The River Runs Dry (23 page)

“So you think you were sent here because of that.”

Jack shook his head. “No...I don't know. Maybe I'm just paranoid, maybe not. It doesn't really matter now.”

“Well I'm glad they sent you out here.”

Jack huffed. “Yeah, like I'm doing such a fine job tracking this guy.”

“No,” said Jessie quietly. “Not because of that....”

She lifted her hand up to his cheek and pulled his face to hers. “I'm glad I met
you
.”

Then she moved forward and kissed him, her lips soft against his, the taste of whiskey light on his tongue as she dabbed hers inside his mouth. Jack held back for a moment, but only a moment. Then he kissed her with passion, returning her affection as they sat there, in a cold, empty room, in silence.

When Jessie pulled back she wore a smile on her face, a twinkle in her eye. “I've wanted to do that for a while,” she said.

“You have?” asked Jack. “Is that so...”

Then they kissed again, their hands moving over one another, unbuttoning shirts, pulling garments away from their skin. They both forgot everything there, inside that space, in the safety of Jack's apartment. Jessie felt completely safe in his arms as his fingers slid along her back, reaching for her bra and unclipping it in a single motion.

The only sound was that of heavy breathing, of lips meeting, or groans of pleasure. They stripped to their skin, unleashing all of their tension on each other, exorcising every ounce of stress they were feeling, if only for a brief time, a fleeting moment.

It was hot in the room, their bodies sweating and dripping onto Jack's sofa, the material itching at their skin as they writhed upon it. But neither of them noticed, neither of them cared. It was pure ecstasy, pure lust ripping through them as they thrust at each other, their hands and lips running all over each other's bodies.

It was a blur, a rush that neither had ever experienced. With the entire world lying awake in fear around them, the relief they found in each other's arms was the ultimate contrast. Only in the throes of their passion could they find such relief; a haven against the monster waiting outside, somewhere in the town, somewhere out on the plains.

When they were finished Jack dragged a blanket from the floor beside them and wrapped it over their bodies. It soaked up their sweat, the heat in the apartment making their tongues and lips grow parched. They lay there for a while, panting and talking quietly, enjoying the moment before the inevitable set back in.

Jack stood, his naked body glistening as he walked over to pour two glasses of water. Jessie drank in his form, lean and strong and tanned, shining under the pale light of the room. They both sunk their water and dressed again, only into their underwear, before moving over to the counter. Jack poured more whiskey as they talked, like they did in Texas when they felt momentarily free from their worries.

The minutes and hours went by as their eyes grew weary, the whiskey and their exertions relaxing them and calming their shattered nerves. Both of them felt exhausted from the previous few days, a lack of sleep and an excess of work leaving them frayed and weakened.

But neither of them cared for that time. That night they drank together and spoke for hours, before finally retiring to Jack's room when they could take no more. Jessie looked upon his bedroom for the first time through tired and slightly drunken eyes, seeing a space just as bare as the rest of his apartment. It held a bed, nothing more, sat alone in the middle of the room, with inbuilt storage along the far wall. The walls were white, like the entire apartment, a blank canvass left alone by its artist.

They fell together into the bed, a tiredness settling in both of them, and quickly shut their eyes. Then they slept, together in each other's arms, the world quickly turning to blackness for both of them.

…

Jessie awoke suddenly, the world around her dark. She lay for a moment, her eyes wide, trying to filter in what light there was. Slowly her memory returned to her as the room came into focus.

Jack, Jack's apartment.

She could hear him breathing steadily to her side, his back now turned away from her as he lay sleeping on the other side of the bed.

Her eyes lifted to the door, which stood slightly ajar, a slither of light creeping in through the gap. She could have sworn it was left closed, but didn't give it a second thought as she stood, ever so gently, and stood up at the side of the bed.

