by Nick Stevens
The kid had a point. Convicts have a brutal moral compass for crimes against children. It swung the opposite direction for cop killers. Mason watched Sal’s hand clench. “What do you want to do, Sal? Stuff him in the trunk and drop him in the Anacostia? See if he floats?” He stared at Jamal. “Can you float, Jamal?”
“Nah, this piece of shit isn’t worth it. Besides, I like him just how he is. Let’s go.”
“Good. I’m hungry.”
Chloe woke at the sound of the metal lock opening. Grains of rice flecked her face and hands. Empty water bottles surrounded her. She’d eaten everything in the basket and dozed through the day.
Sweat poured off her in the stifling cabin. A fresh breeze from the door beckoned her outside. Diana stood just inside the door, hand extended.
“It’s time to meet your sisters. Come on.” A gust of wind tossed Diana’s hair, giving her a glowing halo as sunlight bounced against the red headband.
Her brow furrowed. An only child, Chloe didn’t have siblings. She remained rooted to the cot, even as her bowels churned on the first food she’d had in… how long?
Diana approached, impatient with Chloe’s delay. The same graceful hand from earlier extended, taking Chloe’s. With a slight tug, Chloe rose to her feet. She took shambling steps towards the door on awkward legs.
Each step closer to the door lifted Chloe’s spirits. This must be it, she thought. The punishment, illness, or whatever it was, had finished. She could go home.
Diana supported her as she emerged into the sunlight. A ring of women, all wearing the same frock-style dress, formed a semi-circle several feet outside the door. Chloe surveyed the area around the cabin. The building she’d inhabited sat apart from the others, separated by a vast clearing. Grass grew in sparse patches around the cabin, fighting for sunlight in the shadows cast by a large tree near the structure.
She stared at the tree, confused. In her time in the cabin, she’d never realized it was there. Trapped and isolated in the cot because of her illness, she never looked out the window.
Diana nudged her toward the woman. “These are your sisters. They have come to welcome you.”
The women surrounded her, embracing her in a womb of glowing white teeth and flowing hair. Intoxicated by the outpouring of love, she laughed. Slowly at first, then building into a hysterical rhythm. As the woman - her sisters, Chloe thought - backed away, her laughter faded.
The gathering of women dazzled her. Their skin glowed. Their dresses shone in the sunlight.
Chloe looked at her own dress. Green stains covered the fabric near the top. Deep yellow circles soaked into the lower part. The smell emanating from her own body, a mix of sour waste and acrid vomit, nearly made her retch. Heat filled her cheeks as embarrassment overwhelmed her. Soiled clothes covered her. Greasy hair matted to her head. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong among this beauty.
Her legs collapsed in shame, her body crumpling on the hard-packed ground. She wailed as she pulled at the rags draped over her.
The women, led by Diana, restrained her arms. Two women stroked her hair, attempting to soothe the screams.
The mania passed after a few minutes. Chloe lay on the ground, her sisters lying around her. Despite her failures, these women welcomed her.
She lifted her head. The collective of sisters smiled down at her. Their faces filled with warmth and affection.
Diana broke the silence. “Sisters, it’s time to welcome our new sister. It is time for the baptism.”
The chorus of cheers and clapping overwhelmed Chloe.
Sal examined the first plate the server dropped in front of Mason. A four-egg breakfast burrito spilled off both sides of the oval diner plate, with a side of black beans and another side of country potatoes. Next to that sat a short stack of pancakes, three pieces of toast, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. A half-empty coffee cup, chipped, sat beside it.
Mason looked at the server, then moved his eyes on the stainless-steel urn. “Can you leave the coffee pot?”
Annoyed, she set the steaming coffee pot at the edge of the table before tottering off to another in her section.
Picking at her tuna melt and fries, Sal asked, “Are there six more people joining us I’m not aware of?”
