They arrived in town and pulled to a spot in front of a quaint suburban home. Two cars were parked in the driveway. At least someone will answer the door, but will it be Dr. Louise? After taking a few moments to shake off any remaining dust, the three of them headed to the front door.
Peak spoke out of the side of his mouth. “This is a conversation better for adults.”
“You want me to leave her in the car?” Rachel argued.
“Do what you will,” Peak replied and pressed the doorbell. The chime sounded through the wall. Wearing a sweater vest and reticular-rim glasses, an African-American man answered.
Rachel and Peak flashed their badges. “Dr. Louise?”
“I’m he,” the man replied with a confused smile that only worsened when he looked at the little girl. “Might I ask what this is about?”
“Your son. Martin Malone.”
“Oh,” the man said, years of hurt bubbling up under his soft complexion. “Please come in. I hope you don’t mind taking off your shoes. It’s a house rule.”
“Not a problem,” Rachel replied, secretly glad that she could let her feet breathe again.
Dr. Louise smiled down at Mallory. “And who might you be?”
“Mallory,” the child replied politely.
“It’s Bring Your Daughter to Work Day,” Peak said as he removed his tennis shoes.
“I didn’t know investigators did that type of thing,” Louise replied.
Rachel cracked a smile. “We’re not your typical investigators.”
Louise invited them into the living room, a nice homey place with a fireplace and a number of Thanksgiving ornaments on the mantelpiece. He offered the detectives pastries and coffee. As tempted as Rachel was to accept, eating food from the father of the Poisoner seemed like a foolish idea. Peak, Rachel, and Mallory sat on the couch. The smell of cinnamon, pumpkin, and other autumn spices filled the house. Much of the furnishings were orange, white, or leather. The walls had a white hue. Rachel soaked in the cozy atmosphere. If she had time, it would be a wonderful day for a bubble bath.
A cute, short woman with greying blond hair and wearing a suit vest, white shirt, and slacks joined them from the kitchen. Dr. Louise claimed the rocker next to hers. The two of them held hands.
“I have to admit, Detectives,” Tammy Louise said, “it’s been a long while since I heard my Martin’s name.”
“You two aren’t in contact with him?” Rachel asked, pulling out her sketchpad and flipping to a blank page.
“Not for many years,” Adrian explained. “We’ve tried to reach out on many occasions, but… Martin, he’s on his own.”
Tammy’s eyes watered. “We’re clueless as to where he lives or what he does. He could’ve changed his name for all we know, or started a family.”
Peak leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and touched his fingertips to make a pyramid. “When was the last time you spoke to him? Do you remember the specific date?”
Giving his spouse’s hand a quick squeeze, Adrian said, “A few weeks after his eighteenth birthday. That was 1990.”
Rachel jotted down the note and added up the math in her head. Martin Malone was currently 46 years of age. “He only lived with you for five years.”
“Correct,” Adrian said.
“Tell us about his childhood.”
Tammy picked up a tissue box and wiped her eye. “Honey, would you?”
“Of course, dear.” Adrian let go of his wife’s hand. “He was thirteen when we adopted him from Woodhall. We were aware that he came from a tragic background, but both Tammy and I came from a rough upbringing. We wanted to right the wrong by helping out such a child in need. Martin, he was so perfect. He had so much potential.”
“How so?” Peak asked.
“The boy was grades above his peers in science and agriculture. He had this fixation with plants and trees. I can’t quite describe it, but it was like every day out in nature was a blessing in Martin’s eyes, and the world was big and full of wonder.”
Tammy blew her nose.
“What changed?” Rachel asked softly.
“Nothing,” Adrian said. “We just didn’t know how much the trauma had affected him until a few weeks after he moved in.”
Peak and Rachel exchanged looks.
Tammy spoke up. “Those first three weeks were so perfect. He was so loving.”
“And then?” Peak asked.
