by KJ Kalis
“Two more people have been taken?” The words came out of Jack’s mouth slowly, as if he were trying to process their meaning as he went.
Kat nodded. Why she blurted that out, she didn’t know. It certainly wouldn’t put her in line for a mother of the year award, or would it? She nodded, “Yes. Van and I found out last night.” A prickle of fear ran over her skin. She knew there would be extra security at the school where Jack was, but how could they keep track of nearly two thousand students between four grades? She looked away for a second, wondering if she should keep Jack home for the next few days, but she knew that keeping him home wasn’t necessarily the best option.
Jack gently pulled the zipper on his backpack, closing it, “I didn’t know.”
“I know, buddy. I just want you to be extra careful. We still don’t know what we are dealing with.” Kat’s mind started to swirl. She took a deep breath, trying to stay under control. The thoughts were coming hard and fast. Who was taking people from the community? What had happened to Chelsea and Daniel? What about the two newest people that had been taken — where were they and what were they going through?
Kat heard the front door close. Van must have gone outside to get the newspaper. Kat thought he was still asleep, but he must have woken up when she rolled out of bed. Sauk Valley was one of the few communities where she had lived that still had a daily community paper. “Morning,” he said, coming through the kitchen door and kissing Kat on the cheek. He glanced at Jack. “How’s it going?”
“I’m okay.”
Van glanced at Jack, a glance that told Kat he knew there was more going on than was being said. He had always been very respectful of their relationship. Van never tried to replace Jack’s biological father, even though he was no longer in the picture. He couldn’t be, he was dead. Van set the paper down on the kitchen table. “Looks like the community has gotten a hold of the story,” he said, spreading it out on the table.
Kat stared at the front page. Right underneath the banner for the Sauk Valley Times was the headline, “Sauk Valley Killer Terrorizes Community.” Kat pressed her lips together. The headline was nothing if not an understatement. Yeah, they were frightened. All of them were.
None of them said anything for a moment as the gravity of what was going on soaked in. Kat could feel her heart beat a little faster, her breath becoming shallower. She forced herself to sit down and relax. With her PTSD, she knew that her system could get out of whack pretty quickly. She couldn’t afford that today, not if she were going to help Van with the investigation and help Stephanie find Chelsea’s killer. Her mind flashed forward to Stephanie and her sister, Mary. What they must be feeling this morning, she couldn’t imagine. The loss of a child was one thing. Seeing it splashed all over the local headlines was something else entirely.
“Jack?” Van cleared his throat. “Listen, I’m sure your mom has already told you this, but now is the time to pay attention to what’s going on around you.”
Jack nodded. “Yeah, that’s what we were just talking about.”
“Stay with the other kids at school. Don’t go off anywhere on your own, not even to the bathroom. Keep your phone on you at all times. Are we clear?” Van sounded more like a Marine at the moment than a husband or stepfather, but Kat didn’t mind.
“Yeah. Got it.”
“One more thing. For the next few days, I want you to text your mom when you get to school and text her when you are leaving, okay? That way she will know you got to school safe and she’ll know when you’re leaving.”
A sense of relief flooded through Kat. Van had managed to tell Jack all the things she wanted to say to him, but without all the drama. How men were able to communicate with so little stress, she wasn’t sure. She looked up at Jack from where she was sitting, realizing the tension of the last few minutes had given her a shooting pain in her neck. It wasn’t a good way to start the day. “Be careful,” she said. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
Jack walked out of the front door to get to the school bus, the sound of the heavy engine droning down their street. Van trailed behind him. Kat was sure he was watching out the door to make sure Jack got on the bus safely. He’d never done that before. That wasn’t a good sign. If Van was worried, they all had reason to be.
Once Jack was safely on his way to school, Kat and Van took turns getting ready. Kat knew their next stop was the police department and a meeting with Detective Dawson, which she was sure would be unpleasant. The drive over to the station didn’t take long, but neither of them said much. As soon as they pulled into the parking lot, Van glanced over at her. “Ready for some fun with Detective Dawson?” he said sarcastically.
Kat shook her head. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure he’s going to be very glad to see us.”
Van grinned as he pulled into a parking spot, “There’s no time like the present.”
The Sauk Valley Police Department wasn’t unlike any other police station that Kat had visited over her years as an investigative journalist. The only difference was that this building seemed to have been built a little more recently than the medical examiner’s office they had visited with Stephanie a few days before. Instead of the building being forty years old, this building looked like it was maybe ten or fifteen years old, the shapely roofline giving away its age.
Inside the front door, they were faced with a large glass window that Kat was relatively sure was bulletproof. There was a steel door to the right that had no windows in it and three chairs pinned up against the corner of the room up against the pale gray paint. All in all, it looked much like something you’d see in jail. Certainly not something that would encourage anyone from the community to want to visit.
Van stepped up to the window, getting the attention of an officer who was sitting at the desk. He pressed an intercom, “Can I help you?”
“We’re here to see Detective Dawson. I’m Van Peck, this is Kat Beckman. He should be expecting us. We got a call from your Chief last night.”
The officer nodded. “Yep. I saw it on the log when I got in this morning. Come on back.”
