Rachel and Peak bolted through the house of black fog. Inside, the Orphan girls directed Rachel’s path around the flames as the floor fell apart. They got down the stairs and out the front door just in time to see the house tumble and smash down the cliff. Its fire spread through the forest below.
10
Safe Place
Every fire truck and chopper raced to the top of the mountain while volunteers from all over rushed to fight the fire. Peak and Rachel sat in the front of the missing house, watching their rescue coast across the horizon. Behind them, smoke billowed out into the indigo sky.
“Long day,” Rachel said, breaking the silence.
“Tell me about it,” Peak replied. “Are the girls gone?”
Rachel looked at the lawn beside them. All eight of the girls watched the sunrise, their intense looks somber, hope-filled even. “Soon.”
Rachel’s head fell on her partner's shoulder. The fire raged on down the cliff beyond them and by the time help arrived, Rachel was long asleep.
Rachel spent the few days at the hospital in the neighboring town. She learned about the case from Peak and McConnell. The rope was recovered. Blood and skin from Maxine’s neck was discovered on it. Couple that with Rachel and Peak’s testimony, and Albert “Al” Jacobson was the Roper. However, the victims’ other missing shoe were never recovered.
Despite what the Orphans had revealed to Rachel, Mayor John Parkman had no idea that his friend Al was the Roper and was completely baffled. Rachel took this with a grain of salt. The man knew something, her gut told her, whether or not it was the Roper’s true identity or his own participation in one or all the murders, Rachel guessed she’d probably never know. After all, the case was closed. All except one thing: Al’s body was never discovered. The town was still cleaning up the ruins of the crumbled estate. It had to be down there somewhere.
After the third day in the hospital, Peak drove Rachel back to her ancient house, but not first without picking her up a new cell, shoes and a Glock 22. Without her smoothie, Rachel’s world had been bustling with Orphan sightings. It would be nice to get back to her home, to her safe place.
“Thanks, by the way,” Peak said as he drove her down the single-lane winding road. “I came home to my daughter thanks to you.”
“You getting soft on me now, Detective?” Rachel teased.
Peak didn’t answer the question. “Check the back seat.”
Rachel leaned back and spotted the wrapped present in the foot gutter. She took it and opened it. Black leather and classy, Rachel brushed her thumb against the journal.
“Your mother had one,” Peak said. “I thought you could use your own.”
Rachel smiled and put it in her lap. “I like it. Thank you.”
She looked out her window just as her ominous 1892 Queen Anne manse appeared behind the tree line. She stepped out. Peak stayed in.
“I’d stay,” he said, “But I promised Lizzy…”
“Don’t worry about me,” Rachel said. “I’ll see you at the next one.”
“Ditto.” He drove away.
Rachel took a breath of that cool mountain air and headed inside. Dakota Mulberry and Maxine Gunther waited in the kitchen for her.
“You ready to go home?” Rachel asked them.
The girls traded looks and nodded.
“Well, you don’t need to wait on me,” Rachel said. “The door is right there.” She pointed to the hall.
Casually, they walked away, creaking the floorboards as they went and vanishing out the back door. Rachel sighed and opened the fridge. She pulled out the green smoothie that smelled of moss and death and chugged it down. It tasted horrible, but within a moment of consumption, the visions subsided and the Sense died away. Life was normal. Isolated. Safe.
She spent the rest of the afternoon with her sketch pad, working on the perfect shading for the Orphan girls standing and watching the sunrise outside on Al’s front lawn. Before she knew it, it was sunset. She stood up, her knees popping to remind her that she wasn’t twenty anymore, as if she didn’t already know. She headed upstairs, took a long shower, climbed into her pajamas, and collapsed into her bed.
Within a minute of closing her eyes, she was asleep.
Creeeeeaaak.
Rachel shot up from her bed. A door opened downstairs. The wind screamed through it while tree branches scratched at her window. Rachel checked her ex-husband’s pillow. No gun.
“Dang,” she mumbled, remembering that it hadn’t been recovered from the crime scene.
Keeping the light off, she stood. Her clock read 3 a.m. in digital green letters. She grabbed the baseball bat under the bed and tiptoed out of the room. She approached the balcony at the end of the hall, seeing the front door ajar at the bottom of the stairs. Leaves blew inside and the pictures on the walls jiggled from the harsh gusts. She crinkled her brow, noticing muddy boot tracks that led up the stairs and to her bedroom behind her. Impossible.
Rachel twisted around, locking eyes with two black pits cut into a knapsack. Her heart skipped a beat. Before she could scream or attack, the Roper’s gloved hand swiped her cheek with hurricane force. She smashed to the ground, losing hold of the bat.
The Roper stomped on her back and slung the rope over her neck in one fell swoop. With both hands, he pulled it up, grinding her vertebrae against each other and backward to the point where his foot was on the small of her back. Her scream turned into a gag under the rope. She clawed at the hemp, bruising her fingertips. Her world twisted. Her face turned purple.
“Help!” It was only a windless rattle from her dry mouth.
When she was weak and the world was distorted with black specks, the Roper stepped over her and yanked her up to her feet. He grabbed the back of her head and charged her body to the railing. She outstretched her arms, catch the railing as her vision failed her. He pushed her head farther down, intent on flipping her over.
Her face turned black. The skin on her neck tore from the rope’s extreme tightness. In one second, she went from about to flip over to the edge to staggering backward.
“What?” she gasped, holding her neck. There was no rope. No wound. Her vision was clear. Below, the front door was shut. It was a dream, she knew at once. It was too real for a dream.
“Rachel,” she heard Al’s voice teasing. She twisted around. There was no origin.
“Get the hell out of here!” she commanded, unable to calm her heart.
Al’s cocky chuckle filled the corners of the hall and echoed through the house before fading away.
Rachel stood in silence. No. I drank that smoothie. That’s how this works. He can’t… none of them can…
Her new phone jiggled. She turned back to her room and walked slowly inside. It was a familiar number. Rachel answered.
“This is Dispatch. We have a 10-67.”
Thank you for reading my story!
Writing has been a major driving force in my life and it is unbelievably satisfying to know that you took the time to explore my world. I am grateful and eagerly await your feedback. As an author, Amazon reviews can have a huge impact on my livelihood. So if you enjoyed the story please leave a review letting me know. Your input matters to me and allows me to continue writing stories that will thrill and excite.
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Until next time,
J.S. Donovan
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The Haunting of Rachel Harroway- Book 1 Page 12
