Dawn

by Aleatha Romig

  The odor was still present. I wasn’t sure if I was growing accustomed or if it had faded.

  “Sir,” Ryan said. He turned to us. “Mr. Murray. Mr. Pierce.”

  “How are our guests?” Mason asked.

  “Fucking loud. She’s something else and the kid...” He shook his head.

  Mason nodded. “We have someone coming for the kid. She should be here soon.”

  “Tell her to bring diapers. That bitch in there only brought two, and we’ve had them here for over twenty-four hours. Sam had one in his car from his kid. I would have gone out for more, but we didn’t think diaper shopping was a good way to stay under the radar.”

  Mason’s head was shaking. “How old is it?”

  “He’s fifteen months,” Ryan said. “I’m no expert, but I’d say there’s some speech delay.”

  Ryan’s assessment made me grin. It was true that as Sparrows we followed our own rules, many that took liberties with the law, but we weren’t monsters. A good number of our men and women had husbands, wives, and children of their own. “How old is your kid, Ryan?” I asked.

  “Turned two last week, Mr. Murray.”

  “Boy?” I asked.

  “Little girl,” he said with beaming pride. “My wife says that girls tend to hit milestones before boys, but still, that kid in there, he needs someone to care for him.”

  Mason’s green stare met mine as if to reiterate that the illegal adoption road would be the best option. Mason turned to Ryan. “That’s the plan. Besides, his mother will soon be unavailable for the job.”

  “If you ask me,” Ryan said, “she already is.”

  Romero took his phone from his pocket and read the screen. “Sirs, pickup for the kid is here. The team just entered the garage.”

  I spoke low to Mason. “Where are they taking him?”

  “Nowhere permanent yet, just away from here.”

  Ryan opened the door to the office, allowing the three of us to enter. A second guard was inside the room. If my guess was right, this was the Sam who came through with a diaper. Mason laid the duffel bag near the wall and approached Sam.

  A large man with a clean-shaven head, Sam’s skin tone was a few shades darker than mine. Like Ryan, he was wearing a suit, tie, and shiny leather shoes. He’d probably heard us out in the hallway because as we entered, he was already standing with his hands in front of him.

  “Mr. Murray. Mr. Pierce. Mr. Romero.”

  While Mason addressed him, I peered around the empty room. Once again, it was an open room with doors around the perimeter. The size of this one reminded me of the size of the Sinful Threads office in downtown Chicago. The cries of a young child could now be heard through a closed door.

  “Anyone else in there?” Mason asked.

  “No, Mr. Pierce,” Sam answered, “just the two of them.”

  “Get the kid,” Mason said. “Marsha is on her way up to take him.”

  “Marsha?” He grinned. That was all he said as he nodded and unlocked the door.

  With each inch the door opened, the child’s cries grew louder as the disgusting stench of human waste overtook the already foul air. I sucked in a breath, trying to stifle my flinch, the one that could have been caused by either the noise or the stench or the combination.

  “Oh hell no,” a female voice screamed from within. “I told you before, don’t touch my boy. Stop. If you want to take him, get the other guy, the white one.” It didn’t sound as though Sam replied when she yelled louder. “You can’t take Gordy. He’s my kid. Let go of him.”

  As the sound of footsteps grew closer, the crying softened.

  Sam reappeared, holding the dirty and agitated toddler to his shoulder as he turned and closed the door, muting Zella’s complaints. The child’s small body trembled with each of his quivering breaths. With his little arms spread out over Sam’s wide chest, he seemed to be soothed by the attention. Sam would need his suit dry cleaned, but undoubtedly, the kid was more content to simply be picked up.

  “Could she not get to him?” I asked as Zella continued her rant from behind the closed door.

  The man’s fingers splayed, his large hand gently cradling the back of the boy’s head. Against the man’s suit, the boy’s face appeared smudged with dirt and his nose ran—gushed—the snot and saliva pooling on the expensive material.

