Past Abandon

by Alice Ayden

  “Get off the box, Maines.” Torres waited. “If it were up to me, I’d have you and Weever and every uniform I could spare knock down every door in Virginia. We both know Natalie Wells isn’t innocent, but we got no proof.”

  Maines flashed him a look that told him they’d get proof if they had more time.

  “No one else thinks she’s connected. Even if we could make an arrest, it’s circumstantial and there’s too much doubt for any D.A.”

  Maines wondered how many times Torres had been told that just this morning.

  “Okay, Detective. What do you have on Natalie Wells?” Torres waited for a half second. “Well?”

  Maines wanted to spew out a list of crimes she could be charged with. He wanted to cite legal precedence and then have Torres smile at him, grab the phone, and tell him to wait for the warrant. Torres would pat him on the back, invite him to Sunday barbecue, and offer him his wife’s recipe for banana bread. Maines didn’t say anything.

  “That’s what I thought. If she’s guilty...” Torres glanced around the office. “And I swear on Liam’s life if I ever hear this repeated.”

  Maines turned to see the roach busy nibbling a couple crumbs from Torres’ sandwich. Maines held up his hands in the universal, ‘I’ll never tell a soul’ gesture.

  “Natalie Wells is involved. You know that. I know that. Maeve’s granddaughter, Cora, knows that.” Torres flinched a bit.

  Maines wondered if Torres knew or suspected his involvement with Cora’s mother. Torres grew up in DC, so firsthand knowledge wouldn’t cut it. Maeve? Would Maeve have let that slip? Maines had to shake his head to force himself back to the present. “I can’t flinch about that every five seconds.”

  Torres took a deep breath. “Evidence proves Natalie Wells was in the cellar. All evidence links Mr. Stonston. Nothing implicates or hints of Miss Wells’ involvement.”

  “I know.” Maines raised his hands in defeat and sat back down. “All evidence is linked to that asshole Johnston even though he couldn’t figure how to bend a toothpick. At least that prick is dead.”

  “Agreed. After what he did to those girls? Not a loss.”

  “Mags looked real broken up about it.”

  Torres tried to suppress a smile. “Yeah.” He put his hands on his hips and looked through his glass wall window just in time to see people scurry to get back to work. He closed the file and tossed it into his drawer. “I heard from every asshole’s assistant in the commonwealth. The case against Mr. Morgan Stonston is closed. Officially, there was never a case against Miss Wells. There will be no trial.”

  Maines sighed. “Mags must have threatened to blab about things hidden in corners, closets, and under beds of every official living, dead or just given last rites.”

  “Don’t wrestle with Mags,” Torres said. “We both know what she is. You might pass for white, but she’d make you swing with the rest of us if she could.”

  Maines closed his eyes and nodded.

  “Just be glad Miss Wells decided to get treatment voluntarily. She’s off the streets.”

  Maines worried about the why. What else did she have planned? He should have quietly walked back to his desk, but he couldn’t resist. “At least you did everything humanely possible. I know I’ll sleep better at night.”

  Torres rolled his eyes.

  Maines smiled at him and winked. “Had to toss you another. It’s my last day. Celebrate, Torres. Hoist a few. We can get a massage and mani-pedis and matching—”

  Torres pointed to the door.

  Maines sauntered out of Captain Torres’ office with a smirk.

  Weever rushed past several detectives and just missed slamming into some uniforms. She quickly took off her jacket and placed it meticulously over the back of her chair. “What did I miss?”

  Maines motioned in the direction of Torres’ office.

  Through the window, the captain still had his hands on his hips and stared at Maines.

  Weever flinched from Torres’ glare. “He looks happy.”

  “He’s asked me to Cabo for the weekend. Wants you to break it to his wife.”

  She grimaced. “Hopefully he can’t read lips.”

  Maines threw himself into his chair. His desk provided minimal function: coffee cup, phone, computer, stapler. Nothing without purpose. Some of his essentials – stapler and pencils – fled to the floor when he plopped. Maines righted the coffee cup and picked up the pencils.

