Little Owl

by Lauri Schoenfeld

  Sam gripped the base of his neck. “Let’s just say that she gets very angry, and it doesn’t turn out well. We need to help her…gently.”

  “You’re talking about someone else, not my wife.”

  “Really?” Sam asked. “Is that why you asked if she took her meds?”

  Cache growled under his breath and pulled the car to the side of the road. “You remember what happened with her as a kid. I bet you could answer a question for me.”

  “Depends on what it is.”

  “She lived with your family after her parents died, right?”

  Sam loved the day his best friend came to live with him, and he couldn’t wait to be able to protect her in his very own home, rather than at the terrible place she’d been living. His two sisters squealed with delight at having another girl in the house to do girly things with. Sam’s parents put together a brand-new room for her while the rest of them shared rooms, but they felt Adaline deserved something special of her own. That was the first night she’d run away from their home.

  “Yes. She lived with her aunt first, then got sent to the psych ward for a few months. After her stay there, she came to live with us,” Sam said.

  “Her original house was small?”

  “Why are we talking about houses?”

  “Bear with me. This is important,” Cache said. “Does Arlingston Manor ring a bell?”

  Sam flinched and shook his head. “Nope. Never heard of it.”

  Cache’s face grew pale. He jumped out of the car and hunched over the side of the curb.

  Shit. He knows.

  Peering at the overcast sky, Sam felt the wind whip his face as if to slap him silly. “Are you okay?” he yelled to Cache.

  Cache stood in silence and straightened his posture out, turning to glance at Sam. “I think I just found our connection. The link between Adaline and myself.”

  Sam watched him and held his gun with one hand, his fist clenched on the opposite side.

  “Care to share?” Thunder rumbled, and drops of rain drizzled, starting to tease and creep into his fears.

  “The house my parents robbed was Adaline’s home,” Cache said.

  Sam gripped the door handle. He placed the gun under his shirt, got out of the car, and walked toward where Cache stood.

  Cache held his knees and his face turned pale. “No.

  “This is crazy,” he said, holding his mouth. “If this is right, then my parents and her parents were all killed that night in the same house. That’s why—”

  The rain fell harder, smacking Sam’s face with as much force and anger as he was feeling. “You know, I always wondered how the hell you met Adaline.” Sam put his hand behind his back, ready to grab the gun. “Who are you working for?”

  Cache got close to his face. “I’m not working for anyone…man.”

  “All right, if you say so.” Sam gripped Cache’s neck and hit him upside the head with his gun, knocking him unconscious. He inserted a needle into his arm, then took the keys and cell phone from Cache.

  He pulled out his own phone and dialed a familiar number. “We have a problem. He’s figuring it out, and I think he’s playing her. What should I do?”

  On the other line, a woman’s voice replied, “It’s all working as planned. Let it take its course.”

  “Okay, Dr. Lynchester. If you think it will work.”

  Sam hung up the phone. He carried Cache to the passenger seat and drove to the Rushers’ home to place him somewhere out of the way. The injection would keep him down for a few hours.

  It’s my turn to save the day and help Adaline.

  He got in the car and sped toward Owling.

  Fifty-Two

  Dr. Lynchester

  Friday, November 12th

  10:30 a.m.

  The session with the Rushners went well, especially with Cache opening up as much as he did. It didn’t trigger anything for Adaline, which was a setback, but in due time everything would click, and she would figure it out.

  Staring at the fridge, a picture of Adaline looked back at her.

  I never forgot about you. Don’t forget about me.

  Dr. Lynchester decided on the first day that eight-year-old Adaline came for a session, a few months before the death of her parents, this little girl would be one she’d save from the sins of her family. The anger and yet purity that came from that sweet child made her yearn to have a daughter of her own. Adaline was so real and full of love, but scared to share that very gift with others, afraid to not receive it in return. Dr. Lynchester wanted to take away the pain the child suffered and give her a life that every little girl should have. One full of playdates, dress up, baking cookies with her mother, and a million hugs mixed with I love yous.

  Only, Adaline never experienced that. Her playdates were with imaginary friends in the closet, and she picked scraps of food off the floor like a ravenous animal. She received multiple beatings a day, alongside verbal abuse, that would break any child down. Over time, Adaline became filled with illusions of being happy and compelled herself into believing she was lucky enough to have what she did. All the bad things that happened to her were her fault for being a bad girl.

  Dr. Lynchester shook her head at the thought. What she would’ve given to have a child when so many people didn’t even care for the ones they had. She had a mission to mother these lost souls. Dr. Lynchester knew Adaline wasn’t crazy when she got sent to the psych ward twenty-five years ago. Pulling her out of that horrific place and bringing Adaline home to live with her until they found a more permanent home was the only option to protect this child. She did it without regret or a second thought at the consequences that could be handed to her, because it didn’t matter. Adaline became the daughter she never had. Playing with her hair, reading books, and making jewelry were fond memories of some of her favorite moments. Every Saturday was funny face pancake day.

