Jane Doe

by Lillian Duncan

  Raven supposed she could back out, but she really felt God wanted her to write this book to help other people. And she could use the money. Now that she was out of rehab, the newspaper had officially released her from employment. She was still receiving a small amount of money from the disability insurance the paper had on all their reporters, but it would only last a few more months. Her new source of income would have to support her.

  It was time to step back into the world. Even if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be part of the news media anymore. But she had sent Marnie the article about Julie, her literary agent. Marnie had published it in their entertainment section and paid Raven as a freelance reporter.

  As far as Raven was concerned that was the last newspaper article she planned to write. Once the book was published, she’d need to find a way to make a living.

  She wandered out to the kitchen and grabbed a few cookies courtesy of Lydia. What an amazing baker the woman was. She should open a bakery. Raven stared at the cookie. A bakery?

  Raven liked the idea of making other people happy by giving them tasty things to eat. She and Lydia could open the bakery together—if Lydia wanted. If not, Lydia could teach her how to bake and then she’d open it. She grinned as she chewed the last of the cookie. It really did sound like a great idea. She’d talk to Lydia about it tomorrow.

  Raven wandered back out to the living room and settled in to watch the debates. The moderator was introducing the candidates: Marcia Ferris, Tomas Mendez, Hank Snow, and Charles Whitman, III. After introducing them, he asked each candidate why they wanted to be President.

  Marcia Ferris: “I’m sure you’re expecting me to say because I want to be the first female President, but the truth has nothing to do with my gender. I want to be President because I think I can help this country get back to core values and in so doing make this country great again.”

  Tomas Mendez and Hank Snow gave similar ideas.

  She rolled her eyes. Blah…blah…blah. They all sounded the same.

  Then it was Charles Whitman, III’s turn. “I have one reason and one reason only why I want to be President. I love this country. I’m a patriot.”

  A patriot. Her pulse jumped as she stared at the screen. Everything turned wavy. He was walking toward her. Staring down at her, a look of disgust on his face. And he had something in his hand. A long stick. It came toward her. Pain shot through her body. Again and again and again. Her body shook as she trembled. She couldn’t breathe. She gasped trying to get more air.

  Raven screamed. She didn’t want to remember anymore.

  But with each electrical shot—another memory returned. And another. Eating and drinking out of dog bowls. Sleeping on straw. Being kicked. Being zapped with the electrical cattle prod. Raven lay on the sofa in a fetal position, trying to protect herself from the monster. Sweating. She touched the couch. The couch was real. The memories were not.

  Not real. I’m not there. It’s over. Not real. I’m safe. God is real. God loves me. She repeated these truths over and over.

  Finally, she found the courage to open her eyes. She was in her house in Charm, Ohio. Not in some barn with the monster. Raven stared at the TV screen. She wasn’t looking at what was really there. Instead, she was seeing Charles Whitman, III.

  The monster had a face.

  And a name.

  20

  “Charles Whitman, III.”

  Gracie stared at her. “You really think the frontrunner in the presidential race abducted you and held you prisoner?”

  Raven had gone to see Gracie without an appointment. She hadn’t slept at all last night. She’d been too afraid to close her eyes. “Of course not. I’m just telling you what I’m remembering. I know it’s crazy. I know it’s wrong. But it’s what I remember.”

  “Good. I’m glad you know that.”

  “But why am I remembering him? I can’t get his face out of my mind now.”

  “There’s a very simple explanation for what’s going on. Our mind fills in the unknown with the known. For example when you’re talking with someone and watching TV at the same time, you may only hear part of both things but your mind fills in the unknown with the known. It works fine until someone veers off the path and says something that doesn’t make sense.”

  “But why him?”

  “You already told me that you’ve had several breakthroughs with your memories. But you couldn’t remember the face. You were probably thinking about that and so when you saw his, your mind made the connection to him.”

  “Why not any of the other candidates’ faces they were showing?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying the heart wants what the heart wants but let me tell you—the brain does what the brain wants to do. As much as we’d like to be able to explain everything that happens in our brains—we can’t. And we can’t always believe what our mind tells us. It’s not infallible.”

  “So you don’t think I’m losing it?”

  “Not at all. I’d be more worried if you really believed that Charles Whitman actually had something to do with your abduction but you don’t think that. Right?”

  Raven knew the right answer but was it the truth? “Right. It would be ridiculous to think that Charles Whitman abducted me.”

  “So you’re good. Probably tired, since you didn’t sleep last night, but good.”

  “What about the fact I passed out?”

  “Yeah, that’s not good. I’m pretty sure it was brought on by the intensity and anxiety of remembering. Lots of people feel faint when they have anxiety attacks. They don’t usually actually faint. But you’ve been through a lot of trauma, Raven. The intensity of the memories are probably what made you faint.”

  “I think it may have been better when I didn’t remember.”

  “You know what they say about being careful what you pray for.” Gracie smiled. “But God must think you’re strong enough to handle it now. But if you faint again, I think you should see a neurologist just to make sure nothing’s wrong.”

