The chopper coasted above an old mill with a waterwheel and then more trees. On the helicopter’s second pass over the woods, she spotted the twin peaks of Father’s lodge. She pointed it out to Peak. He nodded and signaled for the pilot to take them back to the department.
“We’re going to check out a few of the lodges and cabins,” Rachel said to McConnell.
“Keep your guns loaded,” the lieutenant replied and gave them the okay to proceed.
“It’s just us then,” Peak said as Rachel ducked into his car.
“Surprise, surprise.” Rachel put on her seatbelt.
Basing most of her investigation off hunches and the Gift, it meant less ways to convince McConnell to supply them with necessary reinforcements. Trusting more in logic and rational thought, Peak hated these scenarios.
“If we die, at least Clove has her mother and her douchey boyfriend.”
“You know what I love most about you, Jenson.”
Peak deadpanned. “My cheekbones.”
“You’re always brimming with positivity.”
“You’re not very observant,” Peak said dryly.
Rachel chuckled and checked her pistol’s magazine filled with .40 caliber rounds. She clicked it back into place. If she had to shoot, she’d shoot to kill.
Peak’s Impala turned off the ascending hill’s street and onto a dirt trail on the way to the lodge.
Through the trees, the single-story building came into view. Made of blocky hard wood with high ceilings, the building had a homey feel to it. However, there were signs of visible wear and tear. The screening on the windows had been peeled down. A few dark green, sandpaper-like shingles had been stripped away. Nearby, a pile of chopped wood crumbled into the snow and mud. The mud was probably the most noticeable feature of the property. The snow here was stained slush, and both the front and back yard had dozens of muddy patches.
“No cars,” Peak pointed out as they came to a stop in the driveway. The dirt seemed to suck on the Impala’s wheels.
Taking deep breaths, Peak and Rachel exited the car at the same time and approached the front. Neither one of them were averse to sneaking inside, but life would be a lot easier if they could calmly bring the perpetrator in the legal way. Keeping the top button on their holster loose, they kept a hand on the coarse grips of concealed handguns and gave the door a hardy knock.
Above their head, icicles glistened in the sunlight and dripped steadily into the snow. They’re weeping.
Peak gave the door another hard knock and peered into the windows. The curtains, which they realized were bed sheets with questionable stains, hung over the window. Peak tried the doorknob. Locked.
“Warrant?” Rachel whispered.
“Screw it,” Peak replied, reverting back to his undercover days. Using two fingers, he gestured for Rachel to head around back.
The soggy mud sucked at their boots as they trekked around the building, leaving behind a series of the muddy prints in their wake. So much for the element of surprise. A small wall of cemented brick supported the lodge. The lowest portion of the lodge’s exterior walls had been chipped away and looked like wooden fangs and weathered planks. The backyard was forested in by leafless trees and old stumps. Snow clumped over detached tree branches, giving them the appearance of contorted bones, while wet slosh piled over bunched evergreen branches, making them look like the ash-covered bodies found at Pompeii. Peak ran his foot over one of them just to make sure they weren’t really cadavers.
Rachel felt something tingle at the back of her neck. Under her jacket and long johns, her hair stood. Was it danger or an Orphan? She slowly removed her gun from the holster. Noticing, Peak copied.
Rachel pointed at the slushed snow directly beyond the lodge’s roofless patio.
Snow angels. Dozens of them and of different sizes, melting away with the sun.
Rachel squatted near one of them, feeling that familiar tug against her shirt. “A day old. Two days, tops.”
To Rachel’s left, the snow and mud parted. Rachel stayed still, watching the snow sweep away in a rhythmic motion, creating a fan-type shape. Rachel glanced back to Peak. He eyed her curiously, but he didn’t see the muggy snow angel forming next to her.
“One?” Rachel asked as if she were calling hopelessly into the universe.
Without warning, the twenty-something year old appeared lying where the newest snow angel had formed. He glared at Rachel with his dry and veiny eyes. His rotted teeth parted, revealing hints of a tongue stub. Without the assistance of his hands, he sat up, keeping his back as straight as a bed board.
