HER FINAL WORD (JACK RYDER Book 6) Page 12

  And then she smiled at him.

  After a while, his arms and legs stopped moving, and now they were just floating aimlessly in the water. The girl felt a great calm spread throughout her body, a peacefulness unlike any she had ever experienced. Like all the screaming voices, all the scraping sounds were silenced all at once.

  She felt happy.

  The girl tilted her head and stared at the lifeless body underneath the rippling surface and placed her head on the edge of the cold bathtub, staring down at Dylan, who now lay completely still. The girl put her fingers in the water and ran them across the surface. She liked watching Dylan in the water. She liked looking at those lifeless eyes staring back up at her.

  The girl sat in silence until she heard footsteps coming from outside the door. Realizing what she had done, she reached down into the water, almost panicking, and pulled Dylan up. The door soon opened, and Carla stormed inside. She took one look at the lifeless Dylan in the girl's arms, then rushed to them and pulled him forcefully away from the girl.

  "H-he fell," the girl said, but she could see in Carla's eyes that she didn’t believe her.

  Carla placed Dylan on his back on the tiles and blew air into his lungs. She then pressed on his chest, whimpering and calling his name.

  "Please, Dylan, Please."

  Even though nothing happened, Carla didn't give up. Frantically, she continued to try and blow life into the boy.

  "Come on, Dylan, wake up," she said and slapped his face, hard. Then she turned her strained face and looked at the girl. "Do you know what you’ve done? She's gonna kill us; do you realize that? The White Lady is going to kill us!"

  The girl swallowed but, to her surprise, she felt no remorse; she felt no regret. She stared at the lifeless boy in Carla's hands in fascination and awe.

  Finally, on Carla's third try, Dylan coughed, and water spurted out of his mouth. Carla breathed a sigh of relief. While Dylan came to himself, she scolded the girl.

  "Don't you ever do anything like that again, you hear me?"

  Then she turned to look at the boy.

  "It was an accident; you hear me? It was nothing but an accident! Don't you dare tell your mother otherwise."

  Dylan nodded while coughing again.

  "W-what happened?" he asked, looking confused.

  Carla sighed in relief once again. "You don't remember. That's good. That's very good. Now, let's never talk about this again, okay?"

  As Carla spoke, the girl stared at the boy. Their eyes locked for just a few seconds and, by the look in his, and the smile that went with it, she knew that he remembered what she had done.

  He remembered very well indeed.

  54

  Bahamas, October 2018

  Coraline panted and strained to crawl up into the duct. She could barely fit and thanked God she hadn't inherited her mother's wide hips. At least not yet, even though the past month's weight gain did point in the wrong direction. When growing up, she had always dreaded that she would one day get her mother's figure and her mother had told her she might, once she had children. Since then, Coraline had been exercising regularly to keep those hips at bay and tried her best to keep fit so she never would. She had even promised herself that after she had the three children she dreamt of having one day, she would make sure to exercise so she didn't end up like her mother.

  Gosh, how I miss her.

  Coraline was overwhelmed by sadness when thinking about her mother and how badly she wanted to see her again, how she wanted her to take her into her arms and just hold her there, to protect her from all this evil.

  How did I get myself into this mess? How did it come to this? How could I have been this stupid?

  She also thought about how silly she had been for being so angry with her because she wanted to live her life, because she wanted to travel and remarry. Coraline's dad had treated her terribly in the divorce, not wanting to give her any money and almost rubbing it in her face how wealthy he was when she wasn't. Why wouldn't she grab the opportunity when it presented itself? Why shouldn't she? Coraline just wanted her to be happy, she realized, and if that was what it took, then so be it. She had just been selfish and wanted her mother to be available for her when she needed her, not thinking that her mother might have needs of her own to think about.

  I am sorry, Mama.

  Coraline managed to squeeze herself into the small hole and crawl forward. It was dark inside the duct and Coraline had never been good with tight spaces. She whimpered as she pulled herself forward into the darkness, dust and dirt getting inside her nostrils and touching her fingers.

  She slid her body through the darkness, feeling so dirty she wanted to scream, not knowing where she would end up. Coraline continued till she saw light, then rushed to reach another end, kicked the covering open, and slid out. She fell to the tiles and hurt her shoulder in the fall. A scream of pain slipped out, even though she was trying her hardest to hold it back.

  She lay still for a few seconds, listening. She pondered if she could hear any footsteps or voices approaching. There seemed to be nothing but the sound of a grandfather clock leaning against the wall, tick-tocking away, telling her that time was passing, and she needed to hurry.

  Coraline looked around. The stone walls were covered with wooden shelves holding bottles of wine from top to bottom. In the middle stood an old slap-wood dining table and at the end of that table was something that made Coraline sick to her stomach.

  An old skeleton was sitting in the chair. Coraline approached it, shivering in fear. On the table in front of the skeleton was a jar with something in it. Coraline walked closer to see better, and when she saw the cut-out tongue inside the liquid, she turned around and threw up bile on the brown Spanish tiles.

  55

  Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018

  "You told the police she was going out with someone, a man. Do you know who he is?"

