Rachael's Return

by Janet Rebhan

  “Well, my son, Bennie, is living there now. He’s a pharmacist. Leads a very quiet life. He should be home by now, as a matter of fact. I can introduce you if you want,” Marge said.

  “Oh no,” Caroline said. “I wouldn’t want to impose, it’s just—” A loud crashing noise came from the backyard. She looked at Marge, who stood and turned, facing the back of the house. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah,” Marge said. “Sounded like a lot of glass breaking. I’d better take a look, see if Bennie’s okay. You okay to stay here with Rachael?”

  “Of course,” Caroline said. “But maybe you should just call him first.”

  “Nonsense, I’m not afraid. I’ve lived here for over two decades.”

  “Yes, but there is a murderer running around out there, and you’ve got his baby. Now is not a good time to be taking any chances.”

  “There’s no possible way for him to know my identity or where I live. That information is kept strictly confidential.”

  “Kind of like my identity was kept confidential?” Caroline asked.

  Marge made a face. “Okay, you’ve made your point. I’ll give Benjamin a call on his cell phone, but our wireless reception is bad in this neighborhood, and he doesn’t have a landline.” She reached for her cell and pressed the phone icon next to Bennie’s name.

  “Yeah, I know a thing or two about how maddening cell phone reception can be,” Caroline said, remembering the evening she rescued Rachael from the crash scene.

  “He’s not answering,” Marge said, her face twisting with uncertainty. She looked at Caroline. Outside, they heard another, louder crash.

  “Call 9-1-1,” Caroline said. “If it’s nothing, so be it. We are not in any position to be taking chances.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Jake did not like this one bit. Caroline never failed to call him if her schedule was going to keep her out longer than usual. She had always been very considerate in this way. They both had. While they had always allowed each other their freedom, they were careful never to make the other worry unnecessarily. He picked up the phone and called Detective Coffey’s cell. “I know this may seem a little paranoid,” he said, “but I think my wife may be in some kind of danger.”

  Mitch Coffey looked at Nancy across the room from where he sat on his sofa. She had just settled herself into his overstuffed easy chair with a glass of Pinot and a fuzzy blanket. The fire crackled and sent glowing light dancing across the shiny maple floors. Yet the tightening in his stomach muscles told him he should go. “I’ll come to your house. I can be there in roughly twenty minutes or so,” he said, looking at his wristwatch.

  “I think this has something to do with the woman who is taking care of baby Rachael,” Jake said. “Caroline told me this morning she thinks she knows who she is. I think she may have followed her home from the club today. Do you know where she lives?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll have to check my files to get the address first. Or I could call Mrs. Sweeney.” He looked at Nancy, who was already standing, putting on her jacket.

  “I’m going with you,” she said.

  By the time Vito finished tying Bennie to the four-legged chair, he had created an enormous mess of broken glass and pottery all over the tiny kitchen area. At least he had thought to gag the man first thing after he had tied his hands behind his back. But physically, the pharmacist was a total klutz, and his apartment was so small, he had knocked over a tall curio cabinet within minutes of entering through the front door. Then he lost his balance trying to steer himself to the chair and backed up against the counter filled with drying pots and pans that came crashing down in audacious clangs and bangs on the tile floor. When Bennie’s cell phone rang, Vito took it from his coat pocket and saw that the call had come from “Mom,” but she hadn’t left a voice mail. Vito texted her number back: Sorry for noise. No worries. Taking a shower now.

  Marge spoke to the 9-1-1 operator from her kitchen phone. “It may be nothing, but I’m a foster mother with five kids, including a baby whose father is a fugitive. Can you just send a car over to take a look around?”

  As if sensing Caroline’s nervousness, Rachael began to cry. Caroline stood and bounced her on her hip as she swayed from side to side. “Shhh,” she cooed softly, “you’re okay, I promise.”

  Marge’s cell phone lay close by on the kitchen counter and made a soft chiming sound. She asked the operator to hold and checked her message. “Oh boy,” she said. “I just got a text from my son saying it’s nothing and not to worry. I’m so embarrassed.”

