Chapter Six

Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, forcing Rand to face the morning. Seven o’clock had come and gone by thirty minutes; he could not put off the phone call to Paddy, a call he dreaded making.

Rand grabbed his cell lying next to him by the pillow and dialed the man’s number.

"Murphy here."

"Paddy, it’s Rand."

Paddy’s voice still held the remnants of sleep. "Why the hell are you calling me at this time in the morning?"

"I had a problem last night."

Long moments of silence passed while Paddy attempted to digest Rand’s words. “And the reason I should care about your problems?”

Rand drew a breath from his gut and continued. “Because this problem concerns you. I mean, concerns that box you asked me to take home.”

“I’m still here.”

“Someone followed me home, broke in to my apartment and took the box.”

A string of expletives that would make a sailor blush left Paddy’s lips. “I know this ain’t April Fools’ Day so you best start talking . . . and fast.”

"A man, a man in a black hood broke in and he had a gun. He held it to my cheek and said he’d followed me from your place when I left last night.”

“What! Are you telling me he just happened to be waiting for you to leave?”

“Seems so, yes.”

“Jesus. And I suppose you handed it over to him?”

Frustration edged Rand’s words. “What would you do, Paddy, if someone held a Glock to your head? I didn’t have a choice. Said he’d drop me in two minutes unless I told him where the box was.”

A lengthy pause crossed the line, and when Paddy spoke, raw panic laced his tone. "Jesus how could this happen? Why would someone wait for you to leave work and follow you?”

“I have no idea, spent all night asking myself that same question.”

“Think it was a cop?” Rand could almost hear the wheels turning in the man’s head as he sorted through the possibilities. “It doesn’t make sense. How would anyone know you’d be carrying anything? It had to be someone who knows something.” Before Rand had a chance to answer, Paddy ground out the words. "Look, kid, I’m only going to say this once so listen good. I don’t care what you have to do to find out who that man is. You get that fucking box back, you hear?”

Anxiety and fear mingled and turned Rand’s stomach. "How am I going to find out who he is? Didn’t you hear me? His face was covered by a black hood."

"Think about it, kid. Why did he wear a hood? Because," Paddy drew out the word, "the asshole didn’t want you to recognize him."

"I think you’re right, but─”

"Didn’t you say your Pa was a cop before they put him in the ground?”

"Yeah, but I don’t think there’s a connection there." Why the hell am I protecting that asshole McGuire?

"Don’t be a stupid jackass, Rand. The guy is a cop and, damn it all anyway." Paddy paused and Rand wondered more than ever what the man was hiding. “Someone sent him to trail you. The question is, why?"

"Well, I don’t have that answer for you. You asked me to take it home and I did. Next thing I know, someone wants it and they want it bad enough to threaten my life.”

"I don’t give a rat’s ass why he trailed you. I want that box back before the man shoots off his mouth about what’s in it."

"What is in it, Paddy?"

"None of your goddamned business, that’s what’s in it. I don’t want to see your face today, not unless you got that box with you. And I want the name of Robin Hood and his address. Find out who he is and where he lives. I’ll take it from there, make sure he doesn’t stick his nose in where it don’t belong again. Today, Rand! You got that, before he can tell anyone what’s in there."

"I’ll do my best, but I’ll need a gun."

"You’ll do better than your best. You don’t bring that box to me along with an address, your ass isn’t worth shit on the street. Understand, you fucking little idiot?"

"Did you hear me, Paddy?" Rand swallowed, hard. "I said I need a gun."

"I heard you. Get your ass down here and I’ll leave one behind the bar with Splinter.”

"Won’t Splinter wonder why I’m picking up a gun?"

Paddy’s sarcastic laugh sent a shiver racing down Rand’s spine. “Splinter will know, but here’s a question for you: If you don’t know who you’re dealing with why would you need a gun?”

“You haven’t heard one word I’ve said. He shoved a loaded Glock in my face and then moved it to the back of my skull when I wouldn’t give him the information he needed. What the hell; do you think I’m going to sweet-talk him into returning it to me?”

"I don’t give a shit how you get it back. If you don’t, you’ll not only have a loaded gun in your face, you’ll hear it fire at close range.”

When the line went dead, Rand pushed the end button on his phone and then clasped his head with his hands. What a fucking mess. After he collected his thoughts, he dialed the number for information. When a woman answered, his trembling voice spoke. “Do you have a listing for a Frank McGuire?"

A minute passed before she answered. "There’s an address for a Frank McGuire, private investigator."

“That’s it." Rand jotted down the address as she rattled it off, thanked her and ended the conversation.

