The Lost Orphans Omnibus: A Riveting Mystery

by J. S. Donovan

  “Never again,” Peak said, shaking the dirt off his hoodie sleeves and sweats.

  Rachel plopped her bottom on the dirt pile. “I agree.”

  Peak pulled up his ski mask, revealing his sweat-soaked face. Rachel mimicked him. They all wore the same cheap black attire. They bought other clothes too, to keep from raising suspicion.

  Mallory stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “What now?”

  “I find out if Jessie Coleman knows anything.”

  Rachel chugged water from a bottle. With Peak’s help, she opened the casket far enough to touch Jessie’s skeletal hand.

  “Be careful,” Peak warned.

  “Always.”

  Suddenly, it was springtime, and Rachel was in a rolling mountaintop meadow surrounded by beautiful vistas and lively trees. Butterflies and bumblebees landed on a field of dandelions, and the sky couldn’t have been more perfect. Rachel—Jessie—sat on the beach towels Martin had laid out. He brought along his mother’s picnic basket and made cute sandwiches on baked baguette bread held together by a toothpick. He also packed wine, chips, and a Tupperware full of brownies for dessert. Jessie almost cried when she saw it all. It really was the perfect picnic, and Martin was such a dreamy guy.

  He had rich and fluffy back hair and dark eyes and a sharp jawline, giving him a roguishly handsome appearance. Unlike most guys his age, Martin’s skin was smooth and blemish free. His teeth were straight and white, and his breath smelled like the mint leaves he liked to chew.

  “Do you bring all your girlfriends up here?” Jessie asked with a coy smile.

  Martin popped the cork of the wine bottle and poured her a glass. “Only you.”

  “You don’t expect me to believe that,” Jessie teased, feeling her heart pound as she looked at the wine. She’d never tasted alcohol before but couldn’t bring herself to refuse Martin Malone. He could’ve spent this time with any other girl, but he picked her.

  “Our little secret,” he said when he asked her out in the hallway after lunch break. The spontaneity of it all only made it more exciting. “Promise you won’t tell anyone.”

  Jessie promised. She even avoided her parents and friends for a few days to keep from temptation. They asked if she was all right. Jessie used the excuse that Martin had given her. “I just need some me time,” and “I’m trying to work through a few things.” Mom and Dad were very concerned, but for Martin Malone, it was worth it.

  “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Martin asked as he handed her the glass of wine.

  Jessie took a small sip. It was bitter, and her face must’ve showed it.

  “The more you drink it, the better it tastes,” Martin said with his signature cute smile.

  Jessie giggled and took a big gulp. Martin looked at her with wide eyes. Too much. Jessie pulled away the glass, and a little wine trickled down from her lip. Martin swiftly wiped it away with his thumb to keep it from staining her dress. He dabbed a napkin in some water and wiped away the rest.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Oh,” Jessie said, blushing. “What I want to be when I grow up. Uh, wow, that’s only a year away.”

  Martin unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite. He watched her curiously.

  This isn’t small talk. He really wants to know.

  Jessie put aside the glass and cleared her throat. The bitter taste lingered. “A mother, I think. Before you say it, I know it’s not a moneymaking job, but there’s nothing else I’d rather do. That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s bold,” Martin said. “I think you’d be a great mother.”

  “You’re really good at BSing,” Jessie teased.

  Martin shrugged. “Maybe, but having a good mother is a rare thing. The world needs good mothers. None of us would be here without them.”

  Jessie thought on it. She liked that. Her only issue now was finding a husband. Her parents got married at seventeen. Why couldn’t she? Martin took her wine glass and topped it off.

  Jessie brushed her hair behind her ear, trying to play it cool. “What about you, Malone? What’s your dream?”

  “A vineyard,” Martin said. “I want a big Mediterranean-inspired estate on a tall hill. I want to wake up at sunset and walk the fields of grapes.”

  Jessie chuckled.

  Martin frowned.

  “You’re serious?” Jessie blushed again. “I think it’s a very romantic idea.”

  “I do, too,” Martin replied.