Peak tried to look at where Rachel was staring but obviously couldn’t see the Orphan. Number One got on his hands and feet like some sort of quadrupedal animal and galloped across the yard, kicking up snow and mud with his bare hands and feet. The noise from his mouth was gargled and sounded like a dog with a chew toy.
“What are you…” Rachel’s voice trailed off, unsure what to make of the Orphan’s strange behavior.
Cock-eyed, slack-jawed, and slobbering, the crazed Orphan turned back to Rachel and charged. Still crouched, Rachel scrambled backwards. The heel of her boot slipped on the mud and set her rear end into the slush. She raised her arms to guard her face, but the impact never came.
Rising up on his knees, Number One stared down at her with arms up and fingers curved like tiger claws.
Before Rachel could open her mouth to speak, Number One raked his fingers against his own throat, turning his pasty flesh pink with a scratch mark. Making the same gargling noise, he kept working at his Adam’s apple until the skin peeled and crimson droplets plopped on Rachel’s brown leather jacket. Wide eyed, Rachel glanced at the oblivious but alarmed Peak.
Number One fell to his back, stomping and crawling like he was having a temper tantrum.
“Rachel,” Peak said, scary calm.
A fortified wooden beam on the patio had a number of snapped chains tied so tightly around the vertical rectangular block that they burrowed into the corners of the wood. The chain’s knot was so tight that someone had used bolt cutters to sever the links. Thin rivets in the dirt and snow stretched to where the Orphan thrashed. Rachel imagined that was where the chain had laid when Number One would “play.”
Rachel’s mouth went dry when she thought about what other horrors awaited her within the isolated lodge.
Chapter Five
Feather Beds
Peak’s auto lock picker worked the doorknob keyhole and granted Rachel and Peak access into the lodge’s shoe room. Old muddy boots and tennis shoes sat in cubbies and were strewn across the dirty hardwood floor. Keeping her gun raised, Rachel flipped the light switch. Nothing. She peered inside one of the rank boots. Size 13 male. Big fella. Number One seemed to fit between sizes 9-10. Peak closed the door behind them, sealing them off from the cold wind.
A single step connected the shoe room to a windowed interior door. Multiple deadbolt locks sealed it from this side. They weren’t trying to keep someone out. They were meant to keep someone in. With her gloved hand, Rachel slid out the deadbolts one by one, listening to the metal dragging against wood with each one she undid. When she was finished, Peak dealt with the lock on the doorknob. They opened into the kitchen. It was open with a bar, an old refrigerator decorated with magnets, a few open cupboards, and a gas stove. Beyond that, the first thing Rachel noticed with a horrid smell. Body odor, sour milk, and decay. After checking the corners, she kept her back close to the wall and scanned the living room through the bar window. Couch, TV, DVD stand, etc.
Peak stopped in front of the fridge and examined small corners of construction paper still lingering below the magnet. He pulled open the fridge and grimaced at the stench. A topless carton was tipped on its side and spilling out hardened milk. There were a few containers of leftover chicken that had turned almost white and hardened with a fuzzy texture. To keep the place from smelling any worse, Peak closed the fridge and opened the freezer. It was empty apart from a
bundle of multicolored popsicles in a neon green fishnet bag.
Rachel explored the cupboards, finding a few mouse turds and cheap dinnerware. The drawers were empty, and there was a black, moldy smudge around the sink drain.
Football jerseys were tacked on the walls of the living room around the 65-inch box TV. The DVD rack consisted of sports films and kid movies. Fuzz bloomed out of the couch cushions. Remnants of potato chips and fingernail clippings littered the floor. Rachel and Peak traveled down the short, stubby hall, peeking into the bathroom with a cracked mirror and missing shower curtain. They reached two sets of doors on the same side of the room. They opened into two bedrooms, yet the wall separating them had been taken out. The smaller of the rooms had two bunk beds, and the bigger room had three. The feather-filled mattresses they held had no sheets and were stained brown and yellow. There was a deflated blow-up mattress on the floor. Clumps of dirt and hair lingered in the corners of the room. The hardwood felt like sandpaper with how dirty it was. There were a few plastic pins for toys, but they had been removed. Bed sheets covered the windows, but beyond the makeshift curtains, tall sheets of plywood barred the window.
