Cusp of night, p.25
Cusp of Night, page 25
He hadn’t explained his reasoning, but Maya understood. Salvador DeLuca had warped Ford’s mind the same way Josette had poisoned Lucinda’s. The Blue Lady and her descendant had been corrupted by others, victims who’d allowed violence to control them. Maya no longer doubted Ford had killed Tina—not intentionally, but guilty regardless. It was that tincture of blame which had likely prompted him to release Graham. He’d kept Graham a prisoner as he’d been imprisoned in Wickham, but conscience had eventually overridden the damage to his mind. She imagined him on the river, frightened and confused, spurred forward by anger. The supplies he’d stolen had to be running low. He couldn’t last much longer.
Maya untied her hoodie, then slipped her arms into the soft garment. As the hour waned deeper into night, the air grew cooler. She craned her neck, trying to see past the boat’s windshield.
“How close are we?”
The North Bridge fell away behind them, the sound of traffic and glimmering lights swallowed by the dark.
“Not much farther.” Collin palmed the wheel. “If this doesn’t work, we’re out of options.” In the smoky haze of LED lighting and river mist, his face was sculptured with shadow.
“Lucinda wouldn’t steer me wrong.” The conviction lodged in her gut. It was a crazy notion, but the only one she had. The Fiend had fallen from the Old Orchard Truss Bridge, its body never found. Lucinda’s bones had to be buried beneath the water, a cornerstone for the wreckage above. Whether by virtue of his blood and blue skin or by coincidence, Ford had been drawn to the spot.
“The bridge is ancient. What’s left of it has to be crumbling into rot.” She squinted, spying a monolithic shape jutting from the water.
“No argument from me.” Collin pointed the nose of the boat toward the isolated center span. The Thaw of ’93 had crushed the decks on either side, flattening the struts and bracing in a twisted mass of metal. Only the stone pillar, support for the damaged floor beams, remained. The passage of twenty-five years had created a bottleneck of debris on the east side, a natural reef shored up by the wreckage below.
Standing, Collin eased back on the throttle. He spun the wheel and edged closer to the bar. In the darkness, the barrier appeared a narrow shoal of clotted bracken and grasses. The pillar jutted behind it.
“This is impossible.” He switched the motor to idle.
“Do you have a flashlight?” Maya stood behind him.
Collin rooted in the center console until he came up with two lights. “Hang onto this.” He passed one to her then switched off the motor. Seconds later, she heard the drop of the anchor, followed by the soft slap of water against the hull. Except for the occasional croak of a tree frog and the distant hum of traffic, the night was still. Even the breeze had died.
“How deep do you think it is?” She panned her light over the dense thicket of bracken.
“The water?” He rolled his shoulders. “Too deep for anyone to be living out here.” He played the beam of his light over the crumbling bridge pylon. “I can’t see anything.” Sitting down, he pulled off his shoes.
Maya bit her lip. “I’m having second thoughts about this.”
“Too late now.” He yanked his T-shirt over his head. Moonlight defined the sculpted muscles of his torso and magnified the splashes of neon green on his swim trunks. He dropped the flashlight and his cell phone into a watertight bag. “Here—hold this.”
Maya waited as he hooked a leg over the side of the boat, then dropped below the waterline. Seconds later, he resurfaced, hair wet and plastered to his neck. He extended his hand for the bag.
“What should I do while you’re gone?” Maya cast a glance over her shoulder, acutely aware of her isolation. She didn’t know the first thing about operating a boat.
Treading water, Collin gripped the side. “You’ve got your cell?”
She nodded.
“I’ll call if I find something. If you don’t hear from me, or I’m not back in forty minutes, call Detective Gregg. Tell him where we are and why.”
“He’ll think we’re crazy.”
Collin laughed. “No surprise there. Insanity runs in my family.”
* * * *
Holding the bag above his head, Collin pushed through the water. He’d anchored as close to the shoal as he could, but the ledge remained a good distance away, the depth of the water difficult to gauge. Points of red and green in the dark, the navigational lights of the boat winked behind him. Maya stood framed against the sky, backlit by an ambient horizon.
