Midnight Exposure (Midnight #1)(21)

The winter solstice loomed just a few days away. Until then he’d pass the night hours awake and lonely. On the solstice, she’d be bound to him forever. Her life would flow from her body to his. Life and death would be mingled in the strongest earthly connection.

Until then—

He pulled his boline from his pocket. The white handle of the ritual knife fit comfortably in his palm; its curved, sickle-like blade sharp as a razor. He knelt by her side, the concrete floor unyielding under his knees. He turned her palm upward, drew the knife across her soft skin, and dipped a forefinger in the blood that welled from the shallow cut. Raising his hand to his forehead, he drew the lines of Brigid’s off-kilter cross on his flesh.

Perhaps some of her power could sustain him until the solstice. Then, her sacrifice would be his salvation.



John lifted his head from the mattress and listened. Thumping and the barely discernable murmur of voices echoed through the ductwork.

The man was back. Terror coiled around John’s heart like a python and squeezed. His gaze darted to the open cardboard box next to the door. The usual bottles of water and meal replacement bars were still piled inside from this morning’s visit. Unless it was tomorrow.

Had he blanked out an entire day? Or was this a new, unexpected visit? A steady dose of some sort of tranquilizer made days difficult to track, but a change in the daily routine could mean his time was up. Despite the man’s promises, John knew in his soul that death was on the agenda.

A shiver passed over him, but this third-story room wasn’t as cold as the basement prison he’d occupied those first few weeks. His heavy wool sweater and jeans were filthy but warm. The heat register gave an occasional puff of warmth. They’d taken his boots, though, so his feet were always cold.

With a groan, he rolled to his side, then slid off the mattress onto his hands and knees. The chain that attached his ankle to the iron bed frame clanked to the floor. Limbs stiff with disuse trembled. The impact with bare wood amplified the aches in his dehydrated joints. Unnaturally loose muscles protested and threatened to let his face flop onto the hardwood. Again.

Mustering energy from fear, he crawled toward the window. The tether played out before he was quite to the wall. Stretching, his fingers grasped the sash and he heaved to his knees. He closed one eye to peer through the half-inch gap between the trim and the plywood sheet screwed into the frame.

Lazy white flakes swirled across his field of vision. The overcast sky gave no clues as to the time of day.

The rough grate of wood on swollen wood paralyzed him. He knew that sound well, the scrape of the door to the basement. He couldn’t prevent the tremors that seized his limbs any more than Pavlov’s dogs could’ve stopped salivating.

Panic pulled at his remaining sanity. The strange symbols drawn in the cellar flashed through his mind in a terrifying montage.

The door rasped again. John’s bowels pinched. Memories of gut-searing hunger and debilitating blows received in those first days flooded his brain. Days when he’d hung on to life with both hands. Now he almost wished he hadn’t. A quick death would sure beat this slo-mo dying routine he had going on now. But he hadn’t known that then. And even if he had, he wasn’t sure he could’ve made a different decision.

Survival dominated all other instincts, hijacked the body and brain when necessary. He’d learned that the hard way. Imminent death brought forth the animal in him.

John held his breath and strained his ears for more sounds. Footsteps on the bare wood treads of the basement steps rang through the heat duct. More thumps. More footsteps. A vehicle passed beneath his window. Then silence.

He wasn’t coming upstairs.

John’s bones shook as relief swept through him. Then he stiffened.

Those noises meant one thing. Someone else had been imprisoned in that cold and dank cellar. Someone else was chained like an animal, ready to be beaten and starved into submission. Someone else was going to be left with no options but to obey or die.

Bile surged into his throat. Helplessness drained his soul like a parasite. But what could he do? Escape attempts were futile and resulted in more pain. He couldn’t withstand any more pain.

A yearning was fanned inside him. He should shout down the register to the new prisoner. Just thinking about contact with another person other than his kidnapper sent a wave of giddiness through him. But terror muted any sound that vibrated in his throat.

Bad things happened when he disobeyed.

He turned and looked across the few feet of space to his mattress. So far. Too far. His body curled into itself, wrapped in the fear of an unknown fate. As his eyelids drifted shut, he felt his humanity slip further away.



In the back office of the diner, Nathan looked up from his invoices at three sharp raps on his door. “Come in.”

Chief Hugh Bailey stood in the doorway “We have a serious problem.”

“What’s up, Hugh?” Nathan set aside his paperwork and straightened his spine. Unease whispered along the back of his neck.

Hugh swept his red knit hat from his head. A few snowflakes drifted to the commercial tile. “Just got back from the Black Bear Inn. Mae had a tourist check in earlier today. Went out this afternoon. Never came back.”

Grease from the hamburger Nathan had eaten for dinner rose into the back of his throat. “Was she tall, with long red hair?”

“Yeah.”