Читать книгу Dark Obsession - Amanda Stevens - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

The apartment was dark. Erin reached inside the and flipped on the switch. Bright light spilled into the hallway, and she saw Detective Slade flinch.

“When did you first get here?” he asked with a grim edge to his voice.

“About two hours ago.”

He strode past her, and Erin felt the hair at the back of her neck rise as his arm brushed against hers. There was something so unsettling about his touch, something so daunting about his presence in her sister’s apartment.

He walked slowly around the room, not touching anything, but Erin had the distinct impression that nothing missed his scrutiny. He paused beside a vase of wilted roses. One fingertip stroked a shriveled petal as he frowned pensively. Then his gaze returned to her, and Erin’s heart began to thump inside her chest.

“How’d you get in?” His voice—that deep, cold, spine-tingling voice—shattered the illusion of calm in Megan’s apartment.

“I have a key,” she told him. “I let myself in. Megan wasn’t here. I thought perhaps she’d gotten bored waiting for me and gone out for a while. I was supposed to have been here hours ago, you see, but the flight was late leaving Los Angeles. It was after midnight when we landed at La Guardia. Then I had to get my luggage and find a taxi, and even at that time of night, traffic was horrendous. It took forever to get here….” She trailed off, glancing away as if realizing she’d revealed more than she’d meant to.

So the guilt had already set in. Slade pitied her for that. He’d lived with that same emotion for eight long years, knew how deadly and destructive it could be. He took her arm and steered her toward the couch.

“How did you happen to go out into the yard?” he asked her as they sat down.

“I heard voices. I think I must have dozed here on the couch for a little while. I thought I was dreaming at first. Then I opened my eyes and realized I was awake and the voices were coming from below. The window was open.”

She tilted her head toward the French doors that flanked one side of the fireplace. Her black hair, pulled smoothly back and knotted, rippled with iridescence in the light. Her skin was as pale and soft as moonlight, her features delicate, almost fragile.

But her eyes…her eyes were the contradiction. In their violet blue depths, he glimpsed the soul of a woman who could write novels so terrifying that they sent shivers along his spine.

She might be in shock now, but Slade knew she wouldn’t accept a simple explanation for her sister’s murder and then allow herself to go quietly away. Instinctively he could tell that she would want it all. Every last detail. Her guilt would demand it. He just hoped to God she’d be able to live with the facts when she learned them. If she learned them. He would do his damnedest to see that she didn’t. That was his job.

Abruptly he got up and walked over to the window. He knelt and examined the latch. “Did you leave the door open?”

“No. It must have been that way when I came in. The latch on that door sometimes sticks. You think it’s fastened, but it’s not. It’s always been that way.”

Slade glanced up. “You’ve been here before then?”

Something flickered in her eyes and then disappeared, but Slade thought again of the horrifying stories she so aptly created. “I lived here as a child,” she explained quietly. “My sister and I own this apartment. We grew up here. Megan probably didn’t get the lock fixed because…she wanted to prove she wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore.”

“Lots of things in the dark to be afraid of,” Slade murmured. He stepped out onto the balcony and looked down at the yard. The body had already been placed in a bag, but there were still several people milling around in the yard. One of the officers laughed. The sound carried easily to the balcony. Slade glanced back inside, glad suddenly that he’d persuaded Erin to leave the scene below.

“So you heard voices,” he said, walking back into the apartment and closing the door to block the sounds from the yard. “Did you recognize them?”

Erin looked up at him. “I thought I heard Megan’s voice. I thought I heard her…laughing.”

A chill seeped through Slade’s skin, accompanied by a cold, dark suspicion. “Did you recognize anyone else?”

Erin shook her head, wrapping his leather coat more tightly around her shoulders. “I think I heard a man’s voice, but I’m not sure. It was more like a…like a whisper, and yet I could hear it all the way up here. When I looked out the window, all I could see were shadows. I called to Megan, and I heard her laugh again. That’s when I went down to the yard to find her.”

“What did you see when you got there?”

She gazed at him reproachfully as if to say, the same thing you saw, Detective. But he hoped she hadn’t. He hoped to hell she hadn’t seen the same thing he had.

Her bottom lip trembled with emotion and she bit it. Slade could almost taste the blood on her tongue. He took a few steps toward her. “What did you see, Erin?”