He plucked a pair of denim jeans and a white cotton T-shirt from his closet, got dressed and left his apartment, closing the door behind him.

After he picked up the gun from Paddy’s Place, he’d pay a little visit to Frank McGuire. One way or the other he had to get that box back or he’d be dead by morning.

* * *

Emily picked up the box from the coffee table and held it in her hand, every muscle in her body tense. "Does this have anything to do with Rand?"

"Christ, I hope not."

The door to the den creaked open. "Mr. McGuire, you’re back." Marlow turned to her mom. "What’s going on? It’s something about Rand, isn’t it?"

A dark aura descended on Frank as the images from his prior session tried to enter his mind. Voices of the victims called out to him from beyond the grave. Victims of The Black Rail. An involuntary shiver coursed through him. Something about Marlow raised red flags. He concentrated on the features of the girl’s face through the thick makeup and blue defining curves that winged outward around her eyes. They reminded him of cat eyes.

Like a thousand other gothic teens, her hair had been streaked in ribbons of neon pink, white, and yellow. Her dark clothing, black nails and slick, ebony lipstick sent his mind down a path that rendered him uncomfortable.

Frank wondered what Quinn would think of her appearance were he alive. Knowing Quinn and his acceptance of everyone, the girl’s gothic attire and makeup wouldn’t have fazed him. But Quinn wasn’t here and Emily had to face the conundrums of raising two children without him, kids who each rebelled in their own individual ways after losing their dad. What a loser he’d been in deserting her and Quinn’s kids after his best friend and partner died.

"Hey, Marlow." Emily turned to her daughter with an exasperated sigh. "You’re late, and you didn’t call."

"Sorry, the movie lasted longer than I expected."

"We’ll talk about breaking curfew tomorrow. Go to bed, Marlow, it’s late."

"I asked if there is something going on with Rand. You can’t keep pushing me aside, treating me as if I’m still in middle school. If it involves Rand, I have a right to know."

"If I treat you like you’re in middle school, it’s because you act like you are. Children who forget to call their parents so they don’t worry aren’t considered adults in my book."

"Mom, I’m sorry." Marlow looked at Frank. "Did you find Rand?"

Frank thought about lying, but his gut instinct told him Marlow was too smart to buy it. He looked at Emily and she nodded. "Yes, I found him, thanks to your clue about the billiard hall.”

"Well, please spill it. I’m dying here. Is he all right?”

Frank nodded. “He’s alive and living in an apartment, more like a studio to be exact.”

With hands on hips, Marlow pressed for more. “Did you ask him why he won’t take our calls? Tell him Mom and I are worried sick? Why didn’t you bring him home?”

Frank forced his voice into temperate mode. “I think we all need to calm down and come up with a plan.” He looked into Marlow’s eyes, so much like Rand’s. “He’s twenty-two years old. No one can force him to come home.”

"Marlow." Emily’s strained voice cut through the silence in the room. "When we know something for sure, I’ll let you know." She rose from the loveseat. "I told you to go to bed and I’m not telling you again."

Marlow’s body stiffened for a brief moment as she faced off with her mother. She glanced at Frank but must have thought better of saying whatever was about to spill from her mouth. With a huff, she turned and stomped from the room, calling out over her shoulder. “Goodnight, but you should know, I’m not letting this go.”

Emily shook her head and gave an audible sigh. "Some days I think I’m a complete failure. I can’t help but wonder if Quinn had lived . . .."

"Don’t do that, the what-ifs, what-might-have-been."

"You’re right." She ran a hand across her forehead. "The box, what’s in it?"

"Open it."

Emily lifted the lid and drew her brows together. "What’s this? What do they mean? You found this at Rand’s place?"

Frank nodded, wondering how to broach the subject without causing Emily to launch into hysterics. He decided to deliver it straight up. "You’ve heard of The Black Rail, right?"

Confusion crossed her features. "Yes, who in Baltimore hasn’t?"

"Then you know he garrotes his victims with a white cord."

Emily looked at the contents in the box again. "As in this white cord?"

Frank nodded. "The same."

"The handcuffs, the gun?" She paused. "What kind of gun is this anyway?"

"A stun gun."

With a gasp, she settled her moist gaze on him. "The newspaper said The Black Rail uses a stun gun and handcuffs.”

Frank said nothing while she processed the information.

“Oh, God. Oh, no. You’re not suggesting Rand―?"

Frank put a hand in the air. "No, Emily, I’m certain Rand isn’t The Black Rail."

"But why then? Why did Rand have these items in his possession? Oh, God, I can’t take much more of this." A tear slid down her cheek. "You think Rand knows who The Black Rail is or is somehow involved with him?"

