The Baby Thief

by L. J. Sellers

  “Thanks, Rachel.” Sarah leaned over and kissed her cheek. She felt guilty for what she was about to do. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

  They slowed and turned left, pulling into a small parking lot in front of a convenience store. “Do you feel like coming in?” Rachel reached over and caressed her hair. “I know it’s your first time in town, and you must be curious.”

  “I am, but my legs are pretty shaky. I’ll just wait here.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Rachel smiled, and Sarah was so charged with guilt she almost chickened out. She couldn’t go back to the compound just yet. She didn’t feel strong enough. She had to see Darcie and discover the truth. She wasn’t going back until she could resist the pressure to have another hormone injection. Shat about the woman in the clinic? a voice in her head whispered. What if she needs help? Sarah scoffed at the silly thought. Why would anyone in the church need help?

  As Rachel moved toward the back of the store, Sarah slipped out of the vehicle. She felt wobbly at first, then started to jog up the sidewalk. It wouldn’t take Rachel long to buy an apple.

  Dozens of cars rushed past. Sarah remembered Darcie talking about hitchhiking. Could she do it? She had to get away from the store before Rachel came looking for her. Sarah’s heart felt like it would explode. She was in Eugene. On her own! About to see her best friend in the whole world!

  In a few minutes, she was offered a ride from a sweet boy named Isaac. Sarah wanted to ask a million questions about everything she saw, but she didn’t want him to think she was an idiot. Darcie would take her everywhere and explain everything. The movies, the mall, roller-skating. It would be the greatest adventure. Sarah was almost glad for the illness that had brought her to the hospital. A blessing in disguise, as her mother would say.

  Guilt brought her spirits down for a moment. Tamara would be worried, and Delilah would miss her terribly. She would write them a letter, first thing, Sarah decided. Once they knew she was all right, they would be happy for her.

  She gave Isaac Darcie’s address, and he took her to a big brown building with different colored doors. The apartments were surrounded by small old houses that seemed uncared for. Sarah remembered Darcie’s room was number six, so she climbed the stairs. The door was bright orange. Sarah considered that a good sign, since orange was her favorite color. She knocked loudly.

  “Who is it?” Darcie sounded grumpy and far away.

  “You’ll never guess.” Sarah was so excited, she laughed out loud.

  “Sarah?” Darcie opened the door and they stared at each other. Darcie’s belly was enormous!

  “You said you were pregnant, but–” Sarah stared, not knowing what to say.

  “God, it’s good to see you.” Darcie threw her arms around Sarah as best she could. In a moment they were both fighting back tears and grinning wildly.

  “Come in, come in. It’s freezing out there.” Darcie tugged on her arm. “How did you get here?”

  “I hitchhiked.”

  “No!”

  Sarah burst out laughing as Darcie’s mouth fell open. “It’s true, but only from Franklin Street. Before that, it’s a long story.”

  “Sit down and tell me, girl. I can tell by the look on your face that this is gonna be good.”

  Chapter 25

  Saturday, Nov. 4, 10:22 a.m.

  Eric snatched up the phone as it was ringing. “Yes?”

  “It’s Jackson. They’re expecting you this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?” It was too good to be true.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “You’re the best, Jackson. I owe you. You can name the favor. Anything.”

  His friend laughed. “This will be fun. I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, pal. I’m on my way.”

  Eric looked around for his keys. He was ready even though he hadn’t expected to get the visitation approved until Monday at the earliest. Apparently Jackson had more clout with the women’s correctional director than Eric realized. He’d have to ask him about that later.

