Lost in the Darkness (Crusaders of the Lost Book 1)

by William Mark

The day started to move into the late afternoon. Curt wanted to stay at it for just a moment longer. Questioning the decision, he glanced up and keyed in on a little girl holding her mother’s hand through the rear view mirror. They approached the back of his car from the bus stop at the end of the parking lot and walked past the black Crown Vic. The little girl passed by, and Curt locked eyes with her as she walked towards the store. He felt the young girl’s heart cry out to him through her stare. She was one of the lost…he could feel it. There was a darkness hidden behind her eyes, a darkness that he had become used to battling. It was easy to recognize something in others that was hidden inside oneself. The familiar feeling in his gut, which he had learned to listen to rather than ignore, returned. He pulled the door handle of the car and slowly got out. He wore a long, tan trench coat, and it fell straight when he stood up. He kept his eyes on the little girl.

  “I may have something.” The silence over the radio finally broke, and the team noticed the hint of excitement in Curt’s voice. “A little brown-haired girl walking into Old Navy with her mother.”

  Beth piped up, “I’ll be there in just a minute. I’m like three stores down.”

  “I’m piggy-backing on the store’s security feed and should have visual….” Louis worked the keyboard like a pianist during a concerto, “Voila. I am GOOD!” The sixteen-screen security camera bank flashed to life on Louis’ monitor. He quickly entered a command and focused on the front door, anticipating the dark-haired girl entering the store.

  Curt started to move slowly behind the young girl and her mother. As a matter of habit, he felt the Glock .40 holstered on his hip through the trench coat. It was always there just in case he needed it.

  Melinda made her way towards the adjacent store to keep eyes on the entrance and exit.

  As the team converged, Beth, who could easily pass as a young college co-ed out clothes shopping, beat the young girl and her mother to the store and entered first. Curt brought up the rear but hung back. His appearance, a tan trench coat over a white collared button up shirt and dark khaki pants, didn’t necessarily blend him in as a casual shopper.

  Beth quickly entered the store and purposely ignored the newly acquired targets. She stood behind the sale rack, off to the side of the entrance for cover. She reached into her purse and slowly pulled out a Nikon camera while she pretended to sift through the clearance rack. The young girl entered the store behind her mother. Beth moved the camera just over the rack of clothes and snapped continuously at the girl. Beth went unnoticed and dropped the camera below rack level and examined her shots. They were clear shots of the girl’s face as well as the mother’s.

  As she zoomed in on the young girl’s face, she too saw the gloomy sadness lurking behind her eyes. She could tell something had robbed her of her innocence. It was a look she had become all too familiar with since joining the team. She was amazed at Curt’s ability to see inside one’s soul, but she wasn’t sold that this girl was one of the lost.

  “I got ’em,” Beth said quietly, trying not to draw attention and stowing the camera back into her purse.

  “Good. Let’s follow them back to the house when they’re done,” Curt ordered.

  “I got a few stills from the security footage; the resolution is kind of garbage, but I’m running it through the facial recognition software to see if we get a hit.”

  “Do age regression first.” Curt added.

  “Dammit!” Louis was angry at himself for not thinking of that first.

  “And see if you can change her hair to blonde.”

  Unbeknownst to each other, all four team members popped their heads up in wonderment over Curt’s request about the little girl’s hair. They all failed to see the connection but didn’t want to question his hunch. He clearly saw something they didn’t.

  “You got it.”

  “Blonde hair, Curt?” Beth’s curiosity got the better of her.

  “Her leg and arm hair is blonde. You can also see her blonde roots deep in the part on her head. It’s common for kidnappers to dye the kid’s hair, so they are immediately unrecognizable. It makes for an easy get away. That little girl has fair skin, and blonde body hair, she is not a brunette by birth.”

  Beth pulled out the camera again and verified Curt’s observation. He was right—again.

