Dark Illusion: A Psychological Thriller Novel (10 page)

A
fter Sharon
had thanked Miranda and hung up the phone, she slumped down onto the bed and
chortled to herself. Finally, she had found the missing piece of the puzzle.
That had been the elusive reason why she couldn’t find a shred of information
about the renowned editor’s past: Kelly had changed her last name.

In the course of their
conversation, Miranda had told Sharon that years ago, after settling down in
New York, Kelly had notified her that she was changing her last name to
something “catchier,“ as she had phrased it.

Sharon’s fingers tingled as they
brushed against the keyboard. Now she could find what she had been looking for
all this time. That key component, the one that would help her crack this case
and accuse Kelly Danes-Whitesporte of murder. Or accessory murder. Or
something. As long as it got her somewhere in this investigation.

Sharon didn’t know what exactly
she would find out. For a moment she was worried that this lead would slip out
of her hands, or maybe that it was never really there, but her intuitions
screamed at her from within and signaled her to trust her instincts. Sharon
started typing Kelly’s original name on the search window.

KELLY WH . . .

The browser closed; the internet
had been disconnected. Sharon tried to reconnect, but no luck. For the first
time in a long time she wanted to burst into tears. This couldn’t happen now!
Not when she was so close. Sharon tried over and over again to get the
connection back, moving to different sides of the room and searching for other
available networks, but it was clear that it was a lost cause. It was late at
night and the user of the computer she had zeroed in on must have turned it
off. She was stuck. She picked up her cell phone for the second time that night
and called Rob, ignoring the late hour and the time difference to boot, hoping
that he might still answer.

Shit, it went to voicemail.

“Hey, Rob. It’s Sharon . . . Call
me as soon as you get this message . . . Kelly’s real last name is Whitesporte
. . . Something happened to her in 1990, here in Arizona . . . Her mother
refused to talk about it . . . You have to find out what the hell it was, it’s
just I’m out of the Wi-Fi
connec
–“

The recording time ended.
That’s
just how it goes when you have no idea what to say
, Sharon scolded herself.
She hoped Rob would get the message in time. She couldn’t wait to be back in
New York and have the department’s advanced search engines at her disposal, or
at least a decent internet connection. Some of the airports offered wireless
connections, so maybe she'd get lucky. That was her only chance of finding out
about Kelly before going back to New York. Her flight was leaving first thing
in the morning, and never in her life had she been happier to start a day so
early.

                                
 * * *

On the same night that Sharon celebrated her biggest
breakthrough, Kelly’s worst nightmare came to life.

Kelly came back home, still
feeling euphoric from the little celebration in her office. She pressed the
button on her answering machine, not really expecting any messages, but to her
surprise, there actually was one. Perhaps the most frightening message she
could have gotten.

“Hi, honey, it’s Mom. We haven’t
talked in
so long
and I miss you. I know I’m not supposed to call, but I
have a feeling I may have done something wrong. A Detective Davis came over to
meet me, in order to make sure that no one might be trying to harm you, you
know, because of that serial murder story. She told me that you knew some of
the victims and that you might be in danger! Why didn’t you tell me anything?
Why did you stop calling? Well, anyhow, that’s not the point. I . . . I’m
really sorry, but I almost told her . . . you know what . . . But I stopped
myself just in time! I didn’t tell her anything. I’m really sorry, honey, but
don’t worry. I don’t think she noticed, and she respected my request not to
talk about it.“

Kelly tried to choke back her
anger and listen to the rest of the message.

“. . . In any case, she was
really nice! We were looking at old photos and nibbled on some of those
homemade oatmeal cookies you like so much.“

I hate oatmeal cookies.

“. . . You know what, if you’d
like, I’ll make two batches for you first thing in the morning and send them to
you! I hope you’re not mad. Please, call me back, or at least write . . . I
just haven’t heard from you in so long. Love you!“

Kelly began coughing violently.
The coughs took over her entire body, becoming worse and worse. She collapsed
on the glaring floor of her lavish home. Tiny beads of perspiration began
covering her skin. For a few long minutes, Kelly felt as if she were
suffocating; she was gasping for air. Gradually, her breathing began to adjust
and the coughing stopped, but the heat was still emanating from her body,
slowly, like a dying ember.

