Mind Games, page 16
“I wish you were here.”
“I sort of am. Now, what’re you gonna do?”
“I’m going to get up in the morning and go to class. I need what I’m learning here to have what I want. So fuck all of them.”
She’d told herself she’d learned a hard lesson, and one she’d never, ever repeat.
She wouldn’t step in pig shit again.
Love didn’t always mean trust or acceptance or understanding. And what she had was hers, and no one else’s business.
But that was then, and she’d gotten through it.
She’d made a small circle of companions—not quite friends—which made her sophomore year a much different and happier experience.
She’d learned, and learned a lot—improving her art skills, her coding skills, her writing skills.
And not once had she gone back to that prison cell, not once had she gone into the mind of the man who’d killed her parents.
She’d felt him try to slip into hers, and the cold chills or flashes of heat those attempts brought with them.
She’d kept the window closed, and a charm bag over her bed.
And she’d learned home was Redbud Hollow.
Now, with her last final of her junior year behind her, and her bags already packed, she wanted nothing more than being there. Being home.
One stop left to make, she thought, and tried to tamp down the worry that her Game Design professor had texted he wanted to meet.
If she’d screwed up her final, she had to hope he’d give her a chance to fix it. She’d worked so damn hard, bringing that long-ago dream of adventure and magic into a complete story with solid graphics, testing the coding, the levels and play countless times.
If she’d tanked it, she’d fix it.
She had another day to move out of the dorm, and she’d have it to herself. She’d fix whatever she’d screwed up.
Even if she blew the final—ill-conceived idea, poorly executed—she wouldn’t fail the class. Her grades throughout the semester would pull her through.
The building, nearly empty, as most students had headed out and summer classes had yet to begin, echoed in her head.
Anxiety, she admitted. She couldn’t push it back.
Professor Cheng’s office door stood open. He sat behind his workstation, frowning at one of his three monitors.
When she knocked on the doorjamb, he looked up. His eyes behind his square-lens glasses showed nothing but annoyance.
As her stomach sank, he held up a finger for her to wait.
He swiped something on the touch screen, then sat back.
“Come in, Ms. Fox. Shut the door.”
He never called a student by their first name, but the directive to close the door had her stomach sinking even deeper.
“You wanted to see me, Professor?”
“I wouldn’t have texted you otherwise, would I? Sit. We need to discuss your final project.”
“Yes, sir. Professor Cheng, I believe my work in your class has shown I put in the effort. Up until the final, I’ve carried a ninety-six percent average. I hope you’ll give me the chance to correct whatever errors I made in the final project, whether in the engineering or in the concept, design, and development.”
She cleared her nervous throat. “I took your class this term to help refine my skills. I hope—I think—I hope to find a career in game design and development.”
He sat in silence, then lifted an eyebrow. “Are you finished?”
“I— Yes, sir.”
“Good. Normally I might ask a student who turned in a project such as yours if they employed outside help. But you’re correct, your work this term has been excellent. You can expect, when the grade for your final is added, that average to rise to a ninety-eight.
“I assume you can do the math.”
“Oh.” The air went out of her lungs, then filled them again. “Oh.”
“Succinct. It’s a rare thing for me to grade a final at a hundred. I questioned doing so here, debating with myself on doing so because I enjoyed playing the game.”
His chair creaked as he sat back, tapped his fingers together.
“But then, that would be one of the points of a game. Enjoyment. The graphics are clean, crisp, and creative. The narrative flows, the dialogue is clever and suited to the characters. You developed the characters well.”
“Thank you.”
“Your coding is solid, not a single glitch. You’re careful and you’re thorough.”
“When I started here, I thought I’d aim for a job in IT.”
“No doubt you’d find one. But now you hope, think, hope to make a career in game design and development.”
“I know it’s a competitive industry, one that demands—”
He held up a finger again to stop her.
“Are you afraid of competition or hard work, long hours, Ms. Fox?”
“No.”
“Then I might be able to help you. I have a connection at Milken. I assume you’re familiar?”
“Sure. Yes. They’re one of the top video game companies, globally.”
“I’d like to send my connection, who happens to be my cousin, your game.”
Her mind went completely blank. “I’m sorry?”
“Why?”
“I … You want to send Endon to Milken?”
“With your permission. And this is a first. I have provided students who earned them with references and recommendations. I would certainly do so for you. But this is the first time in my ten years at the university I will have offered to send a student’s project to my cousin. I would never do so unless I believed in that project. My cousin is fully aware I would never take advantage of our family relationship, so he will give the game his personal attention, and give it his honest and professional review.”
“I—”
“There’s no crying in my office, Ms. Fox.”
So she squeezed her eyes tight on the tears, nodded, kept nodding until she managed to control them. “Yes, thank you. You have my permission.”
“Good. I’ll send him your contact information. I imagine it will take time before someone lets you know, one way or the other. That’s all, Ms. Fox.”
Though her knees wobbled, she rose.
“I can’t thank you enough, Professor Cheng. I—”
“There’s no guarantee.”
