“The old Rasnake place?” The middle-aged waitress with purple and black hair asked Inga as she refilled Inga’s coffee cup. “You go down this road for about four miles then turn off to the first dirt road on the right. It’s up that hill. But it’s been a long time since anyone’s been up there, I reckon. Is there anyone still living up there?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.” Inga said, pouring sugar and cream into the strong black brew. “If you’ll bring me my bill I’ll finish this and head out.”
“I’ll be right back, honey, take your time. Ain’t no rush in Louisa Falls, nothing ever happens worth rushing to anyways.” The woman patted her hair and winked at Inga before walking away.
Inga sipped the coffee quietly; her third cup, and then handed over some money as the waitress came back. By the time the woman came back Inga had finished the coffee and waived away her change, letting the woman keep it as a tip. Heading out to her car Inga looked down the road and wondered if she was about to meet her mother. Stranger things had happened to her lately, after all.
The drive to the turn-off didn’t take long and Inga worried about her car as she drove up the dirt track. The road was full of mudholes and ruts but Inga eventually made it to a very old, much worn log cabin set up against a hill. An old car was sitting in the driveway, unlikely to move with four flat tires and layers of mud and dust on it. Inga could see the shutters that had once adorned the cabin were now barely hanging on and the roof sagged too much for her liking. But there was obviously power because a light was on in the house and Inga could hear a television playing as she got out of the car.
Walking up to the door Inga hesitated. What if this was her mother? And what about the reports about drugs? What if the woman was so drugged up she couldn’t speak. It was a chance she was going to have to take. Inga raised her hand once more but before she could knock the door opened.
A tiny, thin elderly woman, her face lined and wrinkled so much her mouth was just a slash and her eyes were barely recognizable squints greeted Inga. The woman was dressed in a thin cotton gown but had an old crocheted afghan around her shoulders to keep her warm. The woman looked to be in her 80s, far older than Anne should be.
“Who are you?” The woman finally asked, staring at Inga. “You my Bridget?”
Inga was confused, thinking Bridget might be the woman’s granddaughter or something, and sighed in disappointment. “My name is Inga. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I was looking for a woman named Anne Rasnake, do you know where I might find her?”
“I’m Anne Rasnake. You my Bridget?” The woman’s words were slurred and Inga could see that she had dentures that didn’t quite fit.
“No, ma’am, my name is Inga. Inga Parr. I’d like to talk with you if that’s alright?” Inga asked, her nerves now a wreck.
“Why, that’d be fine, but I don’t know what you want to talk to me for. I’m just an old woman up here on her own. Come in if that’s what you want to do.” The old woman stepped out of the doorway and moved into the house.
The woman was surprisingly lucid and Inga felt that she might get somewhere with her. But how to broach the subject?
“Thank you Ms. Rasnake. I’m a reporter for a news channel in Charlotte. I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright with you.” Inga started, falling back on her professionalism to save the day.
“That’s fine with me but I don’t know what you want to talk to me about. Have a seat child. I used to live in Charlotte once. A grand place it was.” The woman said as she sat down. Obviously time, and her treatment, had not been kind to her. Inga had assumed the woman was much older than she was.
“Well, I’m investigating the disappearance of several children in the area. I’ve been informed that several women were told their children died over the years but the children were actually sold to wealthy couples that couldn’t have their own children.” Inga went boldly stepping into the fray, figuring it was the best approach.
“I might know a thing or two about that. My brain’s kind of fuzzy but since Doctor Nelson had that stroke and stopped caring for me it isn’t near as bad as it used to be. I can think again and look after myself at least.” Anne told the young woman. “So you’re not my Bridget huh? I keep waiting, hoping one day she’ll come home to me. Girl has to be curious, if she knows about me.”
“What do you mean?” Inga led Anne into answering further.
“My daughter Doctor Nelson stole from me 38 years ago. My baby. I went through Hell because of that man but now I have a new doctor finally. I’m off all that old dope that man force-fed me for so long. I’m too worn out to go looking myself so I’ve been waiting. Hoping she’ll show up.”
