A Darkness Absolute (Casey Duncan #2)(9)

“I’ll need a list of everyone who has been in Rockton since before Nicole disappeared,” I said. “I’ll cross-reference it against those who’ve been caught out at night, but really, we’re going to be looking at every able-bodied male.” Which encompasses most of the population. Less than twenty-five percent is female, and you don’t get into Rockton if you aren’t “able-bodied”—we just don’t have the resources.

“Anyone on Eric’s list who might be good for it?” Anders asks.

I wish it was a list. It’s a book filled with details he’s gathered on every resident he knows or suspects is in Rockton under false pretenses. Most of it is suspicion, but in Rockton, it’s guilty until proven innocent. It has to be.

We discuss a few possibilities. I don’t tell Anders what Dalton suspects them of. Anders knows we have criminals in Rockton. Hell, technically, he’s one of them. I’m one of them too, but I’m not in the book because Dalton alredy knew my crime when I arrived. I’ve convinced Dalton that Anders needs to know what we’re dealing with, but he’s never seen the book and doesn’t want to.

What I tell Anders is names only, and he gives me his thoughts on each. Two of them arrived after Nicole disappeared. We discuss the others.

“Personally, I like Mathias for it,” Anders says, leaning against the cave wall as we sit, side by side, blanket drawn over our legs.

“Mathias isn’t on my list.”

“He should be.”

“He isn’t even on Eric’s list.”

“He should be. Crazy butcher Frenchman should be on every list.”

“I like Mathias.”

“You like weird. Look at the company you keep.”

I bop my head against his shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I meant Eric. I am the picture of normalcy and mental health.”

There was a time pre-Dalton when Anders and I flirted with the idea of, well, flirting. On paper, he’s perfect—gorgeous, funny, smart, sweet. Finding the deeper and darker parts should have made him even more perfect for me. Instead, it made him too good a fit. Even before that, it would have felt like flirting with a brother. So very wrong.

“Nicki doesn’t suspect it’s someone from Rockton, does she?” Anders says.

“She doesn’t seem to, considering she’s eager to get back there. Which might mean she somehow knows it’s not a resident. But more likely, she just doesn’t think it could be. Because that’s not the kind of person we let in.”

Anders shuts his eyes. “I liked Rockton a lot better when I thought I was the only exception.”

“You’re not that special. Sorry.”

He smiles and squeezes my hand under the blanket. “So how are we going to handle this? Taking her back to the very place where her kidnapper might be waiting.”

“Very, very carefully.”

*

We crawl out of the cave at eight thirty the next morning. It looks like 2:00 A.M., not even a hint of gray to the east.

“It’ll be light soon, right?” Nicole says. “I know it takes a while for the sun to come up, but it gets gray long before that.” She manages a smile. “I’m used to gray.”

As she says that, a realization hits, and I turn to Anders and point at my eyes. Nicole has been in candlelight for …

I keep avoiding the question of how long she’s been down there. I cannot comprehend the idea of being in that hole for a year. Even thinking it sends my brain spiraling, unable to process. I hold on to a fantasy that she left Rockton and was living on her own, and her captivity was recent.

However long she’s been down there, though, she cannot be out here in full daylight. It would be like looking into an eclipse, permanently damaging her retinas.

We can work around that. Put on a helmet, the visor tinted. Blindfold her if we need to. But while I look at that darkness and know “gray” isn’t coming anytime soon, I also know how much she wants to leave—needs to leave. If it were me, I’d run until I collapsed. Get away, as far as I could, as fast as I could.

We set out.





SEVEN

The compass leads us back to the path. We find the snowmobiles and dig them out. Then we discover a problem I feared.

“It’s dead,” I say as I try—again—to start Anders’s snowmobile.

“Is that the technical term?” he asks.

I mouth an obscenity, and Nicole chuckles. Dalton has been teaching me basic mechanics, but there hasn’t been time for more than having him explain while he fixes something.

As I head to open the hood, my foot kicks at the snow and the smell of fuel wafts up.

“I think the technical term is ‘out of gas,’” Nicole says.

She’s right. When the machine ended up on its side, it started leaking fuel through a cap that must not have been screwed on properly.

“We can siphon some from the other sled,” Anders says.

“We don’t have a hose,” I say. “And I’m not sure lack of fuel is the only thing keeping her down. You had a collision and a wipeout. Take mine with Nicole. I’ll follow the path on foot.”

Anders shakes his head. “If you walk, we all—”

“No.” I catch his eye and shoot a look toward Nicole. I made her sit while I examined the sled. She’s winded, and there’s no way she can walk to Rockton.