When Beth Wakes Up

by Matthew Franks

  “Why don’t you check that dresser over there?” he suggested, motioning to a small vanity in the corner. “I’ll take a look under the bed.”

  As Linden leaned down and glanced under the bed as if there might be a monster lurking underneath, I went over to the vanity and found a few jewelry cases and makeup kits. I opened one of the cases and uncovered a couple necklaces, several earring sets, bracelets, and a high school ring. I pulled out one of the drawers and stumbled upon some useless knickknacks but didn’t see anything that particularly stood out to me.

  “There’s nothing here,” Linden said as he rose to his feet. “Let’s get back to the hospital while there’s still time.”

  Right as I was about to concur and shut the drawer, I spotted a photograph under a stack of old candy wrappers. I picked it up and examined it closely. In what appeared to be a picture taken around Christmas time, Beth was standing in front of a tree. To her right was Oscar Freeman and two men in suits who, given their older ages, I assumed were his law partners, Baxter and Lester. To her left was another man in a suit and, based on his build, I figured it must’ve been Bobby Fugate. Honestly, it was hard to tell because his head had been meticulously cut out of the picture.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hoping to catch Fugate at work, Linden and I returned to the Law Offices of Baxter, Freeman, and Lester. When we arrived, Candace, the secretary, was once again on her cell phone, texting away as if her life depended on it. Not surprisingly, she ignored us just like the last time. Linden walked up to her desk and put his hand in front of the screen. She looked at him as if he had snatched her newborn baby out of her hands and thrown it against the wall.

  “That was rude,” she said, pulling the phone away from Linden.

  “Not as rude as failing to acknowledge a visitor,” he said. “Especially when it’s your job.”

  “Fine,” she huffed and set down the phone. “How can I help you?”

  “We need to talk to Bobby Fugate,” I said.

  “He’s not here,” she said.

  “When will he be back?” Linden asked.

  “I have no idea,” she said. “He called in sick this morning.”

  “Hello, gentlemen,” a familiar voice spoke behind us.

  I turned to see Oscar Freeman standing a few feet away from the desk. “Mr. Freeman,” I said.

  “Mr. Crawford,” he greeted me and then addressed Linden. “Agent Linden. Perhaps we could talk more privately again.”

  “Of course,” Linden answered. “Where are your partners?”

  “They’re at the courthouse,” he replied then motioned toward the hallway. “Please.”

  We followed him back to the conference room with the mahogany table in the center.

  He motioned for us to sit and then took his seat at the head of the table. Once we were all settled, he took a deep breath and paused for a moment. I read his mind to discover that he already knew about Margaret’s suicide and was carefully choosing his words before he addressed it.

  “I’m sure you fellows heard about Maggie,” he finally said. “I couldn’t believe it when I got the news. She was a wonderful person and an excellent employee.”

  “Yeah,” Linden chimed in. “We got that part. But what was her relationship with Bobby Fugate?”

  “Relationship?” he asked. “They were co-workers.”

  “Did they spend time together outside the office?” I inquired.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” he answered.

  I checked his thoughts again. He was either telling the truth or doing a great job hiding it from me. And then, from somewhere in his mind, a memory arose. He came into the office one day to find Bobby standing at the front desk and laughing with Margaret. As soon as they saw him, they quickly went back to business as if they had suddenly been caught in the middle of something.

  “What about in the office?” I asked, wanting to take advantage of his mental digression.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said, trying to put the recollection out of his head.

  “I think you do,” I persisted. “Were they ever…inappropriate with each other at work?”

  “God no! They were always—”

  “Excellent employees?” I finished his sentence.

  “Yes,” he said. “Absolutely.”

  “Is it possible that something else was going on?” I continued. “Something you turned a blind eye to but knew was happening all along?”

  “Now you look here,” he became defensive. “This is a professional establishment. I—”

  “Save the speech, Mr. Freeman,” Linden interrupted. “A girl is dead, and another is in a coma. Professionalism isn’t going to help either of them. If you know of anything that might help us figure this thing out, now is the time to clear your conscience.”

  “Alright,” he said after a long pause. He leaned back in this chair and appeared defeated.

  “There were a few times when things between them seemed a little odd.”

  “Could you be more specific please?” I asked.

  “Sometimes I’d find them whispering to each other and, when they saw me, they’d stop.”

  “Whispering about what?” Linden inquired.

  “How should I know?!” Freeman threw his hands in the air. “They were whispering! I couldn’t hear!”

  “Did Margaret ever meet Beth?” I asked.

  “Let me think,” he said and pondered on it. “There was this one office party. Family members were invited. I seem to remember Bobby introducing them to each other.”

  “How did that go?” asked Linden.

  “Agent Linden, in my line of work, people meet each other every day. I can’t recall the specific details of one particular encounter.”

  He was lying. The night in question appeared vividly at the forefront of his mind. I let him and Linden go back forth while pieces of the evening unfolded before me like a badly edited movie. It began with Freeman and his partners in the same conference room where we were sitting. They were reminiscing about some case they had recently won and filling their cups from a spiked punchbowl in the middle of the mahogany table. Their wives stood nearby, also drinking and having their own conversation about friends of theirs that weren’t in the room. They were all sipping and laughing when Beth and Bobby walked in to the room.