  “It’s all right,” said the operator. “Better to be safe than sorry. Are you sure you don’t want me to send a car over anyway? I show you at 223 Gresham Street in Winnetka, is that correct?”

  “No,” Marge said. “I mean yes, that’s the address, but no you don’t need to send a car. It’s okay; I think we’re just a little on edge. So sorry to have bothered you.” She hung up and looked at Caroline. “I think she probably wants her dinner bottle,” she said, looking at Rachael, who was still crying softly. “I’ll fix one, and you can feed her. Would you like that?”

  “I would love that,” Caroline said. “Are you sure your son is okay? Did he say what the racket was?”

  “He texted he was sorry for the noise, and that he was getting in the shower. I’ll get that bottle ready for you and check on him in a bit. Give him time to settle in. He must have broken something, God knows what.”

  Ragna Sweeney was deep into her detective mystery when her landline rang in the kitchen. She glanced at her husband asleep in his recliner before getting up to answer the phone. “Hello.”

  “Mrs. Sweeney, hi, it’s Detective Coffey.”

  “Mitch. It’s so nice to hear from you. Do you have any news about the case?”

  “Not really, but I do want to talk to your friend Marge Bechtel. Do you have her address handy?”

  “Oh, well, what is it Margie can help you with that I can’t? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is just fine, Mrs. Sweeney.”

  “Please, call me Ragna. I thought we were on a first-name basis by now.”

  “Ragna, there’s no need to worry, and I have no news at this point. But I would like to speak with Marge. I’m kind of in a hurry, so do you think you could get that address for me? I promise I will let you know if there is anything more to report.”

  “Sure, sure,” Ragna said. “But I still don’t know what Margie can possibly help you with.” She opened a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out an address book with Sherlock Holmes on the cover—a gift from her daughter three Christmases ago—and flipped the B–D tab to Marge’s contact information. “It’s a darling yellow house on Gresham Street in Winnetka. Let’s see here. Did you need her telephone number as well?”

  “Sure, both would be nice. I’m in a bit of a rush, so—”

  “Hold your horses. Here she is.”

  As soon as Ragna gave Detective Coffey the information, he thanked her quickly and hung up. She thought it strange he would be in such a rush if there was really nothing going on. Her intuition told her something was up, and she wanted to know what. But her favorite detective show was about to come on, so she hung up the phone, set her crime novel aside, and turned the channel on her television set. She would call Marge and get all the juicy details, if there were any, when it was over.

  “Something highly unusual is going on right now,” Aurora said.

  “What do you mean?” Thor asked.

  “Can you not see?” said Aurora. “There aren’t any prayer waves surfacing to our level as we watch what unfolds below. Usually, we see quite a few of them as things begin to escalate.”

  “Oh yeah, I see what you mean,” Thor said, moving closer to look out the viewing window. “But I thought we could intervene even if not asked.”

  “Only at the highest levels. Not ours,” Aurora said.

  “Say what?”

  “When humans decide to take matters into their own hands without asking fo
r divine intervention, either consciously or subconsciously, the only help can come from the highest self of the individual, and then only if things are about to happen that will forever alter the life plan they have agreed to prior to the earthly incarnation.”

  Thor made a face.

  “Not only that, but many have stopped listening to their instincts. Right now, it appears some of them are acting out of fear. And that always makes matters worse.”

  “Too bad. I really wanted to help now that things are getting so interesting.”

  “Well, it’s not up to us anymore. Looks like it’s in the realm of the highest of the high from here on. All we can do is watch.”

  At that moment, Thor and Aurora each felt a slight breeze at their backs. Turning around slowly, they saw a sweeping gold spiral staircase descending. A tall woman dressed in sapphire stood at the top landing, smiling down at them. She held out an arm, gloved past the elbow in the same color as her gown, and cupped her hand inward as if to say follow me. Thor grinned from ear to ear, and Aurora looked at him with her mouth agape.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Aurora said.

