Made To Be Broken Part 23

"Nadia?"

I jumped.

A slow look around. Nothing. I was about to settle again when a voice floated over, barely louder than the sigh of the branches overhead. When I strained to hear, I caught the distinct sound of my name again.

Jack. He must have gotten up, unable to sleep, checked on me, and found me gone. I pushed to my feet.

"Over here!" I called, as loudly as I dared.

Tree branches creaked. A mouse scampered through the brush. Waves slapped against the canoes.

I squinted, trying to see a flashlight beam through the trees. I should have been able to make out the lodge lights from here, but I must have been in a particularly dense pocket, because every way I turned I saw only darkness.

"Nadia..."

A woman's voice skated around me. I spun following it and tripped, hands smacking the tree trunk as I caught myself.

"Nadia..."

A pale shape darted through the trees. I took two steps, then tripped in the undergrowth. Another two, east I was sure it was east but the brush only grew thicker, no path in sight.

Another flicker through the trees, followed by a girlish laugh that raised the hairs on my neck. I stopped and rubbed my arms.

"Nadia?"

A man's voice, sharp and clear. Definitely Jack. As I turned toward it, a light bobbed through the forest.

"Over here!" I called.

The light steadied, then jiggled again, as if moving, but coming no closer. I set out after it, tripping and b.u.mbling through the undergrowth, unable to find the path. Finally, the trees and brush began to clear and, ahead, I saw not a flashlight, but a bare bulb over a cabin door. Branches swayed in front of the light, making it seem to move.

I squinted at the building, trying to see past the glare. I must have crossed my property line. My neighbors had a few cabins they rented "informally," and I'd heard they were in rough shape, like this one. But as I stared, my stomach started to dance, breaths coming sharp and shallow.

I knew this place. I'd been here "Isn't this Bobby Mack's cabin?" a girl's voice said behind me. "My dad says he uses it to dry pot, but they can never catch him."

That voice. Oh, G.o.d, I knew that voice.

"Amy," I whispered.

"You're not going to tell on me, girls, are you?"

Another voice I knew, couldn't forget, and my spine froze as I spun, searching. That bare bulb lit the forest edge and the patch of clearing in front of it. Empty forest, empty clearing.

"That depends on what you're going to give us to keep quiet," Amy's voice rang out, the teasing lilt making Aldrich chuckle.

"Oh, I think I've got something," Aldrich said.

"Amy..." My voice. A whisper at her ear, too low for Aldrich to hear. "I think we should "

"Shhh, it's just pot, Nadia. Don't be a spoilsport. We'll have fun."

I blinked and saw the door right in front of me. I reached for the k.n.o.b and turned it slowly. The door swung open. I stepped inside.

The door slammed behind me. I jumped, spinning as the bolt whammed shut. The sound echoed in my ears.

"Gawd, it reeks," Amy said, gagging for effect. "Don't you guys ever clean this place?"

I inhaled. Mildew, rotting wood, and mouse droppings. Take-out wrappers and beer bottles littered the wooden floor. In the corner, a blue heap. A sleeping bag. I stared at that bag, heart beating faster.

"You girls go on in. There's a couch in the next room."

Footsteps. A pause. Then a sharp click. I lifted my head to see a padlock, swinging against the wood.

"You girls ever smoke gra.s.s before?" Aldrich called as his voice receded.

Amy's laugh rippled through the room, as if it was a silly question. I followed the sound and her voice as she answered, but the farther I walked, the farther they seemed to float away. The floor suddenly dipped. I grabbed for the wall, but it shimmered, my hand sliding through the wood.

A whisper. So soft I swore it was only the leaves against the roof, but the sound drummed in my skull, a steady beat becoming words.

"Gotta get up."

I followed the voice back to the front room. Dark now, the only light the faint glimmer of moon through a window. In the corner, a girl crouched on the open sleeping bag, her face hidden in shadow, only her legs visible. Bare legs smeared with blood. More trickled from a cut on her neck. She was unwinding a rope from her ankles.

"Gotta get up," she whispered.

She dropped the rope and picked up something white, glowing in darkness. Fabric. She turned it over in her hands, over and over, and the shape became clear. Panties. One leg hole torn through, and she kept turning it, as if confused by the new configuration, trying to figure out how to put them back on.

"Gotta get up. Gotta get up. Gotta get up."

The mantra repeated under her breath, hands shaking as she kept turning the underwear over.

"Amy?"

She stopped and looked up, and I braced myself to see my cousin one last time. But the face that rose into the moonlight wasn't Amy's. It was mine.

Chapter Thirty.

I backpedaled. Arms encircled me. When I screamed, a hand clamped over my mouth. I bit down, catching a fold of skin. A gasped curse, the hand instinctively jerking away, but then slapping back, too flat to bite, though I tried, kicking and flailing, the arm around me hugging me, arms pinned to my sides.

"Nadia."

I jabbed my elbow back. A grunt, but the arm only clasped me tighter. I kicked, foot making contact.

"Nadia!"

