Page 47 of My Cowboy Salvation
That just doesn’t sound right. No matter how much I’ve hurt her, I can’t believe she would leave without saying goodbye. Without talking to me about her plan. If only because she cares about me and wouldn’t want me or Parker to worry.
“Anyway, call me as soon as you get this.”
I stare ahead of me, lost in thought. Why now? Why would she just suddenly make this important decision?
I get up and step onto the porch. Bragdon is gone, replaced by Tedesco. Phone still in my hand, I dial Bragdon. “Hey. Talk to me about last night. You said nothing out of the ordinary happened. You’re sure? You didn’t see her talking to anyone, acting unusual at all?”
There’s a pause. “Well, maybe. At the end of the night there was a dad and his kid, maybe about five or six, dressed in a Spiderman costume. They chatted with Dylan longer than usual. Enough that I was about to go up to check in, but she smiled and waved to me. Come to think of it, after they left, she was done for the night. Lights inside went out, too.”
“And this dad. What can you tell me about him? Did you get a look at his face?”
“No. The guy was wearing a mask of some sort and a black cape.”
I know without any doubt, it was Simon. He got to her. Threatened her somehow.
“Thanks, Bragdon. Can you tell Ann an emergency has come up, and I won’t be in today? Thanks,” I say and hang up quickly.
I head to my basement, taking a second to unlock the door. I flip on the light, passing the rack of artillery I’ve collected over the years and go right to the computer. In a few minutes, I’m into my security system, going through the footage that would cover the front door and the area surrounding the house. Forwarding through the footage, I freeze the frame when I get to a guy and a kid in a Spiderman costume. The guy’s wearing a phantom mask.
That’s fucking him.
I hit play and watch when Dylan reaches the same conclusion, her shoulders tensing. I can’t see her face from this angle, but I’m sure she’s as white as a ghost. I watch their exchange as well as the behavior of the small boy. I grab the phone again, calling in to the station that I have reason to believe a boy between five and seven years of age might have been abducted and ask if anyone has called in to report a missing boy.
There was one. Matthew Gunnison. But according to the parents, he came home on his own about an hour after they called into the station. Immediately, I take down the address. It’s a long shot, but maybe Matthew knows something I can pin on Simon.
First, one more call. “Noah. McCall here. He’s taken her.”
And then I pull up the one thing I’ve been dreading, knowing at the time it was an invasion of her privacy, but it couldn’t be helped.
I’d known then I had to be prepared for every possibility.
And I am.
* * *
Dylan
Click.
Click.
The sharp, almost metallic sound seeps into my subconscious.
I know that sound. I know who’s making that sound.
The terror I temporarily lost in sleep grips me, tightening over my chest like a vise, making every breath a struggle.
Cold. So cold. I move my head and try to move, but I can’t make my arms lift. Or my legs. The cold has me shivering, and I clench my teeth together to stop them from chattering.
Why is it so cold? Why can I feel every breeze? Every damp chill?
My eyelids are heavy, so heavy and swollen, and it’s no small effort to open them. I squint against the brightness of the room. Staring at the ceiling, I try to ground myself, to understand why I can’t move, why I’m so cold.
Click. Click.
I turn my head toward the sound, knowing as I do who I’m going to see, but I’m still no more prepared for the wave of nausea that rolls over me as I recognize my tormenter.
Simon. The monster I stupidly turned myself over to, thinking I was making the sacrifice for those I love.