“No, but it’s an opportunity. I’m very grateful.”
She walked out on a cloud of shock, joy, and disbelief. Because her eyes teared up again, she pulled out her sunglasses.
She started to take out her phone. She had to tell her grandmother, Rem, Maddy. Everybody!
But no, no. She shoved the phone away again. She had to tell them in person. She’d be home in a few hours. So would Rem, fresh off his first year at Columbia, and Maddy from Durham, where she’d wrapped up her premed requirement in three years.
Overachiever.
Then Maddy would head to New York and Columbia Medical School.
Life was so different now. Everything changing. Rem, the business major; Maddy, the doctor-in-training. And Thea might just have a career doing something she loved.
God, she couldn’t wait to get home.
She quickened her steps to a jog. She’d go up, grab the last of her things, shove them in the car with the rest, and be on her way.
She pulled up short, then simply froze when she saw the two men standing outside her building. Detective Howard had more gray sprinkled through his hair now, and Musk had touches of it at his temples.
But they looked the same, really much the same as they had eight years before when they’d first come to the farm.
Fear, bright and hot, washed through the ice, and she ran.
“He got out. He got out.”
“No. No.” Howard took her arm. “He’s exactly where he belongs. We’re not here about Riggs, about anything to do with your family. I’m sorry we scared you.”
Obviously uncomfortable, Musk shifted. “We’re here to ask you for a favor. Could we go in for a few minutes?”
“I’m going home. I just need to get the last of my things and turn in my keys.”
“We’ll try not to take too long. Thea.” Howard waited until she looked back at him. “We wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.”
Saying nothing, she led them inside.
Nearly empty, she thought as she took the stairs. Everyone going home for the summer. All she wanted was to go home for the summer. See her people, see the mountains.
“My dorm mates have already left. Everything’s packed up. I don’t have anything to offer you.”
She unlocked the door to the communal living area of the quad.
“It’s a nice space.” Howard tried a smile. “You wouldn’t believe the dump heap dorm I lived in back in my day. Can we sit down?”
“All right.” She took a chair so they had the couch.
Everything personal already packed, she thought. Nothing of her remained. No photos, no flowers, no dishes, none of the art she and her art major dorm mate had hung on the walls.
Better that way. Nothing personal, and whatever the detectives brought, she wouldn’t allow it to become personal.
Howard, especially Detective Howard, had been kind to her over the years, she reminded herself. The least she could do was listen.
“Before we talk to you about why we came, I want to thank you for saving my life.” Howard leaned forward. “I never told you. I guess I didn’t want to pile on, but I think this is a good time.
“Nearly three years after we first met, Detective Musk and I were pursuing a suspect. He was armed, had already proven to be dangerous. I was in the lead, Phil at my six—behind me,” he qualified. “We were heading down a flight of stairs. Painted blue. I heard your voice in my head telling me to be careful about blue stairs. It pulled me up short. Just for a second. Just a second. The bullet missed me by inches. It wouldn’t have if I hadn’t pulled up. I wouldn’t have pulled up unless you’d warned me.”
“I’m glad you’re all right.”
“So am I. And we were able to stop him. I’ve thought about that moment a lot over the years. Thought about you, Thea, and your family. You helped put Riggs away. You helped us get justice for his other victims.
“You saved my life.”
“You helped me.”
“And you helped us. Now we’re here to ask for your help again.”
“I had a lot of doubts about coming here, coming to you,” Musk began. “I pushed you pretty damn hard after your parents died, and you just a kid. You’ve got plenty of reasons to resent that. I hope you can put it aside. There’s a fifteen-year-old girl whose life might depend on it.”
“I know why you pushed, so I can’t resent it. But I don’t understand. What girl?”
“Her name’s Shiloh Durning. She was abducted two days ago on her way home from school. She’s on the track team, and she stayed after school to run. Somewhere between the school and home—less than a mile away—someone took her.”
“She’s the fourth girl taken this way over the last sixteen months,” Howard continued. “All between fifteen and sixteen, all blondes with slim builds. He keeps them for four days, and he hurts them, Thea. On the fourth day, he kills them and dumps their bodies.”
“We have a task force working it,” Musk told her, “and we’ve got the FBI involved. We know he must know the area, that he must have a place private enough to keep them. We believe he’s a white male between twenty-five and thirty-five, meticulous, organized, who lives alone.”
“Our profile gives us a picture of him, but not a physical one. Shiloh’s time’s running out, Thea.”
“I still don’t understand what you want from me.”
Howard took a small evidence bag from his pocket. “These are her lucky earrings. Little lightning bolts? She only wears them when she’s in a race. Maybe you’ll get something from them.”
Instinctively, Thea crossed her arms, hugged her elbows. “I don’t do that here. Nobody here knows about what I have.”
Nobody who counts, she corrected.
“And I don’t know if I can … see that way.”
“If you could just try,” Musk began, but Howard put a hand on his arm.
