A Stranger at the Door

by Pinter, Jason

  The girl and her father looked at each other, smiled, and jogged to catch up.

  The gift shop was small and spare but lovingly curated. Barrels of petrified tree bark. Glossaries of all the animals and plants that could be found in the preserve. Magnifying glasses, rubber insects, maps, and books and books and more books.

  Then the girl saw it, and her heart nearly burst with delight.

  In a small basket in the corner by the exit was an assortment of stuffed animals that could be found in those woods. Birds. Frogs. Deer. And more.

  The girl ran over and plunged her hands into the collection, fingers kneading the plush fur, the button eyes. An instant was all it took for her to fall in love with every single animal in the basket. She looked up and saw her parents watching her, joy in their eyes that nearly made her cry.

  She didn’t even need to ask.

  “Pick one,” her father said.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Really?” she said. “Please don’t be messing around, Daddy.”

  “I’m not messing around. You can have one. But just one. So pick one that’s really, really special. That you’ll want to keep forever.”

  The girl nodded. This was a big responsibility. There were so many stuffed animals in the basket, and she could love each and every one of them.

  But she knew which one she wanted as soon as she saw it. The other animals she could love. This one was beyond love.

  The girl brought the animal up to her father and held it out to him.

  “This one,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded like she’d never been more sure in her life.

  “OK, then.”

  He brought the stuffed animal to the cash register. A skinny, bespectacled teenage boy rang it up. Her father paid and plucked the price tag from its fur. Then he handed the girl her new pet.

  It was a small bunny, with gray and brown fur and delicate, inky-black glass eyes. The girl could see herself in their reflection, her smile wide as a canyon. A single tear fell onto the bunny’s fur, and her heart felt full. In that moment she wasn’t sure if she’d ever loved anything else as much as she loved that small furry bunny.

  “Thank you, Mommy. Thank you, Daddy,” she said as she nestled the baby bunny in her thin arms.

  As they went to leave the gift shop, her mother said, “What’s its name?”

  The girl looked at her, confused.

  “Every pet needs a name,” she said.

  “Can I name it whatever I want?” the girl replied.

  “Whatever you want. It should mean something.”

  The girl looked around, as if for inspiration. Her eyes settled on a big coffee-table book next to the cash register. The title was The Wonders of Marin County.

  “Marin,” the girl said. “Her name is Marin.”

  Her mother smiled, leaned in, and petted the bunny’s head gently.

  “Hello, Marin. My name is Wendy Powell. This is my husband, Alan, and you’ve already met our daughter, Olivia. It’s very, very nice to meet you. Welcome to our little loving family.”

  The girl hugged her bunny so tight that for a moment she thought it might explode. Then she kissed its soft nose and said, “I love you, Marin.”

  The girl did not know it then, but it was the last trip her family would ever take together. Her mother would pass away in six months. Her father five years after that.

  But in that moment, hugging Marin the rabbit, her mother’s and father’s adoring eyes gazing down upon her, the girl had never been happier in her whole, entire life.

  CHAPTER 25

  Today

  Rachel knew she was in a hospital room before she opened her eyes. The smell was unmistakable: a mixture of antiseptic, soiled sheets, illness, and body odor.

  She opened her eyes. Tried to focus. The world appeared to her behind a gauzy film. Blurry and distant. She blinked, over and over, trying to will it away. Slowly her eyesight returned, the blurs taking hard-edged form.

  Rachel took inventory of her body. There was a sensation of tremendous pressure on the right side of her head, like her skull was being held under a panini press, but dulled, thankfully, by pain medication.

  She tried to think of the last thing she remembered. She recalled tracking her son and Benjamin Ruddock, waiting for what seemed like an eternity at the house on Violet Road. Then she got impatient. She got sloppy. She left the safety of the vehicle without checking her surroundings. Her instincts dulled by concern and fear.

  She’d barely taken a step before . . .

  The gun.

  The gun. The boy. Oh God. She’d hurt a boy.