It was silent, but for Jack's steady breathing. The poor guy hadn't slept properly for days, weeks even, so she crept as quietly as possible to avoid waking him. Slowly she moved to the door and pulled it open a touch to slip through, shutting it silently behind her.

Her eyes fell to her clothes on the floor, Jack's jacket and pants and gun holster lying in a heap alongside them. A smile crossed her lips as she turned her head to the left. There was another door right there, one that led into the bathroom. She moved towards it, her mouth slightly dry and head aching a touch from the whiskey she'd been drinking.

She stepped forward, the wide counter dividing the kitchen and living room on her right. As she did, she caught something, something strange, out of the corner of her eye. A shadow, hunched down, a darkness crouching close to the floor, behind the counter.

It all happened fast, and she had no time to react.

The darkness moved, the shadow standing tall and taking the form of a man. In the dim light it looked like death, cloaked and growing out of nothing. Before she could make a move to step back, to scream, to make any sound at all, the shadow came forward, extending its arm and covering her mouth.

Another arm came with it, coming quickly towards her neck, and she felt a prick, like a bee sting, nip at her skin.

The effect was instantaneous. Her body lost control, her legs giving way. The shadow took her weight, stopping her from hitting the floor, from making any noise at all. The hand moved from her mouth, leaving it open. She tried to scream again, but nothing came. She couldn't. She could do nothing: not move, not shout, nothing.

A blackness began to engulf her, closing in around her eyes as the face of the man came close to hers. If her eyes could have widened they would have, but they couldn't. All she could do was stare at a face she recognized, a face she'd seen before.

Then he spoke, his words cold and deep and not like they'd been before.

“It's good to see you again Miss Trent. You're coming home with me.”

That was all she remembered before the blackness rushed forth, quicker and quicker, and her mind faded into unconsciousness.

…

The pale morning light shot through Jack's eyelids as he lay in bed, rushing in through his lightweight white curtains and illuminating the room. He quickly raised his hand up to shield his eyes, turning to face the other side of the room.

His vision came into focus and he saw an empty space on the bed ahead of him. He looked up towards the door, which was still shut, no sound coming from outside.

“Jess, are you out there?” he asked, his voice croaking out of him and extending into the living room beyond.

He heard no response, thinking she must be in the bathroom. He stretched out, reaching his arm across the mattress, and a frown hit his face. The other side was cool, no lingering warmth from Jessie's body on it.

He sat up and spoke again. “Jessie?”

Again, no response.

He stood, grabbing his cell from the floor and checking the time. 6.30 AM.

He moved quickly now, stepping round the bed and opening the door fast.

“Jessie,” he said, “are you in here?”

His eyes danced around the room to see no one there. He knocked on the door to the bathroom but there was no response. His fist closed around the handle and he twisted, pushing the door open. No one. There was no one there.

His breathing increased now as his eyes fell to the heap of clothes on the floor. They were all there still: his, hers, but she was gone.

He rushed forward to the window and looked outside to see that the cop car was still there. In a flash he was pulling on his shirt and pants and running down the stairs, barefooted, and out into the warm morning air.

He shot across the road to the parked car and knocked quickly on the window. The officer turned his head, his eyes heavy through a long night's watch.

The guy opened the door as Jack spoke quickly.

“Did anyone come in or out of the building last night. Did you stay awake....all night?!” His words were quick, frantic.

The officer looked at him like he'd gone mad, his answer slow. “Um...one or two came in, yeah. They looked normal, they had keycards. I assumed they were just residents.”

“And out? Did you see anyone leave?”

He shook his head. “No sir, you're the first person I've seen come out.”

Jack leaned in, his eyes manic. “Were you watching! All night...were you watching the door? Are you sure, completely sure?!”

The man nodded again. “Yes sir, I did as you told me.”

Jack spun around and ripped his hands through his hair, his face growing more pained as he looked up and down the street.

“Is something wrong sir?” the officer asked, but Jack didn't answer.