Hands out, Mason feigned injury. “I don’t appreciate your question, Detective Peterson. I always eat like this when investigating the inexplicable disappearance of two women, one of whom is the daughter of a judge aspiring to the Supreme Court. Oh, and I have no leads.”
She held up the plastic tumbler filled with diet soda. “We have no leads, Mr. Security Guard.”
Mason lifted his overflowing coffee cup, clinking it against Sal’s. “Too true.”
Tucking into his early evening dinner with relish, Mason paused between bites long enough to ask, “So who kidnaps the daughter of a US District Court judge, and then kidnaps the daughter of the CEO of a big wig defense contractor?”
“You think that’s what happened? The same person kidnapped both?”
Mason pointed at her with a piece of toast, melted butter dripping from the diagonally cut point. “As far as we know. We don’t have bodies. Neither fit the profile for sex trafficking. What else is there?”
Sal countered without hesitation. She’d been turning this over, too. “Who kidnaps these kids, these specific kids, without making a ransom demand? The motive for kidnapping is money.”
“That’s what I can’t figure out, either. If we don’t turn up something at Club Trinity, I don’t know what our next move is.”
Shrugging, Sal looked across to Mason. “Judge Stewart will have to call the cops. Think he’ll do that?”
“I think that’s unlikely. If he were truly concerned about her, he would’ve called the police right away. The guy’s a federal judge. He has the FBI and the Marshals Service on speed dial if he needs it. He might want her found, but he doesn’t want it public.”
The conversation fell into a lull. Mason asked what she did for fun when she wasn’t getting suspended.
“I run marathons.”
“So, you like to suffer. It fits you.”
“I also take care of my Gran. She lives down south.” Sal missed sharing her life outside of work with someone she worked with. She craved that connection between peers that somehow made everything awful she did as part of her job feel justified, even in some small way. She missed Babbitt. Mason, as indifferent as a house pet, was easy to talk to.
Between cups of coffee and plates, Mason asked her question after question. He stayed on the periphery, avoiding anything that might be too personal.
“What about you?” Sal turned it around on him.
Mason dropped the last corner of sourdough toast on his plate. “Sorry?”
“I’ve been talking for ten minutes while you’ve grunted through your feeding. What about you? Married? Divorced? Kids?” Caught in the moment, the words came out before Sal realized what she’d asked.
“No kids. Widower.”
Sal’s arm froze in the air, leaving a glass of diet soda suspended in midair. Sal looked at it, avoiding Mason. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Really. ‘Widower’ isn’t a word I’m used to saying out loud. Claire died in the Metro terror attack a few years back. I’m sure you remember it.”
She remembered. Everyone in the country remembered. A few years ago, coordinated group of men stormed a D.C. Metro station, shooting everyone that ran. The rest they herded into Metro trains before triggering suicide vests as the police moved in. Hundreds died in the blasts.
Sal also remembered scrolling through the stories about Mason’s wife when she’d stalked him online.
Wanting a change of subject, Mason studied the wreckage in front of him, noting the empty plates. He spotted half of an abandoned tuna melt on Sal’s plate.
“Are you going to finish that?”
Sal shook her head and slid the plate over. “What’s next?”
“The club do
esn’t open until nine, like you said. And I have to work tonight. Let’s split up, get some sleep and I’ll meet you at Trinity at nine.”
A gust of wind blew the dresses of the women gathered on the tiny dock. Overcast skies invaded, turning the weather cool. Several women hugged their arms against the sudden chill.
Diana led Chloe, bathed and wearing a new dress, to the gathering. As they approached, the assembled women again surrounded Chloe, many offering warm hugs.
A woman pulled away from her embrace, saying, “Father Paul will be here soon. He’s excited to welcome you.”
The women each introduced themselves. An exhausted Chloe heard the names and repeated many, but forgot them as soon as she’d said them. Keeping names straight was too much to ask in her overwhelmed state.
Hours ago, she found herself locked in a small cabin, wallowing in her own filth. These women had fed and bathed her and given her fresh clothes. Questioning why any of these events occurred was no longer important to her. She was ill. Her sisters said so. Now she was not. Life before her illness wasn’t important.
