“Anthony.”
“Yes, he confirmed that you were in danger.”
Uncle Johnny walks over to us, pulling along his stumbling prisoner.
“I was on patrol in my black and white when I heard the news about the car break-ins at the high school. I thought Mike Donahue might be involved in some way. I was on my way to your house to check on you when I got Wyatt’s call. Instead of stopping at your house, I drove past it to Jen’s.”
“Your uncle arrived two seconds behind me. I was standing in the driveway, looking at your cell phone. Officer Blake can move silently through the forest so he led the way. I followed right behind. We snuck up really close to you guys.”
“I quietly found my way to a hiding place behind the huge tree. Wyatt snuck up behind you and Donahue. He crouched down, in the underbrush, waiting to spring out at the right time. Then he took his phone out of his pocket and called Jen’s phone, hoping to startle Donahue when the ring tone went off. And it worked.”
Wyatt’s pissed. “Damn it, Annabelle. I’m so thankful you’re alive. I love you, even though you’re a stupid, reckless jackass.”
I have a special talent for inspiring conflicting emotions in the people who care about me.
Suddenly, my mother arrives on the scene, slams her car into “Park,” leaves it running and flies over to me. Flinging her arms around me, she starts crying.
“Get in the car. This is all my fault. I never should have let you talk me into this.”
I climb into the passenger seat of her car and try to act frail and injured when all I really want is to get home, clean up and eat some lasagna. My injuries are pretty well healed already. And I’m not even nauseous anymore.
Mom tells Wyatt he can come over later after I get home from the doctor’s. He leaves, and shortly after his Land Rover’s out of sight, a few more cops arrive to help Uncle Johnny escort the prisoner to the station.
Mom and I head home. My arm still hurts, but not horribly and the cuts on my neck aren’t bleeding anymore. We park in the driveway and my mother looks over at me.
Gently, she touches my chin and tilts it up so she can check out my neck. Even though the cuts are almost healed, she starts hyperventilating, which is so unlike her. It’s my turn to calm her down.
“Open the car door, Mom. You need some air.”
After climbing out of the car, she stands there, leaning against it, with her mouth open; gulping in cold air.
“Take it easy. I’m all right, Mom.”
As soon as she can talk she says, “I’m fine. You were right. I needed some air.”
Her breathing finally quiets to something resembling normal and I put my arm around her. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”
When we walk into the kitchen, she drags me into her pantry and gets to work with the herbs and flowers. She soaks some cotton balls in a solution made from herbal tea and washes my neck with it. Then she puts on some band aids. The cuts aren’t bleeding and they don’t hurt anymore, but I let her do all this because it’s calming her down.
“I’m putting your arm in a sling, too.”
I draw the line. “I’m not wearing a sling, Mom. I’ll just say that my arm’s wrenched or sprained or something; that it’ll be kind of sore for a few days. You’re known for your healing. You can say you fixed me up with the right herbs so I’m not in much pain.”
She doesn’t argue with me, which is good because she’d lose. I refuse to wear a stupid-ass sling. My arm’s fine now.
“Wyatt looked about ready to die from worry.”
“Well, I’m fine, so he can relax and I’ll tell him as soon as I see him.”
“You’re fine no thanks to me.”
“Mom, you’re not allowed to feel guilty. I pressured you into letting me go.”
“I should never have listened to you. I’m the parent and you’re the child. I should’ve insisted.”
“I’m not a child anymore. It’s hard to tell a stubborn eighteen-year-old what to do.”
“You’re still only seventeen and I’m your mother. I could’ve stopped you. I forgot that for one moment of insanity and I never will again. You could’ve died out there in those woods.” She’s crying again and she never cries.
“But I didn’t. Nothing even hurts anymore; except my stomach feels empty. I threw up. He scared me and he smelled horrible.”
