It’s going to be a very long weekend.
Chapter 5
Hard Truth
Corra Compound
Stanley County, South Dakota
Rachel Collins woke up frantic.
Where are my children? Where am I? What happened?
The odd angle of Rachel’s head caused a sharp pain in her neck and gave her a headache. Her limbs felt limp. She tried to lift an arm, only to have it flop down again like a dead fish. She was hot. Sweat and grime glued her to a lumpy mattress.
I don’t feel good, she thought, sitting upright and immediately regretting it.
“Jason! Em!—owww!” Rachel swayed, ready to faint.
Where are you Chris?
With much effort, Rachel swung her legs over the side of the small cot and leaned forward, resting her head in upturned palms as she propped her elbows on her knees. She blinked, waiting for things to quit spinning. Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the dimness. It wasn’t pitch-black, only mostly dark. A bright beam of sunlight forced its way through a crack between the door and the ground, illuminating the small, dusty chamber.
Think. Think.
“Where am I?” Rachel mumbled, voicing earlier thoughts just to see if her vocal cords worked. She rubbed some sleep from her eyes. Slowly, her brain began to function properly. She thought about her children again. The sweeping urge to do something drove her to her feet. Strange light residues swam through her vision when she shut her eyes against the shooting pain in her head. She gently twisted her neck to the left. Five satisfying cracks later, her neck felt better.
Rachel glanced at the bed again. The pattern on the bright blanket draped over the horrible mattress reminded her of the one she’d bought on a mission trip to Mexico in another lifetime. She made a mental note of it and walked to the door. She hesitated for a split-second before trying the flimsy looking handle. To her surprise, the latch turned easily. The door swung open and Rachel found herself blinking against cheerful sunbeams. Her legs trembled, threatening to buckle. She leaned heavily against the door frame. Someone to her left gasped, but she didn’t have the strength to lift her head and see the person.
“You’re awake! I—I’ll go tell Mr. Parker.”
Rachel couldn’t decide whether the speaker was male or female, but she noted that he or she sounded young and happy.
Strange. The way I feel, everyone ought to feel terrible. As she finished the thought, Rachel fainted. She fought for consciousness but only managed to maintain a semi-conscious, listless state.
Someone picked her up and carried her into another building. On the way to a small, spare room, Rachel noticed that everything seemed very clean and white. The person who carried her in deposited her onto a hard chair that aggravated her back. She glanced around in a daze. The room was approximately ten feet by ten feet, but the bare, metal table on which she slumped made it seem even tinier.
A confident, male voice addressed her. “Are you feeling better, Dr. Collins?”
Of course not.
Rachel took another visual tour of the room. It took her drug-muddled brain a few moments to realize that the sound emanated from the table itself. A thin screen rose out of the table inches from her head, revealing a shadowy figure sitting in a large chair.
Somebody’s been watching too many movies.
“Mr. Hart said you had awakened.”
Rachel managed a non-committal grunt. She would have cried if she could spare the energy, but she barely mustered a decent glare at the screen.
“I’m terribly sorry. How rude of me not to introduce myself. My name is Jonathan Parker. It’s good of you to come, though I know you had little choice in the matter.” He chuckled softly. “No worries, Dr. Collins. If your husband plays his hand right, everything will be fine.”
“Where are my children?” Rachel demanded, a new strength entering her. “I want to see them right now.”
“Do watch your tone, Dr. Collins. I have no desire to waste precious energy on your bad moods.”
The lecturing voice made her angry, which was sort of good. The angrier she got, the more awake she became. “You must know that I’ll be much more willing to listen once I know my children are safe,” she snapped, staring daggers at the shadowy man.
Tell me where my kids are, you jerk!
Another infuriating chuckle emanated from the screen. “I see why he fell in love. I told him not to do that, but since when did he ever take good advice?”
What the heck does that mean?
“Very well, Dr. Collins, have it your way.”
A click caused Rachel’s heart to skip several beats. She feared the man had cut the conversation off for good, but after a few painful seconds, there was another click.
“Mrs. Hart will be there shortly with Jason and Emily.”
