Iris Johansen - Chasing the Night

All right, you’ve done it. Now leave the orbits. Don’t put in the glass eyes yet. It always disturbed her concentration to see the reconstruction watching her as she worked.

No offense, Jeremy.

More smoothing along the line of the cheek.

Not quite right.

Fill in.

Smooth.

Mold.

Don’t get carried away. You can’t let go yet. Don’t forget to check the measurements.

Nose width. Correct.

Projection. As accurate as she could make it.

Lip height. Correct. She’d brought the top lip down because it was usually thinner than the bottom. There’s a major muscle under the mouth, build up around the area.

Shape.

Mold.

Smooth.

Deepen the creasing around the nostrils.

Cheeks fuller.

Fill in.

Okay, now let go.

Let’s come home, Jeremy.

Her fingers flew feverishly over the child’s face. Forget the measurements. Forget the science.

Smooth.

Mold.

Fill in.

Come out, Jeremy.

Help me.

Who are you?

I don’t want you to be lost any longer.

Smooth.

Mold.

We’re almost done.

Smooth.

Mold.

Enough.

She drew a deep breath and pushed the hair back from her face. She was shaking, and her face was flushed as if she’d been racing.

She had been racing. It had been over three hours since she’d started the final phase, but the time had flown.

Don’t look at his face. Not yet.

She opened her wooden eye case. Brown eyes. They were the most common. She carefully inserted the eyeballs into the cavities. “We’re done, Jeremy. We did it together.”

The brown eyes stared back at her from the reconstruction.

Jeremy or Luke?

Step back. Look at him.

No, don’t look at him.

She turned on her heel and strode toward the bedroom. She threw open the door. “Catherine.”

Catherine jerked awake. “What is it?”

“I promised you I’d tell you as soon as I finished.”

She inhaled sharply. “Is it-”

“I don’t know. I never see the reconstruction as a whole while I’m working on it. It’s just a blur. I thought it was your right to see it first. Get the photo of Luke at age five.”

Catherine was already out of bed and going through her duffel. Her voice was shaking. “I’m scared, Eve.”

“So am I.” Eve tossed Catherine her robe. “Let’s go see if that fear is warranted. I hope it’s not.”

Catherine was clutching the photo as she walked slowly into the kitchen.

Eve followed her.

Jeremy or Luke?

Sadness or total heartbreak?

Catherine stopped in front of the reconstruction, her gaze focused on the face.

Sweet face. Round cheeks. Turned up nose. Slightly pouty lips.

Not Luke’s face.

“Thank God.” The tears were running down Catherine’s cheeks. “It’s not him.” She was looking at the photo, then the face of the reconstruction. “I’m right, aren’t I? I’m not just fooling myself? It’s not Luke.”

“It’s not Luke.” Eve was staring critically at the reconstruction. The child was heavier boned than the age progression she’d done of Luke at age five. The corners of the eyes had a slightly Slavic tilt. “No, he’s still Jeremy until we find out who he is.”

“But he’s not Luke!” Catherine grabbed Eve and whirled her around in a circle. “Rakovac lied. Luke could still be alive. No, he is alive. I know it.”

“Stop.” Eve pushed her away. “I’m dizzy enough from lack of sleep. I don’t need you making it any worse.”

“I’m sorry.” She was staring again at the reconstruction. “And I’m sorry for that poor child. But I’m glad he’s not my Luke.”

“I gathered that.” Eve smiled. “It’s fairly obvious, Catherine.”

Catherine’s smile faded. “And I’m glad you didn’t see fit to make him look like Luke. You could have done it, couldn’t you? The stakes are high. Weren’t you tempted?”

“I’d lie if I told you I wasn’t. The situation is difficult, and knowing Luke is alive makes it even harder. But I found I couldn’t do it. If anything happens because I made that choice, my guilt is as deep as yours.” She shrugged. “Which means that I have to make sure what I did won’t have any bearing on Rakovac’s ability to put that catastrophe in motion. Otherwise, I’ll have guilt crushing me for the rest of my life.” She stared her in the eye. “We go after those records, Catherine. We’ll find your son, but we make sure that those records are in our hands before you kill Rakovac.”

She shook her head. “I’m grateful to you. But I can’t promise.”

“I’m not asking you to promise. I’m telling you how it’s going to be.” She took a step closer to the reconstruction. “Now go back to bed. I have to clean up here and put Jeremy in the case. You might start thinking about what we’re going to do and say when Rakovac calls you. He’s overdue. I thought we’d hear from him before this.”

Catherine didn’t move. “I want to promise you, Eve,” she whispered.

“I know you do. There’s no use talking about it. We’ve both already stated our intentions.” Eve was gazing at Jeremy. “We have to find out his identity. It’s not going to be easy. I don’t even know if Russia has a lost-children program.” She shook her head. “What am I thinking? Maybe it won’t be that difficult. How did Rakovac know where to find a skeleton with which to taunt you? We should just probably follow the source.”

“You think he killed this child?”

“Until I’m proven wrong.” She began to pick up bits of clay that had fallen on the table. “Go on. Try to get some sleep. I’ll go to bed myself after I unwind a little.”

She heard the bedroom door close behind Catherine a moment later.

Sleep well, Catherine. I have an idea we’ll need all the rest we can get in the days ahead.

If they even had days. She was overwhelmingly conscious of the giant shadow cast by Rakovac’s horror looming over all of them. Her stomach was twisting as she kept remembering those planes diving into the Twin Towers.

Catherine wouldn’t be able to hold her hand from killing Rakovac if it came to a choice. Would Eve? Sacrifice that sweet, innocent child so full life and joy?

Please God, don’t let it come to that choice.

Her eyes stung with tears as she stared at the reconstruction of Jeremy. Another victim of Rakovac. He, too, had been full of life before Rakovac had entered his world.

“It’s not fair, is it?” she murmured as she gently touched the cool clay of Jeremy’s cheek. “We’re all so concerned about Luke, wondering, worrying, happy that you’re not him. It’s not that you’re not important. You have value, you are important. It’s just that he has a chance to stay with us.”

A chance.

If they could find and get him away from Rakovac before he killed him.

It wasn’t even certain that Luke was still alive. That skeleton in the grave might have been a macabre twist to raise their hopes, then dash them later.

But she didn’t believe that was true. Rakovac’s revenge had been simmering too long for him to cheat himself out of being able to watch Catherine’s final agony. No, Catherine’s son was alive.

But where are you, Luke?

The rat was staring at him, bright, black eyes fixed as he edged closer in the cell.

He was probably hungry, Luke thought. Rats came up from the basement and were often caught here. He didn’t blame him. He was hungry, too. He wasn’t afraid of the rat. Mikhal hadn’t tied him this time, and he could fight the rat off if it got too bold. He’d try not to kill it. Hunger was a good reason to attack and kill.

Maybe the best reason.

“Luke, your time is up,” Mikhal Czadas called out as he came down the corridor to the cell. “Now be a good lad and do what you’re told.”