Kelly barely got up and then
staggered toward the bathroom. She pulled a towel off of the shining towel rack
that matched the other items embellishing the decorated space. She wetted it
and ran it across her face and then over the rest of her sweltering body. The
immediate coolness soothed her. On her way to the master bedroom, Kelly took
off her clothes, leaving them scattered throughout the hall, until she remained
completely naked. She fell onto her bed, curled up in a fetal position, with
her face turned toward the ceiling, her eyes gazing at it with a blank look.
Shortly after, they began to tear up. Was this the beginning of her great
downfall? Was it possible that she had been too complacent, believing
wholeheartedly that all the pieces would fall into place and complete the
perfect vision that she had built in her mind?

“You stupid hillbilly!!!“ she
roared toward the ceiling.

The spacious room replied with
her echoing cry.

Why did you do this to me,
Mom? Why are you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?

The tears had already dried on
her cheeks; there were no new ones to replace them.

I can’t believe that stupid
cop has done this to me. Who does she think she is, going behind my back to see
my mother
?

All of a sudden a frightening
thought penetrated her mind.

She couldn’t have done this on
her own. Someone authorized her to do this. Unless she has a death wish . . .

Kelly didn’t know which was
worse, knowing that she was doomed because of a detective who wasn't worth the
slime that stuck to her shoes, or the fact that she hadn’t tricked her as well
as she’d thought. Kelly was closer than ever to giving up her dream and devoting
herself to the loss, but then her inherent survival instinct kicked in. She was
not going to give up.

If she wants war, she will get
war. Sharon Davis has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.

Kelly got up swiftly, a complete
contrast to the way she had arrived in bed. She marched lightly toward her
closet, got dressed quickly, and went down to the basement. She passed all the
mirrors surrounding the room without looking at them even once. Kelly typed in
the access code to the high-tech safe she had installed there: The date of that
awful day in 1990; a day she would never forget. She took out stacks and stacks
of green bills and one single gun.

If there was anything Kelly was
addicted to, it was revenge.

T
he flight back
to New York lasted just a few hours, but seemed to Sharon like an eternity.

She hadn’t been able to get hold
of Rob before the flight, presumably because of the time difference, and she
had been sentenced to spend the next five and a half hours without any
possibility of making contact with the outside world. Even though she’d had
very few hours of sleep the night before, different thoughts and scenarios were
racing through her mind. She felt as if time were passing insufferably slow,
minute by minute. Her only comfort was that she had a window seat.

Sharon gazed down at the lights
of the city waking up below her during takeoff and a tiny smile crept to the
corners of her lips. She remembered her last visit to Arizona, at the age of
fourteen, during a family vacation. That summer it had been her younger
brother’s turn to choose the destination. Like any adventurous ten-year-old
boy, Sean had chosen the Grand Canyon. Sharon had not been thrilled, to say the
least. Even back then, she had already adopted the sarcasm and rough edges that
had become an integral part of her personality as an adult, and his choice
hadn’t suited her. She had felt frustrated and cheated; she couldn’t believe
that her annoying parents were dragging her to spend a whole week in the middle
of nowhere Arizona, along with her equally annoying brother, away from all of
her friends. On top of that, during the exact same week as the family vacation
trip, Jeremy Crane, the most popular boy in school, had thrown a pool party at
his house, and she had been devastated when she realized she was going to miss
it. In hindsight, it had only been an above ground swimming pool in the
backyard of an average house in Brooklyn, but in young Sharon’s eyes it had
been no less glamorous than the Oscars. Of course, her parents hadn’t agreed to
cancel a family tradition. Instead, they’d promised her that she would have fun
on the trip, even if she didn’t believe it. Eventually the prophecy fulfilled
itself, but Sharon had never dared to admit it to her parents; after all, she’d
had a stiff reputation to maintain.

Sharon resolved to tell them the
truth this weekend, even if it was twelve years later.
You were right, Mom
and Dad, I did have fun on that trip
. And they had the ultimate proof: a
photo from that trip, the one with the Grand Canyon stretching behind Sharon in
all of its glory, her blonde hair glinting beneath the bright July sun while
she was smiling at the camera. Her parents had framed the special photo, which
had captured their moody teenage daughter cracking a smile, at long last, and
had hung it on the wall along the stairs, where all the family photos were
proudly displayed.

It suddenly hit her that she
hadn’t visited her parents’ house in a long time. Besides the occasional trip
out to some shady crime scene, she hadn’t stepped outside the borders of
Manhattan much. It was unbelievable how long it had been since she had spent
real quality time with her family. She had met her parents a few weeks ago for
dinner, but it had been shortened because something came up at work. She hadn’t
seen her brother, now a student at Stanford University, for a few months, not
since Christmas. She couldn’t recall if he had a girlfriend or not, and that
made her pretty sad, because they had been very close when they were younger.