  Meghan Williams sniffled. Her eyes were red from crying. Emily and I had found her at the clubhouse at Lyford Cay. The commissioner had kept his word to me, and I had been able to get right in without being on any list or even stating my business in the neighborhood.

  Meghan shook her head. "I…I just know she had been seeing him for a while. She never told me who he was."

  "But you also stated that you warned her against him," Emily said and walked closer. She had been keeping her distance, staying out of my talk with the girl, just like we had agreed. But now she was breaking our agreement, and I sent her a look. Emily ignored it.

  "You must have believed he was dangerous or at least not good for her?" she continued.

  She was making a good point; no, make that a great one actually, and the question was spot-on, but I still would have preferred that she hadn't meddled. I was the only one who was a detective here, and she was, after all, just a young girl with no authority. Luckily, Meghan didn't question her presence.

  "I knew he wasn't good for her," she said. "That's all."

  "How did you know if you don't know who he is?" Emily asked, coming closer to Meghan, who was sitting on a bench in the dressing room, where another co-worker had found Coraline's phone and purse. Emily sat next to her while waiting for her response.

  "I…I…saw him…" Meghan said. "Once. He was picking her up in his car. I don't want any trouble," she then said, looking around nervously.

  "I think you'll be in bigger trouble if you don't tell us," Emily said. "This guy might be a killer, and if he knows that you know who he is, he’ll come after you next."

  I stared at my daughter. She was right, but I thought it was a little harsh. Still, it worked. Meghan looked at her with a frightened look on her face.

  "Listen," I took over. "All we need is a name. Then you're off the hook."

  She shook her head again and looked down. "I…can't."

  "Because he's a regular here?" I asked.

  She nodded, her head still bent.

  "How about we just say a name," Emily said, "and then you n
od if it’s him? Would that work?"

  Meghan sniffled, then looked up.

  "He'll never know it was you, and technically, you won't actually have said anything," she said.

  Meghan nodded. "Okay."

  Emily gave me a look like she wanted me to take over. I approached Meghan and knelt in front of her. Her hands were shaking as she wiped her nose with the tissue.

  I exhaled. "We think it might have been Sergei Sakislov…are we right?"

  Meghan sniffled and looked at Emily, then back at me.

  Then, she nodded.

  56

  Bahamas, October 2018

  The person was standing in the doorway. The door in the wall was opening slowly, as usual, sliding to the side, revealing the existence of the room that you wouldn't know was there.

  In his hands, he was holding the equipment. The bag with the ink, the needles, and the butcher's knife, barely cold after the last victim.

  The person chuckled as he entered the room and looked around, his eyes searching for the girl.

  "Where are you, little girl?" he said as the door closed behind him at the touch of his hand on the stone.

  "Are you hiding, huh? Well, two can play that game."

  The person put the bag down with a chuckle. This girl wasn't the first to try and hide from him. A lot of them had done the same. He couldn't blame them. At first, they thought they could escape, but as they realized there were no doors or windows, that's when they panicked and usually tried to hide. But the person knew all the hiding spots in the room, so it wasn't a game that would go on for very long.

  "Ready or not, here I come," he said, chuckling.

  The person walked to the couch and looked behind it, remembering that was where he had found the first girl he had taken down there. She had been all curled up against the wall, covering her head with her arms, whimpering. It was her whimpering that had led him to her immediately.

  The person grabbed the couch and pulled it away from the wall with a loud roar.

  "GOTCHA!"

  But the girl wasn't there. Of course, she wasn't. The person shivered in delight. He liked this little game. It made it all a little more exciting. He liked it when the girls didn't give up, when they fought for their lives a little. It made it more fun. The ones that gave in quickly were boring, and he would usually finish with them pretty quickly. It just didn't give him the same kick. Luckily, most of the girls he had gotten over the years were feisty.

  Just like this one.

  He knew her name, but he didn't want to say it out loud. He didn't like to think of them as humans, as people with names. These girls were his toys; they were his little pets, his fun in a dull and tedious world. He owned them and could do to them as he pleased.

  "You better hang tight to your hiding spot, little girl, ‘cause I’m coming for you!" he exclaimed and walked toward the bathroom, where he thought he saw a foot sticking out behind the toilet bowl. Originally, there had been a door there, but since he had a girl down there who had hidden in the bathroom and blocked the door, he had removed it so it wouldn't happen again. It had been a lot of trouble getting her out of there.

  "I’m coming, ready or not!"

  The person approached the bathroom, then peeked inside. As he stared at what he had believed was the girl, he realized it was something else entirely. It was the chair from the living room, which she had dragged inside the bathroom, and the thing he thought was a foot sticking out was actually the front of the ventilation duct from above.

  As the person stared at the open duct, he clenched his fists on both hands so hard he dug his nails into the skin. He rushed to his bag, then took the knife in his hands, and stormed for the door.

  "So, that's how you wanna play, little girl, huh? Then let's play."

  Barely had he made it out of the room and closed the door behind him before he heard the doorbell ring.

  57

  Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018

  "What can I do for you, Detective…Ryder, was it?"