The sound of her name seemed to startle her. She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. He moved to the couch and sat down beside her again. The warmth of her presence filled the emptiness inside his soul, and for the first time in eight years, Slade felt a yearning deep inside him. She looked so vulnerable, so…innocent, but he suspected in reality she was neither. And somehow that notion excited him even more.

Back off, he warned himself. She’s not for you. But at the moment, all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her slender shoulders, draw her close to him and protect her from the evil that lurked in the darkness.

The evil that was part of himself.

Erin’s eyes widened as if she recognized the danger. Her fingers wrapped around the silver cross that hung around her neck. “I saw Megan lying on the ground,” she said. “And I saw…something in the darkness.”

Slade’s heart jumped into his throat as he stared at her. “Are you saying you saw the murderer?”

“I’m not sure what I saw. I didn’t see a face, no definite form, but there were these…eyes. Silver eyes. And they were…glowing in the dark….” Her words trailed away as she met Slade’s stare. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off his dark glasses. For endless seconds, their gazes clung. Slade’s pulse quickened as he recognized something in Erin Ramsey that scraped along his nerves and left him oddly shaken.

Then the doorbell sounded, breaking the spell, and Erin started to get up. Slade’s hand shot out and touched her arm briefly. Her gaze dropped to his hand as if she’d felt the same tiny jolt he had. He heard her gasp softly when she saw the scars. Her gaze flew back up to meet his, and he let his hand fall away from her.

“What else did you see?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “That was all.”

But that was enough, Slade thought grimly. In fact, too damned much.

Erin Ramsey had seen silver eyes glowing in the dark.

* * *

Erin’s hands trembled as she crossed the room to answer the door. She didn’t like to admit that Detective Slade had left her so shaken, so uncertain of her own emotions. She’d never met a man quite like him before.

But, of course, she’d just found her sister—her only family—dead in the backyard. Erin suspected she was still in shock. No doubt that was why Detective Slade had affected her so strangely.

Trying to summon the last vestiges of her courage, she drew open the front door. A woman she had never seen before stood on the other side.

“You must be Erin,” the woman said. “I came just as soon as I heard.” She was tall, towering over Erin by several inches, and she had the most extraordinary red hair Erin had ever seen. It flowed down her back, almost to her waist, and even in the dim hallway light, the thick ringlets blazed with fire. She was dressed all in black—tight leggings, a loose knit sweater and high leather boots. She hovered on the threshold as if waiting for Erin to invite her inside.

Erin said, “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.”

“My name is Racine DiMeneci,” the redhead said. “I live downstairs. I saw Dr. Traymore in the hallway. He told me what happened.” Tears filled the woman’s green eyes. “I talked to Megan just a few hours ago and now…I can’t believe…she’s gone….”

“Won’t you come in?” Erin said, opening the door wider so the woman could enter.

“I won’t stay long,” Racine promised, unobtrusively blotting the corners of her eyes with a lace hankie as she stepped inside. “I just had to tell you how sorry I am. If there’s anything at all I can do—” She broke off when she saw Detective Slade.

He was standing near the fireplace, watching them with the same shuttered scrutiny that had unsettled Erin earlier. He was holding one of the pictures Megan had kept displayed on the mantel, but as Racine and Erin entered the room, he turned and set it down with hardly more than a glance.

Racine looked back at Erin. “I don’t mean to intrude. I probably should have called first, but I hated to think of you being up here all alone. It must have been such a horrible shock. I still can’t believe it myself….” Her words trailed away again as she glanced back at Detective Slade.

Erin wondered what his reaction would be to such an overtly beautiful woman, but she could tell nothing by his expression. Slowly he walked toward them, and even Racine seemed intimidated by his formidable appearance.

“I’m Detective Slade,” he said.

Racine’s gaze flickered with uncertainty as if she didn’t quite believe him. “Do…I know you from somewhere?” she asked almost reluctantly, almost fearfully.

“Not likely,” he said tonelessly. “How well did you know Megan Ramsey?”

“We were friends.” Racine’s green eyes filled with tears again. She dropped down onto the couch, her legs crumpling. Erin sat beside her, and Racine reached for her hand, clutching it in her own. The intimacy of the action startled Erin. She wanted to draw her hand back. She wasn’t used to closeness, to this easy familiarity. She wasn’t used to friendships of any kind, but Racine seemed oblivious to Erin’s discomfort.

Detective Slade remained standing, gazing down at them from behind those mysterious glasses. “When was the last time you saw her alive?”

