The Runaway Train

by M. W. Griffith

  Kathryn nodded and chewed the corner of her lip in thought. A gust of wind swept through the trees, pricking her cheeks. "I get it, Mr. Cutler, but you understand that I'm just trying to do my job. Sometimes it isn't pleasant, but you have to believe me when I say that I'm here to help."

  Mr. Cutler flicked his lighter and cupped the flame with his hand. He took a drag from the cigarette, blowing a long stream of smoke into the icy air. "Ya'll haven't exactly been eager to help as times gone on. Now that someone's found Tracie..." He trailed off, those weary eyes drifting out towards the road.

  "Now that someone's found your daughter, the department is no longer treating this as a missing person's case. I work in homicide, Mr. Cutler. My name's Kathryn Lincoln."

  He knitted his brow. "You're the one that's been all over the news, aren't you? Ashbridge's finest."

  Kathryn stepped closer to the man. "Aren't you cold?"

  "Sure," he said. "But a little cold weather won't kill me." He held up the cigarette between his fingers. "This might, though."

  Kathryn shivered. "If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to go over a few details with you about the night of the fire."

  "Go ahead."

  "I meant inside." She quickly held up her hands. "When you're finished with that, of course."

  "Are you going to get the guy that did this to her? The one who burned my baby and stuffed her in a box?"

  The bluntness of the question caught the detective off guard. She noticed him glance over at her with a flash of anger, and she knew that it came from a place of hurt. "That's the idea," she said.

  Chapter Three

  Kathryn welcomed the cup of coffee Mr. Cutler offered, savoring the warmth in her hands. He asked her about cream or sugar, but she turned him down. Outside, the wind picked up. It threw tiny pellets of ice against the windows, making her thankful he’d finished the cigarette quickly.

  "You want to ask me questions, ask away." Mr. Cutler grimaced as he plopped down in a recliner opposite the detective.

  "I've read the reports, and I know you've been over what happened a thousand times already." Kathryn bent over the cup, letting the hot steam roll up to her face. "But if you could just give me a quick run through of that night, I'd appreciate it. It's all procedure, so believe me when I say that I'm not trying to open up any wounds."

  "Not sure they ever closed." Mr. Cutler didn't look at her sitting on the sofa, but rather all around the living room. "The death of Mary only made it worse."

  Kathryn nodded. "Heard about your wife. I'm truly sorry."

  Silence formed like a fog between them for a long moment. It curled around the furniture, filling the space along the carpet and up a wall decorated with three children smiling from framed captivity. Kathryn was careful not to shine a light through the thickness, because she understood that Donnie Cutler had to find his way back on his own.

  Softly, as though he were a million miles away, he said, "The cancer that took her also kept her from having any more kids. That's why she wanted to adopt. It was always a dream of hers to have a full family, you know?"

  Kathryn sipped her coffee and frowned. “She got her wish. Plus, it must have been exciting for Tracie to have new siblings. There is something I was curious about, though. Jennie and Andrew came from a rough background. Their parents had a history of substance abuse. What made you and your wife want to adopt children who required special attention, if you don't mind me asking?"

  “You’re pretty forward with these questions. Look, I know Mary was going through a lot. It made things difficult for us, but when we spoke to our pastor he was pretty convincing when he talked about fostering. Mary liked the idea of helping them, putting them on the right path, even as hers was ending."

  "This was the Monroe foster service?"

  "That's right."

  "What was the name of the social worker?"

  Mr. Cutler sighed. "Molly Evans. She helped us a lot, very professional. We took the preparation classes and everything. At first we were worried about the fees, but she explained they're typically covered with a tax credit at the end of the year."

  "Monroe is privately funded?"

  He shrugged. "That's right."

  Kathryn pursed her lips in thought. "Alright. Tell me what you remember about the fire."

