Mike Omer - In the Darkness

Of course. What could he possibly say? Dig faster? Let us know what’s going on?

All they could do was wait.

The world was a blur. Juliet was dizzy, exhausted to the brink of unconsciousness. Her entire body ached. She could hear vague sounds above her and knew she was supposed to care. That it mattered. But she couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t even move. She thought back to last night, to her birthday party.

She should have agreed to the cake and the sparkler. Right now, telling the waiter not to bring it seemed like a sad mistake. It would have been nice. Sweet chocolate, a shiny light, her friends singing to her. She wished she could go back in time and make it happen. She wanted to tell Tiffany how grateful she was they’d come to celebrate her birthday.

She wished she could hug Tommy, kiss his nose, hear his laughter.

Something scratched against the wood on top of her. What was it?

And then, light, impossibly bright. She shut her eyes, moving her face aside, and felt something amazing. A draft of wind. And fresh air. She inhaled deeply, sensing . . . something. Something so immense she couldn’t even process it.

“Hey, are you all right? Can you move? Oh god.”

Hands on her face, removing that awful gag from her mouth. She couldn’t say anything, but she took a lungful of air through her mouth.

A voice by her side. “Five-thirteen, this is nine-oh-two. We have the girl. She’s alive.”

Juliet lay in the white hospital bed, feeling a bit fuzzy, her limbs too heavy to move. It was hard for her to focus on anything for long. After she’d been trapped in utter darkness, the amount of color and light in the room was slightly overwhelming. She kept shutting her eyes to rest, then opening them when she suddenly worried it might all be taken away, slamming her back into that box.

The police told her she’d spent between eight and fourteen hours in the box, but she knew they were wrong. She’d been there days. She’d insisted on it several times, in fact, grabbing the woman detective’s wrist hard to make her understand. And then they’d given her something. Now nothing seemed particularly important or pressing. She drifted in and out of consciousness as if she were occasionally dipping her toes in a cold pool. The only time she’d become alert was when the nurse had turned off the light. They’d switched it back on when she wouldn’t stop screaming.

Her mom had been with her for a couple of hours and promised to bring Tommy the next day. Juliet had been relieved when she left. Her mother’s tendency was to talk incessantly when stressed, and she wore Juliet down.

Now someone was in her room again. The female detective who had talked to her before, and two strangers, introducing themselves as Agent Gray and Zoe Bentley. Juliet wasn’t sure if Zoe was a federal agent or a detective or what, but maybe it was a bit rude to ask.

“Juliet,” Zoe said. “We were hoping you could try to remember more about the encounter. It would really help us to catch the guy who did this to you.”

Remembering. Now there was a thing she didn’t want to do right now. “I told the detective . . . it’s all gone. I remember getting home, but then . . .” She shook her head softly.

“You were drugged,” Agent Gray said. “He gave you Rohypnol. Short-term amnesia is a common side effect of the drug.”

Juliet blinked. “Roofies? Isn’t that a rape drug? Did he—”

“He didn’t,” Zoe quickly said.

How did she know? Had they done any physical tests on her when she was asleep? Her skin crawled at the thought of that man touching her. Her eyes blurred with tears.

“I don’t remember anything. I don’t know what to tell you.” Her tongue was thick in her mouth; talking was impossibly hard. She wished they’d leave.

“Even the tiniest detail could help us a lot,” Zoe said. “You remember the ride home, right?”

Luis and Tiffany in the front seats, Luis’s hand under Tiffany’s skirt. “Yes.”

“You got home. And then what?”

“I . . . walked to the door.”

“Do you remember unlocking it?”

Had she? She clenched her fist. “No . . . I don’t think so. But I remember it being open. I waved Tiffany goodbye.”

“And then what did you do?”

“I went to the kitchen.”

“Why?”

“I think I was thirsty.” No. That was wrong. She needed to pee. And she’d drunk a lot in the pub. “I don’t remember. Maybe I went to the bathroom.”

“You didn’t.” Zoe’s voice was intent. “You went to the kitchen. Why?”

“I . . . I don’t remember.” Tears were running down her cheeks. Her lips were trembling.

“Zoe,” Agent Gray said softly to the woman. “She doesn’t remember. The Rohypnol—”

“Don’t think with your eyes,” Zoe told Juliet, leaning closer. Her stare was so intense Juliet wanted to flee. “Think with all your senses. What did you smell? What did you feel? What did you hear?”

“I don’t know.” Juliet’s voice broke. “Nothing!”

“The door was open when the police went to your home. Did you close it?”

“I must have.”

“Do you remember closing it?”

“I . . .”

“Zoe,” Detective Lyons said firmly. “Juliet went through a lot, and—”

“Your arm is bruised,” Zoe said. “Someone grabbed you.”

All the people Juliet had seen since she’d been rescued had been so kind and full of sympathy. But this woman seemed mostly annoyed with her.

“Sweat,” Juliet blurted. “I remember the smell of sweat. A stranger’s sweat.”

Zoe leaned back.

“And a knife at my throat. I think it was a knife. He . . . he forced me to the kitchen.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No. He was behind me.”

“When you entered the kitchen, the window was just in front of you. At night, with the light on, you would have seen his reflection. Do you remember seeing that?”

Juliet tried to recall that night, but her memories slipped away, like mist. “No. I just remember the knife. And his voice. It almost sounded as if he was mocking me. I don’t know how to explain—he was . . .” She struggled, searching for a word.

“Smug?” Zoe asked.

“Yes.” Juliet exhaled. “He was smug.”

A small smile tweaked Zoe’s lips. “Thank you.” She gave Juliet’s hand a squeeze.

Juliet pulled her hand away, hating this woman, the way she forced her to look back. She said nothing, just glared furiously. But Zoe didn’t seem to mind. She probably didn’t care how Juliet felt at all.

It was half past nine in the evening when Zoe realized she hadn’t eaten an actual meal since breakfast. When Juliet had been found alive, Lyons had bought celebratory doughnuts for everyone, and Zoe had had one. And on the way out from the hospital, she’d bought a Snickers bar from the candy dispenser.

She sat in her hotel room, crime scene photos spread on the bed, her notebook in hand, dozens of ideas that required a thorough investigation scrawled on the page.

Her stomach rumbled noisily.

She sighed and put the notebook on the bedsheet. Taking her phone, she opened her recent calls, scrolling for Joseph’s number, and was about to tap it, but her finger paused, hovering above it unsteadily.

Joseph was a nice guy, and she enjoyed going out with him. Spending another night with him was an alluring prospect. But she also knew it would lead nowhere.

At the time, she’d needed a distraction. She’d been worried sick about Andrea, needed something, anything , to take her mind off the idea of Rod Glover stalking her sister. And Tatum had been unavailable, still angry at her for . . . whatever reason. But now, meeting with Joseph was just a way to pass the time.