“It’s fucking unfair, I know it. Coming here like this, asking you. But that’s what we’re doing. Three girls are dead because we can’t find him. We don’t want Shiloh to be the fourth. She’s fifteen. You’d have gone to the same high school if your life hadn’t changed. She has a younger brother, like you. She has parents who love her, like yours loved you.”
She kept the window closed here, she thought. Closed and locked. She’d made that deal with herself after Asher had crushed her.
She’d kept the deal for three years.
Just another college student, going to class, sweating over assignments, going to parties, flirting with boys.
But that lock had already slipped, she realized, because she could feel the frustration, the desperation, the cold anger from the two men who sat across from her.
“Do you have a picture of her?”
Musk pulled out his phone, brought one up to show her.
“She’s a pretty girl. So were the others. Chrissy Bates, fifteen; Harley Adamson, sixteen; Michaela Lowe, two days shy of sixteen.”
“I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can help.”
But she held her hand out for the earrings.
“No, let me take them out. I’ll take them out. Keep the picture on the phone. And be quiet. Just be quiet.”
Before she opened the bag, she thought of her grandmother, who’d taught her how to open, how to close. How to look, how not to.
She took the earrings out, held them in her palm. Looking at the photo, she stroked her fingers over the little gold lightning bolts.
And threw open the window.
Oh, so much blew in.
Her dorm mates, their voices, their feelings, their hopes, their fears.
Not now, not now. Not your minds, not your fears.
Hers.
Shiloh.
“She wants to improve her time on the 1600 meter. She has the endurance, the strategy, just wants to cut a little off her time. She got nipped in the last race by less than two seconds. Need to cut three off. Wants the track record, wants it bad. Three seconds will do it.
“She feels so strong when she runs! So strong, so free, so full. She wishes Jack would ask her out. She flirts with him, trying not to be too obvious. He flirts back, but when is he going to ask her out?
“God, if she flunked that Spanish test, her parents will kill her. But Jesus please us, it’s not like she didn’t study her brains out!
“She wants to … Oh, oh!”
When she went pale as glass, Howard leaned toward her. “Thea.”
“Be quiet! She’s so afraid, and cold. It’s so cold. It’s hard to breathe with the tape over her mouth. It hurts, everything hurts. The zip ties hurt her wrists, her ankles. She wants her mom. She wants her mom. She’s naked, and she’s cold. He’ll rape her again when he comes back. He’ll come down the stairs. He’ll hold the knife to her throat, let it cut just a little.
“‘Make a peep, girlie, and I’ll slice straight through.’
“He makes her drink something, fake chocolate?”
Because she could taste it, Thea rubbed her hand at her throat. “For nutrition. Then he puts the tape on again, and he rapes her.”
As Thea’s eyes filled, she hugged herself, rocked.
“He takes her to the shower, nasty, it has mold.
“It smells bad. She smells bad. He runs the water cold, and she cries. He hits her when she cries, but he likes it. He likes when she cries, she can tell. He has brown eyes and brown hair. She studies him when she can make herself. If she gets away, she can tell what he looks like.
“She’s afraid she won’t get away.
“He makes her use the toilet while he stands and watches. Then he ties her back on the bed. In a basement, with pipes on the ceiling and one of those windows that’s just aboveground. It’s filthy, inside and out. She can’t see anything, and no one would see her even if they looked. Wooden steps go up.
“Wait.”
Thea shifted, did what she could to dull the girl’s fear that lived in her now, too.
“He showed her a badge, right outside the school. But she knows now he’s not the police. There was never a missing little boy, never a picture he wanted to show her. At the car, he hit her, hit her hard, but she saw the car. Green, four-door. Not new. She doesn’t know cars, neither do I, but dark green, four doors.
“Wait,” Thea said again, and pulled the girl back.
“His mother’s house. He tells her something … dead mother, likes her better that way. He grew up in that house. She got it in the divorce. Let me see,” she murmured, “let me see.
“A garage. Attached garage. That’s how he takes them in so the neighbors don’t see. He keeps the lawn mowed, keeps to himself. Two-story, brick, old. Inside, it’s falling apart, but he keeps the outside looking good. The house is like him. There’s a red maple in the front yard, and pink azaleas for foundation plants.
“The house number is 1331. It’s not far from the school. She’s in the basement.”
Thea pushed the earrings at Howard. “Please, take them. I can’t do any more.”
“Let me get you some water.”
“I left a Coke in the refrigerator, for the drive home.”
As he got up, Musk moved away, talked low into his phone. She heard him describe the house, the car, then snap at someone to find both.
“Here you go.” Howard handed her the Coke, the bottle blissfully cold when she rubbed it over her forehead. “I don’t want to leave until you feel steadier.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m going home.”
“How about you drink that first, then Phil and I will carry the rest of your things down for you.”
“She doesn’t know what time it is. She’s not sure what day it is.”
“We’re going to find her. Thanks to you, we’re going to get her back to her family. We’re going to get him, and he won’t hurt another girl.”
“She could’ve been me if things had been different, if there’d never been a Riggs. You knew that. You used that.”