The queasiness caused by my close brush with death has disappeared and hunger has taken its place. All I want is a hot shower and some lasagna. I run upstairs to the bathroom, ripping the stupid band aids off my neck on the way. First I brush my teeth and gargle with really strong mouthwash. Then I hop into the steaming shower and, in a cocoon of fragrant suds, scrub the dirt of the forest and the stink of my captor out of my hair and off of my skin.
After, I towel dry and head downstairs for some food. My hair’s still dripping, but I don’t care. My dad, Oliver, Jackson, Nathaniel, Jeff and Wyatt are all waiting for me, gathered around the table in my mother’s candle-lit kitchen. Mom heated up a whole pan of lasagna and my dad picked up some pizzas.
After I shovel down a ton of the warm food and sit back with a cup of hot chamomile tea in front of me, I relax and bask in the glow of friendship and love that surrounds me; safe at last. The bad guy’s behind bars, caught in a horrendous act red-handed this time. All we need is to get a confession out of him about the night Daniel and Anthony died.
The dangerous part is over. I can go where ever I want, alone, whenever I want to go there. I feel exhausted, contented, thrilled to my bones and triumphant. After kissing my mom and dad, I excuse myself to go up to bed, shooting Wyatt a look that says follow me.
He walks over to the bottom of the stairs with me and we fall into each others’ arms. Gently and carefully he kisses me over and over, lightly then deeply. Backing up to lean against the wall, he pulls me up against him. With his lips to my ear he whispers, “Good night, you dumbass.”
“Sweet talker.”
He’s right, though. I’m an idiot.
However, we wouldn’t have caught the bad guy, in the act of committing a crime, so quickly and effectively if I was more cautious. But this is probably the wrong time to point that out to him. So I keep my mouth shut and tip-toe up to bed.
Chapter 36
Questioning the Prisoner
The next day Uncle Johnny calls to tell us that they’re going to question the prisoner down at the police station. He wants us all to be there for the interrogation. At my uncle’s request, I extend the invitation to Wyatt, Oliver, Jackson and Nathaniel, also. I’ve been cold all morning so I know Anthony’s nearby and will be coming along, too. Unfortunately, Jeff will have to wait in the car. We can’t have him barking his head off at Anthony the whole time we’re at the station.
My father drives my mom’s car, with her riding shotgun and me in the back. It feels like the old days, when I was little. Before we bought the minivan, whenever we went somewhere as a family, Joe and Clement and I had to squish into the back seat of the car together. We always fought about who got to sit near the windows. My brothers are older and bigger so they always won and I had to sit scrunched in the middle between them with my skinny, scabby-kneed little legs humped up in front of me. I used to whine and complain for the whole ride. Today I have my pick of the window seats in the back, but I’d give anything to be crammed in between my two big brothers.
As soon as Dad parks the car in the police station parking lot, I jump out and run over to Nathaniel’s van. He and Jeff are sitting outside waiting for us. I wrap my arms around Jeff’s furry neck and apologize to him because he can’t come in. He licks my cheek to show me he has no hard feelings. Oliver and Jackson pull up with Wyatt folded into the back seat. As I watch Wyatt extract himself from Oliver’s car I want to rush over and throw myself into his arms but I use self-control.
Jeff settles down on his dog bed in the back of the van and perks up one ear to show us that he’s alert just in case there’s trouble and we need him.
Nathaniel leaves the door open so his dog can get some air and see what’s going on. No need to lock the van. It’s parked at the police station, plus no one’s going to mess with a dog Jeff’s size. The seven of us move toward the entrance to the station together. Wyatt hugs me to him with one arm around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, that weasel didn’t hurt me. I feel fine, just tired.”
“Are you sure you want to see him?”
“I’m dying to see him. I still haven’t gotten a good look at his face. I need to know who this monster is. He probably killed Daniel and Anthony and he tried to kill me, more than once. I think if my nightmare has a face, he won’t seem so terrifying.”
A cold blast of air brushes my hair back from my face. Wyatt feels it too. We look at each other.
“Anthony.” Wyatt says. “He’s finally going to get his day in court.”
