Lancaster County Target

by Kit Wilkinson

  “Please tell me there’s a phone in here.” Abby looked at him anxiously.

  “I’m not sure. I was going to check earlier, but then you showed up.” Blake headed back to the computer station. “If there is one, I think it would be back here.”

  “Or we could use the computer to contact someone,” Abby suggested, following him back.

  Blake located the small office phone plugged in behind the computer. He lifted the receiver to his ear. “It’s dead.”

  Abby was already beside him trying the computer. “No internet. It’s probably all connected.”

  “Someone has trapped us in here for good.” Blake looked around at the walls and the ceiling. “Should we close the metal door? Maybe it’s fireproof.”

  Blake crossed the room.

  Abby was right beside him. She stopped him from closing the door. “If you shut that then we are definitely locked in here.”

  He looked down the hallway at the hungry flames, already halfway to the filing room, devouring the old dry wood. “We’re already locked in.”

  Blake scratched his head. What could they do? They had to do something. If they didn’t, they’d be sitting ducks.

  Just as someone had planned for them to be.

  Blake looked around the room again—and then he looked up. The drop ceiling was low and tiled. The rooms might be connected through the ceiling ductwork. If the fire was contained to the hallway, perhaps they could maneuver around it and make their way to the front of the building.

  “I’ve got an idea.” Blake hopped up on top of the closest filing cabinet. Being a good six foot two, he merely needed to rest on his knees on the top of the metal structure and he had access to the tiles above.

  “Good thinking.” Abby was already hopping up onto the adjacent filing cabinet.

  Together they lifted away the closest overhead tile and peered up through the space. The air was hotter there but not yet as smoky—the flames from the hallway had just begun to reach the height of the ceiling.

  “I can crawl across that beam.” Abby started to lift herself into the ceiling structure.

  “Maybe not.” He grabbed her arm just as the framework began to bend under her weight. “Those flames are going to eat through the ceiling tiles like termites on wood. But at least we can see that the front of the building is clear. We could get out if we could just find a way to get there.”

  Abby pointed down. “How about that?”

  Blake followed her gaze to the lower side wall. There was a small space between two filing cabinets and behind it was an air return.

  Blake nodded. They both hopped down to the floor and inspected the screen.

  “We need a screwdriver,” Abby said.

  Blake took an ink pen from his pocket and ripped the clip from the front of it. Holding only the small, flat part of the clip, he maneuvered it into the screwhead. It took both hands to hold it in place but slowly he was able to loosen the bolts and remove the return cover.

  “Look. It goes down under the building.” Blake pointed behind the grate. Just the sight of the downward ductwork caused hope to return to his smoke-filled head. He grabbed Abby’s shoulders and kissed her out of sheer joy. “We can get out.”

  Abby smiled, though she looked a little puzzled by his quick peck on the lips. She might have been blushing, but then again, the red in her face could have been from the ever-building heat that encircled them. Closer and closer.

  Blake reached into the return with both arms and yanked the ductwork away from the wall. Just as he had hoped, the large metal cylinder-shaped tubing dropped away and cold, musty air flowed over them from under the building.

  “You first.” He smiled at Abby, who looked as relieved as he felt. She slid over to the gigantic hole in the wall that he’d created.

  “Crawl to a vent and push your way out. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Blake grabbed hold of Abby’s arms and was helping her to get her legs down under the building when she squirmed one hand loose from him. “Your files. Go grab your files.”

  Blake smiled. He stood and reached over to the desk area where he’d spread out his findings to show Abby before the fire had started. He scooped them up, tucked them under his arm and slid down under the building after Abby.

  THIRTEEN

  Abby’s arms and hands clutched deeply into the cold, wet, gravelly muck under the old Hall of Records auxiliary building. It was wonderful to breathe in the damp, smoke-free air, but her lungs were still full of fumes, and she coughed continually as she groped along the floor.

  Where to go?