  “Yes,” Thor said without turning to face Aurora. “It’s her all right. And it looks like we have our invitation.”

  The 9-1-1 operator disconnected the line after speaking with Marge, paused thoughtfully, and then sent out a broadcast anyway:

  “Any unit in the vicinity: unknown trouble at 223 Gresham Street in Winnetka; person reporting heard loud crashing noises in backyard, then cancelled the call. Infant inside house whose father has a felony warrant for murder.”

  The uniformed officer driving north on Mason Avenue picked up the call. “This is 17A51. Roger that.”

  Thor and Aurora entered the grand ballroom and followed Sapphire over to the viewing window, where she had manifested three comfortable chairs.

  “Please, sit down,” Sapphire said.

  “Thank you,” Aurora said. Thor only nodded. Sapphire noticed his reticence to speak.

  “It’s okay, Thor. I have expended enough energy this time; you will not have to worry about running out of steam.” She giggled softly. “Please feel free to talk.”

  “So,” Thor said, “I’ve been wondering why we haven’t seen any higher selves up here other than you.”

  “Oh, that’s because it’s not in your best interest at this point in time to meet us.”

  “So why are you? Meeting with us, that is?”

  “Well, I am the oldest, most evolved soul in my particular soul group, so I am able to sustain your presence here for as long as I deem necessary. Usually, it’s not necessary to keep you long, but seeing as how things are working out below, it has come to my awareness that we are in the midst of what we call a very teachable moment. That is to say, with the way things are transpiring on Earth, it would be beneficial for you to view things from this level now, and I am the only one who can keep you here for long.”

  “You see,” said Aurora, looking directly at Thor, “Sapphire has honed her skills and is vibrating at such a high frequency she has more than enough energy to spare to host our visit at this level to learn a thing or two. Only very old, very advanced souls can do this. There is usually at least one advanced soul in every soul group.”

  “That is correct, Aurora. By the way, you have been doing a great job with Thor. Your teaching skills are unparalleled,” Sapphire said.

  Aurora blushed and answered, “Thanks, I try.”

  “No trying to it,” Sapphire said. “You’re doing it. Now, I’m sure you are both wondering why I have invited you here today.”

  “You read my mind,” Thor said. All remained silent, and he cleared his throat. “Again,” he smiled.

  “Thor,” Aurora said. “Don’t be redundant.”

  Sapphire laughed. “Indeed.” She stifled more giggles and continued. “I have invited you here today to witness the final outcome of your current endeavors before you move on to your next case and the next phase of your development. And as Aurora said prior to this meeting, at this point it is out of your hands anyway. Only those of us on the Seventh Heaven level can intervene now, and then only to some extent. And contrary to what you may be thinking, everything is working out quite well. Right now, it is very clear to me that most everyone in our soul group is getting exactly what they wanted out of their current incarnations, which is a very good thing. We may have had to make a few alterations, but as they say, all’s well that ends well. Now please, sit back and watch as things unfold. When it is all over, I will be happy to answer any of your questions—at least those that I can at this juncture.”

  Vito knew he had to act fast before someone decided to check on his captive. If it hadn’t been for all the loud noises, he could have taken his time. It was just as well, because those noisy foster kids would be coming back soon anyway. He took one last tug at the knots he had placed on the ropes binding the pharmacist to the chair before peeking out the window. He turned and looked into Bennie’s frightened eyes. “I shoulda asked where you kept your stash before I gagged you. That was dumb.” Then with a shrug of his shoulders, he pulled his gun out of his pants and slipped quietly out the door.

  From the back window, he saw the pretty lady feeding a bottle to the baby on the living room sofa. The older woman was in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. Only a few soft lights were on inside the house, which made it harder for Vito to see, but he felt sure they were the only ones there. Still, he walked the entire perimeter of the house before going inside. He entered through an open side door, which led to the laundry room just off the kitchen. He came up on Marge from behind, grabbing her around the waist with one arm and simultaneously placing the chloroformed washrag to her face with the other. Pharmacists have some very interesting things in their medicine cabinets. It wasn’t something Vito had planned, but it would make it a lot easier only having to deal with one woman at a time.

