The Night Is Forever

Page 32

“I understand,” Olivia told her dully.
Accidents happened.
Well, they did, but in this case it was a lie.
But she gave the same lie to the boys’ van driver from Parsonage House, saying that the Horse Farm premises and activities were safe. She said they were all devastated by Aaron’s accident and that they prayed he’d make a speedy recovery.
When the boys were gone, she walked into the office and fell into one of the comfortable chairs, exhausted. Sydney followed her in.
“Where’s Sammy?” she asked him. The dog should have been there when she arrived; he should’ve been around, wagging his tail and barking with excitement.
“He’s in my room. I love that dog—and I know how much you love him—but he’s been a pain in the ass! Howled last night, scratched at the door. I put him on a leash and took him out for a while. I guess he didn’t want to be left behind. Or else...”
“Or else?”
“Maybe he sensed something was wrong. I don’t know. I’ll go get him for you, but...can you tell me more about Aaron?” His features were tense. “I’ve only spoken with Frank Vine and the info line at the hospital. Oh, and Sandra. They don’t seem to know anything at all, except that apparently he wasn’t breathing, the fed got him breathing again and...that’s it.”
“You know as much as we know. We haven’t had phone service most of the way. I spoke with Sandra briefly and she was breathing fire. I was hoping you could tell us something,” Olivia said.
Before he could answer her, Drew, Mason and Mariah trailed in, all looking weary and dejected. They perched on various seats about the room. Mariah started to say something but Deputy Callahan walked in behind her.
“Hey, Sydney, do you have coffee going by any chance?” he asked.
“I always have coffee going,” Sydney retorted. “Or someone does, anyway.” The stress he was feeling was apparent.
He poured the deputy a mug of coffee and handed it to him.
“So, at this moment,” Sydney said, “no one knows anything. We could all go and sit at the hospital, but hell, Sandra’s already doing that. I’ve been calling the hospital’s patient-information line every thirty minutes,” he went on. “They don’t say anything except ‘the patient is in stable condition.’”
“Stable is good,” Mariah said.
“Yeah,” Mason agreed. “Much better than...”
He didn’t finish his sentence. They all knew what he hadn’t said.
Dead. Stable was much better than dead.
“I’ve talked to Sandra a few times, too, and like you said, Liv, she’s breathing fire.”
“Well, of course. They’ve been seeing each other for ages—discreetly, or so they believed,” Mariah said.
“I didn’t know,” Olivia murmured.
“That’s because you aren’t one for gossip.”
“Nor, apparently, do I pay much attention to what’s going on around me,” Olivia said dryly.
“They did tell her this much,” Sydney offered. “They’re putting Aaron through a bunch of tests—brain scans—hoping he didn’t do any permanent damage to himself. I guess right now... Well, he’s breathing. They’re doing all the things...that hospitals do.” He looked at Olivia. “We can’t lose Aaron.”
“No, we can’t,” she said. “We have to go on faith and hope.”
Sydney took a cup of coffee himself and sat on one of the sofas across from her. “You already know that the staff at Parsonage House don’t think the boys should come back here, at least for now. They’re afraid the parents will pull all the kids out of their program.”
Olivia was quiet for a moment. “You know,” she began, “Marcus started this place with little more than one broken-down horse and an abused dog. He built it up, creating the wonderful facility that exists today. We’ll hang in and wait this out.”
“I believe in what we’re doing. I kid all the time about wanting to be a movie star, but...I love what we do,” Mason said. “The thing is...we’ve all still got to live.”
“Eating is a good pastime,” Mariah murmured.
“I’ve got savings,” Drew said. “I’m fine, and I’ll stick it out.”
“Horses have to eat, too,” Sydney reminded him.
Mariah stood up. “I’m going home, okay?”
“That’s not a good idea right now.”
“But I’m exhausted!”
“If you go home, you’ll be doing so at your own risk,” the deputy said.
Everyone in the room seemed to freeze.
At last Mariah repeated his words weakly. “At my own risk?”
“We don’t believe these were accidents anymore,” Callahan told her.
She sank back into her chair. “You think that someone...that something...that Aaron was...pushed into the water?”
“We don’t know for sure. Not yet. We’re hoping to learn the truth,” Callahan said. “We’re hoping Aaron will wake up.”
