The Lost Orphans Omnibus: A Riveting Mystery

by J. S. Donovan

  Ethan kept his head bowed and walked by Rachel again. Rachel threw up her arms. “At least tell me where you are going.”

  “To Mallory,” Ethan replied coldly.

  Rachel gawked at the soaked Orphan. Mallory? Does he know she has the Gift?

  Seeing that this conversation wasn’t getting anywhere, Rachel hurried back to her vehicle.

  “What did he say?” Peak said, sounding skeptical.

  “We need to visit Mallory,” Rachel replied and hustled into her vehicle.

  “It’s moments like these where I miss solving cases the normal way.”

  On the way to Sunny Pines, Rachel gave Coroner Gates a call.

  “What did you forget?” he said at the start of the conversation.

  “Nothing, but when you do the autopsy, keep an eye out for belladonna berries.”

  “The Devil’s Cherries. Thanks for tip. Try not to have any more seizures.”

  “I’m not going to live that one down,” Rachel said, recalling last year’s Highlands Roper case when she used the Reality, the most powerful aspect of the Gift, which had left her seizing on the mortuary floor. Seeing the dead through their own eyes had long-lasting effects Rachel would rather live without.

  The drive to the orphanage was slow and tedious. Rachel found herself biting her nails every few minutes. The idea of having an Orphan look for another source of help should’ve been a relief. It made her nervous, instead, as if she was somehow losing control of the one thing that was solely hers: the Gift.

  Jealous of a kid, Rachel thought with a scoff. Get ahold of yourself, Rachel. Though the feeling wasn’t a light switch that could be toggled off.

  Peak pulled up behind Rachel. Together, they marched through the orphanage’s front door.

  “How weird is she?” Peak asked as they approached the receptionist desk.

  “Worse than me,” Rachel replied as she signed in her name on the guest list.

  “That’s unfortunate,” Peak replied.

  Rachel gave him a sidelong glance and then asked where to find Mallory Stix. The receptionist directed them to the yard and smiled widely. “You two looking to adopt?”

  Peak and Rachel traded a look and chuckled.

  As they marched toward the outdoor recreation area, Peak said, “After that doll you gave Clove last Christmas, I don’t think I need any more creepy things in my apartment.”

  “Cut the girl some slack, all right?”

  Peak crinkled his brows. “You called her weird. You’re the hypocrite.”

  Rachel ignored that. “Mallory is dealing with a lot right now.”

  “It was a joke, Harroway,” Peak said firmly.

  “Not a very funny one,” Rachel growled.

  Peak smiled.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “I’m imagining little Rachel Harroway and Mallory Stix solving local crimes.”

  Rachel shook her head and opened the door for him.

  Peak continued his charade. “Stix and Harroway: the case of the runaway Orphan.”

  “You’re really pushing it.”

  The yard had a basketball court at the center with two sets of flanking bleachers. Grassy areas offered room for play while painted picnic tables lingered under the shade of old oaks. The sun was quickly falling. Rachel found Mallory on the bleachers amidst a gaggle of other children between the ages of eight and thirteen.

  A ten-year-old boy on the heavier side and peppered with freckles towered over Mallory by six inches. “Why don’t you talk, freak?”

  A kid with a head shaped like an upright rectangle smiled sinisterly. “I heard the poisoner cut out her tongue.”

  “She talks,” a girl with pigtails remarked. “To herself.”

  A few of the kids snickered.

  The freckled fat boy laughed at Mallory. “You’re crazy. A crazy freak. I bet you killed those other abducted children.”

  “And poisoned the treats.”

  “You ruined Halloween for everyone,” a six-year-old girl complained.

  Mallory’s eyes glossed over. She hugged herself, keeping her mouth closed.

  The freckled fat boy shoved Mallory’s shoulder. “My friend died thanks to you.”

  Rachel felt a wave of anger splash over her. She pushed through the crowd and grabbed the freckled boy by the ear until he squealed like a pig.

  Peak unzipped his windbreaker and put his hands on his hips, showing the children the weapon and detective badge clipped to his belt. “Run,” he said calmly.