  His maid had shown us into Sergei Sakislov's study. He was sitting by his giant desk, while thousands of books were towering on shelves behind him. From the ceiling above us hung a massive chandelier that I could only assume was made from real diamonds. I would be disappointed if it wasn't since everything else in this huge mansion seemed to be over the top, as my mother would put it.

  I sat down in a leather chair. Emily grabbed the one next to me. Sergei Sakislov's eyes rested on my daughter for a little too long in my opinion.

  "We're here regarding a missing girl."

  I placed my phone on his desk and pushed it toward him with Coraline's picture on the display. I watched him look at her, then pretend like he didn't know her, but the small twitch around his right eye told me he did.

  "Haven't seen her," he said and pushed the phone back, then gave Emily another look.

  "We have reason to believe you know her," I said.

  He smirked, his eyes not leaving Emily. I felt like punching him.

  "Really? Well, I know a lot of…girls around here."

  "I bet you do, Mr. Sakislov, but there's a little more to it than that," I said. "We have reason to believe that you were supposed to meet with her on the night she disappeared."

  His eyes were now on me and the smirk was gone. "What on earth do you mean?"

  "You picked her up from the clubhouse, didn't you?" I asked. "You were dating her, and then you decided to kill her, am I right?"

  Mr. Sakislov stared at me while running a hand through his long gray—almost white—hair. He was dressed like someone who thought he was at least twenty years younger. The half-buttoned shirt showed a very hairy chest underneath, which he was obviously very proud of but would probably have made most women run away screaming if he hadn't had the wealth to make up for it. His skin was covered in some sort of glitter on top of the suntan.

  "Why do you come here…in my own home…accusing me, Detective?" he asked.

  I leaned forward. "Because I think you killed her, just like I think you killed Nancy Elkington and Ella Maria Chauncey and three other young girls before them."

  Mr. Sakislov stared at me again, then laughed.

  "This is joke, no?"

  "It is no joke, Mr. Sakislov," Emily took over. She pulled out a file from her bag and put it on the table, then opened it.

  "What I have here is the transcript of Ella Maria's phone calls in the days before she died. And, lo and behold, if you don't appear on that list of numbers several times just in the three days up until she died."

  Mr. Sakislov leaned forward in his chair. "I have a son who dated her. It must have been him."

  "He's lying."

  The voice came from behind us. I turned and watched as Henry Sakislov entered the study, rushing toward us.

  "Henry?" his dad said. "What are you doing here?"

  "I’m here to tell the truth, Dad. And you should too."

  58

  Lyford Cay, Bahamas, October 2018

  "You must excuse my son; he doesn’t know…he's so heartbroken over losing his girlfriend, he doesn’t know what he's saying," Mr. Sakislov tried.

  "Yes, I am heartbroken," Henry said and approached us. As he did, I could tell he had been crying.

  "But not only because she's gone."

  "Don't listen to him," Mr. Sakislov tried again. "He's not been well."

  "I am very well, Daddy Dearest; don't you worry about that. It's him you shouldn't listen to," Henry continued. "He's the one who's lying."

  "Enough!" Mr. Sakislov said, slamming his hand onto the desk. "Enough of all this nonsense."

  Henry shook his head. "No, Dad. This is not one you can just yell or pay your way out of. Don't you think I know? Don't you think I know what you did to her?"

  Henry was trying to hold back the tears, but they kept streaming across his face. He was pointing his finger at his dad.

  "You slept with her. With my…my girlfriend. The one thing I had in my life that was m
ine. You took it from me; you took her from me."

  Mr. Sakislov exhaled and rolled his eyes. "I don't have to listen to all this…" He rose to his feet, but his son rushed to him and pushed him back into his chair, then stood above him, a clenched fist in front of his face.

  "You took her; you destroyed her. I wanted to marry her; you just wanted to…to play with her. The way you play with every girl you meet. It was the one girl you shouldn't have touched, the one that was mine, yet you couldn't keep your hands to yourself, could you? It doesn't matter who they are…if they’re black or white. You just see a girl and have to have her, don't you? Just like you have to own everything else. Like all this…this…worthless crap," he said and threw out his hands. Admit it, Dad. You slept with her. Don't you think I know that was why they hated us? Why she wasn't allowed to come here anymore? I found out when I read some of the texts she wrote to you, and I saw a picture she had sent of herself…naked. Yet I still stayed with her because I loved her. Something you have never been capable of. But I could never be you, and you were all she wanted."

  Mr. Sakislov exhaled. "Okay. If that's what you want to hear, then yes. I slept with her. A few times. But she came to me, son. She wanted to be with me. I didn't go after her. She told me she wanted to do something crazy; she wanted to be wild. I guess what you could offer her wasn't exactly enough."

  As the last word fell, Henry took a swing at his dad and punched him on the cheek, hard. I think it surprised him just as much as it did his dad because he let out a small whimper, looked at his hurting hand, then turned around and ran out of the room.

  Mr. Sakislov felt his cheek, then gave Emily and me an angry look, his enormous nostrils flaring.