  Suddenly, Jessie saw the world spin. She blinked. Her vision didn’t correct itself. Martin’s handsome face started to warp and twist like something out of a Picasso painting.

  “I feel…” Her words slurred together, and she fell backward. What’s… happening? Even her thoughts were fuzzy. She was shaking. A lot. The back of her head kept hitting the dirt. Help! She wanted to scream. Her eyes rolled back as she convulsed and vomited all over herself.

  Martin stood over her, watching with handsome dark eyes.

  Help!

  Jessie rolled to her side, spilling vomit out of the side of her mouth and knocking her head against the grass and dirt. Martin’s face was calm. He lowered himself on her, putting his knees on her flailing arms and his bottom on her flat chest. He extended his arm back to the basket and withdrew a mason jar with with a green-and-black sludge inside.

  “Drink this.” His voice sounded distorted. Demonic. “It will make you feel better.”

  Jessie shook her head. “Po...lice.”

  “Drink it!” Martin barked. “Hurry!”

  Jessie kept her mouth closed, so Martin pried it open and poured the liquid down her throat. It tasted like bittersweet grass. She spit it up, but more kept flowing until she swallowed it down. Her body jolted. Her tongue and throat swelled. She couldn’t breathe. Martin watched her as darkness closed in on her peripherals.

  Rachel could taste Jessie’s death. She needed to separate and end the vision, but she couldn’t pull away. Her world was darkening. Martin was smiling. No, no, no! She tried to imagine the graveyard but couldn’t. Everything in the world but Martin and his distorted face was falling away. She remembered the saying about the Devil’s Cherries. “If you eat them, you better be prepared to look the devil in the eye.” Rachel was staring at his twisted, handsome mug right now. She gagged and seized. The grave didn’t come to her thoughts—only death did. And then Mallory Stix’s big blue eyes.

  “Rachel!” the child cried out to her.

  Darkness swarmed Rachel’s sight.

  She was freefalling into an abyss. Below her were a million hands reaching up to take her. Orphans. They’re going to take me home. The thought was terrifying and beautiful. She couldn’t fight it. She needed to embrace it. She fell into the crowd, being pulled in by the cold hands reaching out of the blackness. Her body became icy cold in seconds. The hands had pulled her down past her belly. She still had one arm out. Something grabbed it from above and yanked at her. The hands below pulled more violently, aggressively. They tore her clothes as if they were paper and then started on her flesh. She screamed as the agony overwhelmed her.

  The force from above did not let up. Rachel was pulled free from the hands below. All the skin from below her chest had been stripped away. The bloodied hands kept grabbing at air below her feet. They hungered to tear away more of her body…

  8

  Cellar

  Rachel burst from the bed of dirt and sucked in a breath of life. Stars speckled the sky above. She patted down her stomach and legs. Dirt hung in the wrinkles of her hoodie and sweats, but her flesh was undamaged. Panicked, she turned over to Mallory, who had her hand resting firmly on her shoulder. The child’s eyes were closed. She was mouthing something like a prayer.

  Peak stared down at them from the top of the open grave. Worry flushed over his usually stoic face. “You were dying, Rachel.”

  Rachel tried to wrap her head around the statement. She still felt the hands pulling at her in the same way they did when an Orphan or
danger was near.

  Peak squatted at the edge of the six-foot hole. “You started seizing. Nothing new there. But then you stopped breathing. Nothing I did could resuscitate you.”

  “Then how am I…”

  Peak looked at Mallory.

  The child opened her eyes and gave Rachel a hug. Rachel hugged her back. It seemed like a lifetime since she had felt warmth.

  “She jumped in after you,” Peak said. “I climbed out to get help, but whatever she did brought you back.”

  Rachel tried wrapping her mind around Peak’s words. Brought me back? Was I really that close to death?

  Mallory sniffled and squeezed her tighter. “I was scared you were going to go away, so I used the power. I know you said I shouldn’t, but I had to. I couldn’t lose you.”

  Rachel reciprocated the hug, pulling the child’s body against hers. She didn’t want to let go. The action was more than just gratitude or amazement. Rachel felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time: inner warmth. A rekindling of the soul.

