Emily (Dreamcatchers Romantic Suspense Series Book 1) Page 15

  21

  Emily didn’t get much of anything done for the rest of the work day, her concentration shot. The unwanted flowers were still sitting in their corner instead of the dumpster. She hadn’t wanted to leave her desk in case Reece was able to call. When hunger nagged at her in the middle of the afternoon, she pulled out the sandwich he’d made her that morning, calling him again at the same time. Still no answer, nor had the sketch artist he’d mentioned dropped by. Emily was beginning to worry if Reece had even made it to work. She thought briefly about calling him there but dismissed the idea as soon as it came. She didn’t have Agent Roscoe’s number and damned if she was going to call the main switchboard and ask for him. She wasn’t even sure if she was supposed to know anything about the investigation, officially anyway. She didn’t want to cause him any trouble at work, or jam the case up any further. Reece wasn’t one to take and run, that much she knew, and so she’d keep waiting.

  By the time darkness had settled over the city and even Wanda was looking at the clock, Emily was officially worried. She had called Reece more times than she could count, each time getting no response. He was so strong, but even he couldn’t stop a bullet, or a knife. Emily shuddered. What if the killer had gotten to him?

  No.

  He might be scaring the shit out of her, but the killer’s tastes ran in a different direction. Reece was probably just stuck in meetings, or maybe he was locked in a room with no cell service. Or land line. Or door.

  OK Em, now you’re just being silly.

  Emily shut her computer down, and picking up the offensive bouquet with one hand and she left the office, dropping the flowers on the magazine’s front receptionist’s desk on the way out. Hey, despite them being creepy anonymous maybe-from-a-murderer flowers, they were red roses for god’s sake. Someone should appreciate them. It just sure as hell wasn’t going to be her.

  She made her way straight home, hailing a cab and instructed him to keep to populated streets as much as possible. Turning the last corner, Emily hoped to see Reece perched on the steps outside her apartment, but she was sorely disappointed. By the time she’d gotten inside and checked her messages, only to find the blinky light on her answering machine not blinking her worry kicked into overdrive. By nine p.m. she’d all but cleaned the paint off the walls of her apartment, and despite checking her that her cell was charged and ring volume on high every two minutes, there was no call.

  Her body weary but her mind still racing, Emily gave up and flopped into bed. She plugged her cell into its charger beside the bed, even though she’d all but given up hope of speaking to Reece that day. Already sure that she wouldn’t sleep, she turned to the next best thing; she picked up Hannah’s book and opened it at the next chapter. If she couldn’t change her reality right now, she could, at least, escape it for a few hours. That plan worked for about thirty minutes before paranoia crept in again, and she spent the next half hour checking all her doors and windows. Emily opened each one just to be sure and then slammed it shut before so much as a whisper could work its way in. God knows who was outside looking in. Finally climbing back into bed, she pressed her face into the pillow that still smelled like Reece and cried herself to sleep.

  It was the cold that blew in around her that made her shiver. It was like a bad omen, but she could see nothing. She peered into the darkness, and as her eyes adjusted, she saw that she was inside a building.

  Cold, damp, and old scents wafted to greet her. The floor felt thick and cool beneath her feet.

  She was in a basement.

  Her heart raced, and she forced it to quiet. She wasn’t trapped. The open door behind her was where the cold air blew from, but to her left was a staircase and at the top there was a dim light glowing. It was barely visible from the base of the stairs where she stood, but it was there. She looked between the door and the stairs, knowing that she couldn’t stay where she was, but having no idea which to choose.

  Her feet, as if of their own accord, took her toward the stairs, and when she reached out her hand to grab at the banister, she heard a strange clinking sound and realized she already had something in her hand.

  Looking down, she saw it. Resting in her palm was a familiar knife. Her breath caught in her throat, but she could do nothing. As much as she willed her fingers to open and drop the runic blade, her hand remained closed tight and her feet continued forward as if controlled by something else. The heavy boots that climbed the stairs were not her own, and she felt heavier, taller almost. As she moved up the short flight of stairs and exited out the door, she immediately recognized the building’s main interior.

  She was in her own office building!

  The smell of incense drifted to her from an open room down the hall, where red light stole from beneath the crack under the door. It was an old storage closet, but no one ever went in there. She continued unwillingly down the hall, and as her booted feet paused outside the door with the red glow, she panicked. It had no effect.

  She felt her body move, and her hands slipped off the heavy boots, leaving them placed neatly in the hall outside. The door to the storage room swung open, and she saw the walls first, covered in photos. Then the candles, lit and burning, the base of each entwined with a lock of hair.

  She lay down on the floor in the middle of the room and stared up at the enlarged photo in the center of the room. She recognized the person this time. How could she not? She was staring back at her own face.

  She was next. She knew it as surely as she knew it was her own name the killer was whispering through her.

  Emily.

  It’s time.

  22

  Emily bolted awake, her eyes frantically dancing back and forth and finding the walls of her apartment. She was still here, still safe. For now. She waited for the familiar rush of fear that would come with the realization her time would soon run out, but none came. No, this time, she was mad. Pure anger flowed through her. Her dreams had finally revealed something she could use. She knew where the bastard was hiding.

