Full Tilt

by Rick Mofina

  “How are you holding up, Kate?” Sanner asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m numb. I just need to focus on my story, update it and get it filed after we get to the scene.”

  It was a half-hour drive to the state forest gate. From there it took another thirty minutes, following the trail marked by fluorescent tags conservation officers had put up to guide the press.

  “Much of this area’s inaccessible,” Sanner said as they cut through the thick forest and stretches of fields, peat bog, streams, thickets and wetland. “A birder’s paradise.”

  A number of news trucks had already arrived at the scene before them. Klassen County deputies were directing press to the site, which was accessible by foot.

  The sounds of breezes fingering through trees carrying birdsong gave the site a funereal air. The scene was small, with a clean, hollowed-out hole in the earth. The excavated and sifted soil was piled neatly next to it. Other news crews worked quietly, respectfully around the scene, recording it from different angles.

  Sanner took a number of shots as Kate made notes.

  No one spoke. There was little to say, until Sanner took Kate aside.

  “I’m going up in a charter with a Minneapolis TV station to get aerial shots. I can drop you at the motel, or leave you here to get a ride back.”

  “Leave me, Lund. I’ll write my story here and catch up with you at the motel.”

  Before Sanner left, he showed Kate a shot he had taken of her. It was a head and shoulders of her at the press conference, a beautiful crisp shot that captured the anguish written in her face as she studied the enlarged photo of Vanessa.

  “You’re part of the story, Kate. New York was watching the live coverage and asked me to get that shot. Sorry.”

  Kate understood.

  After Sanner left she walked farther into the woods, found a private spot on lush grass in the shade of a tree and took out her laptop. Her fingers were shaking as she held them over the keypad. She bit back on her emotions and forced herself into her zone to write fast, clean copy.

  After proofing, then filing her story to New York, she sat motionless, listening to the birds, trying hard not to think, for if she thought about it all, she knew she’d crack and break. She didn’t know how much time had passed before her phone rang.

  “How are you doing, Kate?” asked Chuck.

  “The best I can,” she responded.

  “I can’t imagine how hard this must be. We’re all praying for your sister.”

  “Thank you, Chuck.”

  “Outstanding work. Every Newslead subscriber wants your story. Every competitor wants to interview you. You’re cleared by HQ to grant interviews, if you’re up to it.”

  “Not yet, I’m still a bit shaky.”

  “Whatever you want to do on that front is fine, especially if you think it will help find your sister. We’ve got the Tulsa bureau talking to the family of Brittany Ellen Sykes. I’ve told them to ask about links to your sister, but you know from your experience what the chances are.”

  “Yes, thanks, Chuck.”

  “Our thoughts are with you. I hope like hell they catch the bastard soon. Safe travels home.”

  Kate got to her feet and walked back to the scene.

  With each step she embraced the fact her sister was here. Across time, across the continent, against all hope, Vanessa had survived and was here! And she was alive!

  The realization jolted her back to the icy mountain river, feeling Vanessa’s little hand as it slipped from hers. Now, by the grace of God, Kate felt it inching closer, inching back, giving her a second chance to seize Vanessa and never let go.

  CHAPTER 54

  Hennepin County, Minnesota

  The large property stood alone on the edge of a new subdivision.

  A rusting metal fence protected several dozen wrecks in one corner. Next to it, there was an oversize garage and a big house. Trees and bramble lined the acreage. The nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away.

  At one time, this was a rural auto salvage business. A few years after the owner died, it was rented to a numbered company, controlled, through a complex network of shell companies, by Sorin Zurrn.

  Now dust rose in the wake of Zurrn’s pickup truck as it cut along the dirt road that twisted across the rutted fields. He savored the isolation as he parked the truck at the rear of the house and hoisted two bags of groceries from the cab.

  Inside he pulled out a wrapped chicken sandwich, a bag of potato chips, an apple and a bottle of water. He whistled as he trotted down the creaky basement stairs. In the faint light he went to a dank, cinder-block room that was about eight square feet. It was sealed with a reinforced steel-mesh door that was secured with a lock.

  As he approached, something inside moved.

  “Give me your bucket,” Zurrn said.

  He unlocked a smaller door within the main one and the woman inside passed Zurrn a metal waste bucket. Its contents made a liquid swishing sound. He emptied it in the floor drain, then uncoiled a hose, washed the contents down and rinsed the bucket before returning it to the cell.

  He was still holding the hose.

  “Look at you!” he said. “Get those clothes off, time to shower!”

  The woman removed her soiled clothes. Zurrn unlocked and opened the steel mesh door. As he sprayed her naked body with the hose, water gurgled out the slat of the sloped floor and snaked to the drain. He passed her soap and shampoo. She immediately washed herself, as if this was a ritual. Zurrn rinsed her, then tossed her a towel and dry clothes. As she dressed he set her food inside, then shut the door, hard.

