The Darkness to Come (30 page)

“You should go see your doctor, seriously. Get checked out.”

“Maybe later.” Joshua had rolled up the beach photo like a poster. He shoved it toward Eddie. “Here it is. Let’s run it through your scanner.”

Eddie led the way to the basement. He unfurled the picture on the glass surface of one of numerous scanners that he owned. “You’re sure about this, huh?”

“Absolutely.” Joshua lowered himself into a chair. “I’ve never been so sure of anything. She’s staying on a beach somewhere in Georgia.”

“How could she afford a beach house, man?”

“Don’t know. I’ll ask her when I find her.”

Eddie tapped on the keyboard, pulling up the imaging software. After a few seconds, the image of the photograph filled the screen. Eddie centered the cursor on the boat, and entered a command to magnify the image.

Joshua leaned forward, heart throbbing. The text on the vessel was blurry at first, but it gradually became clearer as Eddie continued to increase the magnification. Soon, the digitized boat was the only object on the screen, a reddish blur.

“There it is,” Eddie said.

Concentrating, Joshua deciphered the now-huge, blocky words across the boat’s hull.

“Hyde Island Queen,” Joshua said. “I’ve never heard of Hyde Island. You?”

“Nope.” Eddie pulled up Google. “But we’ll be experts in about five minutes.”

Eddie typed in the search string, “Hyde Island,” and “Georgia,” and was rewarded with close to five hundred links.

“You can skim through these.” Eddie bounced out of his chair. “I’ve gotta go start dinner for the fam. It’s chili night.”

“Go ahead, Emeril.”

Joshua rolled closer to the computer, and started reading.

* * *

Hyde Island, Joshua learned, was a barrier island off the coast of Savannah. It was only about seven miles long, and had a population of less than a thousand people. Most of the island was under the control of the Georgia State Parks department, which operated a marine institute there in conjunction with the University of Georgia. However, the southernmost tip, called Hall Hammock, was a historic community of Geechees who had lived on Hyde Island for over two hundred years.

Joshua had once viewed a cable documentary about the Geechee and Gullah people. They were a small subculture of blacks on the sea islands of Georgia and South Carolina, brought there to work the cotton plantations during slavery times, who had managed to preserve significant elements of their African heritage. They had their own customs, rituals, and way of life. In the past few decades, encroaching beachfront development and lack of a stable economy had caused their numbers to dwindle as they left their island homes and integrated into life on the mainland.

How had Rachel come to find out about this place?

Hall Hammock, in particular, interested him. Her mother’s maiden name was Hall. Could there be a connection?

There had to be, as unlikely as it seemed. Nothing seemed coincidental any more.

Hyde Island was reachable exclusively by ferry. Only locals or registered visitors were allowed to operate vehicles on the island. In fact, you needed to register with the state parks department, or be personally invited by a local resident, merely to visit.

Smart
, Joshua thought.
Go to an island that, for all practical purposes, is kept private. Clever.

Joshua skimmed a few more web sites about the island, but he’d learned the bulk of what he wanted to know. He knew where Rachel was hiding.

The only thing left was to go there.

Part Three

Chapter 50

Rachel burst out of sleep with a strangled scream and the feeling of strong hands crushing her windpipe.

Springing upright in bed, gagging, she grabbed the .38 revolver that lay on the nightstand. The gun was already loaded. Breathing hard, she clutched it in her trembling hands and swept it across the bedroom.

The lamps were off, but a nightlight burned on the left side of the bed, radiating a greenish glow that cast the room in an unsettling, alien light. The dresser, the bookcase, and the leather club chair might have been mysterious artifacts beamed into the space by an advanced civilization.

But she was alone.

She cleared her throat and drew in several deep breaths. She placed the gun back on the nightstand. The digital clock read a quarter past seven in the morning.

She had gotten into bed around midnight, but she felt as if she had barely slept at all. Dexter haunted her sleep just as he did her waking hours.

Her night terrors meant Dexter was still alive, and at large. If he had been taken into police custody—or killed—her dreams would have been less disturbing. She might have actually slept peacefully.

