Mike Omer - In the Darkness

“Just nod your head slightly so that I see you understand.”

She let out a tiny nod.

“Walk. Straight to the kitchen. Don’t make any sudden moves.”

She took one step after the other, her body feeling as if it were made of Jell-O. Even if she dared to struggle, elbow him in the stomach and run or grab the hand with the knife and bite it, she couldn’t. She could hardly stand upright.

He must’ve waited in the shadows after all. Waited patiently until Luis had driven off. Then he’d moved, gotten to the door just before it had closed.

“My boyfriend is in the bedroom,” she said, her voice hoarse. “He’ll wake up in a minute.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend. You broke up four months ago, remember? You wrote a really touching post about it.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Her vision clouded with tears as they entered the kitchen. The kitchen window was just in front of them, and she saw herself in the reflection and the man behind her. She quickly looked away, whimpering with fear.

“Don’t cry. It’s your birthday, right?” He forced her to the kitchen table. “Sit down.”

The kitchen chair lurked in the dark. If she sat, she knew she would never be able to get up. As long as she remained standing, she had a chance. She could bolt and run. She could struggle. She could grab something, hit him, and—

A sudden blinding pain on her neck made her gasp.

“That was just a shallow cut,” he whispered. “You don’t want me to cut deeper.”

She sat, every movement slow and precise. She let out a hiccuping sob, then another. She couldn’t stop. She felt the sticky trickle of blood running down her neck.

“Try to calm down. Here, drink this.” He let go of her arm and put a bottle of mineral water on the table in front of her.

“I . . . I’m not thirsty—”

“Drink.” His hand grabbed her again, squeezing.

She uncapped the bottle and took a few gulps. Then a few more. She put the bottle back on the table.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

He didn’t answer. She waited for him to do something. Anything. But he didn’t. The blade stayed at her throat. His hand still clutched her arm. Had he fallen asleep? She considered lunging off the chair, kicking him in the balls, running outside.

She made a tiny move with her head.

“Don’t move.”

She froze.

Seconds ticked by. She had no idea what was going on. The blood soaked her shirt, ran down her collar. Was it really a shallow cut? Or was she about to die?

She felt a bit of nausea, a dizziness. Her limbs were heavy, impossible to move. Blood loss, probably. Except it didn’t feel like there was that much blood.

No. Not blood loss. He’d put something in the water.

“What.” Her tongue was heavy. “What.”

He leaned forward and sang softly in her ear. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Juliet. Happy . . .”

He’d gotten less than three hours of sleep, waking up before dawn. He’d have loved to sleep a couple of hours more, but the girl would wake up soon, and it was safer to do the work just as the day started, before the rest of the city’s residents woke up.

It was almost worth it, just to listen to the silence. Early morning on Sunday. Everyone was asleep. It almost felt as if he were alone in the world.

The soil bins and the box with the girl inside were already loaded in the van. He’d done that last night before going to sleep. All he had to do now was slide into the driver’s seat, open the garage door, and drive out.

Halfway down the street, he suddenly wasn’t sure if he’d remembered to take all he needed. He parked by the sidewalk, checked the bag. Laptop, burner phone, cable, gloves. The digging tools were in the handbag in the back.

He’d forgotten his shades. It would make the drive back annoying as hell. He contemplated returning for them but finally decided not to. He’d drive without them, and the annoyance would help him remember them next time.

The sky had that dark-blue hue that you got just before the sun rose, a few exceptionally bright stars still barely visible. He hummed to himself as he drove, feeling a twinge of excitement building up.

The last stretch of the way was rough driving, his van bumping on the rocky terrain. The pit was less accessible than the previous times. His wheel hit a rock, and for a moment he was worried he might have gotten a flat tire. But it seemed fine.

In the back, he heard a muffled noise. The girl had woken up.

He stopped the van, opened the door, grabbed the bag, and hopped out. The pit was completely invisible, of course, but he knew where it was by heart. He took out the shovel from the bag and cleared the soil away from the planks that hid the pit. It took him less than five minutes. If there was anything he was exceptionally good at, it was digging.

He stuck the shovel in the ground, lifted the left plank . . .

His heart sank.

Part of the pit’s wall had caved, crumbling into the bottom, filling it almost halfway. He let out a sharp curse. When had that happened? He’d checked this place just two weeks ago, and it was fine. Shoveling all of this out of the way would take about two hours.

The girl screamed in the back.

He wavered in indecision. What if he drove to a different location? He had several options, but he hated to make last-minute changes. And the police had already found out about the closest spot.

No. He could see no reason to make a big deal about this. The pit was still perfectly usable; he’d just have to suck it up and bury her only three feet deep. Buried was still buried, after all. No one but him really cared how deep it was.

He felt better after making the decision, the excitement building again. He opened the back of the van and dragged the box out just like he’d practiced a million times before. It was probably the trickiest part, getting it into the pit aligned and straight without jostling the girl inside too much.

He paused just before reaching the pit and connected the wire to the camera. With Maribel Howe, he’d forgotten to do it before placing the box in the pit, and it had been a nightmare to plug it in afterward. But he was more experienced now. He had the routine nailed.

The box hardly made a sound as it landed in the pit, but the girl still let out a muffled scream. Ignoring it, he unloaded the soil bins one at a time. He plugged the wire to the laptop and turned it on. The image of the girl inside materialized on-screen. He let out an eager sigh. Perfect.

He picked up the shovel again and scooped the first lump of soil onto the box. The girl’s muffled screams intensified.

It was clear to Zoe that none of them had slept much. The dark patches under the eyes of Tatum, Lyons, and Foster matched the ones that she’d seen in the mirror when she’d woken up. Despite the fact that it was Sunday morning, the four of them had all showed up at the station before nine. Foster brewed them a very strong pot of coffee to get started.

She’d gone to sleep after two in the morning . . . and alone. She’d texted Joseph when she and Tatum had finished discussing the case, but he’d never replied. He’d probably gone to bed after all.

They sat in the Schrodinger situation room. The map on the wall already had a new X northwest of Grape Creek—the pit they’d found.

“Okay.” Foster massaged his forehead. “I gather from the emails I got from Agent Gray at two in the morning that you have some new ideas.”