The door buzzed, and Kat followed Van as he pushed it open. She took a moment to take in the surroundings. Unlike the coldness of the lobby, the rest of the police department had a much more friendly feel. Warm wood desks, tile floors, and beige walls dotted the building. There was a line of cubicles that ran down the length of the department with offices on each side. Just inside the door to her left, Kat could see the desk where the duty officer sat, the man who had let them in. There looked to be a records room or maybe an evidence room behind him. He stood up. “Not sure if the detective is in yet, but I’ll take you to the conference room. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
Kat followed Van and the duty officer. He made a right turn from the lobby and opened the first door on the left side of the hall. As he flipped the light on, Kat saw a long wood conference table with eight, high-backed chairs around it.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” the duty officer said. “I’ll go call Dawson, so he knows you’re here.”
Kat walked around the back of the table, wanting to keep watch on the doorway. Not that there was a lot to see. She looked at the clock on her cell phone just as it beeped. “Made it,” the text from Jack read. Her heart skipped a beat for a second, realizing that the string of texts that would be coming over the next few days would sound a lot like that. It shouldn’t be this way. A mixture of anger and fear formed in her gut, fear for Jack and the community. Anger that they even had to deal with something like this.
Five minutes passed, then ten. Van looked up from his phone. “I wonder how long he will
keep us waiting?”
“I thought the Chief said that he would be on board with us helping?”
“The Chief might be on board with us helping, but I’m not sure Dawson is.”
The sentence had barely come out of Van’s mouth when Detective Wesley Dawson
lumbered into the room. He was w
earing an unbuttoned sport coat over a pair of suit pants that looked like they were three sizes too big for him, except for the sport coat which looked like it could barely button across his stomach.
“Good morning,” Dawson said.
Van stood up, reaching out his hand. “Thanks for taking the time to meet with us.”
Dawson gave Van’s hand a quick shake and sat down, adjusting the coat behind him. “I didn’t have much of a choice, to be honest.”
Kat raised her eyebrows. She was surprised at the obvious lack of interest from Detective Dawson, even with his Chief’s prompting. “We are just here to help. Your Chief called us.”
“I’m not sure why. I’ve got this handled.” Dawson laid his meaty forearms on the table, staring at them, his head pitched forward. “So, what do you need to know?”
Need to know, Kat thought? What did he mean by that? Maybe the Chief hadn’t explained to him they were there to help? “I’m sorry, maybe there was a miscommunication.” Kat decided to start the conversation gently, in the hopes that they could work things out with Detective Dawson. “Your Chief called Van last night and asked us to assist with the investigation. We’ve done this in the past with other police departments and it’s been helpful for them. We’ve even assisted the FBI and Scotland Yard.”
“Well, goody for you. Glad to know I’m working with such crack investigators. Here’s what we know. Let me sum it up for you. I’ve got two dead teenagers, a missing father of two kids with a hysterical wife, and now a missing nurse.”
Kat glanced at Van. The muscle across his jaw rippled, a sure sign that he was starting to get angry. Kat hoped he could hold it together. The last thing they needed was to alienate the lead detective on the case. “You realize that’s my wife you’re talking to?” Van said, sitting still as a stone.
Dawson ignored the comment. “Listen, I’m not sure what the Chief told you, or how you wrangled your way into the middle of my case, but your help isn’t needed. I’ve got this under control.” He stood up, rolling the chair away from the table.
“That’s not what your Chief told me last night. Would you like me to go get him and maybe we can talk this out?” Van wasn’t backing down.
“I’m not sure what my Chief told you, but the reality is you are both civilians.” Dawson jutted a sausage-shaped finger at them, “I know Chelsea Atkinson is your assistant’s niece. That doesn’t give you a right to be involved in the case.”
Kat watched, waiting for the next move between the two men. There was a pause. She knew that Van was weighing his options.
“Yes. Chelsea was Stephanie’s niece. But that’s not the reason the Chief wanted us involved.” Van didn’t get up, but his tone had become as hard as steel. Kat saw a flash of who he had been as a Marine.
“What reason would that be?” Dawson said sarcastically, standing against the wall.
“You have a small department, and an even smaller detective bureau and with two dead bodies and two more missing people. You could use all hands on deck.”
Dawson shook his head. “Naw, that’s not what this is about. You two want a story and you’ll go to any length to get it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got real work to do.” Without waiting for them to answer, Dawson stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Kat realized she had been holding her breath. She looked at Van and then down at the table. “Well, that didn’t go the way I thought it would.”
Van stood up, “Really? That went exactly the way I thought it would.”
Kat followed Van out of the conference room, turning down the small hallway and then to their left towards the front entrance. There was nothing else they could do at the department without Dawson allowing them to help. Van nodded a thank you to the duty officer, who looked up from his computer as they walked out the door. Kat wondered if he heard Dawson barking at them.
Neither of them said anything until they were outside, the bright morning sunshine casting long shadows into the parking lot from the trees and shrubs that lined the angular building. Kat climbed into the truck, hearing the engine roar to life. She clicked her seatbelt in place and rested her hands on her lap. “Now what? I can’t believe he talked to you that way.”
