The Lost Orphans Omnibus: A Riveting Mystery

by J. S. Donovan

  Peak and Rachel sighed. In the corner of the room, Hannah, Roger, Yogi, and Clairease glared at Rachel.

  “The Orphans aren’t pleased with me,” Rachel said casually.

  “They’re pissed you didn’t get Kirk?”

  “Yeah,” Rachel said, looking at the Orphans. “I don’t get how we didn’t find him. We searched that mill up and down. Heck, we even smashed open the floorboards.”

  “There was a separate set of tire tread marks under the snow. He must’ve had a back-up vehicle. Saw us coming and booked it.”

  “But to leave his children behind… if you saw how he wept when Yogi died, you’d understand that this guy cared about his captives.”

  “He was a real saint.”

  “I never said that,” Rachel replied. “He is about as sick as they come and needs to be stopped. Otherwise, I’m going to be babysitting for a long time. Despite having all the time in the world, Orphans aren’t known for their patience. Remember the Roper case?”

  “Not fun,” Peak replied. “Why don’t you drink your smoothie thing that makes them go away?”

  Rachel thought on it. It would be nice to enjoy seventy-two hours of peace and quiet. Starting out the New Year with proper sleep and low stress levels was a goal she’d been failing to achieve since she learned about the Gift nearly a decade ago. “I might.”

  Peak checked his watch. “Liam has probably picked up Clove by now.”

  That was Peak’s way of saying he was ready to go.

  “Let’s take your new car,” Rachel suggested.

  Saying goodnight to the precinct’s skeleton crew, Rachel and Peak bounced down the steps of the department and to Peak’s new undercover Impala parked out front. It was identical to the last one, yet Peak looked like it was a Christmas morning miracle.

  He started the car up and warmed his hand on the dashboard heater. Rachel reclined in her seat and shut her eyes. She could see Father’s prisoners’ scarred bodies on the back of her eyelids. She couldn’t keep the image balled up inside. She pulled out her sketchbook and started drawing Father’s family. She spent extra time sketching Yogi: another Orphan added to her collection. The journal Peak had gotten her many months ago was already a third full with the amount of lost souls she had avenged. She planned to fill up the rest of the book before next New Year’s Eve.

  One hand on the steering wheel, Peak drove the seven and a half mile road to Hadley House. The swerving, single-lane street bridged society and the wild. Pine oaks and honeysuckle bushes that were covered in snow lined the side. The trek was quiet and welcoming. There was also something special about that final stretch to home, knowing she was minutes away from peace and rest.

  Peak glanced at Rachel’s disturbing artwork with fascination. Rachel tilted the sketchpad to give her a partner a better view. Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Yogi jump in front of the Impala.

  “Watch out!” Rachel screamed.

  Peak slammed on the brakes as the Orphan’s body bounced up the hood, smashed the windshield, and rolled over the top of the car’s hood. Brakes screeching, Peak’s new car came to a stop a few yards from an old pickup truck parked horizontally across the road.

  “Good eye,” Peak admitted, staring at the vehicle blocking the path. “That could’ve killed us both.”

  Rachel closed her eyes for a few seconds and reopened them to see the window of Peak’s car in perfect condition. She felt the Sense yanking her to the truck. “Something is not right about this, Peak.”

  “They’re parked in the middle road. Of course there’s something wrong.” Peak pulled his pistol out from under his seat, tossed aside the empty holster, and exited the Impala. Detective Jenson Peak bowed his head to fight against the icy wind and sharp snow. His copper brown hair and black tie flapped in the wind. Waves rippled across his windbreaker. With his square jaw tightly clenched, he approached the truck. The cab’s light cast an eerie yellow glow about the truck’s interior.

  The Sense hit her like a train. Every one of Rachel’s muscles cramped up simultaneously. She moaned in pain as tears blurred her vision. She balled her fists, trying to cope with the pain. There’s something evil here.

  She rolled down her window. “Peak, come back to the car.”