Inga thought about what Anne had said, Doctor Nelson had experienced a stroke. “Is Doctor Nelson still alive?”
For all Inga knew the man could be dead now and she’d made a rookie mistake by never asking or researching it.
“Sure he is, over there in his mansion on the hill. A mansion he paid for with stolen babies. Him and that evil witch of his think I was too much of a vegetable to catch everything they said around me but I know what happened to me and Joan and Meg. They stole our babies and made it so we couldn’t have anymore. And what they did to poor Joan I really don’t know but she disappeared and it was their doing!” Inga ended her speech with a stamped foot.
“Did you ever see your child, Ms. Rasnake? Could you identify her?” Inga asked, leaning towards the older woman.
“For all I know you could be her, Miss. I didn’t even get to tell my baby goodbye. Doctor Nelson insisted she died but I know better. My baby was strong, she didn’t die. You want some breakfast? I’m awfully hungry.” Anne said, getting up and going into the other part of the room considered the kitchen.
“My own Momma helped to sell my baby. You see these dishes here? This is what my Momma bought with the money she traded for my baby. I keep ‘em to remind me of what I lost.” Anne’s stooped shoulders, tiny and delicate, seemed to stoop a little further and Inga heard a dry sound come from the woman, a sound of pain. “All I wanted was to love my child, to give her the love I’d never had and that I’d never been allowed to show. That’s all I wanted but that was too good of a life for me. I just don’t understand it. I really don’t.”
“Why don’t you sit, Ms. Rasnake and let me do that for you? I won’t eat but I’ll have some coffee. I ate before I came over.” Inga said, guiding the woman back to her chair.
“I’ve been on my own so long, it’d be a luxury not to have to cook. I get scared up here, by myself sometimes. I used to have a nurse but the social put a stop to that once I got off all that dope. Now it’s just me and I’m afraid of dying alone.” Anne’s old, rheumy eyes looked incredibly, despairingly sad to Inga.
Inga made a promise to herself that Anne wouldn’t be alone anymore, whether she was the woman’s daughter or not. Inga prepared the woman biscuits and gravy with a couple of patties of sausage, and then the woman started to reveal her tale to Inga in depth. Anne’s words filled in the blanks for Inga, things she’d wondered about the three women that could possibly be her mother but didn’t think she’d ever find out.
“You know, I’d heard there were three women that went missing the last few years but nothing ever came of it. I’ve always wondered what happened to them, if they met Doctor Nelson somewhere along the way.”
Inga sat stunned, looking at the woman wondering if there could possibly still be victims alive somewhere? The story Anne had told her had been enough to leave Inga utterly shocked but then Anne dropped in that line about three other missing women, women that had not been mentioned in the files. Where were they?
As the woman’s story and words wound down she looked more closely at Inga. “Don’t I know you from somewhere? You sure do look familiar.”
Chapter Eleven
Inga sat across from the elderly woman now sleeping in her chair at the table and looked for signs that this woman might be her moth
er. Inga couldn’t see any similarities, not really, but who knew what the lines and age spots hid? Inga looked away from the woman and out of the window over the kitchen sink. The sun was well up now and she was losing time. She needed to find the doctor now. And maybe save three women in the process.
As Inga stood up she blinked and her burning tired eyes reminded her she hadn’t slept yet. Rest would simply have to wait. She managed to get Anne up and the woman went to the couch, pulling a blanket over herself. Inga promised to come back that evening to check on Anne and walked out into the fresh air and morning sunlight. She stood there for a moment, letting the beams of warmth play over her skin, warming her face and refreshing her enough to get down to the bottom of the mountain.
Inga drove with the window cracked, heading in the direction Anne had told her to take. She saw the house from far below, driving on a winding road. She couldn’t have missed the white monstrosity of white stucco and glass, completely out of place in a mountain town in North Carolina. The house might look appropriate on the Spanish coast, maybe even a major city in Florida or Texas but not North Carolina.
