Critical Instinct(37)

Something that happened. Something had happened and that's why she was in the darkness now. What was it?

Her brain didn't want to go back to that point that had hurled her into the black. But she knew deep in the thickest part of the darkness encased by shadows was the answer. She forced her mind to walk towards it. She had to know what it was.

As she moved closer to that epicenter of darkness, she could feel violent tremors grip her. Her whole body shuddered now as her mind attempted to shy away from what had caused the blackness.

Paige let out a silent scream, pain shredding her brain, as she reached the point where the darkness was the blackest.

And she remembered.

The drawing. That was what had hurled her in here. When she had woken up this morning the agony in her muscles, the sickness in her stomach, the throbbing of her head, it all suggested that she had drawn another victim.

And she had.

She had drawn herself. Dead.

The tremors were overwhelming her now, exhausting her. Paige knew she wasn't going to survive it. She knew she wasn't going to make it out of the darkness in one piece.

The blackness was too thick. She was too cold. She would never find her way.

She wanted to fight, knew she should fight, but didn't know how. She felt her entire body seize as the cold washed over her again.

She had to try. Her mind began to crawl –walking was impossible– but she didn't know which way to go.

And then she saw it off in the distance. The slightest hint of colors, almost overshadowed by the blackness, but trying to shine through. Blues and teals, simmering. So faint. So far.

The shivering made it nearly impossible but she began to move her body towards the colors.

They seemed to fade in and out for the longest time, and Paige didn't know if she was imagining them completely.

But still she kept going.

She heard a sound all around her in the darkness. Almost like a voice, but through so many panes of glass it could not be understood. But the teals and blues we're getting brighter. Not enough to illuminate the darkness but just enough to give her a direction to move towards.

And then she saw the purple at the center of the other colors.

Brett.

These were Brett's colors. Was he in the darkness with her?

"Paige, baby, follow my voice. Come back to me."

He was here with her. Brett would protect her from the darkness, would help her get out.

She could hear him saying other things, but couldn't quite make out the words. She just kept dragging her exhausted mind towards his voice. Towards his colors.

Towards him.

She reached him just as the last of her mental strength failed her. She made one last desperate dive towards the very center of the deep purples and blues and teals.

And the darkness disappeared.

"Brett?" Her voice sounded rusty and unused even to her own ears.

"Paige. Oh thank God."

She felt his lips all over her face and hair. Felt how his arms wrapped around her holding her tightly against him.

She was back. He was with her. The darkness was gone. That's all that mattered. She was still so cold but at least now could feel the warmth he was trying to envelop her in.

Which was good because she couldn't move now anyway. Brett didn't seem to expect her to.

She had no idea how long they sat there with him continuously cradling her and rubbing his hands up and down her arms and back and hips.

She was vaguely aware that she was in her living room –she had no idea how she had gotten there– and that Brett would talk to Tom every once in a while.

Both of them had twin looks of concern on their faces, although the longer she stayed awake and coherent the more relieved their faces became. She finally stopped shivering and tried to sit up from Brett.

He pulled her back to him. “Do me a favor, okay? Just let me hold you for a little while. You scared the hell out of me. Out of Tom too."

Paige didn't want anything different so she didn't argue. She buried her face in Brett's neck. "I'm sorry."

Brett didn't say anything for long minutes. After a while Tom brought in a cup of her favorite hot tea.

"When you woke up I canceled the doctor we had about to come," Tom said, "but I can get Dr. Whitaker back out here if you want. She said she would come. That might be a good idea."

Paige knew she needed to explain what happened. At least to Brett.

"No, that's not necessary. I think it was just a mixture of exhaustion and shock."

She felt Brett nod against her hair. "I never should've brought you in to help with the cases. It was too much. You're not trained for it and it obviously adversely affected your psyche."

She lay back so that she could see his brown eyes. His face was haggard, residual fear etched in his features.

