The Gretel Series: Books 1-3 (Gretel Series Boxed set)

by Coleman, Christopher

  She stood motionless on the porch staring wide-eyed at the hulking red machine, only raising her arm slightly to take in her brother as he finally lumbered up beside her. The size of the car and the deep rumbling of the idling engine made Gretel think of a bull sizing up a bullfighter, only instead of the confidence of a matador, Gretel was frozen with fear. The System was there to help—to find her mother—that was their job; but it all felt wrong, and Gretel couldn’t help feeling terrified.

  “Who is that, Gretel?” Hansel asked, not taking his eyes off the car.

  Her brother was fairly composed, Gretel thought, given the menacing mass of metal that loomed in his front yard.

  “Is it The System?”

  Gretel cleared her throat. “Yes,” she replied with a feeble attempt at confidence.

  “We should get Father. Is he awake?”

  “He’s gone. He went to look for Mother.”

  Hansel glanced toward his sister, who intercepted his look before he could draw some horrible conclusion.

  “He’ll be back soon. He just wanted to search again in the daylight. You saw how impossible it was last night.”

  This seemed to assuage whatever worry was brewing in Hansel, and he focused again on the current circumstances. After a moment he said, “Maybe they know something about Mother.”

  Gretel knew The System had come there about her mother, obviously, but she assumed it was to get information. A photograph, a description of what her mother was wearing, who her friends were, things like that. Information to help them in their search. Admittedly, Gretel even had a thought while she stood gawking at the car that they had come to question Father about his role in her mother’s disappearance, though his alibi was indisputable. What she hadn’t considered, however, was that they had come with news. “Yes. Maybe.”

  The prospect of answers turned Gretel’s fear into tempered anticipation, though she realized that if the car was indeed bringing news, it almost certainly wasn’t good. Otherwise, she figured, they would have called. Or brought her mother home. Wasn’t that how it was done? She had seen bad news delivered that way in movies after a soldier had been killed in battle or a child had gone missing.

  The eagerness for closure was now strong, and Gretel considered approaching the car. It was parked on her property, after all, and she would have been in her perfect right walking up to the cloudy black driver’s side window and knocking delicately on the glass.

  But that didn’t feel right. It seemed rather dangerous in fact, and Gretel now imagined her face pressed down in the dirt driveway with the barrel of a pistol digging into the back of her skull. No, she would stay put for now. Even her father, Gretel suspected, wouldn’t have been so bold as to approach a System car without being ordered to do so. If The System sent a car this far out to the Back Country, they obviously did so for a reason, and it wasn’t for the purpose of parking outside her house to do nothing. Whatever they had to bring—whether it was questions or news—they would bring it eventually.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  Gretel put her arm around her brother’s neck and led him back into the house, glancing over her shoulder at the snoring metal beast as she did so. Hansel clucked softly in protest but followed his sister, and once inside immediately dashed to the front window to continue his surveillance.

  “Hansel! Get away from there,” Gretel scolded.

  Ignoring his sister, Hansel pressed his face against the glass and cupped his hands around his eyes. “Why are they not coming out of the car? What are they waiting for?”

  “They’re probably gathering papers and things,” Gretel replied, “and reviewing our case. So they know what questions to ask.”

  Hansel pulled his face from the window, as if detecting a tone of insincerity in his sister’s voice, and stared at Gretel. “Is she dead, Gret?”

  Gretel could see the welling of tears in Hansel’s eyes and the large lump that formed and then disappeared in his throat, and she knew this was the first time her brother had accepted the possibility that his mother was not coming home. She felt remorse at having triggered this truth in him, wishing her acting had been a bit better. But ultimately she knew this acceptance would help to soften the slamming news if it was indeed coming.

  She reached out to her brother, beckoning him and took him into her arms, holding him as the muffled sobs erupted into her belly. “No, Han,” she said, “I don’t think she is.”

  Gretel closed her eyes and rested her cheek on top of her brother’s head, rocking him gently as his tears poured into her shirt. She shushed him halfheartedly, but only to convey her compassion, not in any way to stifle his crying. She wanted him to cry as long as he needed.

  The siblings stood embraced by the window for several minutes, and Gretel temporarily forgot about the mysterious officer watching their home. She considered instead the answer she had given Hansel: that her mother wasn’t dead. Did she really believe that? Was her mother alive somewhere, unharmed? She had no reason to believe that, but in the pit of her heart, she knew it was true. No scenario had emerged in her mind over the past twenty-four hours to logically support that belief, but she believed it anyway. And if she was wrong—and the longer her mother stayed missing, the likelihood that she was wrong grew—then she’d be wrong. But until then, she’d go with her instincts and keep hope close.

  Gretel opened her eyes and gasped at the figure walking toward her house. He was coming. Finally. She released Hansel from her clutches and placed her hands on his shoulders as he turned toward the focus of his sister’s stare.

  Gretel and Hansel inched closer to the window for a clear view and watched as the man approached slowly, almost leisurely, seeming to take inventory of the surroundings of the house. He was a law officer, of course, an investigator, so his interest in the house wasn’t by itself unusual, but the insouciance of his mannerisms were so unlike anything resembling ‘official’ that if Gretel had seen this man walking on the street somewhere, or in a park, she would have guessed him drunk.

