“Good idea.” Eric grinned at the man.
The guard, a thin man of fifty, didn’t smile back. Eric turned and walked out. He’d call Demauer and try again later, but it was probably a waste of time. What could a blood test have to do with her disappearance?
Eric left the parking lot, and a Burger King on Franklin waved him down as he passed. He pulled into the drive-in and ordered two whoppers with cheese and a large coke.
“Wait,” Eric yelled into the speaker after the girl told him to pull forward. He had heard Jenna’s voice in his head say, Are you trying to kill yourself?
“Make that one whopper, no cheese, and a grilled chicken sandwich.”
“Do you still want the Coke?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Eric let out a sigh. Sooner or later everyone had to watch his diet. He’d already put it off as long as possible.
He ate the chicken sandwich first, thinking it would taste better if he was still ravenously hungry. It wasn’t bad. The traffic was thick and, after losing a pickle in his lap, Eric decided to stop at Skinner Butte Park to eat his burger. He took his time, barely missing the cheese.
With his hunger abated, he noticed the fog had lifted and blue sky covered the park. He watched a small group of homeless men shuffle up the path from under the bridge, passing a cigarette between them. Abruptly, he thought of Buster, a drug dealer and small-time pimp, who hung out at a five-booth café on Blair Street.
Eric had met him a year ago when he covered the murder of four homeless men in the Whittaker district. Buster had been paid well for his interviews, and Eric had gone back to him for information a few times. That was three years ago. Even if he found Buster, the odds of him recognizing either of the men in the sketches were slim. Eugene was still a small town in many ways, and ex-cons had a tendency to know each other. Eric started up the Firebird and eased out of the park. What could it hurt to stop by the café on his way home?
Buster wasn’t in his usual booth by the window. Eric bought coffee to go and left. Instead of getting back in his car, he walked around the corner and strolled slowly down Blair Street, looking for Buster. The prostitutes and drug dealers stared back, sizing up the stranger in their neighborhood.
He found him three blocks over at a picnic table in front of the Holistic Bakery. Buster looked better than Eric remembered. Not as skinny or pale, but still dressed in dirty, oversized clothes.
“Hey, Buster,” Eric said softly, sliding onto the bench across from him.
“Hey, man.” Buster smiled slowly. “Where you been?”
“Working at home. How’s life?”
“Good.” Buster shrugged. “And bad. I’m off the meth, which is good. But I’m broke, and it’s the shits.”
“Maybe we can help each other out again.”
“What do you want to know?”
Eric pulled the photocopied drawings out of his pocket and unfolded them in front of Buster. “Do you recognize either of these guys?”
Buster squinted at the pictures. “What are they wanted for?”
“Maybe kidnapping.”
“No shit! That’s heavy.” Buster picked up the picture of the man with the ponytail and studied it closely. “You know, this looks kinda like an older, more kick-back version of a guy who used to buy cocaine from my ex.”
“What’s his name?”
“Don’t know.” Buster shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
“Would your girlfriend know his name?”
“Ex-girlfriend. Who knows? She’s so fucked up. Well, she might be straight now. She’s doing eighteen months up in Salem.”
“Drug charge?”
“What else?” Buster leaned forward. “What’s all this worth to you?”
Eric pulled out his wallet. “I’ll give you ten bucks if you save me the trouble of looking for your ex-girlfriend’s name.”
Buster shook his head. “Still a tightwad, I see. Make it twenty, and I’ll tell you all three of her names.”
“Deal.”
“Her real name is Ellen Parks, but she goes by either Rose Harper or Camilla Paris.”
“She likes flowers, eh?”
Buster shrugged. “If you say so.”
Eric handed him a twenty and a business card. “Call me if you remember anything else about this guy.”
“I only saw him a few times. He used to stop by in the middle of the night when no one else was around. He always dressed real nice too, like a lawyer or something. But he…” Buster shrugged. “It’s probably not the same guy. If it is, Rosie will remember. She had the hots for him.”
“Thanks.”