She swung her legs to the side of the mattress. Her sneakers sat beside the bed, ready to be slipped on at a moment’s notice. She’d gone to bed fully dressed in a pink sweat shirt and matching pants.

Although she was safer here than she was perhaps anywhere else on the planet, she needed to be prepared for anything, at any time.

She squeezed into her shoes, laced them up. Standing, she clipped a leather gun holster to her waistband, fit the revolver snug in it, and pulled her shirt over the gun.

The deadly weight on her hip comforted her. She didn’t dare to go anywhere without the .38. Not even to the bathroom.

She padded across the creaky floorboards, to the balcony door. She disengaged the double-bolt lock, unlatched the security chain, and stepped outside.

It was a broad balcony, constructed of sun-and-salt weathered wood. A circular table woven from rattan and a pair of chairs stood in the center.

There was a chill in the salty air; the thermometer beside the door read fifty-two degrees. Rachel shoved her hands deep into her pockets, and moved to the railing.

Beyond the balcony, there was the beach, white, and flat, fringed on the landward side with tall Spartina grass. Beyond the shore lay the vast Atlantic Ocean. The moon rode the pre-dawn sky, giving the crashing waves a pale, eerie radiance.

This time of day, the delicate interval between light and darkness, her aunt Betty had called “dayclean”—for the night sky was being cleansed to make way for the sun and the promise of a new day. It was a sacred period, a time for prayer and reflection.

But since Rachel was a child, no matter the time of day, the sight of the ocean had tended to soothe her spirit. When she stood on the beach and gazed at the seemingly infinite body of water, she felt as if she lingered on the brink of unraveling all of life’s mysteries, of understanding her ultimate purpose in the greater scheme of things.

At other times, however—times like then—when she stared at the water, she felt insignificant in the face of such vastness. As if she could walk down the balcony steps, shuffle across the shore, and wade into the sea until completely submerged, and the universe wouldn’t give a damn, because she was as meaningless as the shells that dotted the sand.

No, she was not meaningless. She was condemned. People had been killed because of her. Aunt Betty. Maybe Thad and his partner. Maybe Tanisha. Maybe many others. All because of her.

If she had never married Dexter, none of those awful things would have ever happened. Everyone would still be alive.

If she hadn’t run away from Illinois, compelling Dexter to initiate his murderous hunt, everyone would still be alive.

Condemned.

Fifty paces would carry her down the steps and into the water. She could put an end to it all. She deserved a watery grave for all the damage she had caused.

She faced the stairway. But she couldn’t make her feet move.

There was the baby to consider. The child she had conceived with Joshua, the only man she had ever loved. Although she herself deserved to die, she couldn’t sacrifice their child on the altar of her guilt.

She pressed her lips together, turned back to regard the ocean.

Shortly after dawn, the ferry would begin its voyages from the mainland to the island. She had a strong feeling that she was going to have a visitor—or two—today.

She would have to alert the authorities.

Chapter 51

An hour before sunrise, Joshua was already prepared for his journey.

He’d gotten fewer than four hours of sleep, and his lack of rest had little to do with the assorted aches and pains that wracked his body. He’d been busy.

Late last night, he’d stopped by his parents’ house and picked up his father’s .357, a holster, and a box of cartridges. He had no longer had any reservations about traveling with a firearm. His desire to arm himself was greater than any fear of being arrested.

He’d spent several hours cleaning up the house, too. Sweeping up the broken glass. Righting the furniture. Getting the bloodstains out of the carpet. Setting out new photos in place of the ones Bates had damaged or destroyed. Trying to make the house livable again.

It would take days of work, fresh paint, and new furniture to get their home back to its former state, but he did the best he could with limited time. Allowing it to remain in a state of chaos seemed the equivalent of letting Bates win.

He’d packed an overnight bag that contained the gun and ammo, toiletries, and enough clothes for a couple of days. He didn’t intend to be away from home any longer than that.