"Yes, but I don’t think Rand had any idea about the contents of that box when the man gave it to him for safekeeping.”

"Safekeeping? I’m not following any of this.”

“Rand works at the billiard hall. The man who owns it gave it to Rand, told him to take it home and hide it. When I followed Rand home, he had it tucked under his arm. Naturally, after I entered his place, the box was nowhere in sight. That raised my suspicions.”

Anger rode the crest of Em’s tone. “What’s his boss’ name, this man who gave it to my son?"

"Paddy Murphy."

Emily rose from the loveseat, paced a small area in front of the hearth with her fingers rubbing her forehead again. "Do you think this Paddy Murphy might be The Black Rail?"

Frank came to his feet, walked over to Emily, put his hands on her elbows and forced the woman to look at him. "I don’t know at this point. I find it perversely ironic Murphy made Rand promise to hide the box.”

“Dear, God. What has he gotten himself into?”

“I don’t think Rand has any idea. He said he ran errands for this Paddy, did his bidding in exchange for rent and . . . weed.”

“About now, I wish I would have been more understanding about the pot, not ragged on him all the time. Like you said, he is a grown adult now.”

“You did what you thought was right at the time. Anyway,” Frank shook his head and sighed. “That’s water over the bridge now. Rand is into something that could be dangerous, very dangerous, without even knowing it. And the only thing that matters now is that we get him away from that man and convince him to come home until it’s all sorted out.”

"Kidnap him, take him against his will. Knock him out if you have to, just bring him home." She pushed his arms from hers and resumed her pacing. "Once he’s home, we’ll go to the police, take the box, and tell them this Paddy character gave it to Rand."

Frank put his arms out at his sides. "If only it were that simple."

"Why isn’t it?"

"Because by now, Murphy knows someone paid Rand a visit and forced him to turn it over." Frank softened his words. "Paddy would also know the man who took it has looked at the contents and made the connection to The Black Rail."

"What are we going to do?" Emily stopped in her tracks, searched Frank’s eyes and realized by his silence he was a step or two ahead of her. She waggled a finger at him. "Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not using Rand to entice this monster, The Black Rail, out into the open."

"It’s our only chance to grab this guy before he kills again."

"No! I won’t allow you to do it!"

"Emily, listen to me, please. Last night, one of the dead girls made contact with me."

"Don’t speak to me about communicating with the dead! Rand’s alive and that’s all I care about."

"I’m close to revealing the killer’s identity. Giselle tried to tell―"

"Giselle?"

"The Black Rail’s last victim. Giselle indicated he’s ready to strike again." Frank softened his voice. "And she said something else."

"What, what else did this dead girl tell you?"

"She didn’t tell me anything; she shows me. It’s so hard to explain, but it’s more like she transmits her thoughts to me. I interpreted those thoughts to mean I shouldn’t be fooled by appearances, and she spoke of darkness.”

Emily’s hard as stone face and sparking eyes told him she’d like to slap him. "Darkness! My son’s life is in danger and you speak to me of darkness and appearances?" She gathered herself and looked at him through a veil of anguish. "What other thoughts were sent from her to you . . . and I mean, exact thoughts?

Frank huffed. "Something like “I cry, yet have no tears, I scream, yet no one hears. Darkness is all around me and only you can set me free."

"Oh, my God!" She brushed the tears from her cheek with her fingers. "What does that mean?"

He clasped her face between his hands. "I don’t know, but in the morning, an agent from the FBI will drop off pictures of the victims. The images he gave me before didn’t show the victims’ faces. When I get them; I’ll try channeling Giselle again.”

Emily broke into full-blown sobs.

"I promise I won’t let anything happen to Rand. Give me a day, Emily, one day, and Rand will be home, safe and sound, and hopefully, I’ll find that black-hearted bastard called The Black Rail."

Emily fell against his chest, her body limp from crying. "You have one day, Frank. If Rand’s not home, I’ll go to this Paddy’s billiard hall myself and raise holy hell until he leaves with me. Isn’t it bad enough I lost Quinn? Now I could lose my son. I can’t bear it, Frank. I’m telling you, I won’t make it through this time."

Frank guided her toward the loveseat and eased her down. Then he cradled her in his arms. “One day, Emily, that’s all I ask. Dry your tears now because I have to go, but I promise I won’t let anything happen to Rand."

She looked up and held his eyes. “I’m holding you to that promise.”

Frank stood, rubbed her shoulder for a brief moment and then walked from the room with one thought in mind.

Rand would pay for causing all this misery.