Loving Wilder

by Leigh Tudor

  Making sure the truck was in neutral, she took the second paper clip and inserted one tip of the wire in the proper hole creating the starter wire. She twisted the paper clip, similarly to a key, and the engine instantly turned over and started.

  “Yes!” She punched the air with one arm as she pulled onto the street.

  The twins ran behind the truck, waving at her as she took off, the sight making her heart hurt. These kids were skinny, dirty, and likely hungry. The house they lived in looked about ready to collapse and the inhabitants on the verge of either incarceration or eviction, based on all the notices tacked on the front door.

  It felt like she was abandoning them. Two kids who’d taken the time to save her life, as opposed to allowing her to suffer at the hands of good ol’ Uncle Rob.

  She had to let that go though and focus on her present situation.

  The bad news was she no longer had her pistol, which sucked. But the good news was—she patted her chest area, reached into her bra, and pulled out her cell phone—she still had her mobile device!

  It was barely seven in the morning, and she already had five missed calls from Trevor.

  Dang it, she only had a ten percent charge left on her phone.

  She’d have to keep it short and to the point.

  Taking a deep breath while driving aimlessly, she returned his call.

  “Hey,” he said, answering the call on the first ring. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you and Nate for the last half hour.”

  Nate.

  He was gone, and it was her fault.

  “Trevor,” she said, her voice suddenly trembling and her throat clogging. “I need you to take the girls to Madame, pick up Alec, and meet me somewhere between Wilder and Raley.”

  “Raley? What the hell’s going on, Mercy?”

  “I only have ten percent battery, so I have to make this quick,” she said, and then leaped into the full story, doing her best to remain calm and concise without leaving out the more critical pieces of information.

  And then silence. Anxiety bubbled in her chest over the amount of charge left on her phone.

  And he wasn’t saying a word.

  Finally, he broke the silence. “Let me call you back with a meeting place.” His tone was cold and detached.

  Dropping the phone on the seat, she stared out the window while rubbing the ache in her chest. She chalked up his clipped response to him being in “fix it” mode. She should be thankful he didn’t waste time with criticisms and accusations.

  But based on his tone, there was little doubt they were coming.

  And she deserved every last one.

  Cara’s eyes flew open.

  Searing pain cut through the skin along her wrists and ankles bound with ropes and zip ties. She winced from the pain and piercing light from some artificial source that was both blinding and debilitating. She lay on her side and shut her eyes tight as she turned her weight from her cheek to her forehead to avoid the relentless light.

  She fought through the hazy fog of her brain to recall where she was and what happened. What circumstances had brought her to this cold, dank room?

  Then she remembered Landon, and it all came to her like a slow-motion movie reel.

  He’d told her to get back in the truck, but she had refused. Samantha was inside that house. She had her texts to prove it. And her friend needed her help.

  Samantha had emerged from the front door, but instead of welcoming her, she had screamed at her, telling her to run.

  Suddenly, Landon had jerked away from her, and then he went down. At first, she thought he had tripped, though she’d heard the gunshot. But he had been shot and lay unconscious in the middle of the street. She was trying to revive him so they could run, but he wouldn’t move. And then someone grabbed her from behind; she felt a piercing jab in her neck, after which everything went dark.

  She was cold. And lying on something wet and grimy. Her body jerked upright as she realized her face was lying in God knew what, littered across the damp concrete floor.

  The blinding light came from above, maybe a ceiling light, her level of sensitivity enhanced likely due to the chemicals injected into her body.

  A face suddenly appeared in front of her, and she screamed.

  Her legs pushed her farther against the wall behind her, but she had nowhere to go. As her vision began to sharpen and focus, she realized the ethereal face was attached to a body, bent over so he could stare at her with eyes that were a bit too wide and an expression that was not quite anchored in reality.

  After a moment, she recognized him.

  “Mr. Waterman?” Even though she knew him, she certainly didn’t feel any sense of comfort in the familiarity of the face gazing at her in a way that was so… off.

  “Hi, Cara,” he said with an almost clown-like tone, which she found odd given the circumstances.

  “Where’s… Samantha?”

  “Samantha,” he repeated, as if not sure who she was talking about, and then his hollow eyes widened in sudden recollection. “Oh yes, Samantha. She’s been bad. She’s been sent away.”

  “And Landon?”

  “I don’t know who that is,” he said, shaking his head in a creepy, frenetic motion.

  “He… he was shot last night.”

  “Oh, yes, him. He was sent away, too. He was bad.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes as she assumed the worst for her friends. They streaked down her face, for now she was alone with the man who had nearly killed Mrs. Waterman and put her into the hospital. A man who might have done unspeakable things to Landon and his own daughter.

  “Cara.”

  Her head jerked upon hearing her name, and then Mr. Waterman moved aside. Her heart lodged in her throat when she saw Nate, tied up and against the wall just a few feet away from her.

  “Are… are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” he assured.

  Mr. Waterman, Sam, clapped his hands together. “How nice that you two know one another. Yes, that’s so nice.” He then bent down in front of Cara again and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “I always thought you were so pretty.”