These women were eager to welcome her as one of their own.
A murmur spread through the cluster of women. Excitement built as a figure strode across the field, making his way from the chapel to the dock.
Chloe turned, her unfocused eyes seeing the shape of a man, but failing to register his features as he approached.
Facing her, he placed his hands on her narrow shoulders. She felt the warmth of his grip against the chill breeze.
The man spoke, his voice smooth and intoxicating. “Chloe, are you ready for your baptism? Are you ready to join us?”
Chloe swayed, recognition breaking through her exhaustion. That voice was familiar. She couldn’t place it.
Diana licked her lips, moistening them to speak to the man she adored. “She is ready, Father Paul.”
At a nudge from Diana, Chloe nodded her head.
“Excellent, Diana. Chloe, I’m excited for you to join us,” Father Paul said.
He looked to Diana, “Help her into the water.”
Diana grasped the top of Chloe’s dress and began raising it over her head. Chloe clutched her arms to her sides, spinning to face Diana.
“It’s okay,” soothed Diana. “This is just for the baptism. Don’t worry. Father Paul is a man of god, and your sisters won’t judge you.”
Chloe didn’t understand, but she couldn’t resist either. Her arms lifted and Diana removed the dress, leaving Chloe naked on the dock. Her skin puckered in goose flesh as wind whipped around her.
She looked down at a body she didn’t recognize. Prominent ribs pressed against her skin. Hip bones jutted out over threadlike legs. Legs that, she noticed, showed a thin layer of hair.
Diana escorted Chloe to the rustic ladder at the end of the dock. Chloe’s legs shook as she stepped down one rung, then another. Her knuckles went white against the wood as she struggled to stay on the ladder.
As her feet reached the water, Diana whispered, “It’s only a few feet deep. Don’t worry.”
Nodding at Diana, Chloe continued down the ladder. She gasped as the icy water enveloped first her feet, then her legs. The water reached her torso as she stepped away from the ladder. Her thin arms wrapped around her body for warmth, and to preserve any modesty she had left.
She turned toward Father Paul, standing in the lake. He stood several feet away, allowing the women to see the spectacle as they gathered at the edge of the dock.
She looked up, seeing the Father smiling at her, arms extended and urging her to him.
Upon reaching him, he wrapped his arms around her. She welcomed the warmth to counter the chill of the water. Withdrawing, he kissed her forehead and turned, positioning her in front of him as they both faced the audience on the dock.
Paul gathered himself, projecting his voice across the water, “Chloe, I now baptize you in the name of The Collected Children of Salvation and in the name of myself, Father Paul, for the forgiveness of your sins and the gift of your sisterhood.”
Paul clamped a hand over Chloe’s nose. He plunged her into the lake.
Submerged in the frigid water, the haze surrounding Chloe lifted, but only slightly. Flashes of the cabin where she’d slept entered her mind. She recalled the coarseness of the canvas cot grinding against her skin, still raw from the ordeal.
Chloe remembered a man visiting her. She remembered the injections.
Father Paul lifted Chloe out of the water, removing his hand from her nose. He looked at her, smiling, as she blinked water from her eyes.
Blinking away the water, Chloe stared into the face of her captor.
Chapter 10
The metal door swung open, clanging against the brick wall. Justin launched a trash bag through the door, landing in the alley. Another bag landed on top of the first.
Justin turned, grabbed a handful of plastic bag and yanked it as he backed out of the door. He detested the days the meat case needed cleaning. The older meat, well past its sell-by date, sat on the grocery store shelves until his manager yelled at him to clean it up.
He stepped backwards, down the wooden stairs, the bag dragging behind him. Last week, the bag ripped, spilling pounds of rancid ground beef all over the floor.
Remembering how he’d almost retched at the smell, he took his time today.
The bag oozed down the stairs, halting on the alley concrete.
