The Lost Orphans Omnibus Page 12

  “Gotcha! I win!” Mallory exclaimed, pointing a finger at him.

  Ashton studied his pale hands as if trying to figure out what went wrong.

  Seeing his sadness, Mallory put out her hands again. “Okay. You try to get me now.”

  Ashton seemed confused. Since Mallory met him a few days ago on the way home from church, the boy had seemed perplexed by a great many things. He’d never had Italian Ice or played on a smartphone. By the way he put his hand on the screen, Mallory theorized that Ashton had never watched TV before. Despite all of that, he was the sweetest boy Mallory had ever met. He’d picked wildflowers for Mallory and called her pretty. He would listen more than talk. He was a great friend, even if he never took off his cheaply made, slightly tilted jack-o’-lantern mask.

  Hesitant, Ashton rested his icy palms under Mallory’s. They locked eyes once again. Mallory felt her heart spike as she waited for Ashton’s attack. If she didn’t pull her hands out fast enough to avoid his slap, she’d lose. Mallory didn’t like losing, but she also didn’t like seeing her friend sad—thus, her dilemma. Maybe she’d give him this victory, but what was the point of winning if it wasn’t done fairly?

  After a few moments of stillness and listening to the cool wind outside the upstairs bedroom windows, Mallory was tempted to recall the rules of the game.

  Slap!

  Mallory quickly retracted her sore hands. “Ow.”

  The tops of her hands were throbbing, pink, and tingling. “That really hurt.”

  Ashton cast down his gaze without saying a word.

  Reluctantly, Mallory leaned over and rubbed his upper arm in the way her mom did to Mallory when she was sad. “Cheer up. You won.”

  Ashton turned his jack-o’-lantern mask to face her.

  Mallory smiled at him softly. “Let’s play a different game. Charades. Take off your mask.”

  Ashton pulled his arms back, tearing himself from Mallory’s touch. He shook his head.

  “And why not?” Mallory asked, taking offense.

  “Because,” the boy replied.

  Mallory glared at him, not accepting that response.

  “You wouldn’t like me anymore,” Ashton elaborated.

  Mallory protested. “That’s not true.”

  The two sat in silence. It seemed that awkward pauses made up the bulk of their relationship.

  “Would it be easier if I did it?” Mallory asked.

  Hesitant, Ashton nodded.

  Mallory extended her hands and put her palms on the sides of the cold plastic globe. Slowly, she began to lift it.

  “Mallory!” Her mother’s shout rang from downstairs and made Mallory jump. “Time for supper!”

  Mallory turned back to the closed bedroom door. “I’ll be right there!”

  “Now, Mallory!” her mom replied.

  Mallory’s shoulders sank. Ashton gently grabbed her little wrists and pulled them away from the mask. Before Mallory could say a word, Ashton slung his legs off the side of the bed and gazed at the floor.

  Mallory scooted next to him, feeling the mattress dip below her. “We can still play.”

  “Go to your mother,” Ashton replied rather harshly.

  “But…”

  Ashton faced her. “She needs you.”

  Mallory felt her skin crawl. She realized she was covered in goose pimples.

  “Why don’t you come with me, then?” Mallory bargained. “We can eat together.”

  Ashton shook his head. “I have my own mother to eat with. Go. I’ll stay right here.”

  “Promise?” Mallory asked meekly.

  Ashton nodded.

  Mallory crawled out of bed, flattened down her dress, and headed for the bedroom door. Some strange feeling caused her to hesitate. She wanted to ask Ashton to join her, but he never ate with the family. Frowning, Mallory turned the doorknob and entered the hallway, leaving her pumpkin-headed friend in her room.

  The hall to the stairs had a few photographs of her mom and dad. Her favorite was of her father in his desert camouflage army uniform. He knelt outside of a khaki tent with a wide grin and sports sunglasses. It was the last picture he ever sent. Mallory couldn’t look at it for long before turning glassy eyed. She was always closer to him than her mother, even after the three years he’d been gone.