  The prison visitor’s room was pale green, cold, and quiet. Eric felt slightly queasy, as he had since he’d heard the doors lock behind him. The hour drive north had been unpleasant, hard rain the whole way and plenty of traffic. Twice he’d almost turned around with the sure knowledge that this trip would be a waste of time. Sitting and waiting for Buster’s ex-girlfriend to be brought in hadn’t relieved his doubt. What would he be doing if not this? Pacing his living room, thinking about Jenna. Worrying about all the possible things that could have happened to her. Wondering if she would care about him if he did find her. She hadn’t done or said one single thing to indicate she had any real feelings for him. Other than that first night together, which could have been only a moment of neediness.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  The woman who suddenly appeared on the other side of the Plexiglas window twisted her thin sand-colored hair around her middle finger. The finger was a random choice, Eric decided. Ellen/Rose, even at first glance, didn’t seem capable of subtlety. She was gaunt, with acne scars and jumpy eyes. Eric suspected she still had a drug problem, but even cleaned up, her brain would never be the same. The whole trip had been a gamble, and now his flicker of hope died.

  “Hello, Rose. I’m Eric. I’m a friend of Buster’s.”

  “Good for you.” She tried to stare at him, but her eyes wouldn’t hold still.

  “Will you sit down and talk to me for a minute?” Eric didn’t know why he was even trying. The female guard had not left the room. She apparently didn’t expect Rose to stay long.

  “Who told you I was here?”

  “Buster. By the way, he said to say Hi.”

  “Tell him I said to fuck off. Tell him he owes me two hundred dollars, and just because I’m in here doesn’t mean he can stiff me for it.” She spit on the floor. “The shithead.”

  Eric spoke gently. This woman had not had a good life, and she had no reason to help him. “I’ll remind him when I see him. I hope you won’t hold it against me, though.”

  “Why not? Who the hell are you anyway? You don’t look like one of Buster’s friends.”

  “I’m a freelance reporter. Buster has helped me out in the past by providing me with information.”

  “He was your snitch, you mean.” Rose crossed her arms and continued to stand.

  Eric tried a new tactic. “A friend of mine has disappeared. A woman. You might be able to help me find her.”

  She rolled her eyes. “How could I possibly know anything about it?”

  “Please, sit down.”

  Rose plopped into the tan plastic chair. “Cut the crap and tell me what you want.”

  Eric pulled his copies of the sketches out of a large envelope and held them up to the glass. “I want to know if you recognize either of these men.” The guard nodded and stepped back out of the room.

  “Nope.” Rose bit what was left of her nails.

  Eric continued to hold up the pictures. “Look again. Buster says you might have sold drugs to one of these guys.”

  “Yeah, right.” Rose snorted. “Buster thinks he can remember some guy I sold coke to years ago, but he can’t remember that he owes me two hundred dollars.”

  Eric heard the acknowledgment, but decided not to push.

  “Why did Buster really send you to me?” Her voice had an edge of panic.

  “He didn’t, not really.” Eric had to tread gently here. “I went looking for him, to see if–”

  “He’s working for Charlie now, isn’t he? He sent you here to find out where I stashed the–” Rose clamped her hand over her mouth and jumped up. “You bastard. I almost told you.” She moved to the door and pounded. “Guard! I’m ready!”

  “Hey, wait.” Eric tried not to shout. She was obviously paranoid, and yelling at her would only make her run. He could feel it slipping away, his one lead after all this time.

  “Hey, Rose, come back, please. I don’t even know Cha
rlie.” Eric hated what he was about to do. “I’ll put twenty dollars on your books if you’ll come sit back down.”

  Rose stopped pounding. Eric pulled out his wallet and showed her a twenty. The door opened. Rose looked at the guard, then glanced back at the twenty.

  “Let’s move.” The guard’s voice boomed through the open door and filled the tiny room.

  Rose stepped back from the door. “Give me another a minute.”

  When she sat down, Eric said, “Please look at the pictures again. A woman’s life is at stake.”

  “Sure it is.” Rose leaned forward, pretending to scrutinize the pictures. She focused on the man with the ponytail. “This guy looks kinda like someone who used to buy cocaine from me. But maybe not.” She shook her head. “His face is too full. The hair’s wrong too.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Shit.” Rose leaned back, angry again. “Like I’m supposed to remember. Guys like this never tell you their real name.”

