Too Dark To Sleep Read online

  Table of Contents

  TOO DARK TO SLEEP

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  TOO DARK TO SLEEP

  DIANNE GALLAGHER

  Brayer Publishing, LLC

  BRAYER PUBLISHING, LLC

  P.O. Box 1534

  Frankfort, IL 60423

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or otherwise, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2005, 2012 by Dianne Gallagher

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  ISBN: 978-0-985954-116

  November 2012

  For Rob.

  My best and most honest reader.

  TOO DARK TO SLEEP

  Chapter One

  Pausing in a small patch of light, Maggie Quinn tasted the dark, hot and metallic. The detective forced herself to remain calm. There was no time to panic, so she didn’t. Instead, she moved. There was a door ahead and he might be there.

  Behind the next door.

  Every muscle strained as she inched closer. Wet with sweat, the detective turned the knob and flung the door open.

  The smell slapped her.

  Maggie’s stomach heaved. She swallowed and ordered it to stay in its place. The odor meant nothing. Just garbage that hadn’t made it to the curb or rats, poisoned and left. Something from the corner of her eye twitched. She spun to her right, turning toward the empty pallets stacked against a wall.

  “Not there,” she whispered.

  He wouldn’t try to take her from behind. He was too arrogant. When he came for her, he would come head-on. Maybe. Of course, Maggie had been wrong before. Something to her left flickered. She turned again, trying to control the gun in her hand as her elbow cramped with its weight.

  Nothing. There was nothing but darkness.

  “A fucking raindrop in the ocean.” Maggie heard her father’s voice in her head and almost smiled. She’d been wandering in what could be an empty warehouse for hours. And for what? To stop him, the detective told herself. Maggie Quinn needed to stop her man.

  There. Behind her.

  She spun.

  Something moved.

  In front of her.

  She spun again.

  “Cool it,” she ordered herself.

  Anywhere, her brain whispered. He could be anywhere. And Maggie would lose, but she couldn’t afford to lose. Not now. Not yet.

  Light.

  Under the next door.

  That’s where he was.

  Maggie ran for the door. For the light. For her man.

  A sound.

  She stopped in her tracks and listened. Was it him? That sound. Was that him? Hard to say, but it was something and something was definitely better than nothing. Her breath was ragged. Her heart pounded. Calm, she ordered herself. Stay calm and listen.

  A laugh. Small. Private.

  What Maggie wanted was behind the next door. She felt it. Everything else was a distraction. Extra pieces thrown into the puzzle box and she wasn’t falling for it.

  “Time...” a voice whispered.

  But there was no time. Maggie pushed the words away and focused on her goal.

  The next door. That’s all that mattered.

  Her lips were dry and cracked. She suddenly wished for the bubble gum lip-gloss her daughter smeared on her mouth every morning. The sweet, sticky smell of pink filled her nostrils as a trickle of perspiration ran down her forehead. She wanted to brush it away, but didn’t dare take her hand off the one thing that could save her.

  He was behind the next door. Maggie smelled him. Felt him. He was close and she couldn’t wait. There would be no help. No one knew where she was. No one would come and save her. No one ever saved her. Maggie Quinn was alone. Pushing her arms back to relieve the searing ache between her shoulders, the detective unconsciously said a prayer as her shoulder hit the door.

  Light filled the room. Maggie’s heart stopped as she lowered the gun.

  Too late. Her man was here and gone.

  A young woman lay on the floor, eyes open, staring at nothing. Carefully approaching the body, Maggie Quinn crouched down and began to work. She had to focus, assess the how and when so she could pin down the who.

  There was time to strip the girl. Maggie’s brain clicked as her eyes panned the body. She was young and pretty, of course. He liked them that way. The shoes were still on. Expensive ones. She came from money. He liked that, too. Necklace, bracelet, an earring. Maggie touched the skin with the back of her hand. Still warm. Bruising around the neck. Small ovals in a pattern indicating a manual strangulation. She focused on the red chasm between the woman’s breasts. Clean cut right down the center, ribs separated revealing the organs beneath.

  When she had the information she needed, Maggie stood and started her pattern, a loose spiral working away from the body. She would miss nothing this time. This time, she would nail her man. T
his time, no mistakes.

  The small hairs on the back of the detective’s neck jumped to attention. Her nostrils opened to take in more information. He was still there and he was watching. He wanted to complete the work Maggie interrupted.