Inga frowned and took the turn that would lead her to the house. She knew she wasn’t going to get a taped confession out of the man but she had to see him for herself before she went to the police department. Something was driving her to go up to that house, to not wait for the police to make a decision and get all of the warrants that would be necessary to raid the house, if they even made that decision.
Inga suspected those missing women were up there, she knew that’s what was driving her. Nothing had been done to protect a string of women over dozens of years, it was time someone stepped up for all of them. Inga figured it might as well be her, as she was also a victim in all of this. Who better to bring down Doctor Nelson’s little private hellish empire?
Inga saw a large circular driveway and parked in the front of the house, not seeing an actual parking area. She dug in her handbag for her press pass and her phone. She set the phone to record audio and stuck the device in a pocket of her jacket.
Moving to the door Inga saw a doorbell and pressed the button, looking around the property that her sale had bought, along with a few dozen others. For this the man inside sold children, destroyed lives, and tore families apart. Inga wanted to set a match to it all but didn’t have it in her. She plastered her “news” smile on as the door opened and a young woman, maybe in her late twenties, greeted her.
“Hello, I’m Inga Parr, I’m a reporter with a news channel out of Charlotte and I’m doing a story on the struggles of small-town doctors. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about Doctor Nelson from the people in Louisa Falls that I thought I’d come out and meet the man. Is he available?”
The woman scrutinized her for a moment then pulled the door open after Inga presented her press badge. “Please come in. I’ll find out if the doctor is available.”
Inga felt as though she’d been invited into a demon’s den, the home that should have been filled with sunlight and white walls was somehow dark and gloomy instead, the few spots of sunlight sparkling with dust motes. Masculine dark wood furniture filled almost every space making it hard to see a path and Inga was glad the woman was there to guide her.
Inga moved through the small path, following the woman as she tried to avoid banging her knee on some demented looking statue of a twisted and gnarled man, and narrowly missed tripping over a metal rope designed to look like a cobra. Inga followed the woman through a door and walked in, heading straight to the only light to be found in the room. Deep red velvet curtains parted just enough to allow Inga to see the room but she wished she couldn’t.
The place was like a memorial garden for cemetery angels with marble figures placed on every available surface. Obviously Doctor Nelson was a collector of the odd but he had very poor taste in displaying it. Inga looked back at the woman who had shown her in and waited for instructions.
“I’ll see Doctor Nelson and tell him you are here. Please, do not leave the room or you may be injured.” The woman then left, never giving her name or what exactly she was to the doctor.
“I may be injured?” Inga wondered if it was a threat but then looked around the room. Maybe not, the place was a death-trap waiting to happen.
“Yes, I will not be long. Just stay here.” The woman, a tall but well-built blond in a pair of jeans and a pullover then left, leaving Inga on her own.
Inga looked more closely at the statues, what she had originally thought were angels all had vicious teeth that could easily tear flesh from bone. Perhaps they were a more biblical type of angel? Weren’t there supposed to be good angels and bad?
Inga wasn’t sure what the statues were exactly but tried to avoid touching any of them. No matter what she did, however, she felt as though the statues were watching her, judging her, and finding her lacking. Inga knew she wasn’t a bad person, but lately she’d told a few fibs and broke into a hospital. Her guilt was about to drive her out of the room and straight out of the house when the woman came back, an amused look on her face.
“A bit disconcerting, aren’t they? For some reason Doctor Nelson has dictated that this is to be the receiving room, however, so I always put visitors in here. Now, if you’ll follow me I’ll take you to the doctor.” The woman said, taking pity on Inga.
Inga now suspected the room was designed to not only get the point across that the doctor was a judge but to disconcert visitors on purpose. She clamped down on her feelings and straightened her back. She would not be intimidated. Besides, the man was old and had recently had a stroke, how terrible and fierce could he be now?
