The Forgotten Child

by Melissa Erin Jackson

  Hank squatted abruptly and spotted them. “Peek-a-boo.”

  Mindy screamed, quickly muffling the sound with her hand. Hair rose on Riley’s arms.

  His composure slipped for a moment. “Mindy?”

  “Jesus Christ, how is this happening?” Mindy muttered under her breath.

  Riley popped up to her full height, amazed her knees hadn’t given out. She yanked Mindy up beside her.

  Francis stood, too. “Fancy seeing you here, huh, Mindy?”

  Mindy held fast to Riley’s hand with both of hers, her chest pressed against Riley’s arm. She felt Mindy’s heart hammering.

  “I smashed the tracker,” Riley said.

  “I like watching you,” Francis said, shrugging. “Started to miss knowing where you were after you destroyed it. I follow you sometimes. Waiting.”

  His tone was almost sultry, as if picking up from where they’d left off in their instant message conversation. As if they were still waiting for her boyfriend to go on that business trip so he could seduce her. As if Mindy wasn’t standing there beside her. As if they weren’t standing in a nightmare.

  “How many of these girls were you here for?” Riley asked, motioning to the set of morgue-like drawers behind her. “How many of them did you help cut up?” Her voice had grown shrill.

  “What does it matter?”

  “Because I want to know! How many?”

  “Three live ones before Mindy,” he said. “I helped him unearth two of the ones who died before I got here. Once they were dead, he buried them six feet under and gave them several years until their bones were clean.”

  He said it so causally. All this time later, even after being reminded of it in this room of the dead, he still showed no remorse. He had claimed to love Mindy, to be hurt by her betrayal, and yet he’d brought her here to end up just as the others had.

  Placing his hands on the steel table, he said, “If you wanted to know about this place, why wouldn’t you just talk to me? I’m back to thinking you can’t be trusted.”

  Riley almost laughed.

  He moved to the right, around the table. She mirrored him, moving left, dragging Mindy with her.

  “The police are on their way,” Riley said.

  “Were on their way.” Francis reached behind him and pulled out a gun tucked into the back of his pants. Though he kept it by his side, Riley heard him flick off the safety.

  Mindy kept up a steady stream of whispered curses that only grew more frantic at the sight of the firearm.

  The door where Michael was hidden gave the faintest movement out of the corner of her eye. Riley struggled not to react.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Francis offered a dramatic eye roll. “Meaning I ran into your cop friend and he’s not coming to help you any time soon. Terrible luck busting a tire out in the middle of nowhere. Poor bastard didn’t see me coming.”

  Shit. Shit shit shit.

  “My friends know I was coming here today,” she said. “They’ll come looking for me.”

  He shrugged again. “I’ll be long gone by then.”

  The door shifted and Riley caught sight of Michael’s profile. Jesus, he was going to do something incredibly stupid and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop him, especially without giving him away. She would not recover if Michael got shot.

  So she decided to buy him some time. But Mindy beat her to it.

  “You said you loved me.”

  Francis stared at her. “I did. Until you tricked me.”

  “I didn’t trick you.”

  “You did!” He slammed his free hand on the table and they both jumped. “You said you’d help me with that girl. It was your fault anyway. We could have been together. Could have left this place, but you wouldn’t let me. And then I was … I was so out of my mind because my goddamn heart was broken and that girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Her name was Renee,” Riley said.

  “The fuck does it matter what her name was?” Francis asked. “It was a long time ago. Water under the bridge.”

  In a flash, Michael was on the move. Francis turned his head at the sound of Michael grabbing a femur off the nearby table before Michael whacked him square in the temple. The gun clattered to the floor and went off. Riley’s heart stopped for a moment, but neither Mindy nor Michael had been hit. The gun slid under one of the thin tables.

  Francis grunted and collapsed past Riley’s line of sight, past tables between them and Francis.

  Michael rose the femur over his head and came down on Francis with a thwack. Michael had hit a back or a side. Riley wished he’d just smash the guy’s skull in. But Michael had paled. “Run!”

