Out of the front windshield Anika could see a narrow dirt road which had been divided down the middle by an overgrowth of grass and weeds. With some reluctance, she shifted her attention to the figure on the seat beside her, expecting either to be met by a face familiar to her, or else one not quite human, signaling she was in the midst of a dream. Instead, the smiling face she saw in the driver’s seat was as normal and unintimidating as any she’d see on a busy Saturday in the local market, though she supposed a bit more handsome. And not one she recognized.
Anika sat straight on her portion of the bench seat and rubbed her palms down her face to clear the grogginess from her head.
“You’re the man who helped me I suppose,” she said, her voice sounding raspy and timid. She cleared her throat. “I can never thank you enough.”
“You’re welcome,” the man replied, not taking his eyes from the road in front of him.
Anika vaguely remembered that the man had spoken her name as she had lain in the street, just before her last memory of the blanket being draped across her shoulders. “Do I know you?”
The man smiled quizzically and finally looked at Anika. “I don’t think so,” he said, “do I look familiar to you?”
“No, it’s just that...back on the street...I think you said my name. At least I think I remember that.”
The man’s smile straightened and a serious look emerged on his face, an expression which hovered between interest and concern. He looked back to the road. “Yes, Anika, I know your name. Every System officer in this area knows your name.”
Anika flinched at the man’s words, and an icy tremble trickled the length of her nape and dispersed across her blanketed shoulders.
With her eyes now adjusted, Anika slowly surveyed the car’s interior and immediately noticed the bulbous metal switches and steep buttons, as well as the standard two-way radio, which indicated she was indeed among a man of The System. This wasn’t the first time she’d been in a System vehicle, and she was deluged with thoughts of her childhood when, as a girl of twelve, Anika rode quietly in the back of a cruiser as she was shuttled behind an ambulance carrying her father to the hospital following a rather severe traffic accident. At the time that short trip had seemed like a dream—Anika’s mind protecting her from considering all the possible fates of her father, she supposed—and she’d been unusually distracted by the car’s interior. She’d seen nothing like it in her world before, the stark leather of the seats and door panels, the chrome lines outlining every hard feature, and the various multi-colored blinking lights that spanned the dashboard. There was an alien feel to the car that made Anika feel both helpless and safe, and now, as she sat rigid and wary in the passenger seat of this more modern, yet still familiar cruiser, that same feeling possessed her again.
“The System.” Anika was suddenly flooded with hope as she recognized her good fortune, and her mouth exploded into a huge grin. “You’re from The System! But how did you know it was me? On the street?”
The officer chuckled. “I know everything about you Mrs. Morgan: your age, your hair and eye color, even how you were dressed the day you disappeared.” He glanced at her again. “Which doesn’t seem to fit with what you’re wearing now by the way.”
Anika started to respond, but held back, deciding that an explanation regarding the difference in her attire wasn’t the proper place to begin her story.
“Besides, Mrs. Morgan, how many possible women do you think one would expect to find in the middle of the road, especially in this part of the country?”
Anika processed this reasoning as sound, though slightly off, but explored that notion for only a moment before the reins on her instincts snapped. “My family! You must have spoken with my family then? How are my children?”
“We have spoken with your family, Anika, on several occasions, and everyone is fine. Though your husband was quite ill for a while after your disappearance.”
“Ill? In what way? Who’s been looking after the children?”
Anika realized the rather one-sidedness of her concern, inquiring about her husband’s condition only to gauge the impact it had on Gretel and Hansel, but at the moment her children were all she could think of.
The officer stopped in front of what appeared to be a small warehouse and shifted the car into park. “As I said, your family is fine, including your children. In fact—and I don’t tell you this to upset you in any way—but your daughter seems to have thrived since you went missing. Shall we?”
Anika hadn’t noticed the warehouse or even that they’d stopped, and she stared baffled at the officer for a few moments before finally understanding his suggestion to enter the building standing before them.
“What? What is this place?”
“It’s a place for gathering information. Yours was a very complicated case, Mrs. Morgan, and there’s a lot we need to investigate concerning what happened. You’ll just need to stay here for a while, and I promise to get you home as soon as possible.”
“A while? How long is a while?”
The officer sighed impatiently. “I don’t know exactly, Mrs. Morgan. I suppose until we have the information we need.”
Anika glanced toward the stark building and then back to the officer. “Does my family know that I’ve been found? Has anyone contacted them?”
“Yes, certainly. Of course. We had an officer visit them as soon as I was able to verify your identity. They’ve been contacted.”
Anika noticed at a fairly young age that most men of power were poor liars, she imagined it was for the simple reason that they usually reached their ends through force or intimidation, and lying wasn’t a skill necessary to master. And she recognized this lie at once. The shift of the officer’s body, the loss of eye connection, the change in pitch and excessive affirmation: all obvious signs of deceit.