Adrian sighed. “We found him sleeping in the attic or under his bed. Sometimes he’d spend all day in those places. We tried to call him out, but he would get angry. Saying he hated us and that this was his home—referring to the dark places where he hid. We took him to a specialist, but that only made things worse. Martin was a very manipulative child; he even convinced his therapist that we were mistreating him. We sent him to another specialist. He was always able to charm them. It got to the point where we didn’t know when what Martin said was a lie or truth.”
Tammy put aside the tissue box but clenched a few tissues in her hand. She sniffled. “When he was fourteen, we learned that he poisoned another child at school.”
“Fed him toxic berries,” Adrian elaborated. “The other boy was hospitalized for days. The parents didn’t press charges after Martin apologized to them, saying they were only playing. The other boy vouched for Martin, though his confession felt forced.”
Tammy said, “Embarrassed, we had him change schools. Martin fit in quite well at the new high school.”
“He became popular and joined a lot of clubs,” Adrian explained with fatherly pride. “I swear he brought home a different girl every few weeks. We heard from his teachers that he got a reputation as quite the player. That’s rare for a bookworm, though Martin did have charm.”
“At home, he’d spend his nights drooling over textbooks, sleeping in the corner or under the bed. Sometimes in the attic, where he wrote the words, This is your home.”
“What kind of textbooks did he read?” Peak asked.
“All things botany,” Adrian explained. “His love for plants never waned. He would bring home bushels of different plants and spices. We sat him down and gave him the marijuana talk, but he was never that type of kid. He liked having a level head. Took pride in sobriety. The friends he hung out with... they were a different story.”
“How familiar is he with Atropa belladonna?” Peak inquired.
The couple exchanged looks. “We can’t say. Is that a plant?”
“Deadly nightshade. Its berries are nicknamed the Devil’s Cherries.”
Tammy gasped. “That’s… that’s what he gave the boy to make him sick.”
Peak was right. Martin was a creature of habit.
Adrian shifted in his rocker. “You never told us why you came here. Has Martin done something wrong?”
Peak ignored the question. “After the poisoning with the boy, was there ever a time after that you suspected Martin hurt someone?”
Tammy’s face pruned up as if she was about to cry again. “Jessie Coleman. She… she drank a mason jar full of toxic herbs and berries. Drowned in her own vomit.”
“And you suspect Martin.”
Adrian stopped rocking. “Answer my question first, Detectives. What has my son gotten himself into?”
Tammy wept, turning ugly in her tears. “Only Martin could’ve made such a concoction. He was able to trick the cops into thinking he was innocent, but I know Martin. I know what he was capable of.”
Adrian burst from the chair and planted his feet firmly on the floor. “I need an answer, Detectives!”
Mallory turned her ocean-blue eyes at him, seemingly looking right into his soul. “He killed my mother and my friends.”
Adrian’s jaw dropped.
Rachel hated this part. “We believe that your son is responsible for the Highlands Halloween Massacre.”
Adrian sank back into his chair. Tammy’s lip quivered, but she said nothing.
“But…” Adrian said in disbelief. “How… Why? Those
were children that he…”
“I can’t tell you why,” Rachel said honestly. “But I know that if he’s not found, more people will get hurt.”
Peak set his jaw for a moment then asked, “Are you sure you don’t know where to find him?”
The distraught couple shook their heads and mumbled. Tammy stood from her seat. Her legs wobbled. She stood over Mallory. “I’m sorry, child.”
Mallory leaned forward and gave the woman a hug. “I forgive you.”
The woman wailed.
Peak and Rachel traded a look, and both got up. They gave their card to Adrian. Rachel patted him on the shoulder. “Call us if you can tell us anything more.”
“That’s it then?” Adrian asked, looking forward.
“There is one last thing. Do you happen to know where Jessie Coleman was buried?”
It was noon when they arrived at the graveyard. The place was clean and quiet, with rolling green grass and headstones visible far in the distance. A handful of stranded Orphans walked amidst the tombstones. Mallory grabbed ahold of Rachel’s pant leg.
