Kyle entered the room and sat on a corner of the table, close to Sara.
“This is Officer Kyle Benson, ladies, and he met Jennifer Cravens in the hospital after they found her,” Jake said. “This is Sara Wilson and her mother.”
Kyle smiled at the two ladies that sat stiffly in the hard folding chairs. “How can I help, Detective?”
Jake spread the papers out on the table, and handed him the unfinished report. “We have a serious problem here, Officer Kyle, and these two ladies know how to solve it for us,” he explained.
“What’s the problem?”
“Sara has information about those missing girls. Mrs. Wilson here refuses to let her daughter tell me what she knows,” Jake said, ramping up his bad-cop persona. “They're afraid of retribution from people unknown. I'm about to lock them up for interference.”
“Sara, what do you know about the missing girls? You can tell me,” Kyle said gently, playing the good cop. They'd done this hundreds of times. People responded to Kyle’s gentle good looks and easygoing nature instinctively. The man held special powers of persuasion, Jake swore.
Kyle smiled at her with his straight white teeth, and Sara suddenly blurted, “Mitch Styles, Aaron Mackenzie, Missy Pane, and Chelsea Hall were the ones. They all did it, I swear.” Slumping down in her seat, looking as if someone had punched her, silence fell over the room. Sara started to sob.
In shock, Kyle fell off the table.
“Are you okay, man?” Jake asked, nearly breaking his neck to get around the table to help him up.
Kyle turned a sickly shade of white. “Those boys are my…they're my younger cousins,” he mumbled. “They did it…? The little shits did this?”
As he started to swoon again, the chair caught him and he sat down heavily.
“Kyle, what’s wrong with you?” Jake asked, baffled.
“Maddie Ann caused this—I knew it. She influenced them to do this. She is evil and…and…she….”
“Kyle, who is Maddie Ann, and what does she have to do with the girls’ disappearance?”
He didn’t answer him, but sat in a daze. Mrs. Wilson stared into a corner, her lips in a tight line.
“Detective Benson, I can tell you what Mitch and Aaron said about Claire, if that would help,” Sara added, rousing from self-pity.
Finally, the answers they needed, and Jake thanked the Lord. “Please, tell us. That would be generous of you.” He felt relieved to hear something he’d waited for all day.
“It started out to be a bet that Claire and her friends had to go out to Old Creek Cemetery on Halloween and see how long they could last inside before they freaked out. Then it turned into something much worse.” She looked at her mom with eyes full of tears. “I overheard Missy and Chelsea talking and they said Mitch and Aaron needed something to 'sacrifice'—that's the word they used—to Maddie Ann or she'd come after them. Anyway, Mitch got close to Claire making her believe that he liked her as a girlfriend. Chelsea knew the truth, but followed along. The night of the party, Mitch and his buddies invited the girls to meet them at the cemetery and they went willingly. But the girls didn’t know what those guys were gonna do to them.” She looked at Jake with a dreamy, faraway look on her face.
Jake smiled.
Sara twisted a lock of hair nervously. “Please don't tell them I told you. Mitch and Aaron will kill me.”
“They're not going to hurt you, I promise. Go on,” Jake said, glancing at Kyle who sat there looking green around the gills.
“I don't know if the six-pack went out there or not. They invited me to the party, but I went to my grandmother's house that night, to take my niece trick-or-treating. That’s all I know, I swear.”
Sara's mom slumped in her chair as tears began tracking down her face. Sara hugged her and promised they’d survive this.
Amazed at the boldness of those two trouble-making boys, Jake picked up his hat and jacket and headed out the door. He raced down the hallway, leaving Kyle to deal with mother and daughter.
“Hey, where are you going in such a hurry?” Tom asked as Jake flew past.
Jake stopped and turned around. “Tommy, you’re not gonna believe what I just found out. I know who sent those girls into Old Creek Cemetery and now I’m going out to catch me a few fat, sassy worms,” he said, heading for the door.
“Wha…? Wait,” he said grabbing his arm. “I’m going with you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Darkness inched its way over Old Creek Cemetery, but the full moon hadn't yet risen. Arriving at the cemetery in the deepening murkiness, a shocked Father Donovan saw the carnage. The upheaval stretched all the way to the dirt road. Debris covered the construction equipment and cars sat among the fallen trees. He spun around to take it all in and tightened his grip on Jennifer, making sure she couldn’t run off, screaming, “Maddie Ann…MADDIE ANN!”
Standing in awe, his blood ran cold when he saw nothing blocking his carefully chosen souls from escaping. He threw Jennifer to the ground next to him, keeping one shoe on the side of her head, and applying as much pressure as his foot could muster. “Sit there and don’t move,” he ordered.
As childish laughter chimed through the air around him, Donovan spun around using Jennifer’s head like a top, searching for the source. Using his claw like hand, he took hold of her long hair like he would a rag doll. She shrieked, flailing her legs about, digging her heels in the dirt.