  She couldn’t have known. A gun was pointed at her head. It was a reaction, immediate and uncontrollable. It was self-defense, she told herself. If she’d waited a millisecond longer, she could have been dead.

  But then someone hit her from behind, while she was calling 911. She didn’t see the second person. Again, she was too distracted. She was vulnerable. And that momentary lapse had landed her in the hospital, with her head on fire.

  Her kids. Where were her kids?

  “Mom?”

  She knew that voice. Megan. Oh, thank God. Megan.

  Rachel opened her eyes wide, the world taking shape. She could see chairs. And on one of the chairs was a large blur that appeared to be in the shape of her seven-year-old daughter.

  “Megan . . . ,” Rachel croaked. Her voice was raspy; her throat burned. She had no concept of what time it was or what day it was.

  Megan slid off the chair and walked to Rachel, tentatively. She put her hand on Rachel’s leg.

  “Mommy?”

  “I’m OK, baby,” she said, fighting through the haze. “Everything is fine.”

  A lie could be forgiven if it calmed her child.

  Rachel felt Megan place her head on her hip. Her daughter was shaking and trying not to cry. Rachel stroked her hair.

  “It’s OK, sweetie. I’m all right. I’m here.”

  “You were saying our name,” Megan said softly, like she was concealing a secret. “In your sleep.”

  “Our name?”

  “Marin. You kept saying the name Marin. And something about a rabbit. But you were kind of mumbly, so I might be wrong. Were you dreaming, Mommy?”

  “I was, baby.”

  “What were you dreaming about?”

  Before Rachel could respond, a doctor entered the room. He was tall and thin, in his early sixties, with kind eyes, a crown of white hair circling his bald head, and a gray goatee peppered with black.

  “Ah, glad to see we’re awake.”

  “That depends how you define awake,” Rachel said.

  “Well, forming full sentences is a good start. I’m Dr. Copeland. How are you feeling, Ms. Marin?”

  “Water,” Rachel said. “Need water.”

  “Of course.”

  He took a pitcher from a tray and filled a plastic cup. He handed it to Rachel. She drank, slowly. The burning in her throat began to ease.

  “The good news is you have a concussion,” Dr. Copeland said.

  “That’s the good news? I’m guessing you didn’t get this job because of your impeccable bedside manner.”

  He laughed. “I say that’s the good news because there is only a very minor skull fracture and no cerebral bleeding. A concussion and a pretty deep laceration. I’d say you should be thankful it wasn’t worse.”

  “It was a gun,” Rachel said. “Someone hit me with a handgun.”

  “We don’t know for certain what the weapon was . . . but a metal firearm would explain the fracture and laceration. Police have been in and out of your room. One cop in particular seemed pretty upset. Almost as if he took your injury personally. He refused to leave. Even when his partner told him they needed to go.” Copeland paused. “I have a feeling you know the cop I’m talking about.”

  Rachel smiled wearily. “I do.”

  She looked around the room. Other than Megan and the doctor, it
was empty.

  “Megan,” Rachel said softly. “Your brother . . .”

  Megan looked up. “I don’t know where he is. We tried to call his phone, but he didn’t answer.”

  Rachel saw her purse on a chair. “Cell phone. In my purse. Give it to me.”

  Megan rummaged around in Rachel’s purse and handed her the phone. She opened the GPS-tracking app and tapped Eric’s name.

  Searching. Searching. Searching.

  There was no blue dot.

  Rachel tried again.

  Searching. Searching. Searching.

  Still nothing. He must have turned the tracker off. Which meant he’d found out she had followed him. But had he known before the attack or after?

  She dialed Eric’s number. It rang several times and then went to voice mail.

  “Eric, it’s your mother. Please call me. I . . . I don’t care about anything else. I just need to know that you’re safe. You’re not in trouble. So just call me. Text me. Anything. Please. I love you.”

  She pressed the end-call icon. Her face felt hot, pressure forming behind her eyes.

  “Mom?” Megan said. “Is Eric OK?”

