I thought of Ryder, of the work he was doing, and the debt I had to Stella. “I can’t promise you that,” I whispered.
He swore under his breath at me, the air faintly smelling of his liquor. “You’re just as suicidal as she was, and I can’t be here to watch you die. If you won’t drop this, then I won’t be a part of your life.”
Uncle Shane waited for his ultimatum to change me, but I did not falter. After one more look of disgust, he turned on a heel and left.
**********
It was raining. Of course it was raining. It was Washington. Stella’s casket gleamed white despite the hidden sun. It was simple, but elegant, just like Stella had always been. Silver trim rejected the water as it fell from the sky, beads pooling and dripping off to the saturated ground. The preacher was not Joel Edwards, despite his insistence, just some priest the funeral home had recommended.
I had not seen Uncle Shane since our argument at his house. Even as I stood there, he would not touch me, would not come close enough to claim me as his blood. There was the scent of liquor on his breath, but thankfully he was not drunk. His red eyes remained fixated on the shining white box that held the love of his life.
I tried to face the fact that she was in there, that she had passed. I had helped dress her in a long white gown she had loved for years. I had helped with her hair, my emotions as weak as my fatigued arms, and I had felt the lifelessness of her body. Why couldn’t I face the reality of her death? My mind began to play tricks on me with memories of her hand tensing or signaling to me that she was only sleeping.
I remembered stories from my criminology courses on death. The professor had gone off on a tangent about cholera cases in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. People were buried before they were completely dead. Rumor had it that many tried to claw their way out and were found dead near exposed graves with bloodied hands and shredded clothes. This led to the invention of safety coffins, which allowed some sort of communication with the world of the living. Examples such as a tube to speak through, an escape latch, or even a ladder helped put their living loved ones at ease.
My favorite had always been the bell method: a tiny bell perched at the surface of the grave tied with a small string to the corpse’s finger below. Should they awaken in the casket, all they had to do was ring the bell. It was hauntingly romantic at the time. At least until the corpse became someone I loved. How I wished she would wake up and let it all be a bad dream.
I left my umbrella at home, too disconnected to care for my own well-being and needs. My tears mingled with the rain in a poetic sort of way. It was all so unreal, and the answers were still so far away. Uncle Shane was retiring, and soon I would be alone. The thought chilled me more than my damp clothes.
The preacher concluded his sermon, though I heard very little of it, and the graveside workers moved into position to lower Stella’s casket into her final resting place.
I could see the Laurel Community Church through the trees, and I was grateful Hannah and Joel had stayed away. I did not think I had the strength to stop my uncle from murder. In my bad judgment, I might let him go ahead with it.
My eyes blurred as the slow descent began. I had not wanted this, to watch her placed beneath the ground. It was Uncle Shane’s desire. He needed to know that she was there, that she was finally safe. My parents were there, but they were not talking to me. I was not sure if they were mad at me for my outburst or if they were just trying to give me space. Either way, I was on my own. Mom comforted Shane, but I was alone. I had been strong, had fought the pain all morning, but as the first metal handles disappeared beneath the earth, a strangled sob seeped past my throat. My father was right. I was weak. I stretched out for Uncle Shane’s hand, but as my fingers wrapped around his toughened skin, he pulled away from me. I saw my mother’s disbelief and her slight reprimand to her brother, but I understood.
My head dropped in shame. My shoulders shook as I cried, standing in my solitary space. I could not understand why none of my family would comfort me. Was I that far gone? Was my stain so dark that they feared it might transfer to their souls like soot? Was I truly that disappointing? The kidnappers should have taken me and left Jackie. It would have been better that way.
A sound to my right caught my attention but not my gaze. My eyes stayed on the grass, on the mud that pooled up between my flats. Stella had bought them for me the year before on a girl’s trip to Seattle. There were no more trips to take. Funny, I always figured she would outlive me.
A tickle at my hand drew my gaze. Because of the lack of sensation in my right hand, I had not felt it at first. A hand slipped along the back of mine, slowly intertwining our pinkies until they hooked together in a tight lock. Nearly breathless, I followed the arm up to the man that controlled it. He had come. Ryder was there to steady me once more.
There in his strength, I bid goodbye to my favorite aunt. I made a silent vow that I would find justice for her death.
Chapter 20
With a relapse waiting in the wings and the monster inside of me rattling its cage with more ferocity than I had felt in a long time, I went on the offensive. I ran, I boxed, and I meditated, always stewing over the pieces of the puzzle and the way they might fit together. My bank account dwindled as I spent my days arranging fact cards on my living room floor like a patchwork quilt instead of accepting work from PI Net.
Ryder had news, but it was not exactly useful. He had been asked to review the tests in the paperwork of all the medications we had been looking for, but he had not been asked to alter anything. Even more disconcerting was that the paperwork showed nothing we could use, no altering of data, no fishy side effect, and no evidence of death in the case studies. It felt like scooping sand with a fork. Every time I thought we had something, the pieces would fall apart, and we would be left with nothing.