Rachel flinched, despite the good news. Hearing the man say her children’s names gave her the creeps. “You mean they’re here?” She partially stood—ready to hit the nearest thing—not quite knowing how to take the news. Her elation over Jason and Emily’s nearness was offset by horror of them being in danger. Rachel’s right palm slammed down onto the table, causing a wonderful stinging pain that gave her something besides the grim situation to concentrate on.
God, protect them!
Rachel could practically taste the helpless terror consuming her from the inside out.
“Of course they’re here. You don’t think your dear husband would listen to me for your sake alone, do you?”
The merriment in the man’s tone irritated her. The headache returned with a vengeance, and exhaustion tugged Rachel closer to despair. Just then, the door opened. She squinted into yet more light and saw her children clutching the hands of a strange woman.
Before Rachel could move, Jason shouted, “Mommy!”
He ran around the tiny table while Emily took the shortcut under the table, latched onto Rachel’s left leg, and cried.
Though the ruckus made her head ring, it was by far the best sound Rachel had ever heard. “Jay, Em! Oh, I missed you!” She stood up so fast the chair fell over.
Emily continued wailing, but let go long enough for Rachel to forget all physical pain, kneel, and sweep both children into a tight embrace.
I’m here, my loves. Hold on, mommy’s here.
A minute later the man spoke from the screen again. “Are you ready to listen now? I hate to interrupt the happy reunion, but I have better things to do. And I’m doing you a favor by taking the time to explain things.”
The strange woman who had brought Jason and Emily to Rachel gently pried her fingers away from them and led them out. “Your mommy’s gonna be just fine. Don’t you worry; we’ll come back for a visit later. The doctor will need to see her soon.”
That’s a bold-faced lie! Rachel wanted to shout for the woman to speak sense. I am a doctor, she thought petulantly.
Empty arms sinking to her side, Rachel hugged herself for lack of a better thing to do with her hands. Slowly, she forced herself to her feet and struggled over to the chair. After righting it, she wearily sat down. “Start explaining,” she said dully, almost as if she didn’t care.
“That’s better. This will go a lot easier with your cooperation, Dr. Collins. Some of this may seem incredible to you, but it’s the God’s honest truth.”
Rachel’s eyes pierced the screen at the mention of God.
Don’t bring God into this, you big snake!
“I see I hit a nerve,” the man commented. “Calm down, it’s only an expression.”
“Exactly,” Rachel spat, strength entering from somewhere. She straightened in the uncomfortable chair. “To you, it’s only an expression!”
“I don’t have time for this,” muttered the man.
“That’s your problem.”
A gentle laugh answered the obvious frustration in her tone. “You are a sharp one, my dear Dr. Collins.” The man lapsed into silence for several long seconds as if deep in thought. Then, he shook himself li
ke a man waking up. “Where was I? Oh, right, I was about to tell you about your husband.”
“Chris?”
“You have more than one?” the man asked, amused.
“What about Chris?” Rachel’s expression added, shut up or make a point quickly.
The man’s voice took on a serious quality that unnerved her. “He’s not the man you think he is. Christopher Collins isn’t even his real name. I bet you didn’t know that. For now, we’ll just continue to use his alias for convenience’s sake. I don’t owe you anything, Dr. Collins. Remember that. I think if we understand each other well, the coming months will be easier.”
Months? If Rachel had been speaking the thought, her voice would have squeaked.
“What do you want from him?” Rachel asked, hardly daring to breathe for fear it would scare away an answer.
“I need him to perform a service for me.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“No, I’m not. All you need to know is that you’re going to be my guest of sorts for a while. When I have my money—”
“Ransom?” asked Rachel doubtfully. She and Chris made decent money, but neither they nor her parents had enough money to warrant kidnapping.
Who are Chris’s parents anyway? Are they rich? Is this scheme meant to get to them? No, if that were the case, wouldn’t they just threaten Chris?
Come to think of it, Chris tended to avoid conversations about his past.
“Something far grander, my dear,” the man said cryptically.
“When will I see my children again?”
A click was all the answer she got.
