Stitts swallowed hard, thanked the woman, and then headed down the hall towards his mother’s bedroom. The door was closed, and he hesitated before knocking.
“Come in,” a soft voice replied.
Stitts put on his best fake smile and then opened the door.
The first thing that struck him was the smell. It wasn’t a particularly foul smell — the stroke, while it had affected some of her mobility hadn’t affected her ability to go to the bathroom on her own — but more of a staleness. It was an odor that brought him back to a time when he had been working real estate.
Although he usually dealt in residential real estate, Stitts was ecstatic when one of his colleagues had offered him the opportunity to sell an old folk’s home that had a price tag in the low eight figures. The single sale that would’ve brought in more money than all of his previous commissions combined.
But Stitts never sold the old folk’s home; in fact, he’d only spent one day checking it out, before he’d passed it on to someone else.
It wasn’t the grounds or the building itself — they were in fairly good condition — and it wasn’t the staff; everything seemed to be in good working order. There were no reports of elderly abuse and no cases of chlamydia or gonorrhea that seemed to spread in some of these dwellings like wildfire.
It was the smell; the place had an overbearing odor that seemed to hang over everything like a dark cloud.
It wasn’t even the smell of death, even though death was a common occurrence in the old folk’s home. It was something else, something more palpable and somehow worse. Not death, but impending death, the expectation of death.
And it was this smell that Stitts breathed when he got close to his mother… and to Chase.
“Mom? How are you feeling?”
Chapter 12
“She’ll be under observation for a few hours. We’ll make sure that she gets a lot of fluids and an additional dose of naloxone if she needs it,” the doctor informed Chase as they stood over Louisa who was sleeping peacefully. “But I have to ask, are you thinking about pressing charges?”
Chase, who was staring intently at Louisa’s face as the doctor spoke, was taken aback by the question.
“I’m not the police,” was all she could offer in way of response. If Chase had put more thought into it, she might have scolded the man. The idea of putting someone who was so addicted to heroin that they’d overdosed in prison was absolutely ludicrous.
After all, Louisa had nearly died. If that wasn’t incentive enough to quit injecting yourself with poison, then how on earth would the prospect of a prison term be a deterrent?
Instead of punishment, Louisa needed help; psychological help.
The doctor sighed and closed Louisa’s file and held it to his chest.
“The reason I ask is that we normally only let family into the room in these situations. We make exceptions for law enforcement, of course, but now that you’ve made it clear that you won’t be pressing charges…”
Chase finally managed to draw her eyes away from Louisa’s face and turned to face the doctor. He was young, with dark brown hair and the beginnings of a beard. His eyes were buried within dark circles, but there was an unmistakable kindness to them. It took Chase a moment to figure out exactly what the doctor was hinting at.
She concluded that he was just being a nice guy, that he wanted to see whatever shred of dignity Louisa had left, conserved. As such, he was subtly implying that if Chase wasn’t going to arrest Louisa, that she should just leave her be.
“I’m a friend, doc,” Chase said at last. The words sounded strange coming out of her mouth; after all, the second to last time they’d met, Chase had punched Louisa in the face and broken her nose.
The last time they met, Louisa had jammed her fingers down Chase’s throat to force her to puke up the methadone tabs that she’d tried to kill herself with.
And yet, they shared a strange sort of kinship, nonetheless.
We have something in common… I forgot everything except for the first time I met you.
Chase couldn’t shake the feeling that Louisa wasn’t referring to when she’d shown up at group the day after the ultimatum from Stitts. The same day that Louisa was recounting being abducted as a child for 48 hours.
Which, the woman had admitted later, had been a complete and utter lie. She hadn’t been taken for 48 hours; she’d been taken for nearly two weeks.
The doctor observed her for a moment, as if trying to figure out if Chase were lying. Eventually, he must’ve seen something in her face, as he nodded and started toward the door.
“Well, she’s stable and should pull through. Is there someone you want me to contact on her behalf?”
Chase chewed the inside of her lip. She thought about her promise to see Dr. Matteo after this case was over, and how much she loathed the idea. As such, she hated putting Louisa in the same position, but knew that she’d soon be traveling south to search for the missing children and wouldn’t be around to babysit the woman.
Chase cleared her throat.
“Yes,” she said in a dry voice. “Dr. Matteo over at Grassroots. Give him a call and ask him if he can send somebody over to look after her.”
The doctor scribbled in his folder.
“But can you do me a favor?” Chase asked. The doctor nodded and waited for her to continue. “I just need a few minutes with her before you place the call. When she’s awake, I mean.”