  "The kids were excited that night," Cutler said with a small smile. "How could they not be? It was Halloween for goodness sake. Jennie and Andrew took Tracie trick or treating, even though Mary never really approved of the holiday. She was a godly woman, you know, and didn't like the idea of celebrating the devil’s holiday."

  Kathryn took a sip of coffee and listened for any discrepancy from the report filed almost three years ago. "What did Tracie dress up as?"

  "You know what she dressed up as," he snapped.

  "I'm sorry." She gripped the sides of the cup. "I understand this is hard."

  "No, I'm sorry. You're trying to help, like you said." He kicked back in the recliner and sighed. "She went as a ladybug. God, she was so cute with those little antennas. Anyway, she went with her older brother and sister, coming back a little after eight with a pillow case full of candy."

  "What time did they leave?"

  "Um, six, six fifteen. Didn't get back till eight. Anyway, I checked the candy while Jennie begged Mary to stay up later. Mary relented, but not without giving her and Andy a few extra responsibilities. They had to straighten up the kitchen, do the dishes, take out the trash, things like that."

  "They stayed in a loft space, isn't that right?"

  "Yeah," Cutler said. “Except for Tracie, her room was downstairs next to ours. She was the baby of the family, you know?"

  Kathryn set the coffee on a side table and leaned forward. "What time did they usually go to bed?"

  Mr. Cutler furrowed his brow in thought. "Lights out for Andy and Jennie was ten o' clock on a weeknight, Tracie around eight."

  "So Tracie was already up later than normal."

  "That's right. Mary tucked her in just before we went to bed.”

  Kathryn bit the corner of her lip. "At around what time did you notice something wasn't right in the house?"

  Chapter Four

  The sound of wind whistling through the broken windows of the warehouse made Mouse wince. She hated bad weather, and was glad she made it back before getting caught in it. The temperature plummeted, causing cold air to grip her small frame. She shivered, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

  The clear plastic case holding the cake was topped with snow and flecks of ice. With reddened fingers, she wiped it clean in order to make it more presentable. The howling storm didn't dampen her excitement of sharing the chocolatey treasure with her brother.

  She couldn’t wait.

  The smell of fire filled the air when she passed through an entryway. Joel stood next to a pile of scrap wood, newspapers, and garbage. He fed the flames inside a rusted metal barrel with a faraway look in his dark eyes. Wood crackled, dashing a flutter of embers high into the air, and she thought he looked like the loneliest person in the whole world.

  “Hey,” she said.

  Joel whirled around to face her. He wore a faded jean jacket and black pants with large holes in them. When he saw the cake in her hands, his grimy face split into an open smile. “Is this from Jeffery?”

  “Yup.”

  He snatched the cake from her grip, removing the lid and placing the platter onto a concrete block between them. Firelight danced in his eyes. “Oh, man! Mouse, you really hit the jackpot this time, didn’t you?”

  “Someone ordered it and never picked it up.” She grinned. “What kind of person would let good food go to waste?”

  “People who have money.” Joel shrugged. He scooped a handful of cake, chomping into the frosting. “They’re missing out.”

  “Gross.” Mouse wiggled the backpack off her shoulders and unzipped a side pocket. Her numb fingers pulled out a couple of plastic sporks. “Here, use one of these. I don’t wa
nt to eat where you’re nasty hands touched, so that whole side of the cake is yours.”

  Joel took the spork, the joy seeping away from his face. “I’m going to get a job, kiddo. Shit’s not always going to be like this, you know?”

  “Yeah.” She dug into the cake hungrily. “About that. I got up early this morning to see Wrench.”

  “You did what?”

  She burned with shame. “I know you told me to stay away from those guys. But they have things, Joel! Pants without holes, boots that aren’t worn out. Some of them even have a place to stay on days like this.”

  Joel shoved her to the ground, knocking the air from her lungs. The room shifted in circles, the embers blending together in streaks. She coughed, tears spilling down her face, and forced herself back up. The effort was strained, and she almost lost her balance.