  Riley snapped to, pulled out of her shock. She bolted past the tables, Mindy fast on her heels, and toward Michael who stood in the doorway, his free hand out for them. The energy in the room—the watching, lifeless eyes; Francis’s presence; the sheer fear coming off all three of them—was almost enough to drag Riley to her knees.

  Riley launched over Francis’ prone form, making it to Michael, but whirled at Mindy’s yelp. The woman’s elbows broke her fall as she slammed into the cement. Her phone bounced out of her pocket and skidded across the ground, a hand around her ankle. Riley flashed back to her memory of Renee. Of the girl kicking and crawling to get away from this very same man. Mindy screamed and thrashed.

  Francis yanked her toward him, her shirt riding up as her belly dragged across the dirty floor. Michael, still armed with the bone, darted forward. But Riley snatched him back when she saw the glint of a knife in Francis’s hand, the blade’s tip now pressed into Mindy’s side.

  A trickle of blood ran down Francis’ temple. “Yeah, back the fuck off, Jansen.”

  Michael put his hands up, one still clutching the femur.

  “Up,” Francis hissed in Mindy’s ear.

  Riley itched to reach out for her friend. The tension in the room was building. Riley was near dizzy with it.

  Francis sneered at Riley over Mindy’s shoulder. “Probably regretting you brought this one along now, huh? Girl cracks under pressure at the drop of a hat. Besides, you can’t believe half of what she says. She’s looney-bin crazy. I mean, it was lucky she was cute, ’cause that helped balance out how fucked up in the head she was. Is. All she needed was some pretty words from me and she willingly followed me into Orin’s trap. Desperate for attention because she had daddy issues. Boo-fucking-hoo.”

  He buried his face in Mindy’s neck for a moment, breathing deep. The low moan that rumbled out of his throat turned Riley’s stomach. She wished she had a clear path to the gun. She wasn’t a violent person, but she wanted to put a bullet through the bastard’s skull right then.

  “Fuck you,” Mindy growled.

  “Not really my type anymore,” he said.

  The lights above flickered. Riley’s cell phone gave a chirping cry before it beeped twice and went dead. Michael’s, Mindy’s, and Francis’ did the same.

  Orin’s presence suddenly grew overwhelming, just as it had been in the cellar. That was what she’d been feeling both then and now. Orin gaining strength. The looming black tsunami of a pissed-off spirit’s energy. Riley felt him shifting back to his predatory state. The circling. The calculating way he sized up his prey.

  Perhaps Orin had lured Riley here. Maybe he’d known somehow that Mindy would come with her. Maybe he wanted to reclaim her, the ungrateful girl who’d run away. Passing the torch onto his protégé now. Giving him permission to take out yet another girl trying to disrupt the life they’d created here. His life’s work.

  The string of tiny lights running along the inside of a plastic tube circling the ceiling flickered again.

  With the force of a moving vehicle, something slammed into Riley. It shoved Francis and Mindy back, pushing the tables with the scrape of metal legs on cement. Michael stumbled, pushed by a hand unseen.

  “The hell?” Francis snapped. “You a witch, too?”

/>   Riley gasped for a breath; the shock of the sudden shove loosened Francis’ hold on Mindy’s neck for a moment. But Riley couldn’t do anything to help her. The elephant-sized weight pressed on her chest, threatening to crush her ribs and lungs to a pulp.

  Another shove, harder this time. Riley cried out and Francis cursed, dropping the knife as he instinctively reached back with one hand to steady himself on the table behind him while still gripping Mindy with the other.

  Lights flickered and winked out for a moment. Michael rushed forward. They flicked on. With a millisecond of a facial cue from him, Mindy ducked and Michael landed another direct hit with the femur to Francis’ temple. He howled and Michael yanked Mindy out of his grasp. The lights winked out again.

  When they blazed bright a moment later, Francis rested on one knee, blood trickling from an even bigger gash on his forehead. A hand went up to grab hold of the thin table covered in bones and dried tissues, but he was disoriented. Eyes closed, his balance was unsteady even while grasping something solid. He shook his head like a dog, trying to de-scramble his brain.