Rachel felt a sickening pit in her stomach as she looked over the double room. The Sense fluctuated, one minute making her calm and the next making her shake uncontrollably.
“This is a bad place,” Rachel whispered, almost as if even talking was not permitted.
Peak didn’t reply. His coal-black eyes studied the scratch marks on the floor where someone had been dragged out.
Leaving behind the feather beds, they trekked to the master room. It was tightly locked, but gave way to Peak’s persuasion. It had a metal shelf on each wall, and each shelf contained file boxes and plastic cubbies. The bed had long posts with flame-shaped tops, one of which was missing. There were more sports paraphernalia hanging from the walls. However, the nail heads jutting from the wall hinted at more objects that had been removed. There were outlines of squares on the dusty shelf to show where boxes or similar-sized objects once sat. A portable generator sat in the corner alongside a can of gasoline down to the dregs. It gave the room a sharp, stale smell.
Peak headed for one of the boxes.
Rachel stopped him. “Let’s call it in.”
With a disapproving expression, Peak made the call.
At the wail of sirens, black birds took flight across the overcast sky. Red and blue lights reflected on the barren trees and melting snow. Icicles wept. A thin branch bowed under the weight of the snow, spilling the wet powder on dirty slush.
Rachel nibbled on her thumbnail as speeding police cruisers slowed next to Peak’s vehicle. Officer Jones stepped out of one. He was a thirty-something country boy in uniform with sandy blond hair and mustache to match. He clenched the search warrant in one hand.
“You ready to bust that door down?” he asked.
Rachel gave him the go ahead. A few officers with a metal battering ram charged the door and gave it two solid hits to blow it open. Wielding flashlights and guns, they swarmed into the house, fanning out the more they went. The police helicopter circled overhead, keeping an eye out for Father. Rachel guessed he had been gone since he killed Number One.
Throughout the house, officers yelled “clear” until the property was secure. After, they put away their guns and started their search.
“The feather beds make me uneasy,” Officer Jones said. “How many people do you think he’s been keeping here? And for how long?”
“It’s hard to say,” Rachel said honestly. “Much of the house is outdated and underdressed, so it will be hard to pinpoint an exact date. If you’ll excuse me. I have to do my search.”
Removing her old gloves and putting on blue plastic ones, Rachel started opening file boxes and storage bins. Ninety-five percent of them were empty. However, one drew Rachel’s attention. She found the shoe box underneath the bed. Beneath old gas station receipts, Rachel discovered two driver’s licenses. Someone had taken the time to scratch out the name, license number, address, and eyes. The first was a woman with cherry blonde hair. She had rounded cheeks and appeared to be very pretty at one point in time. The second license was of a man. He had brown hair and a strong jawline. Comparing them side by side, Rachel could tell that the address, though unreadable, took up the same amount of space on the card. The last name seemed to take up the same amount as well.
Rachel flashed the licenses to Peak. “A couple?”
Peak took them from Rachel. He squinted at one and then other. Keeping his lips pursed, he nodded.
“He must’ve bolted the moment he took out Number One,” Rachel thought out loud. “But he wasn’t as thorough as he thought.”
“Good for us,” Peak said and bagged the IDs.
A desperate killer meant more mistakes. To leave this place before the police caught wind of it meant that he didn’t have any strong local ties. They could be dealing with a drifter. They were always worst kind. Sometimes cases like this were open for years. Thankfully, the Gift gave Rachel an edge. However, without solid police work and the proper condemning evidence, it didn’t get her far in the justice system. For Orphans that knew their killer’s name, Rachel’s investigation quickly became frustrating if the evidence didn’t match the claim.
Forensics got a heap of evidence: hairs, bloodstains, fingerprints, lip prints, etc. Nonetheless, the proper tests needed to check these would take anywhere between a week to six months. Highlands PD was underfunded and understaffed. They would have to ship their findings to a forensics lab a few towns away. The holiday would probably delay it further.
