Shelton.
Logan Pond.
The office. The car. The prison.
Amber. Zach. The guards.
She curled deeper against the cement wall and begged her mind to shut off.
“Ah, Donnelle,” one of the women called. “Give her some time. She’s still in shock.”
“Aren’t we all,” another said.
Then they laughed. Every woman in the small cell threw back her head and laughed as if she’d heard the world’s greatest joke. It was unthinkable to hear such a happy sound in such a place, at such a time.
A hand went on her shoulder again, but she ignored it. For the first time in her life, she had nothing left to give. Not a smile. Not a polite response. Her thoughts rested solely on her two siblings and how she had failed them. And Greg.
And her parents.
Just when she thought she had cried every last drop of moisture…
“It’s so soft,” a new voice said.
“Leave her alone, Marge,” Donnelle warned.
Somewhere in the deep recesses of Carrie’s brain, it registered that someone was stroking her hair.
“So silky and soft,” the woman continued. “I want it.”
“Marge!”
The stroking stopped, and footsteps retreated.
“Don’t mind her,” Donnelle said, still crouched near Carrie. “Marge is…well…I’m sure you can understand. Speaking of which, you should probably sleep with your toothbrush underneath your pillow. But never mind her. Do you want to sleep on the bed, Carrie? It’s your first night. After that, the bunks go to the elders like Crazy Marge. We do everything that way. The longer you’re in, the more privileges you get. Someone like Marge there is goin’ on six years, so she’s an elder elder, if you catch my drift. For tonight, though, you can choose top or bottom bunk.” Donnelle tugged on her arm. “Come on. I know it doesn’t look like it with all the lights they keep on around the clock, but it’s time to sleep now.”
Carrie squeezed her swollen eyes shut.
“Give it up, Donnelle,” one of the other women called. “She ain’t moving.”
Donnelle sighed wearily. “Don’t worry, hon. You’ll see. Things aren’t always as bad as they seem. You’ll see.”
* * * * *
By the time Greg found what he needed and met back up with Richard and Ashlee, the clock inside the dark office read eleven o’clock, late for people who slept with the sun.
“Your mother will haunt me for this,” Richard whispered, continuing his quiet-but-ignored rant. “We’re all dead. You know that, right? She will haunt me forever for letting you do this.”
At least while Richard whined, he kept his back to the doors, scanning the dark Main Street for any movement.
After all of Richard and Ashlee’s sleuthing, Greg had determined the front doors would be easiest to break into. He crouched in front of the lock with his two paper clips, wiggling and bending away.
“Do they keep the security cameras on all night?” Greg whispered.
“Yes,” Ashlee said, “but they only check them if something happens.”
Greg listened for each click in the lock as he wiggled the paper clips. The second deadbolt was taking longer than the first. He should have paid more attention in that class at Naperville. Finally, three more clicks and he felt the last one release. He twisted the metal hard and the second deadbolt opened.
Before he could pull the handle, Ashlee grabbed his hand. “Will you be able to lock these doors again?” she asked.
“Maybe.”
Her eyes widened. “But they’ll know someone broke in.”
“Or they’ll assume your coworker forgot to lock up.”
“Ellen never forgets anything,” Ashlee hissed. “They’ll know, Greg. They’re going to know someone broke in, and if they do, they’ll check the cameras and they’ll see.” She swallowed. “He’ll see me.”
Greg studied her in the muted moonlight with her bright blonde hair practically glowing. He wished they had brought dark hoodies, but he hadn’t, nor did he have time to come up with an alternative.
“I can go in alone,” he said. “Just tell me where to look. You don’t have to do this.”
Ashlee sighed. “Yes, I do. Let’s go.”
Inch by painful inch, Greg opened the door. Even though Ashlee claimed the township hadn’t been able to afford a working alarm system for years, he still tensed for loud, blaring sirens to go off. When none did, he opened the door far enough they could all slip inside.
They hugged the walls, sliding under the security camera and along the dark lobby. The single emergency light lit the direct center of the township office, so they stayed along the dark edges while Greg scanned every inch of the office.
Everything looked peaceful.
No blood on the floor.
Ashlee stopped at the hallway that led to the patrol precinct. Greg listened a moment, overhearing the soft conversations of the patrolmen next door.
Another class Greg had endured in the Naperville training facility included which punishments awaited those who turned their backs on their duties—especially those with rank and power. He’d ignored it at the time, assuming he’d never be given either. But now…
He wasn’t afraid of discipline for going AWOL, but if that discipline landed him in a military prison, it would make things a million times worse. He couldn’t afford that kind of complication.
“You know,” Ashlee whispered, “Carrie could be in the holding cell.”
Greg grabbed her arm. “You didn’t tell me you had holding cells here.”
“In the precinct.”
Richard nudged them from behind. “Stick with the plan. First things first.”
Ashlee pointed toward the desks behind the counter where Greg made out the shape of a computer screen. Richard took up his post next to the hallway, watching and listening for any movement from the patrolmen, while Ashlee and Greg crept behind the counter.
As Ashlee inched up to her desk, Greg leaned close.
“You don’t have any weapons stashed in here, do you?” he whispered.