He tightened his grip on her hair, shook her head violently, and said, “Shut up or I'll tear it off.” He deviously grinned, holding her head up like a trophy as a thick strand of her chestnut hair ripped away. “I come bearing gifts, Maddie Ann.”
At that moment, an ungodly screeching sound pierced the cool evening stillness. He slammed Jennifer to the ground face first. Donovan placed his hands over his ears to block the sound, letting go of Jennifer's hair.
“She can’t come to play,” the petulant voice cried. “She's been a baaaad girl.”
“Do you see what you've done, Maddie Ann? The souls I carefully chose for you are gone now.” He clenched his fists as if to punch someone, looking angry indeed, and he raced toward where the gates of the cemetery once stood.
Forgetting he left Jennifer out in the field, he ran toward a bare-branched copse of trees. Jennifer pushed herself shakily to her feet, using her good left arm. Staggering through the harsh, dim field with weeds as high as her waist, Jennifer’s determination to escape from Donovan and Maddie Ann heightened. She blocked her face with her arms as the tall brush snagged strands of hair and plucked at her gown. As she crawled under a fallen tree, she kept her eyes focused, breathing slowly, and her head cleared. She knew where she had to go—the backyard where she wound up in the rain the night Claire lost her life. Her salvation lie across this field; she only had to make it to the house again, and then she could rest. Every sound spooked her—the crackling of leaves, twigs snapping, the hoot of an owl—and kept her eyeing her surroundings. With every movement of her good arm, pain etched through her entire body, slowing her pace. She forced herself to ignore it and kept moving.
Jennifer wiped the sweat from her brow, trying to keep the blinding, salty moisture out of her eyes. Licking her cracked lips, the taste of dried blood turned her stomach. The scabs on her wounds cracked and tore open as her life's blood dripped unheeded. Feeling a warm trickle of blood roll down her left arm, she wiped it away by smearing it on her pants. She slogged steadily away from the cemetery, but heard the sounds of Donovan’s angry voice chiming through the air. Her heart pounded. Sweat rained off her heated face. Jennifer ripped away the leaves and vines from her path, and kept running.
The last stand of trees rose up ahead as she sprinted hard, then lunged across the blacktop road into the wheat field. It appeared much bigger in the early gloom than in midnight's total darkness. She doubted she could make it. She'd put a healthy distance between her and the cemetery, yet had an uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. The ‘what-ifs’ rambled through her mi
nd. What if he could sense her location? She looked over her shoulder periodically to make sure he didn’t follow behind her. The shrill sound from his voice pierced through her like a knife. “MADDIE ANN, you come out here now.”
At any given moment, Donovan would realize she’d escaped. A few more steps away and she would be back in the same yard as the other night. If she could only hold on, and move a little faster before she collapsed. Don’t give up Jennifer. It’s right there—pace yourself—ignore the pain, her voice echoed in her head. The louder Donovan's voice echoed on the wind, the harder she pushed, determined to stay alive.
***
The ground began to rumble under Father Donovan’s feet. Laughter chimed around him as bright cobalt light settled to earth in front of him.
“Donovan, did you come to play?” Maddie Ann asked with a devious smile.
“What happened, and don’t tell me they did this, because I know you're lying,” he said pointing his finger at her face.
“The men were bad, so I took care of them,” she said, giggling as if it one big game.
“You ruined everything, you hear me. It’s all gone; the spirits are all gone,” he shouted, waving his arms in every direction.
“Relax, Donovan, they’re still here. I made an invisible force field. We can put this back together again, you and me,” she said reassuring him.
“Do it then, fix it, you naughty girl,” he begged.
With a thrust of her hands, the ground shot up from the pit of the earth, roaring, while the trees danced back in the ground, burying their roots once more. The graves once again rested in rows. The black wrought iron fence and gates restored like magic to their original grandeur. Kari, Tina, Liz, and Lisa stood gripping the bars and peering out at Maddie Ann and Donovan with pitiful imprisonment warping their faces. Maddie Ann fake-lunged, and all four shrieked, fading away into the darkness.
Donovan looked around in amazement. The workers' parked cars sat like squat soldiers outside the gates, right behind the hulking construction equipment. The gates loomed as solid and impenetrable as ever. He suddenly remembered Jennifer. He raced back down the grassy knoll to where he left her, but she had gone.
“Let her go. We'll find her later. Come on, Darling, we have work to do,” Maddie Ann said, hovering over his left shoulder.
Donovan knew he could no longer show his face in this town. Too many people had begun to suspect him something other than the loving priest he portrayed. The police would hunt him down and accuse him of all sorts of wicked deeds. Discontinuing the search for Jennifer, he decided to heed Maddie Ann's command and walked through the gates with her.
***
Around eight o’clock, Mike returned home from work, exhausted from a long day. Opening the front door, he heard guffaws coming out of the family room. He placed his briefcase beside the hearth in the living room, and walked back to see what was so funny.
“Barb, what the hell are you laughing about?”
She looked so pathetic sitting on the sofa in baggy sweats with a deep blue mud mask smeared across her face and rollers in her brassy hair.