  Weever stared at the stapler waiting helplessly on the floor.

  Maines decided to leave it where it flew. “I was born and raised here. My family’s here. Anyone shits in my town, and they’ll get my shovel. I’m not like the suits who’re all mall happy with any arrest. I’ll follow the guilty to hell’s laundry room, but Mags wants me gone.” Maines wasn’t the type for letting loose ends lie. He had the bow, and he wanted to place it on a nice and neat package.

  “Why?” Weever couldn’t understand. “Wouldn’t she want the truth? Wouldn’t she want to know if her son didn’t act alone?”

  “Too many questions. You don’t know her, Teresa. Mags has more important things.”

  The sawing increased intensity until it sounded like a hundred caffeinated bees. Maines whipped his chair around. “They know we have guns, right?”

  Weever ignored the noise. “So, officially, we’re off the case?”

  “We follow the rules.” Maines raised his voice enough so others took notice. “I don’t know about you, detective, but I for one am a rule follower. I take orders very seriously.”

  A couple detectives threw up their hands and laughed at Maines’ outburst.

  Maines walked over to the fresh coffee and poured himself another cup. He managed to flash six different menacing glares in the direction of the construction workers who ignored him. The high pitched squealing gave way to intense pounding as if hammers were hitting pots and pans.

  Weever threw her head down on the desk. “She’s going to get away with it.” She opened her drawer and looked at the folder with the pictures of each of the victims. “They don’t have to look into their eyes.”

  Maines’ stomach sharply churned. “All these years I thought I did the right thing by keeping my distance from Cora. Don’t make waves. She’s from a founding family, and I’m just a…” Maines thought about recent events. “Where did she get the courage? It wasn’t her mother. Emily was a lot of things, but she was afraid of her own shadow.” The realization hit Maines.

  He slammed his cup down on his desk and grabbed his jacket.

  “What are we doing?” Weever jumped up.

  “I’m tired of sitting on my hands.” Maines muttered to himself. “Always doing the right thing. Biding my time. Do you know I wanted to get Emily help? I warned them she was going to do something.”

  Weever frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Maines grabbed his main gun and backup gun. “Don’t follow me.”

  Weever started to grab her jacket.

  “Don’t.” Maines sharp tone stopped Weever. “Teresa, you have a future. Mine’s done in the force.”

  Weever dropped her jacket. “What are you going to do?”

  Maines smiled. “What I should have done.”

  Chapter 45: Undone

  Natalie scanned her hospital room’s shiny gray linoleum floor, the wheels under her bed, and her potato chip thin pillow. No pictures, paintings, fingernail scrapes, or codes written in blood decorated the peachy walls. She opened the cinnamon curtain further to see more of the outside.

  Dr. Vinders shifted positions. “I am confident you will find this an excellent facility to aid your recovery and understanding of events. Have you been working on the timeline we talked about? Remember when you were first taken to the cellar?”

  Natalie’s eyes focused on the grass and the swaying evergreens, but her mind focused on something else. Timeline? She thought of that cold studio apartment in Alexandria.

  Natalie glanced at the answering machine and then a
t Andrew, the actual tenant, dead from an overdose which she inspired. She’d chosen Andrew specifically because of his apartment’s location to the alley, his penchant for inviting strangers into his place, and his history of depression and suicide attempts. Many fingerprints littered his apartment, but Natalie still dyed her hair black and wore gloves to hide any trace as she rifled through his life.

  Standing in the alley peering onto the town square beyond her, Natalie smiled when she heard the car.

  “By the time I was ten, I had killed more than Jack the Ripper,” a man whispered.

  Natalie froze. She recognized the voice. Slowly, she turned around.

  “Hello, Natalie,” Johnston said.

  “Glad you found the place.”

  “You give good directions.” Johnston peeked ahead and behind him. “You sure no one will see us.”

  “You know what to do.”

  Johnston nodded. “Let you get past me. Say something about Grace, and then—”

  “Say what about Grace?”

