The Lost Orphans Omnibus: A Riveting Mystery

by J. S. Donovan

  “Any information beyond that?” Rachel asked.

  Peak cracked his knuckles. “That’s all that’s listed about Martin Malone.”

  “See if we can reach out to Woodhall. Maybe they’ll have records of him.”

  Peak opened the web browser and found a few news articles on the orphanage. Peak read the summary. “Shut down in 1984 for negligence, child abuse, and malpractice. Listen to this: twin nurses Dina and Vera were held responsible for the crimes committed against the orphans, such as child experimentation and other detestable acts. When the police arrived at Woodhall, Dina turned a gun on Vera, killed her, and then took her own life. The orphanage was shut down and never reopened.”

  Peak closed the article and opened another on a paranormal website. With a smirk, he skimmed through a small-time paranormal investigator’s account of a night at Woodhall. “There you go, Harroway. He heard noises, voices, children’s laughter, and even swore that one of the twin nurses tried to seduce him.”

  Rachel shook her head. “He’s another pretender trying to farm website clicks.”

  “Or he has the Gift,” Peak said with a mischievous smile.

  “Yeah, right,” Rachel deadpanned. “Is Woodhall still around?”

  Peak swiveled back to the computer monitor. “Doesn’t say. We’ll have to pay it a visit. It’s outside of Mars Hill. Two-hour drive from here.”

  Rachel checked the time. The hour made her cringe.

  “We can go tomorrow,” Peak said, reading her expression.

  “Let’s just hope that the Poisoner can wait too,” Rachel replied.

  Peak stood from his seat and put on his jacket. “Rest up, Harroway. I’m serious.”

  The ride back to Hadley House was tedious. The heater blasted Rachel. She found herself nodding off multiple times. She dreamt of a family that wasn’t her own and the dark place beneath the stairs. Where’s Martin? She opened her eyes, seeing an oak growing fast in her windshield. Rachel quickly turned the steering wheel and slammed the brakes. Her tires screamed. The Impala swerved and spun out in the center of the road.

  Releasing her breath, Rachel leaned her head back. She pried her fingers from the steering wheel and warmed them by the heater. It was sixty-four degrees outside, but it felt like thirty to Rachel. She felt the memories of Ashton wiggle their way into her thoughts. She felt sick in the pit of her stomach. The Reality, the Gift, and the suffering that followed didn’t feel worth it. Keep it together, Rachel. People will die if you don’t. She tried to give herself a steely resolve but felt brittle.

  Checking the rearview for any cars, Rachel backed up and straightened out. The twin peaks of Hadley House appeared above the tree line. She arrived at her big hollow house. After checking her pockets for her cellphone and wallet, she stepped out of the car. The trees flanking either side of the house had lost their leaves. A feeling of loneliness followed her sluggish footsteps as she marched up to the front porch, which wrapped around one side of the house. In the night breeze, the old rocking chairs teetered. She remembered late nights with Brett in those chairs. They’d have cold refreshments and gaze at the stars. She realized how good things were with her ex-husband. They argued, like all couples, but compared to Ashton’s home, Rachel was living in paradise. And you threw it all away for hurt and a calling that never ends. Rachel couldn’t think about it. She wasn’t really a crier anymore, so the sadness would only ferment inside.

  She sifted through her dense key ring and small plastic grocery store cards until she found her house key. She shoved it into the lock and twisted. No clicking sound. With a crinkled brow, she tried the copper knob. It opened with ease.

  Someone had broken inside.

  Charged with a burst of adrenaline, Rachel swiftly withdrew her pistol and folded her hands around the grip. As silent and as smooth as a cat, she slipped into her home and gently closed the door behind her. She winced when it clicked shut.

  The floorboards groaned beneath her steps. Her heart raced as she thought about someone being in her house. Did he finally find me? Rachel wondered, remembering the Poisoner’s final words before he walked away. “Not like this.” Did he want to kill her in her own home? Was that his plan the whole time? Rachel’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. She leaned into the living room, panning her gun across the various corners and other dark places. The Colt 1911 felt clunky in her hand. It wasn’t her gun. She slipped past the grandfather clock, hearing the soft tick in her right ear.

