The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  "And how are they gonna find out, Bernard?"

  "I don't know," Reynolds mumbled. He put his hands in his pocket and refrained from telling Johnson that he just wanted someone else to worry with him. "I always felt bad about him. He was such a nice guy. But he brought it on himself, you know. There was no choice, really. I did what I had to do."

  "Collateral damage, my friend," Johnson commiserated. "We all follow orders."

  "Still, if he managed to put a cohesive thought together. Whew," Bernard mused. "I mean, whew, a lot of people would be unhappy."

  "Yeah, well, he can't and nobody will find out unless you get squirrely." Johnson got up and walked to the door and opened it. "Just keep doing what you're doing. Everything will be fine."

  "Yeah, but I keep thinking–"

  "I think you should go to bed and get some sleep."

  Johnson gave the door a little shake and Bernard left, walking off into the night. Johnson stood there long enough to hear the door of Reynolds' house open and close. He looked at his watch and then at the main house. In the next five minutes he heard the sound of car wheels on gravel. The night girl arrived, late as always. Pulling a pack of smokes and a lighter out of his pocket, Johnson leaned against the doorjamb, lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. Like clockwork, the night girl's buddy showed up. Johnson didn't think the night girl did anything but sit on her butt and gossip with the other girl every night. Lazily, he wondered if Bernard knew about this. He didn't see how the man could miss it. Johnson could set his watch by them. Then again, it was Bernard he was thinking about. The man was also a creature of habit. Once he was in for the night, he had no interest in what went on in the house. Once he was in his office, he didn't see what was going on right outside his window.

  Johnson took one last drag and was glad to have lingered. The air felt good, the cigarette helped him think. He would hate to see this gig go down, that was for sure. He had a nice little side business going that was damn lucrative. If he was reassigned there's no way he'd ever have it this good again.

  Johnson flicked his butt onto the ground and went inside only to turn around and go out again. He found his cigarette butt, picked it up, went back inside, and flushed it down the toilet.

  He was, after all, a caretaker.

  CHAPTER 14

  Last year, in October, the congressman Denis J. Kucinich introduced in the American Congress a bill, obliging the American president to get engaged in the negotiations aimed at the ban of space based weapons. In this bill the definition of a weapon system includes: any other unacknowledged or as yet undeveloped means inflicting death or injury on, or damaging or destroying, a person (or the biological life, bodily health, mental health, or physical and economic well-being of a person) through the use of land-based, sea-based, or space-based systems using radiation, electromagnetic, psychotronic, sonic, laser, or other energies directed at individual persons or targeted populations or the purpose of information war, mood management, or mind control of such persons or populations … – Psychotronic Weapons website

  Amelia Francis looked nervous, lost, exhausted, and brittle. In short, she looked exactly the same way she looked at Ha Kuna House. The only difference between this Amelia and that one was that she was holding a purse and not a broom. She held that purse close and across her body. No woman did that unless there was something important inside.

  "Don't cut her too much slack," Stephen whispered while they watched Amelia look for them.

  "Great minds think alike," Josie said under her breath.

  "Or fools seldom differ," Stephen shot back. "Oh-oh, she's pegged us."

  He gave Josie a poke just as the two women made eye contact. The blond woman's jaw set. She walked directly them and then past then with hardly a pause.

  "There's a table outside in the back."

  Josie and Stephen exchanged a look. Stephen left some money on the bar. The bartender slipped it off and into his pocket as he watched them go. In the kitchen one of the cooks tossed his head up slightly. Amelia gave a sober nod in return. She pushed through the screen door. Josie was next. The door bounced wide enough off her open palm for Stephen to get through. As he pulled up the rear he bellowed, "Ah."

  The women paused and turned around. Amelia gave Stephen a withering look; Josie a curious one. He stared back all wide-eyed and innocent.

  "Sorry. One never quite gets over the feel of the night air in Hawaii. Like a caress, don't you think?"

  They obviously didn't. They turned their backs. He followed, disappointed not to have charmed them.