“These ones won’t hurt you,” Rachel said, trusting the Sense. It was refreshing to find a place where the dead were not so hostile. That was how it used to be. How it should be. Rachel’s job was thankless enough—she didn’t need any more fake-out deaths and lethal injections. Peak stopped before a cheap, unassuming headstone. Jessie Coleman’s name was engraved the rock.
“Seventeen years old,” Peak said blankly. “Do you believe this was his first kill?”
“We’ll have to ask Jessie,” Rachel said. She listened, not with her natural hearing, but with the Sense. Rachel felt a small tingling sensation, but that came from an old woman two dozen yards away. She had a blank expression and a nasty head wound.
Mallory concentrated very hard. “There.” She pointed to a sarcophagus in the distance.
Rachel only saw headstones and blades of grass bending in the autumn breeze.
“She’s walking this way,” Mallory whispered.
Brisk, cold air washed over Rachel. Then she saw the girl. Slender, with a loose-fitting floral shirt, yellow capris, flip-flops, and a sun hat, Jessie Coleman looked ready for a picnic. What ruined her perfect spring getup was the black sludge bubbling down her chin and swelling her neck. She opened her mouth to speak, but Rachel only saw a swollen purple tongue. The Orphan drooled and gargled.
“Jessie?” Rachel asked.
More gargles, slurps, and other ugly sounds.
“Do you know Martin Malone?” Rachel asked.
Jessie gagged. Thick black gunk tumbled from her purple lips.
“Can you understand me?” Rachel asked.
The teenager gargled.
Rachel turned back to Peak. “This isn’t getting anywhere.”
“What do you suggest?”
Memories of Ashton’s house flooded Rachel’s mind. “I’ll need to see how it happened.”
“Are you ready for that?” Peak asked suspiciously. “You used it yesterday.”
Rachel rubbed her forehead. Her mouth dried out the way Ashton’s had before he died. She could smell the dust in the under-stairs room. Hopelessness crept in. A mouse nibbled at her hand. Phantom pains, Rachel reminded herself.
“Let me do it,” Mallory said bravely.
“Not a chance,” Rachel replied.
“But how will I learn if I never try?”
Rachel knelt down to the girl’s level. “Listen to me, Mallory. Don’t ever use that part of the Gift. The rest of the Orphans and feelings you can turn off, but not the Reality. You don’t only see how someone dies. You die their death. They become a part of you.”
Mallory soaked up the information, intrigued and terrified. “How many times have you done it?”
“Too many,” Rachel replied. She recalled the Roper’s 2017 victim, Maxine Gunther, the Mayor of Highlands John Parkman, Yogi, killed by a kidnapper named Father, and Ashton Malone. Fragmented memories of each of the individuals stuck with her. Some of their ideals and likes became Rachel’s. What stuck out most was the feeling of their deaths. She suddenly felt sick. “I need you to promise me you won’t ever use that part of the Gift.”
Disappointed, Mallory mumbled, “Okay.”
Peak put his hands in his back pockets. “If you did decide to use whatever-you-call-it, wouldn’t you need to touch the cadaver?”
“I’m afraid so.” Rachel looked at the dirt beneath her feet and then at Jessie’s headstone. “We’ll need some shovels.”
“I can add grave digging to my growing list of crimes. Wonderful,” Peak said sarcastically. He glared down at Mallory. “If you tell anyone about what happened during this trip, we’ll have problems.”
“Cut her some slack,” Rachel said.
Mallory pursed her lips, made an invisible key with her hand, and “locked” her mouth shut. She took the “key” and threw it away.
“Good,” Peak said. “Let’s wait until night before we’re arrested for grave robbing.”
To kill some time, they found a nice Italian restaurant in town. Rachel and Mallory washed their hands and faces in the sink, still finding little patches of dust hanging in their hair and the wrinkles of their shirts. Rachel promised to buy her some new clothes before digging.
As they ordered their plates of pasta, meatballs, and garlic bread, Rachel found Peak staring at her.