  “She could,” Sam answered, his large body swaying as he spoke. “She just wouldn’t. She hasn’t for at least the last twelve hours. She said she needed H and without it, she couldn’t take care of him.”

  “She refused to care for her own child,” Mason asked, “because her demands were unmet?”

  While I simultaneously asked, “Did he cry the whole time?”

  Sam nodded to Mason and turned to me. His expression softened. “No, sir. Ryan and me, we’ve been taking turns holding the boy. I don’t give a fuck about that piece-of-shit druggie in there, but this boy, he doesn’t deserve to suffer any more than he has.” Sam’s cheeks rose as he looked down at the more content child.

  “Sam,” Ryan called from the doorway.

  We all turned as two brunette women entered. I knew the taller one immediately. “Jana,” I greeted, surprised to see her. “You’re here for the kid?”

  “Mr. Murray, Mr. Pierce.” She smiled as she reached for the young boy, taking him from Sam. “Thank you, Sam.” She looked up at the big man. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a big softy?”

  “Not anyone who wanted to live,” he said with a gleam in his dark eyes.

  Jana scoffed as she situated the boy on her shoulder. As she moved, a string of what I hoped was drool seemed attached to Sam’s jacket. I’d been right; his suit would need to be dry cleaned.

  “Marsha called me,” Jana offered as she smiled down at the boy, still dirty, but much more content. “This won’t be the first little one my husband and I’ve helped.” Her voice changed, growing an octave higher. “Hi, little guy.”

  “Gordy is his name,” Marsha said as she made notes on her phone. Marsha looked up at us with a business-like stare. “Mr. Murray. Mr. Pierce. I told Mr. Kelly I had plans this weekend. I said I’d change my plans, but when I suggested Jana, Mr. Kelly said it would be all right to let her help.”

  Neither Mason nor I gave a fuck; however, it was customary for Marsha or anyone else to explain when plans changed.

  With his dirty and matted blond hair, Gordy rested his head upon Jana’s shoulder. His long lashes fluttered as his body moved with a deep sigh and his dirty thumb went into his mouth.

  “I’m going to get him a bath, some clean clothes, and a good meal,” Jana said. “We have space and a portable crib where he can sleep. We’re happy to help. Just let me know when you’re ready to pick him up.”

  “Thank you, Jana.” Mason escorted the two women out into the hallway. For a moment, I wondered about allowing them to walk alone through this big building. That thought lasted only a moment. I’d never met Marsha before, and at about Lorna’s height with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, she didn’t look the part, but her reputation preceded her. From what I’d heard, she could give Mason a run for his money on interrogation. She had her stint in the military along with a shitty excuse for an ex-husband for both her training and resourcefulness.

  What was left of that ex-husband was now slush at the bottom of an acid barrel, and Marsha was a loyal Sparrow. The only reason Marsha wasn’t questioning Zella was because Mason insisted on handling her personally. Only the future would tell if Zella was better off with Mason. My money was on the third option—either way she was fucked.

  I looked over at Sam. “I expected Marsha to be...” I searched for the right word.

  He lifted his chin. “If you’re going to say taller, I agree, Mr. Murray. But I wouldn’t say tougher. Damn, that woman is as tough as they come. I’ve seen her paint one or two houses and come back for more on the same night.”

  Mason returned and looked at the closed door.

  If Zella was stil
l yelling, her volume had decreased.

  “She isn’t pounding on the door,” he commented.

  “No, sir,” Sam said. “She’s chained to the register. We got tired of her attitude.”

  Mason nodded. “Thank you, Sam. I’ll need a cleanup crew here tomorrow morning.”

  His eyes widened. “Not sooner.”

  “No need to rush,” Mason said with a grin. “You and Ryan patrol the ground level. I don’t want any curious onlookers.” He looked to Romero. “Romero will keep guard up here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sam said before leaving and closing the door to the outer hallway.

  “Romero,” Mason said as he went to pick up the duffel bag, “take the post in the hallway and connect to the closed-circuit security. Ryan and Sam can’t patrol the entire building, and I don’t want to be interrupted.” He turned to me. “You’re free to leave at any time.”