  Marge’s body went limp, and he lowered her slowly to the floor with barely a sound. When he rounded the corner to the living room, he took perverse pleasure in the look on the pretty lady’s face as she noticed him suddenly appear. A look to die for: so many emotions and thoughts flooding over that porcelain skin, those emerald eyes, her full, trembling lips. But wait. What is this? She stood, baby still clutched in her arms, and threw the bottle at his head. Because he wasn’t expecting it, he didn’t move, and it hit him square on the forehead just above his left eyebrow. Nice shot. Vito found himself aroused by the pretty lady’s fiery temperament. He forgot about the baby and fixated on Caroline.

  “So what do you want with my baby?” Vito asked, momentarily pointing his gun to the side.

  The plainclothes agent in the unmarked car with the large antennae pulled up in the back alley behind the older-model Chevy that was parked behind the silver Audi sports coup with its headlights on and the door open. As he got out of the car, he noticed the engine was idling and could hear the crooning of a male tenor being drowned out by an annoying dinging sound. The interior light was on, and the sunroof was open. He was familiar with the Audi, as he had been watching its owner closely now for weeks. But the Chevy was new to him. He shone his flashlight on the Chevy’s rear license plate and called in the number. It came back registered to an owner by the name of Paolo Juarez. He knew the man. Short and stout, his friends referred to him by the nickname Sparky, and he had recently been suspected of harboring a fugitive. But that wasn’t this agent’s concern. He only wanted Benjamin Bechtel, and something here didn’t look right, so he called for police backup before he opened the trunk of his car, pulled out his Ithaca twelve-gauge shotgun, and proceeded to inspect the outside of the detached garage, where he knew Benjamin was currently residing.

  Caroline stood motionless. She had been taken by surprise and was trying hard to clear her head, to calm herself. What is it one is supposed to do in a situation like this? Psychologically outwit him? Make him think I am on his side? Work with him at first until I see a chance to escape? “I l
ove your baby,” she answered softly. “I would love to be your baby’s mother if that’s okay with you.” She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and was sure he could hear it, too, from where he stood.

  Vito’s eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a slight smile on one side of his face as he turned his head ever so slightly to the other side, all the while keeping his focus dead set on Caroline. He allowed his eyes to undress her, and he saw a tight body underneath her form-fitting jeans and thin sweater top. She was elegant. Not the kind of woman normally within his reach. But he could smell her desperation. He had something she wanted. This made him feel superior. He knew he had the upper hand. He felt the familiar pulsing in his groin, lost his focus for a moment, forgot about time. All he wanted now was her. He would have them both—take them both with him.

  Caroline read the lust in Vito’s eyes. Her plan was working. If she could be a good enough actress, she could buy herself some time. Time until someone noticed. But how long would that take? No one knew where she was. Marge had told the police not to come. She wondered how long it would be before Marge’s husband came back.

  “What have you done with the woman?” Caroline asked, still keeping her voice soothing, trying to ask matter-of-factly. The baby had fallen back asleep in spite of everything, her belly now full.

  “What’s it to you?” Vito answered.

  “I just want to make sure she won’t cause us any trouble,” she said. “I was hoping I could have you all to myself, to get to know you.”

  “Sit back down.” Vito motioned with his gun hand.

  Caroline did as she was told. “Do you think you could put that thing away?” She motioned to the gun. “It makes me nervous, and I don’t want to be nervous around the baby.”

  Vito smiled, walked toward the plate glass window, and turned the blinds until they tilted downward so no one on the outside could see in. Then he sat opposite Caroline in a wingback chair, placed his gun in his lap, and crossed his legs. “She’s asleep in the kitchen, the ole lady. Don’t worry, I didn’t hurt her; I only put her to sleep for a little while. I’m not a killer.”