October's Children: A Marlowe Gentry Thriller

by Dallas Mullican

  “Do it,” said Marlowe.

  Troy sprinted up the stairs, returning a few minutes later. “George is en route. He has a torch in his truck.”

  Marlowe nodded and turned to Lori. “Have the EMTs ready, but keep them upstairs. We don’t want to spook the children with an army of strangers. And keep the media back. I don’t want microphones shoved into the girls’ faces.”

  “I appreciate your optimism, brother, I really do, but just in case, shouldn’t we have a contingency plan for removing the bodies?” Spence shied from the expected backlash.

  Marlowe had to admit it was another of those damned valid questions. In this case, however, it didn’t change anything. “We’ll still need the EMTs, and it’ll be even more important to keep the cameras away.”

  Spence nodded. “True. We’ll handle it.”

  Footfalls on the landing and Troy backed into view with George following from above, both guiding an oxy-acetylene torch system down the stairs. Once secure on the basement floor, George checked the tanks’ gauges and brought the torch to a blue flame. After working at the latch for a half hour, a chunk of metal, glowing red along the edges, broke free and clanked to the floor.

  “Ow, shit! Sliced my damn hand. Watch it, this is like jagged glass.” Blood from a nasty cut ran down George’s hand and wrist.

  “Better have that stitched and bandaged,” said Marlowe. “Troy help him out. The fewer of us down here the better anyway.”

  Troy nodded and reluctantly escorted George up the stairs. Marlowe glanced at Lori and Spence, took a deep breath, and pulled the door open. He stepped back further into the basement, careful not to crowd the children, and gave them a moment to adjust. The reek of urine and defecation punched into his face and doubled him over as he fought a wave of nausea.

  Inside the bunker, the twins Natalie and Nicole huddled against the back wall. Their eyes glazed over with shock, stared blankly onto nothing. Days of nonstop crying left their eyes and noses red and swollen. Filthy clothes and unkempt hair made them look like pitiful orphans from some Charles Dickens novel. Though empty water bottles lay strewn across the floor, along with discarded cans of Spaghetti O’s and chicken noodle soup, the twin’s lips were chapped and their skin bore a yellowish hue. They hugged each other close, feeble whimpers coming from one or both, difficult to tell.

  Neither child responded to the door opening or to Marlowe’s presence. He swallowed down the acidic taste of bile in his throat, took a step forward, and opened his mouth to say something comforting when motion from behind the doorjamb caught his eye. A reflective sparkle, the glint of light on metal, led from a small handgun extending into view.

  Crack. A sound like a tree snapped in two, and Marlowe’s left shoulder exploded in pain. He spun with the shot’s impact and collapsed to the ground. His world went black.

  Paige gazed down into his grave wearing the same dead expression she wore for two years following Katy’s murder. She held flowers to her chest, dry and wilted, as though they withered in her hands long ago. Becca stood close, her arm around Paige, but neither drew any consolation from the other. A whisper…”I told you so. Look what happened.’ Ginger stepped to the lip of the grave. Her face showed no satisfaction, only sorrow. Paige’s jaws split, impossibly wide and issued a scream that shred flesh from bone until only the distant remains of his life rested within the coffin.

  Marlowe’s head bounced off the ground, the scream still echoing around the interior of his skull. Spence, keeping low in a crouch, eased toward him, one eye on the entrance to the bunker.

  “What the hell? You okay?” He reached for Marlowe’s arm.

  Marlowe waved him off. “I’m fine. Stay back.”

  Goddammit, Marlowe. Stupid.

  The sad state of the Sorrel twins, and the stench from the bunker, had caused him to momentarily forget about Elle Baldwin. And regardless, he wouldn’t have expected her to possess the gun or to shoot him. He ran his hand over the back of his shoulder…wet with blood. Good, the bullet went through. With agony radiating down his arm and across his chest, Marlowe crawled further to one side of the door, out of Elle’s line of sight.

  “Go away. You can’t take my dollies.” Elle’s high-pitched voice shouted from within the bunker.

  Marlowe pushed to his feet, stifling a groan. “Elle, listen, my name is Marlowe. I’m a policeman. I’m here to get you girls out of that nasty room. You’re safe now, I promise.”