  “I don’t believe it.” Joel held her open backpack in one hand and the sack of red tops in the other. “Do you know what this shit does to people? It kills, Mouse! And people will kill for it. I told you to stay away from drugs, didn’t I? Why can’t you ever just do as you’re told?”

  “I’m sorry!” She covered her face with both hands. “It’s not fair that they should be able to afford to eat food, real food, for breakfast! I just want us to be okay. That’s all I wanted!”

  Joel let go of the backpack and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her in a tight embrace. “No, I’m sorry, kiddo. It’s my fault. I should’ve found something by now. It makes sense that you’re just trying to do what works.”

  “Maybe we should have found a way to go back.” She pushed a greasy strand of dark hair behind an ear. “Back into the system. At least we’d have a soft bed at night. Hot meals.”

  “Hell no.” His breath was hot against her ear. “We know where that always landed us in the end. Remember what happened to Tracie? I’d rather die than let that kind of thing happen to you.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I know.”

  Joel set her down and motioned to the cake. “Better hurry up before I eat all the strawberry filling.”

  “Try if you can,” she said while stabbing into the frosting. “Um…”

  “What?”

  He was still holding the bag of red tops.

  “What are we gonna do with those?”

  He turned away from her and faced the fire. “We’re going to give them back to Wrench.”

  Chapter Five

  “It was a phone call, actually.” Mr. Cutler stared at the photographs on the wall. “Answering machine was full, so it just rang and rang. I got out of bed and went to the living room. Whoever it was seemed to have dialed the wrong number, or you know, butt dialed, because nobody spoke to me when I said hello. There was a lot of noise in the background, like clinking glasses and music. Sounded like a party if you ask me.”

  Kathryn jotted down a few notes in a small pad. “What time was that?”

  “Oh.” Mr. Cutler looked up at the ceiling. “I’d say around one, one-thirty.” He pulled out the pack of cigarettes. “Do you mind? I don’t usually smoke in the house, but there are some things that are harder to remember than others.”

  “You’re fine.” Kathryn waved a hand dismissively at him. “Did you go back to bed after that?”

  “Yes, but not before noticing something off. Usually, when the kids stay up late, they draw the shades and shut off the lights. I remember thinking it was odd, the lights being left on, so I took care of that and pulled the shades. It’s funny when you think about these kinds of things, you know? Afterward, I mean.”

  Kathryn watched him exhale the smoke through his nostrils. “Life is in the details.”

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “The next time I awakened, it was because of a crashing upstairs. It was followed by a rolling sound, like a bottle moving across the floor. Anyway, as soon as I opened my bedroom door I could feel the heat.”

  “Did you have any smoke detectors?”

  “Yeah, but they didn’t go off. I got Mary up and we immediately went into Tracie’s room. She wasn’t there, and the flames were crawling up the walls, making this horrible roaring noise. We started coughing, and I told Mary to get outside.”

  “Through the front door?”

  “That’s right.” He leaned back and took another long drag from the cigarette. “I stayed behind for a bit. Called up the stairs for Jennie and Andrew, but there was no response. So, I went in the kitchen and got the fire extinguisher from under the sink and tried to combat the flames. By that point, they’d reached the living room. It was just too hot, and the fire was too large, too fast.”

  “You went outside with your wife.” Kathryn took a sip from her coffee mug. “Is that when you went to the garage?”

  “That’s what I’ve told everyone, time and time again.” He shook his head solemnly. “I went for the ladder. Thought I’d climb on up to the second floor window, but the ladder wasn’t there.”

  “Someone stole your ladder, or did you misplace it?”

  Mr. Cutler leaned forward. His eyes became daggers. “It just wasn’t there. That ladder hadn’t moved from the garage since I painted the house the summer before. Someone didn’t want us to be upstairs.”

  Kathryn bit the corner of her lip. “Someone wanted your children to die?”