  Grabbing for her phone, she navigated to the recent call list and tapped Reece’s name. Fuck! Still no answer. That was it. She wasn’t waiting anymore. Knowing the killer was sitting there, at her office—probably right now if the timeline of her other dreams was any indication—was simply too much. She couldn’t stay at home and wait for Reece to show up from wherever the hell he was with the cavalry. Her dreams had shown her where to go for a reason, and that’s exactly what she was going to do.

  The decision made, Emily pushed out of bed and pulled on the darkest pair of jeans she owned. Hauling on the boots that she hadn’t used since her brief experiment with hiking, she slipped a kitchen knife down inside against the reinforced heel and dug around in her bag for her mini pepper spray key chain. The thing was small enough to slip inside her pocket but had a range of five feet. Plenty far enough to use without having to get too close to the bastard and his knife. She’d laughed when Cathy had given it to her as a birthday gift, but now it was the best present she’d ever received.

  Ready to walk out the door, she called Reece one last time but got the same result. To assuage her conscious Emily dialed Hannah’s number next, but it too went unanswered. Where the hell was everyone tonight? When the call clicked over to Hannah’s voicemail Emily left a brief message letting her friend know what was going on, and then grabbed her keys and a flashlight and swung her door open.

  “You can’t always just wait around for the world to save you, Em,” she spoke aloud to herself as she slipped down the stairs. “Sometimes you just gotta save yourself.”

  Walking out onto the streets of downtown Chicago, Emily focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to convince herself that she shouldn’t just turn back and go home. She’d promised Reece that she’d take precautions, that she wouldn’t put herself in harm’s way. But that just wasn’t working for her tonight. Sitting there on the sideline while he put himself in danger had been driving her crazy, and now he’d
disappeared leaving her to think of god knows what happening to him. She could only hope she wasn’t sending herself to die while playing Nancy Drew. Passing by a corner, she almost ran into a couple walking swiftly the other way. Emily nearly jumped out of her skin. She braced herself against a nearby building and leaned forward for a moment, gasping to catch her stolen breath. This was crazy! She knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But it was just a little less crazy that sitting around at home waiting for the killer to come find her first.

  Her heart rate now back to merely pounding out of her chest, down from racing toward a heart attack, she steeled herself and kept going. Maybe she should have called Cathy next? Yeah right, what was Cathy going to do, throw condoms at the guy’s head until he retreated? It was almost impressive how many of the things she carried around with her on a daily basis. Emily snorted at the thought. The killer might be a total dick, but she doubted that’d work. Besides, it was highly likely that the feisty redhead was also otherwise engaged tonight, having one of those sweet nights she loved so much.

  Emily had read somewhere about a society in the far east of China that lived with women as the dominant gender. Their culture highlighted erotic sexuality, and the women would often invite men to their beds for the night only to kick them out by morning. In fact, it was tradition for the men to visit only after dark. Marriage didn’t exist, and there was no censure from society if the woman took another lover. Cathy would definitely be right at home there. She called herself a serial monogamist, Emily recalled and then shook herself straight out of that train of thought. Right now, the thought of a serial anything was not so warm and fuzzy. Besides, if she knew one person who would die from a heart attack the moment anything went bump in the night, it was Cathy.

  It’s just me, myself, and I.

  Too impatient to walk the rest of the way tonight, Emily hailed a passing cab and directed it to her office building. The entire way she twisted her fingers in her lap, focusing on her breathing to avoid the regularly threatening panic attack. If she let one take hold she was liable to wind down the window and jump out of a moving car. Her latest dream echoed through her mind on a loop, becoming more vivid with every pass. She could almost sense the killer’s darkness creeping over her skin, almost feel the cool weight on the blade in her hand. Along with a renewed rush of fear came expectation, and for just a moment she felt the rush of the kill seep into her as she had when she walked in his shoes in the dream world. The cab pulled up to the curb sharply, jolting Emily back into reality. Her skin crawled and her entire body shuddered when she realized what she’d been reliving through the killer’s mind. It was time to end this.

  Emily slid the fare out of her back pocket, paid the driver and then hopped out. She stood in front of the building. It looked more imposing in the dark, almost as if it was an abandoned monolith. Her stomach flopped and she turned to ask the cabbie to wait, but he was already driving away. It was time. She was about to find out if all this time she’d been just another wacko, or her dreams really were a conduit. God, she could only hope he hadn’t managed to switch it around to gaze at her. The fact he’d followed her to her apartment told her that he had. A sick sensation bloomed in her stomach and rose up her throat. Emily forced it back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She was here, and he was right in there. She was not chickening out now.

