by Jonas Saul
They hadn’t gotten a few steps before Hunter’s phone rang a third time.
Sarah glanced over her shoulder as Hunter answered this one. He mumbled into the phone, gestured wildly with his hand, then spoke several harsh words and ended the call.
When the device was back in his pocket, his eyes met Sarah’s.
A minute later, they all stood in a circle by the cruiser.
“See how treacherous it is to run around warning people they are in danger,” Hunter said to Sarah, his voice a touch loud.
Aaron moved in front of Sarah. “Hey, back the fuck off. She didn’t do this and you know it. I was with her the whole time.”
“Yeah, but those people”—he jerked his right arm out to point at the group still milling about the front of the church—“sure think she’s involved somehow.”
“Do you need a reminder?” Aaron moved closer to Hunter, his arms down, but the move was threatening nonetheless. “You’re the one who called us. Sarah’s only here because of you. So fuck you if you think she’s involved. We’ll leave so you can clean up your own shit.”
“Guys.” DeOcampo put her hands between the men, pushing them apart. “Step back and breathe. Calm down. No one’s fighting today and Hunter, I don’t want you in the hospital.”
He snapped his head her way. “Hospital?”
“Do you know what Aaron and his dojo boys can do to people? Since they work for Aaron and Aaron taught them, I can’t imagine what he’s capable of.”
Hunter blinked as if he just remembered who he was talking to. “You martial arts people should be registered, just like other deadly weapons.”
Sarah placed her hands on Aaron’s shoulders and pulled him back to her. “Aaron wouldn’t hurt anyone.” She smiled at the detective. “But I do think it best if we leave.”
“Leave?” Hunter blurted.
“Of course. You have a letter and a case to solve, and it’s obvious by those three phone calls that someone is trying to get ahold of you.”
“That’s my girlfriend. She’s pissed that I’m working on my day off.”
“Makes sense.” Sarah faced DeOcampo. “Oh, and if you find out where the letter was delivered, call me.”
“Delivered?” Hunter muttered. “What do you mean?”
“Just as I said. How did you obtain the letter?”
“It was in my mailbox.”
“Personal or work?”
“At my home.”
DeOcampo and Sarah exchanged a look.
“So.” The FBI agent moved into his field of vision. “This potential murderer knows where you live?”
“It appears so.”
“And this didn’t strike you as odd, or perhaps a little cautionary?”
“Cautionary?”
“I’m assuming your girlfriend is at home.”
Hunter nodded. “Probably.”
“And the letter writer sent it there, to your home? So, maybe you guys should move to a hotel until this is over.”
Hunter shook his head and stepped back. “Not going to happen.”
“And why’s that?”
He hesitated, looking over at the church folk who were slowly dispersing and heading to their cars.
“There’s trouble in the home.” Hunter picked at a fingernail. “We’re going through a rough patch.” He glanced up and stared at them. “I can’t move her into a hotel because of my job.”
“Is your job the problem?” DeOcampo sounded as if she was asking from experience.
“It’s one of the many problems, but I’m done talking about that now. Sarah, get your cell phone back from whoever you gave it to—probably Parkman—and wait for my call. We’re not finished with this.” His face softened, his jaw went slack. “What I mean is, I may need more help as the case develops.”
“I’ll do what I can, but I don’t think I’ll be much help. You want to know who’s doing this, just remember that they know where you live. You and your girlfriend may be in danger, too.”
“Is that an official warning? Like the one you gave Pastor Blair.”
She offered him a smug smile, then dropped it. “Cute.”
“No, I’m serious,” he persisted.
DeOcampo moved toward her car. “Hunter, what Sarah means is watch your ass. Anyone would tell you that if they knew that letter was sent to your home address.”
“It wasn’t sent.”
DeOcampo stopped in her tracks and slowly turned around, intelligence in those eyes of hers. Like something dawned on her, she blinked and stared at Hunter.
“The letter was dropped in your box?” she asked.
Hunter nodded. “No envelope, no stamp, no Canada Post labeling, nothing. Just like I showed it to you. A piece of paper, folded up. By the time I was done reading it, my prints were all over it, so I didn’t have it dusted.” He shrugged. “Who would’ve thought I needed to open my mailbox with tweezers and bag the papers as evidence?”
Sarah and DeOcampo stared at each other a moment.
Hunter’s cell phone broke the silence.
He snatched it up and barked into the phone. “What?”
Then he spun back around, his eyes wide.
Something told Sarah it wasn’t his girlfriend calling back.
“Yeah, she’s with me. We’ll be right there.”
He lowered the phone from his ear slowly, all the while his wide eyes never leaving Sarah. From the look on his face, this wasn’t good news. Even before he spoke a word, acid consumed Sarah’s stomach.
“They found the pastor’s daughter, Victoria Blair, in the bushes off Highway 50, crying and delusional.”
“Oh wow, that’s good news then, right?” Sarah said, a hand on her chest. “Victoria is safe. Anything on her parents?”
“She’s only saying two words, over and over.”
Sarah frowned, her hand lowering to her stomach. That fuckin’ police station coffee wasn’t sitting right with her at all. Good thing she didn’t get through more than half of it.