Chapter 6
Neighborly Chatter
Collins Residence
Fairview, Pennsylvania
On her way from the Fairview police station—where she initially got stonewalled—to Rachel’s house, Ann stopped for some fast food. She would have to hurry if she wanted to get to work on time the next day, despite the fact that it was a Saturday.
Nobody ever promised working for the FBI would be a nine-to-five job.
Ann still had to contend with a six-ish hour drive home. When she reached the house, she said a quick prayer over her meal and took four minutes to eat. Wiping her hands on a fourth napkin, she grimaced at her grease-covered fingers.
What’s that doing to the inside of me?
Checking to make sure her gun was in place, Ann climbed out of the car. “I’ll need to run extra far tomorrow,” she murmured.
The neighborhood was quiet, almost too quiet. Yellow police tape surrounded the entire yard. Since this wasn’t officially her case, she had no reason to duck the tape. Besides, she lacked a pressing desire to approach the burned-out wreck of a house.
Officer Long said someone left him out back.
Confidently, Ann crossed the street. She followed the taped path back to some disheveled bushes. Crushed branches marked the place where Officer Long had taken his forced nap. She bent over to take a closer look at the scene.
“What are you doing?” barked a harsh, elderly female voice.
Ann took a sharp breath and just barely refrained from pulling her gun out of the holster next to her right ribs. She spun around and put on a disarming smile. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Agent Davidson. I came to look at the crime scene.”
“You’re a police officer?” the short, plump woman asked skeptically.
As she moved closer, Ann felt the woman’s measuring gaze and gave the lady her own once-over. Alert eyes, jolly, somewhat abrupt manner, and even the way she clutched a damp towel said ‘perfect snitch’ to Ann.
This woman seems to know what goes on around here.
Ann’s smile broadened. “No, ma’am, I’m only an investigator.”
Before she could continue the woman became more animated, and said, “Oohhh, like a private detective?” It was equal parts question and exclamation.
Ann shook her head. “No, ma’am, I work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Who’s running this interview anyway?
Ann stepped toward the woman, who was leaning over the deck attached to a small, quaint house with baby blue siding. “I’d like to ask you some questions about your neighbors.”
The statement seemed to further excite the lady.
“Of course, my dear. Do you want some lemonade? I just made up a fresh batch. Do come up and have a glass. Come! Come.” As she babbled, the woman’s arms flailed in the general direction of her house.
I hope she doesn’t have a heart attack on me.
Ann hesitated and her natural suspicions flared at the thought of consuming a stranger’s beverage.
Yes, the elderly woman keeps a tiny bottle of cyanide around to poison random people!
Figuring she might learn something, Ann said, “Thank you very much, lemonade sounds wonderful.” She followed the woman inside and sat down on a burgundy couch in the sitting room.
While the woman left to get the drinks, Ann gathered her thoughts and checked her surroundings. In addition to the couch, the room boasted a matched set of floral-printed armchairs and a brown leather recliner. A dark coffee table containing several bird books and a vase of fresh flowers dominated the center of the room. The wall opposite the couch Ann occupied had large bookshelves flanking a neat fireplace. Precious Moments figurines took up most of the shelf space, but cooking and gardening books were also well-represented.
“I’ve never met a government agent before—not someone who works for the FBI—I mean,” the woman said almost shyly as she entered the room carrying a tray with two oversized glasses and a huge plate of chocolate chip cookies.
What ninety people is she serving tonight?
The lady balanced the tray on the corner of the coffee table while Ann cleared away enough room to slide the tray to a more stable position. Once the tray was settled, the woman held a large glass of lemonade out to Ann.
Grinning politely, Ann nodded her thanks and accepted the drink with both hands. At the woman’s insistence, she picked up a cookie. “May I ask your name?” she asked her hostess.
The woman gasped. “Goodness gracious! Where have my manners skedaddled to?” In her excitement, she knocked her eyeglasses askew. She righted them primly. “Karla Banning. Mrs. Karla Banning, but you can just call me ‘Mrs. Banning’ or ‘Karla’ if you like.”