Once he reached the shoal, Collin dragged himself from the water. Mud filled the gaps between clumps of grass, packed as tightly as sod. Wet earth mingled with decay, creating a boggy stench. Isn’t that how Graham had described where he’d been imprisoned—a place with a marshy smell?
The ledge felt funny beneath his feet, but it was intact—a floating island shored up by a quarter century of collective debris. Switching on the flashlight, he picked his way toward the bridge pillar, the night air close and sticky against his damp skin. He swiped hair from his eyes, the ends dripping water down his neck.
The broken span of the Old Orchard Truss Bridge loomed before him, blotting the city skyscape. When Maya had initially suggested Ford had wormed inside the pillar, he’d been skeptical. Even if erosion had formed a crevice, the tower was a monolith of stone and cement. The rational side of him protested he was wasting time, but the side that had recently discovered séances and Summerland whispered anything was possible.
Something sharp cut into his foot and he staggered, the beam of his flashlight bobbling. Realizing the light would act as a beacon visible from either shore, he switched it off. Edging closer to the pylon, he discovered several fissures carved and hollowed by erosion. A single crevice gaped wider and deeper than the rest.
Triggering the flashlight, Collin angled the beam into the cutaway. A dull thump reverberated in the distance, the sound of a tractor trailer hitting the North Bridge.
“Shit.” Exactly as Graham had described.
He had to bend double to slide between the broken columns of stone, arms scraping the sides of the opening. Ford would have had to crawl through on his belly. Water trickled from the walls, the interior expanding in a narrow niche. He swept the flashlight from side to side, picking out discarded objects—empty water bottles and food wrappers, sleeping bags placed side by side to form a makeshift bed, flashlights, a trio of fishing knives. No more than eight-by-ten, the crevasse was deserted.
Collin crouched to examine a packet of food, then froze when a low growl rumbled behind him. Pivoting, he came face to face with a monstrous blue form, the shock of Ford’s size and deformity sending the air from his lungs in a rattled grunt. For a span of five seconds his voice left him.
Ford shot out a hand, grappling him around the throat.
“Stop.” Choking, Collin fought to pry away the punishing grip.
Ford straightened to his full height, heaving Collin with him. His feet cleared the ground as needles of light blasted the inside of his eyes. It only took seconds for his consciousness to fade, ebbing with each starved gasp for air. Grappling for a tether, he tossed out the first word that sprang into his head.
“Wickham.”
Bellowing in rage, Ford dropped him.
Collin tried to scramble to his feet. He’d barely managed to get one knee under him when Ford bludgeoned the side of his head and sent him crashing to the ground.
* * * *
Maya glanced at the time on her cell phone. Forty-five minutes had passed, five more than Collin designated. He should have called by now. She squinted into the darkness but was unable to see anything other than the bridge pylon jutting above the water. Scraping hair from her eyes, she scrolled through her contact list until she found David Gregg’s number.
He answered on the third ring.
“Detective Gregg, this is Maya Sinclair.” She spoke in a rush, preventing him from talking. “I’m on the river with Collin Hode. We’re near the center ruin of the Old Orchard Truss Bridge searching for Collin’s brother, Ford. I think something bad has happened to Collin.”
“Maya—” He tried to interrupt.
“Please send someone to help. Hurry.” Cutting the connection, she dropped the phone on the deck, then shrugged out of her hoodie and shoes. Swinging both legs over the side of the boat, she hovered suspended, hands gripping the hull. A shove with her feet and she plunged below the surface. The water was colder than expected, the shock pinging along her nerves. She struck out for the pylon and the narrow reef, praying she’d made the right decision in abandoning the boat. Maybe she should have called Althea. Maybe she should have waited for Detective Gregg.
Too late to second guess or backtrack, she swam with one destination in mind. By the time she reached the bank and pulled herself from the water, she was shivering. Not with cold, but adrenalin. The reef was narrow, no more than sixteen feet, all of it clustered to the east side of the pylon.