  Eric could feel his blood pressure building. Why couldn’t she just tell him? Was she holding out for more money? “Can you remember anything about this man?” he pressed.

  “It’s probably not even him.” Her eyes were jumpy and Eric knew she was lying.

  “I’ll put down another ten if you tell me something that’ll help me find this guy.” Eric picked up his wallet to show her he had the cash to follow through.

  “Make it twenty.”

  “Fine.” Eric pulled out two tens, leaving himself with six bucks. He hoped he didn’t need any cash on the way home. Rose made a funny little humming sound.

  “Tell me.”

  “I think he was a doctor who delivered babies.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  She scrunched up her face, humming a little louder. “I think he said something about it once when he saw my pregnant sister.”

  “Any idea where he worked?”

  She laughed and slapped her leg. “That’s a good one. I never asked for his résumé.”

  “Is that it?”

  Rose pushed out of her chair. “Yep.”

  “Thanks very much for your help.”

  She was already pounding the door and calling the guard. Rose didn’t look back. Eric didn’t blame her. He felt like running from the room himself. It had been an unpleasant half hour. He had thought he was done with this kind of thing.

  Eric put the picture of the man with the ponytail on the seat next to him during the drive home. The fact that he might be a cocaine-buying doctor seemed oddly familiar, in the way his face seemed familiar from the beginning. Eric searched his mind and came up blank. He knew where to look though. The files at the newspaper had a record of every significant thing that had happened in Eugene in last hundred years He suspected the doctor had once made the news.

  After spending his six bucks on burgers, Eric drove out to the Willamette News building. He went straight to the second floor in search of Pikerton. His friend met him in the hallway, smelling like a burning cigarette.

  “Hey, Eric. Surprised to still see me here?”

  “No. Why?”

  “When we ran that missing persons story, I promised Hoogstad an exciting follow-up. I haven’t got one yet and they’re getting ready to do another round of layoffs.”

  “You will. Listen to this.” Eric grabbed Joe and propelled him toward the corner of the big open room.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To look at old files.”

  Joe stopped. “How long is this going to take?”

  “I don’t know, but I think one of our mystery men might be a doctor who was in the news a long time ago.

  “I didn’t recognize either of them, and I’ve been around forever.”

  “He’s changed. Come on, this is your follow-up story.”

  Joe muttered something, then followed him.

  Assuming the story was at least five years old, they started in 2003 and worked back. The last ten years were all archived on CDs in the form of PDFs. Before that, it was old-fashioned microfiche. After an hour, Eric developed a headache from staring at low-resolution images on a fourteen-inch monitor. Joe offered to go find some aspirin.

  Eric continued to scroll, reading only the headlines, then the first paragraph of any story related to doctors, hospitals, or medical news of any kind. The Willamette News was a fairly small paper, and the editions rolled by quickly. There were lots of reports from the AP about health-related research. Vitamin A reduced cancer rates. Too much vitamin A caused fetal damage. After a while he learned to skip all the national stuff.

  Joe returned with two cups of coffee, aspirin, and a new aura of smoke. “Any luck?”

  “Not yet.”

  They worked in silence for another hour with only an occasional “Remember when…?”

  They had just started on the microfiche when Joe said, “Hey, come look at this.” Eric was relieved to get out of the chair.

  The archived headline read, Charges Against Doctor Dropped. It was dated March 29, 1998. Eric’s queasy stomach rose up in protest as he read the story:

  After testimony from Dr. Elizabeth Harrington, who claimed Dr. David Carmichael was sober when he left her house shortly before a fatal accident that claimed his wife and child, district attorney Darin Harcloud dropped all charges against Carmichael.

  Last Wednesday Anne Carmichael, 34, and David Carmichael Jr., 6, were found dead at the scene after the car they were riding in plunged over an embankment into a tree. A nearby resident discovered the wreck in the early morning and notified authorities. Evidence at the scene indicated Anne Carmichael may not have been driving when the car hit the tree. Police contacted Dr. David Carmichael at his home, not far from the accident, where he was found sleeping, covered with minor cuts and bruises.

