The Lost Orphans Omnibus: A Riveting Mystery Page 15

  A woman’s wailing echoed from the basement. Rachel steadied herself and headed that way. She opened the door and looked at the steps descending into blackness. Keeping her hand on the rail, she moved down one step at a time until she reached the concrete bottom. She pulled the beaded string dangling from the ceiling light and flooded the basement with slightly flickering light.

  Fifty-year-old furnishing packed the basement, which stretched the length of the house. There were old mannequins, coat hangers, lamps, couches, and more items covered with dusty white sheets. Rachel only went down here to wash her clothes, and even then the place gave her the creeps. This is where it happened, Rachel thought as she remembered that fateful day almost a decade ago. This is where I saw my first Orphans. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  The wailing bounced off the walls. In between a covered bookshelf and a coat rack, the shadowy figure walked with her face buried in her hands.

  “Martha?” Rachel called out.

  The woman turned to her and vanished behind another tall furnishing.

  Rachel scanned the room, keeping an eye out for movement.

  The light flickered. Blackness enveloped the room. Rachel turned to the door at the top of the stairs just as it slammed shut, locking Rachel in the abyss-like basement.

  “Cute,” Rachel mumbled and pulled out her phone. She turned on the flashlight, blasting it right up into Martha’s blood- and bile-dripping mouth. Her brown hair flowed down the front of her face.

  “You never told me you had a lover,” Rachel said, feeling the hairs on her arm and neck stand up.

  “What do you want from me?” Martha asked.

  “To find the person that hurt you. The same person that took your daughter.”

  The woman wailed, louder this time. Her cry seemed to rattle Rachel’s brain.

  “Was it the man you were seeing?”

  “No. Never!” Martha shouted.

  “Sounds like denial,” Rachel said.

  Two 1970s-era lamps with glass shades rose up into the air as if raised by invisible strings. They hovered for a moment then flew across the room. Rachel flinched as they missed her by inches on either side and shattered against the concrete wall behind her. Though Rachel kept a hard exterior, her heart pounded violently. She stared down the woman. “Finished?”

  Rachel realized her mistake the moment she stopped talking. Every couch, lamp, chair, table, and all other large, heavy furniture scraped across the floor for about one second and then took flight.

  In a split second, Rachel dropped prone, hitting her chin on unforgiving concrete, as everything in the basement flew over her head and exploded into wood fragments and glass shards on the wall behind her. Taking no time to look back, she scurried across the floor as far away from the falling debris as her palms and knees would take her. Rachel got halfway through the room before stopping. She rolled onto her back and, with wide eyes, observed all of the old and stored furniture dammed up the wall up to the basement roof. The front of the rubble shook, and a few broken chair legs and cushions rolled onto the ground. An arm reached out of the hill of debris, followed by a leg. Soon, an avalanche of broken antiques and furniture spilled across the basement floor as Martha burst out of the debris and charged at Rachel.

  Rachel shielded her eyes with her arms as the woman fell to her knees before her. Martha buried her pretty face in her palms, letting her long brown hair flow down the tops of her hands and to her elbows.

  Rachel took a deep breath, still unable to comprehend the damage. On the right wall, her washer and drying connections sparked. Both machines were crumpled against the wall along with her heap of dirty clothes.

  Rage and dread built up inside of Rachel. She was a gasket about to blow. The furniture barred her passage upstairs. She was stuck with the wailing woman.

  Rachel lifted her smartphone, which had a large spider-web crack across the front. She shined the light on Martha, whose weeping filled the basement. Rachel balled up her fists. Instead of knocking the Orphan’s lights out, she brushed aside Martha’s long hair. The Orphan lifted her face, ugly with tears, from her palms.

  With a heavy frown, Rachel forced herself to hug the woman. Not because she wanted to, but because it felt right. The woman’s body was cold and ethereal, making the gesture much harder than Rachel had anticipated. The woman’s body became more solid but just as cold the longer they stayed like that. The woman cried into Rachel’s shoulder. Rachel rubbed her back to soothe her.