  Cara’s body began to quake. This man was her friend’s father. She’d had dinner with him on a number of occasions when she’d spend the night with Samantha. And he’d driven her home from school when she and Samantha had band practice.

  But she didn’t remember him acting so creepy.

  And the way he was touching her wasn’t… right. He wasn’t right.

  “Hey, fucktard,” Nate called out, causing Sam’s face to turn from admiring to instantly angry. Slowly rising to his full height, he made his way to him, reared back and kicked him in the ribs.

  Cara cried out, helpless to do anything but watch Nate fall to his side, attempting to suck in air, with his hands and feet tied.

  Nate gasped, writhing on the floor and then coughing as Sam watched with detachment. “Don’t call me names,” he said with a glower, standing over him. And then screamed, “Show. Some Respect.” Causing Cara to flinch at the unexpected rage emanating from his body.

  “No problem,” Nate sucked in, working to catch his breath. “You’re the man.”

  “That’s right,” Sam said, nodding. “I’m the man. I’m the breadwinner. You’re nothing without me.”

  Okay, he definitely was working under some alternate reality.

  “So, Sam,” Nate wheezed, and Cara grimaced as he struggled to sit up while favoring his side. “Since you’re the man in charge. What are we doing here?”

  Sam’s demeanor changed once again. He stood straight and rubbed his hands together. “For the boss lady.” And then his expression turned icy once again. “I don’t like answering to women.”

  “Who does?” Nate said, glancing at Cara with a reassuring look. “They’re nothing but know-it-alls, am I right?”

  Sam nodded and glared at Cara once again. Whatever Nate was trying to do to ingratiate himself with this madman was backfiring
on her.

  Sam pointed a trembling finger toward her. “It was her and her sisters who turned my own wife and daughter against me.” He then pounded his chest with his fist, his face turning red with rage. “Making them believe they were stronger than me. Better than me.”

  Cara could almost see his mind twisting in madness. “Mr. Waterman, I… I’m sorry for whatever I’ve done…”

  “Shut up!” he screamed and then lowered his voice menacingly. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “So, who’s this boss lady?” Nate asked conversationally.

  Cara breathed a sigh of relief when Sam’s sick attention diverted back to Nate.

  A sound from above caught her attention. Like a door opening and closing.

  “That’s enough, Sam.”

  Cara turned her head to her right to see a man making his way down an old wooden staircase. And when he passed the shadows of the stairwell into the light, she recognized his face although it took a moment for his name to materialize.

  Dr. Vielle.

  The number of encounters she’d had with the doctor had been few, but she remembered always being terrified around him. Terrified because when he walked into the sterile room it meant another unexplained procedure resulting in a lengthy, isolated recovery. Post-surgery, she’d usually be groggy and her mind fuzzy from coming out of sedation. His questions would center more on her medical condition than how she was doing emotionally. And whenever she’d ask to see her sisters, he always had an excuse as to why that was impossible.

  Follow-ups were no better. He’d only confer with Jasper or Dr. Halstead, never talking to her or considering her feelings when conversations converged around her cognitive abilities and whether a surgery provided the outcomes they were striving for.

  She’d been a lab rat, her feelings inconsequential and falling to the bottom of the list of priorities. There, only to provide MRIs, tissue samples, and blood work—and discounted whenever she dared venture into the realm of her personal needs.

  Cara glanced at Nate, who didn’t appear to recognize him from the Center.

  “Sam, what did I say about oversharing?” Dr. Vielle asked, laying a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  “N… Not to.”

  “That’s correct. I need you only to keep an eye on our patients.”

  Patients?

  “We have much to do to prove our past successes and deliver them to our prospective customer.”

  “Boss lady.”

  “That’s right. The boss lady.”

  “What did you do with Landon and Samantha?” Cara asked once again.

  “They’re no longer a concern. They’ve been disposed of, isn’t that right, Sam?” he replied.

  Sam hesitated, his eyes darting left and right, but then nodded his head several times. “Yes, sir, they’re gone.”

  “Good. Now, let’s give you your medicine.” He pulled a syringe from his pocket and Sam started to sway back and forth in keen anticipation. After receiving the shot, he seemed to instantly relax, his earlier level of agitation tuning down, almost zombie-like.

  Dr. Vielle started to make his way back up the stairway, but turned halfway to address Sam. “Sit here and don’t let them leave. Not under any circumstances.”

  He murmured his assent, sat on the bottom step, and stared straight ahead.

  “But don’t hurt them, Sam,” Dr. Vielle added. “They’re worth a lot of money, but only if unharmed. And if you do hurt them, I will have to deal with you. Do you understand?”

  Sam nodded, but this time without the frenetic energy from earlier—rather, with a far more robotic response.

  Staring straight ahead.

  And then he turned to look at Cara with dead eyes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Jazz will endure just as long people hear it through their feet instead of their brains.” — John Philip Sousa

  Mercy waited in the parking lot of the H-E-B grocery store per Trevor’s instructions.

  She didn’t get a “how are you” or an “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Nothing. Nada. Zip.

