Linx leaned in. “Let me tell you something, Mrs. Harroway, and then you can be on your way. Stay away from this. Whatever story you’re trying to write or mystery you’re trying to uncover. It is not worth it.”
Rachel watched him intently. “Why?”
Linx locked eyes with her. “It’s dangerous.”
“I know,” Rachel replied. “But the dead are restless, Mr. Linx. Justice has been denied for too long. Tell me what you know and let’s put an end to that danger.”
“What are you going to do with the information?” He said in the most condescending way possible.
“The right thing. Tell the police, have them arrest the murderers, and move on with my life,” Rachel said honestly.
“Honorable goals,” Linx admitted. “The men you’re dealing with don’t share the same ethics.”
Rachel crossed her arms. “I know it’s about the money and scare tactics. At this point, I could care less about their reaction or motivations. I want results.”
“I admire your courage,” Linx said with a faint smile. “So I’ll give you this: you’re on the right track.”
Rachel chuckled in her frustration. “That doesn’t get me anywhere. If you know something, say it.”
“By doing that I endanger my life and my practice,” Linx argued.
“You’re going to live with the guilt then?” Rachel asked. Her face flushed red.
Linx’s lip twitched. They were at a standstill for a moment. “If I tell you this, there’s no going back. If you’ve been asking around, there’s a chance you’ve already endangered yourself.”
“I’m aware.”
“Cocky is what you are,” Linx said.
Rachel smirked. “Possibly, but you haven’t thrown me out of the room so that means that part of you wants to talk.”
Linx separated his fingers and twisted his chair around. He began filling two scotch glasses. “We’re both going to regret this.”
“Not if it’s the right thing to do.”
Linx handed one of the glasses to Rachel. “Weeks prior to the murders, rumors circulated in town that Reginald had received multiple death threats, witnessed bricks being thrown his window, and had his tires slashed. I only knew about this because I represented a few of laborers Regi had fired unjustly. They’d talk a lot and invited me to sort of union meet they were having.
“I thought it’d be a good place to scout new clientele. I attended one evening, listened to their rants, networked with them, but when David Winsler got on stage, there was a shift in the atmosphere. What felt like work concerns turned to blind hated for Reginald. Winsler mentioned he’d do something about their problem. After the meeting, I saw him and Allen Umber talking lowly. The massacre happened soon after.”
“You really think it was them?” Rachel asked, wary of taking a sip.
“I had my concerns, but after that reporter was beaten bloody in her home, I knew they were involved somehow.”
“Why didn’t you contact the police?”
Linx frowned. “They came to me first, remembering me from the union-esc meeting and hired me to negotiate with other yard owners. I couldn’t say no, and remembering what happened those children, I didn’t want to say no. I helped them buy up the lumber yards from the bank and from those who re-purchased their properties from said bank. It was land grab through and through, and a lot of yard owners were too scared to deny selling. Unlike Reginald, Umber and Winsler allowed the previous owners to keep their company name and workers. They gave them management positions and healthy slice of the sales.
“During this time, I overheard them talking about burning down the Barnes house. Umber—always the more level headed of the two—said it would raise suspicion,” Linx finished his amber drink.
“You have hard evidence of this?” Rachel asked, feeling her heart race. Her freedom neared.
“I keep transcripts and audio recordings from all my client meetings. The audio clip about burning down the house should be in there. However, it’s been awhile since I dust off that old recorder. It’s hard to say how much survived.”
Rachel stood from her seat. “How soon can you deliver it to the police?”
“A week. Maybe two,” Linx replied. “It’s a lot of audio.”
I can last that long. Rachel felt to urge to dance, but stopped herself before looking like a fool. “Whatever you need from me. Whatever makes this easier, call me. Please,” Rachel said. “I know you don’t want to do this, but it’s right thing to do.”
“Heh, if someone told me this is how my day would go, I’d call them crazy.”
