The Lost Orphans Omnibus: A Riveting Mystery Page 23

  “Swallow,” the man whispered, squeezing her cheeks tighter.

  In a burst of rage, Rachel pushed his hand away, freeing her mouth. She spit a glob of black juice across herself and the man’s nice suit before punching his neck.

  Gagging, the Poisoner shoved his hand into his jacket pocket and brought out the whole plastic bag of toxic berries. He squeezed it in his fist. Black goop oozed between his glove knuckles and out of the bottom of his fist. He shoved it at Rachel’s mouth. She moved her head aside. The bag scraped against her right cheek, leaving an inky black streak from her lip to her ear.

  He went back for another hit, but Rachel caught his wrist. The juices sprinkled across Rachel’s button-up and leather jacket as the leaking bag neared her mouth. The man’s entire glove was stained indigo along with inches past his cuff links. The blood rushed to Rachel’s face as she tried to hold back his advancement. Her other hand was numb from being pinned to the vertical bar for so long.

  Rachel pushed with all her might, but her strength was failing her again. The physical toll her body endured was catching up with her. You saved the girl. That’s all that matters. The bag was inches from her lips. The jack-o’-lantern smiled its sinister smile.

  Like a faraway howling, sirens rang outside.

  Rachel and the Poisoner both turned to the front door.

  The cavalry had arrived.

  Toxic juices slogging down her jaw and chin, Rachel smiled at the killer. Her teeth were stained black from the berries.

  Releasing Rachel’s numb hand, the killer backhanded Rachel. Her entire body lurched to the side, but she caught herself before hitting the floor.

  The Poisoner swiftly got to his feet.

  Rachel turned to him, but her cocky expression turned to dread when she looked down the barrel of the Glock 22.

  The red and blue police lights bounced around the frame of the front door.

  With fierce red-rimmed eyes and a damaged face, Rachel waited for the bullet that would kill her.

  The Poisoner tilted his head slightly to one side.

  “Not like this,” he whispered.

  He lowered the pistol and dashed out of the back door.

  Rachel coughed up more fragments of deadly nightshade berries. She couldn’t get their bittersweet taste from her mouth. She looked back at the hallway, expecting the killer to return and put a bullet in her skull. She grabbed ahold of the stair railing and forced herself to her feet. Her knees buckled underneath her. I need to go after him.

  “Police! Open up!” a muffled voice said.

  Rachel turned to the door as it burst open. Holding large flashlights and pistols, police officers swarmed the hall. They immediately noticed Rachel but branched out across the house.

  “He went out the back,” she told them, though something inside her knew the Poisoner would be long gone.

  “Are you okay, Detective?” one asked.

  Rachel smirked weakly. She’d been killed twice, almost blew out her own brains, and had narrowly avoided the consumption of two dozen poisonous berries. “Couldn’t be better.”

  Detective Peak darted inside, saw Rachel, and swiftly concealed his pistol. He looked at the toxic berries smearing her chin and cheek. “Did he…”

  “He tried. It’ll take more than a little poison to take me down.” Rachel looked out at the street. “How is it out there?”

  Peak shook his head. “Doctor confirmed it was cyanide-laced candy. Three fatalities thus far. Nearly two dozen injured in the hospital.”

  Rachel’s heart sank as she thought of the children. Of the parents.

  “We’re working around the clock to find the source,” Peak explained.

  He slung his arm around Rachel’s shoulders. She did the same to him, and they walked out of the terrifying house and out into the brisk Halloween night. Rachel looked up at the night sky. Millions of stars twinkled in the expanse. It seemed as if Rachel and the moon hadn’t been acquainted for years.

  “He could’ve killed me, Peak,” she said soberly.

  Peak’s lips were pursed, but his eyes were attentive.

  “He let me go,” Rachel said, not understanding.

  She expected Peak to spit out some nihilistic philosophical wisdom about the condition of man and beast and their unpredictable ways. He had nothing, however.

  As her adrenaline ran out, Rachel’s face felt as if it were on fire. She sat on the bumper of an ambulance. “How did you know how to find me?”

  “I didn’t,” Peak replied. “She did.”

