Into the Light (The Light, #1)(7)

As I descended through the winding catacombs on my way to the ME’s office, my mind spun with possibilities. While the number of homicides in Detroit had decreased since the early 1990s, so had the population. Detroit still had the dubious distinction of one of the highest violent crime rates in the nation. The city where I lived and my best friend had disappeared was dangerous, and I was about to witness another of its casualties. I’d encountered death in the course of my job—often. But that was different. That was work. This was personal.

As I rounded the final corner, I stopped and my eyes locked on the compassionate but piercing stare of Dylan Richards.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

His confident swagger disappeared as he moved silently toward me. Each step measured the time I stood rooted to the tile.

“I didn’t want you to do this alone,” he said, reaching for my hands. His warmth enveloped my fingers, making me suddenly aware of the coolness of my own body.

“How did you know to come here? Do you know that this is her?” My anxiety rose with each question, as did the pitch of my voice. “Have you seen her?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t seen her, and I don’t know. I was at the police station and heard the buzz. I tried to reach you, but your phone went to voice mail. I sent you a couple of texts. When you didn’t answer, I took a chance and called Barney. He told me that he’d just told you about this.” Dylan squeezed my hand again. “Like I said, I didn’t want you to do this alone.”





CHAPTER 3


Sara


The moment the nurse left, Jacob wordlessly released my hand, scooted his chair across the floor, and began pacing, his footsteps sounding from near the foot of my bed. I didn’t need to see him to know his mood—his irritation was evident in each stomp. I waited for him to say something about what had just happened. I wanted him to explain who Brother Timothy and Father Gabriel were and what power they possessed. I wanted to know how these men had the right to withhold water from me or anyone else. I wanted to understand the allegations that Brother Timothy mentioned. I needed answers.

Though it seemed as if Jacob had defended me and my behavior, he’d also lied and answered each question without regard for my response. I wanted to understand why he’d done that. With each strike of his hard-soled shoes that drummed a staccato beat across the tile floor, I sensed his unease as mine grew.

The rhythm of Jacob’s pacing monopolized my thoughts, playing in a loop with a four-four count: four strides to cross the width of the room, the fourth step containing a scuff—his turn—then four strides back again.

My mind swirled with theories. Maybe we’d argued before the accident. Maybe he hadn’t sent me out on the icy roads. Each thought increased my anxiety, causing it to rise degree by degree until it neared the boiling point. I imagined the man who continued to pace. The vision I created had blue eyes and a scruffy jaw. I wasn’t sure if that image was my memory returning or an imagined portrait based on the feel of his hands and face.

Suddenly my heart stilled as a loud knock echoed throughout the room. Pressing my lips together, I cringed at the thought of someone from the Commission returning.

“I have the ice chips,” the nurse said, with the opening of the door. “Would you like me to feed Sara?”

Internally I groaned. Again I wasn’t being addressed, only spoken about. After all, I was Sara. Maybe someone can ask me?

Before I had time to dwell on my lack of autonomy, Jacob replied, “No, give me the cup. I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s my assignment—”

“Sister, if we hurry before the ice melts, it won’t violate the Commission’s authority. But if the Commission decides that ice is a fluid, it’ll be my responsibility, not yours. I asked for ice and you brought it to me, not Sara.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “I won’t mention it.”

“But if it’s mentioned,” he said with authority, “you gave the ice to me.”

“Yes, Brother. Do you need anything else?”

“Sara’s medication. Dr. Newton said her body heals best while she sleeps.”

“I’ll get it, but first I’ll give you some time with your ice. The sleep medication works very fast.”

Seconds later the door clicked shut and, judging by the silence, I believed the nurse had left. Suddenly everything I’d wanted to say and learn dissolved under my growing need for the moisture of the ice chips. Unconsciously my tongue darted to my chapped, cracked lips as I waited for the cool wetness Jacob controlled.

Finally I heard Jacob scoot the chair beside my bed closer. In my mind I’d created images of my tiny world. In those images the cushion of the chair where Jacob sat was covered in plastic or vinyl. I didn’t know the color but had determined the material by the hiss it made as he lowered his weight.

Jacob brushed my cheek, wiping away a tear that I hadn’t realized I’d shed. I turned away from his touch. This wasn’t right. I couldn’t put my finger on my reasoning, but deep down I didn’t believe I was someone who cried or allowed others to control my every move. Jacob pulled my chin back toward him. I waited for his words of support and encouragement. They didn’t come. Instead he simply demanded, “Open your mouth.”

The bristling of my spine told me to fight, but if I did, I wouldn’t get the moisture my body craved. After only a moment’s hesitation, I did as he instructed. My reward for obeying came in the form of a tiny sliver of ice. It wasn’t much, but the cold moisture felt like rain on the dry cracked earth. Closing my lips, I savored the clean, fresh goodness sliding down my throat.