  Peak interrupted the moment with a soft-spoken phrase. “We need to get going.”

  With wet eyes, Rachel and Mallory separated. “Thank you,” Rachel said.

  “So you’re not mad?” Mallory asked.

  “A little,” Rachel replied. “Let me give you a boost out of here.”

  Mallory stepped into Rachel’s hands and grabbed ahold of Peak when Rachel boosted her. Peak set her aside and extended a hand to his partner. She gladly accepted. The three of them picked up the shovels and started filling in Jessie’s grave.

  “Learn anything?” Peak asked.

  “Martin dreamed of owning a vineyard.”

  “I know of two around Highlands,” Peak replied. “I say we pay them a visit.”

  “Let’s bring backup,” Rachel said, putting a spade of dirt into the hole. “I’m sick of running solo.”

  The sky turned from black to purple and then to a brilliant red as they finished filling the grave. They swapped out of their dirty clothes and crashed at a motel for a few hours. Just before noon, Rachel got a call from Sunny Pines.

  “Is Mallory Stix still with you?”

  “Yes.” Rachel rose from the bed. She pulled aside the curtain, spilling daylight over Peak, lying on the couch, and Mallory in the other twin bed. “I’ll have her back to you this afternoon.”

  The sun hung high over the foggy mountains, and the air was brisk. Sipping from a twenty-four-ounce gas station coffee cup, Peak drove back to the quaint town of Highlands. In the backseat, Rachel and Mallory slept the whole way to Sunny Pines Orphanage.

  Rachel walked beside the eight-year-old as they approached the tall facility. The children that had bullied Mallory played basketball on one side of the yard while the chunky caretaker stole a smoke.

  Mallory’s shoulders slumped when they reached the receptionist’s desk. Rachel smiled at the worker. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

  “It’s not orthodox,” the receptionist reminded Rachel. “But I’ll make an exception.”

  Rachel knelt down in front of Mallory. “I’ll visit soon, okay?”

  Mallory nodded.

  Rachel turned the child’s chin up. “I promise.”

  Mallory gave her another hug before turning back to the mess hall. Rachel watched her go with a feeling of nervousness. She’ll be fine, she forced herself to think. She’s strong. When Mallory had vanished from view, Rachel turned back to the receptionist. “There’s something I’d like to ask you.”

  Peak stood, back against the Impala, and yawned. Dark rings encircled his eyes. Rachel approached, trying to get the cramps out of her shoulders from the late-night dig.

  “All good?” Peak asked.

  Rachel ducked into the passenger seat. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  They called a meeting with Lieutenant McConnell in the conference room. Officers of different shades and creeds crowded the desk. Google Maps aerial printouts of the Highlands vineyards were tacked on the corkboard. McConnell stood up front while Rachel and Peak occupied the front row. The lieutenant tapped his pointer on each of the printouts.

  “Detectives Peak and Harroway have brought to my attention a new lead. According to his adoptive parents, Martin Malone—the true name of the Highlands Poisoner or, as his captives call him, Mr. Caro—had a fascination with plants, grapes, and the prospect of owning a vineyard. We know each of the victims was killed via a wine bottle. None of the vintages found at the crime scenes matched Blue Hill’s or Bellissim’s, the two local vineyards’, vintage. Nevertheless, it is a solid lead. One that we cannot pass up. The town officials have put great pressure on me to nail this killer. With the threat of an imminent attack looming overhead, I’m not taking any chances. As soon as the court order processes, we are going to turn both of the vineyards upside down. If Mallory Stix’s testimony is true, the Poisoner still has Ava Thurston, Emily Rickers, and Hailey Brewster held up in a cellar of sorts. Gang, our goal today is simple: extract the children and stop the killer by any means necessary.”

  McConnell pointed to the pencil sketch of Martin Malone. “Memorize this face. If you see anyone even remotely similar to this man, I want them in the station and questioned immediately. We will not risk another disaster. Not in my town.”

  McConnell turned to the detectives. “Harroway, I’m putting you in charge of the Blue Hill task force.”