  She was wearing the same jeans, baseball shirt, and tennis shoes she had put on the previous morning, the white shirt splattered with blood and dried vomit.

  A growling noise emanated from her stomach, but she wouldn’t have been able to swallow food if she wanted to as her heart had been permanently lodged in her throat for the last several hours.

  Her eyes were red from constantly rubbing them, and she was exhausted from the crying jags.

  Her phone was dead, and the gas tank was empty. And she needed reinforcements, like yesterday.

  She considered how she and Loren had always insisted on going it alone on all their missions. How her sister had instilled a sense of autonomy between them, as if outsiders were always to be maligned and distrusted. The sacred rule, for the majority of their lives, had always been to trust no one, to never lean on or rely on anyone else for any reason.

  My, how times have changed.

  She wondered why exactly.

  Was it because they were becoming weak and dependent on others since living in the uneventful town of Wilder? Or was it because they had found those worthy of their trust?

  She really wasn’t sure.

  What she did know was that she absolutely needed Trevor and Alec in order to find Nate, Cara, and Landon.

  And she prayed to Cara’s God that Loren wasn’t with Trevor and Alec.

  Her big sister could be stubborn and relentless. Granted, if her sister weren’t carrying her niece or nephew there would be no one else she would rather have by her side.

  But Loren needed to protect her baby bump. And this time around, Mercy needed Alec and Trevor to help her get the kids back. This wasn’t a mission where only hers and Loren’s lives were at stake. This time, it included the lives of innocent kids whose only sin was attending an unsupervised party and looking out for one another.

  And making an impromptu trip in the middle of the night to a really scary part of town without permission.

  Then, recklessly trying to enter a home that looked as if it harbored drug addicts or child predators.

  Mercy’s blood pressure began to rise.

  As soon as she got her hands on Cara, she was going to gut her with a spoon and then lock her in her bedroom and homeschool her skinny little as… behind… until graduation.

  And then she crumbled. Resting her forehead on the steering wheel, she allowed the tears to flow again.

  The fear in her chest was so deafening she couldn’t maintain any semblance of anger to mute it. She wondered if Loren had ever felt that way all those times she came to her rescue. Had she been sick with worry? Did she cry until she was bone dry and then gather herself to be able to think straight and devise a plan?

  Landon had been shot, and Samantha, Cara, and Nate were missing and probably scared out of their minds. She didn’t even want to think about what Sam might do to them.

  Anger was the distraction she needed to stop imagining the worst-case scenarios.

  But fear was quickly taking over.

  She lifted her head at the sound of an engine and recognized Trevor’s black truck pulling into the lot at breakneck speeds. Without hesitating, she hopped out of Landon’s rusty but reliable vehicle.

  Trevor came to an abrupt stop as the passenger side window rolled down.

  Alec’s face appeared. “Get in. We know where they are.”

  She jumped in the back seat, and Trevor began to pull away before she even got the door shut.

  The first thing she noticed was that Loren wasn’t there.

  Maybe there was a God? Or at least a force of nature strong enough to overtake her sister.

  The second thing she noticed was that Trevor didn’t bother to acknowledge her, or glance at her through the rearview mirror. But this was no time to worry about her relationship status with her recently reconciled boyfriend.

  Time to focus.

  “How did we get a lead
on them?” she asked, scooting to the middle of the back seat and leaning forward.

  “The tag numbers you gave us, and the van description,” Alec answered.

  Mercy nodded, encouraged for the first time in hours.

  “Also,” Alec added, “Landon and Samantha are safe.”

  “Oh my God, that’s great,” she said. “How?”

  “Sam dumped them by a lake, and they were able to make it to a nearby road and wave down a semi. Landon’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s going to be okay.”

  “So where are Nate and Cara?”

  Trevor finally spoke. “The Center.”

  Mercy pulled her head back. “The Center?”

  “A state trooper identified the van and the plates minutes after getting the info dispatched to all highway patrol and followed them to the Center,” Alec explained.

  Mercy stared straight ahead, working through this astonishing bit of information. And then she remembered what Beauford had said: “A short balding man with a funny accent…”

  “Dr. Vielle,” she whispered.

  “What?” Trevor asked, scooting forward in his seat as he took a turn.

  Mercy nodded dazedly. “I was told one of the men in the white van who took them was short and balding and spoke with a funny accent. It had to have been Dr. Vielle.”

  Alec threw Mercy a glance. “Wasn’t that the sick dude who worked for Halstead and performed the surgeries?”

  She nodded as she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

  Trevor’s voice broke through her thoughts. “You didn’t see him? Who was your informant?”

  “No, I didn’t see him. I’d been knocked out. A kid named Beauford saw him.”

  “A kid?”

  “Well yeah, he and his five-year-old twin sister, Agnes.”

  “What the fuck, Mercy?” Trevor spat. “You gathered intel from five-year-olds?”

  Mercy glared back at him through the rearview mirror. “Why I’m fine, Trevor, thanks for asking.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “They weren’t your typical kids. And for your information, they’re the ones who gave me the van description and the license plate numbers, which panned out pretty nicely.”