by Leigh Tudor
With these thoughts, she turned on the stool and regarded a silent Dr. Vielle as they awaited the team to finish sweeping the basement and gathering evidence, or until another team of agents arrived to deliver the doctor to a maximum-security prison to await trial.
It had been a while since she’d worn the dark leggings and black zippered coat, along with a pistol crammed in the back waist of her pants. She didn’t miss it, and was looking forward to when this was all finally behind them. When she and her granddaughters could live their lives free from evil people who only wanted them for the money they could generate for their depraved purposes.
Pulling herself off the stool, she sauntered over to Dr. Vielle, who was now dozing. How she despised him and his twisted views on moral authority.
With a quick hand, she ripped the duct tape from his mouth, causing him to waken from his sleep with a girlish yelp and fearful eyes.
“I think it’s time you and I had a talk,” she said matter-of-factly.
His eyes scanned the room, and seeing in his uninformed estimation that there was no serious threat, he scoffed. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“That is where you are wrong. I happen to be a high-level FBI agent, who has monitored your every move while at the Center.”
“You have nothing,” he said with what looked to be more arrogance than confidence.
“Tell me, Dr. Vielle, what compelled you to perform such dangerous surgeries on such defenseless young girls on behalf of Halstead?”
He harrumphed, “Please, Halstead was the hack. I was the one who had the surgical skills. I was the one who possessed the vision. He just provided the test subjects and the funding. I was the brains behind everything while he accepted all the accolades.”
“So you were just one of his hapless underlings.”
“Halstead would have been nothing without my surgical talent.”
“Did you ever think of the children on whose brains you were operating? Did any sense of humanity come into play?”
“Those children were orphans, misfits. No one wanted them. So instead, they became the sacrificial contributors to science. They should have been grateful for having beds to sleep on and food to eat, as well as for the part they played in discovering scientific breakthroughs in neuroscience. I gave their lives purpose.”
Madame had come across high-handed misanthropes such as Dr. Vielle numerous times during her esteemed career. Men and women ideologues, who felt they were above the law and the precepts for basic humanity. But never had she experienced the pure hatred and indelible vehemence for someone whose narcissistic extremism directly harmed members of her own family.
That was a next-level degree of hatred.
The feeling brought to mind stories of heartbroken fathers who attacked their daughters’ rapists or murderers, despite being in the middle of a court trial and despite the consequences.
The question at hand was how does one maintain their humanity when faced with the voracious arrogance of another’s lack thereof?
Fresh air.
She desperately needed to step outside of the room, gain her breath, and find her center.
Just as she was about to step outside the doorway, her eye caught a stack of folders that had been dropped haphazardly on the floor, the contents half spilling out.
Something in the photo captured her eye, the face reminiscent of the many photos she had stacked up over the years of her daughter. The daughter she’d given up for adoption. She’d memorized every facial feature, every physical attribute over a span of decades. She bent down to pick it up for a closer look, quickly realizing it wasn’t a photo of her daughter when she was a child, but of Mercy.
Opening the folder, she set the contents on the counter beside the door and began to sift through the photos.
Mercy sobbing and reaching out to indifferent men and women in surgical scrubs.
Mercy tied to a gurney as tears rolled down her face.
Another of her sweet, dark-haired granddaughter where someone had secured her head with a strap so she was unable to move, the fear in her eyes making Madame’s vision blur and the blood race through her veins.
Her hands scrambled over to the box where the folders seemed to originate and pulled out another folder.
This one was filled with photos of Cara.
The same terror-riddled look on her face, and no one bothering to comfort her or show her an ounce of compassion. And there were so many others, all of them taken to showcase a historical moment in time for an imperious neurosurgeon, with complete disregard for the patients he’d surgically altered for his own grandiose purposes.
Slowly, she turned toward Dr. Vielle, who seemed to comprehend that his safety was no longer a foregone conclusion. As her determined eyes met his, she had something of an epiphany. Those fathers seeking justice for their violated daughters—those attacks weren’t done in a rash moment of temporary insanity. Those fathers weren’t blind with vengeance and retribution.
On the contrary.
They were clear-minded and hyper-focused in their actions. Vindicated by an obligation to seek a reckoning, wholly deserved and undeniably justified.
It was well past time for her own reckoning with the man who had maliciously attacked her granddaughters.
All in the hallowed name of science.
Chapter Eighteen
“Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.” — Maya Angelou
Mercy lowered the phone, dejected. They had been searching for hours with no luck and finally agreed to meet up with Madame on the other end of the compound.
Bone-tired and full of concern, Mercy found Alec and Trevor near the front entrance.
“I have no idea where else to look,” she said, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands.
They made their way down the corridors to where Madame was guarding Dr. Vile. Maybe she would know of some of Cara’s past secret hiding places from when she lived at the Center.
Cara had despised Jasper Bancroft. Maybe there was someplace she would go to avoid him? Some sort of shelter where she could find some privacy while envisioning Bancroft getting bludgeoned to death.