Not the type to stand idle, Rachel returned to the department, scanned the driver’s licenses, and contacted the DMV. They started them through their database while Rachel studied the crime scene photos on the evidence board in the briefing room.
“Highlands has become quite the magnet,” a voice said behind her.
Rachel turned back to Lieutenant McConnell. At 6’4”, he towered over her by eight inches. His grey hair was rich and nicely combed, with long sideburns that ended near his jawline. Hands in his pockets, he joined Rachel by the board.
“For killers,” McConnell elaborated.
Rachel had noticed it too. There were the killings at the Hadley House in 1983, a few crimes of passion sprinkled into 2000s, and then a surge of homicides thereafter. This year, Rachel had taken down two serial killers, and, if the DMV confirmed that the owners of the driver’s licenses were deceased, that would make Father the third serial killer just in time for New Year’s.
McConnell reminisced, “I remember when Highlands was quiet, a little blip in the Appalachia. Still is. It’s one of the reasons I became a cop here.”
“Thought it would be easy?” Rachel asked, studying the “1” carved into the cadaver’s back.
“I thought a uniform would impress the ladies,” McConnell admitted.
“We all have our reasons,” Rachel replied, thinking about the endless tide of Orphans that needed to find their way home. The wave would overtake her one day, Rachel knew, but until that day came, she would keep fighting the current.
McConnell twisted his wedding ring and studied the cadaver photo with unblinking eyes. “Show the bastard who did this that, despite his contrary belief, evil doesn’t go unpunished.”
“You can count on me,” Rachel said.
McConnell cracked a smile. “I know I can, Harroway.”
Rachel’s phone jiggled. DMV. She answered.
Rachel pulled out a pen and jotted down the information on her wrist. When the call ended, she looked over to Peak’s desk. He had headphones on and was filling out a crime report from a domestic dispute case. His metal desk lacked charm and, apart from a picture of his daughter, what few items he had were disheveled. The coffee in his dirty mug was stale and cold.
Rachel pulled up her rolling chair next to him and read from her wrist. “Roger and Hannah Taft. A married couple from Maryland. Their bodies were discovered in the 90s.
Pull it up on the database.”
Peak minimized his tab and researched the lead.
Old crime scene photos revealed a tow truck pulling a station wagon from a lake. A few officers stood around with clipboards in hand. The next picture showed the station wagon with its front door open. Drenched, bloated with water, and very much dead, Roger Taft sat in the front seat with his head thrown back. Hannah Taft rested her head on his shoulder. She had a bullet hole in her torso. A cinder block crushed on the gas pedal.
“Check this out.” Peak pointed at the transcript of a phone call to the Tafts’ next of kin. “Their kids were reported missing.”
“Search ‘em up.”
Black and white headshots of seven-year-old Yogi and six-year-old Vinna Taft appeared on the screen. The little girl was adorable with cherry blonde hair, but Rachel didn’t recognize her. The boy, on the other hand…his buckteeth, ginger hair, and prominent jaw even at a young age all pointed to Number One.
“1992,” Peak said. “I bet he’s been a captive all that time.”
Twenty-two years. Rachel could barely wrap her mind around it. Number One, or Yogi as she should call him, didn’t know how to write and was one step away from being feral. His tongue had been removed lord knew how long ago. He was locked inside of a lodge with boarded-up windows. By the number of bunk beds, he wasn’t alone in his suffering. He could’ve been the first of many or the last. Rachel tasted her breakfast coming back up. Anger boiled in her gut. She felt her blood pressure rising.
“Get me the address of that lake,” Rachel commanded, much harsher than she had anticipated. “We find him today.”
Peak sped down U.S. Highway 64 and pulled up to Mirror Lake. In the spring, it was a place of beautiful, densely packed greenery, but winter had killed the flora. Rachel and Peak crossed a small bridge and followed it to the copse of trees where Father sent the Tafts to their watery grave. Rachel stepped outside. Slow snowflakes landed on her nose and cheeks before quickly melting away. Dark steel clouds covered the sky.
The Lost Orphans: Book 0 Page 5
