Forty-Four Book Seven: 44, #7

By Jools Sinclair

Abby Craig’s worst nightmare has come to life…

When an old friend suddenly reappears, a mysterious darkness begins to hound her. Shadowy truths will claw their way to the surface to finally see the light of day. Life and death hang in the balance when a long-buried secret refuses to stay dead.

As Abby’s black and white world spirals down into a treacherous sea of grays, she is forced to confront the evil stalking her before it consumes everything she loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: You Come Too Publishing
• Release date: Dec 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540124135

Jools Sinclair

Jools Sinclair is the author of the bestselling thirteen-part FORTY-FOUR saga as well as the Rose City Thriller series. She has a house in Bend, Oregon, but is currently on an extended stay in Colorado.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

I wouldn’t have let you die, Abby, he whispered in the rain. You had no faith in me then. But I am confident that you will someday.

He stood watching the service from a distance, beneath a large tree up on a hill overlooking the cemetery. The storm was intense. Deep mud puddles were spreading through the grass while streams flooded over pathways that wound through the tombstones. Waterfalls cascaded violently from the rooftop of the mausoleum behind him. A harsh wind blew into the mourners who stood by the open grave, wet and shivering like rodents, listening to the old man rambling on about the Valley of Death and God’s love.

He sighed and picked at his fingernails. It was just an old habit, a reminder of what once was. There was never dirt under his nails now, never lint on his jacket, never a hair out of place. In some ways, really, it was perfect.

He wasn’t cold. He didn’t feel such things anymore. Heat, rain, or snow, none of it touched him. He could move freely about in daylight or darkness without being encumbered by any sort of weather. He was as invisible as Claude Rains on a moonless night, able to float around in the places he used to walk through, able to observe without being seen.

Even she didn’t see him, except in those strange dreams she had. But in her concrete gray world, he discovered that he could slip into the shadows of her life and hide. And he was growing to like it, admiring her from afar, even if she enjoyed a rather monotonous existence.

He was coming to understand that he still loved her, that they had something special. And one day, he would help her realize this.

But not today.

Today he would leave her be, let her feel her sorrow with the rest. He wasn’t a monster. He was a man who appreciated rituals. They had their place. There was grace in saying goodbye properly, even though he had learned that there was really no need.

There was no such thing as death, after all. He felt as alive as ever.  

All those years spent trying to find a cure, this or that serum, to stop something that didn’t even exist. He almost had to laugh. After taking his final breath that day on the bedroom floor when his brother’s bullet ripped through his heart, he curiously found himself hovering near his own body. He was in no pain, no discomfort. He felt lighter and things were dimmer, as if a bulb had burned out, but those were the only differences. He backed up to a corner in the room as the police stormed the house, shocked that no one seemed to notice that he was there.

He waited after the investigators left and long after his body was taken away, not really knowing what else to do. He braced himself, steadying his growing concern about his future. Surely someone had to be coming for him. Or something. But time passed and nothing happened. No white light, no long tunnel, no fire or brimstone, no angels or demons.

No Emma.

He was left all alone.

He wandered around the house before venturing outside, and then roamed up and down the island, watching the distant ferries pass by in the Sound. He had no idea how long he had stayed there. Time wasn’t the same, and it was hard to tell. But he didn’t know where else to go or how to get there.

Until he started following the lights.

One light led him back to the city. Another one brought him to an old opera house where he watched rehearsals for La Traviata. Occasionally he fell into a strange, lonely darkness of lost time, but if he found a light on the horizon he was able to pull himself back into the world.

He was drawn to the lights that led him to places from his past, cities that he once loved. Florence, London, Buenos Aires. Although cars and planes and boats were still available to him, so was thought and this was, by far, a superior mode of transportation. He enjoyed this new way of traveling. He discovered that if he focused on a location, a light would usually appear and guide him to it. It wasn’t always so easy to sidestep the dark voids, but with practice, he was getting better. 

When he was ready, he headed back to Boston. He visited his own grave, which was next to Emma’s, high up on a cliff overlooking the ocean. He lingered for a long time in his hometown, clinging to the hope that her ghost would come for him. He wandered around their neighborhood, waited in their old house, walked along the docks all night.

But he could never find her.

He began to wonder if she was angry with him and was staying away on purpose. Her ghost, after all, was around him when he was working on the island. She must be somewhere. He continued searching, but had no luck.

After some time, a dreadful realization hit. It wasn’t that Emma was hiding from him, it was something far worse. Maybe she couldn’t be with him because she wasn’t in his dim world. She had moved on, was somewhere else. Somewhere that he would never be allowed to go.

And they would never be together again.

He roamed the streets, screaming out her name as his heart broke into pieces, too many to count. The pain somehow worse than when she had first died all those years ago in his arms. His grief spun around inside him, dragging him down into a deep depression that swallowed him whole.

And that was when Nathaniel understood that Hell was, in fact, a real place. 

Time disappeared and he didn’t care about anything. He was a prisoner of his black thoughts, lost in anguish and despair.

Until.

It was subtle at first, but grew over time. A vivid thought infiltrated his mind and wouldn’t leave, slowly churning his sadness into anger. The thought became so strong, it catapulted him back out into the world, raising him up like a phoenix taking flight.

The thought was of his brother, Benjamin.

The rain wouldn’t let up. He glanced at the dense layer of clouds, wishing the priest would hurry along the prayers. A few people were crying. He was surprised that he could hear the sobs from so far away, and then pleasantly pleased. His senses seemed to be getting sharper all the time.