They passed the last set of double doors that were disabled, no longer sounding the alarm, and Mercy was the first to enter the surgical room.
She was relieved to see Madame’s FBI cronies in the room and giddy with the anticipation of finally witnessing Dr. Vile being escorted away in handcuffs. But something was wrong.
They were all huddled up as if going over a play post third down, one of them standing close to Madame and asking her questions, which was weird in and of itself, while the others kept looking at one another, as if they were having to come up with a solution to world hunger.
“Oh shit,” Trevor remarked, causing Mercy’s head to turn toward him and Alec, and then back to what had caught their attention.
There was Dr. Vile, right where she left him, with his hands and feet still tied to the gurney, except the duct tape was gone.
And a surgical drill was lodged in his skull.
The heads in the huddle instantly reared up upon hearing Trevor’s expletive.
Mercy stumbled over her words as she searched for some sort of plausible explanation. “What… what happened?”
The elder agent with the salt-and-pepper hair, who had been referred to earlier as Special Agent Crowder, spoke first, closely watching his words. “There appears to have been an accident.”
The other agents avoided eye contact with her at the paltry description of what had transpired, and they all became simultaneously engrossed with their footwear.
“So… you’re saying… Vile tripped and fell while tied to a hospital bed. Whereby a drill inexplicably fell onto, and then into, his head?”
They all nodded as if that made sense, their attention now on Madame, who was standing with a straight spine and her eyes facing toward the ceiling. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll
tell you what happened. I—”
“She left the room to take a call from me and returned to find Dr. Vielle… incapacitated,” Crowder finished for her, giving her a stern look.
“That is not what happened…” Madame countered.
“It is,” he replied with a note of finality.
Crowder’s phone rang, and he answered it, glaring at Madame and moving to the side of the room.
Trevor seemed equally confused, but concerned for Madame’s welfare. “Madame G, can I get you anything? Some water? A… chair?”
“An attorney,” she responded haughtily. “Preferably a good one.”
“Agent Andrews and Agent Smith, do not let that woman talk. Muzzle her if you have to,” Crowder interjected from the corner where he stood.
“I’d like to see you try,” she said sulkily, under her breath.
Madame pulled away from her colleagues, who had no intention of silencing the icon, and sidled next to Mercy. “You didn’t find the children?”
Conflicted between the dead body on the gurney and Nate and Cara who were still missing, she sighed. “No, do you have any idea where they might be hiding? Do you ever remember Cara having a hidey-hole or some special place where she would go to get away?”
Madame shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
Crowder returned with a self-satisfied look on his face.
“Well, that was Agent Morley and Agent Finch. They were given instructions to transport Billy Joe Vieja to the nearest high-security prison. Apparently, some of his men were waiting for them en route on the side road. Shots were fired, and Billy Joe escaped the vehicle. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t see too clearly and got caught up in the crossfire. He’s dead, along with his men.”
Mercy glanced at Trevor and Alec, wondering what would make Special Agent Crowder appear so pleased, other than some really bad people were no longer breathing air.
Madame was also perplexed. “Spit it out, Crowder. What exactly is it that has you so full of yourself?”
“Well, it appears our boy Billy Joe sang like a bird on his way to prison.”
Mercy’s eyes narrowed. Billy Joe was no low-grade grifter, and confessing certainly wasn’t the MO of a seasoned career criminal. “To what?”
“He confessed to having plans to groom the children for similar future criminal activities, as Halstead had done, with Amado as his partner.”
“And…?” Trevor asked in a skeptical tone.
Crowder smiled. “And to murdering Dr. Vielle with a drill.”
Silence reigned for a while as they all stared at one another.
“They took down his confession, word for word,” Crowder added.
“Did they record it?” Madame asked, knowing that was standard procedure.
“Afraid not. The confession was rather impromptu, as I understand it. All done while in transit. No time to whip out a recorder.”
“I see, so there is no way to verify any of this,” she added with a sardonic twist of her mouth.
“Of course there is. We have the sworn testimony of the two field agents who heard the confession.”
“And who have longstanding working relationships with Madame,” Trevor added, as if holding back a smile.
Crowder leaned in toward Madame. “I do believe it was you who helped Special Agent Finch with his daughter’s acceptance to Juilliard,” he said under his breath.
She reared back as if offended. “Why, I did nothing untoward. The child was extremely gifted. I only helped with filling out the paperwork and giving a personal reference.”
“And I believe you helped deliver Special Agent Morley’s baby during a particularly dangerous mission, when your vehicle careened over a guardrail during a snowstorm in Telluride?”
She scoffed, “Well, that was certainly no hardship. Telluride is quite the luxury vacation spot with scads of local amenities.” She hesitated for a moment, then said, “All of which were duly enjoyed once airlifted to safety.” Pulling a stray strand of silvery hair back into place, she lowered her voice. “Mere moments after the explosion.”
Mercy, glanced at Dr. Vile once again and couldn’t help but consider how close she’d come to ensuring he’d experienced the same grotesque end. The drill was leaning precariously to the side yet fully lodged in his skull with blood running down his face and his eyes wide open in horror.