She could now feel the rise inside her toward hysterics, but fought the emotion, catching it in her chest and driving it back to her belly. Her nerves had been shredded in the slaughterhouse, and her psyche going forward in life would be as fragile as butterfly eggs; but the ordeal had also assured Anika that within her was an involuntary prowess of survival, a fundamental determination to keep her heart beating and blood flowing, at least until that final moment when it was no longer hers to decide. She’d always believed everyone possessed this strength to some degree, and over the last several months it had been revealed that hers was exceptional.
“I’ll take all the time you want to answer questions,” she said calmly, “of course, every detail. I would just like to see my family first.”
The officer stared at Anika for a moment, as if considering her request, and then said flatly, “Let’s go.”
“No!” she screamed, and then as if speaking an echo, “No.” Anika sat hugging the blanket around her torso, staring forward, looking as petulant as a four-year-old who’s been told to eat her vegetables. She could sense the officer considering whether the time had come to use force, but then, with a sigh, he continued the act.
“Listen, Mrs. Morgan,” he said, “the longer we wait to get the information from you, the better chance whoever did this to you will go free. Is that what you want?”
“What makes you think someone did anything to me?” she replied, her eyes wide and crazed. “I never told you anything about another person. Maybe I was just lost.”
The officer frowned. “If you had just become lost in the woods, Mrs. Morgan, you would have died weeks ago. Only the most skilled survivalist would have been able to find food in those forests. And I assume you didn’t sew a new set of clothes for yourself while wandering through the wilderness.”
Anika looked away, slightly embarrassed at her ‘Aha!’ attempt.
“Besides, some of the injuries I’ve seen on you don’t come from tree branches or a slip on a wet rock. Or even a wild animal. A person caused those wounds.”
“Then if I can’t see my family yet at least let me see a doctor. I definitely do need a doctor.” An
ika softened her tone, sensing she had struck a chord of sympathy within the man.
“Your medical needs will be taken care of promptly. Once we’re inside.”
It was obvious The System officer’s intentions were deeply anchored, and that going anywhere other than inside the building was not a possibility for Anika. And though her will was steel, she simply hadn’t the physical strength to fight or run; that would have been tantamount to suicide. Her only choice was to obey.
The absurdity of the scenario nearly caused her to erupt in laughter. It was nearly impossible to imagine: not a full day had gone by since she escaped the most atrocious nightmare she could have conceived—being slowly harvested by a monstrous hermit for some obscene recipe—and now here she was again, being held without choice, and this time by a public servant under oath to protect her!
Anika tossed the blanket to the backseat and exited the car without another word, and then walked ahead of the officer to the front of the structure. The building wasn’t much bigger than a large house, but the design and lack of windows suggested it was used for something other than living, and its modern, utilitarian appearance was in complete opposition to the rustic road they’d just traveled. The officer followed Anika to the metal door which stood at ground level and then fished a single key from his pocket, inserting it into the deadbolt above the knob. Anika had one last thought to flee, but the bleakness of the perimeter was daunting and hopeless.
With a push, the door opened to a large, brightly lit room with high ceilings, though several rows of overhanging fluorescent lights made them feel much lower. Stacks of empty metal shelves lined the side walls, which were made of unfinished concrete. The floor was wood and dusty to the point of slick, and the holes between the planks were so gaping that Anika could see through to the natural ground on which the warehouse stood. And perfectly centered in the room, a couch and two brown, leather chairs had been placed on top of an area rug, and a small table and lamp set was positioned beside the couch.
“Have a seat, Mrs. Morgan,” the officer ordered.
Anika walked to one of the chairs and sat down, the dust exploding into the air and clouding her face. At this stage she’d resigned herself to do as she was told, at least until the request became unreasonable. When that time came she hoped to still have the resolve to put up some iteration of a fight, whether verbal or otherwise. She still left room for hope that the officer’s intentions weren’t sinister, that he really did just want to ask her questions and get some answers about her disappearance. Maybe he didn’t trust her, she thought. Maybe her case had caused him to snap, and now his fanaticism was leading him to inappropriate, or even illegal, procedures. That certainly made him a bad System officer, but it didn’t necessarily make him dangerous.
But that didn’t change the fact he was being less than truthful about something. About that she had no doubt.
The officer locked the door behind them, walked toward Anika, and stood behind the couch, facing her. “Mrs. Morgan,” he said, his tone now very official, “my name is Officer Oliver Stenson. I was assigned to your case soon after you were reported missing by your family.”
Anika leaned back in the chair and placed both arms on the rests, assuming a look of comfort that contradicted the feelings inside her.
“After your father told us you’d gone missing along the Interways, a team of several officers was dispatched that day to find evidence. What we found instead was...”
“My father?”
Officer Stenson stared at Anika for a moment, confused. “Yes, Mrs. Morgan. Your father, Marcel Gruen.”
“Yes, I know my father’s name, I was curious that my father called you and not my husband. Or my daughter. My father wouldn’t have known that anything was wrong once I left him. How would he have known to call The System?”
Officer Stenson glanced away, searching, as if the explanation lay somewhere on the warehouse floor. He looked back at Anika and then smiled. It was a full, toothy smile, one Anika hadn’t seen before.