  The two children watched the man disappear from view as he neared the front door and then waited in silence, listening to his footsteps on the porch stairs. The two loud raps on the door that followed, though expected, were startling, and Hansel couldn’t suppress a yelp.

  “Stay here,” Gretel said, as she walked to the door, turning back to her brother before opening it. “Remember, he’s here to help us.”

  Hansel nodded meekly to his sister, and then Gretel lifted her head, threw back her shoulders, and opened the door slowly. For the first time in her life, she stood face to face with The System.

  The officer stood with precise posture in the doorway, respectfully distant from the entrance. He wasn’t particularly large in stature, certainly not to the degree that the myths perpetuated System officers—Gretel guessed he was probably shorter than her father. And neither was there anything in his dress that inspired fear; in contrast to the car he drove, his clothes were rather customary. In fact, his overall appearance had a rather retroactive quality that was comforting.

  “Good afternoon,” he said smiling. “My name is Officer Stenson.”

  The words came out quietly, but unmistakably clear, as if he were disclosing very important information in the stacks of a library. He presented a small metal shield—which might just as well have been a dead fish as far as Gretel was willing to question his authority.

  “I’m looking for Heinrich Morgan,” the man continued. “Does he live here?”

  “Yes,” Gretel squeaked, somewhat pleased with herself that she was able to manage even a word.

  “May I speak with him?”

  Officer Stenson stood casually now, leaning slightly forward with his hands clasped behind his back. He was clearly making an attempt at coming across friendly, and Gretel thought he was doing an excellent job.

  “No,” Gretel replied. She stared unblinkingly at the man, on some level expecting him to eventually morph into the robotic giant that she had env
isioned since her earliest memories.

  The System officer held his smile and raised his eyebrows slightly, as if humored by the precociousness of the adolescent girl in front of him. “No?”

  “I mean, he’s not home. He left.”

  Officer Stenson frowned and stared to his right, as if thinking about what to do with such a perplexing answer. He turned back to Gretel and said, “May I ask your name, young lady?”

  Gretel paused, and then with a bit of a defiant stare said, “Yes.”

  The officer stood waiting, and then realizing she had answered his question, threw back his head in laughter.

  There was a glowing sincerity to the officer’s face and movements, and Gretel couldn’t help but smile herself. Something about this man she liked instinctively, but there was something deeper she remained cautious of. Perhaps, she considered, it was just his position as a System officer.

  Officer Stenson composed himself, exhaling the last few chuckles from his chest, and then, nodding approvingly, said, “You’re a smart girl. I should think you’ll have all the boys under your command very shortly.”

  Gretel blushed.

  “In fact, my son is about your age, perhaps I should drag him out of the car so you can help get him under control. I certainly can’t seem to do it.”

  He laughed again at the answer the girl had given, and Gretel peeked behind him, amazed at the fact that there was both a boy her age in that devil-car in her front yard, and that this man in front of her was old enough to have such a child. He looked half her father’s age.

  The officer took note of Gretel’s stare. “Ah yes, my son. That’s why I was so long outside. He’s had some trials lately.”

  Gretel detected a flare in the officer’s eyes, but it evaporated as quickly as it rose.

  “Now, more directly this time, young lady, what is your name?”

  “Gretel,” she replied with a smile of satisfaction. “Gretel Morgan.”

  “Gretel. Morgan.” The officer wrote each name down with great concentration, maintaining a very formal demeanor, and this made Gretel laugh out loud. “Well, Gretel Morgan, do you know when...” Officer Stenson caught himself this time. “When will your father be back?”

  “I don’t know.” Gretel frowned. “He went to look for my mother.” Gretel looked away from the officer, suddenly flooded with the reminder of why he was here.

  Gretel looked back toward the man, who had now assumed a slightly crouched position, bringing himself to her eye level. “Gretel,” he said solemnly, “may I come in?”

  Whatever fear Gretel had for the officer was now all but gone, and she figured that if he had come to hurt her, he could have done so at any time. She opened the door wide and stepped aside, and Officer Stenson entered, immediately catching sight of the anxious boy standing statue-like in the kitchen.

  Gretel walked quickly toward her brother, framing her arms around him. “This is my brother Hansel.”

  Officer Stenson gave a delicate nod toward the boy, looking him squarely in the eye. The man reminded Gretel of someone who has encountered an unfamiliar dog and is trying to gauge its temperament based on the slight signals of posture and expression. There was an inferred tension in the silence, and Gretel could feel the distrust in her brother’s body.

  “It’s all right, Han. This is Officer Stenson.”

  Hansel looked at his sister, and then back to the man. “Why is Officer Stenson all right?” he replied, maintaining the stare of a gunfighter, if not the confidence.

  “Because he’s here to help us,” she replied, but immediately realized that the officer had not yet actually stated his reason for being there, and she was ready to get to the matter. “Isn’t that right, Officer Stenson? You’re here about our mother?”

