Hold Me in the Dark Page 6

  I stared at him, amazed. He got all that from pen marks? I quickly looked away before he turned around and saw I was staring. I looked down at the gap on the floor again. “You think Daniel Grier knew his killer?” I asked quietly.

  “Usually that’s the way,” said Calahan. His voice was almost apologetic. “Usually it’s a spouse or a friend or someone at work.”

  I stared at him. Jesus. That’s the world he lives in? No wonder he was gruff.

  Calahan rubbed his chin, the rasping sound loud in the silent room. “But there’s another possibility. If you’re right and he’s going to kill again, if we’re dealing with a serial killer... then it may be he’s got no relationship with the victim. He could have seen Daniel at a train station or at a coffee shop. If that’s the case…”—he turned and looked at me—“You may be our only chance at catching him.”

  I swallowed. Nodded. Tied my hair back in a ponytail to keep it out of the way and went to work.

  Usually, I follow an equation from start to finish, breaking it down along the way. But here, I had to physically follow it, as it crept across the floor and then up the wall like ivy. The math was amazing. Beautiful, in a way I’d find difficult to explain to Calahan. When I approach a problem, I’m tentative, nibbling at the edges until it cracks open. But this person was bold. He knew exactly where he was going and to get there, he’d brought together everything from theories of time and space to what seemed to be equations for genetics and probability. All of it merging into something that felt weirdly functional, in the same way as the encryption equations I work with. This stuff wasn’t purely theoretical. It did something.

  I could feel my brain coming alive—maybe the first time it had been completely alive since college. Encryption is one very specific sort of math and it worked my mind the way doing one exercise over and over would work one muscle. But this... this was like a full body workout, stretching me in every direction. As I rolled inch by inch across the Perspex, staring down at the equations, it felt as if I was gliding over a frozen lake. It was scary, as if the ice might crack under me and I’d fall straight into that dark writing. But at the same time….

  At the same time, it was weirdly enticing. I couldn’t figure out why, but a tiny, secret part of me actually wanted to fall. It wanted to sink into those dark spirals and never surface again. I kept almost going deep and then, just as I was about to lose myself in the math, I’d jerk out of it, heart thumping, as if some survival mechanism had kicked in.

  At last, I had something. I’d been staring at the equations for so long, I had to rub my eyes and blink before the rest of the room came into focus. When I checked the time on my phone, I’d been working for over two hours. I turned around and found Calahan standing by the door, watching me. Has he been watching me the whole time? He stepped forward expectantly.

  “Okay,” I told him. “I think I’ve got part of it.”

  I showed him an area on the wall. “The equations here have to do with distance. They’re complicated and I haven’t solved them yet, but I think they’ll eventually give us a location.” I pointed at the black starfish on the ceiling. “I think that thing is a countdown to when the next killing will happen. This block connects to that block. So….”

  “So this tells us where the next killing’s going to happen?”

  I nodded. “Where, when... and somewhere in here, I’m guessing there’s the who.” I frowned. “But why? Why would he write down all that stuff?”

  Calahan’s face turned murderous. “Because he’s taunting us.” He turned a slow circle, scowling at the walls, his voice growing more bitter with each word. “He wants us to know how smart he is. He wants to tell us exactly who he’s going to kill, and where, and when. And then, when we can’t figure it out in time, when he’s standing over another dead body and we’re not there... he’ll laugh.”

  He had his back to me, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. He stared out of the window, out over New York, and his hands clenched into fists. He thinks it’s on him, to protect the whole city, I realized. Why?

  He spun around and marched over to me, looming huge, then leaned down and put his hands on the arms of my chair. He was trying to keep his voice level but I could hear the emotion breaking through. “This kind of killer... they’re extremely dangerous. They’ll kill again and again, unless....”

  He didn’t have to say it. I had to solve the equations... or more people were going to die. I swallowed, the panic rising in my chest. I wasn’t sure I could. This stuff was right at the edge of my ability and there was so much of it—

  I looked around at the walls, but that was a mistake. The sun passed behind a cloud and suddenly the room became a mass of shadows. The black writing made it hard to make out the corners and it was as if the space was contracting, crushing me.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  My vision blurred and the tentacles on the walls seemed to twitch and coil. I suddenly remembered what they were written in and my stomach heaved.

  I hauled on the wheels and pulled back from Calahan’s hands. “I need to get out of here,” I croaked, and raced out of the door, down the hallway and into the elevator. I hit the button for the first floor. Calahan arrived at the doors just as they closed, his face taut with worry, which just made me feel worse.

  I counted the floors as the elevator descended. I was soaked with sweat and sucking down huge gulps of air, but I still couldn’t seem to fill my lungs and the nausea was rising, unstoppable. I could hear Calahan thundering down the stairs two at a time.

  The instant the elevator doors opened, I shot forward. I blasted straight out of the building, startling the cop guarding the front door. I ducked under the crime scene tape, sped down the path, and only skidded to a halt when I reached the corner of the yard. I leaned over the arm of my chair, bent almost double, and tried to focus on the flowers in the planters. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

  Calahan arrived beside me and I was simultaneously humiliated and glad. I hoped he wasn’t going to try to speak to me because I wasn’t capable of it.

