Missing - Adam Nicholls (ready player one ebook txt) 📗
- Author: Adam Nicholls
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Book online «Missing - Adam Nicholls (ready player one ebook txt) 📗». Author Adam Nicholls
“That creep told me to make sure you get this.” Sandra handed it to him, and it beeped as soon as he took it.
It was a text message from a phonebook entry named Brahm. Mason stared at it for a long time, not wanting to read it. What if it was a photograph of Amy? What if it was a short, snappy sentence to confirm he’d killed her? Or worse.
Finally, taking everything he had, he read the message. As he did, he was knocked back by those three fate-sealing words.
“What does it say?” Sandra begged, her lips quivering in fear.
Mason couldn’t speak. He handed her the phone and slouched back into the armchair. He watched her expression as she read, moving her lips to the words that would play over and over in his mind until the day he died.
Hush, little baby.
Sandra handed the phone back, horrified.
Some weeks ago, Mason would have been the one to comfort her. Instead, he watched her hand come to her face as she gasped into her own palm and fought hard not to cry. Joshua did nothing, Mason noticed while he stared at the text and considered his options.
Another text came through, and a third in quick succession.
I’m not sure I want to read these.
But he had to.
Expecting the worst, he opened them and read aloud. “She belongs to me now.” It felt disgusting. Perverted. And that was just the first one. “Would she really miss this finger?”
For a few minutes they sat, waiting for the police to turn up. When they did, they were interviewed and questioned, and prints were taken off every surface the killer had touched.
Even Bill looked to be in shock as he comforted his old friend.
“Please, help me,” Mason said to him, swallowing his pride. “I know I let you down before. I know your son died because I couldn’t stop this guy. But please, just… help me.”
Bill stood assessing him. And who could blame him? It was a Mason Black he’d never seen before. “I’ll do what I can. But I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“So, that’s the extent of the SFPD’s help? It’s all well and good that I was consulted, but I thought you guys might have something to go by.” Mason went to the wall and put his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be.”
Mason had no idea what to do. How could he help his little girl? Why did the killer leave the cell phone, if only to taunt him? Just as he asked himself these questions, the phone rang on the table with an eerie circus theme.
“Shut up. Everyone shut up!” Bill yelled, and the room fell silent.
Mason went to the table and reached for the cell phone with one trembling hand. The screen read Brahm. A cruel jest. An inside joke. A sick sense of humor.
Knowing he would regret it, Mason answered.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Black, how nice to hear from you. You’re doing all right, I hope?” The killer’s voice sounded odd, his relaxed tone very unlike his mother’s. Something about it gave Mason the sense he’d truly fallen off the sanity wagon.
Mason put the phone on speaker and sat it on the table. “Keep your filthy fucking hands away from my daughter. You hear me?”
“Aw, don’t be like that. Stay positive and you might be able to help her.”
That must mean she’s still alive. Mason looked at Bill, who was taking notes and snapping his fingers at a nearby techie. It looked like he was trying to get the call traced, but Mason knew they wouldn’t get time. “What do you want?”
“You.”
There was a dreadful silence, but it spoke volumes. Evie stood at the back of the room and nibbled on her nails.
“Why?”
“Because you’re a pain in the ass. So, I’m gonna offer you a deal. Your life in exchange for hers.” There was a long pause. “What do you say?”
Mason didn’t even have to think about it. The only question was whether the killer would stay loyal to his proposal. Somehow, Mason didn’t think so. “You’re bluffing.”
Marvin Wendell laughed. “Only one way to find out, huh? You have exactly ten minutes to get to Cliffside Hill. A second later, she dies. Come alone, or she dies. The clock’s ticking, Mr. Black.”
Mason knew the place—you couldn’t go any farther before you plummeted to the rocks below. It was a common place for teenagers to hang out, but never late at night.
“I’ll be waiting,” Wendell said.
The call ended, and Mason stuffed the phone into his pocket.
“What’re you going to do?” Evie asked, still chewing the polish from her nails.
But Mason didn’t hear her.
He was already halfway out the door.
Amy had tried banging and screaming, but it was hopeless. Nobody was around to help her, and even if they were, they wouldn’t be able to hear her. The killer had made her well aware of that when he’d slid open the mailbox-sized slot.
“It’s soundproof,” he’d said. “Try all you want, but nobody will hear you.”
With this in mind, she became silent in the darkness. The cool metal pressed against her cheek, while her eyes were sore with streams of hot, stinging tears. She would let them out now, while the killer wasn’t looking—her father had taught her to be strong, so that was the only side of herself she would let show.
As much as she wanted to beg for her life, Amy sat in silence. If she could just get a moment to talk with the man, she might be able to manipulate him a little. So total silence was probably her best bet.
After a while, he must have noticed she’d been mute. He opened up the slide and peered through, looking over his shoulder instead of at the road.
“Where are you taking me?” Amy asked, leveling her voice to sound calm.
The killer crooked an eyebrow and closed the slide, inviting darkness.
Amy was left alone again, if only for a few seconds.
The slide came open once more. “Away.”
She knew he hadn’t been taking her home. Why would he? He had everything he’d ever wanted now, and even her father might not be able to stop him.
But that didn’t keep her from praying.
Mason blasted through the dark with nothing but the Mustang’s headlights to guide him.
Cliffside Hill. That was where he had to go. It was lucky he knew the place. He’d taken Sandra to the restaurant for their proposal dinner all those years ago. Mason didn’t think the killer knew that, so it was a hell of a coincidence.
The cell phone jingled in his lap.
Another text.
Mason steered with one hand and read it with the other: Time is running out.
He was damn right about that. With only four minutes left on the clock, he had to punch the gas. Maybe he could make it if he cut a corner or two, but this would have to be the best driving of his life.
He eased on the brake and swung the rear end of the Mustang around the bend. It was a heavy machine, not built for this kind of precision driving. It roared as it gripped the road, belching out smoke from beneath the screeching tires.
Not far to go.
The phone went off again. A picture of
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