  “My Amish neighbor thinks it’s connected to my blood sugar levels.”

  “Smart lady. That’s possible too. Maybe you should have a full medical work-up. Agreed?”

  “I guess. When my new insurance kicks in.” She took a deep breath, glad she’d confided in Gracie. “On a happier note, I have an idea.”

  “About what?”

  “About what to do in the next phase of my life.”

  “Really? That’s good to be thinking about your future. What’s the idea?”

  “To open a bakery.”

  Gracie looked at her for a moment. “I thought you told me you weren’t a good cook.”

  “I’m not, but my Amish neighbor is an amazing baker. I’m hoping she wants to become my partner or my teacher.”

  Gracie laughed as she shook her head. “OK, I’ll be your guinea pig as you learn how to bake.”

  “Do you think the bakery is a good idea?”

  “It could be. If you find out you like to bake. Especially since you’re in a tourist area.”

  Raven stood. “I’d better go so you can get on with your regularly scheduled day. I’m sorry I interrupted it, but I was so freaked out. Thanks so much for seeing me.”

  “No problem. I hope you feel better.”

  “Much.” Raven leaned down and hugged her. “You’re a good friend.”

  When she got home, she went directly to Lydia’s.

  “I have an idea, Lydia. I think we should open a bakery together.”

  Lydia stared. “A bakery. Us?”

  “Why not? You’re an amazing baker. You could bake and I could run the business part. But I’d like you to teach me to bake too.”

  “My goodness. I chust never thought of me working. But the truth is I do get bored, sitting here with nothing to do. It was different when I was on the farm. There was always things that needed done. A bakery, you say?”

  “A bakery. Hopefully right here in town.”

  �
��My goodness. It sounds like a good idea but I’ll have to pray about it for a while and see what God says.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Back in her own house, Raven couldn’t get the name out of her head. Charles Whitman, III. She’d assured Gracie that she knew it wasn’t him, but how could she be so certain? She couldn’t remember the face of the monster. What did she remember about him from her research? She searched her memory banks but it came up blank. She walked to the spare bedroom she’d turned into an office/workout room.

  She should let it go. Not give any credence to such a ridiculous idea. But it wouldn’t hurt to check him out. She turned on the computer. As she skimmed articles, her heart skidded to a stop.

  She couldn’t breathe and everything turned wavy. No. I won’t pass out. Keep me in the moment, God. She forced herself to take a deep breath and then another and another. When the dizziness passed, she looked back at the computer screen. Charles Whitman, III was from a small town in West Virginia. Great Cacapon. The same name as the river she’d been found in.

  Coincidence?

  21

  Raven walked into the motel room in Berkeley Springs, West Virginia, the closest town to Great Cacapon that had motels. How would she explain this to Gracie? Or to anyone? One minute she was looking at her computer screen and the next she’d packed a bag and driven here. The whole drive she kept telling herself to turn around, to go back home. She kept driving.

  And now here she was. In Morgan County, West Virginia. The place they’d found her broken body. And the home of Charles Whitman, III.

  It wasn’t rational.

  As much as she didn’t want to, she had to make a few phone calls so no one would be worried about her when they realized she wasn’t at her house. Hunter was supposed to stop in after his shift.

  If she told them where she was and why, they’d overreact. Especially Gracie. Just the fact that she was twenty miles from Charles Whitman’s family home might make Gracie think that Raven had lost touch with reality. And she hadn’t.

  Or had she?

  It was a little bizarre to just jump in her car and drive for seven hours. What was she planning on doing? Go to his house and ask him if he’d abducted her? Raven believed Gracie’s explanation of the mind filling in the unknown with the known, but a smidgeon of doubt held sway.

  In the motel room, Raven called her sister, hoping it went to voice mail. It didn’t. “Hey Amanda.”

  “Where are you, Raven? I stopped by your house and you weren’t there. Did you forget I was coming today?”

  “Uh…I guess I did. Sorry. I’m uh…I took a road trip. Just needed to get away for a few days.”

  “Why?” Her sister demanded. “Is something wrong? And where are you?”

  She picked one question to answer. “There’s nothing wrong. I just needed to get away. It’s not like I have a job or anything to prevent me from taking a little trip.”

  “I guess that’s true but why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It was spur of the moment. I didn’t really plan it. It just sort of happened.” That was certainly true. “I was feeling a bit stressed out, so I took a short trip.”

  “Why are you stressed out?”

  Amanda would want to know every little detail and Raven didn’t want her to know the horrible things she’d experienced. “Maybe I’ve been doing too much lately. So, I thought a few days away would be good.”

  There was a long pause, but finally Amanda asked, “Where did you go?”

  “Oh, just a cute little town in West Virginia.”

  “Where?” Her sister’s voice had gone from compassionate to suspicious. Amanda knew her too well. “Please tell me you aren’t down in the area where they found you. What was it called again?”

  “Great Cacapon.”

  “Is that where you are?”

  “I just wanted to see it for myself. To see the area—the river. To see if it jogged my memory.”