  The kitchen was empty. She turned on the light to make sure and gave the pantry door a once-over. She focused, trying to listen to what the Sense was telling her. The Gift seemed silent. She questioned whether she’d left the door unlocked when she left home today. Never. Having secured the first floor, she proceeded up the stairs. That did little to raise her spirits as she reached the hallway on the second floor. The door to her master bedroom was wide open. Like a moth drawn to flame, she marched that way, keeping an eye on the other bedroom and bathroom doors lining the hall. She stepped into her room and pointed at the clump in her bed.

  Keeping the gun trained on the concealed target, Rachel used her free hand to grab the corner of the covers and pull back swiftly. The moment the covering was removed from the body, the figure sat up.

  “Hands up,” Rachel barked.

  The figure obliged.

  Rachel quickly flipped the light switch. With raised arms and an alarmed expression, Mallory Stix was sitting on Rachel’s bed. Her big blue eyes locked with Rachel’s, and the two were at a standstill for a moment. Glancing around the room a final time, Rachel placed her firearm back into its holster and crossed her arms. “How did you get in here?”

  “Ashton and my other friends showed me,” she said sheepishly. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

  Rachel ran her hand over her scalp. “No, you scared me. That’s all.” Rachel sat on the edge of the bed. “Why aren’t you at the orphanage?”

  “I wanted to be here.”

  “Do they know that you’ve left?”

  With pursed lips, the little girl shook her head.

  Rachel pulled out her cellphone.

  Mallory crawled over to her and put her hand on the phone. “Don’t call them. I don’t like it there.”

  “I know, but—” Rachel cut herself off. She wasn’t fooling anyone. The place was horrible. “All right, I can set up one of the guest bedrooms for you.”

  Rachel rose and began to walk away but turned back when Mallory called her name. Surrounding the little girl were the eight victims from Halloween night, Ashton, and Martha Stix, who sat behind Mallory with her hands locked together over the little girl’s torso. The Orphans glared at Rachel with expectation. The mother tightened her grip on Mallory.

  “Leave her be,” Rachel told the restless dead.

  The Orphans frowned at her. Bile and blood dripped from their lower lips.

  Rachel held her ground. “I’ve had a long day. There’s nothing that can be done right at the moment. Release the girl.”

  The victims marched to Rachel and formed a circle around her. She could smell the candy on their breath, though she couldn’t feel any air coming from their mouths. Their bodies trembled lightly. One of them had a twitching right eye.

  Rachel gnashed her teeth. “Go. All of you.”

  “Rachel,” Mallory called out as her mother squeezed her tighter. “She’s hurting me.”

  “Close your eyes, Mallory. Really tight,” Rachel said as she closed her own.

  The words of the victims flooded her ears. “Help us. Help us. Help us.”

  The plea crescendoed, becoming angrier and more aggressive. Rachel clenched her eyes tighter and covered her ears. Mallory screamed.

  “Keep your eyes closed!” Rachel shouted above the noise.

  “I’m trying!” the child screamed back.

  As if all the wind got sucked out of the room, the noise instantly ceased. Rachel opened her eyes and saw that the Orphans had vanished. Mallory was still in the bed.
She hugged herself and had her eyelids clenched tightly. Rachel reached a hand out, hesitated for a moment, then put it on the girl’s shoulder. The child trembled.

  “They’re gone,” Rachel told her.

  Mallory opened both of her big blue eyes and let relief wash over her. She gave Rachel an unexpected hug. “Why was Mom trying to hurt me?”

  Rachel rubbed her hand down the child’s back. “I don’t think she was trying to hurt you, but she can’t help it. It would be wise if you didn’t see her.”

  “She is my mom,” Mallory replied.

  “I know, sweetie. But this isn’t her world anymore. She doesn’t understand what she is doing, and that’s what makes her dangerous,” Rachel explained.