“Last night. Megan had the lead role in a play at the Alucard Theater, and the director, Roman Gerard, had been spending a lot of extra time, you know, coaching her. But there wasn’t a rehearsal last night so she came home early, around nine, I think. We spoke for a few minutes, then she said she was going to change her clothes and go back out to meet a friend.”

“Do you know who?”

Racine shrugged. “She didn’t say, but I assumed it was someone from the play. There’s this nightclub down by the river where a lot of actresses and actors hang out. I don’t recall the name of it, but the outside is painted black and the windows are all boarded up, you know, as if it’s deserted or something.”

“I know the one you mean,” Slade said. “Did you ever go there with her?”

“A couple of times.” Racine hesitated. A strange darkness passed across her features, a mere flicker, but it left Erin with a vague feeling of unease, a nagging little worry that there were more things in this room left unspoken than were being revealed.

Racine’s gaze met Erin’s, then she glanced away. She took a deep, shuddering breath and said, “Lately, Megan seemed to go there quite a lot. At first she said it helped her to understand the character she was portraying in the play. Then later, I think…I think she became obsessed with that club and with things that were, you know…not quite normal….”

“What do you mean?” Erin asked quickly.

“The supernatural,” Racine said, avoiding Erin’s gaze. “People go to that club pretending to be…vampires.”

An eerie chill stole up Erin’s spine. “Are you saying that Megan went there because she believed in vampires?” A memory of the last conversation she’d had with her sister flashed through Erin’s mind. Megan had seemed fascinated by Demon Lover, Erin’s latest novel. She’d asked Erin countless questions about her research for the book, but at the time Erin had given it little thought. It wasn’t until later, when she’d begun to suspect her sister was in trouble, that Erin had thought back on their conversation. She could hear Megan’s voice now, as clearly as if she stood in the room with her.

“Do you believe in vampires, Erin?”

Erin’s own response had been automatic. “Of course not. Demon Lover came from my imagination, Megan. He doesn’t exist.”

“But what if he does?” Megan had insisted.

As the dialogue floated through her mind, Erin’s gaze moved upward, almost against her will, to Detective Slade. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes, she knew his gaze was on her, as well, and she felt an almost physical jolt.

His mouth had tightened into a grim line, giving his face an even harsher, more formidable appearance. Abruptly he reached past her and picked up his coat. His hand skimmed her arm, and a dangerous shiver sliced through Erin.

“Someone will be talking to you again later today,” he said. “We’ll need statements, but I won’t trouble you anymore tonight. In the meantime, I advise you both to exercise caution. Don’t go out alone after dark. Don’t open your door to strangers and don’t invite anyone inside. We’re dealing with a murderer here. A vicious monster who is still out there somewhere. Until he’s caught, no one is safe. And I mean no one.”

He’d addressed the warning to both of them, but Erin sensed that he was staring at her. How disconcerting, how very frustrating not be able to see his eyes. What was he thinking? Was this just another routine case to him? Would he walk out that door and forget all about Megan? Would he forget Erin? Somehow the notion left her feeling bereft. His presence dominated the room, and now that he was making preparations to leave, the apartment seemed empty already. Lonely. Forbidding. Frightening.

The nightmares were closing in again.

Erin followed him to the door as he shrugged into his coat. The collar was turned up, shading the lower part of his face. The dark glasses hid the rest. She might have been looking at a mask.

She reached for the knob just as he did. Briefly his fingers closed over hers. His hands were huge and strong-looking—not cool and smooth like Racine’s, but warm, vital, competent hands. Even the scars—those horrible scars—seemed to give him an air of permanence, of immortality. He had been burned, she thought. Badly. But he had managed to survive.

And now Erin had a sudden, chilling premonition that her life had been placed in those battered hands. The feeling was oddly comforting. And frightening.

As if reading her thoughts, he said in his dark, liquid voice, “I’ll be in touch.”

And somehow Erin knew he would be.

* * *

“Detective Slade? May I have a word with you?”

Slade slowed his steps as the old man appeared out of the shadows in the backyard. “Dr. Traymore, isn’t it?”

“At your service,” he said with a slight inclination of his head. There was something old-worldly about the way the man dressed, the way he talked. Slade had a strange feeling of foreboding as he stared at him. “I take it you’ve questioned Miss Ramsey?”

Slade nodded absently. Yes, he’d questioned her. He’d lingered far longer than he should have. The moment he’d set eyes on Erin Ramsey, Slade had known she was going to be trouble. She would want answers, and Slade suspected she wouldn’t rest until she had them. And what would she do when she found out he’d known her sister? Where would she take the information?