  Unable to follow the simplest instructions, Johnston hesitated and frowned. “Drive behind you in the alley. Say that about Jack the Ripper. Let you get past me, and...”

  Natalie reminded herself why she chose him. She waited patiently and then continued on as if trying to get away from him. She had faith in Johnston. He knew what she’d do to him if he disappointed.

  “I have Grace.” Johnston’s ineptitude almost devoured Natalie’s patience.

  Natalie closed her eyes and smiled.

  Dr. Vinders shifted positions. “Do you remember how Mr. Stonston removed the bodies?”

  When Johnston helped her with a body he coughed and gagged. “How can you stand the smell?”

  Natalie shrugged. Rotting flesh meant a job well done. She carefully wrapped a body in a tarp, but, as soon as Johnston put it in his trunk, Natalie snatched the tarp away to let the blood seep into Johnston’s car.

  Johnston looked down at Natalie’s gloved hands and then at his own uncovered, blood soaked hands. “Don’t you think I need gloves too?”

  Natalie shook her head. “Poor bastard. Never did figure it out.”

  “What was that?” Dr. Vinders asked with pen poised over his notes. “Did you recollect when you were released from the cellar? We talked about that last session. Do you wish to discuss that now?”

  “My last day in the cellar.”

  Johnston had thrown the blindfold to her. Natalie took one last look around, placed the blindfold over her eyes, and waited. Johnston tried to unlock the chain that attached Natalie to the stove. He jerked it this way and that. “You have to jiggle it before the yank.”

  Johnston did, and the chain gave way. He grabbed Natalie’s hands. “You sure about this?”

  Natalie nodded.

  He dragged her through the original cellar, out through the cellar door, and into his trunk. “Isn’t it still gross from the bodies?”

  “It’s fine.”

  After the car stopped, he pulled her out of the trunk and hesitated. “What was I supposed to do?” He shrugged and headed to his car.

  Natalie yanked off the blindfold. “And?”

  Johnston stopped. What did he forget? “Oh, yeah.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “I wrote it out like you said.”

  “Cora collects calm, but I collect something so much better. I couldn’t be like Cora. I need my memories.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Vinders hesitated. “Memories are important.”

  Natalie coldly stared at him.

  Dr. Vinders cleared his throat and glanced over his notes. “Do you remember when we talked about the journal? Do you remember writing in the journal?”

  She smiled at Dr. Vinders and forced a couple of tears to fall. “I heard their cries and pleas.” Natalie shook her head as she’d seen others do when recalling something horrific. “He made me write it all.” Natalie leaned forward and grinned at the doctor. “It’s hard to write now without hearing screams. Luckily, I can still hear the symphony of pain.”

  Natalie recognized Dr. Vinders’ reaction and prided herself on not admitting anything while still managing to unnerve him. “While Johnston did his thing with the girls, I did sneak a peek every once in a while. During the good parts.” Natalie suppressed her laughter with her sleeve as the doctor lost most of his coloring and swallowed hard.

  She knew he’d never figure it out in time. Poor man. He wouldn’t know what hit him. None of them would figure it out in time. Not until she was gone. Natalie smiled as she thought of watching them all squirm once she was free. She’d watch them jump at every noise and assume she lingered in the shadows. She couldn't wait to be out.

  “I knew Cora was my weakness,” Natalie said.

  “Cora?” Dr. Vinders shifted his notes. “That’s Miss Cora Austen?”

  Natalie rolled her eyes. “Try to keep up, doc. Yes. Cora. I should have walked away years ago, but…” She leaned closer to the doctor and smiled as she detected his slight shift away from her. “Could you leave your most prized possession? Your favorite toy?”

  The doctor didn’t answer, but his eyes widened.

  Natalie shook her head. “You really don’t know what’s coming, do you?”

  The doctor narrowed his eyes and stared at her with the most clueless expression.

  Natalie giggled like she’d heard Johnston do for years. “Trust me. You won’t stop me in time. They never do.”

  Chapter 46: Past Abandon

  Cora stood in the middle of the Grand Entrance Hall with Mrs. Kiness. “My life’s like a fan palm. I started out fine, but something tossed me like a Caesar salad; I grew up all crooked and wonky.”