This job was taking a toll not
just on her, but also on the people closest to her, she sadly realized. Ever
since she’d taken on this case, she hadn’t really had time to have a life of
her own. She had dedicated her everything to finding this damned murderer, or
murderess, a possibility which seemed realistic now more than ever.

The countless hours she had spent
reading the case files, which she could now recite by heart; the long nights
lying awake in her bed, unable to fall asleep, in an attempt to figure out what
the hell was she missing; the power struggles with her boss, followed by the
way in which she had jeopardized her position; and, most of all, the deep sense
of defeat each time a new victim was found. All of these had made it clear to
her that this was much more than just a job. More than just a case.

It was personal.

Her left foot started tapping
rapidly against the floor of the plane. The sudden rush of emotions tingled
inside of her to the extent that Sharon felt as if she needed to run a marathon
to get rid of them, but the red seatbelt sign was still on.

Can’t you just give me a
break?

Sharon wasn’t sure who she was
complaining to, but the thought vanished from her mind as quickly as it had
appeared, because at that exact moment a strange force held her leg and
prevented it from moving.

To her surprise, she found on her
lap the hand of the man sitting next to her.

In any other situation he would
have ended up flattened on the ground, groaning in agony, but Sharon assumed
this would not be acceptable on an airplane.

“Calm down,“ he smiled. It seemed
as if he were saying it more for her sake than for his.

His grin, warm and friendly,
managed to soften all of her defense mechanisms. For a moment, she forgot how
to strike back.

“I wish there were someone to
tell me that every day . . .“ she admitted, surprised by her own candidness.

“I’m Chris,“ he introduced
himself, still smiling.

“Sharon,“ she smiled back.

The flight attendant passed with
the beverage cart.

“I would like some orange juice
please, and the lady will have . . .“ he purposely spoke in a pompous, official
tone.

Sharon smiled, “Water, that’s
all. Thanks.“

After the flight attendant had
served them their drinks and moved on to the next row, he turned to her.  

“What are you so nervous about,
Sharon?“ His interest seemed sincere.

Sharon focused on a distant spot
out the window. “Believe me, you don’t want to know, and I wouldn’t even know
where to begin.“

She turned and looked at him. He
seemed to be in his late twenties and had dark hair that complemented his blue
eyes. Not that Sharon noticed.

“Let’s start with something
easier. Are you just visiting or . . . ?“

“I was born and raised in New
York,“ she answered proudly.

 
“My deepest condolences,“ he teased.

“Thanks, I could use it.“

“How come?“

“I got seated next to a wiseass
on the plane.“

“Wow! I’m dealing with a pro. So
I guess we’re even?“

“Seriously? If anything, it’s two
to one, in my favor.“

“Sounds about right,“ he
chuckled.

They smiled at each other. It had
been so long since Sharon had a conversation that wasn’t related somehow to a
murder case. It was nice.

“So, Sharon, what were you doing
in Arizona?“

“Work stuff . . . By your
response I’m guessing you’re not from New York.“

“Not originally. I recently moved
to New York for a job, but I can’t really say I’ve adapted to the big city
life.“

“New York isn’t your cup of tea?“
Her lips curled into a smile.

“Actually, from the little that
I’ve seen, it looks cool. But the last few months I’ve been so busy getting
situated with my new job that I haven’t really gotten many chances to
experience the city,“ he admitted. “Honestly, though, what bothers me the most
is the people.“

“Oh, really?“ she asked
playfully.
Am I flirting with him?

“They’re all such egoistical
pricks. Everyone in the office hates me because I’m the new guy. They haven’t
even given me a chance to prove what an asshole I really am!“

Sharon laughed out loud. The bald
man in the seat in front of her turned his head back and gave her a
disapproving glare. But she was still smiling.

“Though it could be that I just
haven’t gotten to know New York properly . . .“

Sharon immediately sensed where
he was going with this, but she wasn’t entirely convinced that he was actually
hitting on her.

“. . . Maybe if a cool New Yorker
decided to prove me wrong . . .“

Sharon froze. She had no idea how
to react. She could barely crack a smile.

“So, what do you say?“ He kept
smiling, but it was obvious that he was nervous, too.

She looked into his eyes for a
few seconds before answering. “Okay, sure. Why the hell not?“ Sharon decided to
jump at the opportunity, even if in a few days she would end up cancelling
because of work.

“Great! Here’s my card. Call me
when you get some time off work.“

“In that case, we will never see
each other again. It’s better if you take my card.“