“I’m serious, Linx. I’m with you in this.” Rachel reaffirmed.
The lawyer shook his head. “I’m the one with the evidence. It’s me who has to deliver it.”
Rachel shook his hand. “Then I wish good luck.”
“Oh, and Rachel. If we’re wrong, the real killers will come after us.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Highlands is a small place. Word spreads quickly.”
Rachel smiled at him. “Then make sure we aren’t wrong.”
Linx raised his glass to that. “See, not all lawyers are evil.”
The Hadley House was a welcoming sight, even with the black clouds encroaching from its flank. Rachel parked the car and closed the door and that chapter of her life. That should be enough justice for the Orphans, she hoped. The courts will take care of the rest. Inside, Brett washed the dishes.
He didn’t hear her enter, so she tipped toed up behind him and constricted him with her arms. Brett twisted back, looking like he would strike her but then suddenly concerned. “Are you alright?” He asked.
Rachel nodded enthusiastically. Brett’s torso may have been damp from dishwater but that didn’t stop Rachel from pushing her body against his. She looked at his handsome rugged beard and disheveled onyx hair. “Let’s make something good tonight.”
Together, they unpacked their spaghetti noodles and rolled the meatballs. Rachel kept the topic of conversation on him and his work. She knew that the win was still on her mind and didn’t want to tell him everything. Not just yet.
The downpour began soon after they set the table. Strong winds smashed against the old walls and the house groaned in response. Fat and violently rain pelted the windows and pinged loudly against the rooftop. Lightening flashed on a nearby mountaintop. Rolls of thunder followed. It was Rachel’s type of romantic night.
“… After we got the tripods set up, the rest was history. I only wish my shorts didn’t need sowing.” Brett adjusted his glasses at the bridge of his nose. “How was your mother?”
Rachel stopped her noodle wrapped fork halfway between the plate and her mouth. “She’s… not who I thought she was. She taught me some things I never knew about myself.”
“Good,” Brett replied. His dark eyes looked particularly tired this evening behind his glasses and his dark hair was slightly disheveled. As the meal declined, he cleared his throat. “There’s something I want to talk to you about. I wanted to wait until after we finished eating before I went on.”
Rachel set aside her utensils. In the nearby hallway, she felt the presence of Amanda and Benny Barnes watching her just out of sight. “What is it?”
“I booked us on a cruise for next month,” Brett said with smile.
“Really?” A smile curled up Rachel’s face. “That’s… thanks, Brett. Truly.”
“Before we discuss more about that, there’s a few things I say and I want you to listen.”
“Are you blackmailing me?” Rachel joked.
Brett smirked. His tone suddenly changed to somberness. “You haven’t been the same these last few days. I reviewed the security footage and saw you sketching on our easel in a zombie-like state, and then I reviewed the sketches and… They were of the family that was murdered. But the dates on the footage were days before you started... investigating. I don’t get what is going on. Did you know about the murders before we moved in? Is tha
t why you’re acting so weird?”
Rachel scrambled for words but couldn’t find any.
“It scares me, Rachel,” Brett continued. “The long hours you’re away from home, the secrecy, it all adds to this fear that… that you aren’t yourself anymore. Or you are, and I just don’t know you as well as I thought.”
“I’m still me,” Rachel said, almost instantly doubting her. “And you do know me.”
Brett looked her intensely. “Then what’s happening? And I don’t want to hear that you're fine because that’s not true. Tell me the truth, Rachel. Please.”
“You wouldn’t like what I told you.”
Confusion swept over Brett’s face. It twisted to determination. “I’m ready.”
“I…” Rachel took a breath. The case is closed. I can lie to him. Once the Orphan’s leave in the next few weeks, life will be normal. Guilt hit Rachel like a train. “I want you to promise me that whatever I say stays between us.”
“Of course,” Brett replied.
Rachel thought for a moment about how she wanted to word this. “The family that was murdered here, I believe they're responsible for everything that has happened.”