  The officer looked toward Gretel and then back to the boy. “I am,” he said. “Is there somewhere we can sit down?”

  PERCHED PATERNALLY on a weathered leather ottoman, Officer Stenson sat opposite the two children, who waited anxiously side by side on the sofa in the living room. Gretel recalled how she and her brother had sat this way countless times over the years, listening to their father’s stories—or, occasionally, his scoldings—and Gretel felt a sort of comfort in this reverie. This man in front of her wasn’t her father, but he was a protector by trade, and that was important right now.

  The officer clasped his hands together and frowned, and then looked down at the floor, gathering his thoughts before beginning. “Normally I would wait for your father, but you both seem to understand the situation at hand, and I’ll need to leave soon.” Officer Stenson paused. “First of all, we haven’t found your mother.”

  He stared intently at the children’s faces, waiting, and Gretel could see the uncertainty in his eyes, realizing the news could be taken either way. Gretel instinctively reached over and grabbed her brother’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  “We’re searching the portion of the Interways that lead to your...” the officer lingered on the ‘r’ and pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket, flipping it open to the proper spot, “...grandfather’s house. If something happened along that stretch, we’ll know.”

  “You mean an accident?” Gretel said.

  “Yes, an accident.” And then, “Or if the car was abandoned.”

  “You mean like if the car broke down and she left it there? Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know Gretel, she probably didn’t. It’s just a possibility that we need to think about.”

  “Do people do that a lot?” Gretel hadn’t really thought about this as an explanation, but now that the officer had mentioned it the hope she’d kept ablaze flickered higher.

  “No,” Officer Stenson said without hesitation, “not a lot. But on that stretch of road there is very little traffic and there have been instances of people leaving to look for fuel or a phone to call for help.”

  The hope fire rose higher.

  “But honestly, Gretel, we’re not hopeful of that being the case with your mother. We’ve driven the route—I drove a large portion of it myself—we would have found the car.”

  Gretel closed her eyes and frowned. The scenario of her mother leaving for help wasn’t completely unthinkable to Gretel. Her mother wasn’t exactly what Gretel would describe as hearty, but she was a survivor, and if walking the countryside for help was the practical solution to a situation—like being stranded on the road—she would have pursued it. On the other hand, the officer had a point: if she had left the road for help, where was the car?

  “Maybe the car was towed away?”

  “The car would only be towed from the Interways under System direction, and no request was put in. Look, Gretel, we know what to look for and we’re looking for it.”

  Gretel detected a hint of agitation in Officer Stenson’s voice, and she blushed, embarrassed now that she had presumed to know more than the man in front of her.

  Officer Stenson grabbed Gretel’s hand. “You’re obviously a very smart girl, Gretel, and I do need your help to find your mother. So perhaps I can ask you the questions and you can give me the answers?”

  Gretel smiled weakly at the compliment and nodded.

  “And Hansel, I’ll need your help too.” The officer took a masculine tone with the boy, curt and direct. “Will you help me?”

  Hansel nodded bravely, seriously, eager to play a role in solving the puzzle.

  Before the officer uttered the first syllable of his question, a voice boomed through the house, thunderously, as if God Himself had spoken. “Hansel, go to your room.”

  The voice was calm, even-toned, but the energy in the words nearly knocked the wind from Gretel’s chest. It had come invisibly from somewhere behind the walls of the kitchen.

  Father.

  He appeared slowly in the entryway, locking his eyes on the stranger holding court with his children. He stood tall and still, his eyes narrowed. There wasn’t quite rage in her father’s face, Gretel thought, it was something
closer to disgust. The way one might look at a person who has once again violated a recently regained trust. She was thankful that his hands were unclenched and visible at his sides; if there had been a gun in one of them, it wouldn’t have surprised her.

  Officer Stenson smoothed the creases in his pants and stood, and Hansel scuttled off to his room. Gretel shifted her eyes between the two men and began to follow her brother toward the back of the house.

  “Gretel,” her father barked, “stay here.”

  Heinrich Morgan stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked toward Officer Stenson, a passive-aggressive casualness in his demeanor, stopping only inches from The System officer. Gretel’s jaw hung loosely at her father’s boldness, both by his irreverence toward The System and the contrasting display of masculinity as compared to the withering he’d shown the day before. He had perhaps gone over the edge, Gretel thought, and this frightened her. She sat back down on the couch, a spectator to whatever would unfold.

  “Mr. Morgan,” the officer began, “my name is Officer Stenson. I’m with the fourth division of the Southlands System. I’m here about your wife, Anika.”

  Officer Stenson’s voice was deep and clear, unaffected by the intrusion. The leisurely softness he had shown toward the children was now a sterile recitation of business. He stared directly into the eyes of the man before him, never blinking, and his mouth showed not the hint of a smile. This, Gretel thought, was The System of which her father had spoken.

  “Really?” Gretel’s father replied sarcastically. “You’re here about my wife?” He laughed. “No doubt it was the first case on the docket this morning.”

  “Mr. Morgan...”

  “Why are you here?” Gretel’s father growled.