MONSTERS Page 7

  This wasn’t such a great idea.

  “Gem!” Lucas called my name again.

  Shying away from Mason, I focused on the brother I adored. Crawling down the boulder, I lowered myself into the cold water until it covered my breasts. I felt safer. Less exposed. Mason continued with his carving, pretending to not be listening and watching in his peripheral.

  “You all right?” Lucas asked, his brows creasing together.

  I managed a smile. “Better now.”

  He leaned back, his arms moving through the water in front to keep him afloat. “You know something?” There was a twinkle in his eye. “I think we should make this our place.”

  “Ah… I think we already have, since we broke into it last night.”

  “No, I mean, permanently. Not just for this trip.”

  “That is until the owners return and see the three bears sleeping in their beds.”

  Lucas smiled and swished a wave of water my way. “They’re not coming back. This will be ours.” He balanced himself until upright, his voice now loud enough for Mason to hear. “But we can’t tell anyone about it. The last thing we want is for others to discover our home away from home.”

  ~

  That afternoon while I arranged a bouquet of wildflowers I’d picked along the back of the cabin, a steady banging sounded from outside.

  “What’s he doing?” I asked Lucas who was opening our last two cans of spaghetti. He shrugged his shoulders, took my hand, and led me outside to where his brother was creating the ruckus. Mason looked over his shoulder, his gaze resting on mine and Lucas’s joined hands. He paused for a moment, jaw tightening.

  “Is that the carving?” Lucas asked, oblivious to his brother’s behavior.

  Mason stood back allowing us to admire his knife skills.

  “I thought we’d give our new home a name.”

  Freshly hammered into the side of the cabin was the labor of love carving.

  It read, ‘Little Wren.’

  Chapter 11

  NOW

  The precinct was buzzing with activity.

  The smell of fresh coffee being brewed wafted over the half-filled mugs of coffee now cold and uninviting. Receptionists wearing figure-hugging skirts and heels more suited to a night out attended to demanding detectives who appeared overworked and generally disinterested. A large disgruntled man, unsatisfied with his recent interrogation, steamrolled past colliding with my shoulder. Using the edge of a desk for balance, I watched the human bulldozer carry on without so much as an apology.

  “Jesus,” I muttered, nursing the ache.

  “Ms. Sinclair!” a stern male voice called from across the room.

  I spun sharply, my left hand knocking something in the process. The stationary holder slid across the table before toppling to the ground. I went to snatch it mid-air, but the items were already scattered over the chipped and scratched floorboards.

  Hurriedly, I attempted to gather all the loose pieces, cursing my clumsiness. An extra set of hands joined in the search for runaway pens and pencils.

  “Ms. Sinclair, what brings you here?” Detective Kinross conversed with me for the first time. Typically, his partner was the one leading the interrogation. Kinross was a handsome man, and when he actually communicated, he became even more appealing.

  Restocking the cylinder, I returned it to its rightful place and straightened, meeting Detective Kinross’s inquisitive gaze.

  “I would like to speak to you both,” I answered, nervously. “About your investigation.”

  “You caught me at the right time. We were about to head back to Delaware. So…” he gave a nonchalant shrug, “… you did everything to avoid us. Why the change of heart?”

  “Because now I can confirm that Mason Carter is involved.”

  Kinross bit the inside of his lip, his eyes holding mine, contemplating his words before he spoke.

  “All right then,” he finally said, gesturing me to follow him, “Let’s put an end to this.”

  “Ms. Gemma Sinclair…” Detective Walsh’s voice was sharp and edgy. She stood by the door waiting for me to enter, a cocky assurance in her eyes. “This truly is a surprise.”

  I sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair under harsh fluorescent lighting with two somewhat amused and patronizing faces staring at me. “So what do you have for us?”

  “Let me start by saying I haven’t seen or heard from Mason or Lucas Carter. What I told you was correct.”