  A laugh.

  She looked up and caught a glimpse of a blue nylon jacket disappearing through another door at the far end of the room. Without thinking, Maggie Quinn followed.

  Out of the warehouse.

  Into the alley.

  Into the dark.

  The night air stung her lungs as she ran to keep up. He was there, ahead of her. All she needed was a glimpse of his face. Just one brief look. That’s all.

  The blue jacket was slowing down. Losing wind, she thought. Maybe he was older than the profile. Maybe he had a medical condition. Maybe he was crashing, his adrenaline spent on the kill. Maybe Maggie was crashing, searching for the right straw in an endless field of wheat. No, she wouldn’t lose. Not this time. The detective picked up her speed. Behind her, the dark swelled and crested like a boiling wave of black oil ready to crash down on her.

  “Fuck you,” Maggie sneered, pushing harder to escape the rushing black, pushing harder for just one look. Her hand reached out, reached for the blue nylon that was only a foot in front of her.

  “Time...”

  “No shit,” she said between clenched teeth. It was time. Time to catch her man. Time to finally end this. Maggie Quinn threw herself forward at the figure. She caught a pinch of fabric.

  “Gotcha, you bastard.”

  Maggie struggled to keep her grip, but the man’s shoulder jerked and she hit the asphalt as the jacket started around the corner. Blood rose from her shredded face. The detective slowly raised her head and wiped the red from her eyes so she could see.

  Someone was there in the alley. Someone was with him.

  A child. A girl with red hair in her face. And a white and black dress with white tights and brown boots.

  Maggie opened her mouth. “Don’t!”

  The child looked up at the man as if knowing him. The killer looked back, but there was nothing for Maggie to see. No face to remember. Only a smile. An arrogant smile. As the man took the little girl’s hand and disappeared around the corner, the blackness swallowed them.

  “Time...”

  “No!” Maggie screamed until the blood rose in her throat and the shadows closed in, pulling her down. Down into the pit. Where no one goes willingly. The hot liquid darkness coagulated into thick, viscous black, tearing at her flesh, breaking her bones. The pain was nothing. She was used to it. The emptiness… well, that was another matter.

  “Time to wake up.”

  Maggie Quinn’s eyes snapped opened, then closed just as quickly as the late morning sun hit them. After a moment, her eyelids slowly lifted. She wasn’t in the warehouse. She was home. She’d been home for months. Taking a moment to slow her breath, Maggie looked out the window at the cars passing the greystone. Something heavy landed on her chest. Paper. Lots of paper. Something important. Richard. She slowly opened her eyes, ready to savor the words. The documents stared back at her. The first name on the page was her own. Margaret S. Quinn. The S was for Scarlet, a cruel joke inflicted by her father. He loved the movie. Richard A. Freeman was the second name. The A stood for Asshole. A conscious choice. Maggie touched the papers, feeling full for the first time in months. Finally, her husband had the balls to do something.

  “You better read it,” Antoine Rayney said. The young man looked damn serious. His dark skin stood out against the pale green t-shirt, his arms folded in that so-what-the-hell-do-you-want-from-me-now gesture previously reserved for the floor nurse of the hospital where he and Maggie first met.

  There was no point in reading it. Maggie knew what the papers meant. Richard was finally going to put their marriage out of its misery.

  “Read it.”

  That tone meant Rayney already had. With the young man’s help, Maggie sat up. Her arm was killing her. Only days earlier there had been a needle in her vein to make sure she stayed hydrated and nourished. Rayney tried tubing, but Maggie simply vomited as soon as he left the room. It was just another attempt at a final solution. After being hooked up to the liquid life for over a week, Maggie realized no one would ever let her go peacefully. A more logical option was needed, so she scribbled “Jell-O” on a Kleenex and the needle came out.

  After absorbing the first page, Maggie stared at Rayney. The young man shrugged. She kept reading, nodding slightly when a page needed to be turned. As the final words were digested, Maggie closed her eyes and felt weight finally return to her body.

  Rayney grabbed her hand and put a collection of brightly colored pills in it. “So what’s the word?” he asked.

  Maggie squeezed her eyes tighter. Maybe everything would just go away if she kept them shut long enough.

  “I need an answer.”

  Fuck you, her brain whispered.

