by A Wallace
MINDFIELD
Sideways Eight Series (Book 1)
AJ Wallace
sidewayseightseries.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place
s, and incidences are products of the author’s imagination or are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 AJ Wallace
Publisher: SES
All rights reserved.
ISBN-10: 1497419638
ISBN-13: 978-1497419636
Cover Design: LiTD Creations
Cover Art: Stock photo - Brain Synapse
Dedication
To my mom, Pauline, from the hereafter, who has her loving hand on my shoulder, encouraging me to keep writing.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Ides of March
Chapter 2 – Better Days
Chapter 3 – Back to School
Chapter 4 – Senter of Attention
Chapter 5 – Family Secrets
Chapter 6 – Stars are the Freckles of the Night Sky
Chapter 7 – No Leeds
Chapter 8 – It’s Good to be Back Home
Chapter 9 – Stashed
Chapter 10 – Big Yellow Twinkie
Chapter 11 – Erin Geaux Bragh
Chapter 12 – Poker Night
Chapter 13 – Dawn Has Broken
Chapter 14 – After Effects
Chapter 15 – Horseplay
Chapter 16 – Pretty in Pink
Chapter 17 – Fix Me a Sammich
Chapter 18 – Sweet Suffocation
Chapter 19 – Dirty Archives
Chapter 20 – No Quarter
Chapter 21 – Backtracking
Chapter 22 – Fight Night
Chapter 23 – Sirens and Studs
Chapter 24 – Two Spares and a Strike
Chapter 25 – Girls Have Goals
Chapter 26 – Going South
Chapter 27 – Masked Identity
Chapter 28 – Sidelined Red Shirt
Chapter 29 – Everyone Loves the Ice Cream Man
Chapter 30 – Quasipsuedo
Chapter 31 – Brain Banging
Chapter 32 – Some Things Don’t Need Repeating
Chapter 33 – The Bicycle Did It
Chapter 34 – How to Peel a Tangerine
Chapter 35 – Before the Storm
Chapter 36 – Revelation
Chapter 37 – Stars and Bananas on the Side, Please
Chapter 38 – Please Don’t Fear Me
Chapter 39 – Banana Splits
Chapter 40 – Then There Were Five
Chapter 41 – Blame the Pizza
Chapter 42 – Two Brains, One Idea
Chapter 43 – What Girls?
Chapter 44 – Connect the Dots
Chapter 45 – Olivia’s Vision
Acknowledgements
Catherine H., Charles O., Chris D., Norm M.,
Randy K., Rikon G., Ron V., Shian S., Sly J., Trish W.
Ms. Mary Sue Dean, because of you, I can.
Chapter 1
Ides of March
Reston, VA - Sunnyvale Recreation Park – Soccer Field
Tuesday, 15 March – 7:20 AM
The frozen grass crunched under the soles of Justin’s sneakers. Each rumple on the turf marked another moment of missing his best friend. Until two weeks ago, she would bebop beside him, tousling his hair while on their way to school. Justin would crook his elbow around her neck and drag her along.
He trudged through the backyard, passed through the wrought-iron gate, flipped the latch, and locked it. Beyond the soccer field, buses lined the school entrance waiting their turn to unload students. Justin frowned. These days his smiles were few and his tears many.
A grove surrounded the recreation park and butted against each side of the pool house to the east. Ahead, hidden in the pre-dawn, the vague outline of Laurel View Elementary School came alive as lights flickered from the rear windows.
A trip across the soccer field sliced the travel time in half instead of using the sidewalk. The walk once granted him the opportunity to de-energize, but the daily ritual ceased to exist.
The crisp air teased the tip of Justin’s nose and stung his rosy cheeks. He shivered and snugged his hoodie around his twelve-year-old frame.
Fourteen days ago, Robin Senters disappeared. Since that night, Justin searched their neighborhood every day, calling her name, begging her to come home, her silence no longer a game.