  Abby turned around on all fours. The hallway’s flames had eaten through that area of the building. From the underside, it looked like a great bluish-orange ball of lava churning in midair. The fire was spreading out to all four sides of the building. They would have to stick to the edge of the stone foundation to make their way out...if there was a way out.

  Blake dropped down beside her. In the orange glow, she could see his sooty cheeks and his dirt-coated hands. He had to crouch even lower than she did to fit under the flooring. But he seemed to have his bearings as he touched her elbow and motioned to the back wall. He scurried along first and she followed. It was slow moving as the dirt floor seemed to rise up, leaving less and less space for their bodies.

  “We’re almost there. I see the vent. It’s just ahead.” Blake looked back at her. Probably heard her gasping and coughing even through the rumbling roar of the flames. “You okay?”

  Abby was nodding when the unmistakable sound of splitting wood cracked overhead. Abby scooted back instinctively, while Blake moved forward. There was a terrible ripping sound as the beam just over them began to split.

  “Get back!” Blake yelled.

  Abby was already scrambling as quickly as she could on her hands and knees until she hit the edge of the stone foundation. As quickly as the beam split, flames licked around it from the center outward, racing from the start of the wood all the way to the end, which had fallen between them, leaving her and Blake divided by a wall of fire. And the only way out was on his side of the beam.

  Abby fought her tears—they would do her no good here.

  * * *

  It was no use. Blake could not get around the fallen burning beam, which separated him from Abigail. He couldn’t even see her or hear her, but he knew that she had been forced into the far back-left corner of the building’s foundation. It was shallow there and with fire blocking her, there would not be much oxygen for long.

  This was all his fault. His stupid quest to find his birth parents. If he hadn’t been at the Hall of Records looking up birth records, they wouldn’t have gotten caught in this fire.

  Or was this just a continuation of the attacks by the man from the hospital, still after Abigail? It was hard to know. It was all starting to blur together for Blake. And anyway, what difference did it make? Right now what mattered was saving Abigail. If only he knew how.

  Blake turned reluctantly away from the fallen beam and Abigail and slid the next few feet to the panel of the foundation vent.

  “Please do not be locked,” he prayed aloud.

  Blake pressed on the wood panel, and much to his relief, it punched out of the cut frame with great ease.

  The opening wasn’t large but it was large enough. Blake began to squeeze through the small hole. Sunlight. Fresh air. Cold, fresh air. And voices.

  “Here he is!”

  In seconds, two firefighters had him under the arms and cleared him from the foundation of the old building. As soon as Blake was on his feet, someone draped a huge blanket around him. Slowly, his vision readjusted from being inside the dark crawl space.

  With a cough, he grabbed the arm of the closest firefighter. “Abby’s in the corner. Blocked. You have to get her out.”
>
  One of the two firefighters grabbed a sledgehammer from the truck and went running to the spot Blake had indicated. The far-left corner of the building.

  “Are you sure she’s here?” he asked. “There’s not much clearance.”

  “A beam fell down the center of the crawl space when we were heading for the vent. It closed her in. She has to be here.” If she hasn’t already been burned or asphyxiated... He couldn’t stand to think of what might have happened to her.

  “We’ll have to cut out the mortar and take the stones out one by one. Otherwise we could do more damage than good,” said the other firefighter.

  Blake was ready to grab the hammer and have a go at the wall himself. The building was already collapsing. They were wasting precious seconds.

  The firefighter with the hammer fixed his stance on the uneven ground and began knocking at the bricks hard enough to crumble some of the mortar. A couple of stones broke loose and fell to the ground.

  “We’re coming in through the corner,” yelled the other worker. “Cover your head.”

  Blake doubted she could hear them. Even if she could, he doubted there was much she could do to get out of the way. If she was even conscious...

  “There can’t be much air left in there. Hurry!” Blake yelled.