He’d been through an investigation once, years ago. He didn’t care to repeat the process. One way or another Erin Ramsey would have to be satisfied, before her suspicions could be aroused.

With an effort, Slade shrugged off his growing dread of the days to come, letting his gaze roam the backyard, automatically focusing on the crime scene. The CSU team had finished their preliminary work, and the body was en route to the morgue. The only thing to indicate the violence that had taken place earlier was the yellow ribbon that still cordoned off the area. By morning, it would most likely be gone, as well. He returned his gaze to Dr. Traymore. “I presume Detective Abrams has spoken with you already?”

“Oh, yes. He questioned me thoroughly. I’m to come down to your station later today to make an official statement. I’ll tell you everything, Detective Slade, no need to be concerned about that. But I’d like to ask you a question now, if I may.”

“What is it?”

“Who did this?” Traymore made a vague gesture with his hand toward the yard. “Or should I say ‘what’?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you, now would I?”

“I think you have clues,” the old man insisted. He took a pipe from his overcoat pocket and busied himself filling the bowl. “I think you know exactly what you are dealing with here. This is not the work of a psychopath, a ‘Looney Tunes’ as your colleague so eloquently put it. Something far more dangerous is at work here. An animal who hunts the night. A predator who is voraciously hungry. A creature who is diabolically evil. You and I both know there will be more killings before this is over, Detective Slade.”

A gust of wind swept through the trees overhead and blew down Slade’s collar. A chill crawled through him as he stared at the old man’s careworn face. The hazel eyes returned his regard without wavering. Dr. Traymore seemed to be looking through the dark lenses of Slade’s glasses, straight through his eyes into his soul. Slade suppressed a shudder. “Who are you?” he asked coldly. “What do you want?”

“I’m many things,” the old man evaded. “A scholar. An archaeologist. A man who has traveled the world searching for answers. I think you can give me those answers, Detective Slade.”

“I’m just a cop,” Slade said, “and if anyone’s going to be asking questions around here, it’s me.”

“You’re more than a cop, as we both know.”

“And you’re wasting my time. I’ve got an investigation to conduct, so if you’ll excuse me…” Slade brushed past Dr. Traymore and started across the yard.

“Does the word nosferatu mean anything to you, Detective Slade?”

Slade stopped. The whole world seemed to stop. He could feel his heart pounding inside his chest as he turned slowly to face Dr. Traymore. Fog curled around the old man’s head like a misty blue halo.

He smiled. “I thought that would get your attention.” He walked through the light drizzle toward Slade. “You see, I’ve known of the existence of these creatures for a long time.”

“You’ve been reading too many Stephen King novels,” Slade said. “Or Erin Ramsey novels,” he added with irony.

The old man chuckled as he shoved one hand into the pocket of his heavy overcoat. “I assure you, the books I’ve been reading are not modern-day fiction. They are hundreds of years old, written in German and Russian, as well as Latin and ancient Greek. I’ve even seen hieroglyphs in the Valley of the Kings that depict the rising of the undead to feast on human blood. For years I’ve studied the mysteries of the un-dead. I’ve learned their habits. I know what they must have in order to survive. I know their needs and their strengths and their weaknesses. I even know what it takes to kill them.”

“Go home,” Slade ordered, frustrated that yet a new problem had presented itself to him. It was another worry that would have to be taken care of. “Obviously you need your rest.”

Traymore shook his head. “You don’t fool me, Detective. I know you’re worried. We both are, because if I’m right and certain precautions aren’t taken, Megan Ramsey could come back. And if that happens, her sister will be in a great deal of danger.”

Almost reluctantly, Slade’s gaze lifted to the window of Megan Ramsey’s apartment. Framed by the light, Erin stood there, her eyes—those deep, blue eyes—reflecting, not shock any longer, but fear, as if she somehow knew. As if she was standing there, watching and waiting for what was to come.

A finger of dread slid down Slade’s spine. When would it all end? he thought. How many more people would have to die before the evil could be stopped?

* * *

Erin stood looking out the window, gazing down at the exact spot where Megan’s body had lain. She saw Detective Slade talking to the old gentleman who had called the police for her earlier, and as she stood looking down at them, Slade’s head lifted and he seemed to be gazing directly at her.

