It’ll have to wait,” Dane said harshly. “She can’t do it now.”

“She
has
to.”

“She can’t,” he snapped. “This isn’t a choice she has, or that you have. She’s unconscious with exhaustion, and it takes hours for her to recover.”

“Maybe a doctor can give her adrenaline or something, to snap her out of it—”

Dane ground his teeth together to control a flare of fury. “I’ll break anyone’s arm who comes near her with a needle,” he said, his voice hard and crisp.

Bonness paused, taken aback more by the warning implicit
in his tone than the actual words. The words were bad enough, but the tone was deadly. Nevertheless, he tried again. “Damn it, Hollister, you need to get your priorities straight—”

“They’re as straight as they’re going to get,” Dane interrupted again. “No one is touching her. I’m turning off the phone here, so she won’t be disturbed. If you need me, call the beeper number, but don’t waste my time trying to change my mind. Talk to Trammell if you have any doubts about her condition.”

“I already have,” Bonness said reluctantly.

“Then why the hell did you call?”

“I thought maybe there was something we could do—”

“I’ve already pushed her as far as possible, to get what information we did. This hit her harder than the last time, harder and faster. Just leave her alone and let her sleep. I promise that I’ll call as soon as she wakes up.”

“Well, all right.” Bonness was still reluctant. “But the chief is going to be pissed. Obviously, for us to have a sketch, there has to be a witness. He’s going to want to know who and how.”

“You can keep it quiet about the sketch until we actually have one. Until then, just say that a street informant gave us the word on another murder.”

“That’s a good idea. Okay. But when he finds out—”

“Blame it on me,” Dane said impatiently. “I can take the heat. But make it damn plain that if anyone gets to her, he’ll have to go through me.”

“I’ll do that.”

Hanging up the phone, Dane first cut off the ringer, then turned his attention back to Marlie. She lay limply where he had placed her, her chest barely moving. She had lost weight during these past few weeks, he realized, and she hadn’t had a lot to spare. When this was over, he was definitely taking her away on that vacation he had promised her, someplace quiet and serene, with nothing to do but eat, sleep, and make love.

Gently he removed her clothes and placed her, naked, between the sheets. Since he had moved in, she hadn’t worn anything to bed anyway. He checked the time: fifteen after midnight. Time for him to be in bed, too. He doubted he would sleep for quite a while yet, but at least he could hold her. He threw off his own clothes and got into bed beside her, then gathered her thin, silky body against his sheltering warmth. The faint, sweet scent of her skin soothed him. He buried his face against the thick swath of straight, dark hair. “Sleep, baby,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you.”

•  •  •

He began trying to rouse her at eleven the next morning, but she was totally unresponsive. His beeper had been driving him crazy all morning. Bonness had called every half hour. Trammell had called twice. Grace had called three times, demanding to know if there was anything she could do, if he needed her to spell him so he could rest.

Trammell had hit on the idea of having the television and radio stations broadcast the information that there had been another murder, but that so far no victim had been found, and asking that people check on their neighbors and call their relatives to account for everyone. It was a tactic likely to drive some people into hysterics if a family member was unreachable for any reason, and Chief Champlin had gone through the roof when he heard it on the radio. The mayor was apoplectic. Didn’t they realize the risk they were running with lawsuits? He envisioned thousands of people suing over emotional distress. Bonness covered his ass by blaming it all on Trammell, even though he had given his approval. When the chief called him, screaming in fury, Trammell coolly pointed out that the tactic had precedence, that during natural disasters and emergencies, such as heat alerts, people were often urged to check on their friends and relatives. That calmed the chief down somewhat, but he still wasn’t happy.

All over the city, telephones and doorbells rang.

Carroll Janes, indulging in a lazy morning in bed, was
puzzled when he turned on the television at noon and heard the news. If the cops hadn’t found the victim, how did they know there was one? He wasn’t alarmed, though; he was almost certain no one had seen him, even at a distance, but even if someone had, he couldn’t be identified. He yawned and turned off the television set. Let them look.

By twelve-thirty, Dane had gotten Marlie roused enough to visit the bathroom and drink some water, but she had gone to sleep again as soon as he helped her back into bed.

At 12:55, his beeper went off again. The number displayed was Trammell’s. Impatiently Dane dialed it.