  Peak nodded at Mallory Stix, seated on the bumper of another ambulance and getting her heart rate checked by an EMT.

  “Detective Peak!” an officer called out from the house.

  “Duty calls.” Peak groaned. He smiled softly at Rachel and headed that way.

  An EMT gave Rachel a bottle of water and a washcloth. “We’re going to take you back for testing.”

  As she swished the toxins from her mouth and wiped her face, Rachel noticed Mallory looking her way, but at something beyond her. Rachel turned her head, seeing the boy in the jack-o’-lantern mask standing on the sidewalk. An officer walked by him, not paying him any mind. Does she see him?

  Rachel rinsed out her mouth a final time, spat, and headed her way. The EMT told her to slow down, but Rachel ignored his request. She approached the little girl and told the other EMT to give them a minute alone.

  The girl turned her small face up to Rachel. There was something about her gaze that prevented Rachel from looking away. It was as though the child were looking right through her, staring into the marrow of her soul. She said nothing to Rachel and returned her attention to the boy in the jack-o’-lantern mask.

  A chill scurried up Rachel’s spine. “What are you looking at?”

  Mallory’s face was hard to read. “Ashton.”

  Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. Other people had seen Orphans before, but only rarely, when they were near death. “Describe him.” It felt wrong saying the words.

  Mallory looked at Rachel as though she were a crazy person. “He has a pumpkin head and overalls. You see him too, don’t you?”

  Rachel’s world spun. Out from behind the surrounding houses, down the street and across the rooftops, Orphans shambled toward them—the mothers, road-kill clown, the naked men on the rooftops, a toddler with third-degree burns, and many more. They stopped in a wide circle, dozens strong, around Rachel and Mallory. With wide eyes and hard expressions, they watched them in silent expectation.

  “How…” Rachel’s throat dried out. “How many do you see?”

  Mallory looked up at Rachel with her big blue eyes. “All of them.”

  The Lost Orphans: Book 2

  1

  The Man

  “Shh,” one of the children said as they huddled close together.

  Bands of light leaked through the floorboards above their heads. At the far end of the dark room, an acutely inclined ladder ascended to the dreaded trapdoor.

  “Is he coming?” another child asked.

  Ten-year-old Ethan Sebring tightened his arms around the girls. They were younger than him. Their lives weighed heavy on his shoulders, crushing him with a responsibility he never wanted to bear. He pulled them close to his skinny frame and watched the closed cellar door.

  Waiting.

  The anxious breaths of six-year-old Hailey Brewster fogged Ethan’s glasses, but he could not bring himself to wipe them.

  The moment passed.

  Emily Rickers, two years younger than him and twenty times more vocal, whispered, “He’s gone.”

  Ava Thurston pulled herself from the huddle. Her warmth in this cold, dry place was sorely missed. “Of course he’s gone. He was never here, idiot.”

  Emily stood from her knees. The bands of falling light created jail bars across her dark skin, frizzy hair, and dirt-stained pajamas. She craned her head up to the high ceiling and squinted. Though Emily claimed she did not need glasses, Ethan knew otherwise. Turning b
ack to the other three children, she shrugged.

  Ava rolled her eyes. She brushed her finger in the rat’s nest that was her hair and mumbled to herself. The dirt of the cellar coated her cute pink shirt and smudged her pale face and forehead. Ethan remembered his excitement when Mr. Caro chucked her down the ladder and slammed the trapdoor behind her.

  Being alone for so long, Ethan remembered thinking, “A friend!” Boy, was he wrong. Ava stank. They all did, but she smelled the worst. Ethan suffered his own stench long before she arrived, but Ava’s attitude made everything about her worse. She was jumpy and rude; what Ethan’s mother had said about homeschooled kids was true. But she’s your responsibility, a voice reminded him. Ethan felt his skinny gut twist. Part of him wished that Mr. Caro would take Ava how he took Mallory. Pelted by guilt, Ethan quickly shelved the thought. No one should suffer that fate.

  Hailey cried into Ethan’s shoulder. The kid always cried, even when he said something nice. Her hair was so blond it looked white, and her bangs that were once cut over her brows now flooded down to her button nose. She brushed aside her bangs constantly, especially when she wept.