A wrench. I flew off my feet, the world toppling into darkness, then, in one bright second, slamming into focus. I was staring at a life jacket, the orange so harsh I blinked. After a moment, I managed to pull my gaze away from that blaze of color and look around. Life jackets hung on hooks. Oars and paddles leaned against the wall. A faded Boating Safety poster, with phrases highlighted and extra rules written in spidery strokes. My handwriting. My boathouse.

The overhead light beamed down, as bright as the life jacket. A cold breeze blew in from the open door. The hand over my mouth had vanished, but the arm still held me. I looked down, catching sight of a broad, square hand as it moved to my shoulder.

A squeeze. "You okay?"

I turned and looked up at Jack. A hard blink, my brain still foggy.

"You had a nightmare," he said. "About Amy."

"I thought I was..." I swallowed, rubbing my throat, and looked around. The boathouse... "How did I get here?"

"Sleepwalking. Wasn't sure at first. Then..." He shrugged. "They say someone's sleepwalking? Don't wake them. Not sure why. Didn't want to chance it. Just followed."

"You heard me from the house?" I stiffened and swung toward the open door. "Did I wake Emma? The guests did they hear ?"

"No one heard anything. That's why I..." He looked at his hand and I thought I saw a red mark on his palm.

"Did I bite ?"

"Nah." He shoved the hand into his pocket. "When you screamed. I tried to block it. Knew you wouldn't want..." He nodded in the direction of the lodge. "Anyone hearing."

"I-I saw the cabin. The one where he took us. Amy and me. I saw..." I stared at the spot where the sleeping bag had been, then shook it off. "Sorry. Sleepwalking, huh? I've never done that." A harsh laugh. "Something new to add to the repertoire. Oh, happy day."

I stepped away, but my gaze swung back to that spot under the life jackets.

"What'd you see?" Jack asked.

"Hmm?"

He gestured at the floor, that shadowy corner from my dream, now just a bare spot, brightly lit.

"Myself," I murmured. "Or me, as a girl. It just... threw me. I thought it was Amy. She was getting dressed. Trying to escape, I guess."

"You."

"No, not me. Amy."

"Thought you said "

"It looked like me, but it was Amy or what I imagine, after..." I swallowed, rubbed my throat again. "I've had the dream before. I've never sleepwalked during it, thank G.o.d. I dream I'm in the cabin again and I see Amy. She's trying to get dressed after Drew Aldrich...." I shook my head. "It's what I picture, but I know it didn't happen like that. She didn't have time to do anything. The coroner figured he strangled her while he raped her, probably trying to subdue her when she fought back. The dream is my guilt talking, I guess."

"So it's Amy you see?"

"Yes, it's Amy." I heard the exasperation in my voice and tried to squelch it. It was like anytime you explain a dream to someone it makes perfect sense to you, and zero to everyone else. "Usually when I dream it, I see Amy. This time, it was me. You know how dreams are. Last week, I dreamed I came downstairs, and instead of finding Emma serving breakfast to my guests, it was my mother. Now that that was a nightmare." was a nightmare."

I headed for the door. "Anyway, I apologize for waking you yet again."

"You didn't. I was still up."

"So how did you find " I stopped, hand on the door frame. "You followed me from the house. You knew I wasn't going to bed."

"Think I'm stupid?"

"Jack, you don't have to "

"Wasn't sleeping anyway. Let's get you a drink. And shoes."

I tried, with increasing insistence, to persuade Jack that I didn't need him to sit up with me. At one point, I even threw up my hands and headed for the stairs, saying I was going to bed and he could suit himself. He only retrieved my sneakers from the back hall, handed them to me, and said he'd be waiting outside my window.

So I humored him.

We returned to the lake, this time in the gazebo with the heater blasting.

"I'm handing the case over to the police," I said.

"Huh."

He stirred his cocoa, submerging a mini marshmallow and watching it resurface. Not quite the response I'd expected. He probably thought it was stress and exhaustion talking, and come morning I'd be right back at it, bashing my head against the wall pursuing "justice."

"They've got a body now the girl at the wreckers. Quinn can advise me on how to link that, anonymously, with Sammi's disappearance and nudge them to her body."

"Huh."

"It's time for me to admit I'm not the right person for the job. That I'm being selfish by claiming I'm doing it for Sammi."

"When did you say that?"

"It was implied."

"Huh."

"Anyway, we both know the real reason. The same reason I shot Wayne Franco. The same reason I was so quick to join you to go after Wilkes, and equally quick to take chances catching him. By killing these guys, I think somehow I can set the balance straight. Selfish and pathetic."

A slow nod. "Yeah. Guess so. Killing Franco? Wilkes? Fenniger? Oughtta be ashamed of yourself."

I bristled, hands tightening around my mug as I lifted it. "You don't need to be sarcastic."

"And you don't need to be stupid."

I sputtered chocolate, then swiped my hand over my lips. "Stupid? I'm confessing "

"That it's all about you? You don't give a s.h.i.t about the victims? Yeah. That's why you're shivering in the forest. Running from ghosts. Right after that girl died. Must be coincidence."

I smacked the mug down, table shaking from the impact. "She died because I was too wrapped up in my revenge, my... absolution, to even realize she was there."