Coco waited in her pet carrier on a chair in the kitchen. Eddie had agreed to keep the dog while Joshua was away. Joshua picked up the kennel and started for the garage, happened to glance at the reminder he’d written himself to bring her dog food to Eddie’s, and took her kibble out of the pantry. He plucked Coco’s toy stuffed dog off the counter, too, put both food and the toy in a large plastic bag.

Coco made an inquisitive whimper.

“You’re going on a vacation, kiddo,” Joshua said. “You’ll be staying at Uncle Eddie’s house. When Daddy comes back Mommy will be with him.”

Although he spoke those comforting words to the dog, he had no idea how he would feel when he saw Rachel. Would he hate her? Would he want her to come home with him? Would he want to resume their lives, as before? Would he want a divorce? He felt a jumbled mix of feelings that he couldn’t sort out.

The only matter of which he was certain was that he had to protect her. She was carrying his baby. As long as Bates was on the loose, Rachel’s life, and the life of his child, was in danger.

During his brief period of sleep last night, he’d dreamed, a third time, of walking the beach with Rachel and their son. Upon waking, he’d been too disturbed to return to sleep. Thoughts of Bates roaming out there in the darkness, possibly getting closer to Rachel, kept him on edge. He’d paced through the rooms with the gun, vainly wishing that he could teleport to Rachel’s side like a character in a sci-fi movie. He would not relax until he was with her again.

In the garage, he placed the dog on the SUV’s passenger seat. He clipped his driving directions to the sun visor.

It was a four-and-a-half hour drive to Darien, where the island’s ferry dock was based. After he registered with the visitor center, he hoped to catch the noon boat to Hyde Island.

And then, he hoped to find his wife, and figure out what kind of life they would have together . . . if they had one at all.

* * *

“Have you seen the news this morning?” Eddie asked.

Joshua entered the house with the pet carrier and Coco in one hand, the plastic bag containing the dog’s toy and food in the other. “No. What’s going on?”

“Tanisha,” Eddie said. “The sista who co-owned Rachel’s salon? She was found murdered in her house last night.”

Shock hit Joshua like a blow below the belt. He dropped onto the sofa. “Tanisha?”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie said. He sat on the arm of a nearby chair. “You know Bates did it.”

Joshua couldn’t speak. He’d talked to Tanisha only a couple of days ago, and she’d been her ordinary self, full of joy and positive energy. She couldn’t be dead.

“Do they know when it happened?” he asked woodenly.

“The cops said she never showed up at the salon yesterday, so they’re saying it happened two nights ago.”

“And Bates came at me yesterday,” Joshua said. “I bet he forced Tanisha to tell him where we live. Then he . . . ” He swallowed, unable to finish.

“Yeah, you don’t need to say it. They named him as a suspect. Showed a picture of him, the whole nine.”

“Did they mention me or Rachel?”

“Not yet, but you know it’s coming. Nothing ever stays secret for long. News crews are probably getting set to bum rush your crib.”

“I’ll be long gone.” Joshua looked around the quiet house. “Are Ariel and Gavin still sleep?”

Eddie glanced at his watch. “Maybe for the next fifteen minutes. Then the rat race begins. Why?”

Although Eddie had said his family was sleeping, Joshua lowered his voice to a whisper: “Bates is going to be looking for me—he thinks I can lead him to Rachel. But since I’m going to be gone . . . what if he finds out about you?”

Fear quivered through Eddie’s face, but it was replaced by a frown. “Wait, how the hell would he find out about me?”

“I don’t know. But he found out about Tanisha, didn’t he?”

Eddie didn’t answer. His silence, and his worried gaze, was response enough.

“You’ve got to be careful,” Joshua said. “You have any kind of weapon here in the house?”

“With a rambunctious kid running around?” Eddie asked. “No, man. We don’t have any guns here.”

“How about something else?”

“Now that I think about it, Ariel has a stun gun she carries in her purse. I could ask her to let me keep it here with me. But it’s just a stun gun—it’s not going to kill anyone.”

“I hit Bates with three rounds from a .38, and that didn’t stop him, either, remember?”

“Damn, dawg. You make him sound like the Terminator or something.”

“I don’t mean to scare you. I only want you to be on your toes.”

“I’ll be on code red, trust me.”