The Haunted (Sarah Roberts 12) Page 2

  And both men stared at her with a look she had seen on the faces of men many times.

  Hatred.

  Chapter 2

  As the sun descended behind a curtain of swollen and bruised purplish clouds, Sarah retreated inside the cabin, locking the door behind her. It was quite similar to the cabin Gert had taken her when she was eighteen. Over the past few years she had written her life story in a series of books so one day, when she was gone, she could share with whoever cared to read it, what she had done. Recently there had been more time for writing. She had been making notes on her time in Italy, Kelowna, Canada, and Los Angeles. Soon, after locating her old babysitter, she would write the first drafts of those memoirs.

  Her glass refilled with red wine, Blue October playing on the iPad speaker on the book shelf, she fired up her MacBook Pro and continued her search for Cole Lincoln, her old babysitter.

  She had discovered he no longer worked for any police organization. Without the proper hacker skills required, getting into the DMV website or searching city records for his name was out of the question. Google was the only tool in her arsenal, but nothing useful came up. As far as she could tell, he did not maintain a Facebook account, Twitter, or Instagram. After leaving the police force for undisclosed reasons, Lincoln just disappeared.

  Even Vivian was strangely silent on the matter.

  Thinking of her sister, Sarah leaned back in her chair and took another sip of her wine. After leaving the gravesite earlier, she gave Aaron credit for not prying, not asking what Vivian had talked to her about. She thought back to the men in the cemetery, the ones they passed on the road and realized her paranoia had gotten the better of her. Would she have stared at them as intensely if Vivian hadn’t asked her to leave the cemetery? If she hadn’t stared at them in such a way, maybe they wouldn’t have noticed her.

  There was nothing else in her life happening. No criminals on her radar. No detectives looking for help and nothing from Vivian. Nothing except routine check-ins like earlier at the cemetery.

  And now Aaron was gone for another week, only to return with groceries and supplies before he left for Toronto for a few months. He would stay the night, leave in the morning. Even though he was to head to Toronto after that, she was strangely happy. In her life, the kind of peace and quiet the cabin offered had been rare.

  Blue October sang about being foiled while she closed her eyes, swished the wine around in her mouth, and listened for her sister on the inside. She could usually detect her, lingering, rummaging around.

  Since leaving the cemetery, the devastating Vivian memories had eased off. Maybe that signaled the end of them. If so, she wouldn’t need any help in maintaining her sanity. Maybe she would tell Dr. Williams she might not come again after their first meeting.

  Sarah jumped at a soft rapping, like something bumped the outer wall on the south-facing side of the cabin. A branch snapped and swung in front of the window. She looked in time to see it swing back and forth until it came to a stop.

  In one fluid motion, she set her wine glass on the table and pushed her chair back. In sock feet, she rushed for the dark bedroom, retrieved her Glock from the back of the night table and huddled by the bedroom window, her eyes closed to adjust to the darkness faster.

  The half moon wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the area outside the window. The cabin was surrounded by tiny bushes and shrubs. About ten yards away, near the edge of the property, a row of tall deciduous trees lined the back. As far as she could tell, nothing moved out there.

  And nothing moved on the inside either.

  “Vivian, where are you?” she whispered. “You wanna tell me what that was? Or who that was?”

  When Vivian remained silent, Sarah moved through the cabin killing the lights as she went. At the door, the only door in the two-room building, she wrapped her finger around the trigger guard of the Glock and eased the door open. Her stomach fluttered and it made her crack a smile. She hadn’t been in any kind of action or danger in so many months it almost felt new again. It was something that lifted her spirits, propelled her adrenaline. Others jumped from planes for the rush. Sarah needed the cloak and dagger of the chase, the hunt and the fight.

  Her head low, she slipped outside and put her back to the wall beside the door. Then she scanned the area immediately around her, the Glock following her gaze like a first-person-shooter video game—which had been part of her recent training, using a game as a simulator.

  The landscape was void of humans and the air was completely still.

  Then what the hell made that noise? What moved the branch?

  With the cabin at her back, she moved away from the moonlight to remain in the darkest regions of the property. After a dozen steps along the side, the sound of twigs snapping underfoot held her up short.

  She stopped, listened, held her breath, and waited.

  Slowly, her weapon leading the way, she eased around the corner.

  A white-tailed doe chewed on a rose bush at the back of the cabin. Alert to her presence now, the deer’s head snapped up and looked toward her, then trotted away and disappeared into the brush and trees.

  “Shit. Pulled away from my research and wine by a hungry animal.”

  After another scan of the property line, which was easier to see now that her eyes were fully adjusted to the dark, Sarah headed back inside.

  She closed and locked the cabin door, flicked on the lights, and replaced the Glock in its holder behind the night table.