  “Let’s go,” Michael hissed in Riley’s ear, hand wrapped tight around her wrist.

  Riley wanted to shut the door, lock him in there somehow, but the door swung in—she’d have to lurch forward to grab it and then back up to pull it closed. Francis might be woozy, but he’d have the wherewithal to lunge for her if he thought she’d trap him inside. He could still dart for the gun.

  The lights flickered, muted pops sounding in a corner of the room, a whole section of the tiny bulbs going dark. And then Riley felt him behind her, the lingering person-shaped tsunami. Given the yelps from Michael and Mindy, Riley knew they felt it too. And just like in the cellar, Riley was locked in place. Just like in her dream of Pete, she couldn’t move, feet welded to the floor.

  It felt like a tide violently pulling back from shore. The pullback that let you know what came next would be destructive and all-consuming and would drown you if you didn’t get the hell out of the way.

  Michael had hold of her, tugging her arms, begging her to move. But her limbs were fused in place, her thoughts lost in a panicked fog. In this overwhelming surge of wrongness.

  And then it shoved her. Shoved through her. Sent her hurtling forward so she stumbled and hit the ground on all fours and scraped the skin from her palms and felt like she had just run a marathon—energy expended.

  In that same second, Francis was heaved through the air like he weighed nothing more than a sack of feathers. He slammed with a sickening crunch into the shelves of jars. Wood splintered, dried specimens knocked loose, and jars wobbled on their shelves. Francis lay in a heap.

  The tidal wave of wrongness vanished, a gentle lapping in its place. Hardly a ripple on the surface of a lake. There, but fading fast.

  Had Orin just saved them?

  No. Immediately she knew Orin had acted on revenge, not altruism discovered on the Other Side. Francis had betrayed him; this was Orin’s payback.

  A thirty-year-old grudge.

  Pounding footsteps stole Riley’s attention and she saw a figure running toward them.

  “Are y’all okay?” Detective Howard. Riley almost fainted at the sight of him. His arm hung limp at his side; blood soaked through his white shirt. Despite his dark skin, he looked ashen, his lips almost gray. But he was alive. When he was met with nods, he asked, “Where is he? Bastard shot me.”

  “In front of the bookcase,” Riley managed.

  Michael squatted in front of Riley now, hands cupping her face, the femur-turned-weapon abandoned on the ground. “Jesus, Ry. Are you okay?”

  “Are you, Babe Ruth?”

  “I think I soiled my pants.”

  Riley managed a laugh, then they helped each other to their feet. Riley listed to one side, still inexplicably exhausted, but Mindy caught her under the arms before she toppled over. Had Orin used her like a battery? Drained her of her energy to help himself manifest?

  Detective Howard had his gun drawn, wincing in obvious pain, and he gave Francis’ side a tentative kick. “If you’re conscious and playing possum, I will shoot you if you try anything funny.”

  Francis groaned.

  Riley watched as Detective Howard placed a knee on the small of Francis’ back, then yanked one of his arms behind him, cuffing him. Then the other. Eyeing Michael, he said, “You okay to help me get him up? Arm hurts like a sonofabitch.”

  Michael hurried over and the two managed to get the unconscious man sitting, Michael with a hand on his shoulder. Detective Howard kept hold of one of Francis’s wrists, then backhanded him.

  The man fully awoke then.

  “Oops,” Howard said, deadpan. “My hand slipped. On your feet, asshole.”

  He and Michael yanked him up.

  “His gun is under the table,” Riley said.

  “I’ve got backup coming. They’ll take care of it.” With a hand wrapped around Francis’ arm, and his gun pointed at the back of Francis’ head, Howard said, “You are under arrest for assault of an officer.” Then he read him his Miranda Rights. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”

  Detective Howard proceeded to march Francis out of the dark room and toward the cellar. But Mindy stopped in front of them before they reached the threshold. Despite the dirty face and red eyes, some of her confidence had returned. “Who’s the fucked-up mess now, Francis?”

  Francis snarled at her. She grinned as she stepped out of the way and let them pass.