  A second shot, the bullet ricocheted across the basement, struck a rafter, dislodging a spray of splitters and dust. Marlowe, Spence, and Lori dove onto their bellies in unison. Further away, screams diminished to weeping, he assumed coming from the twins.

  “No! You’re the bad people. The smoke men got your eyes.”

  Marlowe had no clue what she meant, but he needed to find a way to coax her out of there. “We’re the good guys. You’ve got to trust me, Sweetie. You can’t stay in there.”

  “Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t let me keep my dollies, and you can’t take them either.”

  The mention of dolls caused a photo to flash in Marlowe’s memory, past the inferno blazing in his shoulder—a father and mother, child and doll—Jeff, Dana, Elle, and…Boo, Boo the Bear.

  “Elle, I have your doll. Remember Boo? Your bear? The purple one?”

  Another shot. Marlowe flinched and covered his head.

  Son of a bitch.

  “You lie! Boo Bear was blue. And he got burned up. Daddy made me throw him in the fire.” Elle’s voice rose to a cat like screech.

  Marlowe located Lori and Spence still safely out of firing range. The smell of shit and piss now mingled with gun smoke and the concussions of the shots to make Marlowe’s head whirl. He motioned to Lori, rotating his finger and nodding forward. She eased along the wall, staying in the shadows, to the opposite side of the door, hunched down, and gave him thumbs up.

  Marlowe crept closer, but remained well to the right of the bunker entrance. Elle had the advantage. They certainly weren’t going to shoot her. Perhaps he could tease her into emptying the gun’s magazine. Likely, she had more ammunition and guns in the bunker, and even if she did not, in the confined space a ricochet could hit any one of them. He needed to try another tactic.

  “Your dollies aren’t looking too well. They’re going to get sick. You don’t want them to get sick do you?” He said.

  “They won’t play with me anymore.” Her voice dropped with sad frustration, and the twins’ sobs rose in volume.

  “I have a daughter, just a bit older than you. She has tons of dolls and toys. I’m sure she would give you some.”

  “You’re trying to trick me again.”

  “No, Sweetie, I’m sorry about Boo. I just wanted you to come out, so you’d be safe, but I’m telling you the truth now. My daughter would love to play with you.”

  “What’s her name?” Elle’s tone brightened with interest.

  “Her name’s Paige. And I bet she’d even play dolls with you. Or any game you want.”

  “Is she here? Can I see her…and her dollies?”

  “She’s at my house, not far from here. Come on out, and we can go see her together.” Marlowe, having crept within a few feet of the bunker door, signaled for Spence to stay put near the staircase.

  Elle took a couple of timid steps forward, and the barrel of the gun poked through the doorway. Marlowe glanced at Lori who shook her head.

  Dammit. A little further.

  “Come on, Elle. It’s okay.”

  Another step. Another.

  “You won’t make me go in the box?” Plaintive, with a hint of fear, she paused.

  He had her curiosity, but could lose her with one wrong word. “No, Honey, of course not. I just want you safe.”

  “You promise I can play with Paige and her dollies?”

  “I promise. You have my word.”

  Elle’s arms, the missing .380, a tiny Beretta Pico, clutched in her hands, protruded beyond the bunker’s threshold to her elbow.
One more pace forward. She stopped, stone still, and her eyes squinted with suspicion.

  Lori glanced at Marlowe, and he gave an emphatic nod.

  “Now, Lori, now!”

  She leapt up from her crouch and grabbed Elle by the wrist. A tug brought the girl in close. Keeping a tight grip on the forearm, and the gun, Lori wrapped her other arm around Elle’s waist and lifted her off the ground. Elle, slick with food and filth, fought and thrashed like a badger. She managed to rake the fingernails of her free hand across Lori’s cheek, raising bloody streaks. Marlowe bounded to Lori’s side and clutched Elle’s legs, allowing Lori to wrest the gun loose with one hand while retaining a firm hold around the child’s stomach. He couldn’t believe such a tiny thing could possess such strength. As she fought against them, it was all he could do to maintain his grasp.

  “Spence, get the EMTs down here. We need her sedated,” said Marlowe with a small shoe planted against his throat.

  “Nooo! You promised. You promised.” Elle screamed, continuing to flail and writhe.