  Rachel glanced up at the damage, felt a flicker of rage, and then closed her eyes. She opened them a few seconds later, and light had returned to the basement. All the broken furnishings were repaired and covered by dusty white sheets, back in their original positions. The glass lampshades were unblemished and resting on antique lamp stands. The washer and dryer were back against the wall, in perfect condition. It was as though the disaster never happened. Rachel checked her phone. That was still cracked. What I damage stays damaged. What they damage is only temporary.

  Rachel let go of the wailing woman. With the tip of her finger, Martha wiped tears from her eyes.

  The exposed light bulb above them flickered.

  “Ready to tell me about this man of yours?” Rachel asked.

  Martha sniffled. She looked at Rachel with bloodshot and extremely dilated eyes. “He saved me.”

  “How so?” Rachel asked, knees sore from staying on the hard concrete.

  “He picked up the pieces after Michael died.”

  Rachel remembered the picture of the vet hanging on Martha’s wall. Michael must be her husband. “Who is this savior?”

  “Giovanni Caro,” Martha replied. “He would never hurt me.”

  “I believe you,” Rachel lied kindly. “Tell me where he lives. I want to talk to him.”

  Martha gave her the address.

  “He would never hurt me,” she repeated. As soon as Rachel blinked, the woman was gone. Rachel got to her feet, reminding herself of her age, and gave Peak a call.

  “Giovanni Caro.” Peak said as he typed. “Yeah, the database says he’s been dead for forty years.”

  “Good thing I have experience with such people. Let’s go pay Mr. Caro a visit.”

  4

  Leaves Like Fire

  In Cherokee, Nantahala Forest translates to the Land of the Noonday Sun. Peak drove Rachel down the surprisingly well-maintained dirt road flanked by tall trees and long shadows. It was the type of scenery that reminded Rachel of why she loved the quaint town of Highlands, North Carolina.

  With one hand on the steering wheel and his dark eyes on the road ahead, Peak asked, “You ever date one of your Orphans?”

  The question took Rachel by surprise. “Can’t say I have, Detective.”

  “It’s not a ridiculous question,” Peak defended himself. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

  Rachel deadpanned, “I’ve never thought about it.”

  “Right. I forgot you don’t date.”

  “And you’re a regular Casanova?” Rachel replied sarcastically.

  “I am most certainly not, though we all have passions.”

  “Peak,” Rachel said seriously, “I really don’t want to hear about your passions.”

  Peak kept his eyes on the road as it veered left and rumbled onward in the autumn-touched forest.

  Rachel stretched her arms. “How’s Clove doing?”

  “She’s decided to be a creepy clown for Halloween,” Peak said dryly.

  Rachel snickered. Peak glared at her.

  The road ended at a large, modern estate surrounded by nature. With nice wood furnishings and a unique architectural layout, the building had high ceilings, an attached two-car garage, and a lot of tall windows.

  Peak squinted as he stepped out of the car. “Quite the place.”

  Listening to bird songs and other sounds of nature, Rachel and Peak made their way to the front door and gave it a knock.

  After a moment of no response, Peak le
aned over and peered into the window. “No one’s home.”

  “Got your lock-picking tools?”

  “Always,” Peak replied and started on the lock.

  Rachel scanned the area, keeping an eye out for any cars or people. The place was completely isolated. An eddy of wind slung a few twirling dead leaves at Rachel’s feet. Peak unlocked the house and started inside. As much as Rachel would have liked to take the legal route of searching a house, Orphans’ testimonies didn’t convince judges. Thus, Rachel had to be more flexible. With a background as an undercover cop, Peak was used to such compromises.

  Rachel stepped into the quiet house, taking immediate notice of the alarm system mounted on the wall. Her heart skipped a beat until Peak pointed out it wasn’t active. Rachel tried the light switch. No power. Weird. With the amount of windows, enough sunlight flooded the place that artificial light wasn’t necessary this early in the day.

  Rachel glanced around the large, open den, which had a curved couch, a fireplace, and a massive 4k TV. Expressionist art decorated the walls, mostly of people with misshapen faces and deformed bodies. The paints used were a collection of oranges, reds, and browns. The guy’s festive.