Her eyes widened but she nodded eagerly. With the care of a brain surgeon, she quietly rolled out her desk chair until she could sit. Then she leaned over and opened the bottom drawer of her desk. From what Greg could make out, the drawer was filled with regular files, but she pushed them all forward until she extracted a small object from the back. She placed it in Greg’s hand.
His fingers closed around the object, a small 9mm pistol. He nearly shouted for joy. He’d spent half his training perfecting his aim with a similar gun. Ashlee handed him two smaller objects, ammo magazines.
Greg gripped the pistol in both hands, feeling a sudden surge of power. Richard glared at him from across the way. Greg ignored him to check the gun’s safety and make sure the chamber was loaded and ready to go. The pistol was smaller than he preferred, but he didn’t care.
As he tested the size and feel of it, Ashlee turned toward the computer. Her hand hovered over the computer’s power button, hesitating.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.
“The light,” she said.
Greg studied the black computer screen that was about to illuminate the heck out of the front office. Richard pointed to the security cameras aimed their way, but if the patrolmen only checked them if something was out of place, they’d be fine. Greg had to see what was on that computer.
“It’ll be fine,” Greg whispered. “Go.”
The computer hummed to life. Greg squinted against the blinding light. Ashlee quickly tapped a button to turn down the screen’s brightness. It still illuminated her and Greg’s faces perfectly.
When the login screen popped up, she typed in her username and password. The screen flashed blue:
ONE FAILED LOGIN ATTEMPT.
She swore softly.
“Try again,” Greg whispered.
Same screen, with an additional warning:
TWO FAILED LOGIN
ATTEMPTS. PLEASE CONTACT ADMINISTRATOR TO ACCESS ACCOUNT.
Ashlee and Greg stared at the bright screen. They’d blocked her account. Ashlee was locked out.
“Are they gonna know you tried to login?” Greg asked.
In the soft blue light, he saw her tear up. “Probably. Especially if they see the doors unlocked or check the cameras…or…”
“I’ll find a way to lock the door. Just…” Staring at the warning screen, he rubbed the back of his neck. “What do we do now?”
Richard glared at them with another I-told-you-this-was-a-horrible-idea look.
Ashlee pushed the power button again, plunging the office back into darkness. She rolled away from the desk. “Let me see if Ellen updated the log book. Don’t get your hopes up, Greg. Usually she makes me do it.”
Ashlee slid across the floor, silently heading up to the front counter. Slipping the small gun inside his pocket, Greg followed. Ashlee grabbed a tattered binder and flipped through it until she reached the right tab. Her finger ran down the list and stopped.
She looked back at Greg. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Greg.”
Greg snatched the binder and lifted it to where the words caught in the emergency overhead light.
Even knowing it might be coming, seeing the name—seeing her name—was like a knife twisting his gut.
Carrie Lynne Ashworth
Time of Arrest: 8:12 a.m.
Note: Two minors taken into custody; one male, one female
He gripped the binder, breaths speeding up.
Carrie.
It took him a full minute to find his voice. “Why was she arrested? She had her yellow card.”
“Not according to that,” Ashlee said.
Greg bent over the binder again. Below the other lines it read:
Reason for Arrest: Unable to produce valid documentation.
“Didn’t she take her card with her?” Ashlee whispered.
His thoughts raced back to that morning when he’d stood with Carrie in her kitchen. She had double- and triple-checked that she had everything: citizenship card, money, deed to her house, Zach and Amber’s birth certificates.
“Yes. She wouldn’t have been that careless. Knowin’ her, she probably checked and rechecked it five times before comin’ into this office.”
“Then let me see something else,” Ashlee said.
She tiptoed away from the counter and back into the darkened corner of the office. A file cabinet squeaked as she slid open a drawer. Scowling, Richard put a finger to his lips.
While she searched, Greg stared at the log book.
Carrie Lynne Ashworth
Arrested: 8:12 a.m.
Note: Two minors taken into custody; one male, one female
Reason for Arrest: Unable to produce valid documentation
Arresting Officer: Bruce Giordano
Giordano. Greg knew that name. That was the huge patrolman who had attacked Greg at his grandparents’ house in March. While Jamansky had searched the house, Giordano backed them into a corner and grilled them with questions. He’d been a brute. When Greg tried to calm his mom and grandma down, Giordano clubbed his shoulder.
Giordano had arrested Carrie.
Not Jamansky.
Greg pinched his eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.
Feeling time ticking, he forced himself to remain present and aware. He could fall apart later. Desperate, he searched the log for anything else—where Giordano had taken her—why Carrie hadn’t produced valid documentation. When he found nothing, he kept rereading those words.
Carrie Lynne Ashworth. 8:12 a.m.
Carrie Lynne
Carrie
“Greg,” Ashlee whispered urgently. “You need to see this.”
Shutting the binder, he dragged himself to the back of the office. Ashlee handed him several papers stapled together. Again, he had to lift them close to make out the words. When he did, he jerked back. The deed to Carrie’s house.
“Look,” she said, pointing.
Somebody had scribbled across the top of the deed.
Home purchased with illegal funds.
“Illegal funds?” Greg repeated.