  She placed her dirty plate in the dishwasher and turned it on. Grabbing her silver heels, Dr. Lynchester put them back on her sore feet and sighed. The day still held a full schedule of appointments, and her energy level was already drained. Every client’s life constantly weighed her down out of worry for the sadness and pain they went through. She tried for years to not bring it home but couldn’t quite figure out how to do that. Dr. Lynchester grabbed her briefcase and espresso and headed back to the office.

  Stepping out on the fourth floor to her office, there was a stillness that shouldn’t be there. At this point in the day, her receptionist would be on the phone and a client would be waiting for her. She’d smile and tell the client to come back to her office, but no one was there. Even the lights were off. Dr. Lynchester sipped her espresso and pulled out her phone. Tayla didn’t pick up.

  Where is everybody?

  Standing in place, she stared out the window at the view. The snow-capped mountains never failed to amaze her. Dr. Lynchester opened the balcony door and took in the cool November breeze on her cheeks. Her heart warmed knowing Adaline was getting closer to the truth, finding out who she was, and being rid of the demons that taunted her.

  Please, God. Let it work this time.

  A buzz took her mind back to reality as she retrieved her phone from her pocket.

  “Sam. We’re not supposed to be contacting each other.”

  “Are you okay?” Sam asked.

  Dr. Lynchester lightly pulled back a strand of hair from her face. “It’s feeling a tad like the Twilight Zone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My receptionist isn’t here. She’s not answering her phone, and my client’s late,” she said. “This particular client is always on time. Actually, there’s massive anxiety involved surrounding time with this person.” Dr. Lynchester paused. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “I’d be happy to help if you’re worried about something,” Sam said.

  “I’m just happy to hear from you.”

  “Likewise,” Sam said, huffing. “We’re getting close.”

 
; “I couldn’t agree more. The Rushners came in a few hours ago, and I think we’re making a breakthrough,” she said.

  “No, I mean we’re getting too close. Be careful.”

  “What do you mean? What’s happened?” she asked.

  “I was attacked this morning.”

  Dr. Lynchester moved the phone away from her face, took a deep breath, and returned to the phone. “By who?”

  “I’m not sure. There were three of them, all wearing ski masks. There’s more going on here than we know,” Sam said. “We want to help her, but—”

  “You’re worried it will happen again?” Dr. Lynchester asked.

  “What if it already has? You know Adaline. If she’s figured things out, she might already be playing us and is the one behind these attacks.”

  “I can’t believe that. It will be different this time.”

  “All I’m saying is, you don’t know that, and opening up these old wounds could be putting us all in danger . . . again,” Sam said. “Adaline’s a danger to herself, too. She just doesn’t know it.”

  Dr. Lynchester tapped her foot. “I’m not giving up on her. She’s strong enough to handle the truth.” She paused. “My concern now is that if Adaline didn’t hire someone to attack you, then who did, and why? Do you have your eye on her?”

  “I’m watching her now and…I’m not giving up either. Just being cautious.”

  There was a long pause on the phone.

  “Doctor?” Sam asked.

  “Hold on. Stay on the line, okay?”

  Her hand shook as she bent down to take off her heels and put them gently on the patio. She tiptoed into the reception room, moving close to the wall. The sound of books smacking the floor and glass shattering made her flinch. Dr. Lynchester hesitated and held her body against the desk. The hairs on her arm stood straight up.

  “Sam, listen to me,” she said, in a whisper. “I trust you with her, that’s why I asked for your help. Adaline needs you now.”

  “She needs you, too.”

  “There’s no more time for talking. I left some of my belongings in locker 451 in Owling at the old gym I used to take her to. Do you remember it?”

  “Yes,” Sam said.

  “Good. Take Cache with you, give everything in those files to Adaline, and…tell her I love her.”

  “What’s going on? Are you in danger?”

  “If you want to help, stay away from me. Don’t call again and take care of my girl,” she said. “She’ll have wings. Believe in her.”

  “Who’s with you?”

  “Goodbye, Sam. Take care of yourself.”

  She hung up the phone and pressed her back up against the wall, slowly walking toward her office. Dr. Lynchester’s heartbeat sped up as she fumbled through her purse to grab her taser. Bracing herself, she positioned near the door and tilted her head from side to side for a minute as she considered opening it.

  Inside, the noise stopped.

  Dr. Lynchester shifted her body and swallowed hard. Placing the taser in the waistband of her leggings, she tried to weigh her options on the best plan. She peeked inside again to view her files lying all over the floor and her desk with multiple pages torn to shreds.

  Her nostrils flared, and she rolled up her sleeves. Rustling came from behind the door, and Dr. Lynchester waited for some movement. A gloved hand appeared around the frame. She dug her nails into their skin, smacking the door open. Someone moaned. Dr. Lynchester could see the muscles on her attacker’s arms flex. She lunged at the culprit and flung her arms around his broad neck, knocking him to the ground. The culprit snarled at her, and she could feel his crooked smile burning a hole through the black mask. He kicked her leg and she fell to the ground, a piece of glass piercing the palm of her hand. Dr. Lynchester yelped and tried to stand up. He took his mask off and walked toward her, chuckling and cracking his knuckles.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling the glass out of her hand. “Who are you? Speak.” Dr. Lynchester held it tightly between her fingers.