  It rattled, shaking cinder blocks around the door frame.

  He locked the door and tossed the hose aside, leaned against the cage-like front of the cell and watched her eat.

  Still a glorious specimen.

  “We’re only staying here for a little while before we move on,” he said. “You’ll love the new place. It’s breathtaking. Like you.” His fingers traced the steel mesh as he watched the woman for a long moment. “Well,” he said, “excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Zurrn went outside to the large garage, unlocked the side entrance door and entered. The air was heavy with smells of rubber, oil and gas. A dozen vehicles—cars, official-looking service trucks and vans—were partially covered with tarpaulins. The van he’d bought in Utica, New York, was among them. The storage shelves lining one wall held an array of tools, equipment, new computer and IT components stacked in unopened boxes. Another area contained racks of clothing and uniforms of all types. It resembled the wardrobe department of a film production company.

  Over the years, he’d established several properties like this across the country. His “depots,” he called them. Satisfied that he had enough resources to be anyone he needed to be or make any key adjustments he needed to continue his collection work, he returned to the house.

  He had converted the dining room to his war room by placing a large table in the center. He leaned over it to study the pictures, maps and property records of the new Palace of Supreme Perfection that awaited him on a remote and vast expanse of land. Admiring the detail and effort he’d invested over the years, Zurrn closed his eyes and inhaled the dream that was within his grasp.

  Then he sat in a musty sofa chair, kept perfectly still and contemplated his situation. He considered the news stories and that reporter. Kate Page, prattling on. “My sister, my sister.” Kate Page is a brainless moth blindly flicking about in my brilliance, an annoyance of no consequence. Like the police, she’d never know the truth. Nobody would, because it no longer existed. Haven’t I established my superiority? Soon, I’ll assume my rightful place among the immortals, like Jack the Ripper and the Zodiac.

  They’ll revere me throughout the ages.

  Zurrn shifted his thou
ghts.

  Recently he’d made some difficult choices on which specimens to terminate and which to keep as he rebuilt his collection. With a heavy heart he went to one of his laptops and replayed a video—a video he’d shared with a very select group who appreciated his art.

  Oh, those expressive eyes, the sheer terror, evocative of my butterflies fluttering themselves to death in the kill jar. My pretty things, you make me tingle all over.

  But it was all for the best. He needed to collect fresh specimens.

  Time for a treat, a little reward.

  Time for Jenn to send Ashley a text.

  Hey bestie what’s up?

  Nothing. What’s up with you?

  I’m in Minnesota.

  OMFG NO WAY SERIOUSLY?!?!

  With my parents visiting kin in the country near Twin Cities.

  OMG so close!

  We have to meet at the mall real soon!

  OMG YES!!!

  Okay I’ll let you know deets tomorrow!

  YES PLEASE!!!

  Then we can really talk. Will you be there?

  Easy. I’ll get away! OMG OMG YEAH!!!

  CHAPTER 55

  Bloomington, Minnesota

  I have a weird question lol don’t judge. Have you ever kissed a dead person?

  Why would she ask that?

  The next morning, Ashley Ostermelle was confused. Was Jenn joking?

  Um, no?? Have you??

  My grandma died 4 days ago. They made me kiss her corpse at the wake. It was nasty.

  Aw sorry to hear that.

  She was sick. It’s why we came to Minnesota. I meant to tell you.

  But that’s really sad, I feel bad.

  Thanks. I didn’t really know her.

  Still sad.

  Mom needs a funeral dress we’ll be at the mall at noon. We can finally meet in person!!

  Yes!

  Meet you at the Apple Store at noon.

  Ashley’s plan was to go to the school nurse, tell her she was sick and needed to go home. They’d call her mom, but no one would be home to check on her. Then she’d head to the mall. If she got caught she’d say she was getting Mom a present for her birthday, which was next month.

  That would lessen any punishment.

  Ashley knew how to work the system.

  By midmorning it had all worked smoothly. Upon leaving her school, she hopped a bus to the mall.

  Riding across the city, she grew excited. She’d snuck off to the mall a couple times before with friends, but this was different. She was adventuring on her own, to meet a friend with whom she’d bonded.

  Jenn knew way more about boys than she did and Ashley ached to get her advice on Nick and other stuff. Jenn had tried drugs, gotten drunk and done other things—like kissed a dead person—while Ashley lived her boring little suburban life in Edina, home of the walking dead.

  Just shoot me.

  * * *

  A little over an hour after she’d left school Ashley was in the Mall of America standing outside the Apple Store.

  It was 12:10 p.m. and she sent Jenn a message.

  I’m here. Where are you?

  As the minutes passed Ashley studied the streams of shoppers, looking for one who resembled the picture Jenn had sent of herself.