  “You can count on me,” Rachel said with confidence.

  She was a little wary when she told McConnell about the hospital records and Martin’s connection to Jessie Coleman’s death, but with the town council and new mayor breathing down his neck, he was ready to take whatever lead came his way. Halloween was already two weeks ago, and the people of Highlands called for justice. Rachel only hoped today would be the day. If not, at least Martin Malone’s face and name were currently being blasted on major news broadcasts. He might have changed his name, but that wouldn’t stop people from squealing.

  “Detective Peak, you will head up the Bellissim task force,” McConnell said.

  “Will I be able to collect any evidence samples? I heard they make great wine,” Peak said dryly.

  A few of the officers chuckled.

  “You catch this monster, and I’ll get everyone here a bottle,” McConnell said.

  Cheering sounded throughout the room. McConnell smiled proudly at his police force and adjourned the meeting.

  As the officers got ready for the field trip, McConnell pulled Rachel aside. “I have a smaller group of officers to keep watch over the police charity dinner tonight in case that’s the Poisoner’s next target.”

  “Have you vetted the chefs?” Rachel asked.

  “Thoroughly,” McConnell replied. “We have an undercover agent at the Halloween vigil, as well.”

  “Good,” Rachel said.

  “Your father’s a pastor, right, Harroway?” McConnell asked.

  “Was, but he’s still involved, so to speak,” Rachel replied.

  “Tell him to keep this operation in prayer. There’s a lot riding on this. Lives and funding,” he said.

  “I’ll shoot him a text,” she replied. “We’ll talk soon.”

  “I look forward to it.” He leaned in. “Don’t tell Peak this, but between the two of you, you are my favorite detective.”

  Rachel chuckled. “I don’t think that revelation will shock Peak as much as you think.”

  They went their separate ways. Rachel put on her bulletproof vest over her button-up and before slinging on and zipping up her saddle-colored leather jacket. She double-checked her Colt 1911’s ammo magazine and clipped it to her belt beside her badge. She wore slacks and running shoes. The moment she finished at her locker, a wave of tiredness splashed over her. The rush of the situation couldn’t compete with the rigorous past few days. The pulsing pain throbbed in her shoulders and arms’ taut muscles. You can do this, Rachel. She slammed and locked the locker, noticing Ashton and Ethan standing next to her. The Orphan b
oys glared at her with expectation.

  “You got any bright ideas?” Rachel asked.

  They didn’t reply.

  She left them in the vacant locker room. She and a line of squad cars zipped over the winding roads of Highlands and beelined for the vineyard. It was not a tactical raid by any means, though they still needed enough forces to scout acres of land. Rachel spoke over the radio intercom and reminded them to keep an eye out for shacks, cellars, or trapdoors located throughout the property. The captive girls mattered more to her than the killer at this point, but she’d take either if she had the chance.

  A sheet of iron-grey clouds rolled over the clear skies of the morning. Some in the distance were dark and pregnant with rain.

  The woods flanking the street slowly dissipated to reveal neatly trimmed row after row of grapevines. A low-flying eleven-foot-long helicopter zipped over the vines, pouring pesticides over the grapes. Like flying beetles, small drones swept over more crops far off in the distance.

  Rachel picked up her dashboard radio. “Have any of you seen anything like this?”

  Officer Jones replied over the radio. His accent had traces of a Southern drawl. “It’s a new-age farmer thing. They use drones and remote-control helicopters to cut down on labor costs.”

  “I guess I should get out more,” Rachel replied, intrigued by the interesting technology.

  “It’s a brave new world,” Jones added.

  There was already a host of cars parked in the grass outside of the vineyard estate. In the distance, standing under vines and flowers coiled around a beautiful arbor, a man and woman took each other’s hands, looked into each other’s eyes, and listened to the finely dressed priest says the words, “Do you take Tiffany to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  “I do,” the man said in front of the crowd of relatives and friends seated on log stools flanked by two catering tables and a beverage bar. One by one, they turned their attention from the couple to Rachel and the policemen pulling aside vineyard workers and branching out across the property.