  Eyes widening, the children scattered, tripping over one another. Block Head took a tumble down the bleachers before bolting across the yard. Rachel leaned in close to the pink ear that she was pinching. “Apologize to Mallory.”

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, please, let go!” the boy squealed. Rachel released him and watched him run away.

  Peak zipped his windbreaker back up.

  Rachel knelt down to Mallory’s level. “Did they hurt you?”

  Gazing at her toes, the little girl shook her head.

  Rachel gave her a sympathetic smile. “Come on. We’ll talk inside.”

  They sat at a corner table in the mess hall. Peak returned with two Snickers bars from the vending machine.

  “One for now and one for later,” he told Mallory.

  Her face lit up with joy. She gobbled up the first bar in four big bites. When she finished, she eyed the second bar longingly but set it on the table before her.

  Mallory put her sights on Peak, looking deep within him. “Can you see them too?”

  The detective shook his head. “I’m not special enough to have the Gift.”

  “The Gift,” the girl whispered as if it were a sacred word.

  “Rachel never told you the name of it?” Peak asked. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.”

  “I was planning on it,” Rachel replied.

  With her big blue eyes, Mallory stared deep into Rachel’s soul in the way she always did. “I want to know more.”

  Rachel felt her gut knot. She had not planned on a teaching lesson today. Peak eyed Rachel, reveling in her torment.

  “All right,” Rachel said. “Well, there’s the Sense, as I told you about earlier. That’s the feeling you get when they are nearby, and when—”

  “I feel that.” Mallory adjusted her posture and looked out into the mess hall, empty apart from the three of them.

  Rachel focused on the environment. She didn’t feel anything. “Describe it to me.”

  Mallory continued scanning the open room spotted with lunch tables. “It’s like… tiny hands pulling at me, but I don’t see them. I can only feel them.”

  After the child finished speaking, Rachel felt the same sensation. It tugged at her shirt, directing her attention out near the dark hallway at the far corner of the room. How can she feel it before me?

  Mallory raised her pointer finger and extended it to the hallway. She whispered, “There.”

  Rachel didn’t see anything.

  “Listen,” Mallory whispered.

  A soft, wet patter. A footstep, maybe, followed by the grinding sound of brick on concrete.

  Peak tried to listen but heard nothing.

  Wet shoe prints appeared on the waxed and glossy floor. One after another, they made their way to Rachel’s table. The tile floor scraped in their wake—the effects of the invisible brick being dragged across the floor.

  The footsteps stopped a few feet away from the table, but the Orphan did not make himself known.

  “Do you know Ethan Sebring?” Rachel asked, not taking her eyes off the wet shoe prints.

  “Yes. He was a friend in Mr. Caro’s secret place,” Mallory explained, staring more intently at the boot prints than Rachel. “Is that him?”

  Rachel nodded.

  Water puddled on the floor, followed by droplets of black ink. One inch at a time, starting at his shoes, Ethan made himself known. He trembled, and toxic berry juice leaked out of his mouth. His cheeks were pale, with patches of red vei
ns like a thousand writhing worms. Fogged lens hid his eyes.

  Mallory slowly rose from her seat and walked to him with cautious steps. “Ethan?”

  The boy said nothing. More black juice trickled down his purple lip.

  “I missed you.” Mallory sniffled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

  She wrapped her arms around him, intent on giving him a friendly hug. Her arms brushed through, and she nearly collapsed to the ground. She corrected herself and stared into the eyes of her shaking friend. “Ethan?”

  Keeping his arms by his side and his face neutral, he said, “Find Mr. Caro.”

  “I will, but—”

  “Kill Mr. Caro.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “Find Mr. Caro. Kill Mr. Caro. Find Mr. Caro. Kill Mr. Caro!” His words became faster and more aggressive by the second until his shouting drowned out all other sound in the mess hall. Mallory winced and covered her ears. Having dealt with this many times before, Rachel kept a straight face. She approached the boy. “We will. Now shush.”

  Ethan quieted down. His face was stone.