“Hey there, sexy. I thought you forgot where you lived,” she said.
“It’s called work, Barb, and some of us have no choice,” Mike complained. He took off his tie, shoes and socks, and carried them upstairs to the bedroom. Barb followed him, continuing to giggle.
“So, you didn’t answer me, what was so funny?” he asked again as he removed his shirt and pants.
“Oh, I heard the Cravens neighbors are giving them hell over Jennifer. They might even have to move in order to keep their sanity,” she said, grinning.
“And that’s funny to you why?” he queried, pulling a clean tee shirt from the drawer.
“Oh, you old poop, lighten up. Since when do we associate with the Cravens anymore? What do you care?” she asked, taking the rollers from her hair. She walked into the bathroom and washed the goop off her face.
“Barbara, these are human beings here, and I hope you have more compassion than that,” he said, pulling on his favorite jeans. “They need our support.” This just seemed like her, the sadist . She could act like a wench when she wanted to. Everything tragic tickled her funny bone. Sometimes he thought she enjoyed watching others suffer.
“Did you see them rush right over here when Claire came up missing? Did they call and tell us how sorry they were when she never returned home? I think not. So why should I feel any compassion for them,” she growled, shrugging into a sheer black nightie.
When he huffed at her, she sighed. “I don't want to argue with you. Why don't you lie down with me for a while?” Her entire attitude shifted 180 degrees in less than ten seconds.
Barb sat down on the bed and lifted her bare legs, giving him a private glimpse of her very private parts. Mike took notice of her provocative pose, then ignored her, as he swept past and out to the hall. Seeing her sprawled across the bed made him want to vomit.
Stunned for thirty seconds, she sat there, slack-jawed. Jumping up from the bed, she threw on a terry-cloth robe and ran downstairs after him with a flaming glare of anger on her face. The light in the kitchen brightened the stairs when she neared the bottom step. Sure enough, there stood Mike raiding the fridge.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” she shouted. “Since when don't you want sex?”
Mike laid a chicken leg on his plate and sat down at the table. He picked up a can of Diet Pepsi and slowly poured it over tinkling ice cubes, picked up his glass and toasted it to thin air. “To the biggest bitch I know,” he said, grinning. He took a healthy swig and set his glass down with a thump.
Appalled at his comment, she leaped over to the table and dumped the entire glass of soda over his head. “Now you can call me a bitch. At least I did something to earn it,” she yelled.
Instead of jumping up to fight with her, he sat there licking the sticky drops of soda as they rained down his chin. She stormed out of the room, deeply hurt by his comment. Furiously kicking the footstool of the recliner, Barbara slumped into the chair and flipped through the channels looking for something to take her mind off Mike. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him slip past the family room door heading upstairs.
***
Jennifer stumbled into the backyard of the familiar house whose porch light had looked so inviting in the pouring rain. Sweat rolled off her as a cold chill swept up her chest. Sharp stabs of pain surged through her sides, in her arms and her broken wrist, and her head pounded like a sledgehammer hit it. Jennifer collapsed on the cement porch, whacking her forehead when she couldn't catch herself in time. Her legs, weak, she managed to thump on the back door for help. Sprawled helpless and vulnerable on the concrete, she scarcely noticed when a woman opened the door.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tom and Jake drove down Judge Styles' street and neared the address. Camping equipment cluttered the front lawn. “That's the house number I have. Pull over,” Jake said. The judge came out of the garage stuffing sleeping bags and boxes of food in the back of a red SUV. “That’s him. Park it and let’s go talk to him,” he said, undoing his seat belt.
“Hold on there, six-shooter. You don’t want to scare him off. I guarantee the minute he spots us, he'll bolt,” Tom replied. “If he barricades himself inside, it will take an act of congress to get him out. I wonder where we’d find that degenerate son of his?” He kept a hand on the door handle waiting for the perfect moment to jump out. Before Tom and Jake had a chance to confront him, Judge Styles glanced up at the unmarked police car, and made a mad dash into the house.
“Well, shoot. You called it, Tom,” Jake complained. “He can hide in the house all day, but it won't stop me from questioning his sorry butt.”
“And there you have it. I dare you to walk up to his front door and demand he come out. If you make it without getting shot at, I’ll personally give you a medal,” Tom told him. He chuckled and got out of the car.
Jake made it up the long circle drive
first. The new Suburban sat parked in front of the open garage with its tailgate gaping. The miscellaneous camping gear, half in, and half out of the truck, looked recently bought, most of it unopened in boxes. Something in the garage caught his eye. A flowery Hawaiian shirt stuck out of a box sitting in the open garage. From the looks of it, one whole sleeve had dried blood soaked into the rayon fabric. “Hey, Tommy…does this look like blood to you, or paint? I can’t tell from the cheesy fluorescent lighting,” Jake said.
Tom walked up to the garage, looked it over but did not touch it. Out in plain view, he could confiscate any suspicious material he wanted. “It looks like blood, but who knows how long it’s been here?” he said.
Maddie Ann s Playground Page 34