  “Will she ever find a place where she belongs?” Mallory asked.

  Rachel gave her a brief tight squeeze before taking her arms away. “Once I stop Mr. Caro, yes. You can sleep in my bed tonight.”

  “Where will you sleep?”

  “I’ll probably crash on the couch or in one of the guest beds,” Rachel said, not exactly overjoyed by the prospect.

  Mallory opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and then shyly said, “Can you stay with me?”

  The request took Rachel off guard. She didn’t know what to say or her position on the matter. On one hand, she knew the girl needed as much emotional support as possible, but to share a bed with her as if she were her daughter... If anyone in the precinct even knew that Mallory had run to Rachel’s home in the first place, that would spark controversies. Rachel could look a killer in the face, speak to the most grotesque body you could imagine, and plunge into the darkest place in search of a clue, but she was lost when it came to how to deal with Mallory Stix. Should she be soft and gentle, hiding the child from the evils of the world, or should she be hardened and tough, teaching Mallory lessons in self-sufficiency that would carry her throughout this lonely journey?

  “I’m going to call the orphanage,” Rachel declared.

  Mallory’s face sank with sorrow.

  Rachel dialed the number. “I’ll tell them that I found you on my way home and that you’ll be spending the evening here.”

  Mallory’s face lit up.

  “It’s only temporary,” Rachel reminded her, then she left a message with the late-night orphanage worker.

  “Will you sleep in here then?”

  Martin’s room came to mind, and she reminded herself that Mallory had spent days in that terrible place. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Mallory’s expression lit up even brighter. Her eyes began to water.

  Rachel headed into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. She washed away the gunk and dirt from Ashton’s house and the chemical smell from the morgue. Letting the water splash down her face and cascade down her body, Rachel felt truly free. She turned off the shower dial and donned the nightgown that she’d brought into the bathroom with her. She met eyes with the tired woman in the hazy mirror. You’re forty-one years old and unmarried. What are you doing with a child in your house? Rachel didn’t know. For so long, life was work and a small circle of friends. From an objective point of view, the girl lying in her bed complicated things beyond measure.

  Rachel exited the bathroom as she dried her hair with a towel. The light behind her spilled across the bed and over Mallory, who was fast asleep under the covers, which she must’ve pulled from the floor. Rachel climbed into bed and lay on her ex-husband’s side. Unable to store her gun under the pillow, she put it within arm’s reach on the floor and pulled the covers up to her chin.

  She looked at the back of Mallory’s head, listening to the girl’s mumbles.

  Rachel closed her eyes.

  “Rachel?” Mallory asked softly.

  Rachel kept her eyes closed. “Hmm?”

  “Can I come with you tomorrow?”

  Rachel chuckled. “You don’t know where I’m going.”

  “I want to help my friends,” Mallory said with a determined spirit. “I want to be strong like you.”

  Rachel yawned. “Sleep tight, Mallory. We can decide tomorrow.”

  Just when Rachel thought that it would be another restless night, sleep took her quickly, and she dreamt of nothing. She felt the sunlight kiss her cheek. Her eyes found the morning sun streaming through the window. The forecast was calling for cloud cover. Maybe it hadn’t reached Rachel’s home yet. She sat up, noticing that the covers on Mallory’s side of the bed were folded back and the girl was missing.

  Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Rachel called out, “Mallory?”

  No reply.

  The cold ground did not welcome Rachel’s feet kindly. She slid on her slippers and took hold of the Colt 1911. She checked the bathroom. “Mallory?”

  The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar. Rachel pushed through and started down the hallway. She called for the girl again and didn’t see her until she reached the small balcony railing that eventually turned and ran alongside the steps.

  Mallory sat on a bench in the living room. With a sketch pencil, she drew on Rachel’s old easel. Seeing the girl and the easel reminded Rachel of her artistic days. There were no shoot-outs then, no disturbing family dramas, just a pen, paper, and hours to kill every evening. From Rachel’s vantage point, she could only see the back of the easel and the eight-year-old’s focused face.