  “Just calling it like I saw it.” He leaned back in the chair again. “All me and Mary could do was stand outside, waiting on the fire department. All the while our house, everything we built for ourselves, burned to a crisp.”

  “And there was no sign of the children at all?”

  He shook his head. “No. The fire chief said that the blaze wasn’t hot enough to, you know, incinerate bone. There wasn’t anything left except a big pile of ash, maybe a few shards of the framework. All three of my kids vanished. Mary refused to accept what happened, so we formed a search party, got the local media involved. As time wore on, she knew. Like any parent would. She knew the kids were gone from our lives forever.”

  The fog of silence began to creep around the furniture again. Kathryn tucked the notebook away and finished her coffee. After several awkward minutes, she said, “Tracie was found with evidence consistent with abuse. Whether or not she sustained her injuries before or after the house fire hasn’t been determined.”

  The anger jolted back into his eyes. “Are you saying that I beat my kids?”

  “I’m saying that someone beat her. It may be whoever buried her out there in those woods. She’s the only one who wasn’t adopted, correct?”

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Did you notice any sign of stress or abnormal behavior?”

  “No. Tracie was a normal little girl. Report said the other two were siblings from a neglectful household. They were placed in foster care for a full year before the judge ruled their birth parents to be unfit and they were dumped into the adoption system.” Mr. Cutler mashed the cigarette out in an empty ashtray. “Now, someone abducted all three of them. They tried to cover their tracks by making sure we wouldn’t come looking, at least for very long. They burned down my house, detective. They stole the most precious things from me. It’s every parent’s worst nightmare.”

  Kathryn’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen.

  I’m at your place. - Patricia

  Mr. Cutler stood at the same time she did. “Are you going to find whoever is responsible? I mean, do you have any leads?”

  “You’ll be the first to know.” She gave him a small smile. “Thank you for meeting with me. I know it was difficult.”

  He folded his arms across his wide chest. “Anything to help find out what happened to my babies. All three of them.”

  Chapter Six

  Mouse sank into the shadows while Joel peered out at the street from an alley. Afternoon light bathed the passing cars in a vibrant yellow glare, causing her to shield her eyes. Her older brother didn’t seem to mind. As a matter of fact, he stood firm, back straight, eyes focused on the building across the way. T
o her, he was a hawk, ever watchful and dangerous.

  She felt so small, useless. For as long as she could remember, he was the one standing above her with confidence, with a huge sense of protectiveness. It clashed with her youthful mindset, challenging her willful thoughts of dependence, but she always knew that when things went too far south, he would be there for her. Always.

  That’s what big brothers were for.

  The back of his blue jeans bulged underneath the green hoodie. She knew Joel had a gun, a handgun, taken from their last foster family. He never talked about it, and she was too afraid to bring it up. Maybe she didn’t know how to have that conversation, or maybe she wasn’t quite smart enough to understand, but one thing she did know was that when worse came to worst, nothing would stop her big brother.

  She pulled up the hood to her own sweater and thought about how his heart was bigger than his head. One day, a choice would have to be made. One day, that choice might involve her.

  “You went in through the door across the way?” Joel pointed to the side street slicing between two buildings.

  “Yeah. But, Joel, these guys are for real.” Her voice felt small compared to his. “Can’t we figure out some other way?”

  “This is the only way.”

  She couldn’t see his expression inside the hood. It felt to her like something was wrong, but not because he was there with a pistol tucked in his pants. Something else radiated in her brain, something ominous that made her want to turn around and run back the way they’d come. Back to the warehouse. Back to the barrel and the blankets.

  “Alright. Let’s go have us a little chat with Wrench.”

  “Joel?” She tugged at his sleeve. “Can’t we wait until later?”

  “What the hell do you mean, later? The sooner we get those drugs off our hands, the better.”

  Mouse frowned. An icy wind roared into the alley, sweeping against her back. “I dunno. Something just doesn’t feel right.”