“Collin?” Dwarfed by the crumbling ruin, Maya stepped closer, using a hand to feel her way around the pillar. Algae coated the stone at the base and wafted in strings from the edges of the reef. She wished she’d thought to bring the flashlight but realized it wouldn’t have withstood the trek through the water. What if she’d missed Collin’s call and he was already headed back to the boat? He’d be upset she’d involved David Gregg if it wasn’t necessary, but with everything that had happened tonight it was becoming impossible to make a good judgment call.
The ground gave beneath her, wet and squishy. Something slithered around her foot and she yelped in surprise. A flicker of blue drew her attention to a severe black recession in the stone. From the corner of her eye, she saw something blunder from the opening—a hulking, deformed shape that made the hair on her neck stand on end.
“Ford.” The name burst from her lips before she could stop it. His head swiveled at the sound, and he lumbered toward her, feet bare, shirt hanging open and swinging against blue-pebbled skin. Moonlight struck his face, revealing one milky-white eye, the other unnaturally wide with a blown pupil. Trembling, Maya pressed against the pylon. Fear rooted her to the spot. No wonder Althea had been terrified the first time she’d seen her son. No wonder Graham had claimed he’d been attacked by a monster. Her mouth was bone-dry, every nerve in her body primed for flight. Still she couldn’t move.
Ford clambered closer, a single step eating up double her stride.
“I—I’m here to help.” Her words were barely audible, swallowed in stillness the moment they left her lips. The air chilled the river water dripping from her shorts and hair, the toxic combination of cold and fear so pervasive she struggled not to hyperventilate.
“Al-Althea sent me.” Would he recognize his mother’s name?
He stopped shy of her and squatted, one hand flat on the ground like a gargoyle perched on a roof. His hair was long, pitch-black, and hung in a tangled mat to his shoulders. Nervously, she glanced at the water lapping the reef. His bulk might make him clumsy in the river, but if she tried to run, he’d overtake her before she’d managed a single step. Uncertain what to do, worried about Collin, she inched her back down the pylon until she mimicked his position on the ground.
He didn’t move, that deformed, misshapen face impassive. The crevice in the stone loomed behind him, a dark fissure easily overlooked. No wonder the police hadn’t been able to discover his hidey-hole. Had Collin found it?
Her heart hammered faster. “Collin.” She said the name as firmly and as evenly as she could.
Ford said nothing, made no movement. Except for the ripple of his shirt, disturbed by a feeble breeze, he could have been carved from stone.
Maya shifted slightly, her legs beginning to ache. The pylon grated against her back, the edges of the stone pimpled with knobby protrusions. She couldn’t gauge how much time had passed since she’d called Detective Gregg, but was beginning to wish she’d waited with the boat. Her eyes tracked back to the crevice. There was a good chance Collin was inside.
Slowly, she straightened, gripping the stone behind her to help guide her way to a standing position. Ford raised his head to follow her movement. When she took a halting step to the left, he unwound from his crouch.
Maya froze.
“Please.” She didn’t know what to do. Was terrified he’d turn on her as he’d turned on Tina Sanford. At the same time, she had to know if Collin was safe. She slid her foot another step, the algae-slick stone greasy against her bare heel.
He wheezed a grunt and the eye with the blown pupil rolled in his head. A single leap was all it took to hover over her, the ropy flesh of his face pocketed with shadow as he stared down from a towering height.
Rigid with fear, Maya raised both hands in a signal of surrender.
Ford’s gaze dropped from her eyes to her fingers. Snared by a pale shell of moonlight, her skin looked ghost-white, a stark contrast to his blue flesh. He loomed closer, the crabbed heat of his breath making her think of something sickly. A heavy taint of medicine oozed from his pores, reminding her of what Graham had said. With all the experiments and tests that had been performed on him as a child, did he need drugs to stay alive?
Lowering his head, he sniffed her neck like an animal. Choking on fear, Maya turned her face to the side. The hum of an outboard motor rose in the distance, streaking closer.