  It wasn’t another hour before she had finished the wine, exhausted Google in search of Lincoln, until she finally found the email of Lincoln’s sister who now lived in Atlanta. She emailed Rebecca Lincoln with a false story about being an old friend. She was trying to find Rebecca’s brother, Cole, without much success. Could Rebecca offer any advice as to where Cole might be?

  It didn’t bother Sarah in the least to lie to Rebecca in her missive or to involve the sister in locating Cole. He had to pay for what he did to her all those years ago. It was the right thing to do. Even Vivian agreed. Having gotten away with it, how many other victims had Lincoln abused since then? Although it would be nice if Vivian would just tell her where Cole was so she could stop wasting time.

  She prepared for bed, set the cabin’s alarm, and brought her iPad into the bedroom. Within minutes of hitting the pillow, she was asleep.

  In the morning after a shower, breakfast and getting dressed, she turned the alarm off to leave the cabin, reset it and stepped outside. In the light of the sunny morning, she noticed large footprints in the dirt. The prints were not hers. It was a man’s print, at least twelve inches long. Yesterday’s rain had left the ground soft and now revealed the footprints of her late-night visitors.

  So someone had been here last night.

  She closed the cabin door behind her, locked it and followed the footprints. They circled the cabin, coming close to the window where the branch had been disturbed.

  When Aaron dropped her off after the cemetery visit yesterday, he hadn’t gotten out of his car. The prints were too big to be his anyway. There had been no visitors since the day she moved in for her two-month stint. These particular footprints were new and meant only one thing.

  Someone was keeping tabs on her.

  But who? And why?

  Could Lincoln know she’s looking for him? Could he have someone watching her and that’s why Vivian said that it would happen in its own time? Were those two men in the Ford Fusion from yesterday Lincoln’s men?

  If so, was Aaron being watched, too?

  She pulled her iPhone out to check the time. Another hour until her first appointment with Dr. Williams. She would still make it on time, but on the way she would call Aaron and warn him to watch his back.

  She had left the Glock in the cabin, but wouldn’t need it for a doctor’s appointment. Once in the car, she headed out to the main road.

  Until whoever was on her tail confronted her or she discovered them back tonight, she would carr
y on as normal as possible.

  When do I ever let an asshole change my schedule for me?

  But when she nabbed them, she would definitely change their schedule.

  Among other things.

  Chapter 3

  Sarah pulled into an empty spot near the front doors to the little clinic where Dr. Williams had an office. During the forty-minute ride over, she watched the rearview mirror repeatedly in search of a tail, and was disappointed to find none. Unless they were exceptional at what they did and could stay undetected as they followed her, she was confident she rode in alone.

  During the drive, she had tried Aaron on his cell phone three times, but kept getting his machine. On the third call she left him a brief message explaining what she found outside the cabin. Whoever was tracking her might be following him as well. Before she hung up, she mentioned that Vivian had nothing to say on the matter and that as soon as she did, he would be the first she called.

  She exited the car, already missing her motorcycle. She’d bought a Dodge Charger because she didn’t want to ride the bike during the previous winter. There was still a healthy financial nest egg from when her parents sold their house and moved to Santa Rosa, not to mention the money Oliver Payne offered her after his wife was killed behind Sarah’s parents’ house a while back.

  The front of the doctor’s building offered manicured bushes, clean windows and little signage. The bottom floor housed a lawyer’s office with Dr. Williams’ office upstairs.

  She entered the front doors and pushed the buzzer by Williams’ name. The inside doors buzzed open.

  The stairs were off to the left beside an elevator. She chose the stairs, but before heading up, she took one more look behind her through the doors to the outside. Then she flipped her cell to vibrate, took a deep breath and started up the steps.

  A Joe Girard quote flitted through her head: The elevator to success is broken. You will have to take the stairs one step at a time.

  That was exactly what she was doing by meeting with a specialist that would hopefully help her cope with Vivian’s thoughts. This guy came recommended. Vivian herself had supplied his name and number. Said he was an expert in past-life regression and worked for years with bi-polar patients and schizoaffective disorders. He even helped out at the Amy Greg Psychiatric Hospital.

  At first, Sarah had been put off.

  “I’m not fucking crazy,” she had railed at her sister.

  But what Vivian had explained was not so much Dr. Williams’ specialty, but that he was adept at dealing with two personalities in one mind. Since Sarah was completely sane, but now living with Vivian’s presence in her mind, he was the best doctor to help Sarah deal with it.

  Her plan was to meet him, interview him, and then tell the doctor what was on her mind if she approved of him because he was bound to confidentiality. This process wouldn’t have much chance of success without the truth. Dr. Williams needed to know exactly what he was dealing with.