“What?” Rachel asked, stuffing her mouth.
“Those things I saw at Woodhall, were they Orphans?” he asked seriously.
“What all did you see?”
Peak thought about it for a moment. He almost looked embarrassed. “Shadows, mostly. Objects moving on their own. Things I’d rather forget.”
“Don’t,” Rachel said seriously. “This world is much bigger than the physical.”
“There are some things that are better left a mystery,” Peak replied. He speared a meatball with his fork. “This is what my brain feels like at the moment.”
“You’ll recover,” Rachel said.
“Yeah…” Peak said with doubt.
Mallory excused herself.
“Bathroom,” she said and waltzed through the restaurant.
Peak waited until the child was out of earshot before speaking lowly. “She’s the one doing this. In all the years we worked together, I never experienced anything like that with you.”
“Mallory’s powerful,” Rachel said. “At the graveyard, she saw Jessie long before me. Same at Woodhall.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Peak asked with a trace of anger.
“I don’t know,” Rachel admitted. “I’m worried about her, though. The things that happen in the supernatural have long-lasting effects on her. If she’s Marked by the wrong Orphan, there’s a chance she could be hurt or killed.”
Peak lowered his fork. “She needs you, Rachel. No one else can help her.”
“I have a million problems of my own. As you said on the ride up here, I should separate myself from her.”
“I said you needed to make a choice,” Peak argued. “The choice is simple.”
Rachel scoffed. “It’s anything but that. As detectives, what we do is toxic. I can’t expose her to that world.”
“She’s already exposed,” Peak replied. “Besides, I have a daughter, and I make it work. It takes sacrifice and dedication, but she’s the only thing in my life that keeps me fighting all the sick, twisted freaks we encounter daily. If not for her, I can’t say where I would be, but it wouldn’t be good.”
Rachel lost her appetite. Perhaps she was responsible for the livelihood and mentorship of the girl, but she didn’t know if she wanted that burden. It would be cruel to take Mallory under her wing only to deprive her of the emotional and mental support she needed. She shut her eyes, trying to clear her head. If I’m going to do this, I need to want to do this.
She heard the chair pull up next to her.
Rachel opened her eyes to Mallory grinning at her.
“Wh
at is it?” Rachel asked.
“Nothing,” Mallory said and grabbed her utensils. “I’m happy to be here. That’s all.”
Peak pointed his meatball-impaled fork at her. “Even after all that has happened?”
“Yep,” Mallory replied. “It’s fun.”
“Fun?” Peak asked. “There was nothing fun about Woodhall.”
“That’s because you’re a scaredy-cat,” Mallory replied.
Rachel chuckled.
Peak ate his food in silence.
“Did I hurt your feelings?” Mallory asked with sincerity.
“No,” Peak replied curtly.
“Aww. I’m sorry,” Mallory said.
Peak couldn’t refuse her smile of pity. He grunted. “I forgive you.”
“Thank you, Detective Peak,” Mallory said. “One day you’ll be as cool as Rachel and I.”
“I can hardly wait.”
For the next few hours, they ate, shopped, and picked up the proper grave-digging equipment. The hours went by much faster than Rachel realized. The sorrow, horror, and life-threatening encounters from the morning seemed to fade away as they strolled through town, drinking pumpkin spice cider and eating funnel cakes. Mallory couldn’t stop smiling as she balanced on a foot-tall stone wall running the length of the park. She’s really enjoying herself, Rachel thought as she watched Mallory play and tell Detective Peak about her favorite Disney movie.
Night fell on the small Appalachian town. They watched the graveyard guard complete his rounds, and when he had driven away, the three of them used the cover of darkness to reach Jessie’s grave. Caffeinated and sugared up, they started digging.
It was nearly four a.m. when their spades hit the coffin. In a black hoodie and sweats, Mallory was resting against the tombstone when Peak and Rachel climbed out of the six-foot hole.
The Lost Orphans Omnibus: A Riveting Mystery Page 32