  The two detectives, now expressionless, waited for me to get to the crunch.

  “But while I may not have seen Mason, well… I think I may have seen him, but I’m not sure. It was dark, and he was there one second and gone the next, but the—”

  “Ms. Sinclair, how about you start at the beginning,” Detective Walsh suggested more out of frustration with arms folded tightly over her chest.

  “Okay. Well… ever since you two came into my life asking me about the past, strange things have been happening.”

  “Like the gallery vandalism?” Kinross asked.

  “Yes, there’s that.”

  “The faces on the artwork had the word ‘Truth or Dare’ carved into them.”

  “As we saw for ourselves.”

  “What you didn’t see was the note left behind.” They both raised their eyebrows. “Maximus Kline found it in the middle of the exhibiting room.”

  Walsh shrugged. “What did it say?”

  “It read ‘Forget everything you think you saw.’”

  The detectives threw a glance at each other before returning to me.

  “Carry on,” Kinross encouraged.

  “It was a warning, knowing I had two detectives seeking me out and probing into a history I’d rather forget.”

  “Because someone told you you should forget it?”

  “Yes. But there’s more. Although I was keeping to my word, you kept turning up expecting answers. I could see how that may have looked to someone like Mason Carter.”

  “And how exactly is that?”

  “Like I have betrayed him and Lucas. And because of that betrayal, he’s trying to scare me into silence. Destroying an exhibit at my workplace, leaving me handwritten warnings, breaking into my apartment.”

  “Breaking into your apartment?”

  “Yes… well… nothing was broken or stolen, but I came home and my bouquet of roses I’d received for my birthday had the buds cleanly cut off leaving only the stems. The flowers were nowhere to be found. Before going to bed, I moved the bookshelf in front of the door. Then later, I woke to see Mason standing at the foot of my bed. He was there, I swear he was. In the dark, watching me sleep. He was holding a knife.”

  “How do you know he was holding a knife?” Walsh asked.

  “The blade glinted in the small amount of light coming through the window. It’s what caught my attention the most. When I reached over to turn the lamp on, he was gone. The only thing that remained was his cologne. It’s a very distinct scent. One that’s truly unique and specifically his.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I searched the apartment turning every light on as I went. Nothing was broken or removed, and Mason was nowhere to be seen. The bookshelf was still where I’d left it.”

  “So, do you think you imagined him there? Maybe because he’s been weighing heavily on your mind.”

  “It was a possibility and something I did consider at the time. That was until I went to wash my face and saw a message written on my mirror.”

  Again, their eyebrows raised in question.

  “It read ‘Little Wren.’”

  “Little Wren?”

  For the next twenty minutes, I filled them in on the first time at the cabin. They listened intently, exchanging surreptitious glances, lips pursed tightly together.

  “Did you go to the same school?” Kinross asked.

  “No, I went to an all-girls school while the boys went to a state school. We only saw each other afterward and on weekends. Holidays we’d alw
ays plan a new adventure. Sometimes Mason wasn’t home for weeks on end. When I’d ask Lucas, he’d tell me he was staying with his aunt and uncle in Pennsylvania. They were the best times, when Mason wasn’t around to intimidate us.”

  “You more so than his brother?”

  “Yes. Lucas had a backbone and would stand up for us both.”

  “Hmm…” Walsh murmured, her index finger tapping her thin, dry lips in contemplation.

  “At the moment, you could do with someone like Lucas on your side. Maybe if you could convince him to co-operate, we could locate Mason.”

  My eyes widened with the suggestion. “Locate him? As in… you can’t track him down?”

  “Ms. Sinclair, we’ve been searching for Mason’s whereabouts for weeks now. We paid Lucas a visit first, and the truth is, we think he tipped his brother off. Mason runs a trucking business in Baltimore. His fleet of vehicles run all across the country, yet no one can or will tell us where he’s been the last two weeks.”

  “That was his dad’s business,” I mused to myself.