  Mallory wiped a tear. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Most Orphans are fragments of their former selves. Some retain strong-enough emotions like sorrow or anger. Others become… distant. Their sole purpose is to find home or whatever world lies beyond this one,” explained Rachel.

  “But he is my friend.”

  “Not anymore.” Rachel laid down the hard truth. “Ethan Sebring is dead. All that remains is this husk that I can use to learn about his killer.”

  Ethan turned to Rachel. “Not you. Mallory will stop Mr. Caro.”

  “No,” Rachel said defiantly. “That’s unacceptable.”

  Ethan turned around and started heading for the hallway.

  Mallory reached out to him. “Wait! You can tell me!”

  The Orphan vanished and reappeared, facing the side of Mallory’s face. He whispered into her ear.

  With a look of seriousness on her little face, Mallory nodded and turned to Rachel. “He says Mr. Caro is going to attack again.”

  The words caused Peak to adjust his posture.

  Mallory continued. “He says it’s going to be bigger than ever before.”

  4

  This Is Your Home

  The child’s words hit Rachel and sent her spiraling back to Halloween night, where the words “Trick or Treat” were drowned out by cries of horror from countless parents. Guilt crushed Rachel. You couldn’t stop him. Not only that, the Poisoner spared you out of pity. All of the blood shed that night is on your hands. Rachel pushed out the cynical thoughts, knowing they would return late in the evening or on a quiet drive home. She needed to focus on what was to come. Whatever horrific disaster that might be.

  Peak intervened. “What is he telling you, Mallory? We need a direct translation, not summary.”

  Mallory absorbed Ethan’s whispers before addressing the detectives. “Mr. Caro wants to create a tragedy that no one will forget. Something that will linger in the throat like the aftertaste of a fine wine.”

  “Ask to him to describe Mr. Caro,” Rachel said, putting herself back into the conversation.

  “Jack-o’-lantern mask. Ethan says he never took it off. Not once,” Mallory said and listened to Ethan again. “He says that my death—sorry, Ethan’s death—was a warning of things to come.”

  “Is there anything about the wine cellar he can tell us about?” Rachel asked.

  “The girls are alive,” Mallory relayed. “They need to fight back if they want to survive.”

  Peak scoffed in frustration. “They won’t stand a chance.”

  Mallory continued speaking. “Ethan said that Mr. Caro doesn’t wash them, but he does give them nice food every day. Grapes, beets, grilled meat, and things like that to give them strength.”

  “And I was expecting the continental breakfast,” Peak said dryly. “Where can we find Mr. Caro?”

  Mallory turned to Rachel. “You can’t. Ethan says only I can.”

  The Orphan boy stepped away from Mallory.

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” Mallory asked with puppy-dog eyes.

  Saying nothing, Ethan dragged his cinder block across the mess hall and vanished into the dark shadow of the hall. Mallory’s shoulders slumped. She watched the hallway, hoping for her friend to return.

  “Why did he leave?” she asked Rachel.

  “I don’t know,” Rachel replied truthfully. “Orphans do unexplainable things.”

  “But there must be a reason,” Mallory replied.

  “If there is, I’m unaware of it.”

  Mallory’s face sank with a frown. “I wish I could understand.”

  Peak lifted from his seat. “You and me both. Came on, Harroway. We need to move.”

  Mallory moved her gaze between them. “What about me?”

  The dinner bell rang. A few of the caretakers entered the room.

  “I can help too. Ethan said you need me,” Mallory said with determination.

  Rachel took a knee before her. “Trust me. You don’t want to be a part of this.”

  “But—”

  “Stay out of trouble,” Rachel said and handed her a business card. “Call me if you need anything, or if Ethan stops by. I live in an old house not far from here, so I can make the drive over if you need to talk face-to-face.”

  Rachel thought that Mallory would give her lip. Instead, the girl said, “Yes, ma’am,” and shambled to a different table as the other living orphans flooded the hall for dinner.

  Rachel turned to leave but hesitated. She glared at the bullies a final time, watched them tuck their tails between their legs, and then exited.