  Keeping their weapons drawn but lowered, Rachel and Peak split up to walk through the house. The interior was well kept and well designed. The countertops had a light coat of dust, but apart from that, the place was in good condition. Rachel checked the upstairs rooms. All the beds were made, and though most of the dressers were empty, the master bedroom had a number of nicely folded collared shirts tucked inside. Many of them still had tags. With a gloved hand, Rachel pinched a black strand of hair lying on one. Pulling out a small plastic bag from her pocket, she dropped it inside. It wasn’t the greatest DNA sample, but it was worth archiving. She opened the massive closet. Suits and blazers lined the walls on hooks. Every article of clothing was new and pristine. Some still had tags, while others hadn’t left their plastic wrapping. There was a shoe cubby too. Oxfords and crocodile-skin business shoes rested inside.

  Rachel searched every facet of the room for a journal, receipt, or anything that would point the case in a certain direction. She slid her hand between bed mattresses and checked behind the bathroom mirror, finding a bottle of Advil. It held three pills. Rachel spun it around, revealing the name Martha, which had been written out in fine cursive. After taking a picture with her phone, Rachel put it back where she found it. She left the bedroom without any great find.

  In the kitchen, Peak stood before the expensive refrigerator. Blue tape wrapped the door shut.

  “What’s your gut telling you?” he asked as Rachel approached from behind.

  “Nothing,” Rachel replied as she studied the secure refrigerator.

  “I guess we’ll rely on facts.” Peak withdrew a pocketknife.

  “He’ll know we messed with it,” Rachel warned.

  Peak slid the point of the blade under the corner of the tape and peeled it far enough back to pinch it. He gave Rachel a look and proceeded to gently lift the blue tape. Within a few moments, he had accessed the refrigerator. Inside, he found a casserole dish wrapped in Saran Wrap. There were a few half-opened wine bottles, Yellowtail being one of them. Rachel snapped pictures of the fridge’s interior. When she was finished, Peak closed it and opened the freezer. Tiny ice cream tubs, and frozen berries in a Ziploc bag. Peak opened the bag and finished out one of the round, black berries. He dropped it into another one of Rachel’s evidence bags.

  “Devil’s cherries,” Peak said as he resealed the Ziploc.

  Rachel didn’t know how long the berry would keep. She stuck the evidence baggie in her leather jacket’s front pocket. “We need to get a surveillance crew here on revolving twelve-hour shifts to see if Mr. Caro comes home.”

  “If we can convince McConnell that the berry was found here,” Peak said as he put the tape back in its original position.

  Rachel was ninety percent sure that Giovanni was her guy, but that didn’t mean that she could convince the rest of the department. Not everyone put up with shady antics like Rachel and her Gift. She needed to be crafty in how she caught Giovanni. If I can only get him into the interrogation room. The Orphans might be able to confirm the rest, and then my priority is just finding the proper evidence. It seemed so simple when she thought about it.

  Peak and Rachel ventured to the last place they hadn’t explored: the basement.

  The door stuck when they tried the knob. Peak used his shoulder to get it open all the way. Under the guidance of Peak’s mag light, they descended into the empty cellar. A fat roach scuttled across the drab grey floor. Not a spotless house after all. A number support beams lined the center of the empty room. In the darkest corners, far in the back of the room, Rachel saw a rusty bed frame with a thin mattress.

  Keeping close to Peak, she walked toward the ominous bed. Rachel became goose skinned. The Sense had activated but very lightly. Danger, Orphan, or some other evil Rachel didn’t know. Her look told Peak to keep his guard up. They arrived at the twin bed, which was tucked in the corner of the basement. The mattress was uncovered and as hard as rock. Yellow pee stains bloomed on the middle portion of the mattress. The stains were possibly years old. The ammonia stench lingered faintly. The flashlight beam flashed over a number of roaches smashed into the concrete floor. Under the bed, Rachel found half of a rat. Its head and upper legs appeared to have been bitten off. By the looks of the gore and guts spilling out of the carcass, the unfinished rodent was a day or two dead.

