He paused, trying to catch his breath. “I don’t know why Henry went after that drunk-ass cop instead of me. I deserved it more. But there musta been a reason for it. Somethin’ he had to do to restore the balance. And he musta known this day was comin’.”
The old man looked up at the sky again. “You knew, didn’t you, Henry? You knew it all along.”
As if in answer — and Blackburn wouldn’t have believed this if he hadn’t witnessed it himself — thunder rumbled and rolled, shaking the earth beneath them.
The old man closed his eyes, listening to some inner voice, then said, “Forgive me, little brother. Please forgive me…”
Then his body weight shifted in Blackburn’s hands and he slumped forward.
Dead.
Blackburn stared at him a long moment, listening to the thunder recede, to the sound of the chaos around him, feeling the rain soak through to his skin, still not sure what the old man had been talking about.
But his confession — if that’s what it was — his expression of regret for deeds long past, cut Blackburn right to the bone.
Carefully laying the old man on the grass, he turned toward the trees and ran.
55
Tolan knew there was a pathway in here, but he couldn’t find it.
He didn’t have a flashlight, so his vision was limited. Yet despite the rain, there was enough moonlight filtering through the trees to keep him from being completely blind.
The moment he’d heard the fire alarm, he had headed straight for the forest, Lisa calling out for him to stop. But he’d ignored her, still reeling from the revelations of what he’d done, what they’d both done, and of her willingness to go so far to protect him.
A day that had started with a simple but terrifying threat — imagined or otherwise — had now spiraled so far out of control that Tolan didn’t think he would ever regain his balance. The things he’d learned about himself — the horrible atrocities he had committed — made him believe that if he were to look into a mirror he’d see a demon staring back at him.
But if what Lisa had said was true, if The Rhythm or the heartbeat or whatever it was had worked its magic and there was even a chance that Abby had returned, then he’d do everything he could to keep her from harm.
He just hoped he wasn’t too late.
He thought about that night in Abby’s studio, what Lisa had witnessed, the fury that had overcome him, made him do the unthinkable, and he didn’t care about her warnings. He didn’t care whether Abby was dangerous or why she’d come here.
Or what she might do to him.
Because, in truth, he deserved whatever punishment he got. And this one small act of redemption could well be the key to his personal salvation.
Running through the trees, he thought he saw the trail ahead, a narrow unpaved path that snaked through the forest. But as he drew closer he realized he had somehow gotten turned around and the trail was no longer in sight.
Had he doubled back without realizing it?
He couldn’t be sure.
What he did realize was that he was suddenly lost, unable to determine which direction he needed to go.
A vision of Bobby Fremont looming over Abby filled his head, and he came to an abrupt stop, squeezing his eyes shut, willing it to go away.
As he stood there, the rain filtering down on him through the trees, he was struck by a new notion:
If what Lisa said was true, that the things he’d seen in seclusion room three were real, that Abby was back, was it also possible that he hadn’t imagined Vincent after all? Could those phone calls have been as real as he’d thought they were?
And if so, was Vincent out here somewhere, watching him squirm like a bug under a pin?
A cell phone bleeped, startling Tolan.
Faint, but unmistakable. Somewhere nearby.
Opening his eyes, he looked around, did a full three-sixty, and saw nothing but the forest and the darkness.
It bleeped again and he turned toward the sound, pinpointing its location. Focusing his gaze, he saw a dim light shining in the distance. Dark shapes.
Moving through a tight cluster of trees, he stepped over a pocket of fallen branches and came to a small clearing that was littered with the bones of abandoned cars. He knew now that he had doubled back, was close to the access road that he and Lisa had taken to the old hospital.
Among those old bones was a shiny new carcass.
A Crown Victoria.
Frank Blackburn’s unmarked squad car.
The rear passenger door hung wide, the overhead light burning, the sound of the bleeping telephone coming from inside.
His stomach clutching up, Tolan approached. He could see that the backseat was soaked with blood, and there was no doubt in his mind that a killing had taken place in there. A butchering.
Sue Carmody?
No matter how hard he tried to remember it, he could not put that knife in his own hand.
Had it been Vincent after all? Was this one killing Tolan wouldn’t have to take credit for?
He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about this. None of it mattered anymore. He was wasting time. He had to find his bearings and get to the hospital, get to Abby. But that one small kernel of hope buoyed him, and he wasn’t sure why.
Turning in his tracks, he studied the slope of the earth, trying to determine which way to go now, listening as the cell phone bleeped one last time, then went silent.
And just as he’d made his decision, had chosen what path to take, a bright white beam of light assaulted him, and a familiar voice said, “Don’t move or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”
“Lock your fingers behind your neck,” the voice said.
Its owner was standing near the tight cluster of trees, a flashlight in one hand, a gun in the other, his hair plastered down by the rain, his clothing soaked, a butterfly bandage adorning his forehead.
Blackburn.
Tolan had to squint to see him. Raising his hands, he locked them behind his head.
“Where’s Carmody?”
Tolan hesitated, not knowing what to tell him. If he told him the truth — however vague that might be — Blackburn would surely pull the trigger, and Tolan needed to stay alive long enough to find Abby.
“Please,” he said. “I have to get to the hospital.”
The flashlight beam didn’t waver. “You don’t look hurt to me. Down on your knees.”
Tolan did as he was told, twigs crackling beneath him. Overhead, the wind continued to howl through the tree-tops.
“Where is she?” Blackburn said. “What did you do with her?”
“Please, I don’t have time for this. I have to find Abby.”
“Abby?”
Realizing his slip, Tolan quickly corrected himself. “Jane. Jane Doe. I have to get to her.”
“I’m afraid you’re too late for that.”
Tolan’s heartbeat quickened. “What?”
“It’s a mess down there. She escaped. Along with a bunch of other nut jobs.”
“How do you know that?”
“One of the patients told me. An old man.”
The old man again.
“He had a run-in with her and he wasn’t in too good of shape. Said she came this way.”
Tolan’s gaze shifted to the dark silhouettes of the trees. Did this mean that Bobby Fremont had failed? That Abby was safe?
Was she in here somewhere? Hiding?
“I don’t know what kind of weapon she’s carrying, but she ripped the shit out of him. And frankly, I don’t give a damn right now. I just wanna know what you did with…”
He stopped talking then, aiming the flashlight beam at the Crown Victoria behind Tolan.
“Motherfucker,” he muttered, moving a step closer. “What did you do to her?”