He dug into his jeans pocket and clutched his keyring. His thumb traced the design of a green handcrafted relic made from electrical wire from his father’s workshop. Justin lagged unhurried, another day late to class. His daily trek had lost its fun without her by his side.
The sun crested the horizon. The warming rays pierced the naked trees, covering the field with a glow, highlighting the closed Sunnyvale swimming pool. A flicker of light in the middle of the soccer pitch snared his attention.
In the center of the pitch, a faint glow flickered. He quickened his pace. The closer he approached the faster his feet sped. Recognition flared when he captured a glimpse of scarlet hair. His breath hammered his lungs. The cold, stinging pain in his throat did not stop his determination. His feet tangled, sending him to the grass. He clawed his way from the icy ground, ripped his backpack from his shoulders, and slammed it onto the turf. He ran while droplets from his eyes crystalized on his cheeks. Every breath he took spewed a vapor cloud. Closer to the figure he dug in and hustled, stumbling to his knees. A strange scent soared up his nose. Encircled by nine candles, Robin lay motionless.
He froze, trying to make sense of the scene. A single burning candle lost its luster. Denial tried to shunt away his logic.
Justin howled, “Robin.”
Several tapers toppled onto the ground as he plunked upon her chest. His body shook, his hands trembled, twisting her copper curls around his fingers.
“Robin,” he whispered through an agonizing gurgle. Justin rose, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her. A dried marigold tumbled from her hand and landed on a green flannel blanket protecting her from the soulless ground. “Robin,” he whimpered, “wake up.”
Clothed in a frilly dress, one Robin would never choose. A tomboy, she preferred jeans and a simple t-shirt, despite her dainty features. Her happiest moments included softball and tumbling in the back lawn with Justin. So many summer afternoons spent splashing in the pool, chasing and pushing each other into the crystal blue water. Her laughter fine and crisp, her smile warm and friendly, never to be heard again.
Justin screamed her name, begging her to stop faking. Refusing to accept the truth, he wrapped his hand around her tiny fingers, stiff and chilled.
Robin did not respond.
Horror shifted into grief. His breath labored, his hands trembled as he tapped her cheek, willing her eyes to open. Robin would cackle and tell him she had fooled him again.
Justin swallowed hard, choking on his spittle. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and coughed violently. He shook her, pleading for her to leap to her feet, dance around him, and tease him. Robin would laugh and bounce in his midst, hug him tight, and tell him he’s the best friend a girl would want. She would pinch his nose as she giggled and dash away with him behind her.
He smoothed her hair and squeezed her hand. “I’ll go find help.” Quick on his feet, an unknown pain spawned within him, as he remained rooted to the ground while his body quivered against the icy spring morning. His furtive glances led his gaze to the enclosed swimming pool. Next to the diving board stood a man, wearing cartoonish sunglasses with neon-green frames. Justin called out to him. The man tu
rned and ran to the other side of the pool, climbed the chain-link fence, and escaped into a grove of trees.
Justin scrunched his fists to his cheeks, his mind shattered. His best friend lay before him, lifeless. Adrenaline spiraled and saturated every muscle and vein. He veered to the side and barreled toward the school.
Panic and grief flowed within him as he hustled to the front of the building. Close to the main entrance, he pushed and shoved other students out of his way. His hand grasped the door handle. He swung it open with all his strength. He ploughed through the corridors overflowing with idle students without consideration of injury, sending many children tumbling to the floor. Teachers attempted to grapple him and chased him down the hallway. He fought them, swatting his arms as he resisted, hitting one teacher in the jaw, refusing to stop. Salty droplets flooded his cheeks to his mouth. Sweat dribbled down his forehead as he turned the corner of the passageway, leading to the administration office.
Justin’s feet pounded the tile, accelerating his speed he slammed into the oak door. He stepped back, yanked it open, and entered. Grief and unimaginable torment robbing him of speech, he raised his arm and pointed towards the soccer field. The administration staff behind the counter witnessed his blustery face, a droplet of spit dripping from his trembling lower lip.