“We caught Mike Donahue trying to kidnap and murder me, which should put him away for a long time. But I don’t see how we’re going to get him to tell us what happened over twenty years ago.”
“We’ll think of something.”
“Like what?”
“If your Uncle Johnny gets to question him, the guy’s a dead man.”
“Even Uncle Johnny can’t get away with that.”
“Maybe not, but Mike Donahue doesn’t know it.”
“They had to read him his rights. He must have a lawyer by now.”
“Doesn’t matter. Officer Blake can do it. I have faith in him.”
Nathaniel looks up from his wheelchair. “I hate Mike Donahue for what he tried to do to you, Annabelle.”
“Get in line. We all want a piece of him,” Wyatt adds.
“Yes. We do. Only the law’s protecting him now. He spent all these years hiding from the law and now it’s his only refuge. Otherwise, we’d destroy him; even your mom, Annabelle. I’ve never seen her like this. She’ll rip him apart, probably with her bare hands, if they let her near him.”
As it turns out, though, Mike Donahue doesn’t need to worry about my mother’s violent wrath. As soon as we enter the police station, Uncle Johnny and another officer escort Mike Donahue into the interrogation room. The prisoner gives his shackles a noisy waggle and sneers in our direction. My poor mother staggers backwards as the first wave of evil hits her. She could gather her strength and send it right back in his face, but we need him to talk. It would be counterproductive if my mother used her talent to subdue him. We need Donahue to be cocky and confident so he’ll reveal important information. Uncle Johnny will probably try to get him to brag about what he got away with. That would be a good strategy.
My mother pushes her hair back from her face and tells my dad, “Looks like Jeff’s about to get some company in the van.”
My dad hugs her protectively with one arm and walks her out of the station.
When I finally view my enemy for the first time, he looks remarkably average, kind of like Kevin Spacey in one of his less crazy roles. Then Donahue squints in my direction and snaps his teeth at me. Uncle Johnny shoves him and he stumbles and complains about police brutality.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” my uncle says as he and another officer push my attacker into a room with a one-way mirror, just like they have on Law and Order.
My uncle stays in the room with the prisoner and the other officer leads us into the adjoining room. It’s small and dark and there’s a row of folding chairs lined up in front of the big window. After we’ve been seated for a couple of minutes, the door opens and my dad joins us; he slides his arm around my shoulders and gives them a squeeze.
With his mouth close to my ear he whispers, “Your mother’s fine. As soon as she got outside, she perked right up. We can fill her in on all the details after. She’s taking Jeff for a walk around the parking lot.”
I smile up at him. “Mike Donahue looks pretty ordinary.”
“But he’s not. Thankfully you don’t often meet people like him.”
“Yes. Once is enough.”
We watch the prisoner, sitting on the other side of the glass with his hands cuffed together and his feet shackled at the ankles. Uncle Johnny starts up the conversation that we all hope will lead to a confession.
First, my uncle invites Donahue to sit down on a metal chair and asks him if he wants to wait for his lawyer.
“Nope. I’m not gonna admit to anything. Ask whatever questions you want. I’m good at keeping quiet.”
“I don’t need to ask a lot of questions. We caught you with Annabelle and the knife, in the woods.”
“Like I said, I’m not saying nothin’ incriminating so ask away.”
“At least you smell better, Mike. That stench was pretty disgusting.”
“Yeah, I’d been living out of my car for weeks.” Donahue chuckles. “It was hard to find a shower sometimes.”
“I still have nightmares about the smell.” I shudder and Dad pats my shoulder.
A couple of police officers are standing in the corners of the room we’re in. One of them is the detective who’ll question Donahue after Uncle Johnny’s done with him.
He turns to my dad and explains, “We want to try to get him talking before his lawyer gets here and I start questioning him officially; if you have anything you’d like Johnny to ask him tell me now. I can pass him a note.”
Wyatt speaks up, surprising us all. “I want to go in there with them.”
The detective pauses to think for a second and then says, “You helped capture him. I suppose you’ve earned the right to face him man to man.”