“I’m not sure what I should be feeling right now.” Mercy sighed, turning to Trevor.
Madame crossed her arms, her bottom lip trembling. “Wrong is wrong, and I’m fully prepared to suffer the consequences.”
Trevor shook his head. “No. Not everything is black and white,” he said, avoiding Alec’s smug face. “And the Ingalls sisters have suffered enough loss. We all need to find Nate and Cara, give our statements, and go home to Wilder. I’m going to have to insist.”
Mercy’s phone rang, and when she saw the name, Pregnant Shrew light up her phone, she picked it up immediately, waving Alec and Trevor over to follow her into the hallway.
“Loren?”
“Where’s Alec?” she growled.
Like for real, growled like a grizzly bear.
Mercy looked up at her sister’s baby daddy, who had the look of intense fear in his eyes, slicing the back of his hand across his neck as if to say he wasn’t there.
“Yeah, he’s right here. You wanna talk to him?”
She pressed the speaker and watched Alec wince as Loren barked, “No, I don’t want to talk to him. I want to tear his balls off and feed them to Hercules as a late-night snack.”
Alec grimaced and unconsciously adjusted himself.
“You tell Alec that when I’m hiding in a closet, after confiscating my phone from a sleeping Jimbo’s butt crack… and by the way, that’s no exaggeration—the man literally hid my phone in his underpants—he had better pick up my call on the first ring!”
“Okay, I’ll be sure to tell him,” Mercy said, batting her lashes at Alec.
Trevor then leaned toward the phone. “Just for the record, Loren. I would never ignore your phone calls.” And then, he went on with an evil grin directed toward Alec, “I mean, it could be an emergency.”
Mercy and Trevor fist-bumped.
“Thank. You,” Loren said dramatically while Alec looked at Trevor as if he were chewing glass while at the same time smelling a rotten egg bomb.
“Okay,” Loren huffed. “Give me the details of what’s going on. Somehow everyone around here is working under the false impression that keeping me in the dark is somehow keeping me calm, when all it’s doing is turning me into a nervous wreck, and on the verge of chewing nails. And I’m not sure, but I think these lunatics drugged me. I’m totally serious right now. I confronted Jimbo about it, and he just kept moving into a different room while I followed him around the house, swatting him with a wooden spoon.”
“Okay, calm down, Crazy Pants, or this conversation ends now,” Mercy demanded, and ironically, it worked. Loren was able to hold it together while giving her time to run through what had gone down. She also shared they were still looking for Nate and Cara, but chose to keep what had just happened with Madame and Dr. Vielle’s suspicious death on the down low. That was a conversation to be had another day, once Nate and Cara were safe and sound.
“It’s like they’ve vanished,” Mercy said, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “But I know they’ve got to be here.”
“I agree,” Loren said, after hearing the details. “Had they left the Center, they would’ve been in contact with someone by now. Nate could make a ham radio with a shoebox, a wad of gum, and chicken wire.”
“I just don’t know where to look. I’ve checked all of our hiding places and… nothing.”
There was silence on the line as if everyone was busy contemplating.
“Omigod, Trevor!” Loren yelled over the speaker. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Trevor’s brows came together. “Apparently not.”
“Think, m
an. A hiding place no one knows about…”
His face lit up as it hit him.
“Yep, that’s it. That’s gotta be where they are!” he said with confidence.
“Go get our kids, guys,” Loren said. “And, Alec, I know you’re there.” She sniffed, and then her voice turned watery and wobbly. “I just really miss you, and I want you to come home to me. I promise not to tear off your testicles. I just might be a little overdramatic and emotional right now…”
“Sis,” Mercy said, interrupting Loren’s little meltdown. “We’ve gotta go and find Nate and Cara.”
“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” she said with more sniffing. “Love you guys, love you, Alec, and call me as soon as you find them. And I’ll answer. On. The. First. Ring.”
Ten to fifteen minutes later, with Trevor leading the way this time, they entered a storage room that Mercy happened to know she had already checked.
“I’ve already been in here,” she said, frustrated. “I told you that.”
“Yeah.” He walked toward a far wall and hit it with his fist, causing a before undetected door opening to show in what appeared to be a concrete wall, but was actually an impressively convincing decoy.
“This is where Loren hid the servers with all the evidence against Halstead. It’s empty now, with just enough room for…” He slowly pulled the door open, and Mercy almost fell to her knees when she saw a sleeping Cara with Nate, using her lap as a pillow, also fast asleep.
Trevor did his best to barely nudge Nate. The kid jerked awake and moved a protective arm in front of Cara, who was slowly beginning to open her eyes and determine her whereabouts.
As soon as Nate realized it was Trevor, he grabbed him around the neck and fell into his tight embrace, tears flowing down his face.
Mercy rushed to a tearful Cara, who kept repeating over and over, almost frantically, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! Please forgive me.”
“Stop,” Mercy shushed her, so deliriously happy to finally be holding her in her arms.
“How did you find us?” Nate asked, wiping his eyes.