Brett stared at her intently. “Like… ghosts?”
Rachel shifted in her seat. “Orphans. They’re lost. They need to find their way home.”
“Orphans?”
Rachel detested the way he looked at her. “I know it sounds crazy, but think about it. The break-ins, my mother’s shattered China, it all make sense, right?”
“I don’t know, Rachel. This is a lot to swallow.”
“It sounds wacky but if you saw the things I saw…” Rachel rose from her seat and ran to her purse.
Brett watched her from his seat, not saying anything.
Rachel return and tossed him her mother’s journal.
Gingelly, Brett opened it. His brow crinkled as she scanned over the pages.
“That’s my mother’s. She calls it the Gift. It’s the ability to see, to feel the dead. See,” Rachel pointed out the passage about the Sense.
Brett didn’t look up from the page. “Rachel. Half of this isn’t even in English.”
“I know, Brett.” Rachel said frustratingly. “I don’t have all the answers, but the stuff in there describes exactly what I’m going through.”
Brett closed the book and looked up at her. His face was stark white. “I think we need to go to the hospital.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“I believe you, but…”
“Either you believe more or you don’t.” Rachel took his hand into her own. “Brett, please. I’m your wife. Give me the benefit of the doubt here.”
Brett opened his mouth to speak.
THUNK, THUNK, THUNK.
Simultaneously, they turned to the front door. Rachel felt her skin crawl and sickening feeling form in her stomach.
THUNK, THUNK, THUNK.
They knocked again.
Brett stood from his seat.
Rachel grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t open the door.”
“Why?” Brett asked, sensing her concern.
“Trust me.”
Brett pried loose of her grip.
The doorknob jiggled. Brett approached the door. Rachel turned the kitchen and the knife rack within. Brett peaked out the window and to the porch.
“Brett, listen to me,” Rachel pleaded. “Back away from that door.”
Brett turned to his wife and then the door. Sighing, he placed the safety bar beneath the doorknob. He whispered to Rachel, “Who is that is guy?”
Rachel felt her skin being nagged on every direction. “The Barnes killer.”
There was a loud thump at the backdoor.
Brett paused for moment, unsure what to do. There was another loud thump.
“Upstairs,” Brett commanded. “And call the police.”
Rachel pulled knife from the rack and sped up the stairs. Brett followed behind. They reached the master bedroom and closed the door. Rachel booted up her laptop.
Glass shattered downstairs. Rachel opened the live feed for her security camera. A masked gunman crawled through a shattered front window. He wore a transparent poncho that dripped rain across the floor. In his hand was a black .45 caliber pistol.
“Oh my…” Brett said, watching the footage with wide eyes.
“This is the Highlands police department. Please state your emergency.” The operator said into Rachel’s ear.
“There are two gunmen in my house.”
One of the masked gunmen craned his neck up to the camera lens. He shouted to the other man who’d bashed through the backdoor. The second man turned around and rushed outside. After a moment, the power to the entire house cut out. Rachel and Brett turned to one another. The laptop screen illuminated their faces. All the cameras were dead.
Chapter Nine
The Storm
“Stay on the line. The police are on their way,” the operator said.
“How long?” Rachel asked.
“ETA. Six minutes.” The operated replied.
Holding the phone to her shoulder, Rachel turned to Brett. “If they get through that door, we’re dead.”
“What have you gotten us into, Rachel?” Brett withdrew the baseball bat from beneath the bed and tightened his hands around its grip. In the darkness, Rachel could only see his silhouette and ready club.
“We can’t fight later.” Rachel slid the knife into her belt. She clicked open the metal latches the window and heaved it upward. Wind and rain bombarded her. Water puddled at her feet and leaked through the floorboards.
“Go first,” Brett said, standing by the door’s flank.