  “I guess that depends on what I find out about my wife.”

  Lorna

  “I don’t know why I’m nervous about this,” I said as I sat forward in the kitchen chair, placing my hands on the table. Across the table were Laurel and Patrick.

  “There are no right or wrong answers,” Laurel said with a reassuring smile.

  Taking a breath, I savored the familiarity of being in the large penthouse kitchen. I knew every inch of this room, the contents of every drawer and every cupboard. This glass tower was my house, and since the day, nearly a decade earlier, when Sterling Sparrow told me that he wanted me to stay, it’s been my home.

  I’d lived within this glass palace in the sky longer than any other place. It was funny to consider Araneae’s theory—that to the rest of the world, these floors didn’t exist. And yet within them, I’d found everything I ever wanted and more than I ever dreamt. It wasn’t the luxury of the furnishings, the clothes in my closet, or the jewelry I had in my jewelry box. What I’d found here was more valuable.

  I had the love of my husband and friends. In those people, I’d found my family, one that extended beyond my brother and husband to everyone present.

  Gathering my thoughts, I peered toward the large windows.

  The early afternoon sun streamed through the panes, bringing shine to everything in its path. The sunshine was a welcome change from this morning’s rain and wind. That was Chicago in a nutshell. The weather could change on a dime. Heck, this time of year, in another hour, we could have large flakes of snow fluttering past our windows. For now, the clouds had lessened with peeks of blue sky and intermittent streams of sunlight.

  “Before we begin,” Patrick said, “can you tell us what you’ve remembered?”

  I inhaled as I looked down at my hands, my fingers interwoven on the top of the granite table. “My mom.”

  “You remember seeing her?” Laurel asked.

  “I do. Remember when I told you about my dream?”

  “You now are sure that it wasn’t a dream?”

  “I think it was real.” I closed my eyes and tried to bring back the scene. “It was raining.” I remembered something else. “I was cold. I’d taken off my clothes.” A cold shiver came over me. “Ants. I remember the ants. They woke me. After I brushed away the ants, I saw this woman. I didn’t know who she was at first. It was dark and beginning to rain. I went to her, to help her. She was so thin.” A lump came to my throat. “Her voice was scratchy.” I looked up to Patrick’s blue eyes. “You know how someone sounds who has been a smoker? That was her voice. And her skin was thin. I thought she looked hungry. I told her I could help her.”

  “In the wilderness?” Laurel asked.

  The tips of my lips moved upward in a sad attempt at a grin. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d eaten, but I wanted to help her. I guess to give her hope.”

  Patrick flashed a real smile. “Lorna, for over nine years you’ve been feeding us. I would never doubt that was your intention.”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “I know what I do isn’t much. I’m not you,” I said, looking at Laurel. “What I do here” —I gestured around the kitchen— “is just my...contribution.”

  Patrick nodded my direction. “Don’t sell yourself short. Taking care of this ragamuffin crew is something substantial. Did she accept your help?”

  The room around me disappeared as I tried to recall that night. The rain began falling harder, large raindrops plopping upon the hard ground. Thunder rolled in the distance, its rumble came closer as its volume grew, and streaks of lightning zigzagged across the sky.

  I looked down. Instead of the shiny tile floor beneath my shoes, I saw the rising water around my bare feet and the way the earth dampened and morphed from solid to a rising stream. “I was worried about the rain.”

  “The rain?” Laurel asked. “Why?”

  “It was coming down so hard that the ground couldn’t absorb it. Within a short period of time, it was as if we were in a shallow stream. The woman was sitting by a rock. I went to her.”

  “Did you know who she was?” Laurel asked.

  I shook my head. “No. She looked familiar but old and ragged. And then she laughed. It was a witch’s laugh—a caricature of a witch, such as they would show in a cartoon.”

  “What happened next?” Patrick asked.