“Perhaps your husband called your father and then he called us,” Office Stenson said, “I suppose I can’t be certain of the telecommunication pattern exactly. Are you suggesting that I’m lying?”
Anika locked the officer’s gaze, resisting any displays of the fear she felt. “I didn’t mean that at all. It’s just that it’s odd to me. My father reporting me missing, that is.”
Officer Stenson dropped his stare and started walking toward a door at the back of the warehouse. It seemed to Anika to be an interior door that led to some unseen backroom of the building. The door appeared solid metal on the bottom with a framed mirrored window on top. A one-way mirror she supposed, of the kind she’d seen in police movies.
“I’ll return in a moment for questioning,” he said flatly, “please wait for me here. The door to the outside is locked securely. In case you were wondering.”
“When do I see a doctor? You said I would see a doctor. And I need to eat something. And can I at least have water?”
“Of course. I’ll bring you something now. The doctor should be arriving shortly.”
With that Officer Stenson walked into the back room of the warehouse and closed the door behind him. Within a few seconds Anika could hear talking behind the door. Though she couldn’t make out the words being spoken, the conversation seemed somewhat confrontational. There was a moment of quiet, and then the door opened slowly and a taller, much older man emerged from the back room. It was the last man she’d seen before she was seized and tortured.
It was her father.
GRETEL LAY MOTIONLESS in her bed, the sheets to her chin, searching the ceiling above her as she considered the picnic and what Petr had said to her on the bank. Her mind was exhausted of explanations, and Gretel was now virtually certain she’d never mentioned the engagement to Petr. Which left only one explanation: someone else told him.
Gretel quickly eliminated the Klahrs as the source, since they had never offered any personal information about Petr to Gretel, and she couldn’t imagine them acting any differently when it came to her private affairs. On the one or two occasions when Gretel had asked something about Petr, they either didn’t know or told her to ask him. That’s how they were: very respectful of a person’s personal business.
So who? And why?
Gretel was startled by a knock on her bedroom door. “Who is it?”
“It’s me.” Odalinde. “You’ve been in there quite a while Gretel. I figured you would be on the lake by now. Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Gretel tried to keep the irritation out of her voice but fell short. “I just didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all. I’ll be out in a minute.”
This was the price of routine and dedication, Gretel thought: once you falter even slightly, everyone’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling.
She willed her feet to the floor and within ten minutes was twisting the knob of the front door. She made no eye contact with Odalinde, but could feel the woman shifting glances toward her.
“Do you think you’ll be on the lake long today?” Odalinde asked for the first time ever.
Gretel paused at the threshold and then turned toward Odalinde, squinting, confused by the question. “What?” she asked.
“I was just asking if you planned on spending a lot of time rowing today, or if you would be home a little earlier.” Odalinde’s voice was eager, nervous.
“Why would you want to know that?” Again, there was no bite in Gretel’s reply, only confusion.
Odalinde frowned and her eyes softened. “Remember earlier when I said there were some things I needed to tell you and your brother?”
Gretel nodded.
“Well those things can’t wait much longer, Gretel.” Odalinde walked to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and sat. “And if you’re ready,” she said, “I’d like to tell you now.”
“HELLO, ANIKA.”
“Father?” Anika whispered.
Anika had nev
er been one to believe in ghosts and magic, but seeing the form of her father, now, at this moment and in this setting, could only be the result of a force supernatural. Or perhaps she was hallucinating—the workings of her brain stressed to its limit.
“I suppose I’m the last person you expected to see come through that door, eh?” Marcel forced a sad smile and nodded slightly, answering silently for his stunned daughter.
“Father...What...Why are you here? Are you being held here? I think I’m being imprisoned! Again! I don’t know what’s happening. Who is that man?”
“It’s okay, Anika, it’s okay. He is who he says he is. He is a System officer.”
Anika’s father turned back toward the door and yelled for Officer Stenson, calling for him as simply “Stenson,” before erupting into a rasping cough. The episode subsided for a moment, and then continued again, this time more violently, forcing the old man to double over, hands to his knees. He stumbled around the sofa, using the back as a crutch, and then dropped to the cushion, bouncing comically and nearly toppling to one side. As if prompted by the act, Officer Stenson walked back through the door carrying a plate and a ceramic cup of water. He kept his eyes to the floor, brooding.
Anika stayed focused on her father, watching him with a mixture of concern and terror, both at his condition and his apparent knowledge of the situation. In fact, she observed, he seemed not just knowledgeable, but in control.
“This was not the plan, Marcel,” Stenson said through tightly clenched teeth, “what are you doing?”
Anika’s father tried to speak but was still in the throes of sickness, and waved a dismissive hand instead.
“What is happening?!” Anika screamed, rising like a piston from the chair. She walked to the couch and sat next to her father. “Give me the water! Now!” she barked at Stenson, reaching her hand behind the couch but keeping her eyes to her father.
Officer Stenson handed the water to Anika and she put it to her father’s mouth, gently tipping a steady sip over his lips as she’d done dozens of times over the past year.
The Gretel Series: Books 1-3 (Gretel #1-3) Page 21