  The backyard of the establishment was nothing but a patch of dirt carved out of the tropical forest. It was partially lit by a bare bulb over the small porch and there were three steps that led from the noisy kitchen. Amelia flipped a hand, indicating a metal table that had at one time been part of a patio set. It was rusted and dented. There was a hole in the middle where an umbrella should be but someone had stuffed it with flowers that were long dead. Amelia took the chair on the left and Josie chose the one across from her, checking to make sure the seat was intact before she sat down. Stephen, not liking the looks of the third chair, went scrounging in the dark. He came back carrying a short wooden bench and was barely settled when Amelia began talking to Josie.

  "I didn't expect ever to see you again after Washington." Amelia's voice was lovely, beautifully modulated, and confrontational.

  "I didn't know you wanted me to find you," Josie said.

  "It doesn't matter. You're here and it's pretty obvious you were surprised to see Emily, so I guess he didn't tell you about her. I don't know what you know."

  "I know that you saw me in that hotel room. I know you could have stuck around and talked to the police. I know you put me through a lot."

  Josie heard her voice rising and tightening. Where she was headed wasn't going to do anyone any good, but Amelia didn't mind. She was ready for a fight.

  "You aren't the only one who had a hard time. My dad killed himself and I couldn't even stay with him. I was afraid to talk to the police."

  "There was nothing to be afraid of unless what you two were doing was illegal. What's in those bags? Drugs? If that's it, then what did it have to do with me?"

  Amelia shut her down with a quick, "It's not like that."

  "Fine. Let's start at the beginning. Was he really your father?"

  Amelia nodded. "Yes."

  "You have a funny way of showing you care. He died in the street and now he's in the morgue in Washington. He'll be cremated and left in a jar because you didn't have the decency to claim him."

  "Josie," Stephen warned. "Let Amelia speak."

  "She could have spoken in D.C. She could have spoken at Ha Kuna House," Josie retorted, hardly believing what she heard coming out of her mouth. She couldn't help her anger, but she should have been able to control it.

  "Josie," he warned again, clearly seeing what Josie did not. The girl's indignation started at her very core, shellacking her narrow backbone with steel. If Amelia walked they would have no connection to Ha Kuna House.

  "You're not very much like your mother, are you?" Amelia said.

  "I wouldn't know, and neither would you," Josie responded.

  "Ladies," Stephen held out a hand to each of them. "You've both had shocks in the last little while. One parent lost, one found. I think it would behoove you to get a few facts on the table. What do you say? Think that will work?"

  Amelia's eyes slid his way and Josie's lowered. When they looked at one another again, Josie nodded, but Amelia had some ground rules.

  "I want him to go away."

  "He stays," Josie answered.

  "No, he doesn't," Amelia insisted. "He works for Reynolds. I don't trust him. Neither should you."

  "Ho-ho, young miss. I work for myself, not Reynolds."

  "If you want my help you take his, too," Josie said. Amelia glanced at Stephen, unconvinced and unsure of what to do. Josie pressed her. "D
on't imply Reynolds is dangerous if you're not going to back it up. I'm tired, I'm not happy, and I am going to move forward with or without you."

  "I didn't say that Mr. Reynolds was dangerous, but my father was worried about him." Amelia backpedaled.

  "Then go to his boss," Josie said.

  "Before I talk about him, I want to know if you're sure my father is dead. Positively sure he's dead."

  Josie checked with Stephen. He offered a slight shrug, unsure what to make of any of this either.

  "Why is it even a question?" Josie asked.

  "Because someone called me from his phone. I just thought that maybe I was wrong. Maybe he's still alive and he pushed the button but he forgot to talk. I called back and someone answered and–"

  "I saw his body," Josie interrupted. "Whoever called you, it wasn't your father."

  "Maybe the medical examiner had his phone and was trying to track down a next of kin," Stephen suggested.

  Amelia shook her head.