Rachel nodded and climbed outside. The shingled incline took her by surprise. She caught the window frame to prevent from slipping off. The storm pulled at her, stronger than the persistent pulling of the Sense. She found grip on the house’s walls and made way for Brett who rushed the window.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Three gunshots blew through the metal door lock. Wide-eyed, Brett turned to Rachel. “Sorry.”
He grabbed ahold of the window and slammed it down, separating Brett and Rachel by the pane of glass. A boot kicked in the bedroom door. One of the gunman, a tall fellow donned in black and wearing a ski-mask and rain poncho, stood in its threshold.
Rachel pressed her back against the outer wall. She could her husband’s muffled voice as tears and rain raced down her face.
Brett dropped the baseball bat and back up to the window. “Listen, man. Whatever you think is going on, it’s just a big misunderstanding, alright? Put down the gun and let’s talk about this.”
Bang!
Blood splattered the inner window. Something heavy thumped inside. Rachel covered her mouth. Her hand trembled. She heard Brett’s muffled cries through the wall.
“Where is she?” The tall masked man asked.
“Screw you!” Brett yelled over his pain.
The window pulled open. Gun at the ready, the masked man peered outside. Raindrops snaked down his disposable poncho. He pointed the gun at the left ledge and the right and then down to the backyard. The tire swing danced violently in the wind, constantly wrapping and unwrapping its old rope.
“You run away and your husband dies,” the gunman yelled out into the darkness. He pulled his head back inside.
Rachel took a breath, she peered around the corner of the building and at the window. Rain blew into the house. The nearby shutters rattled. Rachel lowered herself to her bottom and slid down the roof, landing in the front yard with an “Oof!” Dirt stained her knees. She pushed herself up.
She stared at the Escalade and long road ahead. Trees waved. She twisted back, seeing the blooded Barnes family watching her from the porch. Despite the rain splashing the wall behind, they remained completely dry, barring their rose-shaped bullet holes that endless leaked blood down their pale bodies.
Rachel jogged to them. They glared at her from over porch’s railing. “Help
me,” Rachel begged.
The front door flung open from an unseen force. Rachel’s face sunk into pure horror. She staggered back. “You just gave me away.”
The Orphan’s looked at her expectantly.
A black handgun poked out the door frame followed by the shorter, stouter gunman. The wet and wooden porch creaked beneath his black tennis shoes. He exited to the porch, aiming his gun at the Barnes family but not seeing them. He walked across the porch, passing through Reginald Barnes and peering around the elbow of the porch. He turned back.
Rachel held her breath. The rain lashed at her. Her body trembled from free and cold. She heard the gunmen near. She pushed her back deeper into the pocket where steps and porch formed a corner.
The gunman marched across the porch, stopping right above Rachel’s head. Silently, she drew the kitchen knife from her belt and hid its glint in the muddy dirt.
Amanda and Benny Barnes bolted behind the Escalade and parked sedan. The gunman didn’t see them but he responded to their laughter. He cursed and marched down the steps, keeping the gun aimed at the road. Rachel, beside him, covered her mouth with her muddy hand, leaving a print on her face that the rain soon washed away. Her eyes found the back of the intruder’s ankle. She thought of Brett bleeding out upstairs and raised the knife.
The gunman scanned the driveway with his gun. He checked his watch. “Three minutes,” he mumbled.
Reminding herself of her disturbing art, Rachel extended knife through the handrail posts and braced herself for the gore. The muddy edge slashed across the back of the man’s ankle. The flesh opened like a filet of red meat. The man howled and tumbled forward, splashing into the mud. His gun discharged into the tree line. He rolled to his side and opened fire at Rachel. She dashed around the corner of the building, narrowly avoiding the deadly projectiles.
Without stopping, she ran around the back of the building, passed the busted power box and enter through the backdoor.
“We got to go!” The injured gunman yelled over the storm. “The police! They’re coming!”
The Haunting of Rachel Harroway: Book 0 Page 10