Erin gripped the cross hanging from her neck, automatically seeking protection as she felt fear stirring within her. For the first time since she’d found Megan’s body, it hit her just how alone she was now. Deeply alone. Terrifyingly alone. There was no one she could turn to for help.

Dr. Traymore walked away, and for what seemed like an eternity, Erin stood staring down at Detective Slade, their gazes locked in a silent communication that seemed fostered by the darkness. Then suddenly, almost angrily, he turned and melted into the darkness.

Shaken, Erin turned from the window and began to pace the apartment. She should have felt better, knowing Detective Slade was out there in the darkness, but somehow she didn’t. Somehow his presence disturbed her more than she cared to admit. What was it about him that drew her, in spite of her grief? What was it about him that intrigued her, in spite of her distrust?

What was it about him that made her want what she had always feared the most?

Erin clung to her cross as her pacing accelerated. It was late, nearly dawn, and she knew she should try to get some sleep as the coming days and nights would be trying enough. But in spite of her exhausted state, sleep was the last thing she wanted.

After all these years it was hard enough just being back here in this apartment. More difficult still to think about going into her sister’s bedroom, lying in her sister’s bed, falling asleep perhaps to dream her sister’s dreams.

Dreams that were also Erin’s. Nightmares that had belonged to both her and Megan since they’d been abandoned all those years ago.

Erin crossed the room to examine one of the pictures on the mantel—the one Detective Slade had been holding earlier. She tried to imagine what he’d seen when he’d looked at the faces of the two little girls. Innocence? A lovely thought, but Erin saw beyond the ribbons and lace, the white gloves and straw hats. She saw sad smiles and haunted eyes. Terrified hearts and agonized souls.

Kneeling behind the two little girls was their mother, a beautiful young woman who had had cold blue eyes and an even colder heart. Desiree, she’d called herself. It wasn’t until years later that Erin had learned her mother’s real name was Doris. Doris Ramsey, a sometime actress, who had discarded her name as easily as she’d discarded her children.

If Erin closed her eyes, if she concentrated hard enough, she could still conjure up her mother’s made-up face, could almost smell her cloying perfume as she bent to place cool lips against her daughters’ cheeks. Erin could hear the whispery voice that still raised chill bumps along her spine, even in memory.

“Erin, I’m counting on you to take care of your sister. Don’t open the door to any strangers. And whatever you do, don’t let anyone inside, no matter what they say. It could be one of the monsters, tricking you. Remember that.”

Night after night, after Desiree had gone out, the two little girls had sat all alone in the apartment, watching the shadows on the walls, listening to the wind outside and waiting for the monsters to come and get them.

Erin had been four years older than Megan, and Megan had depended on her to chase away the nightmares, to stare down the unseen terrors, to scream at the demons to go away.

Now it was too late. Too late for Erin to chase away Megan’s monsters. The only thing she could ever do for her sister now was to find the one who had killed her. Somehow that thought comforted Erin, gave her a purpose that made her feel stronger. She gazed around the apartment, the place where the nightmares had started. After all these years, maybe this was the place to finally put them to rest. To face down those monsters once and for all and make them go away.

But in spite of her resolve, when Erin finally fell asleep on the couch, her rest was plagued with distorted visions of dark creatures and laughing demons and Megan calling to her for help. Wearing her black beaded dress, Megan stood outside the French doors in the living room, her face pale and drawn, her eyes rimmed with darkness as her long, inky hair streamed back from her face. She lifted her hand and beckoned to Erin. “I’m so alone and frightened,” she whispered. “So cold. Open the door and let me come in, sissy.”

And then an ominous voice whispered in Erin’s ear, “Whatever you do, don’t invite anyone inside.” Erin whirled and saw Detective Slade appear out of the darkness. His black leather coat trailed behind him as he moved through the mist toward her.

“But she’s my sister!” Erin cried.

Detective Slade smiled, but his eyes were completely hidden by his dark glasses. “Trust me, Erin. You must trust me.”

“I can’t! I can’t trust anyone!”

“Then you’ll never be free of the monsters.” He retreated into the blackness and vanished before her very eyes. She spun back to the window, but Megan had already disappeared, too.

And Erin was all alone.

She woke up crying. Shivering violently, she lay huddled on the couch, watching the patterns on the ceiling shift and change like stones in a giant kaleidoscope. Just images, she told herself. Just nightmares.

We’ve been waiting for you, Erin, the wind moaned outside.

“You won’t get me,” Erin whispered. “You don’t exist.” But her hands were trembling as she clutched the silver cross to her heart.