  "They would have said so. And it was really late in Washington. That scared me so bad I almost didn't come. How do I know people aren't watching us? How do I know that phone is even in Washington? It could be anywhere. Anyone could have it. They could be here right now."

  "Exactly what are you afraid of? You've got to be specific or we can't help," Josie said.

  "I'm afraid that someone tried to keep my dad quiet about what he knew."

  "Amelia!" Josie threw up her hands. "We were the only two people in that hotel room. Me and him, and I didn't kill him."

  "I didn't say you did. I mean, whatever was done to him made him jump. He said it was the powder that was making them all sick." She drew her purse closer. "If they do an autopsy then maybe they'll find out something."

  "The cause of death was pretty clear, so it's doubtful anyone will do an autopsy," Josie answered. "Do you have any idea what that stuff is?"

  "No." Amelia shook her head. "I asked Mr. Reynolds. I told him I wanted to know what my dad was taking. He just said it was special to each resident and had to be compounded. I never got a straight answer. If the residents don't get it, some of them get really agitated. Emily hears voices and see things."

  Josie leaned forward. This table was their campfire and Amelia Francis was spinning scary tales in the dark.

  "Your dad drew a picture of a woman bound to a chair. Did you ever see Emily tied down?"

  "No, but it doesn't mean it never happened."

  "Sounds like general psychosis." Stephen made his pronouncement with such authority the two women stopped talking. They waited for him to go on, but his eyes widened and he raised his palms. "It was only a comment. Isn't that what everyone says? Oh, she's off her meds. She's psychotic. You know."

  Josie rolled her eyes, but Amelia was energized.

  "Exactly. He stopped taking his medication and then he tried to take Emily's away. But Emily started having nightmares without it and the night girl went to Mr. Reynolds and complained because she was making more work. I don't think he ever figured out that my dad had stolen Emily's medicine, but after that he did spot checks for a while to make sure we were dosing correctly."

  "Why didn't you just give this stuff to a doctor?" Josie asked.

  "Dad thought everyone was working for Ha Kuna House. He said we couldn't trust anyone."

  "Classic paranoia," Stephen interjected again but Amelia was done with him.

  "This isn't funny." She snapped before turning on Josie. "My father needed your help. He gave you what he thought was important."

  "How did he even know I was Emily's daughter? How did he know where I would be?"

  "I gave him a computer to keep him busy while I worked. He saw your picture and some reports about those hearings you were going to. He started making plans and putting things in a bag and then in a suitcase and he'd do it all about twenty times. He wouldn't let me take your picture off the computer. I kind of got it. I saw the resemblance to Emily. Your last names were the same. When he insisted that you could save Emily, I just got kind of caught up in the whole thing. Before I knew it, I used up all my savings on plane tickets and made up this story about going to see relatives." Amelia shoulders slumped. She sighed. "It was so stupid. I don't know what I was thinking."

  "But that was it? All he had was a picture on the computer? You're sure Emily didn't tell him about me? You're sure she didn't remember me?" Josie pressed.

  "I don't know! I don't know!" Amelia pounded her fists lightly on the table, catching herself before she screamed or beat a hole through the rusty top. "If it makes you happy to hear that Emily told him about you, then she did."

  "Okay. I'm sorry." Josie caught one of Amelia's wrists and held it tight. "Are you good?"

  She nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Look, I've taken care of my dad for four years, but the last six months have been hell. I don't sleep. I kept watch because he said they were coming to get us. Not just the residents. He said all of us were going to die."

  "And who was it that was going to do you in?" Stephen asked.

  "The government," Amelia answered.

  Stephen didn't laugh and neither did Josie. Stephen because he was intrigued, Josie because she was remembering Ambrose Patriota's warning about the fringe who would have you believe that they, and they alone, knew what evil lurks in the world.

  "That's just not so, Amelia. The government had nothing to do with your father's death," Stephen assured her.

  "Whatever was done to him drove him to suicide," Amelia answered.