  Ethan hugged her, not as much out of compassion but for her warmth. Though he’d spent most of his childhood huddled under his Superman covers with his nose in a book, Ethan longed for nothing more than the warm kiss of the blazing sun. He remembered the sky in his dreams. Fluffy clouds on blue skies. The summer breeze running its fingers through his hair. The mop he had then was short and very nerdy. These days, his brown locks tumbled onto his shoulders like the mane of some medieval warrior. When he saw his reflection, it reminded him of the greatest stories. The ones where the heroes won.

  “Would you shut up?” Ava told the weeping Hailey.

  Hailey’s crying worsened.

  Ava paced back and forth as she always did to keep her legs from cramping. Dusty wine bottles pointed their cork noses out of the fancy shelves lining the walls. Ethan broke a bottle open once to quench his thirst. He was cupping the red liquid in his hands when Mr. Caro descended the ladder. After a good whipping, Ethan learned not to mess with Mr. Caro’s secret stash. Ethan never tried again. The taste was bitter anyhow, unlike the food Mr. Caro brought: grapes, apples, salted beets, and morsels of grilled meat. Every lunch was heaven in Ethan’s mouth. Some days he’d cried when he ate it. Once, after being served the cuts of grilled meat after two days without food, he gave Mr. Caro a hug. Mr. Caro patted him on the head and smiled behind the jagged teeth of his horrifying jack-o’-lantern mask.

  “I told you to shut up!” Ava shouted at the kid.

  Emily stepped between Ava and Hailey. “Stop it. We’re family until our moms come and save us.”

  Ava cackled with frustration before becoming very serious. “Our moms are dead, stupid.”

  Emily’s eyes watered. “That’s not true.”

  Flushed red with anger, Ava stepped forward until she was only inches from Emily’s face. “Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.”

  Emily’s lip quivered. A tear rushed down her dark cheek. “I don’t believe that.”

  Ava flicked the dark-skinned girl’s forehead. “You’re stupid.”

  “Well… the police will find us,” Emily argued.

  “Mr. Caro will kill us before then, and he’ll eat us like he did that weirdo Mallory.”

  Hailey’s big eyes widened. She turned to Ethan for comfort. Ethan shook his head. He wanted to tell her that Mr. Caro didn’t eat people, but he didn’t know for sure. Mallory’s fate remained a mystery. Though she was only in the cellar for a day, Ethan liked her more than all the other girls here, despite the fact that she had a lot of imaginary friends.

  Emily backed away from Ava and marched to the corner of the cellar to wipe her wet face. Ava put her hands on her hips. She wore an angry scowl on her dirty face and turned back to the ladder.

  Still silence lingered in the darkness of the cellar.

  Hailey pulled herself away from Ethan and rubbed her eyes. A big white moth landed on her middle knuckle. She looked at it and smiled shyly. On his knees, Ethan leaned in to study the insect. Its wings gently flapped, and its fuzzy antennae probed the air. It looked at Ethan with its big black eye.

  Hailey whispered as the moth marched over the ridges of her knuckles. “He’s trapped. Like us.”

  “No,” Ethan said, letting the moth cross onto his hand. He forced himself to his feet. His legs were jelly and his balance off-kilter.

  Ava gave Ethan a sidelong glance and scoffed as the ten-year-old boy grabbed the railing of the ladder. He turned his gaze up to the square trapdoor. Dust flakes danced in the bars of light. Trembling, he took the first step.

  Emily turned back and watched, her mouth slightly agape.

  Ethan conquered another rung, fear pressing at him like a boulder.

  He took another.

  Ava and Emily traded worried glances. Using the diamond-shaped wine cubbies of the nearest shelf, Hailey pulled herself to her feet.

  Ethan’s mouth had dried out when he reached the ladder’s top. He extended the moth up to the thin gap between the slats of wood and waited. The moth fluttered off his finger and through the gap. It took flight into the room beyond.

  Ethan marched back down the ladder, his heart raging in his chest. He faced the girls. He remembered his mother’s words. Father’s gone. You’re the man now. Ethan felt he was about to stutter but did not. “We need to stop Mr. Caro.”

