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Marvin cried out with hope. “Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Okay, okay, you’re okay. You’ll be okay.”
He thought of his young daughter at home with his wife. Just that morning, she had read her favorite book to him all by herself. He had grinned so widely. He had hugged her so tightly. He was so proud of her. His wife made him promise to be safe and come home soon.
If he had only skipped the bar and just gone straight home, he would be in bed with his wife right now, staying up and watching their little girl through the monitor they still kept in her room even though she would be starting kindergarten next year.
He would be okay. He would come home to them. He had to.
He tugged the string. There was no sound. He nearly panicked again until he reminded himself that he wouldn’t be able to hear the bell under six feet of earth, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. He tugged hard, pulling until he felt the string tighten and then continuing to pull, over and over and over.
There was another tinny scratch, and he released a choked laugh of desperate hope. “Hello?” he called. “Can you hear me? I’m in a grave. I’m… do you hear the bell? I was buried alive, can you help—”
Good evening. By now you’ve figured out that you’re in a coffin. The time is now midnight. You have perhaps four or five hours of air left before you asphyxiate to death. There’s still hope.
He listened to the voice repeat the message, and dread slowly filled his trembling limbs.
The message was a recording. There was no one out there. He had no idea how long he had been buried. For all he knew, it was already four a.m., and he was mere minutes from death.
He drew in a ragged breath, but he couldn’t seem to fill his lungs. He drew in another breath, then another, then another, but to no avail. His chest felt tight, and his head throbbed. He yanked on the string, harder and faster and harder.
Panic overwhelmed him, and though he knew he was only hastening his demise, he couldn’t keep back the scream that erupted from his mouth.
Look carefully, the voice finished, unmoved by his cries.Time moves quickly in the dark.
CHAPTER ONE
Faith stamped the bottom of the file and set it with the other paperwork. She picked up the next file and skimmed it, checking for accuracy.
The Cash Cart case had turned out to be a much-needed break from the mental stress of her usual cases. There were no serial killers to catch this time. Instead, she and Michael had partnered with the Secret Service to break up a counterfeit ring that was supplying petty thieves in the Austin area with fake money that they could use to “pay” for stolen goods.
The mastermind behind the case turned out to be a twenty-one-year-old economics student from the University of Texas. Faith shook her head as she stamped this file and moved on to the next. What a waste of life. The kid was a genius. He could have been FCC chairman one day. Instead, he would serve twenty years in prison and the best he could hope for was to learn a trade in prison and come out with some sort of marketable skill that he could use to eke out a modest living. He could kiss goodbye any dreams of working in his field.
Well, criminals weren’t known for making wise decisions.
She stamped the next file and moved on. This was important work—at least to the bookkeepers in Quantico—but it was tedious work. She almost wished she was still in the hotseat with the Boss. At least then she could foist her portion of the paperwork on Michael.
Michael was off today. He had stayed late the day before to finish his paperwork early so he could take Ellie to the zoo. Apparently the new panda exhibit was open and Ellie was a big fan of pandas.
Faith smiled. Michael and Ellie were so cute. Now that she didn’t suspect Ellie of being a secret criminal, she could allow herself to be happy for her partner and friend. It was good to find someone you could love. It came very rarely in their line of work, as Faith knew very well.
Her smile faded as she thought of David. She hadn’t spoken to him in three months, not since just after the Wax Murderer case. The Wax Murderer, Kenneth Langeveldt, had poisoned his victims, paralyzing them and keeping them as stand-ins for his family—whom he had murdered as a teenager—until they died of starvation or heart failure. The name Wax Murderer came about when some clever reporter decided the idea of living statues reminded him of that old horror movie about people encased in wax and placed in a museum.
She had come home from that case ready to make a new start with David. She was prepared to acknowledge that she had been emotionally unavailable and afraid of commitment and tell him that she was ready to let go of the past and work toward a future with him.
She had met him for dinner to tell him all of this only for him to say that he wanted to take a break. He wasn’t sure anymore if there was a future for them, and he didn’t know if he wanted to wait to find out and risk having his heart broken.
She hadn’t heard from him since then. At his request, she hadn’t contacted him, and the silence weighed heavily on her with each passing day. Her birthday was next month, and she was terrified that the day would pass without a text from him.
She realized now that she had been holding out hope that he would reach out to her and that this would all be over. She thought that he was only angry and that when he got over it, he would call her, they would make up, and everything would be hunky-dory again.
Now she worried that she had misread the situation and that he never intended to take her back. If her birthday came and went with no contact, then there would be no doubt.
She reached for the next file and her fingers fell on an empty desk. She had finished her paperwork.
She looked at Turk, who sat patiently next to the desk, watching the TV through the break room window. “Looks like we’re off early today, Turk. What do you think we should do? Pizza and sitcoms?”
The dog met Faith’s eyes, then looked pointedly at her phone.
She blushed a little and said, “Yeah, you’re right. You never know until you try.”
