Page 1 of Dark Shadow of Guilt

Chapter One

Angor, OneWorld, PresentDay

What the hell?

Madeline slid her sandpapery eyelids open. Closed. Blink. Blink. She drew a deep breath and coughed. The air was stale, dusty, and sour with the faint odor of garbage left too long in a trashcan.

When reality trickled into her brain, pain rocketed through her shoulders. Her arms were stretched overhead, her full weight on them because her knees had buckled. She wiggled. No give.

Madeline straightened her wobbly knees to relieve the ache in her arms. She widened her eyes, trying to see in the dim room. She twisted her head from side to side. Down. Up. No wonder. Above her, ropes bound her wrists to a bolt in concrete. She was a damn bug pinned to a wall. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she struggled against the bindings.

No go.

Think. Think. Don’t panic.

She and her older sisters used to listen to a radio talk show psychiatrist from New York, Lizette Lee. The woman doled out advice, some of it helping them cope with their shitty home life.

What did Lizette say? Yeah. Step one—identify the problem.

At the moment, though, Madeline couldn’t concentrate. Her chest popped in and out as panic bubbled to the surface.

Fight it. Check out the surroundings. Identify the problem.

Staring straight ahead and fluttering her lids to clear the blurry vision, she took in a cavernous room with unlit bulbs hanging from the ceiling on cords. Windows, the only light source, were small and high off the ground. The place was damp, with moisture seeping from the floor and walls. She shivered. A chill passed through her body.

“Hello. Hello,” she called out. When no one answered, she shouted, “Help me.”

Madeline pulled against the bindings, tearing the skin on her wrists. Blood dripped down her arms, and her eyes watered.

“Hello,” she yelled again.

She was alone.

Pressing her chin to her chest, Madeline glanced down. Buttons on her blouse were ripped off, exposing part of her bra. Her skirt was torn and dirty, but at least her clothes were on. Her feet were bare. No Uggs.

So, in the best imitation of Lizette Lee, she’d identified the problem.

She was in a shitty situation. Hogtied to a wall in what looked like a warehouse.

Madeline licked her cracked lips. Thirsty. How long had she been here? Long enough to need water.

How the hell did she get here?

She focused on memories that came to her in hazy bits and pieces.

Getting ready to close up the St. Louis Central Library, which she did each night, she grabbed her coat from the hook and slipped it on. Trading her comfortable pumps for warmer footwear, she slid into suede, shearling-lined Uggs. She took her purse from a desk drawer and stuck the pumps in its place. After pulling out her keys, she slung the bag over her shoulder and went from room to room shutting off lights. Once outside she closed and locked the door, checking the handle twice, even though the cleaning crew would come in behind her.

After donning warm gloves, she pulled her coat tighter. It got cold after the ice storm moved in earlier. She maneuvered carefully down the steps to the sidewalk. On the street, she stared over her shoulder at the library.

At the bottom, she began her six-block walk home, using the time to think about reheating a good soup and tossing a salad. After dinner, she’d call Fia or Darya to catch up and, afterward, crawl into bed with a half-finished book.

Madeline pulled straight down on her arms despite the torn skin under the ropes. She couldn’t free herself.

Another memory drifted into her mind.

Once Madeline had crossed the street, a man bumped into her. She mumbled, “Sorry,” her head down, burrowed into the warmth of her coat collar. Instead of going on his way, he grabbed her shoulders. Before she could use the martial arts tricks she’d perfected, he...

She had thought if he planned to mug her, he was out of luck. She carried little cash, much preferring her debit card or Apple Pay. Then ... then what?

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