  Mallory ran her hand down the railing as she descended onto the first floor. From the stairs, she could see the table set with tall, melting candles and steaming dishes of food waiting to be served. Her mother sat at the end of the table with a tall glass of wine and her face resting on her plate.

  Mallory paused two steps away from the bottom. Why wasn’t her mom moving? Something felt very wrong. Gingerly, she approached her sleeping mother and tugged on the corner of her loose-fitting top. “Mommy?”

  Her mother’s eyelids were slightly parted. Her dilated pupils were glossed over. A little bit of wine and bile trickled down her lips and puddled on the empty plate. She wasn’t breathing.

  Mallory kept pulling at her shirt. “Mom? Mommy, wake up.”

  The floor creaked behind her. Mallory swiftly twisted back to the figure silhouetted in the dark kitchen doorway.

  Instinctively, the child took a step back and bumped into the table. The wine in her mother’s glass sloshed out of the side of the bowl-shaped glass and splashed red on the white tablecloth. Mallory gasped as the figure stepped into view. Fear gripped her little heart as she faced the man in the jack-o’-lantern mask, but instead of overalls, he wore a crimson button-up, black slacks, and classy leather shoes. Unlike Ashton’s pumpkin head, this one had a large lightning bolt–like crack that ran from the pumpkin’s crown, in between the triangular eyes, and to the bottom right corner of the mask. Big metal staples held the crack together; their dark metal twinkled under the ceiling lights.

  Too terrified to scream, Mallory sucked in air and darted for the stairs. The man’s shoes clacked behind her as he gained more speed.

  Grabbing the railing, Mallory darted up the first few steps. “Ashton!”

  Her friend stepped out of the upstairs hall and stood sentry at the top of the steps. He stared down at Mallory, completely emotionless, with his mask slightly tilted.

  “Ashton, run!” Mallory shouted as she continued her ascent.

  Ashton didn’t move.

  A large hand grabbed the back of Mallory’s dress and drew her backward. Mallory kicked, shouted, and tried to keep hold of the railing. Her little hand gave way. Her body hit the man’s lean torso. The figure covered her mouth with a sour-tasting cloth, and eight-year-old Ashton watched with his ominous triangular eyes.

  Mallory was pulled farther and farther down the stairs, not understanding why her friend wouldn’t help her. A black ring enclosed her peripherals. Soon, Mallory’s whole world fell into blackness.

  2

  Harroway

  The same night Mallory’s mother died, Rachel Harroway was eating Kung Pao chicken with her father, Liam, and Detective Jenson Peak.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never been here,” Rachel commented over the traditional Chinese music that filled her and her father’s favorite cheap restaurant.

  Peak shrugged. “I don’t get out much.”

  He wore his usual get-up: a navy-blue windbreaker over a collared shirt with a dark-grey tie. He had a square jaw and copper hair that was often lifted by the breeze. His eyes were black as coal, and his thin lips were tightly bound.

  Liam, on the other hand, was in his sixties and had white, nicely trimmed hair and wore a sweater vest. Despite having had his share of ups and downs, he had a sort of positivity and naivety Rachel didn’t see much of in her line of work. He consumed a forkful of slimy noodles. “Rachel and I have been coming here every Tuesday night, God willing, for nearly the last decade.”

  Peak smiled falsely at him, having heard it all before.

  Rachel stretched her arms over her head. It had been a slow day in the office, and her forty-one-year-old joints ached. “Has Clove decided wha
t she wants to be for Halloween?”

  “No,” Peak replied dryly. “She’s torn between the latest Disney princess or a creepy clown.”

  Liam stopped his fork halfway to his mouth. “Quite the stark difference.”

  “Believe me, it is.” Peak glanced at Rachel. “Be thankful you don’t have a daughter, Harroway. They can be very confusing, even at six years old.”

  Staring at nothing in particular, Liam nodded in agreement. “Rachel was a handful. Remember when you drew on the kitchen wall?”

  “Faintly,” Rachel replied, recalling in clear detail the disturbing sketch of a hanged man she’d spent over an hour creating.

  “That was certainly…” Liam looked for the right word. “Creative.”