  Lillia twirled in. “Someone having Caesar salad?”

  “I do not know how you can twirl so much,” Mrs. Kiness said.

  Lillia shrugged and stepped closer to Cora. “Look, I know it’s not going to be easy. And I know what some have said.”

  Cora nodded. “I’ve discontinued the comments section on the Ausmor website.”

  Mrs. Kiness pulled out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “The merciless cruelty of those who can remain anonymous never ceases to amaze. They have no manners. No remorse. No respect.” Mrs. Kiness shook her head as she walked away.

  Some tourists came around the corner and eyed her. Cora heard their whispers and hushed looks.

  One of them stepped forward. “Harry Newman. I’m a reporter for the—”

  “Not gonna happen.” Lillia pushed him back.

  “Just tell me how you felt when you knew you were standing on a grave of someone you should have saved?”

  Lillia nodded behind her, and several very large men suddenly appeared to take the reporter away.

  Cora hadn’t even seen them before. “Grand Maeve’s doing?”

  Lillia nodded, glancing them up and down. “I was there when she interviewed them.” Lillia leaned in close to Cora. “She asked if they’d take their shirts off...you know...to make sure they were in shape enough to do security.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Lillia giggled. “I think I want to be Grand Maeve when I grow up. Hey...” Lillia giggled and twirled to one of the security guards. “S’up?”

  Cora turned to walk away. Not paying attention, she ran right into Bitty. “Sorry.”

  Bitty glared at Cora, but her glare quickly softened. “I don’t like you. I never have. It could be jealousy, or maybe you’re just my little hell. The shrinks aren’t sure yet.”

  “Okay. I—”

  “I’m not finished.” Bitty loudly sighed, rolled her eyes and made sure Cora understood Bitty would rather lick a muddy boot than talk with her. “Sorry about what you went through. Sorry about...” Bitty stopped. She took a piece of paper from her pocket, un-crumpled it and read it. “Sorry I thought you were faking your injuries. Sorry I thought you were a useless little maggot seeking attention. Sorry I thought you deserved everything you got.”

  “I—”

  “You
going to let me spit this out or what?” Bitty produced a long sigh that sounded like a bicycle pump. “Sorry I always wished you died violently. Sorry I put that on every one of my Christmas list’s since you were born.”

  Cora had to stop herself from laughing.

  Bitty turned the piece of paper over to make sure she’d said everything, folded it into smaller and smaller pieces then swallowed it in one noisy gulp.

  “Wouldn’t that be better with a dip?” Cora flinched wondering how Bitty could digest all that yuck.

  Bitty awkwardly touched Cora’s shoulder with one stubby finger.

  Cora waited. “Is that it?”

  “You think I need to say more?” Bitty folded her arms across her chest. “Fine. I’ll try to think of you as my favorite niece.” Bitty’s curled lip told Cora that wasn’t going to happen. “You are my only sister’s only child. Not that I ever liked my sister, but whatever. Sorry about everything. There. Happy?” Bitty stomped away.

  Cora took a deep breath. “Weird wouldn’t begin to describe that.” She’d learned from experience not to think too hard on Bitty. She saw Grand Maeve in the Parlor.

  Cora walked into the blue room and looked up at the huge portraits Grand Maeve studied.

  “My mother,” Grand Maeve said.

  “I know.” Cora studied the beautiful girl with long brown hair, pink cheeks and the clearest blue eyes. The almost life-size portrait took center stage. The piano she played every morning and evening waited in the middle of the room.

  “She was so graceful.” Grand Maeve had to wipe a tear away. “It’s been...” She stopped as she mentally counted the years. “Too many years, and I miss her every day. She didn’t deserve to die like that. She didn’t see me grow up. I needed her advice and counsel so many times.”

  Cora then realized something. “Did you always look out for me because we both lost our mothers so young?”

  “You’ve always been my favorite.” Grand Maeve didn’t hesitate. “Your mother was…challenged, but you are unique.”