Eric headed back to his car, humming softly to himself. Visiting Rosie in the Women’s Correctional Facility would not be pleasant, but he had a feeling it might be worthwhile.
Chapter 20
Friday, Nov. 3, 4:07 a.m.
Sarah pushed against the stirrups, bearing down on the huge lump in her belly. The room was dark and she could hear Reverend Carmichael’s voice coming through a speaker, coaching her, guiding her, yet she was alone. Alone in the birthing room with thick walls and no windows. Where no one could hear her scream. She pushed harder, squeezing her stomach muscles until the baby burst out between her legs. Sarah sat up to peek at the child and froze in terror. Its head was enormous and its mouth full of teeth. Dark hair covered the genitals, obscuring its gender.
Sarah screamed and woke herself up.
She threw back the covers and sat forward, anxious to lose the dream.
“Sarah, what’s wrong?” Delilah’s little voice called out in the darkness.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Just a strange dream. Go back to sleep.”
Sarah waited a few minutes for Delilah to drift back off, then climbed out of bed. Her skin felt hot and tender, as if she’d been in the sun too long. She wanted a cold glass of water in the worst way. She pulled on her robe, grabbed the flashlight she kept by the bed, and scurried across the covered walkway to the main building.
The lights in the kitchen and dining room were on a timer and would not come on in the middle of the night unless someone reset the system. She could have gone to the shower room, which had a nightlight, but it was her habit to head for the kitchen to have milk and crackers when she couldn’t sleep. The thought of food made her nauseous. She stopped and leaned against the wall until the feeling passed.
Still not feeling right, Sarah quickly got her drink and went back to bed. Sleep eluded her. The thought of having a deformed or diseased baby had never occurred to her before. None of the babies born at the compound ever had anything wrong with them. She’d heard some wild birthing stories, but things had always turned out okay. Reverend Carmichael was the best, everyone agreed.
Maybe God sent the nightmare as a way of telling her not to get pregnant. God might be calling her to do his work elsewhere. Sarah let out a deep sigh. Reverend Carmichael seemed so certain. Sarah prayed for another sign. Her heart beat rapidly, and sleep came slowly.
She woke with the sun as usual. Her skin felt warm, her stomach felt queasy, and her heart was full of uncertainty. Sarah dressed quickly without turning on the light. Conserving resources was part of their religion. She pulled on cotton leggings, a t-shirt, thick wool skirt, socks, and a sweater. The chapel was always cold for morning service.
She woke Delilah first, then quickly shook Tamara’s shoulder. Her mother didn’t respond. Sarah would have liked to talk with her about the momentous decision she faced, but Tamara, who was prone to depression, had become more and more withdrawn the past week. Sarah shook her shoulder again.
“Leave me be,” Tamara mumbled.
Sarah turned away. She’d been through this before, and there was nothing anyone could do but wait for it to pass.
After chapel Sarah headed for the kitchen where she was posted for canning duty. Faith, who got up at five every day to bake something wonderful, was already hard at work.
“Aren’t you having breakfast today?” Gray-haire
d and plump, Faith pretended to be gruff, but always had time to talk and often slipped her an extra goodie of some kind.
“My stomach’s bothering me a little. I think I’ll get started with the canning and see if I feel like having something later.”
“Suit yourself.” Faith shrugged. “Apple muffins are never quite as good as when they’re right out of the oven.”
Sarah could smell the hot fruit and nutmeg permeating the kitchen, but her stomach said no. She washed her hands and got to work cleaning tomatoes for canning.
The morning passed slowly. She couldn’t stop worrying about whether she was ready for a baby, and the nausea came and went, getting worse each time. Sarah thought about going down to the clinic, but she didn’t want to see the Reverend just yet. After finishing up in the kitchen, she headed for the daycare, thinking she would go back to her room and lie down later if she didn’t feel better.
The arrival of the weekly mail, which was picked up every Friday afternoon by Ellie when she went to Blue River for groceries, momentarily distracted Sarah. Ellie delivered the letter from Darcie to the daycare personally. Sarah could hardly contain her excitement, and Marilynn finally excused her. Sarah skipped back to her family’s unit. A letter from Darcie! Finally. She had waited so long.