  Two EMTs came storming down the stairs with Spence fast on their heels. One held off a vein while the other stuck in the syringe and depressed the plunger. A few seconds later, Elle Baldwin went limp in Marlowe’s arms. As the two medics carried her upstairs, Marlowe, Spence, and Lori fell to their rumps.

  “Holy shit,” said Spence. “That was fucked up.”

  “You can say that again.” Lori glanced at Marlowe. “You okay? You need to get that shoulder looked at.”

  “I will. After the EMTs see to the twins.” Marlowe, dizzy and lightheaded from a loss of blood and the exertion of restraining Elle, craned his head back against the wall, waited for his heartbeat to stop with the drum solo, and exhaled the weight of the world.

  * * *

  Marlowe sat on the porch allowing one of the EMTs to bandage his arm. His mind still reeled from what transpired in the basement. The degree to which something, someone had warped Elle Baldwin’s mind appalled him. He, more than most, knew what trauma could do to a child. Paige might have broken in a similar fashion. If not for the grace of God, there go I. Or something like that. God had nothing to do with it, really. People screwed each other up just fine without the need for a deity getting involved.

  Gauze encased Marlowe, wrapped in layers around his chest and over his shoulder. The medic cut the strip and taped it off. “You need to have this x-rayed. Your color looks better, but an IV wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

  “Yeah, thanks, and I will.” He tested the constriction on his arm. Satisfied with the mobility, he slung on his jacket.

  Spence wandered over and took a seat beside him. “You gonna live?”

  “A scratch. Through and through,” said Marlowe.

  “Ah, it’s just a flesh wound.” Spence tucked his arm behind his back, mimicking an amputation.

  “Your British accent sucks, you know,” said Marlowe with a grin.

  Spence’s eyebrows went up. “Wow, tough audience.”

  “Lori okay?”

  Across the yard, Lori spoke with someone from state, a bandage covering her cheek.

  “They put something on her face, some kind of ointment. Gave her a shot and told her to see a doctor and get on some antibiotics. Little girl has some vicious claws.”

  Marlowe nodded. His gaze found the Sorrels at one of the three ambulances parked in the yard. They huddled together in joyous tears and grateful prayers. For the twins’ part, they returned embraces and cried along with their parents, but it would be a long time, and a great deal of therapy, before the haunted expressions completely abandoned their faces and fear no longer invaded their dreams.

  Longer still for Elle Baldwin, if ever. With no family, she was likely to become lost in the system—passed from one foster family to the next, most only wanting an easy paycheck from the state and having no real concern for the child. Even worse, Elle could spend the rest of her life housed in institutions with doctors poking and prodding, dosed with a mountain of pills and treatments. Until all that remained was a driveling shell, intellect and emotion scooped out, unable to reacclimatize into society. Her mind so shattered, she could no longer learn or comprehend simple tasks needed to care for herself.

  Marlowe, for his own sake, needed to believe things could work out for Elle. Perhaps treatments would work, and one day she would leave the hospital hand in hand with her grandmother. She would adjust and flower into a brilliant and beautiful woman, happy, well, and loved. Somewhere inside, Elle’s hopes and dreams dwelled, waiting and wanting to rise to the surface and shove through layers of incomprehensible pain. Sometimes those hopes and dreams were all someone had, all they possessed to sustain them. And maybe, just maybe, they could be enough, just this once.

  “Can you give me a second? I need to make a call,” said Marlowe.

  “Sure thing.” Spence strolled over to join Koop who was busy assisting, or more aptly, ordering around the EMTs.

  Marlowe drew his phone from his pocket, located the number, and pressed Call. “Hey, it’s me. Is that offer still on the table? Yeah, I’m interested.”

  CHAPTER

  29

  Amanda agreed to meet Marlowe at his favorite spot in town, the small park near the station. The cold front finally broke through whatever barrier held it at bay for the past couple of days and pushed high temperatures below forty. It was just like Marlowe to want a celebratory picnic in near freezing weather. At least the skies remained clear, allowing the sun a puncher’s chance at warming up the day. With a heavy coat buttoned tightly around her, Amanda had to admit the brisk morning felt invigorating.

  Marlowe poured out two cups of coffee from a thermos and handed one to her. “Sorry, they only had a bagel and three donuts left.”