“I can. He’s one of those guys that’s threatened by everyone and everything else. We’re never going to get anywhere with him.”
“Are you going to call the Chief?”
“Not yet. It’s time we do a little of our own investigating. This guy isn’t going to stop us from helping Stephanie and protecting the community.”
12
After a long night in the shop monitoring Ben and Rebecca, Joseph left them, both asleep, still strapped to their beds. He didn’t have to sedate them this time. Their bodies were exhausted from the stress and from trying to deal with the tainted blood poured into their veins. So far, Joseph’s treatment seemed to be working, although another round of tests would be necessary to explore the possibilities.
Joseph walked back up the path to the house. The morning was slightly cool, but not cool enough for a jacket. The birds were chirping in the trees as he hiked up the hill. As he stepped over a log, he saw a little toad scuttle away into the woods. He was careful not to step on it.
Nature had always held a special fascination for him. Though his parents were more than rigid, they did allow him to spend plenty of time outside exploring. The acres of land they bought when they moved to the United States from Germany after World War II were something they had always been proud of and taught Joseph to value.
Joseph had spent many hours as a child outdoors finding bugs and small animals. One time, his father had found him just as he was about to smash a ladybug. “Joseph! What are you doing?”
“Papa? I was going to smash the bug.”
“No! Do not hurt nature.”
That had been the end of the discussion. From that time on, Joseph was careful outdoors not to injure or hurt any of the living things, at least not intentionally. That was really what he was trying to do with his medical experiments, he reasoned, as he opened the back door to the house. Walking into the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee, then opened up his laptop to check and make sure that none of his students had emailed him for help. He replied to a few messages, one from his insurance agent, another from a student and one from Meredith, while the coffee was perking. Emails complete, he reached over into a cabinet and got out some oatmeal. He had been eating oatmeal for breakfast every day since he was a child.
By the time the coffee finished perking, the oatmeal was ready. He set the steaming bowl on the placemat, walked back into the kitchen, pulled a spoon out of the drawer, and then walked to a small desk in the corner of the kitchen. From it, he pulled a stack of letters tied together with a red rubber band.
As he ate his oatmeal, he stared at the stack of letters. He knew what was in each one of them and could probably recite many of them from memory. Each one had been carefully opened with a knife, ensuring the paper didn’t tear. He didn’t touch them until he was done eating.
Once he finished with his oatmeal, he went back into the kitchen, washed his bowl and spoon, and put them away, just as mother had taught him. He returned to the kitchen, sitting back down at the table with his cup of coffee and the stack of letters. Pulling the rubber band off, he laid them in a grid across the table. There were fifteen of them. Fifteen letters he had received in the last three months. They weren’t the only ones. There were boxes of letters in the hallway closet, all organized by year. All in all, there were twenty years of requests to publish represented in that closet. As Joseph picked up the first letter, his eyes hardened. The return address on the letter said the New England Journal of Medicine. “Dear Dr. Schreiber,” it read. “We wanted to thank you so much for taking the time to send us your preliminary research on the topic of fungal infections.” He continued to read, “Unfortunately, your research doesn’t meet the professional standards required by the New England Journal of Medicine. Additiona
lly, our background check indicates that you do not hold the necessary professional qualifications to conduct the research.”
Joseph folded the letter carefully and replaced it in the envelope. He picked up the next envelope, this one from the Columbia University Journal of Infectious Medicine. “Dear Dr. Schreiber,” it began. “While we sincerely appreciate the time and effort it took to submit your findings for your recent work on joint stability, we are unable to further evaluate your data. Your study didn’t contain the necessary level of subjects, clinical oversight, or sanctioning from any local area hospital…”
Joseph set the letter back in its place and picked up the next one. They all said the same thing. Not qualified. Idea not solid enough. Research not relevant. Clinical oversight not in place. Not sanctioned. The more he read them, the more it fueled his passion for showing them they were wrong. They were all wrong.
Joseph got up from the table. He walked down the hallway to the back of the house and opened the door to the bedroom that his parents shared. He stood in the doorway staring at the bed, then quickly walked to the desk his mother used to use. From the top right drawer, he pulled out another sheaf of envelopes. Thumbing through them he could see the return addresses. Johns Hopkins, Cornell, USC, Washington State. There were at least one hundred of them bound in a stack, with string neatly tied in a bow. All rejections to medical school. His mother had kept them.
As he turned to walk out of the room, he turned back looking toward the bed. “I think you would be most proud of my newest experiment, Mama,” he said. He didn’t address his father. “The subjects are in the garage as we speak. You know, the old garage that you and Papa didn’t use any more. I’ve created a treatment in case there is a pandemic that threatens the world’s blood supply. That sounds good, no?”
The bones laid out on the bed in perfect order didn’t answer. Joseph stared at the skull of his mother and father, his gaze sliding down both of their bodies, laid out exactly as they would have been had they been sleeping next to each other. He had even arranged their fingers so they were close to each other as if they were holding hands. It gave him comfort knowing they were so close, in the place they had always been, always near, supporting him. Joseph took one more look at the bones laid out on their tattered bedspread and turned and walked away, closing the bedroom door behind him.