Missing Hearts

by Wright, Kenya

  Vernon placed his hands in his lap.

  Stein walked in with the two cokes. He set one in front of Vernon and then gave the other to me. The whole time he stared at Vernon with a grim expression. As we usually planned, he stood in the corner and glared, presenting a new threatening force in the already gray tight space.

  I opened my coke, took a sip, and swallowed. “Wow. That is good.”

  Vernon shook as he opened his. It took him several seconds to lift the can to his mouth. The whole time he watched Stein with terror in his eyes.

  I drank some more and set the can down on the table, louder than necessary.

  Vernon coughed.

  I frowned. “Are you okay, buddy?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good.” I gestured to his can. “Cold enough?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “Yes, sir.” I nodded and gestured to Stein. “I love him. Such great manners. Kids these days don’t have manners like Vernon.”

  Staying in character, Stein didn’t appear impressed. In fact, he looked like he was thinking about breaking Vernon’s neck.

  “Anyway, back to those beautiful paintings.” I crossed my leg and leaned back in the chair.

  Now it was time for the confrontation step. Most detectives presented the facts of the case and informed the suspect of the evidence against him. And it could all be fake or real. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that the evidence was presented in a confident manner.

  “What type of paint did you use?” I quirked my brows.

  “Um. . .oil.”

  “No, I mean where did you get it. I ask because every victim of the Fullbrooke Six’s DNA is mixed within the paint. Did you know that?”

  He fidgeted with his fingers.

  “It’s as if someone took the girls’ saliva and stirred it into the paint.” I casually raised my hands. “I’m not judging. I’m just curious. The State has its own idea of what happened, but I don’t care about the State. I want to know your point of view. It’s important to me.”

  Vernon turned to the one-way mirror again. “W-who’s looking at me?”

  “Everyone.” I kept my voice low. “But, I’m here for you, buddy. I’ve got your back,”

  “Can you. . .get them to leave?”

  “You don’t like to be watched?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m sorry. My hands are tied on this. Due to all the evidence against you, I can only do so much. Perhaps, if you worked with me, then I can pull some strings.” I smiled. “Help me help you.”

  “I. . .” He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and twisted it. “I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “Of course not. That’s crazy. You’re a kid.” I smiled. “A good kid. You listened to your grandfather. Right?”

  He parted his lips in shock.

  You have no idea that your grandfather has been busy? Thought that he was safe, didn’t you?

  I whistled. “Pastor Miller and kidnapping. Plus, from his own congregation. What else could you do, but be a good grandson and help him out?”

  His bottom lip quivered as he leaned forward. “T-they know?”

  I whispered, “Does who know?”

  “The people watching us behind that mirror. They know about my grandfather?”

  “God yes.” I clapped hard and loud, putting him on edge. “They know a lot about Pastor Miller now. It’s been crazy since you’ve been in here. So much has been going on. I forget that you have no idea. I’ll get you up to speed, but first, you have to help me.”

  If there had been any inkling of hope, it appeared to have left Vernon completely.

  Vernon’s eyes watered. “But. . .”

  “Evidence always points us in the right direction. We have our own ideas, but often the police can be wrong. Help us, Vernon.”

  The next step was theme. It was time to create the story about why the suspect committed the crime. It was about looking through the eyes of the suspect to figure out why he did it or at least why he'd like to think he did it.

  “We even know what happened to your little sister.” I tapped the table.

  Vernon clenched the shirt in his hand, almost fisting the material to his palm.

  “It was an accident, so we won’t do anything about that. We understand. And your mother does too.”

  The first inkling of the boy’s capable rage flickered in his eyes.

  You hate her. Don’t you?

  “Truthfully, your mother should be at fault.” I tapped my finger some more. “You were a little boy, trying to be the best big brother you could be. What were you to do? I think it’s her fault. She was a horrible mother.”

  He loosened the shirt in his hands.

  “But let’s get back to the Fullbrooke Six. I don’t get the whole situation, but I understand that these girls. . .” I shook my head. “They needed to go. Right? Did they watch you a lot? I know you hate that. Or am I just jumping to conclusions? Did Felica Drake look at you weird?”

  He paused from twisting his shirt.

  I tapped my finger on the table again. “Did she make you feel uncomfortable when you helped her in class?”

  “She. . .”

  I uncrossed my legs. “Go ahead.”

  “She called me her brother.”

  I shook my head. “Why would she do that?”

  His eyes watered. “S-she said she always wanted one.”

  “But you weren’t her brother.” I casually picked up my soda and took a sip. “Why would she think that?”

  “She was alone.”

  I took another sip and swallowed. “What about her parents?”

  “They weren’t good.”

  I set the coke down. “Bad parents? And I bet she was always all alone. It’s wrong. They were just like your mother. Bad. Undeserving of a child.”

  “It. . .it wasn’t right how they kept her alone so much.”

  “Yeah. She had to walk home on her own from school and church. Did you walk with her sometimes? To protect her?”

  Vernon nodded.

  “Of course, you did. You’re a good kid. In a way. . .you were her big brother.”