  After a few choppy greetings, Bobby joined the men and Beth sat down at the table by herself. He offered her a drink, but she declined. The partners’ wives tried to involve her in their banter. She went along with it but, ultimately, seemed to feel awkward being there. The scene then cut to Margaret’s arrival. At that point, Bobby had become quite inebriated. Beth watched as he hugged Margaret more closely than fellow employees normally would.

  “Let me get you a drink,” Bobby told Margaret. He noticed Beth as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Oh, and this is my fiancée, Beth.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Margaret said and extended her hand.

  Beth shook it hesitantly. “Nice to meet you, too,” she said.

  The scene then abruptly switched to later in the evening. Beth was still sitting in the same spot, but Bobby and Margaret were noticeably absent. Freeman walked over to Beth and tried talking to her, but she didn’t acknowledge him. From her crossed arms and icy glare, it was obvious that she was angry. Freeman shrugged and went back to the others. A few seconds later, Bobby and Margaret entered the room laughing.

  Beth rose to her feet. “Where were you?” she asked.

  “What’s the big deal?” slurred Bobby. “Maggie was just showing me her new car.”

  “I’m ready to go now,” Beth said, trying to stay calm.

  “But we just got here,” he said.

  “I want to go home!” she raised her voice, causing everyone to stop mid-conversation and turn to look at her. “Please,” she added more quietly, as if doing so would cause the sudden attention to her to go away.

  “Fine,” Bobby said and then stormed drunkenly out of the r
oom.

  “I’m sorry,” Beth told everyone and then left as well.

  Back in the conference room and out of Freeman’s head, Linden was still pushing for more information. “Surely there’s another time you can remember,” he said to Freeman. “Did they ever go on extended lunch dates?”

  “That’ll do,” I said before he could answer. I stood up to leave. “You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Freeman.”

  “You’re…welcome?” Freeman said with a bewildered look on his face.

  Once outside, Linden walked beside me as we approached the car. “Did you see something?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Should we talk to Lester and Baxter?”

  “Probably be a waste of time. I doubt they know any more than Freeman. The only person I want to talk to right now is Bobby Fugate.”

  We hopped in the car and headed uptown to Fugate’s apartment. Quite the upgrade from Margaret’s complex, a gate separated the residents from the outside world. An attendant waved us in after seeing Linden’s badge and we parked near the unit where Fugate lived. We got out of the car and went straight to his door on the second floor. I pressed the buzzer and waited. No response. I hit it a second time.

  “It’s like I told you,” said Linden. “He doesn’t have to speak to us.”

  “Yes?” a voice finally came through the speaker.

  “Mr. Fugate, it’s Max Crawford and Agent Linden of the FBI,” I spoke into the microphone. “We need to talk to you.”

  “Why don’t you two just go away?” he said, sounding slightly broken. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

  “Actually, we’re just getting started,” said Linden. “What was your relationship with Margaret Stevens?”

  There was a long pause. “I’m not going to talk about Maggie,” he finally said.

  “What about Beth then?” I added. “She’s not in a good place.”

  “No, shit,” he said.

  “It’s more than you realize,” I continued. “She believes she’s Margaret.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he said.

  “She thinks she’s Margaret,” I reiterated. “She doesn’t seem to remember who she really is.”

  “She’s in a coma, asshole,” he said. “How could she think she’s somebody else?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” I said. “We thought maybe you could shed some light on the situation.”

  “Now you listen here,” he said, his voice becoming threatening. “I don’t know what mind games you two are trying to play, but it’s really starting to piss me off! If you had any decency, you’d leave me and my fiancée alone! Do not come here again!”

  After that, the speaker went silent. Linden and I went back to the car. We were on our way to the hospital when the forensic specialist at Margaret’s apartment called Linden.

  Evidently, he had discovered Margaret’s cell phone hidden under a couch in the living room not long after we left. He told Linden he’d hold on to it, so we could check it before he bagged it. We passed the exit for the hospital and headed straight for Margaret’s apartment.

  When we got there, the crowd that gathered earlier had disappeared. Even the manager and Glen, the maintenance man that discovered Margaret, were gone. We climbed the stairs and went inside. Margaret’s body had been taken away, but her blood was still on the bathroom floor.

  We found the forensic specialist waiting for us in the living room. He handed the phone to Linden.

  “You’ll need to charge it,” he said. “It’s been dead for a while.”

  Linden plugged it in a wall outlet and, once it was on, bypassed the password screen. I stood beside him as he scrolled through her phone records. If there had been any calls between her and Bobby, they had been deleted. He then checked voicemail. Also empty. It wasn’t until he clicked on the text message application that he found something. There had been an exchange between Bobby and Margaret the night before.

  Maggie: I can’t keep doing this, Bobby.

  Bobby: Keep doing what? You need to calm down.