  “Disturbing,” Rachel corrected. She remembered being fixated, even at a young age, on death. Though she didn’t remember it, Rachel believed that the Gift was probably active then, just at a subconscious level. It launched her into an art career with very niche clientele. However, that ended years ago when she traded an easel and brush for a metal badge and police-issued Glock.

  “Well, I blame it on Halloween,” Liam said with his mouth full. “No child should be subject to such horrors.”

  “It’s just another holiday. It doesn’t mean anything,” Peak replied.

  Liam ignored the comment. “I’m going to preach on Sunday about spreading positivity, not subjecting the young ones to demonic imagery and copious amounts of sugar. You should join me, Detective Peak. You might find the Lord, and Clove will be able to make some new friends.” The last part he said around a mouthful of food.

  “No, thanks,” Peak replied politely. “There’s a special on evolution I recorded for that day.”

  Liam opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. He kept on eating his noodles.

  Rachel was torn when it came to Halloween. On one hand, it seemed like the perfect time for a freak like her to blend in. On the other hand, it brought out all the other freaks from the woodwork, and freaks didn’t always get along with one another.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Anna Sebring. Rachel felt her gut twist. She answered. “Harroway speaking.”

  “Oh, Detective, I’ve been calling all day. Did you get my message?” The woman’s voice was full of worry.

  “I did,” Rachel replied, sliding out of the booth. “All four of them.”

  “Well, did you do it? Did you find him? It’s been nine months. You had to have by now.”

  Rachel stepped out of Chan’s and into the brisk fall air. Lampposts lined the downtown strip, giving the foggy street an eerie orange glow. “We’re doing our best, Mrs. Sebring. ”

  “Let’s meet in person. Are you available now?”

  Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I’ll meet you at the gardens. The gate will be unlocked so you can drive right in. Thank you, Detective. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  “Glad to help,” Rachel replied and ended the call. She took a deep breath and looked down both sides of the empty street. Cheery skeletons and friendly pumpkins plastered the windows of various mom-and-pop shops filled with Appalachian baubles and overpriced antiquities. Rachel returned to the restaurant.

  She stopped at the edge of the booth. “I’m going to head out.”

  “You’ve hardly eaten!” Liam exclaimed.

  Peak eyed Rachel intensely. He fished out a ten-dollar bill and placed it on the table. “I should be getting back to Clove anyway.”

  Disappointment made Liam’s face sink. “You two enjoy your night. I’ll store whatever you didn’t eat in a to-go box.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Dad,” Rachel said, feeling like a child again.

  “I insist,” Liam said with a fatherly tone. “Come back to my place and pick it up whenever you’re free.”

  Rachel headed for her unmarked white 2005 Impala parked outside at the meter. She paid the measly fine and opened the driver-side door.

  Peak approached, hands in his back pockets. His eyes were dark and ominous in the night. “Orphan troubles?”

  “I wish,” Rachel replied. “I’ve agreed to talk to a real human being.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Peak replied dryly.

  Rachel started to duck into her car.

  “Harroway,” Peak said to stop her. “It’s not your responsibility to save every lost soul.”

  Rachel gave him a tired smile. “I know.”

  Unable to deter her, Peak gave Rachel a goodbye wave and moseyed over to his own unmarked Impala.

  Rachel ducked into the car the rest of the way and closed the door. In the rearview, crow’s feet grew out of her olive-green eyes. I’m not getting any younger, that’s for sure. She put the car into drive and started down the vacant street.

  Rachel had an attractive face, even without the makeup she rarely wore. Her jet-black hair was cut to her shoulders, though most days she kept it in a short ponytail. She wore a white button-up under a leather jacket that had faded at the elbows and bottom. Her figure was slender apart from the parts that counted, and though she was a year over forty, she still turned a few heads.

  Letting the cool autumn breeze brush over her pale face, Rachel drove to Highlands Botanical Gardens, where she would meet Anna Sebring.

  The gardens were near the outskirts of town and down a winding road through the woods. The guard booth was vacant at this time of night, and as Mrs. Sebring had promised, the gate was open. Rachel drove in, relying solely on her headlights to navigate the nature-bordered street. It came to an end at a large, lodge-like building and a parking lot. The lodge was the museum and recreation area with all sorts of stuffed bears, hawks, and mounted trout. Rachel had only gone a handful of times since she moved to Highlands nearly a decade ago, though it was always on her to-do list.