  “Oh, Raven. I don’t like that you’re down there alone. If you wanted to go, you should have asked me to come with you.”

  At least Amanda hadn’t said it was a stupid idea. And Amanda was right, she shouldn’t have come alone. But it was too late now. She was here. And she was all alone.

  22

  As Raven walked from her motel to the Sheriff’s Department, she realized just how alone she was—and vulnerable. Any one of the people she passed could be the monster that had held her captive for months and then dumped her body in the Cacapon River.

  What if he saw her and followed her? And the scariest part was he could walk right up to her and she wouldn’t even know it was him. Because her mind had painted the picture of a presidential candidate as the monster.

  Clearly that was impossible. But someone somewhere had hurt her. Tried to kill her. And probably still wanted her dead. Who was the monster? And where was he?

  The blue sky turned wavy. She couldn’t find her next breath. Her body shook. Looking down at the sidewalk, it looked more like a river. Take a breath, Raven. A deep breath. She did but everything still kept moving. She fell against a nearby building. Another deep breath.

  “Are you all right?

  She startled at the sound of a voice and opened her eyes.

  A man, probably in his forties, stood there.

  “Just a little dizzy.”

  It could be him. Her pulse zoomed, and she couldn’t breathe. Calm down. He’s not the monster. Not the monster. She forced a deep breath. God is with me. God is with me. The world came back into focus.

  “Should I call 911?”

  She shook her head. “I’m better now. Guess I should have eaten lunch.”

  He looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

  She forced a smile. “Right as rain. I’ll be fine, but thanks for stopping to check on me.”

  He smiled. “OK, then. I’ll be on my way.”

  After he walked away, Raven wanted to plop down on the sidewalk, curl up in a ball, and cry. Her knees were so wobbly she wasn’t sure if they would hold her up. She needed to rest for a few minutes. But that would only cause another scene, so she resumed walking. One step at a time.

  The Sheriff Department was housed in a brick building at the end of the block. When she got there, she took a few deep breaths. A small sign beside the door had the official seal on it.

  She walked in, immediately appreciating the cool air. No one was at the counter. She dinged the bell sitting on the counter.

  A few seconds later, a woman appeared. “I’m so sorry. I was in the back eating a little snack. I didn’t hear you come in. Can I help you?”

  “I was hoping to talk to Sheriff Matthew Borden. Does he still work here?”

  “He sure does, but he’s out on patrol right now. What’s this about?”

  What indeed? “I…uh…I’m Raven Marks. A while back—”

  “I know exactly who you are, sweetheart. You seem to be doing much better than when you were here. Praise the Lord. You’ve been in my prayers for many months.”

  Had she met this woman? If so, she couldn’t remember. “Did we meet?”

  “Not at all. But I know about you. Our whole church has been praying for you”

  That should have been comforting but wasn’t. The thought that so many strangers knew who she was…was sort of scary. Raven forced a smile. “The prayers worked. I’m getting stronger every day.”

  “Praise the Lord.”

  “Amen to that.” Raven liked this woman. “I just sort of came down here on a whim, but I was hoping to thank Sheriff Borden and maybe have him take me to where I was found.”

  “Still can’t remember anything, huh?”

  She didn’t want to lie to this sweet woman. “Not really. Nothing concrete. I was hoping if I saw the area, it might help. Anything to catch the monster.”

  “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through or what it’s like to not remember. Hold on. Let me get him back here. Won’t take but a minute.” She pointed at some chairs. “
Feel free to sit down and relax.”

  Raven walked over to a chair and sat. Between the two chairs was a small table with a few out of date magazines. She picked one up. The world turned wavy—it had a huge picture of Charles Whitman, III on the cover.

  God is with me. God is with me. The world came back into focus. This had to stop. Developing these anxiety issues was horrible. Would getting all her memories back make the anxiety go away? Or make them worse?

  The woman walked from behind the counter and sat down in the other chair. “He’ll be here in a minute. My name’s Martha, by the way. I’m the evening dispatcher and receptionist all rolled up in one.”

  “Nice to meet you, Martha.”

  She touched the magazine. “He’s our most famous citizen, you know. Everyone around here is so proud of him. It’s amazing to think little Chuckie Whitman could become the next President of the United States.”

  Raven didn’t want to talk about little Chuckie. “So do you know him?”

  “Oh, sure. We graduated together. Even went to a hayride together.” Martha looked past her, obviously remembering. “Once.”

  “Why not again?”

  “We…we…” Her voice faltered. Again, she stared past Raven. Then she shook her head. “We just weren’t a good match. Besides I met my future husband on the hayride. One look and I knew he was the man for me. Forever. Actually a boy at the time, but I still knew he was the one.” She held up her left hand. “Twenty-four years and counting.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  “Martha, are you boring her with your life story?”

  “And here’s my handsome husband.”

  Raven smiled. “Good thing I didn’t say anything bad about the sheriff, huh?”

  “It wouldn’t have bothered me none, sweetheart. He’s a good husband but can be a bit brusque when he’s wearing that old hat of his.”