  “Are you crazy?” Ava exclaimed.

  “He won’t let us go,” Ethan said. “We need to get out. The only way is to stop him.”

  “Ethan’s right.” Emily nodded bravely. “If no one will help us, we’ll help ourselves.”

  “But—” Ava was interrupted by a noise.

  Footsteps.

  All of the children froze.

  Clack. Clack. Clack.

  The streams of light in the ceiling vanished and reappeared with every step.

  The footsteps neared the cellar.

  The trapdoor unlocked.

  Mr. Caro was here.

  Ethan stumbled backwards to the girl. He rolled his ankle and hit his bony butt on the concrete floor.

  The trapdoor swung open, and a pillar of radiant light streamed into the cellar. One step at a time, Mr. Caro descended. He wore a disheveled indigo-blue business suit. His nice shoes were scuffed. What looked like black ink stained the cufflink, wrist, and leather glove of one hand. He wore a battered jack-o’-lantern mask with a staple-stitched crack running from the crown to the bottom. At the nose, the staples split, opening the crude crack in the shape of sweet potatoes. Shadow shrouded the monster within.

  In all the months Ethan had known Mr. Caro, never had he seen him in such a sorry state. And that terrified him.

  “Last night was Halloween,” Mr. Caro told the children through the jagged teeth of the jack-o’-lantern. “I learned something.”

  He stepped out of the streaming light and joined the rest of them in the dark of the cellar. “I’ve been lost in the past.”

  Ethan’s little heart throbbed.

  “That doesn’t work anymore,” Mr. Caro said. “Those outside forget too quickly. They’ve already given up on all of you. They’ve given up on me. I must remind them. Rend their hearts. Offer them a taste of what is to come.”

  Mr. Caro bounced his battered triangular eyes between the four children. “One of you is coming with me tonight. You will not return.”

  The words sucked the breath from Ethan’s lungs. The girls were dead silent behind him.

  “Don’t let me decide,” Mr. Caro said. “You won’t like what I pick.”

  Father’s gone, Mother told Ethan. You’re the man now.

  The ten-year-old boy took a step forward. He craned his head up to the tall man. “Me.”

  Mr. Caro patted Ethan’s head with his ink-stained glove. “Brave boy.”

  He gestured for the trapdoor. Ethan shambled that way. Mr. Caro squeezed his shoulder, keeping him from running. The boy
turned back to the girls a final time and mouthed a word. “Fight.”

  With his head bowed, he ascended the ladder and into the light.

  2

  The Girl

  The man had high cheekbones and an expertly trimmed black beard that never touched his neck. His eyes were alluring: black irises and sharp brows. His hair was sleek, rich, and dark as the night, framing his olive-skinned face. Rachel nibbled the back end of her eraser-less pencil and gazed at the handsome Italian man. This was Giovanni Caro, Marco Blanco, or some other alias that didn’t matter. The world knew him as the Highlands Poisoner, and almost two weeks ago, he killed nearly a dozen people and hospitalized over half of Highlands’s population.

  The interrupting hum of the conference room heater broke Rachel Harroway’s trance.

  She turned her pale-green eyes to the hefty man seated before her. Sweat glistened in the soft creases of Jason Winslet’s large forehead. He locked his sausage fingers on the tabletop. The buttons on his tucked-in collared shirt strained to hold in his rotund belly.

  “You are sure this was the man?” Rachel asked with a raised brow.

  Jason nodded. His bottle-cap glasses squeezed the sides of his big head. “To the best of my knowledge, that’s him. The one I signed my lease to.”

  Rachel took a deep breath. She slid her seat back and stood. “Thank you for making the trip down here, Mr. Winslet.”

  The large man used the table to lift himself and grabbed ahold of the waist of his slipping pants. He extended his other hand to Rachel. “I, uh, I’m sorry, but I really couldn’t miss that meeting. If I had known sooner, then perhaps I could’ve changed my plans.”

  Rachel shook his hand; his small palms were moist and sweaty. “I understand, Mr. Winslet. We all have responsibilities.”

  Jason blinked away a tear. “I really am sorry. But, um, the Swedes loved my concept. The investment did pan out, if that’s any consolation.”