“What two words is she repeating?”
“Sarah is one of the words, and the other is Roberts.” Hunter slipped his phone away. “Can you tell me why Pastor Blair’s daughter is saying your name over and over?”
This was going from bad to worse and Sarah and Aaron had nothing to do with it. But now, they had everything to do with it.
“I would have no idea, Detective Hunter. I didn’t even speak to her.”
“Well, it would appear she knows you, otherwise why would that be the only thing she’s saying when found wandering in bushes?”
“Hunter,” DeOcampo whispered. “Let’s all go see Victoria and ask her, okay?”
“Sarah comes with me.” Hunter moved toward her and Aaron stepped in the way again.
“Detective Hunter,” DeOcampo shouted.
The man stopped and looked at the FBI agent.
“Sarah will be there, but she’ll come with me. I’m Special Agent Tracie DeOcampo with the FBI. You can trust me when I say I will bring her to meet with Victoria, but she comes with me and that’s final. Unless you’re willing to arrest her, she’s a civilian and I repeat, she comes with me.”
Hunter glared at them a moment, then nodded knowing he was beat. The FBI didn’t have rank to pull, but she was pulling it. And Aaron was ready to throw down if Hunter tried anything physical.
“Meet me on Highway 50 one kilometer north of Countryside Drive. I’ll be parked on the shoulder.” He started away, then stopped. “You’ll be coming now, I presume?”
All three of them nodded.
Then Hunter jogged for his cruiser, got in, fired up the engine, and squealed from the lot.
“Sarah rides with me,” DeOcampo said to Aaron. Then she glanced at Sarah. “On the way you can tell me all about your visit to this church and what your relationship is to the Blair family.”
“It’ll be a long drive and a short talk.”
They moved toward DeOcampo’s rental.
“I’ll follo
w you there,” Aaron shouted at her.
Sarah stopped and turned back. “Actually, DeOcampo will drive me home when we’re done. Can you just head home and relieve the babysitter. She’s probably rattled by the police visit she got this morning. I’m sure I won’t be long.”
Before he could protest, Sarah turned back to follow DeOcampo. She didn’t want Aaron involved going forward. This was a police matter, and as soon as she was done meeting with Victoria, she wanted to go home.
Something had already happened and it was bad.
So bad, she felt a deep anguish in her sister.
Could entities on the other side feel grief, remorse? Could they feel darkness and depression, a deep sadness that made everyone around them darker for it?
If so, that’s what she felt emanating off Vivian at the mention of Victoria’s name.
Even before Detective Hunter said Sarah’s name as the two words Victoria kept repeating, Sarah knew her parents were dead and this short ride to Highway 50 would reveal that truth.
She still felt sick to her stomach because she could’ve stayed with Pastor Blair and stopped this. Something told her Vivian knew that, but she didn’t encourage it.
Were these murders supposed to happen?
That was something Sarah couldn’t believe. Because if so, and Vivian knew about it and refused to tell her all the information, then her sister was complicit in those murders, wasn’t she?
To learn that would be a Hell all of its own.
Chapter 9
DeOcampo pulled in behind Hunter’s cruiser and stopped. Sarah stared at the detective as he stood against the trunk of his car, talking animatedly on his cell phone.
“Unless that’s work, he’s having a lot of trouble at home.”
DeOcampo looked over at her. “Is it related to what we’re doing here?”
Sarah faced her. “Just an observation.”
“Best to leave that alone with this detective. He seems on edge ever since his girlfriend has been calling.”
“I can take care of myself. Besides, when people are pushed, that’s when you get to know who they are.”
“Careful, Sarah.”
When DeOcampo got out of the driver’s seat, Sarah saw the edge of a smile forming on her lips. Two weeks ago, Sarah had pushed DeOcampo into a corner and the FBI agent proved her worth.
It would appear they were getting to know one another well.
By the time Sarah exited the rental and made her way to Hunter, he’d pocketed his phone.
“This way,” he said, pointing at a small copse of trees about ten meters off the shoulder. Up ahead of Hunter’s car, parked along the shoulder, were three marked cruisers and one unmarked.
There was a large opening in the trees where a path led into relative darkness. Two uniformed officers stood on either side of an opening.
It occurred to Sarah how Victoria could get this far north when she’d just seen her at the church—although, that was hitting two hours ago now.
They entered the trees and followed the path until it came into a clearing far enough from the highway that the sound of vehicles racing past was nothing more than a soft drone in the distance.
Not forty meters away, several men surrounded the young Victoria, who was sitting under the trees in the dirt, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around her lower legs. Her long blond hair had blown in front of her face, blinding her ability to see their approach. The soft blue backpack blended well with her denim jacket and gray pants.
To anyone else, she looked like she could’ve been heading home from school when she decided to plant herself on the floor of the small forest for some reason.
“She screams when anyone approaches her,” Hunter whispered over his shoulder. “But one of the detectives got close enough to hear her saying your name over and over.” He turned around enough to look at Sarah. “Still no idea why or what’s going on here?”
Sarah waited a moment, then said, “I was just about to ask you that, since you know this area.”
Hunter stopped and stared at her.
DeOcampo looked worried.