  A second hit of the hammer knocked a small three-inch hole at the edge of the corner. Blake stood back, anxious and panicked, but also amazed at the careful approach of the two workers. With another stone held at an angle, the firefighter was able to hit down at the foundation instead of inward. The stonework crumbled under the next few blows. Once the opening was about a foot wide, the other worker lay prostrate on the grass and reached into the dark space under the building.

  Blake fell to his knees when he saw Abigail’s arms and hands wrapped around those of the firefighter’s as he pulled her from under the building. Covered in soot and dirt, the worker slid her out facedown onto the grass. Blake moved in to help, but the hand of an EMT pulled him back.

  “You need medical attention,” the EMT said.

  Blake shook the man off. “I’m fine. I’m a doctor. I’m fine.”

  His focus was completely on Abby, scanning her head to toe, looking for any sign of life. Please be okay. Lord, she has to be okay.

  Finally, he detected the expansion of her lungs. She was breathing.

  Thank You, Lord. Thank You.

  Following the EMTs as they strapped her to the gurney, he watched her eyes flicker. He wanted to cry for joy. He may have only known Abigail Miller for a few days, but it was long enough to know that the world was a better place with her in it.

  Thank You, Lord, he thought again as he aligned himself alongside the EMTs and offered his assistance, much more politely than the manner in which he’d refused theirs.

  She had two third-degree burns on her right forearm and was blue in the lips and face from lack of oxygen. Her eyes flickered as he helped attach the oxygen mask. Once that was situated, Blake took a close look at her pupils and the contusions made on the front and back of her head earlier in the week.

  A cold compress to her burns caused her to awaken with a start.

  She patted his arm with her left hand as he wiped away some of the dirt and debris from her cheeks. She was so beautiful, he thought, even like this, even plain and dirty and beat-up. She was so strong—like his mother.

  Her fingers wrapped around his hand and pulled at him. He bent over her. “Just relax, Abby. They’re going to take you to the hospital. You need treatment on those burns. I’ll go with you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  Blake shook his head. She was sorry? More like he was sorry. This was all his fault—him and his stupid idea to find his birth parents, an idea that he was pretty certain he would let go of after this. In fact, maybe it was time for him to get back to New York. He looked at Abby and those feelings she inspired in him stirred again. Yes, for more reasons than one, he needed to get back to New York.

  “I couldn’t save all of the documents,” she whispered. “I tried, but I couldn’t reach them. I’m so sorry. I know how much that meant to you. I’m so sorry, Blake.”

  With her left hand, Abby slid a square of folded papers from under the corner of her blouse. She had tucked them away for him. More guilt weighed at Blake’s conscience. What if McClendon was right and all of this mess that was happening was his fault? He should never have come to Lancaster.

  Blake climbed into the ambulance and sat beside Abigail, ready for the ride to the hospital. His left hand kept hold of Abby’s and in his right he had the few documents she’d saved for him—the letter from his mother, the anonymous birth record on his birthday and three more birth records from the same year with Jane and John Doe listed as parents, all delivered by the same Dr. Nathan Miles.

  Blake took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, thinking about where he should be and what he should be doing. Why had he come down to Lancaster? More and more, he was thinking that Abby might be right. The search for his birth parents might only cause grief and pain, not to himself but to the very people connected to him. Nothing good was going to come out of his selfish quest. He could see that now—he just wished he’d realized it before he’d hurt Abigail. He swallowed hard as he looked at her burns and watched her drag in each breath of air. Blake had some serious thinking to do.

  He turned his head and glanced out the back windows as the ambulance slowly pulled away from the burning building. The fire was getting under control but it had already done its damage. The roof was gone and the entire center frame of the old structure was now cinders. Only some of the brick-and-stone outer structure remained—it was a pretty safe assumption that no documents were left in that document room.

  In the distance, Blake saw a group of Amish and Englisch onlookers watching the firefighters at work.

  And while he couldn’t be 100 percent sure, it looked to Blake as if off to the side of that group stood the same Amish-dressed man that he and Eli had seen in the woods the night before.