“I don’t know what it means,” Ashlee whispered.
Greg struggled to piece it together. Carrie’s home wasn’t valid anymore which would revoke her citizenship. She’d come. She’d been taken. His eyes lifted to the open lobby, single fluorescent light shining over the place she would have stood, unprepared.
Unaware.
He should have been there.
“The holding cell?” he whispered suddenly. “Is there any way—”
“No,” Ashlee cut in. “I already checked the other log. She’s not there.”
“Then where is she?”
“Probably Crystal Lake. Or maybe Rockford.” Ashlee shook her head. “I’m not sure. It depends on where they have room. If I could have just gotten into the computer…I’m sorry, Greg.”
Crystal Lake. Rockford. He knew little about Illinois geography, but both sounded a million miles away.
He stared at the ground, no longer seeing anything. “I should have been here. I shoulda just come.”
“And done what?” Ashlee whispered. “Tried to stop the arrest?”
“Not tried.”
Ashlee put a hand on his arm. “There’s no way you could have stopped it. If you had tried, you would just be locked up with her. In reality, you wouldn’t even be with her. You would just be locked up. Or dead.”
“Anything is better than this.”
“No, it’s not. Now you can help them.”
“How? How!”
Richard whirled around. “Shhh!”
The only sound in the office was the soft conversation that carried from the patrol precinct next door.
Greg tried to work through everything, specifically how Jamansky fit into the picture. Jamansky hadn’t even been the arresting officer, but he’d obviously been behind it all.
Suddenly, he looked up. “How far back did you check in the log book?”
“Just today,” Ashlee said. “Why?”
He studied the deed, rereading the red scribbles—Home purchased with illegal funds—before his eyes slid down to the signature at the bottom. In careful script was a man’s name, the person who had bought Carrie’s house.
Jumping to his feet, Greg stormed back to the front counter. Richard shot him a warning look, and Greg tried to quiet his steps. Ashlee followed. Greg flipped through the binder, ignoring the page with Carrie’s information, and flipped back two days earlier. His finger ran down the names and events until he found it.
Oliver Gerard Simmons
Arrested: 6:07 p.m.
Reason for Arrest: Treason
Arresting Officer: Chief David Jamansky
Greg’s fist slammed down on the counter, making the tattered binder jump. “I knew it. I knew it!”
“Oh, Oliver,” Ashlee breathed.
“Still think Jamansky wasn’t behind Carrie’s arrest?” Greg hissed.
Before she could answer, Greg noticed a frantic movement. Richard was freaking out by the hallway, waving his hands toward the doors.
“Go!” Richard whispered. “GO!”
Freezing, Greg listened.
The conversation had stopped next door.
“Did you hear something?” somebody said.
Greg shut the binder and grabbed Ashlee’s sleeve. Richard was already opening the glass doors by the time they reached it. The three of them slipped out into the dark night and took off down the wet street. They raced around the corner of the building and through the dark woods.
“Greg, wait!” Richard said, struggling to keep up. “Let’s gather everyone back to the clan so we can have a meeting and figure out what to do.”
Greg didn’t need a meeting. He already knew what had to happen. Picking up speed, he crossed the street and sprinted back the way they’d come.
As he passed the library, a d
ark shape stepped out in front of him. He pulled up short, heart jumping out of his chest, but it was just Braden Ziegler.
“What did you find out?” Braden asked, tense expression barely visible in the soft moonlight. “Do you know where they are?”
“Yes,” Richard said, catching up. He looked at Greg, but Greg stared down at the ground. So did Ashlee.
Braden’s head bounced back and forth between them. When the silence stretched and no one could bring themselves to answer, Braden fell back a step. “What happened?”
Richard breathed heavily. “Carrie has been arrested, and…” His eyes flickered to Greg. “And Amber and Zach have been taken as well. It seems as if Jamansky is behind this after all.”
“No,” Braden said, shaking his head. “No!”
“I’m sorry, Braden,” Richard said. “But they’re gone.”
Braden locked eyes with Greg. His nostrils flared in the moonlight. Then he cocked his arm back, took a step forward, and punched Greg squarely in the jaw.
twenty-one
TWO LONELY CANDLES LIT THE Trenton’s front room, adding to the somber mood. Greg leaned against a wall, arms folded tightly to keep from pounding something. His jaw ached, his head throbbed, but they were nothing compared to the crushing weight in his chest.
He kept picturing Giordano grabbing Carrie, hauling her away from Amber and Zach, checking her into prison. Imagining Carrie spending her first night there was torture.
“You have no idea where they’re being held?” Jada Dixon asked. “Not even a guess?”
Ashlee Lyon had done most of the explaining. She just shrugged. “My best guess is that they took Carrie to Crystal Lake or Rockford’s facility. Possibly even Rochelle. They’re having major overcrowding issues, so she could be in a half a dozen places. Amber and Zach are easier. Amber is either in Bristol or Campton Hills. And Zach will probably be in Montgomery or DeKalb. There’s another boys’ home somewhere, I just can’t remember where. I’m sorry.”
“Wait,” Sasha Green said. “Zach and Amber aren’t together?”
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 102
