In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(122)

So whatever. It felt stupid, forced, but she climbed out onto that garbage to listen to anything it might have to say to her.

It was so quiet here. The wind had picked up, ruffling her hair and drying the dusty sweat on her face. There were even more bed frames than she’d thought, piled up on top of each other, higgledy-piggledy. There were various patterns of mesh. Interlocking circles, swirling mazelike coils. And . . . what was that? A flash of pale blue.

Her stomach clenched, but she got down and forced her hand through the torturous patterns of wire. Straining for the little thing.

It was a little stuffed bear. She got hold of its ear, but almost ripped it off. The fabric was rotten from exposure to the weather.

Suddenly, she wanted that f*cking teddy bear with all the single-minded resolve of a three-year-old. She flung bed frames aside, heedless of spiders and scorpions that scattered at the sudden movement. She got close enough to pull the bear free, slicing her thumb on a broken IV bottle in the process. It was covered with the fibrous egg-laying fluff left by insects and arachnids. Still in one piece. Barely.

It had been made of pale blue chenille. One of its button eyes was gone. Stuffing poked out of the hole, so that it gave her a rakish wink. Its seams were rotten, and probably an entire ecosystem was nesting inside it, but she cradled it as if it were a newborn, careful not to let the blood from her cut thumb stain it further. Her hands shook.

Here it was. The reason she was here. The bear was her catalyst. Her link, to the little child who had treasured it.

The link broke through the ego barrier. It let her feel it. It reminded her what she was willing to bleed for.

There was no other building to explore. She’d seen every room, every closet. The sensible thing to do now was to go to the police, to Tenente Morelli, the woman who had interviewed her yesterday, who spoke excellent English. She could tell the Tenente her suspicions, let the cops open an investigation and make whatever they could of it.

But she had no sense yet of having done her duty. She wasn’t finished here yet. But with what? With what, Mama?

She hiked up the gully once again and around the building. Maybe the spot where Mama had snapped her fateful photo would have a message for her, the way the atrium had. Or should have had.

The spot was hard to find. Everything had changed. The chain-link fence was a tangle on the ground, the building had decayed, the rocks had shifted. But she finally found it. As close as she could figure.

Mama had been so careful to frame that cleft in the rocks in the exact middle of the other half of the picture, and the way she composed her pictures left nothing to chance. The cleft looked like a cave opening.

Well, and so? Sveti tucked the teddy bear into her bag, walked over to that pile of boulders, and began to climb.

There was a narrow opening at the top. Just wide enough for a small, narrow woman to wiggle through on her belly.

Once inside, the roof rose up into the shadows, and the floor sloped swiftly downward. She was in a large cave, the back of which was lost in darkness. The only light came from the slot she had just slithered through. It had the air of a cathedral, with light streaming down from the rose window high above, and the rest of the room a vast, mysterious darkness. Bats fluttered, startled by a visitor.

She hated darkness. They’d been punished with it often. It was so easy for the lazy Yuri and Marina to slam the door and cut the lights.

Fuck you, you whining little shits. Take that.

She’d refused to get phobic about it. She couldn’t afford another crippling hang-up. But she still hated it.

She dug out the flashlight and shone it into the chamber. The cave sloped down, and farther back, the roof was not high enough to stand. The mineral formations were pale, weird shapes in the darkness, the light flickering eerily over their pallid surfaces.

She stuck her finger into the bag, brushing her fingers over the teddy bear. Could there be more clues in this cave? Was that the message of Mama’s picture? She closed her eyes and asked, like a prayer. A plea, aimed down, up, out. Anywhere it might get a benevolent listening voice. This place must be thick with ghosts.

She cradled the bear and thought of the child who had carried that toy. Help me. You deserve to have your story told.

She rooted herself, eyes squeezed shut. The air was heavy and humid, smelling of bat droppings. A hollow drip sounded. Her sliced thumb throbbed. Burned into her closed eyes was the pattern of interlocking metal rods and rings. A three-dimensional labyrinth of . . .

Labyrinth. She had fixated on Renato’s garden maze as the labyrinth. But could it be this? Her directions were . . . for this cave?

Oh, God, no. If she got lost in here, it would be like going back into the black hole where the traffickers had held her, but worse, and forever. She’d die alone in the dark. Everyone had their limits, and this was hers. She would do what Sam had begged her to do. Pass it to the police. Have them assemble a team of spelunking professionals, with maps, equipment, lights, ready to face this godforsaken cave and reveal all its secrets more effectively than she could ever hope to do.

She opened her eyes and a little girl stood right in front of her.

It was a hallucination, of course. She knew that so completely, she wasn’t even particularly startled. Brought on by stress, suggestion, exhaustion. The little girl was maybe three, dark skinned and barefoot. She wore a stained white cotton blouse and loose cotton pants, with flowers embroidered on the hem. She sucked her thumb, staring up at Sveti with huge, liquid brown eyes. Her hair was a tangle of black curls.