  The man laughed with amusement, and his eyes taunted her to take a stab at him as he bent down next to her face. He watched her hand holding the glass. She stared up at him for a long moment before he gripped her throat. She gasped for breath and smacked him with the shard of glass. He loosened his grip and stepped backward, clinging to the bridge of his nose. Dr. Lynchester rubbed at her neck and ran at him—full force. Her skirt tore, and she kicked him in the stomach. The man fell to the ground and glanced up at her with a dismayed face.

  “I won’t tell you a thing,” he said.

  She brought her taser to his neck. “Tell me, or I give you a jolt.”

  He laughed louder and gripped her arm. Dr. Lynchester pressed it to his neck and watched as his body went limp. From behind her, papers crinkled and boots shuffled toward her. She stayed in a crouch, gripping her taser as she turned toward the noise. A shiny metal object gleamed in one of the two masked figure’s hands.

  A wrench.

  She looked at them and glanced at her surroundings around the room. There were two of them against one of her. Dr. Lynchester thought about running but doubted her speed against them.

  “Back up, or you’ll end up like this fellow,” she said, stepping backward. She aimed her taser at them. “Put the wrench down. No one else needs to get hurt.”

  “You can’t leave alive, lady, so give it your best shot,” said one of the attackers.

  The person who spoke was a man with a husky voice, but the other one was slender and had curves only a woman could have. She seemed to be hesitant, standing behind the masked man. They didn’t touch like they were lovers or family, but he stood protective over her, and she seemed to wait for a command.

  No running away. Give it your best shot.

  Dr. Lynchester ran toward the man. From the corner of her eye, she could see the woman launching at her full speed to protect the man.

  “No, Tayla. Don’t,” the man said. “Stick to the plan.”

  Tayla. My assistant?

  Dr. Lynchester slapped her and grabbed at her mask, taking it off.

  “Tayla. What are you doing?”

  The brown-haired girl glared at her with distaste and pushed her backward. Dr. Lynchester fell, and the man punched Tayla, knocking her out.

  “Well, that wasn’t the plan. That girl has never followed commands.” He walked toward her and took off his mask. “I guess the cat’s out.”

  Dr. Lynchester gasped. “You?”

  “That’s right, kitten. Nighty night,” he said.

  Pain radiated through her head, and her vision blurred. The last thought she had was of Adaline playing Mozart on the piano in a blue lace dress. She hummed the song and closed her eyes.

  Adaline.

  Fifty-Three

  Adaline Rushner

  Owling, Utah

  10:30 a.m.

  Going back to where it all began, to try and remember who was after her and why, seemed like the only thing that made sense. The sun felt warm for a November afternoon, and the snow agreed as water trickled off her car. Adaline loved the freedom she expressed when she drove. It was just her, the speed, and the wind all working together to make a powerful force. She relished the rush—revving up the engine, letting the car gear vibrate in her hand, and knowing she had full control and power of the car. Adaline would time it just right. Wait for the road to be vacant until she pressed her foot on the pedal and fly. She could drive all day like that.

  Her speakers bounced with the heavy beat of the drums in the background. Blonde locks of hair swung in motion with the cold breeze as she raised her hand up and down outside her car window, drowning out the screams she heard inside her head.

  Getting off the highway, she took a right-hand turn into Owling and stopped the car. It wasn’t until a few miles into town, where their “home” sat, that people sprung about toward the one gas station they had and a few little mom and pop shops. Here, right where she stood, was a ghost town. />
  Old and rustic.

  The railroad tracks ran on the right-hand side of the road throughout the city, while broken-down houses sat to rot on the opposite side. The few stores that they had in Owling, on the outskirts of town as a kid, were now boarded up with nails and plywood.

  Vacant.

  Adaline got back in the car. She knew where she needed to visit first.

  Her friend had a place in this area. He always mentioned how he enjoyed the solitude of no neighbors and being off in the distance. She pulled up to his old home and closed her car door. It looked the way she pictured it from her session with Dr. Lynchester. The windows on the yellow home were shattered, and the house had taken a beating. She went to the backyard to find the swing he used to push her on and saw the garden only held weeds, though it used to hold white Gerber daisies. Adaline placed her purse on the ground and brushed her fingers through the dry bushels. Closing her eyes, she imagined the soft petals gliding against her fingertips, and she pressed her nose to the dead leaf, inhaling, revisiting how they used to smell.

  Sitting on the bench swing, she pumped her feet back and forth, allowing the cool breeze to get acquainted with her again.

  I’m back.

  “This is my friend’s house, girls. Don’t you like it?” Adaline dragged her feet to stop the swing and got off. She peered around and held her head. “Girls, why aren’t you talking to me? Don’t leave me.”

  Racing to the garden, she bent down to caress the weeds. “Come back, dammit. Come back to me.” Adaline gripped a handful of dead plants, tugging from their roots, and threw them across the yard. “You’re not gone.”

  She glanced around the yard. Her purse sat on a slushy pile of snow, next to a broken window. Adaline scurried over to it and knelt in the water, opening each zipper and looking through every pocket.

  Please, let there be one of my pills.

  Her hands shook, continuing to pry through every inch of her purse.