"Yes, I was definitely exhausted. But it was more than that. I need to show you something."

If anything his face got a little more haggard. "What?"

"I drew in my sleep last night."

She couldn’t bring herself to admit that it was her own face and body –her own dead face and body– that she’d drawn.

He framed her face with both hands. “Show me.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight





Brett followed Paige down the hallway to the sleep-drawing room. He wasn’t sure exactly what he thought she was going to show him that triggered her episode this morning, but what he found was much, much worse.

It was Paige.

He swallowed his panic at seeing her features drawn in such striking realism. In the picture she was lying at an awkward angle at the bottom of a set of stairs. Blood dripped from her nose, a piece of jagged wood clenched in one fist, the other curled loosely by her face. Her eyes stared out into nothingness.

She was very obviously dead.

A vile curse slipped from Brett’s lips as he walked closer to the image.

Closer didn’t make him feel any better.

Paige stood in the corner, about as far as she could get from the drawing and still be in the room.

“You okay?” he asked. The last thing she needed was another repeat of her waking coma. Although now he understood why her brain had shut down to such a degree. Her mind had been protecting itself from the most traumatic drawing yet.

“Yeah, I’m just keeping my distance from it.”

Brett didn’t blame her. He wanted to keep his distance from it too. From the picture itself and everything it signified.

He turned and faced Paige. “That,” —he jerked his thumb towards the picture— “is not going to happen. Do you hear me?”

“All the other pictures did.”

“Not all of them. I’m still in hopes that we’re going to find the last lady alive. She isn’t dead or we would’ve identified her like the other women. So, maybe everyone you draw isn’t an actual victim. Maybe they’re just people he thinks about.”

But there could be no doubt Paige was connected with the killer.

“I hope so.”

Brett walked over and wrapped her in his arms. “But you can believe I’m not going to let this guy get to you.”

He felt her nod against his chest, but she didn’t say anything.

“Also, we should take into account that you spent hours looking over your drawings last night. Poring over them in a way you’d never done before.”

“So?” Her voice was small, not combative at all.

“So, maybe that got into your psyche. The fact that we spent time talking about how you should’ve been one of the victims. Maybe this is just your mind’s way of expressing survivor’s guilt.”

“I guess.”

Brett prayed that was true. But the way her mind had completely shut down —trapping Paige in the dark? Brett didn’t think so.

Either way, Paige needed a break from all of this. She’d done what she could and now he needed to shield her from the rest. That he could and would do.

He and Alex, and probably the Feds, would figure out who the killer was. The man didn’t know they were on to him, so didn’t know to be more cautious. Plus, they had time. Another payday wasn’t coming up for over a week.

A phone call from Alex a few minutes later proved Brett wrong.

“We’ve got another victim, Wagner.”

“Is it—?” he didn’t even get the full question out.

“The lady from Paige’s drawings? Unfortunately, yes.”

Brett tried to keep the conversation from Paige, but one glance at her face told him she was aware of what was going on. Shit.

“She was found in Salem. Name’s Denise Rubio. High school science teacher.”

“Was she stabbed?”

Brett could hear the tightness in Alex’s voice. “Yes. Fits the pattern just like we were discussing.”

Brett glanced at Paige again. She’d gone white and was leaning heavily against the wall. He didn’t blame her. This now meant every single woman she’d drawn had ended up dead. He tightened his grip on the phone desperate to find a reason Paige wouldn’t be next on the list.

“How long has Denise Rubio been dead?”

“Coroner says less that twenty-four hours. She already had a crap ton of people looking for her, especially when she didn’t show up for work today.”

“But it’s not a payday.”

“I don’t know why he deviated, man. All I know is that this is definitely the same woman, same position, same brutality as what Paige drew. It’s the same guy.”

Brett knew it. “I’m with Paige right now. I can’t leave her. She’s having some… issues.” There was no way in hell he was leaving her without knowing for sure the blackness wasn’t going to drag her back under.