  “I’m a real cop, gimme a donut.” Amanda grabbed for a glazed and chomped down half in one bite. Apparently, not only did her sleep return last night, free of nightmares, but her appetite as well. “How’s the arm?”

  “This thing is damned irritating.” Marlowe raised his arm as high as the sling would allow. “But I think my pride took the worse wounding, getting shot by a six-year-old.”

  Amanda shook her head as she chewed. “The Baldwin kid thought the twins were dolls and killed her parents because they wouldn’t let her keep them?”

  “Looks like,” said Marlowe. “Koop says it matches our initial theory, Jeff Baldwin shot coming up the basement stairs. Elle’s extended arm would place the gun at his upper abdomen.”

  “Her father must have really messed the kid’s head up. Be glad she only nicked your shoulder and your pride.” Amanda leaned back, licked her fingers, and wiped her mouth with a sleeve. “And Buddy Harmon? He molests Sarah, gets her pregnant, kills her, and buries her in the cellar underneath his cabin. Guess he would go to any lengths to protect his standing in the community. The guy sure had me fooled. Hard to believe such monsters roamed my own town and I never knew it. Just can’t make this shit up. What do they say? Truth’s stranger than fiction?”

  “Yep, crazy world, no doubt about it.”

  “Can’t say I’m sorry I missed all the excitement.”

  “Speaking of which, are you going back? To the department I mean?” Marlowe refilled her cup and sat the thermos on the ground at his feet.

  “Not right now. My heart’s not in it. Maybe someday I’ll march in there and demand Troy give me a job.” She chuckled, a distant look in her eyes. “What about you? What’s next for the illustrious SVCU Lieutenant?

  Marlowe scoffed. “I need a break. Might follow your lead. A big change sounds damn nice.”

  Amanda laughed and playfully shoved him. “You could never leave the job. It’s in your blood.” Her expression grew serious. “Honestly, Marlowe, I feel a helluva lot better knowing you’re out there catching the bad guys.” She placed her hand on his knee. “Thank you…for everything. I know it wasn’t easy on you.”

  Marlowe smiled and covered her hand with his. “I’m always here for you. Let’s n
ot go years without seeing each other again. And next time, plan something a bit less dramatic.”

  “Deal. You guys heading back now?”

  “Yeah, they’re waiting on me. I guess I should hit it.” He thumbed in the direction of the police station.

  They stood and hugged each other. Amanda gave him a peck on the cheek. It felt good. Friendship. Allowing herself to feel it again. To feel anything besides anger and pain.

  “Safe trip,” she said.

  “Call me next week, okay?” He winked at her and turned down the hill.

  “Will do.” Amanda watched him stroll away, his easy gait a contradiction to the beleaguered man of yesterday. Memories of the four of them, her and Gary, Marlowe and Katy, laughing and talking on the quad back at college played across her mind. A nostalgic smile turned up her lips, and a film of tears coated her eyes. Days gone by. For a long time she believed the best days. But maybe not. Maybe some hope waited in the days still to come. Today, she saw possibilities, something which had eluded her since Tommy’s death.

  As Marlowe disappeared into the station, Amanda headed up to the hospital—different directions, but no longer opposite. She took the elevator to the fourth floor, private rooms, and checked in with the nurses’ station. Room 440 sat at the end of the corridor on the right, the last room. Blips and beeps emanated from an array of monitors along the bedside, tubes and wires snaking out from beneath a bed sheet. Sam Ewing’s coma remained deep, a seven on the Glasgow scale, when he might wake anyone’s guess.

  Amanda was not certain why she came here. Guilt, definitely, but more so, some need poked at her conscience. His condition was her responsibility, in part anyway, maybe a big part. A nurse entered the room and jotted down the numbers displayed on the readouts.

  “Are you family?” Tall with a severe expression, she leaned over Sam, straightened his bedding and adjusted the drip on an IV.

  “No. Just a…friend.”

  “You’re the only visitor he’s had. You should talk to him. No one knows for sure, but I’ve been doing this long enough to witness some miraculous things.” Carol, according to her name tag, made the sign of the cross, obviously the odd Catholic in an area dominated by Protestants. “He’ll hear you, and I think it helps them wake. I talk to him for a bit every shift.” She smiled, or something vaguely resembling a smile, and left the room.