Meanwhile, Ryder’s time with his father only angered him and changed him. The longer I left him undercover, the less I recognized his quiet strength. I feared I might lose my only friend altogether. I had to do something, even if the plan was drastic.
The church was my best option. Whatever they had moved there was important. That much was obvious. But what was it? I had to get in that little room, and that meant breaking quite a few laws.
It was no longer important to me to build an airtight case. Instead, I had become obsessed with answers, answers to the questions that had stolen my aunt away from me. With Ryder far away in Seattle, and Uncle Shane lost in his grief, there was no one sensible left to talk me out of it. I would break into the church and steal my evidence.
**********
I shoved my gun into my bag with the rest of my equipment and zipped it shut. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I stepped out onto my front porch and locked the door behind me. There was no turning back now.
My phone buzzed from my back pocket, and I had to wonder if Ryder had some telepathic sense to know when I was about to do something stupid. As I checked the name, I saw Kipper written in white letters across the screen.
“Kip?” I asked as I answered.
“Hi, Lindy. I have that information you wanted.”
I debated my decision. “Is it important? I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“I found a name, but I don’t know if I want to give it to you.”
I tossed my bag in the trunk and slammed it closed.
“A name? What are you talking about?”
“Your sister. You told me to look into the kidnapping. I found a name.”
I nearly dropped the phone in my excitement. “You found Jackie? You found my sister?”
“No.” The word cut into me and released disappointment into my blood. “I found the contact information for St. Anthony, the child broker.”
I collapsed against the bumper of my car, my strength spent before I ever started on my excursion.
“So send it to me.”
Hesitation hovered across the phone line.
“Lindy, this guy i
s bad news, really evil. I don’t think you should push this.”
Tears were always too close to the surface anymore. The idea that my sister’s kidnapper could be found was beyond hope and yet only a phone call away. If I could find him, then I could find her. Saving Jackie might redeem my lost soul for losing Stella.
“Please, Kip. She’s my sister. I’ll do whatever it takes. Please,” I said through the tears.
Kip’s resolve melted instantly. “Lindy, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. You know I can’t take it.” His sigh clogged the earpiece for a moment and then he said, “You know a part of me will always love you, and if you get killed, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“I’ll be careful,” I assured him, though it was a dumb thing to promise, nothing about my life or work was safe.
“I just sent it,” Kip replied with a defeated tone. “This is it for me for a while, Lindy. I don’t like the roads you’re traveling these days. It’s all too dark.”
I had to agree with him. Black market sales of children was a new low for me.
“I’ll wire you some money.”
“Keep it. For old times’ sake.”
For as much as he complained about the work and lack of money, he never accepted any from me.
“How’s your girlfriend, Kip?”
For the first time, his voice took on a lighter tone. “She’s great. Thanks for asking.”
“Take care, Kipper,” I said as I hung up the phone.
My conversation with the one ex that I still cared about brought feelings to the surface. There was a chance I would not come away from this mission alive. I pulled up Ryder’s number and wrote a simple message.
“I’m chasing a lead. It’s pretty risky. If I don’t make it out of this one, tell Shane to look on my computer for an e-mail from someone name Kip. He will know what to do. Wish me luck.”
I pressed send and waited a moment, but the only alert that popped up was the low-battery warning. I slipped into my car, confident that if I didn’t make it out, Shane could still track down Jackie’s whereabouts. My parents could trade one dead daughter for the other. Perhaps she could be a little less broken than I was.
I plugged in my phone, fired up the engine, and set out for one last adventure.
**********
The sun was setting behind me as I parked my car between a small outcropping of bushes that hid me from view. I was confident my sedan would not be noticed or disturbed. I reclined the seat and stayed low. I would have to wait for the sun to sink a little lower.
Another alert popped up on my phone. I snatched it, secretly hoping it was Ryder but found only the second low-battery warning. The plug had not snapped in all the way, and it had not charged. The thought of a low battery increased my anxiety. I closed my eyes and practiced deep breathing. After twenty minutes the sky had darkened, the sun was gone, and the world around me had a rosy, golden glow on every surface.
I pulled my phone from the charger, hoped 23 percent would suffice, and retrieved my bag from the trunk. After checking the area for prying eyes, I dashed into the woods that hid the church from view.
Every twitter, every branch, even the wind through the trees put me on edge. I ran through my plan in my mind: cut the power, pick the lock, retrieve anything that looked important, and run as fast as I could. Simple enough? I sure hoped so.
The cemetery stretched off to my right. I kept to the trees as I saw a few men from the funeral home working on a new grave. Stella had been gone over a week, but I still didn’t feel comfortable near that many dead bodies. One day I would visit her, bring flowers, maybe even sit and meditate as I had heard others did, but not yet. The pain was too fresh and buried bodies freaked me out.
The church was abandoned. As close as I could tell, there were no cars in the area other than the workers at the cemetery. I was in luck. I made my way through the trees to the back of the building. With the light nearly snuffed out, I cut the power line to the church and waited a full minute. As I came around the far side of the church, the workers had called it a night in the cemetery, and it was just me and the wind.