  “We’ve visited his place of business a few times a week and nothing. No one is talking. Mason hasn’t used any of his bank cards, and we’re assuming he’s on a burner phone. His cell has had no incoming or outgoing calls in the last two weeks. He’s employed someone to take over the daily running of the fleet, so we don’t know if or when he’s planning on returning.”

  “And let’s just say he doesn’t return and he knows we’ve spoken?”

  Neither of them rushed into an answer.

  “Right,” I said, exasperated with the situation. “Knowing Mason, whether I speak to you or not, I’m going behind his back.”

  “We can station an officer. Monitor your apartment. If he’s lurking, we’ll catch him.”

  I wasn’t filled with confidence.

  “I don’t particularly want to spend another night at my apartment until my partner gets home. Mason obviously has keys or somehow figured out easy access to the place.”

  “We can protect you, Ms. Sinclair,” Kinross insisted.

  So you say.

  “My parents now live a few hours north in Maine. They’re away on holiday at the moment for another four days, which isn’t ideal, but it’s better than going back to the apartment.”

  “Does Mason know where your parents live?”

  “No. He shouldn’t.”

  “Leave us the address, and we’ll contact the Maine precinct and have them do a few drive-bys a night.”

  “And what will happen here?”

  “We keep searching for Mason Carter.”

  Chapter 12

  “Darling?” Peter whispered sleepily while answering the phone.

  There were a few moments of some shuffling before he spoke again, this time his voice was husky. “Is everything all right?” The noise of a sliding door closing sounded on the other end.

  I fought back the well of emotions, my throat tightening. “Not really.” I sat on the edge of the bed packing a few changes of clothes into an overnight bag.

  “What’s that mean?” he asked, confused. “Something happened at work?”

  “So much has happened, and I just want you here.”

  “I know, baby. Things are moving slowly, and…” Peter heaved a heavy sigh, “… it looks like I’ll be coming home a day or two later.”

  Biting my tongue to stop the sobs, I let the few tears fall down my cheeks.

  Something fell in the kitchen, the clutter echoing down the hall. I was on alert, body tense, heart pounding.

  “Gem?” Peter’s voice called on the other end, but I didn’t answer. I was focused on whoever or whatever was in my apartment. “Darling, are you there?”

  I listened carefully. Nothing. The apartment had fallen silent once more.

  “I’m… I’m here.”

  “You don’t sound like yourself. I wish I could fly home now, but I just—”

  “It’s fine,” I said, my tone clipped.

  “Don’t be mad—”

  “Peter, I have to go. See you when you get home.”

  “Gem!”

  I ended the call, cutting short his somewhat desperate plea. Clutching my cell, knuckles turning white, my feet met the floor. I walked slow and silent, shoulders aching with tension. The lights were on throughout the apartment, my nerves too fragile to be consumed with darkness. With my gaze ahead, I searched the shadows and combed the kitchen. The windows were locked, the fire escape empty. Nothing seemed amiss. So, what was I missing?

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  The door rattled on its hinges from whoever was behind it, the frightening sound causing my cell to slip through my fingers. It clattered to the floor, face down.

  “Shit!” I cursed, my heart threatening to explode.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  “For God’s sake!”

  Talking tentative steps, I stopped just shy of the door and looked through the spy-hole expecting to see a monster from the past. Instead, a familiar, yet distorted face came into view.

  Shaking, I unlocked the door, my reproachful stare meeting that of Kinross and Walsh.

  “You scared the shit out of me!”

  “Sorry,” Walsh said with little concern, hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. “Can we come in?”

  Kinross observed my uncertainty.

  “You shouldn’t be here. If Mason knows you’re coming to my apartment—”

  “We wanted to catch you before you left,” Kinross said, calmly. “May we?”

  Drumming my fingers nervously on the door, I realized they weren’t planning on leaving until they got what they wanted.

  “Sure,” I conceded, opening the door. “Come in. I’m just in the middle of packing.”