Stretched out on her cot, Sarah began to read.
Dearest Sarah,
I know I promised I’d write every week and it’s been forever… but things have been a little crazy for me.
This won’t be good news, Sarah, but you have to believe me. I’m pregnant. The freaky thing is, I haven’t had sex in over a year. Try explaining that to a stuffy, middle-aged health worker!! I never slept with Zeke or David, honest. And I never consented to having one of the Reverend’s “special babies.” How could I be pregnant?
He must have put it in me during one of his pelvic exams. You know how obsessed he is with making babies. Sorry to burst your bubble. I know you think he’s the next best thing to God, but I know better, and I’m worried for you. I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t think you’d believe me. Then I remembered your birthday was last week and you’re 16 now. Don’t let him ruin your life, Sarah. Come stay with me. My baby is due any day and I’m scared. I could use a friend right now. My address is 835 W. Monroe, #6, Eugene. I don’t have a phone, so just show up. I’m always here. I’m too huge to go anywhere except to the store and the doctor.
Love, Darcie
Sarah re-read the letter. She didn’t believe it. As much as she loved Darcie, she didn’t believe everything she said. Some of the stories she told were too wild!
She eased back on the bed and closed her eyes. God was surely testing her faith today. First the nightmare, now the letter from Darcie. The poor girl must really be lonely to make up something so ridiculous just to get her to visit. All at once, Sarah realized what God wanted her to do. He wanted her to stay with Darcie while she had her baby. Then she could see for herself if she was ready to have a child of her own.
Sarah began to pack a bag. She would leave right away, before she changed her mind. She would tell Delilah, but no one else. Sarah had never hitchhiked before, but Darcie had made it sound easy. Especially for pretty young girls. If men were as eager to stop as Darcie said, she would be in Eugene before dark.
The first cramp hit her before she finished packing. A second and third cramp had her doubled over with pain in the hallway outside the schoolroom where she hoped to find Delilah. They were not like any menstrual cramps she’d ever had. The intensity of the fourth cramp made her vomit. Sarah lay on the floor, inches from her own mess and prayed for someone to find her. The pain was paralyzing. She couldn’t move or call for help.
The next cramp was so bad she blacked out.
* * *
Rachel was taking a sample of Jenna’s urine, as the Reverend had instructed, when she heard Marilynn and Ellie yelling and running down the clinic stairs. She dropped the catheter bag and rushed from the labor room into the main surgery area to see what the commotion was about.
They were carrying Sarah, dragging her really, one under each armpit. The girl was unconscious but vomited as soon as Marilynn and Ellie heaved her up on one of the examining tables.
Rachel quickly twisted Sarah’s head to one side so she wouldn’t gag. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Ellie said, gulping for air. “I was delivering mail and found her like this in the hall.”
A wave of fear washed over Rachel. She’d assisted in dozens of egg retrievals, embryo transfers, and live births, including a few that required C-sections. But her only training had come from Reverend Carmichael, and it didn’t include emergency experience. She felt inadequate to handle anything that didn’t involve the uterus, except for simple things like stitches and sprains. She could tell by the color and feel of Sarah’s skin that something was seriously wrong.
Rachel forced herself to go through the motions, first examining Sarah’s body for external damage. When she found none, she checked blood pressure and heart rate, both of which were abnormally high. Sarah’s condition seemed very similar to Jenna’s attack the night before. What was going on? And why now? The Reverend hadn’t even been gone twenty-four hours and this was her second emergency.
“Where’s Tamara? Does she know what’s happened?” Rachel didn’t expect Sarah’s mother to be much help, but she had an obligation to keep her informed.
“I sent Ruth to look for her.” Ellie’s tone was neutral, but her expression was critical. Tamara’s weakness, combined with her beauty, made her unpopular with many of the women.
