Away From the Dark (The Light #2)(20)

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.

I suddenly thought about the time difference between Fairbanks and Detroit. I didn’t know what it was. I knew Pacific time was three hours behind Detroit. I believed that made Alaska four hours. My heart sank. Dylan wouldn’t be at the station this late.

Undeterred, I decided I could persuade them to give me his number. I would do whatever I could to avoid staying in this hell, even if it were nighttime in Detroit.

Drinking from the water bottle, I continued to wait for Deputy Stevens. Maybe it was the nourishment or perhaps the rush of freedom, but with each passing minute, I started to become more anxious. Silently I watched the door.

As I waited, for the first time since the night my memories came back, I mentally returned to the accident—the supposed truck wreck that had not only taken my memory and resulted in banishment but also marked the end of my life as Stella Montgomery and the beginning of my life as Sara Adams. Even now I couldn’t recall what had preceded the accident. My last memory from before that was of a parking lot in Detroit. I remembered waking in the mangled truck without sight, crawling from the wreckage, and scrambling in the darkness. My teeth clenched as I recalled the intense pain in my leg and ribs. My hand fluttered to my now-swollen cheek, the same cheek that had been swollen then.

Pacing the small room, I recounted the hard, vicious blows that had assaulted me as I lay trapped upon the cold, hard ground. Tears formed as I came to the same conclusion I’d come to the night my memories returned. I’d been kicked and purposely abused as, throughout the entire assault, the wind whipped around me, whistled in my ears, and filled my mind with white noise until . . . the voice.

In my mind I heard the deep, demanding voice ordering me to stop, even though I didn’t know what I’d done. And then I was lifted into someone’s arms.

My turkey sandwich rolled in my stomach as the scent of musk and leather came back. I opened my eyes and peered around the small room. The memory was so intense that it was as if I could actually smell it, but no. It wasn’t real.

It was familiar—Jacob’s signature scent. I knew in the depth of my soul that Jacob was the one who had lifted me. He had been at my accident. Was he the one who’d yelled, the one who’d hurt me?

I tried to devise another plausible scenario, something other than naming him as my assailant. Nothing came to my mind, no other possibilities.

Eventually Deputy Hill returned, apologized for Deputy Stevens’s delay, and promised she’d be there soon.

“If I could please make a call? I just need to use your computer—”