  “I tried,” he whispered. “But then Kela didn’t like it.”

  That caught me off guard. “Kela? Your little sister?”

  “Yes. Kela doesn’t like it, when I play with other girls. She gets jealous.”

  “Of course, Kela would. You are her big brother and no one else.”

  Vernon let go of the shirt, picked up his coke, and took a small sip.

  “There we go. Now, this is making a whole lot of sense. You’re doing a good job. You’re helping me.” I watched him. “What happened before you walked Felica Drake home on the day Jesus was Baptized? It’s such an important day.”

  “I. . .I told grandpa that Kela wasn’t happy with Felica.”

  A cold chill rose up my spine. “And your grandfather knew just what to do?”

  “Yes. He told me that we should give Felica to God. Then, Kela would be able to play with Felicia and she wouldn’t be so jealous anymore.”

  “That makes sense.” I pushed down the heavy sadness in my chest. “And picking a day that is so important to God. . .that would make sure Kela would get her playmate in heaven.”

  “Those days hold the most significance to our Father.”

  “Yes. They do. Amen. His son was baptized on that day. What other day could be more important in that moment? Your grandfather is a smart man.” I trailed my finger along the side of the coke. “But Kela wanted more people to play with?”

  “No.” Vernon’s eyes grew sad. “Grandpa thought Kela was still lonely. I wasn’t sure, but then God came to him in a dream.”

  “Wow.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “What did God say?”

  “That it was our mission—a hard one.”

  “But it had to be done?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you took the next girl—Karen right before she went to her ballet class?”

/>   He nodded.

  “How?”

  “I waited by the bathroom and called her over.”

  “So smart.” I clapped my hands. “She thought you were her big brother too?”

  “I told her I was, when I picked her to go to God.”

  I forced myself to smile. “She came over to you with no problem?”

  Vernon nodded.

  “Where was your grandpa?”

  “He was waiting at the church.”

  I tried not to show the excitement in my stance. I had to present a calm manner, but wherever they suffocated the girls was most likely where Pastor Miller had Haven.

  I tapped my finger against the soda can. “Fullbrooke Baptist Church? Is that where you all kept the girls.”

  Vernon shook his head.

  “Where?”

  “The old church in Colesville.”

  “His father’s church? Not the one that we found Brie in?”

  “No. I just put Brie there because you and Haven went to grandpa’s house for dinner. I didn’t have time to take her all the way to Colesville.”

  “That makes sense.” I sighed. “But back to this church. This is the very first one in Colesville? When your grandfather was a boy, he went to this church?”

  Vernon nodded.

  Stein left the room.

  I wished I could go too. I knew Richards and him would search for the address and then call all units to rush that way.

  Please, let that be the place.

  “You took Karen to the old church and what did you do?”

  Vernon took another sip from his soda. “We kept her for a while. Grandpa liked to talk with them about God and brush their hair.”

  I squinted my eyes in confusion. “Why do you think he liked to brush their hair?”

  “Because those men took his sister long ago. Lily.”

  “She was one of the girls from the Colesville Murders?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And he missed his sister and his granddaughter too?”

  Vernon’s eyes watered again. This time a tear left and streamed down his face. “Yes, sir.”

  “So. . .with the Fullbrooke Six, all he did was talk to the girls and brush their hair?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And on the day of their death?”

  “We gave them their last supper. Then, Grandpa would give them communion.”

  I leaned my head to the side. “Who suffocated them?”

  A hint of excitement hit his eyes. “I did.”

  It was hard to keep the horror out of my voice. “Why not your grandfather?”

  “He didn’t like that part. He never wanted to be around. Instead, he would go to church while I did it.”

  It also gave him a great alibi, when people started realizing that all the little girls were coming from his church.

  One by one, we went through all the other victims. Vernon had convinced Ariana Waterson that there was angels under the church. He told her that the bathroom passageway was a secret portal, and that no one could know about it. At six, Ariana believed him. When he appeared in the bathroom stall that he told her to use, she happily walked through it with him.

  “Did you ever have to inject the girls with anything?” I asked.

  “After Ariana, my grandpa had to lead that movement to help find the missing girls. Then everyone started getting scared to go off with me.”

  I gripped the can. “It took more coaxing and a little injection of something. What did you put in the needle?”

  “Rohypnol.”

  That’s what the Pastor used on Haven.

  Many called it the date rape drug. Some drug addicts used it for their own recreational abuse—crushing it up and snorting it. Rohypnol entered the bloodstream quickly, and victims often felt the effects within 15 minutes after ingestion. A single pill had the same potency as a 6-pack of beer, but the effects differed. The person experienced sedation, dizziness, and loss of bodily control. A needle injection of the stuff would go straight to the bloodstream and be even faster.

  “You gave that to Emma Tucker?”

  “Yes, sir. Her sister told me she was babysitting. We are friends. She was going to sneak off and let her boyfriend in the house as soon as Emma went to sleep.”

  “Very irresponsible.”