His eyes wandered over to her. She looked the same. Perhaps less naïve, but more beautiful than ever. He had become infatuated with her when she was little more than a girl. She was a woman now. It was clear to him why he had been so attracted to her in life. It was the brightness that poured from her, spilling far into the universe. It was the most brilliant light he had ever seen. And it was powerful to be near.

When she was close, he had learned that he could physically interact in her world.

Finally, the coffin was lowered and while the others scurried away, she stayed next to the grave all alone. The rain didn’t bother her. She just stood there in thought, mud from the mound of dirt next to the hole oozing around her feet. The wind carried her sadness to him, washing over his spirit like a baptism. Her essence, even heavyhearted, was intoxicating. He closed his eyes and soaked her in.

When he opened them again, a jolt ripped through him.

She was staring in his direction. He waited for her to look away, but she didn’t. There was no doubt about it. He wasn’t invisible to her any longer. She could see him.

She began walking toward him, her face twisted by grief and fear. And something else. There was a hint of anger and defiance in those eyes. As she came closer, her light grew larger and brighter, beaming into him. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. Warmth, like the sun.

He was anxious to greet her, but waited patiently as she weaved between the graves and stone monuments, through the rivers of dirt, and up the hill. He couldn’t tell if she had the same fear of him she used to have, but it didn’t matter. She kept coming.

He smiled.

We are players in our own opera, Abby, he thought, living our lives under the burning lights and golden chandeliers. We are the victims, the enemies, the kept-apart lovers. Our story began when I delivered you from the blackness all those years ago. But we are still just beginning, with many more scenes to play out on this grand stage.

Come to me, Abby.

Come.

CHAPTER 1

It was over before it had even begun.

Really? I said. But that makes no sense.

I sat across from Special Agent Donald Felder at the FBI’s Bend satellite office. He threw up his hands, his square, black-rimmed glasses pushed tightly against his face. He had just finished telling me that there would be no trial.

It’s true, he said. At the last minute, Jack Martin and the others agreed to take the deal and plead guilty. Their attorneys called late last night, literally at the eleventh hour, 60 minutes before the offer was set to expire. There are a few formalities to iron out, but I’m confident it’s as good as done.

I leaned back, trying to wrap my head around the fact that the man who had kidnapped and delivered me to Nathaniel Mortimer was actually going to accept a deal that would send him to prison for 20 years.

Special Agent Felder stared at me, waiting for my reaction, but I didn’t know what to say.

Anything wrong? he asked.

It doesn’t sound like Jack, I said finally. It seems too… easy.

From what I knew of Jack Martin, he didn’t seem like the type to give up without a fight. He escaped from that remote island in the Pacific Northwest near the Canadian border where I was being held captive. He was the last one taken into custody. And from what I had been led to believe, even though he was facing the most serious charges, he had the best chance of walking away.

Simon Shaffer, the scientist who had befriended me and tried to help me escape, had agreed to testify for the prosecution in return for immunity. I knew he would back up my story as far as what happened on the island. But regarding the kidnapping, it was basically going to be my word against Jack’s.

The district attorney was afraid that if a jury didn’t find him guilty of that crime, it might have a domino effect on the whole trial.

So why did he take the deal?

In a lot of these cases, it comes down to fear, Felder said. Someone has to look in the mirror and say, ‘If this doesn’t go my way, am I ready to do the time?’ I don’t know for sure, but I think Martin’s answer was no. In the end he blinked. Excuse my French, Ms. Craig, but if you ask me, he simply shit his pants.

I took a deep breath of the stuffy air. I knew it was good news, but it left me feeling empty. All the work I had done preparing for my testimony had been a big waste of time. Now there wouldn’t even be a trial next week.

And he’s really pleading guilty to all of the charges we talked about?

Yes and no, Felder said, opening a folder on his desk and reading from it. The lesser charges, the kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment, are being dropped. But he’s pleading guilty to the big one: attempted murder.

I looked out the window at the Deschutes River in the distance. It was a cold and beautiful February day. A soft snow was falling, painting the rocks and trees white. 

Ms. Craig, this is really good news, he said. I mentioned before that this case wasn’t a slam dunk. Proving attempted murder wasn’t going to be easy. He could have walked.

Jack had denied any involvement with Nathaniel Mortimer and claimed he didn’t even know him. Felder believed that had there been a trial, the defense would relentlessly attack my credibility as a witness. They would probably claim that I was confused and not in my right mind at the time. That the drugs—drugs they had given me—had distorted my perception.

The other defendants would back up his story, even though it was a ridiculous lie. Felder had reminded me often that anything could happen in a trial. Jack could manipulate the facts and have the jury eating out of his hand. I was all too familiar with how good he was at pretending to be something he wasn’t.

I know, I said. It’s good he’s going to prison. But it feels kind of weird the way it was done.

For the last six weeks I had been meeting with Felder and going over the case. At first, I was dreading the trial. I couldn’t even talk about what had happened without sounding unsure and scared. I knew I somehow had to convince a jury that a mad scientist had taken me hostage to conduct experiments on me to test a serum that could bring the dead back to life. And I knew how it sounded. Completely insane. It was the stuff of bad horror movies. Or at the very least the product of a drug-induced hallucination.

But last week something changed. A quiet determination started growing inside me. I was going to tell the truth. I was going to explain what happened. They had kidnapped and tortured me. They had tried to drown me. All in the name of science.

I felt confident as I recited the facts. A new calmness had taken hold.

I didn’t feel like a victim anymore. I wanted justice. I wanted to see Jack Martin and the others get what they deserved. And for him to see that he hadn’t broken me. That not only had I survived the ordeal but was made stronger by it.

If it’s worth anything, Felder said, bringing me back to the present. "I know you would have done a good job up on the witness stand. You were