  After an hour of shopping in Old Navy and two other clothing stores, the young girl and her mother boarded a bus and headed south. But as the woman stood at the check-out, Louis was ready and set up a tiny hour glass, a “two-minute glass” actually, next to his computer as he waited for the woman to make her purchase. He hoped she used a credit card, and he waited impatiently while he watched on the hijacked security cameras. She pulled out her plastic card and used it to buy the girl’s clothes. After the woman used her credit card, she left the store, and Louis set the two-minute glass in action. He vigorously pecked away at his keyboard, hacking into the corporate credit card server and capturing the incoming transaction at the San Francisco outlet store. Once he had the number, he quickly moved into the financial institution that backed the woman’s credit card and was able to come up with a name and billing address.

  “Ms. Francine Bennett, ladies and gentleman,” Louis announced just as the final grains of the two-minute glass fell to the bottom chamber. He followed up with her mailing address, credit report, tax return information, and criminal history. There was nothing significant other than some drunk and disorderly charges from seven years ago.

  Louis printed out the found documents, and Beth took the tax return and scanned it over.

  “On her tax return, Ms. Bennett claimed a daughter, Charlene. Age eleven.”

  “That fits.” Melinda looked over Beth’s shoulder at the tax return.

  “Ms. Bennett was never married and worked as a data entry clerk for an HMO according to last year’s tax return. She doesn’t belong to any groups or charities. She isn’t on any social media under that name and seems pretty boring,” Louis added.

  Curt leaned up against a concrete planter that ran along the sidewalk and watched Francine Bennett moving throughout the mall with Charlene. She was not motherly toward the girl, and she was not warm. He noticed that she addressed the child in a cold manner, and the kid reciprocated. It was not unconditional love. He understood that children get moody, disobedient, and downright annoying at times, but there was always a genuine love that was shared. He didn’t see that with Francine and Charlene.

  “Louis, pull up past tax returns; how far back was she claiming the kid?”

  “Child’s play Curtis, child’s play!”

  “Just do it!”

  “Fine.” Louis waited for the information to pop onto his screen. “Yep, for the last four years. She didn’t claim the kid five years ago. I’ll run the social security number to see what pops up.”

  “Check adoption records from the state.”

  “Okay, that’ll take me a little more time. That stuff is kept in the Fort Knox of cyberspace.”

  “Whatever…just let me know what you find.”

  The team followed Francine Bennett and the young Charlene as they took the bus to the Russian Hill neighborhood. Melinda had joined them for the bus ride, and nearing the address Louis found during his search, she remained behind them casually strolling along. Curt watched from his car and Beth from the driver’s seat of the Mercedes Sprinter. The mother and daughter ducked into a deli and grabbed dinner to go and soon made it to their two-story brownstone before sunset. The team sat on the residence for the rest of the night until all the lights in the house went out.

  It was nearing midnight when Louis was able to confirm Francine Bennett had never adopted a child in the state of California. Beth questioned the scope of his search parameters, but Louis explained that Ms. Bennett, by all accounts, had never left the state of California.

  Curt let all the facts they knew to this point soak in. Everything fit. Everything pointed to the possibility that Charlene was one of the lost, but from wh
ere was a more important question.

  “It’s fine. Let’s head back to the hotel and pick this up in the morning.”

  ***

  The idling engine hum of the Mercedes Sprinter was hushed but sent a soothing vibration resonating throughout the van. Rachel Goodwin sat listening to the background that built up to the operation she had found herself in the middle of. But as she processed the information, she wondered about the legality of their actions.

  “So, you just aimlessly hunt for missing children and the basis for selection is the gut feeling of someone?”

  At hearing the crude assessment from the new girl, Curt fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably but held his tongue. She was new and just didn’t quite understand the complexities of the mission, but if she didn’t get with the program, Alexis would give her the boot.

  “It sounds a bit simplistic, yes,” Alexis chimed in. “But you have to understand, and this is paramount for our existence Rachel, that we live in anonymity and work behind the scenes. It’s how we survive in this endeavor. That means we can’t go through normal channels asking questions that would draw attention to ourselves.”

