Grandma Dot concedes, for now. Lost in our own thoughts, we shove clothes into the plastic bags.
We pack the bags of clothes into the back seat of my Charger. They pile up to the ceiling nearly blocking the back window. “This should definitely help the clothes drive,” I say lightly.
“Let me grab my purse, and we’ll go drop them off.”
A car pulls into the public parking area on the side of the farm house where Grandma runs her beauty shop.
“Dot,” a middle-aged woman calls, striding across the gravel. “I screwed up.”
Grandma rolls her eyes. “Bet Barbara dyed her own hair again.”
“I wanted platinum blonde, but look, it turned brassy red.” Barbara stops in mid stride, “Oh, you’re here,” she says to me. She shuffles a small step backwards.
Grandma Dot sees the shuffle and stiffens.
“Yes, Barbara, my grand-daughter is here,” she says stiffly.
“Nice to see you again, Barbara,” I say sweetly before Grandma gives her a tongue lashing. I’m used to this reaction from certain people in our small town of River Bend, Indiana.
“Good to see you, too.” Her tone leaves no doubt seeing me is anything but good. “So, my hair? Can you fix it?”
Always the professional, Grandma turns on the charm. “Of course, go on inside and I’ll be right there.” Barbara hurries away to the beauty shop entrance. “She should be ashamed of herself, acting like that,” Grandma Dot grumbles.
“We’ve been through this before, it’s no big deal.” I climb into my front seat.
“Just the same, maybe I’ll turn her hair green to teach her a lesson.”
“Grandma, you’re horrible,” I giggle, happy our earlier tension has gone. “You go fix her hair and I’ll take the clothes.”
Grandma Dot hesitates. Another side effect of surviving kidnap and torture by a serial killer, is no one wants me to be alone. Hard to manage when I live by myself.
“Take Jet with you,” Grandma offers.
“Fine, but you worry too much.” She leans on down so I can kiss her on the cheek. “Good luck with her hair.”
“No worries, she’s done this before. Always trying to save a few pennies, then running to me for help. Go on, Jet. Keep a close eye on her.”
Grandma Dot closes my car door and watches as we pull out of the driveway. I don’t need my gift to sense her worry.
“What could happen?” I ask Jet. “We’re just going to a church.”
Jett yaps in answer and settles on my lap.
Mrs. Mott’s church sits a few miles outside of River Bend. Nestled on a back road, and surrounded by woods, the small white building has watched the world go by for over 100 years. Barely touched by progress, the church looks much as it did when built. It has a tall spire, with a lighted cross on top, and wide front steps leading to a landing and double doors. You don’t have to squint too hard to picture horses and buggies parked outside.
The sign by the road has been carefully hand-painted. “River Bend Church of God,” in large letters at the top. “Today is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it,” painted in smaller letters underneath.
The Lord did a great job making today. The sky is a glorious shade of blue, and the surrounding trees hold the last bright colors of fall. The sun pours from the sky, dancing on the gravel parking lot. The white church against the bright colors creates an idyllic scene.
My tires crunch on the parking lot. The lot is small, like the church, but well kept. There’s not a weed in sight and piles of fallen leaves hug the edges, raked there with care by some dedicated parishioner.
A large bin sits at the back of the lot, a cardboard sign taped to its side stating “Clothes Donations”. I pull alongside the bin, and let Jet out of the car. He scampers around, enjoying the unfamiliar smells.
I toss back the heavy plastic cover. It clangs against the metal bin, so loudly I jump. Previous donations nearly fill the bin. I toss bag after bag of Grandma’s clothes in. The last two bags pour over the top. I struggle to flip the lid closed, only to find it won’t shut completely. I rearrange the bags, trying to make them all fit.
I push on the lid, squishing the contents in frustration, but it’s too full.
“At least they have lots of donations,” I say to Jet.
Jet isn’t there to answer.
“Jet? Where’d you go?”
The dog is gone.