  But hearing Reece’s voice right now would be nice. Even if it was just his damn voice mail. Hiding herself in the shadow of the building’s entrance, Emily pulled out her phone and dialed Reece one last time. This time, she left him a message. “I’ve been calling you for days,”—an exaggeration that’s completely acceptable under that circumstances— “I hope you’re OK, but just so you know, I had another dream. I think I know where the killer is and so I’m going there to check it out myself,” she paused, taking a deep breath and pushing forward. “If you get this message feel free to come and give me a hand. I’ll be going in from the back.” She paused again, “and Reece, I really hope you’re not lying in a ditch somewhere. No matter what you might feel about last night, please… just call.” She hung up, feeling no better than before she’d made the call, but hey, at least, she’d managed to tell him how she felt. Sort of. OK, not at all, but she’d been able to hear his voice again. It was time to go in. Best to not keep fate waiting any longer.

  23

  Emily edged her way around the perimeter of the building, her flashlight off and to her side and the kitchen knife at the ready. There was no way she was going to be caught by surprise this time and be the next dead body on display on the morning news. This was not her day to die, but her dreams had been tormented long enough. The external basement door stood in front of her, standing ajar just as it had in her dream. She quickly flattened herself against the building’s external wall, hiding herself from whoever could be inside. She took another deep breath, and gave herself a little pep talk and then stepped silently to the door. When she peeked inside she could see nothing but an empty room and so holding her breath, Emily slipped inside.

  The room was indeed empty, the only light illuminating the space coming from the soft glow at the top of the staircase looming in front of her. Just like the damn dream.

  You should really stop being surprised by that, Em.

  There was still no need for her flashlight. The moon was on full display through the crack in the door and the glow coming from the stairs was plenty enough light for her to see by.

  You could see fine in the dream, idiot. It’s not like murderers are born with infrared vision.

  It was definitely time to stop trying to give herself pep talks.

  Standing to the side of the room against the wall, every ounce of sense she had—arguably not much considering what she was doing—was telling her to stop. To turn around, call for help, and then never come back.

  She placed her foot on the first stair.

  The wood creaked lightly beneath her feet as she climbed higher. Creeping along the edge of the stairs, she kept her back to the wall and stayed away from the light as much as possible. The subtle scent of incense burning blew her way, and she felt a sudden rush of nostalgia. For what she couldn’t say, but it was there.

  God, it’s him. His feelings. He’s really here.

  Emily shook her head to clear it of anyone but herself. She could feel it now—death—creeping up her spine and tightening around her neck. It was as thick as the swirling mists that had plagued her dreams. It blanketed her senses and she blinked rapidly against the assault. The ball of lead in her stomach only grew with every step she took, and as she cleared the last stair and stepped out into the hallway, the sensation rose until it was strangling her. The hall was bathed in a soft red light, stealing out from the crack under the door in front of her. Emily could do nothing but swallow in an attempt to relax her ever-tightening throat. If ever there was a sense of having died, before you actually did, then this was it.

  She stood in the hall, about to push open the door to hell, and if it opened there would be no turning back. No warm welcome on the other side. A smart woman would have run like the hounds of hell were on her tail, and well perhaps they were. But her? Well, she was either not that smart or just a little too brave…

  Or completely over this shit.

  Either way, it didn’t matter. The end result would be the same.

  Her heart nearly beat itself out of her chest as she touched her hand to the door handle. She twisted lightly, and when it didn’t resist she nearly jumped out of her skin. Back in her apartment, she had wanted the door to be real, for it to open, but now that it actually did, Emily was changing her mind. Cracking it open less than an inch, she looked up and down the hallway twice for any sign of movement and then ducked inside.

  There. It stood before her. A mirror image of her dream.

  Covering the walls were photos of the murdered women. The photos had been captured while each victim had been unaware, happy even. Some were smiling at boyfriends, another laughing
over drinks with friends. One was of a woman pushing a tiny dark-haired child on a swing, the pair giggling together as someone else watched them from a distance from behind the camera lens. A shard of ice lodged itself in her gut. The walls were covered.

  My god. He’s been at this for years.

  She turned on her heel, taking in more and more of the room, each surface littered with images. Emily knew most of the faces only from Reece’s files or news reports, but a precious few she recognized intimately. Her eyes filled with unshed tears.

  Oh, Lily.

  Slipping her knife back in her boot, Emily took out her cell phone and started snapping photographs, her heart breaking even as she did. Each woman had a section marked out just for her, and beneath each photo was an altar of sorts. Red candles and incense lined a small area, and within their circle lay a lock of hair and a piece of torn cloth covered in blood. Peering closer, Emily slammed a hand over her mouth as bile rushed up from her stomach. It was clothing. This monster kept a piece of clothing soaked in his victim’s blood. Emily stood in front of the shrine devoted to Lily, her friend’s happy face smiling back at her, and she couldn’t hold back the tears. Among the tears of sadness came ones of anger, until they took over and Emily vowed that this man, no this monster, was never going to kill anyone ever again. If she had to stop him herself, she would.

  She was about to step away when something in Lily’s photograph caught her eye. There! It had been taken from inside her office! She was in the photo, and from what she was wearing, seated there at her desk in the background, it had been taken the very first day that Lily had approached her and invited her out. Emily’s breath caught in her throat. That had been during working hours. Security at the magazine was strict, doubly so when it was during the day and there were proofs and layouts from issues yet to be published lying all over the drafting tables. If the killer had been able to take the photo at that time, from that angle, he had to have been in the same room. He had to work there!