  Carmichael claimed to remember nothing of the accident and refused to submit to a breathalyzer test. The police had charged Carmichael with reckless endangerment, but after Harrington’s testimony, the grand jury failed to press charges. Carmichael was released in time to attend his wife’s and son’s funeral, held yesterday afternoon.

  Chapter 26

  Saturday, Nov. 4, 1:26 p.m.

  Jenna had been awake for hours, her longest period of consciousness since waking up in the gray room. Her thinking was still not clear—she had to work to stay focused—but the drug in the IV was losing its grip on her mind. The longer she was coherent, the more frightened she became. Someone had hit her in the face. She couldn’t remember it clearly, but she could feel the heat of the bruise on her left cheek. Little chunks of conversation kept popping into her memory.… what this was all about before you die… your sister… a cold bitch… take one of your eggs.

  Who had said these things? And why? She didn’t have a sister. Jenna believed the part about dying though. If she didn’t come up with another escape plan soon, she would die in this room. She was more certain of that than anything else, including who she was. Nothing about her life seemed real. Nobody out there cared about her. Why else hadn’t she been rescued by now? Her despair only thrived on the surface, though. Deep down, she wanted to live. There had to be a way.

  In a sudden burst of inspiration, Jenna realized there was one hope of escape. The idea was simple, and she was frustrated with herself for not thinking of it before. It would take every bit of self-discipline she had to smile at her captors, to lie and tell them what they wanted to hear, but she had to try. Especially now that she’d developed a little tolerance to the sedative. Her body felt better too. Her heart had stopped racing, and she hadn’t had a hot flash since waking. Why was that? Were they giving her less sedative than before? What about the injections? Jenna couldn’t remember.

  No, wait. A nurse had been giving her injections, but not lately. Had something happened to the nurse? The plan wouldn’t work without her. She could try it on the preacher/doctor, but–

  “Feeling better, Jenna?” He was suddenly there.

  Startled, Jenna’s pulsed r
aced. How had he slipped in unnoticed? Had she drifted off and not known it? Hatred for him burned through the fog of the sedative. But she remembered that the plan was to be nice, so she forced herself to give him a small smile. “Actually, I am.”

  “Good.” He smiled back and laid a cool hand on Jenna’s forehead. “You didn’t ask who I am. You remember me, don’t you?”

  His tone frightened her. She did recognize him, but decided to conceal it. “Not really.” It felt safer to pretend not to remember anything. “Are you a doctor?”

  “Yes, and a man of God. Do you remember why you’re here?”

  Jenna shook her head. The words “borrow some tissue” floated into her brain. She was too afraid to ask what they meant. Her stomach growled, and she was aware of a wonderful aroma. “What did you bring me?”

  “Chicken and dumplings. Are you ready to eat?”

  “Yes.” She was salivating.

  “First we have business to take care of.”

  He did something with the IV bag, then took her pulse and blood pressure. Jenna hated his touch, his cool bony fingers, the way he acted as if he owned her. She especially hated the way he exposed her buttock before giving her an injection. He seemed to be taking his time, touching her as much as possible. Jenna’s jaw ached from grinding her teeth, but she was helpless to resist. Complaining was not in the plan today. She kept silent and thought about Eric, his warm soft hands and gentle touch.

  The preacher/doctor eased her hip down to the mattress, then lowered himself quietly onto a chair next to the bed. The same thin, cool fingers that had stroked her butt gently held the spoon to Jenna’s lips.

  She was too hungry to spit the food back at him. She barely paused to chew.

  After wolfing down the first few bites, Jenna became aware of him watching her. For the first time, she noticed his hair, which was gray at the temples, and the skin on his forehead, which was pale and unwrinkled. He had a long, narrow nose and a small mouth with dark, almost red, lips. He wasn’t wearing a surgical mask this time.