It was clear that the doctor was torn by Chase’s request, but he eventually acquiesced.
“I have to finish my rounds in the ward — it’s been a busy night of overdoses. It appears as if there’s something deadlier in the heroin going around than just fentanyl — the last person before Louisa was admitted was a man who was brain-dead from ingesting carfentanyl. I’ll tell you what: it should take me about a half hour to finish my rounds, so I can wait ‘til I’m done before I place the call.”
Chase thanked the man and then turned back to Louisa.
“What the—” she blurted, taking a step backward.
Louisa’s blue eyes were open, and she was staring at Chase, a strange expression on her face. It was clear that she was still under the influence of the heroin that she’d injected, but there was also a clarity to her that Chase found alarming.
Chase recovered from the shock then put on a fake smile and leaned forward.
“How are you feeling?”
It was as if Louisa hadn’t even heard her.
“I almost forgot… I almost forgot everything, except the first time I saw you.”
The words were almost identical to the ones that Louisa had uttered back in the trap house — the only thing she’d said.
The smile slid off Chase’s face.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Louisa’s eyes closed, and she took several deep breaths. At first, Chase thought that she was sleeping again, but just when she was about to shake the woman awake, her eyes opened, and she spoke again.
“All those years ago, when I was taken. I saw you. You and your sister.”
This time, Chase actually stumbled. The mention of Georgina was so shocking that she could barely breathe. Her vision started to tunnel and once again, like the encounter when she’d punched Louisa in the nose, Chase felt as if the woman had a plan somehow, as if she was deliberately trying to set her off. To what end, Chase had no idea.
But this time, she wouldn’t let the woman go without getting to the bottom of it, heroin overdose or not.
Some things were just too important to let go.
“What the fuck are you talking about? What do you know about my sister?”
Louisa just smiled her placating smile and closed her eyes.
Chase counted to ten as she waited for the woman to come to again, but she never did.
With a frustrated growl, Chase snapped her fingers in the woman’s face.
“Louisa!” she barked. “Louisa, wake up!”
She realized that she was shout
ing and that she was about to draw the ire of the doctor — rounds or not — but no longer cared.
“Louisa!” she yelled. When Louisa still didn’t move, Chase reached down and angrily grabbed her arm. “What the fuck—”
And then Louisa was gone, and Chase was transported to a different time and a different place.
Chapter 13
Maria Stitts turned and looked at her son. Her eyes were wide and clear, but they weren’t right. They were the same as when Stitts had found her in the street, dressed only in her nightgown, lipstick spread across her cheek.
They were different, somehow.
“Jeremy, how nice to see you. I was wondering when you and your father were going to come and visit.”
Stitts cringed at the mention of his father.
Would it hurt the man so much to come and see her? Especially considering her condition and his profession?
He shook his head.
That wasn’t fair and Stitts knew it. After what she’d done, it was a surprise that the man even spoke to her, let alone visited.
“I’m here, mom,” Stitts said, reaching out and placing his hand over top of his mother’s frail digits. The second that he touched her, Stitts realized that Belinda was right; his mother was shaking, shaking like a leaf. “How are you?”
The smile was a constant fixture on Maria’s face even as she spoke, which was unnerving.
“Mostly I’m… good, Jeremy. But my back — my back hurts so much.”
Stitts cringed again. He knew that it would eventually come to this, as it always did, but he hadn’t expected his mother to broach the subject so soon.
“The doctor says you’re doing better, so much better, in fact, that they don’t think you need the medication anymore,” Stitts said, realizing that he was falling into a common refrain, but unable to help himself.
Maria, still smiling, rolled her eyes.
“They told me 10 years ago when I fell and hurt my back that the pain and discomfort might last forever. They said that I might have trouble walking if I didn’t continue to take my pills.”
Stitts didn’t really know what to say. What he wanted to tell his mother was that the doctor had made a mistake, that prescribing the powerful opioid pain reliever oxycodone to treat a bulging disc in her back was overkill. That not properly informing her about the serious potential for addiction and abuse was tantamount to malpractice.
But he hadn’t told her back then, and Stitts couldn’t rightly tell her now. Besides, what difference would it make? After ten years on the stuff, could he really expect her to just stop taking it?
“And now they won’t give you any more,” Stitts said absently.
Maria shook her head.
“They said something about it not mixing with the new drugs they were giving, but I’m not sure they know what they’re talking about. Dr. Wang, he told me…”
Stitts closed his eyes and drowned out his mother words as she recounted her meeting with Dr. Wang a decade ago. The truth was, back then she’d been suffering from mild depression, which made her an even greater candidate for addiction.