I stand alone in the parking lot, confused, fighting panic. If I lose Jet, Grandma will never forgive me.
“Jet?” I call again.
A tiny black blur rushes from the trees, white fabric in his mouth.
“What have you found now?” I try to sound angry, but I’m too relieved he came back.
What looks like a pair of cotton panties hang from his mouth. Maybe someone dropped them when they donated and they blew into the trees?
“Give me those,” I pull the panties from his mouth.
Even with my gloves on, the vision sizzles my mind.
Fear, pain, desperation.
I wasn’t ready for it, and I scream. My fear echoes through the trees, bounces off the church walls. I throw the panties to the ground in shock. I feel tainted and dirty. The watercolor beauty of the morning, so vivid a few moments ago, is now streaked with darkness.
My tattoo burns and buzzes the familiar command to do something.
I look towards the woods where Jet came from.
I don’t know what I will find, but I obey.
“Show me,” I command, and follow Jet into the woods.
Chapter 2
Gabby
This late in October, most of the leaves have fallen from the trees, but the woods are still thick with brambles. I push my way through them. A spider web clings to my hair and I swat it away.
Jet darts ahead and looks back, agitated. The buzzing in my arm grows stronger, as does my dread. A thick section of brush blocks my way and I move around it, scratching along. I trust God needs me out here for some reason, but all I can see is branches and tree trunks and brambles.
I close my eyes and listen.
Dry leaves rustle overhead. An irritated squirrel barks at my intrusion and runs off leaving quiet behind. Except the voice in my mind leading me.
I move to the left, following.
I step around a large tree and I see her.
The woman lies on her side facing away from me, half hidden under a fallen tree trunk. Her town nightgown glows bright against the darkened blood stains on her back.
Unable to look away, my eyes lock on the blood. Fear freezes me in place.
“Go,” the voice in my head commands.
Stepping carefully, I walk towards the body. Her long hair, braided in two blonde ropes lay tangled in leaves and twigs. The dirty braids upset me as much as the blood.
Plastic zip cables bind her hands behind her back, her wrists torn and red beneath.
Nausea washes over me and I want to run to escape the horror.
Swallowing hard, I step closer.
Curled on her side, wrapped in a tight ball, she seems so tiny, so exposed. My heart aches for the woman.
Jet sniffs curiously, looks expectant with his large puppy eyes. He shakes and whines, urging me to help. His adorable innocence a sharp contrast to the brutality before me.
I force another step, then another, and kneel next to her body. My knees crunch the leaves, the sound loud in the morning silence. This close to her, I can smell her blood. The metallic scent mixes with the earthy aroma of the woods.
I can’t bring myself to touch her. I’ve had visions of death before, and they scar.
My tattoo burns insistent, commanding me to touch.
Leaving my gloves on to dampen the contact, I slowly reach towards her shoulder.
An inch from her body, I snap my hand back.
“I don’t want to do it,” I plead to the sky. “I don’t want to see it.”
Tears burn my eyes and shame fills m
y heart.
The wind picks up suddenly, tossing leaves and dirt into the sky. It swirls around me, urging.
I obey.
My gloved hand trembles a breath-width from her shoulder.
I say my usual prayer, “Lord let me see what I need to see.”
I lean towards her and touch.
Addlynn Jeanette Claire Margaret
Nothing more, just the names.
I’d expected death, pain and fear. Baffled, I sit back on my heels.
Screwing up my courage, I touch again, my glove still on not brave enough for bare skin.
Addlynn Jeanette Claire Margaret. A shimmer of fear, a pulse of hope.
A little more this time, but nothing helpful.
Jet pushes against the woman with his nose and licks her face.
“Stop that. Leave the poor woman alone.”
He whines insistently, nudges closer to her.
“Jet, knock it off.” I push him away.
The unmistakable cry of an infant shatters through the woods.
Jet jumps back in surprise. Startled, I lose my balance and fall gracelessly to the dirt.