  Nervousness crept in as she neared the second floor. Her insides fluttered. She stopped and placed a hand on her stomach.

  What’s this all about?

  She was rarely nervous. Was it because she couldn’t get a hold of Aaron? Could something have happened to him? Talking to a doctor couldn’t be it. If she didn’t like him, she’d walk out in a heartbeat.

  Or could Vivian be nervous for her? That was something she hadn’t considered before. How far in had Vivian ensconced herself? If this was Vivian’s nervousness, what else was Sarah going to feel in the coming days, weeks, years? Could she handle the intrusion long term?

  Without further delay, she opened the door on the second floor. The area had a new-construction smell to it. The baseboards had tape on them and the paint was still drying.

  She opened Suite 201’s door and stepped into an empty waiting room. There were three chairs, a circular table with magazines on it—Psychology Today, Scientific American Mind, and National Geographic—and a water cooler.

  Behind the small admittance window, a woman wrote something down.

  Sarah cleared her throat. The woman looked up.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I have an appointment with Dr. Williams.”

  The woman flipped through a few pages in a large book, smiled and nodded.

  “Your name?” she asked.

  “Sarah Roberts.”

  “Right. He’ll see you now.” She pointed to Sarah’s right. “Enter through that door. It’ll take you into his office.”

  “He knows I’m here? He’s expecting me right now?”

  The woman frowned. “You have an appointment.”

  “That’s not what I mean. You haven’t paged or called him. He has no idea I’m even in the building, yet I’m to walk right into his office.”

  “You’re his only client today,” the woman said, hesitating with her words, like she was talking to a child. “After you, he’s on holidays for the rest of the week.”

  Sarah started for the door. Something might be wrong here. New office on a recently built or renovated floor. Renowned doctor, but far from any major city. Odd secretary. A waiting room that appeared to be unused. Although that could be because the move to this building was so recent. Or this could all just be the last seven years of fighting for her life, being stabbed and shot and killing people along the way working itself up into a paranoia that she’s unfamiliar with during a break like the kind she recently had.

  Something more for the doctor to deal with.

  Inside the office was the proverbial couch with a comfortable armchair beside it. On the opposite wall sat two leather armchairs. Sarah took the one that looked out onto the parking lot below so she could keep an eye on her car.

  She only had to wait a few minutes before Dr. Williams opened a door behind the large banker’s desk and entered the office. The quick glimpse Sarah got of the room beyond was of another unfinished room, no paint and no carpeting.

  She got to her feet and extended her hand. “Dr. Williams?”

  “Sarah?” He shook her proffered hand. “Or would you prefer I call you Miss Roberts?”

  “Sarah’s fine.”

  She retook her seat by the window, stealing a glance outside.

  “Can you tell me a little about yourself and what brought you here today?” he asked.

  Sarah cleared her throat. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t have an issue or a mental problem.”

  “Many of the people I see don’t either.”

  That took her by surprise. She paused, leaned back in her chair and assessed him. Thick mustache that connected to an even thicker beard. Bushy eyebrows. The whites of his eyes were clean, lacking redness. His shirt was pressed, his pants tailored. He took his role seriously. There was intelligence in his eyes.

  “Enjoying the new office?” Sarah asked.

  He looked around, then back at her. “Yes. But the renovations aren’t what you came to talk to me about, are they?”

  “No, they aren’t.”

  She stared at him a moment longer, contemplating the next question, how to word it. She wanted to interview him, see that he was a good fit for her, but she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get past her trust issues. For years she had learned that the only one she could trust and rely on was herself and sometimes Parkman. What made her think she could meet this total stranger and by virtue of his position, tell him what’s going on with Vivian inside her head? The haunted nights, the dark dreams, her own thoughts shaken by the turbulence of Vivian’s thoughts.

  “Then let me start with a few innocuous questions,” Williams said. “Would you be willing to answer them? They are the kind that break the ice. Once that’s done, you could decide to continue or cancel this meeting. If you cancel in ten minutes when I’m through with my questions, there’ll be no fee. Would that suffice?”

  Sarah nodded. “Sounds fair. Shoot.”

  “I want you to imagine a vast
desert, sand blowing here and there. In this desert sits a cube. In your mind, what does this cube look like? What’s it made of? How strong is it? Or how weak? Tell me everything you can about the cube.”

  Chapter 4

  “Parkman, I know what you’re saying, and I do trust her, but something doesn’t feel right about this.”

  “Aaron, there’s one thing you have to learn about Sarah. She’s a survivor. And she’s got Vivian. Nothing’s going to happen to her.”

  “I know she’s a survivor, Parkman.”

  “That means that whatever is going on she either already knows about it, will know about it soon, or nothing is going on.”