Ms. Copper rushed around the counter with Mr. Thurgood on her heels. She gripped his shoulders. “Justin, what’s wrong?”
His body convulsing, his chapped red hands held in front of him, shaking.
Justin cried, “I found Robin.”
Chapter 2
Better Days
Reston, VA - Sunnyvale Recreation Park – Soccer Field
Tuesday, 15 March – 09:16 AM
FBI Special Agent Charley Faraday steered her black Yukon Denali into the Sunnyvale parking lot adjacent to the swimming pool and parked.
The ignition keys snug in her pocket she gripped the steering wheel and pressed her body into the seat, closing her eyes. A resigned breath escaped her mouth. She removed her tablet from the buckskin satchel tossed on the passenger side.
With her free hand, she tapped an icon to open the initial crime report. Outside the driver’s window, investigators and forensics technicians scurried about prepping the cordoned area. A large, white protective tent obscured the body of Robin Senters and sealed the crime scene radius. The view of the pool through the windshield unnerved Charley, sending tingles up her spine. An eight-foot chain-link fence surrounded the compound, butting against each side of the bathhouse. A slight breeze swirled brittle leaves across the tarp-covered pool toward a padlocked gate.
Charley returned her attention to the screen. Robin Senters, age ten, abducted from Laurel View Elementary School the evening of Tuesday, March 1st while at play rehearsal. I was in Colorado. The victim asked for permission to use the restroom. She never returned. After a frantic search, the girl’s aunt, Emma Gibson, present at the school, notified police and called Robin’s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Senters were at an area hospital, where Bonnie, Robin’s mother, was in labor with her second child.
Her attention returned to the diving board, talking to herself to place everything into perspective. “The victim left no trace? Children are packrats. They stuff crap in their pockets. I did. Still do.”
One hundred and fifty yards away, in the midst of the busy scene, she spotted Doobie standing beside a tall, dark-haired man. She canted her head, the bridge of her nose crinkled. Cameras. Schools have twenty-four-hour feeds. Her finger swiped the screen to the next page of the report to find the answer. Disconnected the week of Robin’s kidnapping due to a security system upgrade. Hmm. Anybody could’ve entered the building during rehearsal. “That isn’t helpful.” Charley swiped the screen again to continue her search. Justin Wilkerson, a sixth grader, discovered the body while walking to school around seven-thirty in the morning. She twiddled her fingers on the screen. I want to talk to him. Poor kid, he has to be terrified. I must talk to him. Won’t be easy. Kids are… unique, tough to interview.
Charley slipped the tablet into the side pocket of her black cargo pants. She opened the vehicle door, hopped out, and closed it. Two hours had passed since—. Charley placed her hands over her ears to drown out the fluster in her head. Stop. Her eyes watered, blurring the scene before her. After wiping them with her fingers, she spotted Supervisory Special Agent Simon ‘Doobie’ Dubuclet conversing with the unfamiliar man across from the mobile forensics lab.
A Louisiana native of Cajun decent, Doobie, oxen strong, had the heart of an angel. Appointed the director of a specialized team of agents from the Criminal Investigative Division, he handpicked them to join him at a satellite facility in Arlington. Fair and straightforward, he accepted no nonsense from anyone, with one exception, Charley.
She tilted her head. The unknown man in a charcoal suit stood over six feet tall with broad shoulders. She trekked behind them and tapped Doobie’s shoulder. “What’s the lowdown?”
Doobie spun around and faced her. “Glad you’re back, Char. Your profiling—”
“Behavioral Analysis,” she corrected.
“Eh… skills will be necessary on this one. It’s all kinds of weird.” Doobie flipped his hand. “Old school, my dear.”
Charley grinned.
The dark-haired man turned around, glanced at her, switching his gaze to Doobie. “Hmm.”
Charley’s eyes widened, fixing on a pair of familiar azure eyes.
