She reached out with a trembling hand and then snatched the bag.
“Just a little longer, Sugar Pie,” he said. “Just a little longer and then you and me is gonna move to California and be a family. You’re gonna be my girl and I’m gonna be your man.”
Jenna sat straighter in her chair. With a trembling hand, she set the burger down and reached for the water. She sipped the cool liquid, which soothed her dry throat.
Seconds passed as she looked at the food. She picked up the burger again, closed her eyes, and bit into it without thinking. She chewed once, twice before she heard his voice again.
“Little Jennifer?” Her jailor’s voice rattled in her memory.
Her stomach rolled as nausea rose. She quickly pulled several napkins from the holder and spit the uneaten burger into the paper before balling it up into a wad.
“Little Jennifer?”
She tipped her head back, feeling her rapid heartbeat in her throat. Unable to touch the burger again, she scooped it all back in the bag and quickly dumped the entire meal into the trash. She hurried outside to her car where she stood for several minutes. She pulled in a deep breath, filling her lungs, hoping for fresh air but getting a lungful of the thick burgers-and-fries scent. She coughed and got into her car.
Behind the wheel, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. “It’s just a damn burger. Just a damn burger.”
But a glance back at the fast-food place told her she’d never go back inside there or anywhere like it again.
With a trembling hand, she reached for her sketchpad and started to draw the outline of a face. She quickly drew the face of Ronnie Dupree, the man who’d locked her in the closet. Memories of his image had faded over time and for years she’d not thought about him. Now, however, his face came into sharp focus as if it had only been seconds since she’d last seen him.
Her fingers moved quickly, drawing his deep-set eyes, flat nose, and wide, full lips. She traced a large forehead and thinning hair that brushed narrow shoulders. When she was finished, her breathing had grown rapid and shallow and a headache had formed over her left eye. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill my family? Destroy my life?” she whispered.
As she stared at the sketch, the eyes of another came to mind. In the margin, she began to draw a darker set of eyes. She couldn’t say if they belonged to a man or a woman, but their deep, piercing glare unsettled her. She’d been drawing these eyes for three weeks but never once before with Ronnie’s face.
“Who are you?”
The faceless shadowed figure refused to step into the light so she could draw it.
As a forensic artist, she’d been able to coax vivid memories from the most traumatized of victims. She could sit with them for hours and gently draw out details that she used to create a face. What song was on the radio? What did the air feel like? Did the breeze blow against your skin? Think about his chin? What did the room smell like?
She flipped the page in her sketchbook and stared at the blank page for a long time. What did the room smell like? Hamburgers and fries? Was it hot or cold? Hot. Stifling hot. The pink blanket scratched against her sweaty skin. Did the Shadow person ever speak to you? Not to me. Only to Ronnie. What was said? Precise words escaped her, but she remembered a tone of voice. The person was mad at Ronnie. Furious. And then the shadow was quiet.
An answer danced at the edges of her mind, just out of sight. She closed her eyes, summoning it out of the darkness. Show yourself. She waited. But nothing came forth.
Drawing in a deep breath, she set her sketchpad aside and turned on her car and the radio. She chose a station with classical music, and allowed the music to drift over her.
“Keep real quiet now, Jennifer. We don’t want anyone finding you. There’re bad, bad people in this world who can hurt you,” Ronnie had said.
She absently stared into the parking lot of the fast-food restaurant. “Who’s the bad person, Ronnie?” she whispered.
Ronnie remained silent and the whispered words in her memory faded as if they’d never been spoken.
When she was little, her aunt had taken her to the zoo in Washington, D.C., and they’d gone to the lion exhibit. Another little girl had cried in fear but Jenna had not been afraid. The fence, she’d reasoned, would keep her safe. However, that night, as she’d dreamed of watching the lions, she’d touched the fence and it had fallen. All her protection had vanished and the lion had charged. She’d awoken, screaming.
Her aunt had held her close and told her over and over to keep the fences in place. They will protect you. And so she’d stayed behind the fence where she was safe and no one could really reach her. No pain. No love. No intimacy. But life had gone on as normally as possible.
Until she’d found that little girl weeks ago and the fence had collapsed into rubble around her feet. No amount of mental effort could rebuild it and she was left bare, vulnerable, and waiting for a lion to charge.
She knew, now, the fence could never be put back in place. It was gone forever. Obliterated.
“You’re here to get to the bottom of it all,” she said.
Time to remember the closet and understand why Ronnie had been so worried that last day that he’d tied Jennifer up and put tape on her mouth. Who had argued with him and then vanished?
Jenna glanced over at her sketchpad. The eyes she’d just drawn floated on the empty page and glared at her. Breathe in, breathe out.
With the tip of her finger she traced the eyes. Her hand didn’t tremble nor did her heart race. “I’m gonna find you.”
Chapter Seven
Wednesday, August 16, 7:20 P.M.