  “Says here you got thirty days.” Rayney leveled his voice. “Time to wake up.”

  Maggie opened her eyes and stared out the window near the hide-a-bed. She would’ve weighed the options had there been any. Instead, she opened her mouth. The corners of her lips cracked with the unfamiliar movement. Hopefully the vocal cords still worked.

  “Okay,” was the only word she said.

  It was enough.

  Chapter Two

  His palms were slick. As he reached for the cup, the porcelain handle slid from his grasp. Hot coffee flooded the table, the paper, the plate with his spinach and egg white omelet. A waitress was there in a second, dutifully cleaning up the spill. If his wife had been there, she would reprimand him for keeping such long hours, staying at work too long. Being too dedicated. Too good.

  He wasn’t thinking much of work. Another vocation held his attention. One he was equally suited to. The same thought plagued him for weeks, months. It had been so long, so very long. When would the next gift be given? The last had been so easy, so simple. Like a faithful dog, the subject was right there when needed and so cooperative. Providence. That was it. Simple Providence.

  His life was highlighted by such moments of grace. Those times when everything slipped so neatly into place as though God himself was completing a magnificent work of art. He smirked at the idea. His education, his marriage, his work… everything came so easily. So simply. In a perfect world, talent was rewarded and he was a talented man.

  But it had been months. Months since the last token was bestowed. The gift offered a release so complete, a power so encompassing it gave him an erection every time he thought about it. And he thought about it often. He thought about them all.

  When? When would the next gift come? The anticipation was maddening. His work would soon suffer unless an appropriate outlet was found. Shoddy work was unacceptable. It led to mistakes and mistakes led to suspicion and, well, suspicion was simply unacceptable. It was only because he was above suspicion that he allowed himself to give in to his more unique urges. That’s where all the fun lived. Taunting those who would catch him if only they were as smart as he was. There were very few who could make the game interesting. Very few who could even begin to approach his level of expertise.

  For a while it had been very interesting, almost challenging. It was great fun to hunt, but even more enjoyable to be chased while hunting. And when it was one great predator pursuing another… well, that was pure bliss. But he lost his counterpart, a casualty of the hunt, and everything became easy again. Too easy. He picked up a gift while on vacation. It didn’t really count because no one was watching. No one was waiting for him to make a mistake. Instead, everyone looked in the wrong places and made the wrong conclusions, so he went back home.

  Now he wanted more. He wanted to be pursued again. He wanted to lead. He wanted… more. That exquisite build of tension, stretch
ing him until he almost screamed, then pushing him further to the breaking point where he was unable to utter a sound. The build, then the release. The ultimate release. That’s what he wanted. But God chose not to smile on His child. He chose to deny. That was acceptable. Denial built character, increased the tension. Fostered patience. But he had been patient a very long time and now his work might suffer.

  He made up his mind right there as he watched the woman mop up the last of the spilled coffee. If the vehicle didn’t present itself by the end of next week, he would take matters into his own hands rather than waiting for God to smile.

  Chapter Three

  Richard Freeman sat in the conference room. The hearing was informal. Just papers to sign, then it would all be over. He’d have half the greystone, half the trust and his wife could die in peace. She was a stubborn woman and she would keep trying until she got what she wanted. A twinge of pain struck Richard. And she didn’t want him. She wanted to die.

  Hopefully, the attorney he secured for Maggie would show on time. The envelope in his lawyer’s briefcase would be discreetly delivered after the formalities. Inside was enough cash to ensure the smooth and swift execution of the law. That was the nice thing about Chicago. A little money deposited correctly went a long way. It even managed to keep the old man in the dark. Money and some favors called in. Paddy Quinn had connections, but so did Richard and all signs indicated he was in under the radar. Hell, Maggie’s father probably didn’t even know there was a prenup. Richard was the one who asked for it… before he knew how much his wife was worth.

  Judge William Siddell looked at his watch, then sipped his coffee. “If council is not here in ten minutes, gentlemen, we will proceed.”

  Richard and his attorney, Ted Bradley, nodded and smiled. The judge already received his envelope. Richard scribbled absently, waiting for time to pass. He gazed languidly at his Rolex Daytona, a gift to himself for enduring the last year. It was ten now. That left plenty of time to work out, shower and grab a nice lunch with Vickee before driving to the house to collect a few final items.