  Peak walked beside Rachel to the cars. “You look exhausted. More so than usual.”

  “I feel like it too,” Rachel replied and pulled open her door.

  “Harroway,” Peak stopped a few feet from her.

  Rachel beat him to the punch. “I know what you’re going to say: she’s not my responsibility. I can’t save everyone.”

  “I was actually going ask if you wanted to pick up takeout before heading to the office. In regards to the girl, she needs serious help.”

  “Don’t we all?” Rachel joked.

  Peak pursed his lips, his face becoming very serious. “She needs guidance. She’s a child who has witnessed tragedy after tragedy.”

  “What am I supposed to do about that?” Rachel replied much more harshly than she had anticipated. “I can’t drop everything to be her mentor.”

  “The Gift will drive her mad if she doesn’t have the proper guidance,” said Peak.

  “That means a lot coming from the guy who believes I’m crazy,” Rachel replied sarcastically and lowered herself into the car seat.

  Peak grabbed the door to keep her from closing it. “If the existence of this girl’s… condition has taught me anything, it’s that there’s a lot I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think you’re crazy, Rachel Harroway. But that girl in there, she needs something solid in her life before her troubles consume her.”

  Rachel thought on his words. “Let’s focus on the case right now.”

  Peak studied her for a moment.

  “I’ll see you at the station,” he said curtly. “I’ll be expecting takeout.”

  “Then you’re going to be waiting a long time, buster,” Rachel replied and closed the door.

  It was nearly six when they got to the Highlands Police Department bullpen. A few officers took phone calls, while others typed up the day’s report. The out-of-state forensics team was still sorting through candy in a spare conference room they’d converted into a makeshift lab.

  To escape the noise, Rachel and Peak moved into the briefing room: a rectangular office space with the charm of a high school science class. Peak and Rachel sat in the front, under the shadow of the case board. There were crime-scene photos of all of the Poisoner’s victims, close-ups of the poisonous berries a
nd wine, the ancient Victorian-era-inspired house on Spring Street, and the list of aliases used by the Poisoner that were all names of deceased children from the sixties and seventies. There was also a picture of a half-eaten rat with some unmatched DNA.

  Peak set the greasy bag of fries and burgers on the table. It was the type of food that would give you heartburn, but oh, did it hurt so good. Rachel took a big bite of it, erasing the phantom taste of the Deadly Nightshade berries with savory cheese, crunchy lettuce, cold tomato, and a juicy patty lathered in ketchup, mustard, and mayo. It was the pick-me-up she needed after a long, stressful day.

  Lieutenant McConnell joined them after a moment. “Sorry, gang. Phone call. New mayor’s on my back, taking about our yearly fundraiser.”

  Peak spoke to him with a full mouth. “I imagine it will be a good year. Nothing like mass murder to turn the people’s attention to law enforcement.”

  McConnell scratched his long gray sideburns that were straight out of the 1970s. “That’s a cynical way of looking at it, but you are not wrong.” He walked to the table, put his hands on his bony hips, and looked at the crime scene photos. “How goes the investigation?”

  Rachel sipped Coca-Cola from a straw. It had been a long time she had a soda. She forgot how sweet it was. “We talked to Mallory Stix. She claims the Poisoner, whom she called Mr. Caro, is planning something big.”

  “Another attack?” McConnell asked with concern. “Can we trust the girl’s testimony?”

  Rachel and Peak exchanged looks. Peak replied, “I believe so.”

  “It’s all we have to go off of,” Rachel said. That and the spirit of Ethan Sebring. Rachel excluded that part.

  McConnell pinched the corner of Ethan Sebring’s picture from before he was a bloated corpse. “The boy might be a warning of things to come. Why else choose the pond Old Alfy fishes at weekly?”

  “I’m impressed,” Rachel said.

  McConnell smiled at her. “I may be an old fart, but I’ve been around long enough to know how things work. Did Mallory make mention of the other children?”

  “As of now, we believe they are alive. Mallory was temporarily held in a wine cellar before the Poisoner moved her to the abandoned house on Spring Street.”