I worked on the lock at the front door. The first lock came undone with ease, but the deadbolt was a little trickier. After a minute the tumbler wiggled, and like a carefully placed puzzle, the entire mechanism gave way. I looked over my shoulder out of pure suspicion—a guilty conscious has a way of making you hear things—and then I slipped inside.
The church was just as I remembered: simple, plain, and with those horrible wooden pews. I smiled as I thought of Stella sitting as straight and tall as a royal duchess near the front. Royalty. She had been royalty at the core.
Watching the cameras where I knew they’d been placed, I spotted no movement, no blinking lights. I was completely alone. I pressed past the railing at the front of the room with a certain smugness. Surely I was more righteous than the crooks who had taken over the parish, and that was saying something. I attacked the lock on the door with a certain vigor that came with a finish line. I was farther than my aunt had come, and the answers were just beyond the door.
As the door came free and the space was revealed, I could not shake the feeling that I was not alone. I glanced over my shoulder again but saw nothing. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, a warning that I was in danger, but from what? I brushed it aside and tossed my bag in the door.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced around the small room with something just short of glee as I pulled my phone from its spot. The boxes lined the wall, all with the symbol that haunted my dreams, just like Stella had warned.
My phone glowed bright in the dim space. I saw a message from Ryder, “Breakthrough.” And in the same moment realized that my text had gotten stuck in the queue and had never been sent. “Text not delivered” sat in red writing beneath my message.
All of it would have to wait. I tucked my phone beneath the compression tank top that I wore beneath my shirt.
A sound to my right threw my heartbeat into overdrive. When I looked all I saw was a little songbird. I thought of the canaries that used to accompany miners into the depths of the mines. If the bird still sang, there was no danger. The bird was not singing, but it was not alarmed in anyway. I took a deep breath and forged on.
Pulling the first box from the pile, I noticed writing beneath the symbol. “The Hope Allegiance,” I read out loud. I had to read it again. It had to be a typo. The group that Hannah and Joel supposedly worked for was The Hope Affiliates, not Allegiance. Yet, as I looked around, it was the same on every box, Allegiance.
Lifting the lid, I found testing papers and quickly surmised that it was the testing results from Sodexus, the drug that had been present in most of the deaths. I wasn’t a medical professional, but the results were clear: pneumonia and heart attack were listed multiple times as well as mood swings and paranoia. I snapped a couple of pictures with my phone and then replaced it to free my hands again.
The lighting was not good with the sun completely gone, and I regretted my decision to cut the power completely. Still, I knew that had been a mistake at the Edwards’ home. I had cut the alarm, and it had triggered some sort of fail-safe for the henchman. A little light was not worth triggering an attack.
I shuffled through the papers occasionally taking a picture or two but mostly reading. I had to wonder if the testing results were in a tiny church in Laurel, what was Ryder working with in Seattle? The sound of shuffling paper and the tiny bird were the only sounds in the room. Yet every time the bird squawked, I jumped out of my skin.
As I replaced the lid on the box, the bird let out a horrible sound, something between a shrill whistle and a squawk. I turned my head to shush it, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the object. It was too fast to make out exactly what clubbed me, but from the light that exploded within my head, it was huge or the guy that swung it was.
I smashed into the floor, papers falling down around me. My efforts to fight the blackness were futile. My brain gave
up and unconsciousness won in the end. My last memory was a pair of black leather loafers made from expensive Italian leather and a voice saying, “Take her outside. I’m done playing around.”
**********
When I opened my eyes again, it was dark, very dark. My breath felt strange, as if I were having a panic attack, but I had no idea why. I stretched my arms as far as I could, only 8 inches or so on either side of my body. My chest tightened before I could realize why.
I was lying down. Why was I on my back? What happened? Trying to grasp the space I was in, I pressed my hands in front of me, up into the darkness. I could feel wood, only 6 inches from my face. With my feet it was the same, wood all around me, pitch black nothing everywhere I looked. I tried to tell myself not to panic, but my system took over. It was the MRI all over, but no technician, no safety mechanism, nothing to end the void. The memory flooded back as my head began to throb. The room behind the church and the blow to my head rang in unison with the pain.
My cell phone.
I felt my top and nearly screamed with delight when it was still under the tight folds of my compression tank top. They had likely checked my pockets, but had missed the phone on the cursory glance. I fumbled with it for a moment, careful not to drop it, knowing I might not find it again. I craved the light with a hunger I had never known. Where was I? Had they trapped me in a box to transport me somewhere? Was I headed to meet the boss?
The light from my cell phone would have been dim in any other space, but in the pure void it shone brightly. The wood was pine, and it surrounded me.
I screamed for help, but the sound went nowhere. I set my head back and stared upward. Someone had to open it soon enough, right? The cell phone fell against my chest, the glow lighting the space just above my head. The shiny wood reflected the beam, but I could barely make out the words “all natural.” Lifting my head, I strained to see better. There was a carving of a pine tree, some hearts near the edges, and words that made my veins turn to ice.
Caskets & Conspiracies Page 21