“What did you just say?” Hunter whispered.
“Didn’t you grow up around here?”
Hunter looked from Sarah to DeOcampo, then back to Sarah. “What’s that got to do with anything? And how the fuck would you know that?”
Sarah leaned forward at the waist, keeping her voice low. “DeOcampo, I thought we told him about my sister.”
“He knows.”
Sarah nodded. “Okay, so you know the area. You grew up here. And Pastor Blair was someone you grew up with. Making any connections yet?”
Hunter rushed her, his hands out to grab her.
DeOcampo slipped in between them, but she was too late—Hunter had already grabbed the top of Sarah’s shirt.
DeOcampo placed one hand in Hunter’s hair, and the other at his throat. She yanked his head back with force.
Other men drew closer in a rush.
“Detective,” DeOcampo whispered close to his ear. “Sarah’s a guest here with Special Agent DeOcampo of the FBI—that’s me. Kindly remove your hands from her person and step off.” She nudged him, yanking harder on his hair, squeezing his throat once to remind him of her grip.
Hunter released Sarah and stepped back, coughing once to clear his Adam’s apple.
DeOcampo pulled Sarah behind her.
Hunter spit in the dirt at his feet. “You’re going to want to keep your guest under better control.” He eyed DeOcampo. “And never touch me again.”
The or else hung in the thick air between them.
“It would appear my guest isn’t the one losing their cool. Which leads me to ask several other questions about why you’re on edge.”
Hunter blinked as if he’d been hypnotized and was just coming back into the room. “I told you. Problems at home. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“I’m here on special permission from on high. Should we be having this conversation with them before you continue on this case?”
Hunter wiped his face and moved to the side a few feet. “Let’s deal with Victoria, find her parents, and then I’ll go home and fix my own life. But thanks for the offer.”
Sarah and DeOcampo exchanged a glance, held it a moment longer, then Sarah broke it as she strode forward getting closer to the teenager sitting alone on the dirt.
When Sarah was about four meters away, Victoria spun her way.
Like they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in a decade, Victoria shouted Sarah’s name, jumped to her feet, and ran into Sarah’s arms, crying hysterically.
“It’s okay, Victoria. I’m here now.” She patted the young girl’s back and held her for the several minutes she was inconsolable.
Officers moved in closer so they could be in earshot when the two girls began talking.
Sarah eased the teenager back and gazed at her tear-streaked face.
“What happened?” Sarah kept her voice soft, welcoming. “Where are your parents?”
“They’re dead,” Victoria wailed and dropped into Sarah’s arms again.
She glanced around and met DeOcampo’s pained expression, then caught Hunter’s shocked face, eyes wide, jaw dropped.
Refocusing on Victoria, she lowered the girl to the ground as she was getting too heavy to hold up any longer. Sarah stroked her hair and let her cry it out until her tears dried up and her puffy bloodshot eyes stared back in grief.
“Where are they?” Sarah asked.
“At the barn.” She hiccupped a cry, her shoulders shuddering with the violence of the spasm, and pointed behind her. “That way.” Victoria shook her head. “I can’t go back. Please don’t ask me to go back. I ran, and I ran, and I ran …” Her words were lost in a heavy bout of wailing as she dropped back into Sarah’s arms.
Officers were dispersing around her. Paramedics had arrived and were approaching them. Sarah gave them a firm, short jerk of her head to tell them to keep their distance.
<
br /> DeOcampo caught on and pulled them back, keeping a wide circle around Sarah as she held Victoria.
Her thoughts wandered to Vivian, searching for her presence, but she was nowhere to be found.
Their relationship had been easy for the most part. Sarah understood that sometimes she didn’t need to know everything, and that whatever she was dealing with would come to pass with the right amount of courage and bravery.
But if Vivian knew this girl’s parents were going to be slain, and Sarah could’ve done something to save the pastor’s life, then Vivian would have a hell of a lot explaining to do.
What was the other side anyway? The religious mostly referred to it as Heaven. Some called it nirvana, the Vikings Valhalla, and new agers often used the term, Other Side.
To Sarah it felt like it was the great attic in the sky where all the souls went to hover around and watch those they had loved when they were here, only to return and do it all again at a later date as someone else, living somewhere else. Vivian once told her the meaning behind multiple incarnations was to evolve our soul. To come here poor, to come back rich, to come female, and another time male—all in the name of bettering our souls.
So then how could senseless murder fit into all that?
Even though they just pass over to the other side and come back and do it all again as someone else and nothing had really died in the end except for the vessel that carried their soul in that particular incarnation, it still felt senseless to those left behind.
Or was that the point?
Vivian also explained to Sarah several years ago that we all choose our individual path in each incarnation in order to feel something different each time—to experience something different. If that was the case, did Victoria choose parents that would be murdered when she was a teenager in order to grow up alone? Seems a tall order for someone to want that prior to coming to this plane.
Yet, people died all the time. There were hundreds—no, hundreds of thousands—of people who lost their parents at an early age. Orphans spanned the globe. And just as many people were raised by parents who live into their nineties, but not all in functional families, though. Most were dysfunctional. Although, was there a functional family somewhere?