  But he knew better than that. He didn’t say anything, just gently rested a hand on my back. It was the best thing in the world, strong and warm against my clammy, shivery body, and it slowly pulled me back from wherever the hell I’d gone. I reached behind me and put my hand on his. Don’t let go.

  And he kept it right there. I won’t.

  After long minutes, I came out of it. Now I was just embarrassed. My back, right where he’d been pressing, was actually wet with the sweat of fear. God, he must think I’m disgusting.

  But when I slowly sat up, he moved his hand almost reluctantly. And when I finally met his eyes, he didn’t look disgusted.

  He took my hand in his and gently squeezed, squatting down so that he was at my eye level. “You okay?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have—” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to put it all on you.” There was real pain in his eyes. It killed him that he’d freaked me out. “You don’t have to go back in there.”

  I looked towards the apartment building. Just the thought of going back into that room made the panic rise again. It wasn’t just the pressure, or how hard the math was, or even the blood. It was an instinctual thing: every cell in my body was screaming stay out! There was something wrong in there.

  But when I looked back to Calahan…. If it wasn’t on us, it was on him. I thought of how he’d changed, from rumpled but happy rebel four years ago to the gruff, troubled soul he was now. Whatever had happened to change him, it had left him believing that it was his job to protect our city. If another murder happened, it would push him even deeper into the darkness.

  I couldn’t do that to him. I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the smell of the flowers. “I’ll go back in,” I managed.

  His lungs slowly filled. He didn’t say anything, but he squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

  “Just give me a minute,” I said
. I needed to build up some mental strength before I faced that room again.

  “Take as long as you need.” Instead of straightening up, which would have felt like I was making him wait, he sat that firm, athletic butt down on the front yard’s concrete. He looked around at the flowers and the maple tree as if he was seeing them for the first time. It was weird because I was the shut-in and he spent his whole life out here. But as I watched him, I got it. He normally raced from crime scene to crime scene, never stopping to look at the scenery. Why? Why does he need to keep himself so busy?

  I looked up at the window of the apartment. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but it looked darker than the rest. “How do you deal with it?” I asked.

  “Seeing blood and bodies?”

  I shook my head. “The... evil.” I looked around at the city. “Knowing what’s out there.”

  He considered. Rubbed his stubble. Then he turned to me and looked me right in the eye. “I drink,” he said at last. “But I don’t endorse that as a strategy.”

  Those gorgeous, pale blue eyes were suddenly full of vulnerability. Being in that room had changed us, Bonded us. All of our defenses were down. And seeing him like that, hearing the pain in his voice... I just felt this tug.

  I swallowed. “Even if I—” I looked up at the window. Even if I can go back in there without screaming. “Even if…. I still don’t know if I can solve the math.” I shook my head. “It’s chaotic, the guy who wrote it must be out of his mind, but he’s smart. He’s amazing.”

  I turned back to him and found him looking right at me. “So are you,” he said. Like he was stating a fact.

  An unexpected warmth bloomed in my chest. I couldn’t remember the last time someone believed in me. “Come on,” I said. And started to roll back towards the apartment building.

  10

  Calahan

  SHE LOOKED so determined, as she wheeled herself back across the yard. Shoulders squared, jaw set... ready.

  But ahead of us was the cop who was guarding the place. He’d been watching from the doorway the whole time we’d been out there. He smirked and rolled his eyes as she approached. Just because she’d lost it a little at a crime scene, just because she’d needed to get some air. The cop turned to me, smirking wider. These civilians, huh?

  Yolanda saw it and faltered.

  And suddenly I felt anger boil up out of my belly like lava, filling my chest, making my arms tense and my fists clench. I strode right up to the cop and glared at him from a distance of three inches. He went instantly pale. My eyes flicked down to his badge. Officer Davison. He wilted. He didn’t know whether I was going to report him or punch him. Neither did I. I was actually shaking with rage.

  I grabbed the crime scene tape and held it up for Yolanda to pass under. Then I stalked beside her to the elevator and slammed the button. What was that? I could still feel the rage thrumming through my veins, fiery and—

  Protective.

  I pushed that thought away and we rode the elevator up in silence.

  Back in the apartment, Yolanda focused on that unsettling starfish thing on the ceiling. At first, she was just reading: I watched, fascinated, as her eyes jumped between symbols that meant nothing to me. But then her eyes closed and she became very still. It was like what had happened at her apartment, but even more intense. Her hands skimmed through her hair and freed it from its ponytail. She started to twist her fingers in it, gathering it and then gradually dropping it, as if each strand was a possibility she was discarding. She brought it all together in one thick rope and twisted and twisted, her movements getting slower and slower….

  And then she stopped. There was no outward movement at all. I couldn’t even see her eyes moving under her closed lids. At first, I waited. But it went on for minutes.

  I stepped closer. “Yolanda?”

  No response.