  “Draw attention? You mean from the cops?” Rachel asked.

  “Well, yeah!” Louis answered.

  “Because you are hacking into corporate and government databases?”

  “Hacking is such an ugly word….”

  “It’s necessary.” Curt’s voice boomed through the van’s speakers causing Rachel to jump. She calmed herself and thought for a minute as Alexis watched her for a reaction.

  “So, you picked out the girl; how were you able to figure out she was this Charlotte girl?”

  “That’s where I come in,” said Beth, nodding at the folder in Rachel’s lap.

  Chapter 3

  The pillowy fog rolled in from the south end of the bay and stretched over the water like a fluffy down comforter. The sun began to sneak over the golden hills of the Diablo Mountain Range, bringing a warm light to the coastal city.

  Curt was on a post down at the end of the block, same as the day before, after watching Ms. Bennett drag Charlene into the brownstone. He shook off the short night and lack of sleep with a hot cup of coffee. Beth was in a matching jogging outfit and ran a looping track that allowed her to pass by the target apartment. She was already on her second pass, and her heavy breathing was audible through the team’s radio system. Melinda remained in the van with Louis watching the front door of the target through a pair of binoculars.

  “I’ve made it into the home’s security system network, and in case we miss something, I’ll catch it when she sets the alarm.”

  “If she sets the alarm,” Melinda added.

  “True.”

  The team watched for only twenty more minutes. Beth was finishing up her third loop when Francine Bennett’s overweight frame stepped out on to the stoop with little Charlene in tow. The girl was dressed in a pretty pink dress, white stockings, a matching coat, and a backpack slung over her right shoulder. They were clearly on their way to school, and for Francine, work at the HMO office that was a few blocks from the school. Curt watched the hefty woman forcefully grab the little girl and pull her along like a dog on a leash. He could feel the bile rising in his throat as he watched in disgust. He knew he was right about her being one of the lost.

  As the woman and child made the length of the block, they turned up the street where the Sprinter van was parked and idling. They passed unsuspecting and headed towards the school. The van’s heater was keeping Louis Melton and Melinda Dalton warm on the inside. Beth doubled back and watched the pair until they made it to the end of the cross street and far out of sight. She walked back to the van, and the side door slid open. Melinda was poised for her surveillance disguise wearing a dark sweater, dress pants, matching high heels, and carrying a briefcase. To add to the character of a modern businesswoman, she accented the look with rectangular framed glasses and set out to follow the pair. Beth hopped into the van and took Melinda’s spot as she fixed herself and set out to follow the targets.

  “Are we clear?” Curt could no longer see the woman from his position and anxiously watched the front of the house.

  Melinda, walking as stably as she could in the unfamiliar high-heels, looked ahead in the crowd and saw the easily recognizable frame of the bigger woman and the child. She noticed more and more children walking with a parent and figured the school was near.

  “Yeah, looks like we are getting close to the school. You should be good to go.”

  Curt slipped out of the black Crown Vic, checked his hip for the Glock and added an additional check of his trench coat pocket for the tools he would need momentarily. He looked around cautiously and made his way to the back side of the townhomes. He found a narrow alleyway and ducked in unnoticed. The narrow slit between the townhomes intersected another alley that ran behind the length of the townhomes. It bordered all of the small patches of land the homeowners called back yards and was used as a service access for garbage trucks, utility repairmen, and residents who wanted access to their garage.

  Curt counted the necessary townhomes from the back to find the target. He waited patiently and asked again if it was clear.

  “Yes, the kid is at school, and Bennett’s on her way to work.” Melinda stood outside the five-story building that housed the HMO and watched Ms. Bennett walk in the front door.

  The alley was clear in both directions, and Curt glanced up to the back windows across the passageway that would expose him. He saw that all were either darkened or had the blinds shut. He looked for a back gate to the tall, wooden privacy fence that led to the backside of the brownstone, but when he didn’t find one, he gracefully hoisted himself up and over the fence. He dropped down into the small back yard of Francine Bennett. He sat and waited patiently before approaching the house.