Inga followed the woman through the house and tried to fortify herself against the sight of a feeble, old man. People looked at old men and considered them somehow innocent of the crimes they’d committed in their more formidable years. Inga had seen it with former guards at Nazi death camps when people campaigned to have their crimes forgiven because the men were all old and innocent now.
Inga had done reports on serial killers, child killers, and other vicious criminals and every single time there was that one group that felt the elderly somehow became innocent as newly born babes. It didn’t matter the crime, there was always one group that advocated for the dismissal of charges to allow the criminal to live out the rest of their natural life, conveniently overlooking the fact that the person had greedily stolen someone’s chance to experience that natural death.
With her resolve renewed Inga followed the woman out of the room, down a hall, and through the house. She then followed the woman down a set of rickety steps that seemed out of place for the very expensive, well-appointed home. You spend thousands, perhaps millions, on art and furniture and less than one hundred on a set of steps? Very odd, Inga thought, as she carefully placed a foot on each step before letting her weight go to each new step.
Inga peered into the vast room that made up the basement level. A room that certainly wasn’t big enough to make up the entire space of the basement held the usual items found in a basement: tools, broken furniture, a power tool or twenty. Then the woman pushed aside a part of the wall and stepped into a small bedroom.
The room was decorated as any other bedroom with two people in the room. An older woman dressed in a nurse’s white uniform, right down to the hats nurses used to wear and an elderly man. The woman was elderly, her hair white and her skin showing the evidence of age, but something about her eyes, about the way she held herself belied that age. The woman’s presence screamed danger to Inga and put the younger woman on guard. Inga also noticed the woman’s eyes widened in what she assumed was recognition when she saw Inga but the surprise was soon gone, replaced with a hard stare that seemed to be a natural resting look for the woman.
Inga stared at the woman for a moment then looked at the man resting in the bed barely clinging to life. This was the man that had made it his decision to ruin so many lives, and to change the course of hers. This fragile skeleton of a man, his skin like ti
ssue paper, had appointed himself God and made decisions that led to murder and tragic deaths. Inga tried not to let her disgust and anger show through as she looked at the man, calling on years of experience as a reporter to keep her face bland as she looked at the skeletal frame of the man that had stolen her from her mother and sold her.
The slight frame of the dying man in the bed wasn’t what Inga had envisioned at all but she could see a slight gleam in his eye, a judgement that should not be there. Apparently he found her worthy because he reached out to her. A tube went into his throat, making it impossible for the skeleton in the bed to talk to her but he glanced at the woman and she started to speak.
“What can we do to help you Miss Parr? I’m Doctor Nelson’s nurse, you may call me Nurse Pracket.”
Ah, Inga thought, as I suspected, super-bitch incarnate. Inga hid her disdain for the woman behind a polite smile and held out her hand to the woman as she introduced herself.
“I’ve been assigned to investigate health services in the poorer areas of North Carolina. I was sent here first. Many people in town told me about Doctor Nelson and how wonderful he is so here I am. I suppose few would have the experience Doctor Nelson does with dealing with the medical needs of those in rural and poverty stricken areas like Doctor Nelson does.”
“Indeed, Doctor Nelson spent the better part of forty years caring for the needs of the community here. What exactly do you want to know?” Nurse Pracket asked, her hands still on the rail of the doctor’s bed, as if to protect him, or hold him in the bed.
“I have quite a few questions that could take some time to answer. I’d like to ask a few initial questions, if it’s alright with you, and then come back later with a film crew to interview the doctor properly.” Inga said surmising that Nurse Pracket was the guardian at the gate.
“That could be arranged, although Doctor Nelson no longer speaks. Let me just go get his lunch and then I’ll return to answer what I can for you. The rest will have to be written responses from me. Can you wait here for a moment?” The nurse asked, a gleam in her eye that Inga didn’t trust.
Thriller: Horror: Serial Killer (Mystery Suspense Thrillers) (Haunted Paranormal Short Story) Page 11
