Ann Voss Peterson
CAPTIVE
The past is a prison…
Twenty years after LETHAL…
Sylvie
Sylvie Hayes dug her polished nails into the stems of her maid-of-honor nosegay and stared down the church’s aisle. Faces peered expectantly from pews. Autumn chrysanthemums smothered the altar. The organ soared into Bach, rattling stained glass like thunder from an approaching storm.
It was her cue to start her measured march down the aisle.
But where was the bride?
Sylvie glanced around the narthex for any sign of her twin sister. Diana had said she needed a moment to check her makeup, to make sure everything was perfect for her wedding. But that had been over fifteen minutes ago.
She should be back by now.
Sylvie and Diana might not know one another as well as twin sisters who’d grown up in the same household, but since Diana had tracked her down six months ago, they had become close. Closer than Sylvie had dared to get to another person.
Sylvie couldn’t explain it. She’d always heard that twins were supposed to have a special connection, but she hadn’t believed it until she and Diana had been reunited. Since, she swore she felt a sense of lightness when her sister was happy. And an insistent hum in the back of her mind when Diana was in trouble.
Right now, that hum threatened to drown out the organ.
Sylvie squinted at the shadows to the side of the altar. Although she spotted the minister talking to the best man, she couldn’t see Bobby Vaughan anywhere either.
The groom was gone, too?
Sylvie turned away from the mouth of the nave and started for the lounge where she and Diana had dressed for the wedding. No doubt Diana was wrestling with her veil or her hair. Or maybe she and Bobby had argued.
At least Sylvie hoped it was something that simple.
Inside the lounge, makeup cases and dress bags cluttered the tables and draped to the floor. The spice of perfume still hung in the air.
But no Diana.
Sylvie opened the adjoining restroom door. The vanity was vacant, the wide mirror catching no reflection but her own. She peered down the row of bathroom stalls.
“Diana?” Sylvie’s voice echoed off the white tile.
She gathered the seafoam satin of her gown in a fist. Bending low, she looked under the stalls.
A wisp of white touched the floor in the large stall at the end, a dark shadow behind it.
“Diana? Are you okay?”
Only the organ answered, its bass tones trembling through walls and centering deep in Sylvie’s chest.
She raced down the row of bathroom stalls. Reaching the end, she knocked on the stall door. It moved under her fist. She grasped the handle and pulled.
A man lay prone on the floor, face against the wall. Wetness glistened in dark hair and trailed down the back of the tux. Motionless fingers clutched Diana’s veil, the antique lace red with blood.
“Oh, my God, Bobby!” Sylvie knelt beside him. Slipping her hand along the side of his throat, she felt for a pulse.
A thready beat drummed against her fingertips.
He was alive. Thank God, he was alive. But he needed help. He needed an ambulance.
And Diana. Where was Diana?
The hum in Sylvie’s ears roared loud as a freight train bearing down.
Diana
The hum of tires on pavement.
A gentle sway as the vehicle took a turn.
The light scent of blood, of carpet, of her favorite perfume.
Diana Gale tried to open her eyes, but her lids were heavy. So heavy. Her arm hurt… burned… She could tell it was dark… Must be late at night…
No. Something was over her eyes. Pressing down.
She tried to raise her hands, to touch her face, but she couldn’t move.
What was going on?
Think…
Think…
She’d been at the church. She remembered that much. Getting ready for her wedding. About to walk down the aisle. To marry Bobby. It was perfect. The music. The flowers. Her dress. Just the way she’d always imagined. Happy. Relieved. Nervous. Then… nothing.
She didn’t remember.
How could she not remember?
And then…
Then she was here.
Where was here?
The world swayed around her. She tried to breathe, to think, but she was tired, so tired. It blotted out everything.
She had to be dreaming.
Of course, that was it. She’d had nightmares the past few weeks. Mostly stupid things. Anxiety spinning and spinning through her mind, night after night. Walking down the aisle half dressed. Standing at the altar with no idea what to do, desperate for instructions, and Bobby laughing at her. The guests laughing at her. Her father laughing at her.
And now this.
She couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t remember. And all she wanted to do was sleep. Just sleep.
This had to be a dream…
Sylvie
Paramedics wheeled the stretcher down the long church hall and out to the waiting ambulance. Bobby was still unconscious. The white sheet cupped around him as if he was a child tucked into bed. Thick black straps hugged him to the gurney.
Sylvie wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to warm herself, trying to feel strong. Stains marred the long seafoam silk of her gown, rust-colored smudges of Bobby’s blood.
“You’re the one who found him?” a cigarette-roughened voice asked from behind her.
She turned around and faced a man with hard eyes and the jowls of a bulldog. “Excuse me?”
He let out an impatient sigh. “I need you to answer some questions.”
“And… who are you?”
“I’m in charge of this case. Detective Stan Perreth.”
Sylvie dropped her gaze to the floor. She had never felt comfortable around cops. Not since she’d been caught shoplifting a pack of chewing gum at twelve and the store manager requested she be “scared straight.” It had taken her a long time to warm up to Bobby, and even now there were times she felt guilty of something just being around him.
“The first officer to the scene said you found Bobby Vaughan.”
Sylvie forced a deep breath and made herself look the detective in the eye. “When I went to check on my sister.”
“Did you touch anything? Move anything?”
“Um… I checked his pulse. I ran out into the lounge. I went through Diana’s bag to find her cell phone.” And she’d grabbed her own purse. Had she touched anything else? She couldn’t remember.
He held out a hand. “Give me the phone.”
Sylvie looked down. Sure enough, Diana’s phone was still clenched in her fingers. She gave it to Perreth.
Perreth gripped it gingerly, his hands encased in clear plastic gloves. “Did your sister share her doubts about this wedding?”
“She’s been looking forward to marrying Bobby as long as I’ve known her.”
“Did she and Vaughan have a fight?”
Sylvie had wondered that same thing, but she wasn’t about to tell the cop. “They were both excited about the wedding. Anxious to get married.”