The baby cries again, snapping me to action.
On hands and knees, I scramble around the body, careful not to disturb her. She is curled into a tight ball, her knees nearly touching her chin. The cry comes from the small space against her chest.
The long nightgown fills the space, and it takes a moment of carefully moving the fabric to find him.
I lift the fabric off his face, and the tiny naked infant blinks up at me.
We lock eyes, both of us shocked to see the other.
He lets out another wail.
Carefully, I scoop him up. “Shh…,” I coo.
He screams again, louder, piercing.
“No,” the woman mutters, pulling her knees closer to her chest.
I nearly drop the baby in shock.
She’s alive.
I take off my jacket and wrap the baby against the cold. I sit the priceless bundle gently on the ground, and go to the woman.
Her thready pulse beats weak and erratic. Her face is pale, nearly blue. She’s barely breathing. Nearly imperceptible movements of her chest the only sign of life.
She looks dead. If I hadn’t seen her move her legs and heard her speak, I wouldn’t believe she was alive.
I sit crossed legged near the woman to offer some comfort, her child wrapped in my jacket on my lap. He’s quiet now, his silence more frightening than his crying.
Taking my cell phone from my pocket, I’m relieved to see I have service.
With shaking fingers, I call 9-1-1 for an ambulance.
Then I call Lucas. It’s all I know to do.
He picks up on the second ring. “Detective Hartley,” he answers cheerily. The sound of my friend’s voice breaks my thin cord of control.
“Lucas, she’s a-a-live,” I stutter. “I thought she was d-d-dead, but she’s not.”
“Gabby? Where are you?” He snaps to attention, the cheeriness replaced with his professional cop voice. “What’s going on?”
“I f-f-found her in the woods. And a b-baby,” my voice breaks into a sob.
“Slow down. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I….”
“Take a breath. Now slowly tell me. Where are you?”
I pull in air and hold it. Check the baby in my lap to make sure he’s still alive. The swirl in my mind settles a bit. “I’m at River Bend Church of God on County Road 43. I already called an ambulance.”
“Ok, good. What happened?”
“I was dropping off clothes for Grandma Dot, when Jet led me into the woods.” Not the whole truth, but I can’t explain about being “called” to the woods. “I found a woman. She’d obviously been stabbed, and I thought she was dead. Then I heard a baby crying and she was wrapped around him. I picked the baby up, and she m-m-moved.”
Lucas blows air in exasperation. “You get yourself into the craziest messes.”
“You are coming, right?” My voice high and desperate even to my own ears.
“Already on my way.” Lucas assures me. “Dustin and I will be there as soon as we can.”
“Dustin has to come?”
“Your brother is head detective, of course he has to come. Just hang tight. Help is on the way.”
“What should I do? Can I cover her up or something, she’s practically blue?”
“Don’t touch anything, just sit with her. The EMT’s should be there any minute.”
I shove my phone back in my pocket and peek at the baby again. He’s still breathing, but he’s limp in my arms. He’s still attached to his umbilical and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. Nothing I can do about it until medical help arrives.
“Not a great way to enter the world, is it, little one?” I whisper to him. “How did your mom get out here?”
The woman hasn’t moved again. When I look closely, I can see she’s still breathing, just a little. A little is better than none.
Her hands are still zip tied behind her back. I wish I had something to cut the ties with, to help her in some small way. Lucas said not to touch anything, so I wait.
Jet waits too, curls next to her, his head resting on his paws.
Now that I have time to look closely, she’s younger than I expected. Freckles dot her cheeks and nose. Her blond hair is pulled up into two French braids, tight and severe. She looks maybe 14 or 15, but no teenager would wear that plain long nightgown.
My heart nearly breaks watching her lay there in the dirt. I can’t imagine what she’s been through to end up stabbed, bound and nearly dead. Then to give birth alone in the woods. Her tiny frame and delicate features hide an inner strength of steel. Compared to her obvious bravery, I’m ashamed for my stuttering and loss of composure.