“Justin, my man, time for a little break,” Justin mumbled to himself.
Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, Justin extracted the thin joint he’d taken from his roommate’s stash before he’d left for the shift at Capitol Supermarket. He leaned against the wall, taking his first drag.
As the smoke drifted from his lungs, he noticed the rats scurrying around the metal box. Wherever there were dumpsters, there were rats, he thought, taking a second hit as the familiar marijuana high flowed over him.
Damn, there were a lot of them today.
Pushing off the wall, he grasped the lightest bag closest to the dumpster. Tossing back the plastic lid covering the reeking metal box, he bent over to lift the bag.
Launching the bag into the dumpster’s back corner, he saw a cluster of rats flee before the bag crashed down.
He glimpsed dark hair and what looked like a bloody ear.
“What the hell is that?”
Climbing into the dumpster, he pulled back the bag.
Staring back at him was the mangled face of Laurel Fitzgerald. Her cheeks, chin and ears gnawed away by the rats infesting the alley.
Fear and shock propelled him backwards out of the dumpster.
Paul hauled himself out of the water behind Chloe. Arms filled with towels surrounded him as he reached the top of the ladder, each wishing he’d take their towel. He looked to Diana. Her work with Chloe was marvelous over the past day. Paul smiled as he accepted the towel from Diana’s outstretched hands.
Several of the girls rolled their eyes at Diana, their envy clear. Paul watched the jealous women. Jealousy was a powerful weapon that kept women against each other. A good topic for tomorrow’s sermon, he thought. The sermons helped keep his flock under control. They were often more effective than the drugs and punishing work schedule.
Chloe shivered under her towel, standing feet away. Paul explored her thin legs under the edge of the towel. His arousal grew, thinking of the time he spent with her in the cabin, keeping her on the edge of an overdose for over a week.
Paul never touched the stuff himself. His addiction was more powerful and harder to satisfy. He craved exerting control over the women in his care, however long that care may be. Once he got bored with them, or when he couldn’t ignore the price offered for one of his girls, he sold them off.
All part of the plan he’d set up years ago.
The unfortunate death of Laurel Fitzgerald put that plan in jeopardy. Over the years, the girls that found themselves in his care didn’t have other prospects. Laurel and Chloe were differe
nt. They were part of a brand extension, as his professors at business school would’ve called them. A new product offering for distinctive clients with specific tastes.
Paul’s gaze lingered on Chloe, now trudging off with Diana to one of the group cabins.
“Diana!” He called out. “I need something from you. Come here, my child.”
Delighted, the girl spun around, racing barefoot back to Paul.
“Yes, Father Paul?” Her large, eager eyes stared up at him. Arms wrapped behind her back, Paul saw the swell of her breasts beneath the trivial dress.
Despite the problems she caused, Diana was faithful. She yearned for him to take her again, as he had after her own baptism. It couldn’t be her time again with another baptism to consecrate.
“Prepare Chloe for me and take her to my cabin.”
Diana’s face sank, breaking eye contact.
“Is there a problem, my child?”
“No, Father Paul. I just…” She hesitated, unsure how to ask for what she’d earned.
He lifted her chin with his hand. “It is not your time. It is Chloe’s. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Then go. Do what I require.”
The Honda rolled past a squat brick building. The turquoise facade glowing under intense spotlights. Sushi, Indian and Middle Eastern restaurants surrounded the club.
Stationed outside the door, a bored bouncer camped on a bar stool, checking identification for the handful of people getting an early drink. Sal guessed many patrons were grabbing a drink while waiting for their takeaway orders. As a rule, nightclubs in D.C. didn’t get busy until 11pm, even on weekdays. She noted the bouncer wasn’t scanning anyone with a metal detector. It was too early for trouble.
Sal dialed Mason as she continued around the block. “I’m here. Where are you?”
A truck rumbled in the background as Mason said, “Just off 18th, standing in an alley. Park in the lot off Champlain St. I’ll drop a pin.”