Rachel checked Sarah’s blood pressure again: 152/98. It was going up. Rachel wanted to cry. She couldn’t let anything happen to sweet little Sarah. “I’m taking her to the hospital.” She hadn’t realized she’d made a decision.
“I’ll go with you.” Ellie, forty and overweight, was still winded from carrying Sarah down to the clinic.
“Wait a minute.” Rachel racked her brain for a way to stabilize Sarah for the trip to the hospital, but she was afraid to make her condition worse. Rachel suspected the hormone injections Sarah had been given were the underlying cause. What about Jenna? Why would heroin withdrawals produce a similar reaction to that of fertility hormones? Confused and frightened, Rachel had no idea what to do.
“All right, let’s go!” She grabbed Sarah by an arm and a leg. The girl’s eyes fluttered, but she didn’t wake up. “Marilynn, help Ellie with her side.”
As they lifted Sarah onto a stretcher, Zeke burst into the clinic. “What the hell is going on now, Rachel?”
“Sarah needs a doctor, and I’m taking her in.” The defiance in her voice surprised her.
“Why is that door open?”
All three women turned and stared through the open door of the labor room where Zeke was pointing. Fury twisted his face.
“I was in there when they brought Sarah–”
Zeke wasn’t listening. He rushed to the door, slammed it, and locked it. “Nobody’s going anywhere! Ellie, Marilynn, get out. I need to talk to Rachel.”
The two women scooted away without looking back. Rachel sucked in a deep breath, prepared to fight for Sarah’s life.
“What’s wrong with you?” Zeke crossed the short distance and grabbed Rachel’s arm in a painful squeeze. “How could you leave that door open? The Reverend is going to be furious.”
“I’m sorry.” Rachel spoke through clenched teeth. “Right now this girl needs a doctor, so get out of my way. The Reverend will be even angrier if Sarah dies. You know how he feels about Sarah.”
Uncertainty flashed in Zeke’s eyes. Rachel moved toward Sarah.
“What if she saw who’s in that room?” Zeke hissed, grabbing Rachel’s arm again.
“She’s unconscious!”
“Her eyes are open.”
“She’s out of it, damn you. And her blood pressure’s escalating. Please let me go. I’m taking her to the hospital.”
Zeke let go, but mov
ed to block the doors leading into the hall. “If Sarah saw something she shouldn’t have and flaps her lips about it, we’re all in big trouble.”
“She didn’t and she won’t. Now help me get her up to the supply truck.”
“Not me. It’s your situation all the way.” Abruptly, Zeke turned and trotted out of the medical unit.
Marilynn and Ellie slipped back down the steps while Rachel dug a blanket out of the supply cabinet. Together they carried Sarah up the steps and out of the compound.
Chapter 21
Friday, Nov. 3, 2:50 p.m.
Eric had been on the phone since he got home, trying to arrange an immediate visit with Ellen Parks (alias Rose Harper) at Women’s Correctional Facility just outside Salem. Even with his newspaper and police connections, it wasn’t happening fast enough. He felt desperate enough to ask for Jackson’s help. Nothing mattered but finding Jenna.
Instead of fading, as he expected, his feelings for her had intensified. The need to find her, to know that she was all right had become a compulsion, an overriding desire that put the rest of his life on hold. He couldn’t write, couldn’t work on the duplex, hadn’t cleaned his kitchen in a week, and barely remembered to eat. It was starting to wear him down.
The phone rang. Startled, Eric almost knocked it off the counter. “Hello.”
“Hi, my name’s Helen. I’m calling about the story in the paper this morning. The woman who might have been kidnapped.”
“Yes?” His first two phone calls that morning had taught him not to get his hopes up.
“I think I saw one of those guys at the Dairy Mart this morning.”
“Which Dairy Mart?”
“The one in Veneta.”
She sounded sane, articulate. Eric was cautiously optimistic.
“What was he driving?”
“I couldn’t say for sure. I was still in the store when he walked out. But a minute later, a van pulled out of the parking lot.”
Eric’s pulse picked up. “Describe him.”
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