“Yes. I’ve earned it and I can’t wait.”
“Keep your hands to yourself, though. We don’t want to give him a reason to complain about the way he’s being treated. We’ve got an open and shut case. I don’t want to screw it up.”
“I can control myself; don’t worry.”
“Okay, then, come with me.” The detective leads Wyatt into the interrogation room and then comes back to sit with us. We all focus our eyes intently on the one-way mirror.
Wyatt doesn’t sit down. He hulks around, pacing and staring at the enemy, who looks like he could be anybody’s next door neighbor, except for the handcuffs and chains.
Mike Donahue chuckles. “Look who’s here, the big brave hero. Pull up a chair. I’m not gonna talk, so now at least he’ll have somebody to talk to.” He jerks his head in my uncle’s direction.
“I’d rather stand.” Wyatt towers over the prisoner. He’s two inches taller than my uncle who’s standing beside him. Donahue shoves his own chair back and rises to face them.
I pull my chair close to Nathaniel’s wheelchair and he smiles at me, which doesn’t calm me down even a little.
Breaking his promise to stay silent, Donahue taunts Wyatt. “Where’s the girl?”
“What girl?” my uncle counters.
Wyatt’s face turns red and his eyes darken.
Uncle Johnny quietly tells him, “Stand down.”
“You know what girl,” Donahue jeers. “The one everyone’s willing to fight and die for.”
“What about her?” Uncle Johnny asks.
The criminal sneers at them. “Where is she? I’d rather see her than this guy.”
“But I’m the one who has some questions for you.” My boyfriend is speaking from between clenched teeth.
“I told you. I’m not talking.”
“They aren’t questions about yesterday, when you tried to kill my girlfriend. They’re questions about the past.”
“I refuse to talk about the past. I’m waiting until my lawyer gets here.”
“Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
Nathaniel reaches for my hand and holds it, warm in his own. In the small, spare room with the one-way mirror, I can feel everyone’s mood intensify as we watch.
Wyatt continues. “I want to ask you about a winter night in 1986.”
“I don’t remember anything about 1986. That was
a long time ago.”
“This was a very memorable night, though. I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me about the night of February 10th, in 1986. You were working at the Wild Wood Psychiatric Hospital.”
“I’m not admitting to anything.”
“Maybe I can jog your memory. Right around midnight you paid a visit to room 209. You had a violent confrontation with a patient. His name was Daniel Warren.”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Maybe this name will. His cell mate was called Anthony.”
“I don’t remember anyone at Wild Wood named Anthony.”
Mike Donahue starts shuffling his feet. One of his shoulders twitches up and then quickly twitches back down again. He seems agitated. Maybe he’s wondering how Wyatt came up with the name Anthony. Maybe he’s worried because he just inadvertently admitted he worked at the hospital.
Wyatt pushes the same emotional button again. “Anthony. He died that night, too. You murdered him and Daniel Warren.”
“I didn’t murder anyone. You can’t even prove I worked there.”
“I know someone who can.”
“Who?”
“The girl. She’s sitting out there. Watching us right now.” Wyatt points to the mirror.
I let go of Nathaniel’s hand, rise out of my chair and take a step closer to the window side of the mirror.
“Would you like to wave to the girl?” Wyatt smiles a thin smile, barely showing his even, white teeth.
With my uncle’s help, Donahue turns and takes a step toward the mirror. His ankle cuffs and chains clink and jingle as he moves. He grins, probably because he thinks his presence will scare me, even through the glass. My uncle shivers and I know why the interrogation room has grown cold.
Then things happen fast. Wyatt’s eyes grow even darker and gray half circles appear under them. His cheekbones become more pronounced and hollow-looking. Anthony’s taken over his body.
The dead boy moves over to stand next to Mike Donahue, close enough so their arms touch. Anthony stares into the mirror and the prisoner does, too. Then Mike shakes his head like a dog with a flea crawling around in its ear. He blinks twice and lets out a horrific scream, a scream that could wake the dead. Except the dead are already awake.
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