  "Then find out who prescribed the stuff and what it was supposed to cure." Stephen threw up his hands. "Good grief, I cannot believe there is no doctor to talk to the poor souls in that place."

  "I've tried every which way from Sunday to find out where it comes from." Amelia drew in a breath and pulled her lips tight together as she calmed herself. "I would sit up with my dad while he ranted. I'd try to figure out how to get him to take the medicine. I put it in his drinks and he'd figure it out. Then he wouldn't drink anything for days. It was the same thing with food. Nothing could have been weirder than the life we were living, so why not go to Washington? Why not try to find you? Why not try to save Emily? It seemed so important at the time. He could make everything seem so important."

  "Balls, woman, you make it sound as if we've stumbled upon the Island of Doctor Moreau." Stephen snorted. Josie cast him a look. She had heard Ian Francis' voice, she had looked into his eyes, and she had gotten caught up in his madness. Stephen, though, wasn't buying any of it. "Please, Josie, this is just ridiculous. I'll grant the man was sick, but this girl has bought into his paranoia. I shall call it what it is. Par – a – no – ia."

  "Look. I liked the way things were." Amelia looked straight at Josie. "I know you were hurt to find out that Emily thinks I'm her daughter but that is her world. She thinks my dad is her husband. We were happy thinking that. I didn't want anything to change. Emily doesn't know it has changed."

  The apology and protestations and laments of Amelia Francis drifted Josie's way on a Hawaiian breeze but all she heard was the sad truth. Under the table Stephen Kyle put his hand on Josie's knee and gave her a squeeze. She took no offense at Amelia's outburst or Stephen's touch. It was painful to realize her mother had chosen another family and harder still to acknowledge Stephen's sympathy.

  "All right," Josie murmured.

  "I never saw any harm in it. I didn't know you existed until a few weeks ago. Maybe calling me her daughter was her way of remembering she had one."

  "I said, all right."

  Josie shot up and walked away, stopping when she stood at the edge of the circle of light. Crossing her arms, she rocked a little on the cushion of her flip-flops. Behind her Stephen reassured Amelia that Josie would be fine. Josie knew that was debatable: Fine came in all forms. She might look fine, she may act fine, but she never would be truly fine. Only Archer would understand that the mountain of hurt and regret and pain that was breaking thr
ough the crust of her soul made her not fine. Like a good soldier reluctant to join the battle but dedicated to the cause, Josie went back to the table.

  "Okay, let's hear it."

  ***

  Half of Washington D.C. slept and the other half were awake and watching. The ones who were awake patrolled the streets, were glued to computer screens, and listened in on telephone conversations. When mischief was detected, the watchers called other people whose job it was to stop it. Sometimes, mischief made their jobs easier because it came directly to them. Usually it didn't appear late at night, but there was always the exception and that night the exception was Eugene Weller.

  He had put on his overcoat and braved the bad weather to get to a small building on a side street in a middle class neighborhood where some of the watchers worked. He doubted more than a handful of people knew the building housed a very specific unit of the NSA.

  On the stoop, he took off his hat – a fedora that he was particularly fond of wearing in the fall – but didn't unbutton his coat. He held his identification up to an almost impossible to detect camera eye embedded in the grout between two bricks. The lock was disengaged. He went in. A security guard sat at a table reading a magazine. Without a word, Eugene handed him his identification again and the man indicated a pad on his desk. Eugene pressed his thumb onto it.

  "Do you know where to go?" the man asked.

  "Yes."

  Eugene took the stairs to the second floor. He was at home in the silence and emptiness. Only one of the desks on the second floor was occupied and it was there that a young man worked diligently. Eugene walked right up to him and stood by his side but the young man kept working. When he was ready to talk, he laced his hands behind his head, looked at Eugene and said:

  "Yeah."

  Eugene took Ian Francis' cell phone from the pocket of his coat.

  "I would very much like to know who this phone belongs to, a print of the histories: text, email, phone records. I would like to know where it was purchased. I would be especially grateful if you can pinpoint specifically where the user has been for, say, the last year."