  She was so pretty.

  Bad news, was the response.

  Thinking she’d been stood up, Ashley’s heart sank.

  What’s up? Are you coming?

  Mom made me wait in the car in the parking lot with my sick aunt.

  Okay, I’ll wait for you.

  Mom may get her dress and then we’ll leave, sorry.

  Oh.

  Everyone’s still sad about Grandma’s death.

  I understand.

  You could come to the car & we could talk?

  Ashley hesitated.

  Parking garages were kind of creepy. In the time she took to think, Jenn sent another message.

  This could be our only chance to meet, Ash.

  Ashley caught her bottom lip between her teeth. It made sense and since she’d already cut classes and come this far.

  Okay, where are you?

  West lot. P4 West Arizona level. I can see the main door.

  See you soon.

  Ashley consulted the mall’s maps and cut across the mammoth complex to the doors to P4 West Arizona. The cool, cement-like smell hit her when she left the mall for the parking lot. Waiting in the garage at the doors, she sent Jenn a message. Few other people were around.

  OK. I’m here.

  I think I see you, what are you wearing?

  A yellow top and pink jacket.

  I’ll tap the horn and flash the lights.

  Ashley stared out at the lake of cars and vans.

  A horn sounded, lights flashed, drawing her to a white SUV.

  I see you!

  I’ll leave the passenger door open for you.

  Ashley was nervous walking to Jenn’s car. There were so many creeps but she told herself it was okay. She knew Jenn. They’d had many deep conversations. They were best friends and Ashley was excited about meeting.

  I need to talk to her!

  As Ashley approached the SUV’s open door she was hopeful that Jenn would get out so she wouldn’t be forced to talk in front of her aunt. That would be weird. Ashley glanced around.

  The SUV was parked between a van and pickup truck. She inched toward the open door and gasped when she looked inside.

  An ugly old woman was behind the wheel. Her arm shot out with the speed of a cobra, seized Ashley’s jacket and yanked her into the vehicle.

  A damp cloth covered Ashley’s face, smothering weak cries until her eyes rolled back and everything went dark.

  CHAPTER 56

  Hennepin County, Minnesota

  The woman in the basement cell couldn’t stop trembling in her cold, wet prison, shaking at the horrors she’d witnessed and the horrors to come.

  I watched Brittany die. I saw them all die. I saw what he did.

  Tears rolled down her face.

  He’s going to kill me next. He’s killed all the others. I’m the last one.

  She’d welcome death, because for most of her waking moments she felt like she already was dead. Years of captivity had shredded her sanity—her life was a never-ending nightmare. She couldn’t go on. But each day a small voice rose from a buried corner of her heart urging her not to give up. It was a positive force reaching into her darkness to save her, imploring her to keep fighting. She had to keep fighting.

  You’re the only one left. You have to live to tell the world what he did.

  Brushing at her tears, she searched the floor until she found her rusted nail, stood and resumed scraping it against the stone wall. He had called her his prettiest one, his favorite, and promised that he’d keep her forever. But she’d learned never to believe anything he said.

  He was a liar.

  He had always called her Eve, but deep inside at the core of her being, she’d never accepted that name. She had other names.

  She scraped and scratched.

  I am Tara Dawn Mae. My name used to be—

  She stopped to remember her other name before Tara Dawn.

  Next, she scratched a V into the wall.

  It’s Vanessa.

  This is how she’d survived each day, by clinging to the faraway lives that she’d once lived. On the edges of her memory she remembered people calling her Vanessa. Those were the happiest times. She felt the purest, strongest kind of love. A bond she felt would never, ever, be broken. She remembered having a mom, a dad, a big sister, then came a sudden sadness and visits with relatives and stranger
s.

  Those memories were like distant stars.

  Those memories ended in violent, watery darkness.

  Her next life began when she was rescued on a riverbank by her new mother and father. Her memories of that time were clouded. She recalled asking questions about her foster parents and her sister, then crying and crying, as the Maes told her that her life had changed, that God had wanted them to rescue her and be her new mother and father.

  They’d taken her to live with them on their farm, where they called her Tara Dawn. She had a dog, kittens and she played with horses. She recalled the eternal flatland and the big sky, going to school and learning. Her new mother and father had given her a new life before Carl took her away.

  Back then, he’d called himself Jerome before he changed his name to Carl. He made her tell him everything about her life. She was only eleven years old, but he’d forced her to tell him everything she could remember. Then he’d told her that he’d been sent by a secret government agency to save her from evil people who were planning to kill her, like they’d killed her parents and big sister in the car crash. He said that for her own safety he’d have to change her name and keep her hidden away because evil agents would be looking for them. Then one day he showed her some kind of papers that he claimed were official court documents and said, “You belong to me now.”