“Very well, Mrs. Banning—”
“My husband, Jeffrey, died several years ago; he had lung cancer from smoking. Poor Jeffrey, he sure loved those smelly old sticks of his.” The woman patted her snowy white hair and stared off into space for a moment as she sat down on one of the armchairs.
Ann figured she would have to control the conversation soon or risk hearing this woman’s entire family history. She hid a smile behind her lemonade glass and took a sip. “What can you tell me about the Collins?”
“Oh, such a lovely family! They’re both doctors you know. That young Mrs. Collins and I used to swap recipes. She makes a wonderful peach cobbler, but her spinach casserole could use a little help. Oh, but she is getting better—she just needs to practice more. Practice makes perfect, as my mother always said. And that husband of hers; he’s as handsome as a man can be! If I were forty years younger, I’d be a mite jealous of the missus. Their two young ones are such sweet, darling babies. They remind me of my grandchildren. So fiery, especially the little girl. My but that youngin’ can pitch a proper fit!”
At this rate, I may learn something in a year … or three.
Before the woman could whip out an iphone loaded with grandchildren pictures, Ann spoke up, “Mrs. Banning, did you hear or see anything unusual yesterday afternoon?”
The woman clutched her lemonade glass tightly as she concentrated, causing Ann to subconsciously brace for shattering glass.
“Hmmm, let’s see,” said Mrs. Banning slowly. “Unusual, you say. Did I see anything unusual? There must have been something out of place. This used to be such a safe neighborhood.” Mrs. Banning pa
used for a long, fortifying drink from her lemonade glass. “Well, now that you mention it, I saw a white van in front of their house.”
Ann’s ears perked up. “What time?”
“Oh, around dusk, I suppose.”
“Did you see the license plate?”
Mrs. Banning looked crestfallen.
Pushing down her own disappointment, Ann hastened to set the woman at ease again. “Don’t worry about it. Can you tell me anything else about the van? Did you see the driver? Were there other people with the driver?” Ann considered biting into the cookie to cut off the flow of questions but settled for another drink of lemonade.
“I don’t know what they were doing, but a fellow in a blue uniform was just shutting the front door. ‘Now that’s odd,’ I said to myself. Then, that fellow was hand-in-hand with those precious little ones. My eyes aren’t so good anymore. I might have gone out there and confronted that fellow myself but the children didn’t seem upset, so I didn’t think anymore on it. And then later that evening, those awful explosions made me forget all but my own name.” A thought seemed to strike the woman, and she gasped again. “Is it important? Could something have happened to those little ones?”
They were good questions, but Ann decided to ignore them for the moment. The news reports had not mentioned bodies being found. While the police and fire officials might have suppressed that information, Ann doubted they would have been able to do that effectively if any bodies had been moved from the wreckage. “No one was in the house,” she said soothingly. “Did you talk to the police yesterday?”
“Yes, yes. I told them all about the explosions. They were just awful. There were four separate ones you know.”
Ann hadn’t known because she still needed to see the official fire and police reports, but she filed the information in the back of her mind.
Mrs. Banning suddenly looked worried. “I forgot to tell them about the van! What if they need to know about it? Oooohh, I should call them right away!”
Ann made a placating gesture. “I’m sure they’ll be glad for the information, Mrs. Banning,” she assured. “Just give them a call when you have a chance. Now, was there anything else you heard or saw?”
After a moment’s thought the woman said, “Well, one of those young police fellows was found tied up in the back. I heard him talking with another officer. Poor dear, even in the dim light and with my weak eyes, I saw the marks on his arms. They were from a lamp cord you know. Oh, it was about the saddest thing I’ve ever seen!” Mrs. Banning paused to set the lemonade glass down on the coffee table before continuing her enthusiastic report. Now that her hands were free, the narrative was punctuated properly with appropriate hand gestures. “Another young fellow picked up a lamp cord still attached to a fluffy bunny tail. I remember because those lamps are fire hazards. Have you ever seen one of those bunny lamps? Cute things, with pink and purple ears and a cotton tail and all, but they’re fire hazards I tell you. Anyway, a thing like that has no business at a crime scene!” Mrs. Banning declared.