  “If this goes to trial, you bet your ass I’m going to be there every damn day until he’s convicted.”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Michael said.

  Riley glanced behind her, catching sight of the drawers again. Of the place where Pete lay. Trundling the door open again, she took the neatly folded shirt and held it to her chest. She took the beanie out of her back pocket and laid it where the shirt had once been, leaving the other trophies beside their owners. Some part of her couldn’t stomach the idea of Scooby Doo being catalogued and put into evidence. Pete had chosen her to help him. He’d been the first. Patient one.

  Shutting the drawer, she headed for the door, only to come up short when she saw Pete standing by the threshold. He wore the same outfit from the dream now, his blue-and-black checkered jacket done up to his neck, presumably covering up the shirt she now held in her hands. His skin was sickly white again, the bags under his eyes purple. But he smiled at her.

  She managed to smile back.

  He flickered as the lights had earlier. Still not quite there. Not quite solid.

  Then the others shimmered into view, too. The faces of the girls she hadn’t known about. All sickly pale. All gaunt and tired-looking. Names popped into her head. Maddie, Kristy, Laura, Paula. The forgotten children.

  And, just like that, they were gone.

  Tears in her eyes, she whispered a goodbye to them all by name.

  Michael and Mindy watched her. They clearly hadn’t seen what she’d seen but waited patiently for her.

  Slipping her hand into Michael’s, Riley held fast to Pete’s shirt with the other, and they headed for the surface.

  CHAPTER 26

  Backup came in the form of two squad cars as Riley, Michael, and Mindy walked out the front door, squinting. The house had been so dark. Riley watched as Detective Howard shoved Francis into the backseat of one of the cars before slamming the door in the bastard’s face.

  After talking to the huddled-together officers, Detective Howard headed toward Riley. Pete’s shirt was hidden under her own now. His lips were still gray.

  “You should probably get to a hospital … like yesterday. You look awful. Need us to drive you?” Riley asked.

  She could imagine the detective having one of those face-altering smiles. But he was scowling now and ignored her question. “Are sure you’re all okay?” he asked.

  Riley nodded. “Mostly. What happened to you?”

  Aside from the gunshot wound, he looked like he’d take
n a tumble down a large hill. Bits of plant debris were caught in his short hair. “Blew a tire while on my way here and that asshole stops to help me,” the detective said. “He’s making small talk as we get the jack and spare out of the back, asking what I’m doing way out here. Blah blah. I tell him I’m heading to the ranch. Things are going fine until he sees my badge clipped to my belt. He asks me if I’m a cop, and next thing I know, he’s whaling on me.

  “We get into a scuffle and he pulls his gun. Luckily he’s a shit shot and only hit my arm; I end up falling down the ravine—swore I was going to break my neck, but managed to only get banged up. He hops in his car and takes off. Took a damn lifetime to get back up the ravine and then get the spare on. I thought about hoofing it, but …” He patted his stomach. “I think I need to work on my cardio. Plus, you know, the bleeding.”

  Riley tried to smile. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t asked you out here then—”

  “It would have been worse if you came out here alone.” He took a step toward her and lowered his voice, Michael and Mindy instinctively inching closer too. “To see that asshole thrown in prison? Worth it. I’m going to feel like I was hit by a bus tomorrow, and my wife is going to have a conniption when she finds out I’ve been shot, but it was worth it. Renee Palmer’s case has haunted me for decades.”

  “We gotta get you to the hospital, Howard!” one of the other officers called out.

  Howard waved in acknowledgement with his good arm.

  Remembering Francis’s journal, Riley told the detective about the books. “All the victims had one. Looks like Orin saw Hank as part of his experiment—so he took notes on him, too.” Riley hadn’t read much beyond that first page, but just holding it had creeped her out. “At the very least, it’s proof he was living here when Renee took that hike.”

  He nodded. “I might have to seriously reconsider how often I use psychics.”

  “Medium,” Riley said, correcting him again.

  He took several steps back, smiling. She had been right about it being face-altering. “I’ll be calling you all in for questioning soon—assuming I don’t pass out from blood loss. Get on home, okay?”