  Peak didn’t listen. He kept moving forward.

  Rachel pulled up the police radio. “This is Detective Harroway. We have a disabled vehicle blocking Oakland Drive. Requesting assistance.”

  “This is Dispatch. Sending an available officer your way.”

  Against her better instincts but not wanting to leave her friend behind, Rachel got out of the car. The wind forced her to take a step back. Blackness ruled the night. Not a star or hint of the moon could be seen. Big snowflakes twisted haphazardly all around Rachel. The only source of light came from the Impala’s high beams and the ominous truck’s cabin light.

  Raising his gun, Peak reached out for the truck’s door handle.

  Rachel’s body cramped again. “Jenson, get down!”

  Without question, Peak dropped prone as the .44 caliber revolver sounded like a cannon.

  Rachel hit the snow and looked around the sides of the road. She didn’t know where the shot originated. The Sense went wild, pulling from every direction.

  “You good?” Rachel yelled out to Peak.

  “I am.” Peak started to army crawl her way. “Get to the car.”

  He didn’t need to tell Rachel twice. Rachel stayed level with the snowy and ice-covered street. Her elbows and knees scraped against the cold pavement.

  The gunman shot again.

  Rachel put her face to the asphalt, still unable to pinpoint a direction. She upped her speed to the Impala. Peak crawled beside her.

  Boom!

  Peak cursed. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know!”

  They reach the Impala’s front tire. Peak’s lips parted when he saw what the gun had shot.

  Three of the four tires on his new Impala were deflated. Two of them were on the driver side. Rachel looked to the left. Her black hair flapped against her tired but attractive face as she scanned the tree lines for the shooter.

  A loud boom, and a muzzle flashed as the bullet cut through the air above Rachel’s crown. Covered in goose bumps, Rachel opened fire on that area of the woods. Peak copied. Together, they lit up the tree line and bushes with bullets. A branch fell away. A bush shimmed free of snow. Bark cracked. Nearly muted by the wind, someone grunted.

  Rachel and Peak quickly swapped magazines and headed for the woods. With each step, Rachel’s heart pounded faster and faster, like it was trying to burst out of her chest. Clear snot leaked from her runny nose and onto her chapped lips. Snowflakes pecked her and clung to her lashes.

  Frozen grass crunched under the detective’s steps as they moved into the Highlands’ endless sprawl of oaks. The road vanished behind them. Peak kept his mag light low, not wanting the shooter to see them. He pointed to the revolver shell casing and scarlet blood melting a hole in the snowy earth.

  Rachel and Peak followed the crimson trail that came to a sudden end in the middle of the woods. The footprints continued deeper before splitting in both directions. The killer was trying to confuse them. Trees bent in the heavy breeze. Some were four feet wide while others were only inches. Bushes ruffled. No animals were out tonight. Only predators. Rachel and Peak stood back to back, swaying their weapons back-and-forth with fingers on the trigger. Their footprints were quickly being filled by the endless barrage of snow. The large flakes seemed to create a haze over the world.

  Something moved in the darkness.

  Rachel tensed up, trying to control her breathing but failing miserably. Someone moved behind a tree to the right of her. Rachel kept her gun trained in that direction when she saw someone else move in her peripheral vision. Rachel twisted her waist and shot a hole in Roger Taft’s face. The Orphan kept walking forward, uninhibited as the new bullet hole below his eye filled in with a sort of supernatural mist.
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  Out of sight, the revolver thundered, narrowly missing the detectives. Firing a few rounds, Peak ran in that direction. Rachel followed. She hurdled over a dead tree and pushed against a decayed thorn bush.

  They turned to and fro, getting a trace on a few light footprints. Rachel and Peak reached a frozen creek where the footsteps ended. Peak leapt over it. Rachel mimicked. They marched deep into the woods.

  They reached a heavily wooded area with terrain that dipped and rose at random intervals.

  Peak whispered. “We’re going to get lost if we don’t find him soon.”