  “Grandpa said this would teach the Tuckers and Emma to be more careful in the future.”

  “When you knew Emma’s sister had snuck her boyfriend into the house, you went into Emma’s bedroom, injected her with the rohypnol, and took her?”

  Vernon nodded.

  “Where was your grandpa?”

  “He was with my grandmother visiting some of the older church members at the hospital. They do that every Tuesday and Thursday evening.”

  “And next was Shelly Darby at the movies and Melody Luther from Fanny’s.”

  “I. . .I wasn’t supposed to take Melody.”

  Shocked, I blinked. “No?”

  “Grandpa thought too many people were watching. He figured the cops might finally call the police. He wanted me to wait a while until he could calm the movement down and things went back to quiet.”

  “But you didn’t want to stop?”

  “No, sir. He always likes to take six girls, but I think that it should be twelve.”

  Stunned, I cleared my throat. “Your grandfather likes to take six girls?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He’s done this before?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Unease filled me. I sat up in my chair. “In Fullbrooke?”

  “No, sir. And Colesville. Scottown. Gulfton too.”

  I swallowed. “All over Georgia.”

  “Yes, sir. He gave them all back to God.”

  The door opened.

  Stein poked his head in and signaled for me to come.

  “I’ll be right back, Vernon, but I want to thank you.”

  We had skipped over many of the steps. No denial from Vernon came. He was certain he had worked for God. His grandfather was a Pastor. How could he be wrong about this? There were no objections from him. No obstacles. He had killed his little sister, possibly by accident, but it had birthed something in him.

  The system failed him and all these girls.

  Had Vernon been caught long ago and maybe gone to a mental health facility to get help; he may have been different. But instead, his grandfather took over. And Pastor Miller had proven to be the worst sort of psycho. He was a serial killer with a purpose adorned by God.

  I left the interrogation room.

  The door shut behind me.

  Stein kept his voice low. “We have the address to the church. Sheriff Michaelson is already sending people that way.”

  “I’m going.”

  “Your father called. He wants you to stay here and get the full confession recorded along with Pastor Miller’s participation. He wants me to lead the local police to—”

  “No. You deal with Vernon. I’m going to get Haven.” I shoved past him.

  Nothing would stop me.

  Stubborn Stein followed me. “Haven’s mother has also been calling. She’s asking for you. What do I say?”

  “Nothing. I’m doing what she would want—putting all my attention on getting her daughter back.”

  Chapter 35

  Wade in the Water

  Haven

  The whole time Pastor Miller was gone, I tried to get away. I twisted and turned in the rope, nothing helped. I hopped in the chair, moving me all the way to the door. When I got to it, I tried to open the knob with my mouth. That was impossible. Desperate, I bang my head against it and screamed, hoping that someone would hear me.

  All efforts made me exhausted.

  And fear threatened to kill me if I didn’t tire myself to death.

  He’s coming. I hear him. No. That’s not him.

  Adrenaline flooded my system. It pumped and beat. My heart was close to exploding. My body wanted to escape. My mind yearned to restart the da
y. And my soul. . .I had no more soul at this time or no faith in God.

  No. That’s not true. . .I do believe in you, God. . .It’s just. . .why. . .

  What kind of God allowed a Pastor to prey on his flock? What type of God accepted this?

  A creak came off in the distance.

  Is that him? Is he back?

  My adrenaline surged so fast I almost vomited. I could taste saliva thickening in my throat, and beads of sweat trickling down my brow.

  I have to get the fuck out of here.

  I looked around.

  Come on. Come on.

  At some point, I figured I would try to break the chair. The action landed me on the ground sideways. My arm ached. My soul wept.

  Are they coming? Alexander? Brett or Tina? The police? Anybody?

  By now my mother must’ve known. I tried not to think about what the news would do to her. She’d already lost my father. I didn’t want to leave her on this Earth all alone. She’d told me time and time during the Fullbrooke Six news that it wasn’t right for parents to bury their kids.

  I argued with her. “Mom, burying anybody is heartbreaking.”

  “No, baby. Burying a parent is something that we prepare ourselves for. But putting your own child to rest. . .that’s something that many mothers wouldn’t be able to survive.”

  Tied to the chair, I lay on the floor and did the only thing I could. I prayed to God.

  Please, don’t let me die today.

  It was so stupid to go talk to Pastor Miller.

  Alexander had been right. I was too close to the case. If I hadn’t known the town or gone to his church, I would have never met with Pastor Miller. But his family had a special role in my life. I considered him family.

  All this time, he has been taking girls? How did he do it for so long?

  “You’re on the ground.” Pastor Miller returned with a white Styrofoam tray. “Lord have mercy. What did you do? The devil got a hold of you, girl.”

  I remained quiet. In order to eat, he would surely untie me. Pastor Miller was a big man, but he was older, and I was sure I could take him enough to break free. I would die trying at the bare minimum.

  Come on, sicko. You’ve been killing girls, but what are you going to do with a grown-ass woman.

  Pastor Miller put the tray of food on the floor and then took his time lifting me up. “What happened?”