  As quietly as she could, Rachel approached the girl and slipped around her. If Mallory had noticed, it didn’t stop her from drawing. A beautiful woman’s face was sketched across the easel. She had a sharp but pretty nose, closed eyes with nice lashes, and a defined jaw. The artistry was very well done.

  “I’m very impressed,” Rachel complimented.

  Mallory smiled back at her. Her purple half-moons underlined her big blue eyes. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I decided to draw.”

  “You did a good job,” Rachel said.

  Mallory gave her a doubtful look.

  Rachel said, “I’m serious. I was an artist for many years. I know talent when I see it.”

  Mallory smiled to herself and went back to drawing.

  Rachel hunched beside her, wondering if she could return to the art career. Stupid, thought, Rachel told herself. Orphans are much more important.

  “Who is she?” Rachel asked Mallory.

  Mallory giggled.

  The cuteness of the response prompted Rachel to grin. “What?”

  “It’s you, silly.” Mallory giggled again.

  Rachel examined the woman in the portrait. “Where are the crow’s feet and age marks?”

  Mallory crinkled her brow.

  “These.” Rachel pointed to the lines branching out from the corners of her eyes.

  “No one notices those,” Mallory said with honesty.

  “Uh-huh, and the moon is made of cheese.” Shaking her head and laughing, Rachel headed to the kitchen. Are they really not that noticeable? Rachel wondered as she opened the cupboard and removed her metal canister containing her various teas. Before she closed the latch, she eyed the second, larger metal cylinder decorated with a multicolored floral design. Rachel popped off the top and examined the baggies of herbs, roots, and toxic spices used to make her special smoothie. She paused. Dare she…

  Little footsteps entered the kitchen behind her. Rachel put the top back on and placed the cylinder on the shelf. She closed the cupboard and faced the girl, scanning the kitchen.

  “Hungry?” Rachel asked.

  Mallory nodded.

  “I’ll take you someplace before we drop you off. Deal?”

  Mallory cast her gaze at her little feet.

  “Look,” Rachel said, hating seeing the girl upset. “I can’t take you with me.”

  Mallory turned her bright blue eyes to Rachel. “I understand.”

  In some weird way, that convicted Rachel. “Want some tea before he head out?”

  “Is it sweet tea?” Mallory asked, getting excited.

  “Not exactly,” Rachel replied. “But let me add some honey to it and
we’ll see.”

  Rachel put the kettle on the stove. As it boiled, Peak called.

  “I was about to head out,” Rachel told the detective.

  “No need. I’ll pick you up. After your experience last night, I don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel.”

  “Aren’t you a gentleman,” Rachel replied and gestured for Mallory to sit at the table.

  “Not exactly. I made egg, cheese, and bagel sandwiches. Some have ham, and others have bacon. I made a lot, so eat them, please.”

  Rachel brought the hot kettle over to Mallory’s mug. “If you got it, I’ll eat it.”

  Mallory sniffed the tea’s savory aroma and gave it a sip. Her eyes grew wide, and she spit it back into the mug.

  “Hot,” she said with a numb tongue.

  Rachel chuckled.

  “You’re in high spirits this morning,” Peak said suspiciously.

  “No, it’s just…” Rachel didn’t know what to say. It didn’t dawn on her until then that she felt good. Recharged. Rejuvenated. Even Ashton’s dark memories seemed hazy. Was it Mallory?

  “Weird,” Peak replied. “Anyway, I will be arriving in twenty minutes. Be waiting outside when I get there.”

  The call ended.

  Mallory took another sip from her mug. She gulped it down. “Was that Detective Peak?”

  “It was.” Rachel sipped her own tea.

  “Where are you going?”

  Rachel warmed her hands on the sides of the mug. Mallory watched and mimicked her, though Rachel didn’t notice. “There’s an abandoned orphanage where Martin—Mr. Caro—stayed at when he was younger. We’re going to see if any of the documentation from that time survived that could tell us where he moved to after the place shut down.”