Please hurry.
Ford pawed her hair, lifting the wet strands in tubular fingers. When he prodded her neck, poking like she was a slab of meat, she could no longer contain her fear. Screaming, she ducked under his arm and raced for the fissure. She’d barely managed two yards when a closed fist clubbed her across the back. A sharp explosion of pain sucked the air from her lungs and sent her sprawling to the ground.
“No!” It couldn’t end like this. Gasping for breath, choking on tears, she tried to get her feet under her. Her toes slipped on the wet ground, and her knees banged on stone. Ford fisted a hand in her shirt and hauled her into the air as if she weighed no more than a sack. She screamed and kicked, her top ripping up the side. He batted her cheek as if she were an annoying bug. The sudden roar of the motor drowned the sound of her frantic struggles. A spotlight burst to life, a white sun surrounded by ink. Trapped in the harsh illumination, Ford bellowed with rage.
“This is the Hode’s Hill PD.” David Gregg’s voice boomed from a megaphone. “I’m ordering you to get down and lie flat on the ground.”
“Thank God!” Maya sobbed out a breath.
Ford threw her against the pylon. Her shoulder crashed into rock, igniting stars in her head. Sound went muddy, swallowed by a paroxysm of pain as needles splintered from her neck to her fingertips. Folding to the side, she fought the urge to vomit. Somewhere in the background, Detective Gregg shouted orders. Other frenetic voices followed.
Something thudded across the reef. Head spinning, pulse pounding behind her eyes, she tried to right herself. The night was suddenly colder than she could bear, goose flesh breaking out all over her body.
“Maya.” Collin appeared beside her. The strobe of the police vessel cut through the night. In the garish bounce of light, the hair near his temple looked oily and black, slick with blood.
“Ford.” She croaked the name, trembling uncontrollably.
“Up there.” He pointed to the pylon. Wrapping her in his arms, he helped her to her feet.
Maya swayed against him, craning her neck to see the top of the bridge span. Ford stood trapped in the beam of the spotlight, feet braced apart, head thrown back, the moisture on his blue skin glistening like starlight. Grotesque and strangely beautiful, he looked equal parts monster and fallen angel.
He turned to face her, and in that moment when their eyes met, her fear melted. Understanding washed over her with a suddenness that made her gasp.
“He’s like her.”
“What?” Collin gazed down, a finger of blood etched over his cheek.
“The body of the Fiend was never found. Lucinda’s remains are still down there, buried somewhere in the river.”
“What are you saying?”
“She wanted us to find him, but not to save him. I’m so sorry, Collin.” Tears flooded her eyes and spilled over her cheeks.
“Maya.” Gripping her arms, he spun her to face him.
David Gregg bellowed something through the megaphone, but she no longer heard the words. The night faded into the background—sights, sounds, odors. There was only Ford, standing on the same span of the bridge where Lucinda had met her death as the Fiend.
“She gave up her child to Henry Hode.”
Ford leaped from the pylon.
“And now she’s claimed his descendant as her own.” Maya closed her eyes.
Chapter 17
Bruised and battered, Maya called off work the next day. Her supervisor was understanding given the morning news and her near-escape the previous night. She became another victim of the same blue-skinned man who’d attacked Graham Kingston—a deformed drifter who’d committed suicide by leaping from the ruins of the Old Orchard Truss Bridge when cornered by police.
Without a body, David Gregg chose not to identify Ford by his given name, ensuring the Hode family secret would remain a secret. The river was still being dragged, but Maya expected—that like the Fiend of legend—Ford’s remains would never be found.
Moving gingerly, she crawled from bed, still dressed in the tank top and shorts she wore for sleep. It was almost ten o’clock, but she hadn’t been able to summon the ambition to do much of anything after phoning off work. Stiff and sore, her shoulder was painful enough that she walked to the bathroom and swallowed two Tylenol. She splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth, then headed downstairs for coffee. While she waited for the cup to brew, she flipped through her cell phone, looking for messages from Collin.