  “We won’t keep you,” Walsh assured, prying eyes scanning the apartment floor to ceiling.

  I rounded the kitchen counter and waited for them to initiate the conversation. When they didn’t, I took the lead. “So, what brings you here at nine-thirty?”

  “We realized after you left that our investigation has been centered solely on Mason Carter. Yet, we believe it was Lucas who tipped him off.”

  The insinuation was there.

  “Lucas was always protective of Mason and vice versa. It would only be natural for him to tip his brother off.”

  Walsh flipped open her pocket-sized notebook and clicked her pen. “Tell us more about your relationship with Lucas.”

  “I’ve already mentioned how close we were. What more do you want?”

  “Your dialogue was geared toward Mason in the memories you recounted. This time I want you to focus on Lucas and solely on him.”

  For a moment I remained silent, my critical stare passing between the two. They were hardened detectives. They knew bullshit when they heard it. “Lucas would never do anything to hurt me.”

  “We’re not suggesting he did,” Walsh answered far too quickly.

  “Lucas and I were best friends.”

  “Yeah, we know that already.” Kinross was growing agitated but so was I.

  “Then you know we did what best friends normally do. We hung out. We laughed. We protected each other. We had each other's back when it was needed, and we told each other everything.”

  “Everything?” Again, Walsh was narrowing in for the kill.

  My throat constricted but not for the first time that night.

  “Everything except whatever it is you think he’s hiding from me.” I needed Mason off my case and if I had to enlist the help of the detectives, I would. But that wasn’t going to come at the price of incriminating Lucas.

  “You said you told each other everything?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How was Lucas just before he and his family moved out?”

  The frustrated frown faded from my face and was replaced with sadness. Less than two months before Lucas had moved out things had dramatically changed. The boy I knew for years was no longer himself. He was damaged. Broken. Very seldom co
uld I earn a smile.

  “Ms. Sinclair?” Kinross prompted.

  I licked my bottom lip and tried to push Lucas’s image away. “It was a challenging time for Lucas and his family.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Every child’s worst nightmare came true, that’s how.”

  Chapter 13

  THEN

  “Mom,” I yelled while drying the last glass and stacking it carefully on the shelf. There was no answer because the television was too loud in the other room and both my parents were cackling away to the fifteen millionth re-run of I love Lucy like it was the first time they had seen it. It was the episode where she complained endlessly about being a housewife, and her husband had heard it all before and predicted everything she was about to say. Another belly laugh erupted from the living room, and I couldn’t help but smile along with her. My mother’s laugh was infectious. Lucas always saw my mom as a second mother, and she often referred to him as the son she never had. Sometimes she’d even go as far as saying she would settle for him becoming a son-in-law someday as long as he became a son of some kind.

  “Mom,” I called again, hooking the tea-towel over the oven handle.

  “Yes, Gem?” she sang back, through a smile.

  “Did you sign the permission note for the field trip?”

  “Yes, darling. I already put it in your backpack, along with your letter to Mrs. Henderson and your book order.”

  Bending down, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

  I could feel her smiling as the roundness of her cheek moved against mine. She turned to me slightly and whispered in my ear, “Have you asked your father about going camping again on the weekend?”

  “I heard that,” my father’s playfully stern voice sounded, his eyes locked on the TV. “The answer is yes. As long as Lucas is also going.”

  “Of course, he’s going.” This time I moved over and kissed my father’s cheek. “Goodnight,” I said to both of them. “Love you.”

  “Love you,” they replied in unison. Excited to be going back to the cabin, I took the stairs two at a time. I was already showered, fatigue claiming me. Crawling into bed, I watched the breeze gently blow the chiffon curtains. They danced hauntingly, and the graceful movement of the fabric lulled me to sleep. That was until the shouting started. It was faint at first, and I wondered for a moment whether it had been a figment of my dreams. I listened hard, staring into the darkness.