  Rachel kept her mouth shut. She took a few steps away from her partner, trying to see into the endless ocean of leafless trees. The snowfall worsened. So did the cold.

  Peak cocked his head, as if he heard something on his side. A few bushes danced in the gusts of wind. A shadow ran out of one, smacked Peak across the face, and returned into hiding.

  Rachel opened fire as the shadow dived through a bush and vanished from sight. Rachel ran to Jenson’s aid. In the shape of a revolver handle, a massive purple bruise swelled up the side of Peak’s face. Rachel shook his shoulder, trying to wake him up. It didn’t work. His neck vein pulsed against Rachel’s gloveless fingers. He was still alive, just unconscious. Rachel was alone in this fight.

  Rachel steadied herself. Her skin stuck to the icy metal of her gun like a tongue to a frozen lamppost. She checked her clip. Two thirds left. She glanced up just in time to see the hulking man charging at her. She went to fire her gun when he enveloped her waist with meaty arms and tackled her to the ground. Rachel gasped as snow puffed around her. The four-inch snow ate her gun after it flew from her grip. The silhouetted man sent his bear-like hand down on Rachel’s face. His class ring ruptured Rachel’s right cheek. She tasted copper in her loose teeth. “That was for my team.”

  The man went for another swing. “This is for my family.”

  Rachel put her own fist into his thick neck. He gagged. Rachel blindly grabbed her gun. With his heavy palm, Father locked Rachel’s pistol-wielding wrist to the ground. He lifted his own long chromatic revolver, but Rachel had enough flexibility to discharge a round at Father. Unable to aim, Rachel’s bullet scraped against the back of Father’s head, opening the skin and shearing a few brown/grey hairs.

  He howled in pain and pushed off Rachel. She rolled to her belly and fired a few rounds as the man zigzagged into the trees. Rachel forced herself to her feet. She almost fell backward. The cold amplified the pain that throbbed in her face. One eye shut, Rachel saw the man running between the trees. The falling snow soon masked him. Rachel twisted around, trying to guesstimate where he would run. Father still had one shot. Rachel had been counting.

  She felt eyes on her from every direction. She felt the Sense tugging at her jacket and yanking the scarf around her neck. Utter dread weakened her mind and body when she saw the silhouettes of five figures in five different locations, all masked by the heavy snowfall.

  Four of them were Orphans. One was Father.

  Rachel held her breath, having a split second to choose before Father’s final .44 round turned her brain to mush. Since the Orphans produced footprints, she couldn’t trust that method to determine Father. It was too dark to see any blood droplets. There was only one other way. Four of the fingers didn’t have breath, but the one running by a tree did.

  Rachel squeezed the trigger. Father toppled over. Gun up, Rachel charged him, seeing the massive hole in his leg that spilled nearly black blood onto the white snow.

  Frost in his goatee, Father cursed Rachel with his mouth full of yellow teeth and aimed his revolver. “I wanted to kill you slowly, you bi--”

  Rachel’s bullet sent the .44 caliber revolver and a few of Father’s fingers into the air. He howled and squeezed his maimed hand. Rachel aimed the gun at his forehead. He spat at her.

  “Do it!” Father shouted over his tears.

  Rage coursed through Rachel’s veins as she thought about the lives he had ruined, the lives he had taken, and the numbers he so delicately carved into the abducted children.

  With trembling hands, Rachel lowered her weapon. “You are under arrest for the murders of Yogi, Roger, and Hannah Taft, multiple assault charges, and multiple kidnappings.”

  Rachel pulled out her cuffs. “You have the right to remain silent.”

  “Just kill me,” Father barked.

  With a swinging motion, Rachel clipped his good wrist with the cuffs. “If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you.”

  “You weak whore! Come on! Finish this!” he spat out.

  Rachel slammed his hand down and locked the other half onto a root rising and returning to the dirt. “You have the right to an attorney. If you desire an attorney and cannot afford one, an attorney will be obtained for you before police questioning.”