  The yard was unkempt and devoid of something he expected to be there, kid toys. There wasn’t a swing-set, a ball, hula hoop, bicycle, or anything. There was nothing but a neglected yard with dry, straggly grass. He studied the back door of the brownstone, looking for any additional security measures Louis’ research hadn’t found. He didn’t see anything that caused alarm. Off to his left was a small structure Curt pegged as a garage. He waited for five minutes before moving and made his way to the garage. It was padlocked. He wanted to get into the house first and come back to this if he had time.

  The lock on the back door was easy to pick. Curt made sure Louis hacked in and disengaged the alarm before he entered. He didn’t want Ms. Bennett to get a phone call at work saying her burglar alarm had been activated and decide to come home.

  He slipped in the back door of the house that led to the kitchen. He searched around for anything that could lead them to the real identity of the little girl. She was missing from somewhere; he was sure of it. He just needed proof. Curt made his way to the living room and found it eerie and withdrawn, not comfortable as a home should be. There were no family photos on the wall, and all the mirrors were positioned high on the walls. This was very odd to Curt, and after a moment of thought he realized that the short stature of the child wouldn’t allow for her to look in the mirror at that height.

  The upstairs was equally abnormal. The house felt distant and cold, not loving and warm. The first bedroom down the hall from the stairwell was clearly an adult’s room. It had a large television, laptop, queen-sized bed, and modest furniture, nothing elegant or dainty.

  “I got a laptop in the bedroom,” Curt updated. He reached in the inner breast pocket of his jacket and removed a small thumb drive. He plugged it in the USB port, and a blue light started to flash on the drive.

  “Did you put the thumb drive I gave you in it?”

  “Yeah, it’s in. The light’s flashing.”

  “Okay, give me a minute.” Louis was remotely downloading the contents from the laptop, using a blue-tooth transmitter. He would later sift through the contents, trying to find the secrets she was hiding.

  Cur
t continued his walkthrough and found the little girl’s room at the end of the hall. It was not a surprise that the room was as depressing as the rest of the house. He sat down on her perfectly made bed and looked around the room, hoping something would jump out at him. He lay down on the girl’s bed, noticing there were no pretty pictures hanging on the wall, no Barbie dolls awaiting a tea party, and no stuffed animals collected on the bed. It was a bleak room. This house reminded him of a very uninteresting museum that no one would ever want to visit.

  He looked around the room, hoping to get perspective on how the girl saw the world. He rolled over onto his side and found himself facing a simple wooden desk against the wall, outfitted with a blank note pad, a cup of pencils, and a lamp. There were no pictures pinned to the wall or ribbons to display, nothing. But something drew his attention from this angle. Something was under the desk. He sat upright on the bed, reached under the desk, and pulled a notebook down. It had been taped to the underside of the desk.

  This was more like it. The notebook was filled with girlie scribbles and ramblings of a pre-teen girl. She wrote notes to herself about horses, puppies, sharks, Disneyland, and some kids who Curt assumed were her friends at school. This was her one outlet in the otherwise stark prison of a home. He flipped to the first few pages and found that she addressed “Her real mommy and daddy” in the letter. Curt felt adrenaline dump into his veins, hoping the notebook was the proof he was searching for. He quickly continued reading through the pages, hoping to find something tangible to follow up on but found nothing. He scanned the pages for a second time and came to the same conclusion. He closed the book in frustration and let out a defeated sigh. But now the answer was right in front of him. In the bottom corner of the back cover, he noticed the name Charlotte was written.

  Curt left the bedroom with a renewed sense of purpose. He’d found a good enough lead with the name Charlotte. It was clearly written with the same girlie handwriting as the rest of the notebook and a glimpse into her world. He quickly retrieved the thumb drive from the laptop and made his way to the back of the house. “I’m coming out, Louis; are you ready?”