  * * *

  Abby never thought she’d be tired of hospitals, but she was—at least, she was tired of being a patient. Thankfully, she wasn’t going to have to stay the night. The burns on her right arm were terribly painful, but the treatments done in the burn center and some pain medication had gotten them under control. She couldn’t wait to get home and get cleaned up...that was, if Chief McClendon would let her go. She supposed she would find out soon enough. She’d been told he was sending two detectives to come talk to Blake and her in the hospital conference room.

  She hoped Blake would return to the conference room soon. He had stayed with Abby until Dr. Dodd, the hospital administrator, had called him away for a meeting. Abby could only imagine that it had something to do with the whole crazy ordeal that seemed to be going on around them. But she wanted him there to clarify the events of the fire and those leading up to it when the police arrived.

  “Miss Miller?”

  “Yes?” Abby turned to a familiar face. It was the same detective who’d come to the hospital the other day with McClendon. “Oh, hello, Detective. Come on in and have a seat. Dr. Jamison should be back at any moment.”

  A tall brunette stood just behind him. “This is Agent Linda Day from the FBI. She’s working this case and I’m her local liaison.”

  “Please, don’t get up,” Agent Day said. “I know you’ve had a rough week. You’ve certainly been keeping me busy.”

  The two officers took seats across from her.

  “We have a few updates for you and then we want to hear about what happened at the Hall of Records today.” Agent Day placed a tiny recording device on the table between them, then she opened up a leather notebook and took out a pen, ready to review and take notes.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Blake appeared at
the door.

  After introductions, Blake gave a quick rundown of exactly what had happened at the Hall of Records. Abby was surprised how much she had remembered accurately.

  “Remarkable that you two escaped.” Agent Day shook her head in disbelief. “According to the chief fire inspector, the inside hallway was the first to burn, the definite point of origin. Whoever set the fire used strong accelerants to draw the fire toward the document room, which, as you know, had only one exit. You were good and trapped. Everyone working the case is very impressed with your escape route.”

  “Except that it almost killed Abigail,” Blake said. She could still hear the guilt in his voice.

  “You might have both died if you hadn’t gone into the crawl space,” Agent Day replied. “You should be thankful, not critical.”

  Blake dropped his head. He seemed even more agitated since his return from meeting with Dr. Dodd.

  “I heard you say that you have updates.” Abby wanted to wrap up the meeting and get home. She wasn’t sure if she could even take in any more information or warnings of danger. Exhaustion had set in days ago. Now even her fumes needed refueling. Soot and dirt covered every inch of her body. She needed a long, hot bath and an even hotter cup of tea.

  “Yes.” Agent Day turned to a different page in her notes. “Since this is my first meeting with you, I’m not sure where to start. I have no idea how much McClendon shared with you.”

  “Just tell us everything.” Blake sighed.

  Abby stiffened. Blake’s presence both comforted her and disturbed her. She felt as if since their introduction in the E.R. a few days ago, they’d been together almost nonstop—and now that she thought about it, it had been nothing but nonstop trouble.

  “Right,” Agent Day said. “Well, then, here are the facts—Nicolas Hancock entered Fairview Hospital on Friday. He was given a lethal dose of epinephrine and died subsequently from cardiac arrest. We know virtually nothing about Mr. Hancock, except that he was a patient of a Dr. Granger, who is a family friend of Dr. Jamison’s. Other than that, his contact information is bogus. His prints don’t match anything in any of the databases, so he’s not a criminal that we know of. Still, a man who uses an alias tends to raise eyebrows. The FBI has subpoenaed the medical records from Dr. Granger but we have so far been unable to identify Mr. Hancock. This is a problem because without knowing the victim, it’s hard to put a finger on motive and therefore difficult to narrow in on possible suspects. We don’t know how Hancock got to Fairview or who admitted him. Possibly it was the killer Miss Miller saw.