A clod of dirt clings to her pale cheek, a twig is wedged into her braid near her temple. Using my right hand, I gently brush the clod away. I tug at the twig and remove it from her hair. She’s not too many years younger than me, but I feel protective of her, want to shield her.
“Why didn’t you call me last night?” I yell at the sky. “I could have been here to help her.”
The sky is silent, but the ambulance sirens sing in the distance.
Jet whines quietly.
“Hang on. Help is nearly here,” I whisper near her ear. “You’ve made it this far, keep fighting.”
The sirens grow louder and I realize they won’t know where to find us this deep in the woods.
I climb to my feet with the wrapped baby in my arms. Jet jumps from where he was laying tucked against her side.
“Stay with her, Jet. I’ll be right back with help.”
Jet lies back down next to her, his large eyes watching me as I hurry to the church.
Chapter 3
Gabby
Ducking under branches and pushing through brush, I run towards the sirens. Branches pull my hair, snag my clothes. I run.
“Over here,” I yell to the medics climbing out of the ambulance. “She’s over here, in the woods about 100 yards.” I point them in the direction, frantic for them to hurry.
The medics jog into the woods carrying equipment and a stretcher. “Please save her,” I beg. “She’s been through so much already.”
The baby starts to cry, upset by my running and yelling.
“Is that the baby?” another medic asks. The question is obvious, but her tone is calm and soothing.
“Yes.” I shove the tiny bundle to her. “Help him.”
“Crying is a good sign,” she replies, and whisks him into the ambulance to work on.
I don’t know what to do, stay with the baby, or lead them to the woman. I take a step towards the woods, but the baby cries again and I spin and step towards the ambulance, then turn towards the woods again in a macabre dance of indecision.
Jet barks in the distance, leading them to her. “Follow the dog,” I yell. “He’s guarding her.” I silently thank God for the do
g and say a prayer for the woman and the baby.
The medics shout back that they found her.
Now that help is here, my body shakes violently.
Another ambulance arrives and the red and blue lights dance along the white clapboard walls of the church. The colors make my head spin.
I can’t catch my breath, can’t stop shaking. On unstable legs, I wander to the wide front steps of the church and sit down.
A medic from the second ambulance approaches, “Ma’am, just sit still and focus on your breathing.” His pleasant voice centers me. “You’re in shock. It will pass, I promise.”
He takes my pulse, checks my blood pressure.
“Don’t worry about me, just save them,” I beg.
“The woman and baby are already being attended to. You did an amazing thing here this morning.” More kind words and gentle ease.
He tries to put an O2 monitor on my fingertip. “You’ll need to take your glove off,” he points out.
I shove his hand away, “No, I’m fine now.” I tuck my hands under my arms, out of reach.
The medic cocks his head in question. His kind face fades into a professional mask. “Okay, have it your way.” He puts his equipment back into his bag. “You should be okay now. Do you have a ride home?”
“I’m waiting for the detectives.”
I lay back on the top landing, ending the conversation.
Clouds swim in the bright blue sky above. The beauty hurts my heart. A single flake of white paint peels from the church, flutters down to me in a lazy zigzag. The paint lands gently on my chest, it rises and falls as my breathing slows to a normal pace, nothing like the woman’s shallow nearly imperceptible breathing. I ponder the miracle that the woman and baby are both alive.
“You didn’t pass out, did you?” Detective Lucas Hartley teases, interrupting my musings.
I bolt upright, startled. Lucas and my brother Dustin stand at the bottom of the steps. Lucas has a smile, but Dustin wears his usual sour expression.
“No, I didn’t pass out. Just catching my breath,” I sass back.
“You want to tell us how you came to find this woman way back in the woods?” Dustin asks pointedly. Apparently my brother isn’t in the mood for small talk.
Message in the Fire Page 2