“And what if he doesn’t?” Sydney asked sadly.
Drew managed a faint smile. “He has to wake up. I can’t spend the rest of my life just looking at you guys! Not that I don’t love you, but there are days Sydney and I can’t wait for you to leave so we can head up to our apartments!”
The others tried to smile, too. It was then that Callahan’s phone rang. He answered it and spoke briefly.
“Aaron Bentley is conscious,” he announced.
11
“I don’t care what Sandra Cheever does, she’s not getting in to see Aaron,” Dustin told Frank Vine. “And I’m thankful as can be that Aaron Bentley is alive. But he has to speak with us before he sees anyone else. It doesn’t matter if they’re a couple. For one thing, Sandra was out here in the woods. For another, I don’t believe that Aaron going face-first into the stream was an accident.”
“And you’re still convinced he was struck with a dart?” Frank shook head grudgingly. “I’ve decided to go with you on all this, but you do know it still sounds crazy.”
They were halfway back to the Horse Farm, Frank’s discovery rolled up and draped over his saddle.
It was General Rufus Cunningham. Or rather, Frank had come upon a rendering of the general on cotton gauze. He’d stumbled across it in the trees, stretched between two branches. While the artwork was darned good, the cloth was the type often used by community theater groups—or colleges. Places without Broadway budgets for their backdrops. This particular piece seemed like the kind of thing frat guys might use to scare their dates.
But it was equally possible that someone in their group had put it up and done some vocal tricks to lure Mariah into the forest—just when Aaron was supposed to be dying.
With Frank Vine now grudgingly accepting the fact that things might not be what they seemed, Dustin had faith that the image would be investigated.
“Let’s not mention the cheesecloth image of the general yet,” Dustin suggested. “I think we should investigate and find out where it was produced and by whom.”
Frank Vine glanced over at him. “Agent Blake, you must have a lot more resources at your fingertips than we have out here. I cover a pretty wide space and I do it with an eight-man team. Well, sorry, that includes two women. I’m not trying to be a sexist.”
Dustin grinned. “I didn’t take you for one, Vine.”
“Or a yokel.”
“Neither did I take you for a yokel, sir. I’m grateful that you’re giving me a chance—and that you’re willing to look at this thing from all sides.”
“Could still simply be accidents. Strange and sad accidents,” Vine reminded him.
“Could be,” he agreed. But they weren’t. He couldn’t explain to Frank Vine that a ghost had told them about his own murder.
They were almost back at the Horse Farm. Frank, who’d arrived via the rescue helicopter, had ridden back on Shebaan, Sandra’s mount. The tents were folded up and the gear was being carried back on Gargantua, who was trailing behind them. Luckily the massive horse didn’t seem to be overburdened.
As they closed in on the property, Frank’s phone rang. At the same moment, Dustin felt his own pocket vibrate. He answered; Olivia was on the other end, speaking softly. “He’s conscious! We got a call that Aaron is conscious.”
“I guess that’s the same information Frank’s getting right now,” Dustin said.
“Sandra’s having a fit. They’re giving her some information but not allowing her to see him.”
“She can’t see him. Not until I—” he glanced over at Vine “—not until we’ve had a chance to interview him.”
“Where are you?” she asked, sounding a little desperate.
“Almost at the Horse Farm.”
“Thank God. The natives are getting restless,” she murmured.
“If you can get Drew and Sydney to meet us, that would be helpful,” he told her.
“Will do,” Olivia said, and hung up.
He glanced over at the deputy sheriff again.
“You don’t want anyone in to see him?” Vine asked him. “They say Sandra’s hollering up a storm.”
“Like I said, she was there when it all happened.”
“And you think she somehow got a dart into Aaron Bentley and ran back to the camp?” Despite his open mind on the matter, Frank sounded somewhat skeptical.
“Someone did,” Dustin said.
“We don’t really know that. Remember, you’re talking to me about an investigation. We’re going to need to deal with facts—not supposition.”
“Okay. My educated theory—because of what I found in the woods when I was riding with Olivia—is that someone is knocking people out with a dart gun. Once they’re unconscious, this person kills them and makes the deaths look like accidents. Like they’re caused by an overdose or a lack of coordination. Look, I know this still seems far-fetched to you, but I swear there’s more to it, and if we don’t find out the truth, there’ll be another body. A dead one.”