  She followed a dirt trail through a copse of large trees with multicolored leaves: orange, yellow, green, and amber. It ended at a clearing beside a large pond that split into multiple streams. Moonlight reflected on the still water. Lily pads bobbed on the surface, while trees formed a circle around the water, giving it a mystical look. The air here seemed so much fresher and cleaner than anywhere else in Highlands.

  Rachel sat down on the wooden bench facing the body of water. She wondered how many lovers had shared their first kiss in this sacred place. Nearby, a sign was nailed to a tree. It read “Danger, Don’t Feed Snapping Turtles.”

  A soft patter sounded behind her. Rachel instinctively reached for her concealed pistol and twisted back to see Anna Sebring. The elderly woman wore a marvelous flowing multicolored top, black leggings, and tiny clean tennis shoes. Her hair was streaks of grey and white, expertly cut and combed into an elegant bob. Her eyes were a deep blue, and her face was pretty despite her years. Nonetheless, tears and stress had turned her cheeks pink and her eyes heavy.

  Without a word, she plopped down next to Rachel, being extra careful not to rest her back on the bench’s dewy vertical slats. She clenched a tissue in her little veiny hand and rested her orange purse on her lap.

  Mrs. Sebring looked out at the flame-like red-and-orange leaves reflecting on the glassy water’s surface. “Nearly nine months have passed since Anastasia left this world.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rachel replied.

  “She had such horrible luck with men but was a good sister. A good mother.” Eyes watering, the woman turned to Rachel. “Her little boy was only ten when he was taken. Ten years old. I want to vomit every time I think about it.”

  “We’re doing everything we can to find him, and to find the man who, you know, to your sister.”

  “Killed her, Detective. That’s the word you’re looking for. Murdered a hardworking single mother for no reason.” Mrs. Sebring scoffed. “And they say you’re the best detective on the police force, but you have nothing to show for it. I’ve been keeping up with you on the news, Ms. Harroway. I know you’re holding back.”

  Rachel set her jaw
. She chose her next words carefully. “No one wants to find this guy more than me, but not every case is solved overnight. Sometimes it takes months, years even, before a culprit is apprehended. I’ve tried every loophole.” Used the Gift in every way possible. “And nothing panned out. I know it’s not what you want to hear, Mrs. Sebring, but you’re just going to have to be patient.”

  Mrs. Sebring averted her eyes and blew her little nose into the tissue. “I just miss Anastasia so much. We were close growing up, you know? With our father moving through women like a revolving door, we sisters had to stay together… God, what I wouldn’t do to talk to her one more time. To hear her voice…”

  There might be a way.

  Rachel felt something tug at her shirt, yet her shirt didn’t move. She traced the feeling to the pond. Something moved under the surface, shimmying the lily pads and coming to a halt at the water’s edge. Without warning, a puffy hand reached out of the water and dug its claws into the wet dirt. A second hand came up and did the same. Raking dirt and grass, the figure pulled herself from the water: it was a wide-framed woman with dyed-red hair and a flowing red dress. She stopped in front of Rachel, blood and bile trickling from the corner of her lip. Her eyes were so bloodshot, they looked red, and her pupils were so dilated that all was black apart from a ring of bright blue. Anastasia, Rachel knew at once.

  “Anna,” the ghostly woman said, spilling more bile and blood down her front. “Anna!”

  Anna Sebring blew her nose again, completely unaware of the ghostly visage standing before her.

  “Mrs. Sebring. Anna,” Rachel said, feeling a tightening in her chest. Don’t be an idiot, Rachel, her conscience told her.

  The elderly woman turned to her, perplexed and teary.

  “Would you like to speak with your sister?” Rachel asked as calmly as she could.

  “Are you joking?”

  “I’m not,” Rachel said firmly.

  Anastasia interjected. Her voice was cracked. “Tell her about the cupboard. Where we hid when our father was angry.”