“Jeremy?”
Stitts looked at his mother.
“Can you be a dear and talk to them? Tell him that I need my medication? Maybe they’ll listen to you, because you’re the police.”
I’m not the police, mom, Stitts almost said, but stopped himself. I’m in the FBI.
“Mom, I’m not sure—”
For the first time since entering the room, the smile left Maria’s face. That’s when Stitts saw the thick grooves around her mouth, the creases at the corners of her eyes. Now that she was no longer smiling, her skin appeared somehow tight and loose at the same time, hanging off her skull like warm cellophane.
“Please, Jeremy. Is there anything you can do?”
Stitts looked away in shame and patted his mother’s hand gently before rising to his feet. Then he slowly made his way over to the dresser. Without thinking, he opened the top drawer and rooted around in the myriad of mismatched socks until he found the nylons balled up at the back. He reached inside the left leg and pulled out the prescription bottle of oxycodone that he’d put there last time he visited. Stitts silently opened it and took out one of the four remaining pills. He held the chalky white button in his palm for a second, flipping it over several times, as he contemplated his options.
With a heavy sigh, Stitts closed the bottle, put it back in the nylons, and then returned to his mother’s side.
Maria was smiling again.
This time when Stitts grabbed his mother’s hand, he did it with her palm up.
“I want you to get well, mom.”
Maria nodded and took the pill Stitts had given her and put it on her tongue. Then, after dry swallowing, she said, “I knew I could count on you, Jeremy. I know I can always count on you.”
Chapter 14
Chase breathed deeply, her nostrils filling with the sweet smell of earth. She opened her eyes and waited for them to adjust to the dim light.
“Hello?”
Her voice echoed off what she realized were dirt walls, only to exit through metal bars directly in front of her.
“Hello?” she whimpered. “Anyone there?”
Chase blinked again and felt something tacky on her left eyelid. She brought a hand up and when she pulled it away, there was blood on her fingers.
“Ohhh,” she moaned, quickly rubbing the blood off on her shorts.
This time, something, or someone replied.
“Shh…”
Georgina… it’s Georgina… oh, thank God.
Chase ran to the front of her cell, her tiny hands wrapping around the thick metal bars. But no matter how hard she pulled, they didn’t even budge.
“Georgina!” she yelled. Her words echoed up and down a long hallway lined with similar cells to her own. Across the hall from her, Chase saw a young girl who looked as scared as she felt. Only, judging by her appearance — her mud-streaked face, clothes that looked caked with dirt — it was clear the girl had been here much longer than Chase.
Unlike Chase, the girl was on all fours, and she was using something — a plate of some sort — to claw feverishly at the ground.
“Have you… have you seen my sister?” Chase asked quietly.
The girl’s eyes shot up, eyes that were filled with fear as much as they were dilated blood vessels.
Instead of answering, she raised a filthy finger to her lips and hushed her.
Chase swallowed hard and looked around again. She realized that she must be underground, as she could see grass outside the small window high above her.
I’m dreaming, she thought. I must be dreaming.
Chase remembered being at the fair, the Williamson County Fair, and she remembered seeing her mother kissing the mayor. She also recalled getting a slushy with her sister, but after that…
Her mouth fell open.
There was a man, a man in the van. A man with sunglasses and overalls and—
Chase shook her head. It was clear that whatever had caused the blood near her hairline had done something to her memories.
“This isn’t real,” she whispered.
A loud hush came from behind her and Chase whipped around again. The girl in the opposing cell was glaring at her and this time, instead of holding a finger to her mouth, she was pinching her lips closed.
Chase walked to the bars of her cell and peered out. She wanted to ask the girl what her name was, what she was doing, where they were and how they got here, but she was afraid to upset her.
Instead, she resigned herself to watch.
It took a little while, but Chase eventually realized what she was doing. And with this understanding came another bout of fear.
Trapped… oh… we’re trapped in here…
The girl was digging with the dinner plate, furiously tearing at the dirt beneath the bars of her cell. As Chase stared, the girl grunted and drove the edge of the plate into the hole she’d alread
y made, before dragging it back. Sweat was pouring down her tiny face, mixing with the grime to make muddy streaks. After about five minutes, the girl put the plate aside and then turned her head and tried to push it beneath the bars. It got stuck halfway and she pulled it out again.
Dream or not, the scene was so terrifying that Chase was on the verge of a panic attack.
The girl started digging again, this time with renewed vigor. Chase could see blood starting to flow from her fingernails.
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