“Uh, sorry.” Doobie pointed at the man beside him. “This is Agent Sean Murphy. New to the FBI and my team. He joins us from—”
Charley held her palm to Doobie’s face, maintaining her steely glare at Murphy. “We’ve met.”
“When?”
“Later.” Charley flicked her hand. “Let’s grab the protective gear and enter the tent.”
Once inside the enclosure Charley glanced at the sheeted body.
Doobie fiddled with his FBI badge attached to his waistband. “The evening she disappeared the school went into immediate lockdown.”
Charley circled the body. “What did the witnesses say?”
“No one saw the victim after she left the auditorium to use the restroom.”
“Were all the doors secure during rehearsal?”
“Anyone can leave the school from any exit, but the main door is accessible.” Doobie pointed towards the elementary school, two hundred yards to the west. “During school hours visitors must be buzzed in from the admin office. The night the victim went missing a doorstop kept the lobby door ajar.”
“Is that common during night activities?”
“Yep.”
The forensic technicians’ activity increased around the victim, gathering physical evidence. Several pieces of equipment, including trace and blood collection kits, sat on the dormant grass. Charley scouted for blood, finding none. “The little boy who found the body, Justin Wilkerson. Where is he?”
“He’s with the guidance counselor. Poor kid’s traumatized.”
“Has anyone talked to him?”
Doobie shook his head. “We’re waiting for his parents to arrive.”
“Who’ll question him?”
“Agents Gallaher and Steiner.”
Concern flooded Charley’s face. “Do you think that’s wise?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s twelve, Doobie. My guess, he’s in shock. He found a dead body of a little girl who might be a friend. You’re putting two male Feds on him. Let’s not intimidate him.”
Doobie shuffled his foot. “You’re right. I’ll recall Gallaher and Steiner. You interview him.”
“Thanks.” Charley nodded. “Appreciate it. Have the victim’s parents been notified their daughter has been found?”
“Yes.”
“Good. What’s the guidance counselor’s name?”
Doobie tapped his forehead with his fingers. “Damn.” He dug into his suitcoat pocket and removed his trusty mini-notepad. “Uhm, Jessica Cooper.”
&nb
sp; “When will Justin’s parents arrive?”
“An hour or so.”
Charley shifted her attention to Murphy. “Who called the authorities?”
He pointed to his chest. “Are you asking me?”
“No, I’m talking to the ghost standing next to you.”
“The principal, Thomas Thurgood.”
“Char, take Murphy with you when you speak to the Wilkerson kid.”
Charley crossed her arms, browsing Murphy head to toe. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Murphy leaned into the conversation. “Yeah, why not?”
“You’re a mammoth. You may frighten him. You’re tall and… and… physically intimidating.”
Murphy stood firm. “If both of us go, he’ll trust you, because you’re a woman, and he’ll assume I’ll protect him. It’s all in the way I present myself. I’ll make sure he feels safe.”
“Have you interviewed children in the past?”
He crammed his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.”
Charley gazed at the body. “I want to review the crime scene first.”
“Better not.” Doobie crossed his arms over his chest. “Carmichael will blow a gasket if he suspects any tampering.”
Charley shrugged. “I’ll look, not touch.”
“It’s your head.”
“Carmichael likes my noggin.” She twirled her finger at the corpse. “Doobie, what are the things circling the victim beneath the sheet?”
“Candles.” Alerted by a rumbling voice outside the tent, Doobie leaned toward the flap.
A short, pudgy man dressed in black coveralls stood before them. Medical Examiner Dr. Ansel Carmichael stepped to the side of the victim. Dark, caterpillar eyebrows topped his Ben Franklin eyeglasses. With a deep sigh, he ran his hand over his mouth. He stooped, placing the examiner’s bag on the ground. A mane of thick, white, wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail draped over his shoulder. “Good morning, Dr. Faraday.”
Dimples appeared with Charley’s warm smile. “Good morning, Ansel.”
After he studied the white sheet, Carmichael shifted back, pursing his mouth, and gazed at Murphy. “Who are you?”