  “Rachel,” Peak said and pointed at the wall the bed was pressed against. The words This is your home were crudely carved into the concrete.

  Like a wave, the Sense splashed over Rachel’s body, causing her to shake. “We need to go.”

  The ceiling creaked. Dust fell on Rachel’s head and shoulders. Someone’s up there. A sharp smell violated Rachel’s nose. Gasoline, she realized at once. Whoever was upstairs ran for the basement door. Weapons up, Peak and Rachel dashed for the stairs.

  Slam!

  Too late.

  The door had been shut and locked.

  “Highlands PD, open up!” Peak yelled as he darted up the steps.

  Like blood, clear gasoline leaked through the slit beneath the door and rolled down the step, ending at Peak’s shoe. At the bottom of the steps, Rachel felt something plop on her forehead. She glanced up, seeing more droplets of gasoline falling from cracks between ceiling planks.

  “Help me get this door open,” Peak commanded Rachel.

  Rachel heard footsteps running overhead toward the front door of the house.

  “We need to get out before he starts the fire. Help me!”

  Without time to think, Rachel charged at the door. Her shoulder thumped against the exit at the same time as Peak’s.

  The door didn’t give.

  Peak and Rachel repeated their assault.

  It still didn’t budge.

  Rachel smelled smoke. They went back for a third and final desperate attempt. With a cracking noise, the door flew open, and Rachel and Peak went stumbling into the living room.

  Gasoline had been splashed all over the floor, furniture, countertops, and on the walls in a liquid trail leading back to the front door. It was already lit. The tongues of fire licked the floor and dashed up the walls and furnishings, moving toward Rachel and Peak at high speed.

  “Run!” Rachel shouted as she beelined for the house’s den.

  The fire spread swiftly as Rachel fired two rounds into the tall window up ahead. The glass didn’t shatter, but its fortitude weakened. Rachel guarded her face with her forearm and dived at the compromised glass. It broke under the weight of her body.

  She took flight for a few seconds before tumbling down the hillside with a barrage of glass shards. The world spun as Rachel rolled into the forest. Dirt, sticks, and rocks smacked against her skin and jacket. Her journey ended in a dip in the mountainous terrain. Rachel lay on her back with her arms outstretched. She gulped air and l
ooked up at the indigo sky painted with white clouds. A tower of black smoke ruined the pretty image. It traced back to the shattered window and rolled into the sky.

  “Peak.” Rachel’s voice cracked like wood under fire.

  She didn’t see her partner. Using every ounce of energy, she forced herself to sit and get a better visual of the surrounding woods.

  There was no sign of Peak.

  Rachel called his name again, feeling her heart twist and stomach fall. She took hold of a low tree branch and pulled herself up. She saw double and saved herself from toppling over. She called out again and started the hike up the mountain. She grabbed handfuls of leaves and partially buried roots to assist her in her climb. Cuts and scrapes marked her body. Her joints screamed with every motion, but Rachel kept on. Her foot slipped out from under her, causing her front to hit the dirt. Grimacing, she recovered. The window was not far away now. Spires of fire grew within.

  Rachel tasted smoke as she climbed. She covered her mouth in the lip of her shirt. She kept an eye out at the left and right of the house, expecting Giovanni to round the corner and put a bullet in her head. She grabbed ahold of a small shrub and projected herself forward. She could see the small grassy ledge beneath the window. So close.

  Something moved inside the house. A figure dived out of the pillar of smoke. Rachel reached out her hand as Peak jumped over her head. He snagged her hand and thumped against the dirt incline next to her.

  He winced and held tightly to Rachel’s hand. Grabbing a fistful of dirt, Peak pulled himself up the incline. He coughed a few times as Rachel released his boney hand. Smoke had smeared his brow black.

  “Where the hell were you?” Rachel asked.

  “I thought I could follow him out the front. It didn’t work out.” They reached the little grassy ledge and walked around the back side of the house. The fire inside seemed to bake them. Rachel’s legs felt weak. She moved around to the front of the house. She stopped at the driveway. The garage door was open. A car was missing. The Impala remained.