  Rachel looked into her daughter’s eyes. “I think so. I hope so.”

  The first part was a lie.

  “I love him so much,” Megan said. “I want him to be OK.”

  “I do, too, baby.”

  Suddenly Rachel felt a stabbing pain blaze along her head, like a match had been struck on her scalp, and she cried out in pain. She brought her hand up to touch the wound, but the doctor took her wrist gently.

  “Best leave that alone for now. You have half a dozen staples in there.”

  “Staples. Great. Now I’m getting office supplies stuck into my head.”

  The doctor smiled and looked at Megan. “Is your mother always this funny?”

  Megan’s concern eased. She smiled back. “No.”

  “Maybe getting bonked on the head improved my sense of humor,” Rachel said. “Silver linings.”

  “Always look on the bright side of life,” Dr. Copeland said.

  “Let me ask you a question, Doctor,” Rachel said. “The pain seems to be coming from the area of my parietal bone. Is that where the staples were put in?”

  The doctor appeared impressed. “That’s correct. I didn’t know you had medical training.”

  “I don’t. Well, not exactly. So, based on the location of the wound and my height, the weapon would have to have been swung at a downward angle toward my head.”

  Rachel made a diagonal swinging motion with her fist.

  “I’m no criminal-forensics expert, but that would seem to be a possible scenario.”

  Rachel thought about the boy who’d pulled the gun on her. He was thin as a cane, and maybe five foot five wearing sneakers. Rachel was five nine. There was no way he could have hit her on the top of her head unless Rachel was ducking or he had a stepladder. Even Eric was about five six. The wound meant she’d been injured either by an adult or a much taller kid. Rachel had spent enough time at Ashby High to know that the number of boys significantly taller than her was minimal.

  Benjamin Ruddock was certainly tall enough to crack Rachel at that angle from a standing position. So was Bennett Brice.

  She tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea swept through her, forcing her back into the hospital bed.

  “Take it easy,” Dr. Copeland said. “Remember, you literally have bruising on your brain. There won’t be any long-term damage, but you need to rest. Take it easy for a few days before resuming normal activities.”

  Megan let loose a snort.

  “What’s so funny?” Rachel said.

  “Thinking about you taking it easy,” Megan said. “It’s funny.”

  Megan’s voice did not make it sound like she thought it was funny.

  “Somebody call for a stripogram?”

  Rachel looked up to see John Serrano standing at the door. He looked to Megan, who was sitting by the bed.

  “I meant candygram,” he said.

  “You said stripogram,” Megan said. “What’s a stripogram?”

  “It’s when you strip the wrapping off a piece of candy and give it to someone so they feel better.”

  “Ooh, I want a stripogram,” Megan said. Serrano’s face turned red.

  Rachel mouthed the words “Good save.”

  Serrano walked to the bed, knelt down, and gently kissed Rachel’s hand. He placed his hand on her cheek. It felt like home. She put her hand on his and gave it a firm squeeze.

  “How are you feeling?” he said.

  “Like someone drove an SUV into my head.”

  “How are you?” he said to Megan.

  “I’m OK,” Megan said softly. She smiled at Serrano, and Rachel felt her heart warm.

  “They’re going to keep you overnight for observation to make sure there’s no cranial bleeding,” he said.

  “Thank you, John. Hey, Dr. Copeland, is there a vending machine around here? I’d kill for a soda.”

  “Down the hall. Out this door, make a left, and then another left.”

  “Hon,” Rachel said to Megan, “can you go get me a soda?”

  “I didn’t know you drank soda,” she said.

  “I don’t. But it’s more polite than asking you to leave the room for a minute so I can talk to John.”

  “Ooohhh. You need to have a grown-up talk?” Megan said.

  “Exactly. Grown-up talk.”

  Megan nodded. “You could have just said that. I’m not a little kid, you know.”

  “I know you’re not. You’re right. That’s the last time I ever treat you like one. I promise.”

  “And . . . Mom?”

  “Yes, hon?”

