CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO #2
“This situation?” Abraham repeated with an infuriating smirk.
“If you're asking if I find it amusing that an innocent young man is missing, then, no, I don't find anything particularly amusing about that.
But what I do find amusing is that you think you're going to find something here that the police didn't. They were already here. They asked their questions. They found nothing, and then they left. Just like Officer Mason. He asked his questions, found nothing, and left.”
“So, you think we should, what, give up?” Meg asked, standing her ground.
His steely eyes stared into hers for a moment. His expression was unmoving. A permanent scowl of disapproval on his face.
“Give up on hope that he might be out there somewhere? No. But do I think you should give up on looking for clues where there aren't any? Yes.”
***
They did leave shortly after, and Meg was ever insistent that Abraham knew something. But Soldier was less than convinced.
He'd found the man unnecessarily abrasive, but he had no reason to believe he was guilty of anything nefarious.
Meg tried to tell herself he was right. Neither of the men at The Llewellyn Family Funeral Home had given her the impression that they were lying. Shawn had offered his card with an incessant reminder that if they needed anything at all, they should give him a call.
“And, please, when you find him, let us know,” he'd said before they climbed back into the car.
Meg accepted that maybe she just wanted someone to blame when, right now, there wasn't anyone.
She was once again at Charlie and Stormy's table, a cup of tea growing cold between her hands. Soldier was in bed with Ray and Miles. Her father was asleep on the couch. Their reasons to stay were rapidly depleting, save for the one most obvious—Noah was still out there.
Soldier was certain he was still alive, but they were no closer to finding him than they'd been before they came.
Soon, they'd leave, and eventually, their lives would just simply fall back into step with the rest of society until Noah's existence was something that had been once, but no longer was.
Meg swept her eyes toward the window, in search of the moon. Can Noah see it now? she wondered. Was he looking up, thinking about her as she thought of him?
“Where are you?” she whispered, wishing he could somehow hear her voice. Wishing she could hear his reply.
Something caught her eye then. A bobbing orb of light from somewhere in the distance.
Her heart jolted to frantic life in her chest at the same moment her lungs ceased function. She watched that light grow closer, closer, until she deduced that it was a flashlight.
She should wake her father or Soldier or, hell, even Charlie.
Someone taller, bigger, stronger than she was.
Someone without a budding life inside their belly.
But she never had the chance as she stood from the table and froze as a figure came into view just outside the low stone wall surrounding the perimeter of the cottage on the hill.
Dressed in black from head to toe, the figure stood tall. A man, she presumed, given his height and form, though his face was unseen due to the mask he wore.
A plague doctor.
She gasped at the smooth material and glossy, goggle-like eyes. Fear held her on the spot as her hand clutched at her chest. She didn't need to see his eyes to know he was looking at her through the kitchen window.
He sees me, she thought. He knows I’m here.
What does he want?
Slowly, he held both hands up and out, presenting the flashlight, and then as if he were lowering a weapon, he laid the flashlight on the stone wall.
He isn't here to hurt me, Meg told herself, though her body trembled with the terror of someone very much in danger.
But afraid as she was, she found the strength to move, and she headed toward the back door. Because as certain as she was that this masked man meant her no harm, she knew he had information.
He knows where Noah is.
As silent as she could, she opened the door and slipped outside into the dark night, and in a whispered voice, she asked, “Who are you?”
“Who I am,” he answered in a voice that instantly reminded her of Batman, “isn't of importance to you. It's what I know.”
“And what do you know?”
“Oh, I know everything, Meghan Kinney, daughter of Patrick and Christine. I know where you live, where you work. I know you're engaged to marry Noah Mason, son of Soldier and Rain, and I know you're right now pregnant with his child.”
Meghan's mouth fell open as she took one, two steps backward, intent on running back inside or screaming for her big, strong father-in-law, just feet from where she stood, but the masked man lifted his hand, halting her movement.
“I will not hurt you,” he said with soul-deep sincerity. “But if you run now, I will not be back. Time is not our friend, Meghan, and if you ever want to see your fiancé alive again, I advise you not to waste the little that we have.”
“Noah's alive,” she stated with a gasp, taking two steps forward toward the masked stranger. “Did you … you …”
Noah had been abducted, taken, and she couldn't will her voice to say the words. But the man understood, and he shook his head.
“I am not at all responsible for his capture, but I am the sole reason for him still being alive.”
Meghan wasn't sure if she should thank him or demand that he tell her right now where Noah was being held.
But instead of doing either, she stupidly asked, “Is he okay?”
To her dismay, his head shook in response.
She swallowed down the urgency to vomit what little she'd sipped of her tea. She was scared to know the details of what Noah had been through in the week he'd been missing, and this man didn't seem all that eager to tell her, given his silence on the matter.
Her throat constricted with distress and sadness as she choked out, “Where is he?”
“I can't disclose that information,” he replied.
Anger was quick to sweep away her sadness as she opened her mouth to speak again, to shout at him and demand he give her something, but again, he held up his hand.
“The situation is complicated,” he explained. “More than you can imagine is at risk.”
“I don't care,” she hissed. “All I care about is Noah and making sure he comes home to me alive.”
“Understandable,” the man replied. “But forgive me for sharing in your selfishness. You want your life to be made whole again, and I prefer to keep mine from imploding.”
“So, someone you know has Noah,” Meg muttered, staring up into those blank black eyes.
“I am personally taking care of this mess, and Noah will be returned to you. And as long as you can accept all that he has endured as it continues to shape him into a different version of himself, your life together will remain intact. But I am asking for your trust, patience, and willingness to comply.”
There was a lot to unpack in that statement. But before she could ask any other questions, she narrowed her eyes and said, “Comply? With what?”
“Learn from your fiancé’s mistakes and stop digging for clues,” the man said, his voice deepening with malice.
She swallowed as he held his hands out to her once more, presenting his gloved palms. Then, in a slow, careful maneuver, he removed a slip of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to her.
“And I need you to deliver this to the police.”
He didn't stop her from unfolding the paper and reading the address scrawled onto it. “What is this?”
“It's not obvious enough for you?”
Boy, was he snarky.
“I see that it's an address,” she muttered. “But where—”
“I will repeat this one more time, Miss Kinney,” he interjected harshly. “Stop digging for clues unless you want to be buried with them.”
She looked up to face him again, horror blanketing her features.
He tipped his head toward hers, lowering his stance. “There are few men more dangerous than me, Meghan, but as I've already said, I do not want to hurt you. Those other men though … they will, and I would like to keep that from happening. Do you understand?”
She swallowed, her lips sealed tight.
“I need you to answer me,” he seemed to growl.
“I-I understand,” she whispered, nodding.
“And you will deliver that address to the police. You will do it twenty-four hours from now.”
“Twenty-four hours?”
“No sooner, no later.”
“Okay.” She blew out a breath, staring into the spaces where his eyes should be. “Twenty-four hours.”
He nodded, then picked up his flashlight from the wall and turned to retreat into the night.
“Wait,” she said, stopping him.
He emitted an impatient sigh and turned to face her, clearly exasperated in his stance. “Yes?”
“They'll ask me where I got this,” she said, holding up the paper. “What do I say?”
“Tell them whatever you want. You found it in the mailbox, on your windshield, nailed to the fucking door. Whatever you need to say, as long as you don't tell them you've seen me. Nobody is to know you've seen me.”
She nodded, tucking the paper into the pocket of her sweatshirt. “Okay. I never saw you, and it was left on the steps.”
“Good girl,” he praised before offering a curt nod, then turned, briskly stepping between the headstones and disappearing into the night.