  I squatted next to her. “Yolanda?” I asked, worried.

  Nothing. I stared at her. My face was less than a foot from hers and it was a rare opportunity to just gaze at her, to drink in that fragile, otherworldly beauty. But seeing her like this scared me. She was completely still and unresponsive. It was as if every single bit of her energy was being redirected to that incredible brain. Is that safe?! “Yo—”

  Her eyes opened and the first thing she saw was me. And I saw those green eyes soften, saw her swallow.

  She feels it too. Something in my chest lifted, before I could crush it down. Ah, hell. What the hell was I going to do about this woman?

  “Three days,” she said.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “We have three days,” she said. “Before he kills again.”

  11

  Yolanda

  FOR ANOTHER four hours, I followed the equations as they curled around the room, mumbling to myself and scribbling notes. We had the when, now: three days’ time. But I couldn’t figure out the where or the who. The location stuff had me stumped; the equations were full of numbers far too big to relate to a place, and it was full of values titled things like V, M and Me that could be anything. And the who could be buried anywhere in this madness….

  I closed my eyes for a second and let out a groan of pain. I’ve been staring at the same tiny square of wall without blinking for too long and my eyelids felt like sandpaper. As I rubbed at them, I felt a hand on my shoulder. “I think we should get you out of here,” said Calahan in that distinctive rough rumble. “You’ve been at it since this morning. You need a break.”

  My eyes and brain did ache and a rumble in my stomach made me realize I hadn’t eaten since that morning. But I didn’t want to admit defeat.

  “You have the photos,” he reminded me gently. “You can work on them at home.”

  He was right. After six hours of staring at this room, I knew by heart where all the different formulae were. I could knit the photos together in a way I couldn’t, before. And it would feel good to get out of this place. I might even be able to concentrate better.

  “Besides, I just got a message,” Calahan said. “The autopsy’s done. I need to head to the hospital before they close up for the night. Can you drop me on the way? My car’s still at your place.”

  I nodded. And tried to ignore the little thrill I got, when I heard I’d be spending a little more time with him. You don’t even know this guy!

  But I wanted to.

  As soon as we got outside, away from the equations, I felt my whole body relax. I actually gave a sigh of relief as I started my car, and then felt dumb. But when I glanced across at Calahan, he just nodded at me, and scowled at the apartment building. He feels it, too.

  He was silent for a long time as we drove. Then he suddenly said, “When you were solving the equations, earlier... I sort of lost you for a while.”

  I flushed and kept my eyes on the road. “My brother and I used to call it going deep. When I’m doing the math, sometimes it’s like... I’m somewhere else. No time or space. Just blackness.”

  “Sounds lonely,” he said quietly. “What if you can’t find your way back?”

  I thought of the child psychologist, when I was a kid. There’s always a risk that they’ll snap. My greatest fear. But I kept my voice light. “I always do,” I told Calahan.

  He wasn’t fooled. I could feel him studying me and when I glanced at him, the concern in his eyes made my chest go tight.

  “Your brother,” he said. “He’s a mathematician too?”

  “He was. He was my twin. I lost him.” I glanced down at my legs. “A little over a year ago.”

  He didn’t miss the glance. I could feel him watching me, wanting to know, but too respectful to ask. “Sorry,” he said at last.

  When we pulled up at the hospital, Calahan climbed out... and then braced his hands either side of the door and leaned back into the car. “I think you should come.”

  “To the morgue?!” I’d only ever seen them on TV. “I’m not a cop, I’m a mathematician!”

  “I know.” He rubbed at his st
ubble. “Look, I’ve never seen anything like this before. Neither’s my boss. We don’t know what’s important and what’s not. I just want you to have all the information.”

  The curious, hacker part of me agreed. But I said what the rest of me was thinking. “I’ve never even seen a dead body.”

  He nodded. “It’s fine. I’ll let you know if there’s anything important. You head home, I’ll get a cab.”

  And he turned and strode towards the hospital entrance. When he’d gone three steps, I cursed under my breath. “Calahan!” I yelled. “Wait!”

  A few minutes later, we were underground, in the part of the hospital most people never get to visit, and I was starting to regret my decision. Calahan pushed open a final door and we were there, in an actual morgue. It was cold and echoey, and everything seemed to be made out of stainless steel: the tables, the cupboards, the hinged doors that lined the walls—

  There are bodies in there.

  Don’t think about that.

  And yet despite all that, it was nowhere near as creepy as the crime scene. What I’d been through earlier made it bearable.

  A woman appeared from around the corner. Tall and willowy, with brown hair pinned up under a surgical cap. “Calahan!” she said warmly. She smiled at me. “And…?”

  “Yolanda,” said Calahan. “She’s helping me with a case. Yolanda, this is Doctor Liedner.”

  A lot of doctors can be intimidating, but there was something about her that made me relax: she was friendly and sort of goofily awkward, as if she wasn’t quite comfortable in her own skin. I liked her immediately. We shook hands. I saw her eyes flick from me to Calahan, and she gave him a questioning look with just a hint of a smirk.