  “Next time, let Sadie Scout do the dangerous stuff.”

  She took a few crumpled dollar bills from Rachel’s purse and disappeared.

  “I’ll come back later to check on you,” Dr. Copeland said. “Remember what I said. Take care of yourself. Rest. Your brain needs time to recover.”

  Then he left Rachel and Serrano alone.

  “OK. Now tell me exactly what happened,” Serrano said.

  She told him how she’d followed Eric and Benjamin Ruddock. How when she got out of the car, a kid young enough to be dreaming of a learner’s permit pulled a gun on her. How she injured his knee, got belted in the head, and then woke up here.

  “We’ll need the addresses of all the homes your son and Benjamin Ruddock stopped at,” Serrano said. “We’ve already begun canvassing Violet Road, but so far we haven’t turned up any witnesses to the assault. You’re lucky you’d already dialed 911, or you could have lain there unconscious until someone found you bleeding in the street.”

  “What about the kid?” Rachel said.

  “The kid?”

  “The one I hurt. The one who pulled the gun on me. I messed up his knee pretty bad. That’s why I called 911. Where is he?”

  “When EMTs arrived, there was nobody else there. Just you.”

  “I felt his knee buckle, maybe a torn ligament or two. He would have needed medical treatment.” She thought for a moment. “Someone took him away before the ambulance came. You need to check all hospitals in the area. Look for a boy between the ages of thirteen and sixteen who may have been admitted with a dislocated kneecap and possible damage to his ACL and PCL. I’m sure it will be reported as a sports injury or some other fake accident.”

  Serrano noted all of this. “We’re on it.”

  Rachel said, “My son. I don’t know what he’s involved in. But YourLife is as legitimate a business as Monopoly money is a legitimate currency.”

  “You think your assault is connected to your following Eric and the Ruddock kid?”

  “I know it was. That’s why they waited in the house on Violet Road for so long. Ruddock must have made me tailing them and called for backup. Then all they had to do was wait for the cavalry to arrive. Ruddock is smarter than I thought. He knew I’d get out of the car and
come looking for Eric.”

  “Do you think . . .” Serrano trailed off.

  “No. I don’t think Eric knew I’d be attacked.”

  “I called Eric,” Serrano said. “It went straight to voice mail. But we’re looking for him.”

  “Thank you, John.”

  Serrano nodded solemnly. “You’re lucky this didn’t end worse. A lot worse. Either for you or someone else.”

  “My husband always told me I was hardheaded.”

  Serrano didn’t laugh.

  “Guess it’s a weird time to bring up my dead husband, huh.”

  “Yeah, just a little weird. This is serious, Rachel.”

  A wave of nausea sluiced through her body. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths until it passed. Then she sat up.

  “I need to get out of here,” she said.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Serrano said. “The doctor just said they’re keeping you for observation. You don’t mess around with brain injuries.”

  “Until I know where my son is, I can’t just lie here like a breadstick.”

  “Rachel . . .”

  She pressed the call button on her hospital bed.

  “I need to find Eric,” she said. “Everything else can wait.”

  “No need to get up. Found him.”

  Rachel’s head snapped to the doorway. She recognized that voice. Standing just outside her hospital room door was Evie Boggs.

  And standing beside Evie was Rachel’s son.

  CHAPTER 26

  Rachel told Serrano that if he took his eyes off Eric, she would stick his badge so far up his ass you’d be able to see its reflection behind his eyes. Serrano complimented her on her clever, if disgusting, turn of phrase and took Eric and Megan to the cafeteria.

  “All right. Talk,” Rachel said to Evie. Evie took a seat on a chair across from Rachel’s bed. “My head hurts and it feels like I got hit by a truck, but if you don’t tell me what the hell you’re doing here with my son, I will levitate out of this bed and squeeze it out of you.”

  “First off, take it down a notch,” Evie said. “Even on a good day, I’d use you for a punching bag. Second, you need to know that Bennett Brice had absolutely nothing to do with what happened.”