  “No!” The man thrashed, but the pain from his injured leg, hand, and grazed head prevented him from wiggling too much. “Don’t you leave me here! Listen to your father!”

  “Stay warm,” Rachel told Kirk Heineken and went to find Peak.

  She slung Jenson’s arm around her shoulder and lifted him. Halfway to the road, he blinked awake.

  “What happened to your face?” he asked immediately.

  “Shut up and walk.”

  Following the squad car’s red and blue lights, they reached the road. Officer Jones mumbled the Lord’s name and ran to assist Rachel.

  “Medical is on the way.”

  “She needs it,” Jenson said with a smile.

  Rachel punched him in the arm and turned her attention to Jones. “Heineken’s in the woods. We need to get him before he freezes to death.”

  And, by some miracle, the EMTs were able to save Kirk Heineken. They patched up Rachel’s and Peak’s faces on the spot.

  “Sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” An EMT asked with concern.

  “You crazy? It’s New Year’s Eve,” Rachel said.

  After the tow truck dragged away Peak’s new Impala, Liam picked them up and took them back to Hadley.

  “We can reschedule, if you wish,” Liam said as they pulled up in front of the two-story, four-bedroom, three-bathroom, pale-green Hadley House. Snow piled on the roof. Leafless trees waved.

  Rachel blinked away her dizziness. “I paid four bucks for that gas station eggnog. I’m not letting it go to waste.”

  “Agreed,” Peak said.

  Liam chuckled nervously. “Alrighty then.”

  Rachel and Peak shambled into the old house. The Christmas tree was silhouetted in the window alongside five-year-old Clove.

  The Tafts watched Rachel enter her home. Without a word, they walked off into the snowstorm and onto the next world.

  Case closed.

  After the Ball dropped in NYC, Peak passed out on the couch. Clove nestled in next to him. Liam crashed in one of the guest bedrooms. Rachel checked the locks and hiked the stairs to her room. She pulled on her long johns, winter sleeping cap, and gloves before flopping on the king bed in the master bedroom. She kept her Glock under her ex-husband’s pillow and drifted to sleep.

  It was a quiet night until she got the call at 3am.

  It was Lieutenant McConnell’s personal line.

  “Ello?” Rachel answered with a cracked voice.

  “Rachel, sorry to wake you.”

  “Too late,” Rachel sat up and pulled on her beaded lamp string. The light hit her like an expected jab.

  “There’s a multiple homicide. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

  Rachel smirked.

  “What?”

  “Just another day in the office.”

  Or was it?

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story!

  Writing has always been a passion of mine and it’s incredibly gratifying and rewarding whenever you give me an opportunity to let you escape from your everyday surroundings and entertain the world that is your im
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  The Lost Orphans: Book 1

  1

  Ashton

  It was one of the colder autumn nights in Highlands, North Carolina. The half moon hung in the star-speckled sky. Red, orange, and yellow leaves, torn from skeletal branches, fluttered on the wind and swirled through the inky blackness. They landed and dragged across the long ascending driveway to Mallory’s house. Like many homes in the small but profitable town, the house had wonderful log-home architecture and boasted an expansive view of the surrounding Appalachian Mountains, which were set ablaze by October-touched trees.

  In the upstairs room, eight-year-old Mallory Stix sat crossed-legged on her bed and stared deeply into the jack-o’-lantern’s ominous triangular eyes. The pumpkin was a plastic globe placed over another child’s head. His name was Ashton. He wore little jean overalls with a yellow-and-red plaid shirt and cute leather farming boots. He sat crossed-legged as well, with his cold, clammy hands resting on Mallory’s little palms. Both kept their hands suspended out in front of them, and neither one of them moved.

  A smile cracked Mallory’s angular face as she tried to keep her hands steady. She had long brown hair and a fake tiara to match her flowing pink dress. Though Halloween was days away, Mallory couldn’t change out of her princess outfit even if she tried, which she did, but nothing she owned was as adorable.