His breathing was fast now, his heart rate starting to soar. He ran again, back towards the building and up the stairs to his apartment. He checked the bathroom again, pulling open the shower curtain, but nothing. He ran back to the bedroom, against all hope, against all logic, opening up his closet to see only suits and clothes.

A guttural roar poured out from inside him as he paced from side to side, not knowing what to do, where to look. For the duration of the case he'd stayed detached from the emotion of what was going on around him. The town was in pain, individuals were in mourning, but Jack only had his mind on the job. He'd been working night and day, never getting attached to the victims, to the barbarity of their suffering.

But now, now someone close to him had been taken. It could only have been him. Her clothes were on the floor still. There's no way she'd have left without saying anything. There's no way she would have left at all, knowing what was out there, waiting for her.

Jack's mind was struggling to find any clarity in its turmoil.

How did he have a keycard? How did he get into the apartment? How had he gotten in and out without the officer seeing him?

He still paced from side to side, thinking, trying to calm himself, bring his mind into focus.

He might have picked the lock, yes, picked the lock to my place. But how'd he get out? Through the basement...is there a way through there?

With the final thought he turned and rushed back down the steps towards the ground floor. There was a corridor leading into the building, doors into apartments to the left and right. He rushed to the end, where there was another door, unmarked. He burst through it and was a greeted with the sight of a staircase, leading down into the darkness.

His movements slowed as he drew out his flashlight, pointing it down the stairs into a boiler room. He walked down the steps, drawing out his gun and holding it out in front of him.

He pointed and held out his hands, gun and flashlight together. The space was large, filled with machinery and old tools. He moved forward and saw another door at the end, rushing towards it and grabbing at the handle. It had been unlocked from the inside, the bolt pulled across it.

He opened it fast and was once more greeted with bright light, pouring down a set of stairs at the back of the building. He rushed forwards, up the metal staircase as it clanged loudly underneath his feet, and coming out onto an alleyway at the back of the building.

His heart sunk as he looked to the ground, tire marks once again sprawled across the thin level of dirt leading out onto the street.

She was gone, truly gone.

Chapter 24

 “Here Jack, drink this.”

Jack took the cup of coffee from Carla and put it straight down onto the small table to his side. He was staring at the wall in his office, his teeth gritted and face tense, just staring at the evidence he'd gathered over the last few weeks and months. He had his eyes set firm on a particular picture, the picture of Trey Hunter as a young man, smiling under the sun in Texas.

“I let him get her from right under my nose Carla. I promised to protect her and I didn't.”

“There was nothing you could have done Jack. You can't think like that.”

He shook his head. “I should have stopped him. I should have been awake. We'd been drinking together....I....I let my guard down. I made a mistake and now, now
she's
going to pay for it.”

Carla came forward and sat down beside him, putting her hand on his.

“Look, the best thing for you to do is your job. Don't go down that road of beating yourself up, it doesn't lead anywhere. You need to focus, Jack, focus so that you can hunt this fucker down. You know what happened with Darcia Robinson. She might be alive still, you've got to believe that she's still out there.”

A steel began to build on Jack's face, his eyes burning so hard into the picture in front of him. “You're right,” he said, nodding. “We've got to catch him before he does anything. There's still time, there's got to be time.”

He stood up suddenly, grabbing the coffee and taking a large gulp. He paced from side to side, leaving Carla sitting there on the sofa against the wall, watching him like a tennis ball being hit from one side of the court to the other.

“OK, so we know he had a keycard,” Jack said quickly. “That's the only way he'd have managed to get into the building.”

“But your apartment?” asked Carla. “There was no sign of a forced entry, nothing to suggest he broke in. He must have had a key, but how? We've already spoken with the super. He's got a key, but it certainly wasn't him.”

Jack's eyes narrowed. “Before I came here....who had the place?”

Carla looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

“The apartment comes as part of the job, as a perk. I never bought or rented the place. So who lived there before?”