  Maggie: How can I calm down?! Beth’s in a coma! The FBI came by to see me! I can’t understand how you’re calm!

  Bobby: Maggie, I promise you. It’s going to be okay.

  Maggie: It’s not going to be okay, Bobby! They’re going to find out and, when they do, I’m not going to be around!

  Bobby: What do you mean by that?

  Bobby: Maggie, are you still there?

  Bobby: Look, I’ll call you in the morning, okay? Just stay put like we talked about. We’ll figure it out.

  There were no texts before that, but Margaret could’ve deleted those as well. Just as Linden appeared as if he was ready to storm into Fugate’s apartment and arrest him on the spot, a plan came to mind. I took the phone from him and went into Margaret’s photo application. I looked through several pictures of her and watched a couple videos to get a good grasp on her voice patterns and mannerisms. There was one that I viewed three times because it had close-ups of her sitting on the beach and talking to someone off-screen about how much she loved it. I studied every little characteristic and, within a few minutes, had what I needed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Back at the hospital, I headed straight for Beth’s room. Margaret was fresh in my mind and I needed to hurry or else chance a lack of authenticity. I entered the room and sat down across from Beth. I focused on her face and, after a couple of seconds, projected into her head. I materialized in the familiar hallway and moved toward “Room 31.” I reached the door and started to transform into Margaret. Before I could make the change, however, a door opened behind me.

  “It’s you!” said the young voice. “Please, help me!”

  I turned to see Little Beth standing in front of “Room 7.” “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Our house is on fire!” she cried. “Please, hurry!”

  I moved away from “Room 31,” trying to retain Margaret’s personality in my memory. I followed Little Beth into “Room 7.” Crossing the threshold transported us to her family’s farmhouse. Only, instead of the picturesque view of her childhood home and the open landscape on either side, the whole place was in flames. I heard screams coming from inside. Little Beth looked at me pleadingly.

  “My mommy and daddy are in there!” she screamed. “Please do something!”

  Thinking quickly, I willed a fire truck to appear beside us. I grabbed hold of the hose and aimed it at the burning house. A powerful spray of water shot out of the hose. I went from left to right, extinguishing the fire in pieces. Eventually the flames disappeared, leaving a charcoaled hull before us. Little Beth walked toward it, her hands shaking as she approached the empty shell. She was about to climb what was left of the stairs leading to the front porch when they collapsed at her feet.

  “I wouldn’t go any further!” I warned her.

  “But my parents are in there!” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I have to save them!”

  Not wanting to tell her that, if her parents were in the house, there was nothing she could do to help them, I moved closer and took her by the hand. I led her to the edge of the porch and lifted her up onto it. I hoisted myself up onto the porch and stood with her near the front door to the house, which now hung off its hinges. As painful as it was for me to contemplate what we might find inside and how it would affect her, I couldn’t risk standing in the way of where her mind needed to go.

  I pushed the broken front door to the side, and it fell onto the porch with a smack. The thin wooden boards beneath my feet reverberated hollowly and forebodingly. I half-expected to break through them and drop to the earth below, the same sacred ground where we had found their ill-fated dog Petey on the other side of the house. I promptly followed Little Beth inside, escaping a possible pitfall for the time being.

  We passed through the living room, all the furniture blackened and no longer emitting the feel of hearth and home, and moved down a creaky hallway.
Little Beth peeked through a door into a small bedroom. There was a tiny bed in the corner that had been reduced to ashes and a doll with soot across its face in the middle of the floor. Little Beth walked over to the plaything and picked it up carefully. She held it up for me to see.

  “This is Dolly,” she said hopefully. “She survived. Maybe my parents did too.”

  She took Dolly with her out of the room and into the hallway. She led me to a closed door at the end of the corridor. I smelled burned flesh on the other side. Little Beth went to open the door, but I stood in her way. Although entering the room potentially meant a step closer to getting answers, I, nevertheless, became protective of Beth in her childlike state. I crouched down on one knee and met her at eye level.

  “Why don’t I go first?” I suggested. “Then I can tell you what’s in there before you see it.”

  She nodded. I braced myself and opened the door. The room itself was untouched by the fire. A beautiful mahogany dresser sat on one side and a pristine white vanity with a Victorian-style mirror sat on the other. In the middle of the room was a king-sized bed with hand-carved oak posts and frame. Carefully crafted designs were etched into the wood. It would’ve been an idyllic scene had it not been for the two unrecognizable dead bodies lying on the bed.

  “Is it them?” Little Beth asked innocently from the hallway. “Is it Mommy and Daddy?”

  “I don’t know,” I said despite the high probability. “Stay where you are.”

  I moved to the side of the bed to get a closer look at the decomposed corpses. The one on left appeared to be the same height as Allie Martin and the one on the right fit the dimensions of Edward. What struck me the most was how they were positioned. They both had their hands neatly folded over their chests as if they had simply gone to sleep. I found it unsettling that Beth would not only have them lying that way but also that there was no apparent struggle. One would assume from their presentation that they welcomed it.