  “I asked her who she was.” Before they could respond, I added, “I asked if she was me.” I forced a grin. “I know that sounds crazy, but I was afraid I was seeing myself.”

  Laurel’s head shook. “Nothing sounds crazy. Remember, no right or wrong answers? Did she talk to you?”

  “She said she was nobody.”

  “Why would she say she was nobody?” Laurel asked.

  My lips pursed as I recalled the conversation under the deluge of rain. “I-I’m not sure.”

  “What happened next?” It seemed to be Patrick’s go-to question.

  I brought my suddenly chilled hands to my lap, wringing one and then the other. “The woman started talking. As she did, her voice grew weaker, fading into the sounds of the storm. Maybe she knew she didn’t have much time. She told me that I knew her, and she apologized for being a bad mother, saying she knew now how we’d felt.” I looked up. “That’s a lie. Our grandmother, her mother, was a saint. There’s no way she knew what it was like to grow up as her kid.”

  “Let’s concentrate on what was said and what you recall,” Laurel said calmly.

  Nodding, I again closed my eyes. In my mind, I was back in the cold rain with thunder and lightning. “Nancy said if she could do it over again, she would.” I took a deep breath, recalling the way her green eyes stared up at me through the rain and growing storm as the large drops saturated her hair and clothes. “She said she told them. No, she said they forced her to tell.”

  “Who is them?” Patrick asked.

  “I don’t know. She said they forced her, and I should know.” I paused, trying to recall exactly what she had said.

  “Lorna,” Patrick said, “did she use the plural them, not singular him or her?”

  I didn’t speak for a minute as I recalled. Swallowing, I sat taller. “Yes, she definitely said them.”

  “Go on,” Laurel said.

  “And that’s when she confessed that Missy didn’t go missing. Nancy said she sold her to her birth father. She said that they know so I should too.”

  Both Patrick and Laurel’s expressions revealed uncertainty.

  “And then?” Patrick prodded.

  “She fell asleep.” I opened my eyes and looked across the table. “She died.”

  “What did you do?”

  Tears came to my eyes as my chin dropped to my chest. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It might, Lorna,” Laurel said.

  “I sat beside her and tried to keep her warm.”

  A warm hand covered mine. When I opened my eyes, it was my sister-in-law now in the chair beside me with her hand covering mine.

  “Kind of pathetic, right?” I asked.

  “The opposite,” she replied. “Lorna, you’
re a loving person. That isn’t a fault.”

  “Maybe she felt that before she died.”

  “You can choose to believe she did,” Patrick said.

  “What do you recall next?” Laurel asked.

  “Waking up and seeing Reid.”

  “Let’s talk about before,” Patrick prompted. “What do you recall before?”

  “It’s so odd. I don’t actually remember being at the ranch, yet I know the ranch. I’ve been there before. I have had a few visions—or maybe flashes, like you said.”

  “Can you describe them?”

  “White walls. And then there’s a man with dark black hair.”

  Patrick smiled from across the table. “We have some pictures.”

  I nodded.

  “We are trying to not lead you. We went through this earlier this morning with Araneae.”

  “Did she remember?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  Laurel smiled. “Let’s concentrate on you.”

  “Okay. I guess that makes sense. I mean, Araneae probably knew more. She’s smarter, she’s somebody.” I forced a grin.

  Laurel’s voice was as soft as silk. “Why is she smarter?”

  “Look at her. She helped create Sinful Threads, and now she’s done so much with the Sparrow Institute.”

  “Right,” Patrick said. “I don’t see a correlation with those examples and intelligence, perhaps opportunity.”

  “But look at me.” I opened my eyes wide. “I’m not complaining, but I have a high school diploma and I cook and clean.”

  “Have we ever,” Patrick began, “made you feel like your contribution to this household was insignificant? Because, Lorna, if we did, if any one of us ever did, I want to apologize.”

  Heat filled my cheeks. “That’s not it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Laurel’s hand again covered mine. “Araneae had some memories. We want to see how they match up with yours. This isn’t a test.”