The cloak of freedom that I’d lost nearly a year ago weighed heavily on my shoulders. At the same time relief overwhelmed me. My tense muscles gave way, causing me to stumble.
Deputy Hill reached for my elbow. “Are you all right? Can you walk?”
Sucking my lower lip between my teeth, I nodded. “I’m just so relieved. I was frightened of what he was going to do.”
“Yes, ma’am, we received a tip and have been waiting for his arrival.”
“A tip?” I asked, more than slightly concerned. “From whom?”
Had it been The Light? Had they known I would be with him?
“Ma’am, the important thing is that you’re safe.” Deputy Hill continued to speak as he led me to a dark, unmarked SUV and helped me into the backseat.
Once he was in the driver’s seat and we began to pull away, I asked, “What happened to Thomas?”
“My partner took him. We thought by that shiner you’re sporting you’d prefer not to ride in the same vehicle.”
My fingers fluttered near my eye as I leaned back against the seat. “Thank you. Once we get to the station, I need to make a call.”
“Did Mr. Hutchinson take you against your will?”
“Mr. Hutchinson?” I asked.
The deputy’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “The man who was with you, Thomas Hutchinson.”
“Yes, but . . .”
“But?” he repeated.
I shook my head again. “Please, once I make a call I can explain everything.”
“Yes, ma’am. After we get to the station and get your statement.”
I settled back and watched the city streets. There were more people out and about in the community at the Northern Light than I saw on these urban streets. As we drove I marveled at the world I used to take for granted. Stores and fast-food restaurants clustered at each intersection. I’d forgotten how normal the dark was. It wasn’t scary and unknown like The Light had told me. Instead, it was comfortingly familiar.
The US Marshals’ station was small, reminding me more of a house than a police station. Deputy Hill pulled onto the gravel lot, mostly filled with SUVs. As soon as he parked, he opened my door and helped me out. It wasn’t until we began walking that the rubbing against the outside of my foot reminded me of my knife. I thought about confessing that I had it, until he asked whether I’d like anything to eat or drink.
Suddenly the thought of food monopolized my thoughts. I hadn’t eaten since I’d cooked breakfast for Jacob. “What time is it?”
As we entered the building Deputy Hill looked up at a clock hanging above the empty front desk. “It’s nearly four.”
The clock was large, round and plain, like my first memory of the dark. Despite my feeling weak from hunger, it made me grin. “Thank you, I’d love something to eat.”
Below the clock was a large circular sign that read DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE, UNITED STATES MARSHAL. The US Marshals must not be very busy in Fairbanks. I remembered a Detroit police station, from the few times I’d gone there for work or to visit Dylan. It was always bustling with activity. This office seemed abandoned in comparison.
Deputy Hill walked me down a hall, opened a door, and ushered me over the threshold. “Please have a seat. I’ll get you something to eat. There’s a restroom across the hall, and in a few minutes Deputy Stevens, the female officer I told you about, will be in to talk with you.”
“Thank you,” I replied as I sat. Before the door closed, I asked, “Will Deputy Stevens be taking my statement? I’d like to make that call.”
“It will be just a few minutes.”
The door closed, and I sighed. I glanced around the stereotypical interrogation room, seeing the pale walls, tile floor, and metal table with four chairs. There weren’t any windows to the outside, but one wall contained a large mirror I was relatively certain was actually a one-way window. From my side of the glass, I saw only my own muted reflection. Though the colors didn’t seem right, I could tell that my eye was getting worse.
After a few minutes, I took Deputy Hill’s offer of a restroom. When I slowly opened the door, I peered in both directions. Though I’d expected to see someone, instead there were only empty hallways. Entering the bathroom and turning on the light, I cringed at the woman in the mirror.
Damn, Thomas had done one hell of a job on my cheek. The bruising was much more visible under the incandescent lighting.
Not wanting to miss Deputy Stevens, I hurried and returned to the room.
Eating the turkey sandwich and stale chips Deputy Hill delivered, I debated my statement and decided I’d first tell the marshal that Thomas had taken me. Then, once I was granted my telephone call, I’d call Dylan and tell him I was alive and about The Light. If I told the marshals that story first and they didn’t believe me, I might not get the chance to call Dylan.